“I dare you to write” challenge - write from the point of view of a dog

Author’s note: Apparently I still have a lot of feelings about this.
Written for I dare you to write

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Friend, why are you crying? I don’t like to see you cry, but I don’t know how to stop it. I never do.

Sometimes I see you cry, and you come sit next to me and scratch my ears. I like that. I like when you scratch my ears. I don’t like when you cry. You put your head on my back, and I feel you stay there. I don’t mind. I like you there. I don’t like to see you cry.

You’re crying a lot lately. When I see you, you seem sad. I try to make you happy. When I wag my tail, you smile. I like that. And then I roll on my back, and you smile, and rub my belly. I like that too. I don’t feel like rolling on my back today, but I wag my tail. You smile a little, but you seem sad still.

You pet me. Okay, that makes you happy. It always does. Just like when we cuddle on the sofa. I know you let me up there even though Master says I’m not allowed. We lay on the blanket together. We keep each other warm. You pet me, and I lean against you.

We’re not on the sofa now. Will that make you happy, Friend? Let’s go upstairs! I might need some help today, but I’ll go upstairs with you, and if you help me on the sofa, I’ll lay there with you. I’ll keep you warm. I’ll keep you happy.

Master is sad tonight too. Not as much as you though. He keep saying I’m a good boy. That he loves me. You keep saying that too. I love you too, Friend.

Master says we’re going for a car ride tomorrow. I don’t remember car rides much. I think I was a puppy the last time I was in a car. Master says I’m an old man now. He says I’m his old man. You keep saying I’m your good boy.

You’re still sad. Why? I know I don’t seem as happy tonight, but I am. I’m always happy to see you, Friend. I’m just tired tonight. I’ve been tired a lot lately, but tonight I’m really tired. I’m not hungry either, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. I always am. Master says that’s why we’re going for a car ride.

That makes you sad. Is that why you’re sad? Because I’m going for a car ride? I’ll be back. I’m sure I’ll be back. We’ve been together for so long, of course I’d come back. I never ran away, because I love it here.

Please scratch my head. I love you, Friend.

Writing Preview

Author’s Note: I write things in my head and then try to write them down. Something I’ve been toying with, and a possible hook or preview can be located below.

—

She is too scared to end it all, but too fed up with everything to keep going. The option presents itself to just give up, drop everything, run away, and start somewhere new. It is an option that is so deliciously appealing. Still, she knows that would never work. That would take too much planning, and a stronger desire to succeed than she had at that moment.

So there is only one option left — drop everything and do something that she knows will fuck up her life, but only if she gets caught. There is one person she can call, but he’s already on her doorstep, waiting with a packed duffel bag in hand, because he thought of this plan before she did. He’s the only guy who can fuck shit up with her as badly as she needs to.

It’s exciting. It’s appealing. Even if she doesn’t get caught, she’ll have the memory. She’ll might get addicted. She’ll likely be tempted to try again, and again, and again until she gets caught. And if she isn’t killed in the process, well, maybe then she’ll have the guts.

There’s a life to be lost that night, but first she has to find it.

#1098

fuckyeahcharacterdevelopment:

One half of your ship ate the last bit of the cheesecake. How is revenge had?

Something was not right. Maybe it was a feeling in the air, or the lights had grown dimmer. Maybe it was simply a gut feeling, but whatever the indicator, it was clear that something was amiss.

“Travis!” There it was, the shrill voice that cut through the silence. It bounced against the walls and smacked the young man in the back of his head. He hunched his shoulders forward, and he curled over his sketchbook, willing himself to be invisible.

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Someone to Believe In

Author’s Note: I apparently love to torture myself with Jack Frost feels, so here. Have some for yourself. Since his sister was never named, I chose one for her.

—

The quickest moment passed as the look on Jack’s face changed from joy and relief to shock and horror. The ice beneath his feet cracked and gave way to the weight of his body.

“Jack!” Johanna screamed as her brother disappeared beneath the surface of the water. Only a few chunks of ice and a couple of air bubbles floated to the top, but Jack remained submerged.

Johanna dropped to her knees and dared to inch closer. The ice would surely crack under her own weight, but her brother was down there.

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Shared Everything

Author’s Note: This is what happens when I try to write. I go through old pictures, and get inspired to write something else. That being this. Inspired by this art. [original link]

—

Murphy was hurt worse than Connor. Or at least that was how it felt to Connor. The lighter-haired twin had taken a bullet in the arm, which was nothing, he thought. Sure it hurt, but it was easy to pull out, easy to wrap, and easy to move around afterwards. It was easy to convince himself it didn’t hurt.

He felt pain when he looked at his brother though. Murphy had taken a bullet in his torso. It had been lodged into his side, and the wound was robbing him of desperately needed blood. Connor knew what he would say. He would say he was fine, quit worrying about him, quit acting like a pussy and pull out the fucking bullet.

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A Friend of Ours

Author’s Note: Found a picture and wanted to write something about it. This one, if you want to see it.

