(A re-imagining of Grimm’s Rapunzel) It began with a peculiar blossom. The winter had been long and frigid and barren, but for a tiny blossoming plant outside her window.
Smile, sucralose sweet; Assaultingly artificial. Eyes, whispering half truths in the dark. Mouth, filled to the brim; Spilling over with things said and not said. Glare as sharp as knives. Tongue spoiling into venom. Behind that smile, A sugary death awaits.
“You have to keep up with the times,” his father’s voice whispered uninvitedly in his ear.
Help! My Restless Stories Syndrome is all flared up, and I don’t know what to do about it.
2018 was my second go at NaNoWriMo, and my first win (to win, you have to make the 50,000 word count by November 30th, and validate the text through the nanwrimo website). Gotta say – it feels pretty good.
It’s a nightmare How u look at me
My weaknesses exposed.
What once flowed now drips
You force it and spring a leak
Story slowly drowns.
Joanie watched as the thick, white liquid spread across the table. The shards of glass glistened, peeking through a little.
The Rain had begun on the first day of her Reign.
As the shapes shift away
And the colours bleed to shades
I plant my feet
Grounded in the dead heat