ILikeToWriteThings

United States

Message from Writer

You're all amazing and I hope you never give up on accomplishing whatever you want to!

Published Work

The Woodcarver First Draft

    The town of Alric knew neither peace nor war. There existed neither enemies nor allies behind those Earthen walls; time simply passed. Each morning was introduced by the commotion of awakening livestock, each night the setting of the sun. Nothing existed far outside the households of Alric commoners, and that was how they preferred it. The only thing more alien to them than the oceans was strife. Just as these lowly folks knew little of the world, the world knew little of them; the smell of hog roast rising towards the horizon the only evidence the village persisted. 
   Varner Braun's name had been carried down generation after generation in Alric, his daughter Caelen the newest iteration. His ancestors graced him with the opportunity to live prosperously with his wife and two children, which he took full advantage of. Class was of little concern to the Braun family, as no name should ever ascend higher than another's in...

The Woodcarver First Draft

    The town of Alric knew neither peace nor war. There existed neither enemies nor allies behind those Earthen walls; time simply passed. Each morning was introduced by the commotion of awakening livestock, each night the setting of the sun. Nothing existed far outside the households of Alric commoners, and that was how they preferred it. The only thing more alien to them than the oceans was strife. Just as these lowly folks knew little of the world, the world knew little of them; the smell of hog roast rising towards the horizon the only evidence the village persisted. 
   Varner Braun's name had been carried down generation after generation in Alric, his daughter Caelen the newest iteration. His ancestors graced him with the opportunity to live prosperously with his wife and two children, which he took full advantage of. Class was of little concern to the Braun family, as no name should ever ascend higher than another's in...

Micro Anthology

1946
    I sat waiting for hours, just like yesterday, and the day before, consoled only by the heat of the hearth and the occasional kisses from Max. This had to be the day. I couldn’t explain to my mother the hopeful premonition I awoke with; any attempt was met with a tearful scolding. But my optimism depleted at the demise of daylight, so I began walking to bed. Then the door swung open. My eyes met his. I threw myself into his arms. Then I woke up. Just like yesterday, and the day before.

The Woodcarver
    “Come look, come look! They’re dancing!” 
Mrs. Atchison wore an exhausted expression as her once familiar spouse dragged her down the grey hall. She begrudgingly entered her husband’s quarters, and was met with a sadness she had become accustomed to. Her husband’s grin deflated.
“Honey, they were just dancing, I swear!”
His wife said nothing as she walked out of the room...

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

1946

I sat waiting for hours, just like yesterday, and the day before, consoled only by the heat of the hearth and the occasional kisses from Max. This had to be the day. I couldn’t explain to my mother the hopeful premonition I awoke with; any attempt was met with a tearful scolding. But my optimism depleted at the demise of daylight, so I began walking to bed. Then the door swung open. My eyes met his. I threw myself into his arms. Then I woke up. Just like yesterday, and the day before.

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

1946

Far past the circle of heads in my peripheral lies the bright sky. I know these faces but cannot recall the persons behind them. “Do I know you?” My lips do not move. Why do they all cry? 
The moon is out, and still I feel the light thump of tears beating upon my chest. Wait, where are they going now? Why is it suddenly black?

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Writing Streak Challenge Week 5

Day 1
Terra's skyscrapers
Wooded relics of an ancient time
Arbitrary gifts
Hosts of small civilizations
Microcosms of split pathways bound to Earth
Beacons of prosperity
Portents of good tidings

Day 2
Mother Earth's pubes
Incomplete bridges to heaven
Earth's finest pigment
Those who shroud the surface
Our mistreated and abused roommates

Day 3
A traveler's rest
A child's first fascination
Nature's curtains
Foliage chameleons
Cat abductors

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Writing Streak Challenge Week 5

Day 1
Terra's skyscrapers
Wooded relics of an ancient time
Arbitrary gifts
Hosts of small civilizations
Microcosms of split pathways bound to Earth
Beacons of prosperity
Portents of good tidings

Day 2
Mother Earth's pubes
Incomplete bridges to heaven
Earth's finest pigment
Those who shroud the surface
Our mistreated and abused roommates

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

1946

“Come look! Come look! They’re dancing!” 
Mrs. Atchison wore an exhausted expression as she was dragged down the grey hall by her once familiar spouse. She begrudgingly entered her husband’s quarters and was met with a sadness she had become accustomed to. Her husband’s grin deflated.
“Honey, they were just dancing, I swear!”
His wife said nothing as she walked out of the room and slammed the door behind her. A teary eyed Mr. Atchison looked down at his creations as they began to move again.

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Writing Streak Challenge Week 5

Terra's skyscrapers
Wooded relics of an ancient time
Arbitrary gifts
Hosts of small civilizations
Microcosms of split pathways bound to Earth
Beacons of prosperity
Portents of good tidings

Flash Fiction Competition: 1946

I sat waiting for hours, just like yesterday, and the day before, consoled only by the heat of the hearth and the occasional kisses from Max. This had to be the day. I couldn’t explain to my mother the hopeful premonition I woke up with; any attempt was met with tearful scolding. My optimism depleted at the demise of daylight, so I began walking to bed. Then the door swung open. My eyes met his. I threw myself into his arms. Then I woke up. Just like yesterday, and the day before.

Flash Fiction Competition: 1946 First Draft

1946
I sat waiting for hours, just like yesterday, and the day before, consoled only by the heat of the hearth and the occasional kisses from Max. This had to be the day. I couldn’t explain to my mother the hopeful premonition I woke up with; any attempt was met with tearful scolding. My optimism depleted at the demise of daylight, so I began walking to bed. Then the door swung open. My eyes met his. I threw myself into his arms. Then I woke up. Just like yesterday, and the day before.

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 3

Writing Streak Week 3 Day 2

why would you choose to just do and think
what everyone else is doing and thinking                                                                                        when you could just be 
why are you afraid to 
     distance yourself from the pack
is it because you fear them or is it 
   because you fear yourself
why do you fear yourself
if you are surrounded all the time
by the rest of the world then how
          will you even know who you are
do you know who you are
                 youre not doing what you want
youre doing what they want you to do 
                 but you dont know that
and they dont know that they even want you to do it
and when you do it you arent you 
and if you arent you then who are you
are you them         ...

Letter Writing Competition 2020

Dear Julia

Dear Julia,
    I don’t know about you but feeding myself is a chore right now. Are you as sick of pizza rolls as I am? They burn my tongue, so I have to wait for them to cool off after I already have to wait for the oven to preheat and then for them to actually cook and by that time Totino himself couldn’t care less about his accursed meat pastries! One might expect their patience to be strengthened amid a month-long hiatus of society, but alas, it’s the opposite.
    How are you? It’s been a few months. Are you still learning German? I still remember what you told me at that coffee place: “Dieser Ort riecht schlecht.” A bit choppy, but keep practicing, you’ll get there. Rest assured; the slightly incoherent delivery didn’t distract from the truth in your words. That was on March 11th. 48 hours later, my dad would dub the outside an apocalypse. Since then, as...