—

The scene could not have been set better if it had appeared in a movie. The four men that occupied the dressing room were placed at equal intervals. There were only three chairs, and each one was in use. The burliest looking man — with a soft face, but muscles that said he was anything but soft — straddled the chair. His arms rested on the back of the seat. His body leaned forward, ready to pounce.

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Author’s Note: I really don’t have much to say about this. If you don’t get it you won’t get it.

—

His body lay still. It was as though I had every moment left to just watch it, hoping that maybe he would move. His back was flat against the ground, his arms stiff at his sides, and his chin angled up towards the sky. His lips were parted, but it was impossible to tell if breath passed between them.

I felt as paralyzed as he looked. It wasn’t so much what had happened, but what was happening in those grueling moments that continued to pass.

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A continuation of whatever the hell this was. Sort of.

—

He smirked as he read over her shoulder. It was him — she was writing about him. He just knew it. A laugh she had never heard? A guy she had never met? It had to be him.

If only he could prove it to her that he was real, and that she wasn’t crazy. Maybe prove that he wasn’t crazy.

What could he do though? She said it herself, they had never met, and they probably never would. Was he at fault for that, he wondered. Or was it her? Maybe it was both. It was probably both. They were both so closed minded that they could not figure out a way to see each other in person, to be in the same room — to really be in the same room. To reach out and touch the other, simply for the sake of doing so. To feel the other one’s presence.

He was as crazy about her as she was about him. She didn’t know it. He knew it. He liked her. He thought about her all the time because nothing else seemed quite as interesting. He knew it likely classified him as insane.

He was just as bad as her. The only difference is that he knew how she felt. She was stuck on the wrong side. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. Not unless he could just do something, and prove it to her!

He watched as she put down her pen. She picked it up again and scratched out a few sentences. She wrote one of them again, word for word, then added a new sentence. He had to admit, it was nice to know this was about him.

Please turn around, he thought. Maybe that’s all it will take.

She did not turn.

Please, turn around and look at me!

She still did not turn.

He reached his arm out, unsure of what he would do. Tap her on the shoulder? Tuck her hair behind her ear? Spin her around in her chair so that she would have no choice but to face him?

I’m real, he thought. I just need you to know that. I’m real enough for you. You can meet me. Not just see me, not just picture me, and not just talk to me in dreams and notebooks. I want you to hear me laugh. Just turn around!

She slammed her pen down on the desk. Frustration. Both of them had it. She turned in her seat. She looked behind her. She looked right at him — right through him — then got up and left the room.

Damn, he thought as he watched her leave.

Just a quick little writing exercise. No title. Part II.

—

I couldn’t stop thinking about him. No matter which distraction I put in front of myself, I just could not get him out of my mind.

His face. His smile. His laugh that I had never even heard.

This was not normal for me. Or maybe it was, and I was just coming to the full realization that I was, well, not normal. That was me. Thinking about a guy I had never met — not in person anyway.

I had to talk to him. I had to get him to talk to me. Easy enough. We talked on a somewhat regular basis. Sometimes. On rare occasions.

The more I thought about it, the more pathetic I felt.

I weighed my options. I could suck it up and say a few words to him. If they went terrible, then I could just remind myself I had never met him. We could go our separate ways, drift apart, and eventually it would be like neither of us existed in the other’s life. Maybe one day we would get a chance to start over, in the distant future, and in person.

Damn. That word, along with quite a few others that varried in their level of profanity, were quickly becoming a part of my regular vocabulary. His face in my mind. Damn. The things he has said that made him more than just a pretty face. Damn. Me, miles away, unable to think about anyone or anything else. Damn.

I weighed my options again. I could ignore my insanity. I could do something smart for once in my life and leave well enough alone. It was working pretty well that way for this long. Why should I screw up something so great?

I still couldn’t stop my mind from wandering to the same face. The same guy that seemed different from anyone else.

This is what happens when you’re the product of a failed marriage. This is what happens when you have nothing “normal” to base your life off of. This is what happens when you’re me.

He’s so close. I’m so close, so very close to saying something. And every time I try, I stop. I pause. I think. I back up.

It’s no use, I had to admit to myself. I would just have to carry on being pathetic.

Simple

Author’s Note: So I wrote this a while ago in response to a 30 day writing prompt challenge, and I ended up spending close to two weeks on this. I was going to turn the whole challenge into a novel, with this being the second to last chapter, but as I wrote it, it seemed like it was just a little bit too much like Floating. So I stopped. If anyone thinks that I should get back to it, let me know.

—

It’s simple – just get away. That was all he had to do. No thoughts, no plans, just get the fuck away from where he was. It was simple.

He needed a car. No, that was too damn complicated. He would figure it out as he went, just as long as he got away.

One foot in front of the other – simple.

The screen door slammed shut behind him as he sped away from the house. Mark heard the gruff shouts emanating from his father – neither an insult forcing him away nor a plea for his return – simply angry sounds cursing out anything that came to mind.

The rubber soles of his shoes pounded against the dirt and snapped fallen twigs in half. They were nothing compared to the sound of his panting as he pushed himself up the hill and up the porch stairs. Mark’s fist rapped against the door.

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