Posted in Writing

30 Day Writing Challenge: 3

Day 3 —Write about the worst time you’ve ever put your foot in your mouth.

For all the weird shit I did when I was a kid (wrapping a sleeping bag around my brother and rolling him around for one entire afternoon, sticking an eraser in my nostril, to give you an insight as to how “creative” I was), I have never tried putting my foot inside my mouth and will try it right now (for science!) –

-and I will never try it again for as long as I live.

Thank you for giving me another opportunity to explore the boundaries of my body, great people of the internet who have written this challenge.

(For the record, I managed to fit three toes inside my mouth.)

Posted in Writing

30 Day Writing Challenge: 2

Day 2 —Tell about a character who lost something important to him/her.

Okay, the story below contains psychological issues and please, if you feel that you might be triggered in any way, please please do not read. 


Everything was pure nonsense.

It was incomprehensible, completely and utterly gibberish. It was as if all the logic, all the laws, all of the rational thoughts disappeared entirely, leaving her all alone in the dark tresses of her diabolic mind.

Nothing made sense.

plecken aseash, helnon pmecon.

Her head hurt. The dull, throbbing pain never seemed to go away, no matter how many pills she forced down her throat. She didn’t understand; it was supposed to go away, right? Mommy said so!

Mommy doesn’t want you to live, remember? Mommy wants you dead!

She curled her body inwards, trying to block it all, trying to ignore, trying to escape. Escape from all of the horrible voices, surrounding her, filling the air with malice and hatred and paranoia and…fear. There was always fear. She’d never truly known a world without fear.

They were horrible, the voices. They said terrible things, and they only ever appeared whenever she was alone and in the dark, with no one but herself to bear witness to.

(They didn’t want anyone else to see them, she observed. Or maybe they were as scared of people as she was. Perhaps so.)

She wanted them to stop, she did. Or at least make to stop for a while, just a short while, just so she would have enough time to calm down and rationalize, to think, to reflect.


She slowly got up, limbs numb from the time she’d spent curled on the floor (minutes? Hours? Maybe days?) and staggered towards the small mirror in her room, peering at a face that seemed to glare at her.

The face in the mirror looked haggard and mean. There were dark circles under their eyes, and their skin was pale and clammy. The lips were cracked and dry, and they were set in a persistent sneer. But the eyes…

The eyes were what scared her. They were wide open, dark irises flashing menacingly, and they were filled with loathing. Pure, unadulterated loathing. They pierced her soul, rooting her on the spot, unable to move and escape from the darkness set in those eyes filled with absolute nothingness.

She wanted to cry. Wanted to scream, alert the others of this awful creature staring at her with such terrible features. But she couldn’t make herself move. She stood there, still as a statue, and watched the face in the mirror, whose features slowly began to distort into much more gruesome details.

Mommy…please. Help. Anyone, please…

She couldn’t tell how many minutes (hours?) she stood there. In fact, she could not tell the time anymore. The concept of time has escaped her, and she could no longer comprehend the concept that seemed to govern everyone’s lives. That lack of comprehension plunged her into a world of timeless madness, filled with nonsense and governed by utter rubbish, and spoken in a language of gibberish.

What little remained of her sanity…was probably just this tiny piece of thread, about to break, about to give in to the pressure exerted outwards by some unknown force who wanted her to disappear.

She collapsed into a heap, sobbing uncontrollably. Her head was hurting more than ever, and nothing…nothing….nothing made sense! 

She’s going crazy. Gonna give in to the devil inside her. Maybe she already has.

Pain shot upwards and she whirled around, trying to find out where it came from. She turned and turned and turned, round and round in a circle, but she still could not find where the pain in her foot came from.

Her foot…

…surrounded by red. Red, red, red, red.

Red eyes.

Two pinpricks of red. She froze, as a dark entity slowly approached her, looking at her with red eyes. It was carrying something flat, something heavy, perhaps it was made of steel? Was it here to end her? Was it here to make her disappear now?

A lump formed in her throat, and she let out an awful cry as she lunged towards the dark entity. She thrashed desperately, a large shard of the mirror suddenly materializing in her hand, and she stabbed again, and again, and again.

I don’t want to go away. Going away means I’ll never get to see Mommy again. I don’t want to go away! I want to see Mommy! 

Dimly, she hears faint screams of agony as she continued on with her assault. It was…filled with pain and…sadness as well. Of course, there was fear, but why…was there sadness? Was it sad because it didn’t get to complete its mission? Was it sad…for her?

She paused, confused. Her limbs were protesting furiously, probably angry with her for forcing them to move like that. Adrenaline slowly ebbed away from her body, and left her feeling more tired than ever.

She let the shard in her hand go, and it made contact with the floor. She lied down on the floor, her eyelids suddenly growing heavier, her consciousness fading away into nothingness. And for a moment, everything was silent.

The throbbing in her head was gone. The voices quieted down.

And…she could feel her mother’s soft embrace. A soft hand, which was slightly wet, caressed her cheek lovingly, and she leaned into the touch.

“I love you, darling. Never forget that,” were whispers from the back of her head, warm and soft and filled with love and…sadness again? Why?

She woke up with a jolt.

There were people all around her, faces scowling and frowning down at her.

Why was she on the floor? And why was her hand hurting?

She glanced at her hand, and gasped.

It was bloody and bits of skin were torn from the surface. It looked as if she’d been gripping something very hard in her hand for a long time, enough time for it to cause multiple damage to her skin. A few feet away was a tray, which contained biscuits and tea.

Her favorite snacks.

Her vision was still a little blurry from sleep, but she could still manage to make out the faces that peered down at her. Why were there people? Why were they looking at her with something akin to…fear?

“…What…what’s going on?” she asked, her voice raspy and raw.

