I'm going to attempt to write again. What usually happens is, I find a picture online and then write a story from it.
This thread will be where I post the stories my mind comes up with.
Title: Colorful
She is a small girl, twelve-years-old and quiet, but for as long as she can remember, she had always known about the colorful world she lived in. Ever since that day, every morning was the same. She would wake up, pick out clothes from the closet, get ready in the bathroom, and come downstairs for breakfast.
Every morning, she would eat Froot Loops and quietly listen as her mother, who would be washing dishes, complains about work, men, and life. Eventually, her mother would finish cleaning and turn off the faucet, so the morning news on their small T.V. would be the only sound she could hear.
Every morning, in an attempt to create a bond between mother and daughter, her mother, whose back would always be turned, would ask, "So...what's up with you, sweetie?"
She did not answer. She ate her cereal and stared at the television screen. After a while, her mother leaned her gloved hands against the sink, back still facing her. "Did you hear me?" Her mother asked.
Again, she did not answer. Her mother turned around and glared at her daughter. "I asked you a question," her mother said sternly.
She did not even glance at her mother. She kept her eyes on the screen.
Her mother suddenly snapped and threw a soapy sponge at her daughter, hitting her in the face.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you!"
She quickly stood up from the wooden chair, knocking it down, and without a second thought, she grabbed the bowl she was eating from and, spilling some Froot Loops on the table, threw it at her mother. Her mother screams as she is hit with the ceramic bowl and the colorful rings.
"You little *****!" Her mother yells. She runs towards her daughter and pins her down against the tile floors, slapping her over and over. She tries to defend herself, blocking and kicking and screaming for her mother to stop, but her mother is too big, too powerful, and then her mother begins punching her in the face.
"What did I tell you, huh?" yelled her mother, still punching. "Don't you ******* remember?" Her mother continues to beat her daughter and eventually the screaming, the kicking, and the blocking ceases, but her mother does not stop.
"You're not gay, you hear me?" cried her mother. The punches lessen. "Not while I'm ******* here. If you don't start acting like a normal daughter I swear you'll regret it."
She is a small girl, twelve-years-old and quiet, but for as long as she can remember, she had always known about the colorful world she lived in. But her mother will never let her be this way.
This thread will be where I post the stories my mind comes up with.
Title: Colorful
She is a small girl, twelve-years-old and quiet, but for as long as she can remember, she had always known about the colorful world she lived in. Ever since that day, every morning was the same. She would wake up, pick out clothes from the closet, get ready in the bathroom, and come downstairs for breakfast.
Every morning, she would eat Froot Loops and quietly listen as her mother, who would be washing dishes, complains about work, men, and life. Eventually, her mother would finish cleaning and turn off the faucet, so the morning news on their small T.V. would be the only sound she could hear.
Every morning, in an attempt to create a bond between mother and daughter, her mother, whose back would always be turned, would ask, "So...what's up with you, sweetie?"
She did not answer. She ate her cereal and stared at the television screen. After a while, her mother leaned her gloved hands against the sink, back still facing her. "Did you hear me?" Her mother asked.
Again, she did not answer. Her mother turned around and glared at her daughter. "I asked you a question," her mother said sternly.
She did not even glance at her mother. She kept her eyes on the screen.
Her mother suddenly snapped and threw a soapy sponge at her daughter, hitting her in the face.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you!"
She quickly stood up from the wooden chair, knocking it down, and without a second thought, she grabbed the bowl she was eating from and, spilling some Froot Loops on the table, threw it at her mother. Her mother screams as she is hit with the ceramic bowl and the colorful rings.
"You little *****!" Her mother yells. She runs towards her daughter and pins her down against the tile floors, slapping her over and over. She tries to defend herself, blocking and kicking and screaming for her mother to stop, but her mother is too big, too powerful, and then her mother begins punching her in the face.
"What did I tell you, huh?" yelled her mother, still punching. "Don't you ******* remember?" Her mother continues to beat her daughter and eventually the screaming, the kicking, and the blocking ceases, but her mother does not stop.
"You're not gay, you hear me?" cried her mother. The punches lessen. "Not while I'm ******* here. If you don't start acting like a normal daughter I swear you'll regret it."
She is a small girl, twelve-years-old and quiet, but for as long as she can remember, she had always known about the colorful world she lived in. But her mother will never let her be this way.
