**A narrator keeps giving his protagonist the perfect opportunities to make his life into a great story, but the protagonist keeps messing it up. The narrator is slowly getting desperate.   **

Author Note: I wrote this in less than an hour after hearing the prompt in an attempt to try writing more “extemporaneously”. It was an extremely grueling endeavor, but something I’ll try again.

I said, “She smiled. As she passed, Jake nervously walked up to the woman and blocked her path. She stopped. She was wearing a violet button up blouse. She shifted, revealing a slender figure accentuated by a black skirt.” I leaned in, metaphorically. He needs more. “He felt a sudden pressure at his side. He looked down. A small, beige purse with a lettered pattern was under his arm. Confused, he looked up at the woman and begin to speak, ‘Hello …’. He hesitated. The woman looked at him. He could see the increased agitation on her face. She looked under his shoulder and then at her waist. Her agitation turned to anger. She snatched the purse from under his arm and smacked him with it, before cursing and walking away.” I sat back, exasperated. I thought for sure that would work. “Jake stood for several seconds before running toward a nearby awning.”

“Rita regains consciousness after a motorcycle accident. She has received skin grafts covered in tattoos from an anonymous organ donor. The tattoos provide Rita with clues to the donor’s dark proclivities.”

“He’s going to kill you,” a voice said. The car stank. Knowing a chain-smoker guarantees an intimacy with futility and death. It’s not always the cigarettes that kill them, though.

“You were always my friend,” the driver replied. His hands rubbed back and forth on a small tin container. The metal was old and the printing faded. He stopped, then turned his hands to lay them on the box. Upturned wrists exposed two identical, yet aged tattoos. After taking a deep breath, he opened the box and stroked the photo behind the mess of trinkets and knick-knacks. **

He felt a brisk wind on his cheek as he stared into rolling grasslands. The world was an empty place. He suppressed his confusion as he held out his right hand to reveal a bloodied axe. A beating drum entered his awareness. As it increased in volume he turned to see its approach behind him. Time slowed down. He struggled to look, but something resisted his movement. His anxiety howled as the beating drum grew louder and finally became deafening. Just as he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, all became black.

“Hmm,” the mischievous man said as he lifted the brick to his face to inspect the quality. Like all other fired clay bricks, it was red and sturdy. Except this one was different. He had added a little something extra to its edge before baking it. The man spent a few more seconds examining the brick, perhaps to wonder about the small chip at the side, before placing it in the wagon. The day was sunny and bright. The men quickly laid layer after layer. When one of the men got to Chip, he stared at it for a second before giving a wide grin and heavily laying it in the next spot.

The pinky is emotion. It is a dream. It is a white’s white, a blue’s blue, and a black’s black. It is a train traveling a rail that cannot be seen. It is a ringing anthem to explore the rough texture that hides behind our smooth skin. It always seems like a painting made up of a thousand kernels of sand with an improbable placement.

The ring finger is commitment. It rings of the hymns sung from every church on Sunday. It is a large sky with complex clouds as far as the eye can see, but it is also a giant ocean of which only I am entrusted the charts. It is glass willingly shattered that will never again be whole. It is a song that must be written over and over.

I recently experienced my first date. The date went well, and we had fun, but it seemed to fall apart after that. The timing wasn’t good. I still haven’t quite gotten over her, so I wrote this unsent letter to express my feelings to myself. I did not know that a human being could feel such positive emotions as the two weeks I had with her, or the ongoing pain of rejection that I experience in the weeks after. I’ve never done anything like this before, and I hope that I can move on someday. The names and dates have been changed to protect the innocent.

From Reddit: Humanity is the only race in the galaxy with such a massive lack of common sense that we’re the only species that requires laws to form societies. Other races just form naturally and are shocked when confronted with humanities laws and regulations.

“But that doesn’t make any sense!”

“Speak clearly, child.”

Arcturi sighed in frustration. It is difficult to learn when one is being chided. He scowled at the floating tablet. There were several other children in the room, each regarding their tablets with varying emotions. The goal was learning, exercise for the mind. However, the pre-programming often left a lot to be desired. “Nevermind. Tell me about the Mimetic wars again?”

A bird landed on the tallest branch of a tree. The tree, being the tallest in the land, was home to several other wild creatures, two of which were the black squirrels and the yellow bees. The bird eyed the nuts of the squirrels and the honey of the bees. All the riches of the world are laid out before me, he thought to himself.

Quietly, he approached the squirrels nest and creeped inside. Suddenly, the squirrel appeared and bared his sharp claws. ‘Don’t take my nuts,’ he said, ‘If you do, I will die when the winter comes, and the other squirrels of the tree will remember.’ ‘I care not,’ said the bird, ‘as easily as I came to this tree, there are many trees, and I shall never step here again.’ ‘Wait!’ said the squirrel. ‘If you let me, I will help you steal the bee’s honey. There lies a rich reward more tantalizing than any nut.’

The first few months were filled with uncertainty. Since the discovery of the infinite resource generation device, people no longer had to work to support themselves. Land as far out and as cheap as Siberia could be used to craft a home. Basic necessities such as food and water were then created without incident or cost using the IRGD.

It was a wondrous time. People no longer needed to go to work to support themselves. It was complete chaos at first. Pirated plans were widely distributed on the Internet and 3D printers were used to easily craft the device. Within a few days, enough of them existed that friends were using them to craft them for their friends. Within a mere week, every family on the entire planet had an IRGD.

The vast oceans and bright shades of thought, In broad streams do incessantly flow for naught. Steeled with willing mind and kindred choice, On committed course I move with lonely voice.

A stream flows and life’s water it will bring, Sometimes murky or turbulent from its spring. Slave to dams unknown its passage flounders, A crowded prison awaits with endless wanders.

With time’s aid canyons and valleys are shaped, And what was dry is wet and bears the escaped. A granted path spares rocks but yields no fish, But the vast ocean’s promise fulfills my wish.

Some ways I thought to express tension:

• The tension in the room was sufficating.

• I sat in silence, woefully aware of the thickness in the surrounding air.

• All of a sudden, I could not breath with surprising effectiveness, the room felt much more enclosed, and I found even myself experiencing the rushing panic of claustrophobia.

• Breathing was always something I took for granted. And yet I found myself struggling to breath when the air was as clear as a cool autum breeze, to inhale when the nearest toxin was thousands of miles of away.

The Knot

The walls rise high above, the tension palpable. Before me lies my goal, the reason for my existence, what I must do in order to survive. I remember to focus, before I lose sight of my reason for being here. As I progress towards to center, I think of all those who are counting on me, all those who cheer for me in their own way, and of course my family. If everything goes right, I can play a key role in furthering their amibitions today. The ground is rough. I must consider my moves as I approach. One false step and I will face a great fall. One, two, three steps, slowly but steady, I follow the path that has been laid out for me. As I reach the end, I feel all around me, allowing my senses to take in the surroundings. The liquid before me appears almost jewel-like. I find that as I take it, it coalesces around my mandibles and I find it easier to carry. Slowly, I continue along the densly trodden path back to my colony, back to my home and to my queen. As I leave the knot, I realize I will return some day, but when that may be is something I shall only know on that day.