There were a lot of voices, and they seemed to be coming from all directions. It entrapped her, made it hard to breathe, and she instinctively tried to curl up into herself when the smell of something metallic hit her nose.

She looked beside her.

A body was draped across the floor. It was bloody and seemed to have been stabbed multiple times by a rabid animal. What else could have made slashes like those, littered all over the body, like it wasn’t satisfied to have somebody already at the gates of death, like it wanted to prove something.

The body had hair attached to its scalp, and it looked like the same exact shade of brown as her mother’s. The same exact length too. The hand was outstretched, like it was reaching for her. And the eyes…

“…Mommy?” She whimpered.

Mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy MOMMY!

“Who did this?” She demanded, standing on shaky legs, glowering at the faces around her. “Who did this to her?”

The people, who were all wearing a police uniform, stared back at her. Some looked to be in shock, some looked angry, and some looked…scared.

There was a long moment of silence, where no one dared to make a noise.

“Take her away,” one of the policemen muttered to the others.

Immediately, they took a hold of each of her arms. She stiffened.

“No! Don’t take me away! Mommy’s still waiting for me! She wants me to stay here! I don’t want to go! No! Please! Someone, please, help! Don’t let them take me away!”

“Someone…called us,” the same policeman said haltingly, “Said they heard screams from the house next door. Said they saw you…attacking your mother. Viciously. With a sharp piece of glass.”



“I attacked?” She repeated slowly, “Viciously? With a sharp piece of glass?”

A dark entity, in stark contrast with the whiteness of the walls. Carrying something that looked like steel. Her, pouncing and stabbing. Her, collapsing from the sheer exhaustion. Arms that reached out to her. A soft caress. Eyes filled with sadness.

“I love you, darling. Never forget that.”

All these thoughts were swirling inside her, overlapping with each other, racing against each other. She couldn’t tell them apart. The dark entity with malicious intent, was it true? The creature staring back at her, was it a memory? There was a sound of glass breaking, tiny little shards scattering everywhere. Was it a dream?

The thread…the precious little thread that held her together, snapped.

And she threw her head back and laughed. 

Her voice echoed in the room, with a sound that was not entirely humane, and it brought chills to the rest of the people in the room. The policemen visibly took a step back, warily eyeing her figure.

She didn’t care. Everything made sense now.

“Men, escort her to the precinct,” the policeman commanded weakly.

They nodded, and together they hauled the laughing girl out of the house, out of that cursed room.

The policeman watched her go, her laughter still ringing in his ears and refusing to go away.

“She’s lost it,” one of the men behind him murmured, and he couldn’t help but agree.

Posted in Writing

30 Day Writing Challenge: 1

Day 1 —Select a book at random in the room.  Find a novel or short story, copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story.

“For a moment, he thought he heard a woman’s voice…the wisdom of the ages…whispering up from the chasms of the earth.”

(The Da Vinci Code)

For a moment, he thought he heard a woman’s voice…the wisdom of the ages…whispering up from the chasms of the earth.

His vision blurred into a constant state of dizzying motion, and for the life of him, he could not tell what was up from down anymore. His mind was blank, for the first time in ages; he could not bring himself to do anything about it.

Why would he, when everything he had ever held dear to him had been ripped away from him in front of his very own eyes?

In his mind’s eye, he could still hear the screams of agony; he could still see the fury in his best friend’s eye, boring holes into the back of his head, blaming him for everything…

…he could still feel the warmth of a child’s soft embrace, wrapped around his torso, following his movements everywhere, as if it were afraid that he would soon forget everything about it once it chose to let go.

Fat chance of that happening, he snorted.

For what little time remained in his own miserable life, he would never, could never, let himself forget about the one thing that anchored him to this world.

He closed his eyes then, the only thing he could physically manage to do in his weakened state, and let himself remember…

Of times when he would wake up to childish laughter, to the soft pitter patter of feet shuffling towards him and whining, “Mooommy, Daddy won’t wake up! Should we bathe him in bed?” 

Of times when he would lay down on his (then) wife’s lap, whispering things that would make her blush prettily, a sight he had already forgotten and thrown away.

Of a time when he’d spent two days straight in the hospital, barely eating and barely sleeping, too nervous to move from the uncomfortable steel chairs that were supposed to be the waiting area. And when the doctor finally, finally, emerged, her grin as wide as a painted doll, telling him, “Congratulations, she’s a girl!”

(He could remember fainting right then and there, too relieved and joyous and nervous and everything all at once.

Yah, you idiot husband of mine! was the one in labor for twenty hours? Why are you the one fainting and crying?”)

He smiled faintly.

He had lived a good life, a happy life. A life he was proud to have had with the two people he loves (loved, he corrected wryly) the most.

He was a despicable man, he knew that, but no, that didn’t seem to reflect in his daughter’s eyes, which were huge and innocent and filled with child-like wonder at everything surrounding her, who loves (loved) her father and regarded him as an international hero (a belief he fervently encouraged).

He was a despicable man.

But perhaps…by willingly throwing himself for the sake of his family…perhaps then he could still hope to remain a hero in his child’s, his wonderful sweet child’s, eye.

He grinned, laughing heartily, as he let himself fall….

…towards the sweet earth, falling falling falling down into nature’s sweet embrace. His head hit the dirt first, pain shooting up his entire body. He took no mind of this, for who was he to still have control of his own body? Sooner or later, control will be ripped away from him too…

His body tumbled into the ground, pain evident everywhere.

Well of course, he thought, what else did you expect from throwing yourself from a vehicle moving at 50km/hour?

He lay on the ground, smiled, and looked at the horde of infected zombies hurling themselves for a chance to bite him.

They won’t be getting my daughter. They’d have to go over my dead body.

He laughed again, feeling his control slowly slipping away through his fingers, and closed his eyes.