I entered the room. The books slept quietly on each shelf as if they haven’t been touched in decades. The couch was leveled with the desk in front of it , seemed to me they were having a simple but bland conversation. Also, the windows sat aside from each other , like they wanted nothing to do with one another. There I sat. She told me to talk , and I forced every word out just like they forced me to think this would help me. She soaked up every word I said as if she was a sponge. Then it repeats , again.

I hate it.

I hate it

when girls let themselves be bossed around.

I hate it

when girls don't even respect themselves

but expect to be respected

I hate it

when girls are so shallow.

I hate it

when girls are so easily influenced.

I hate it

when girls spend so much time,

trying so goddy hard,

to be someone else.

I hate it

when girls have no backbone,

like they can't stand on their own.

Seriously,

I can't even tell them,

"Just be yourself!"

Because all their life,

they copy others.

There is no such thing as being themselves.

He didn’t want to remember anything from his past.

He told them that he would laugh and move on.

He had only cried once before, and that was when his dog-- his best friend-- ran away.

He didn’t cry when he got the news that his parents’ plane went down.

He didn’t really know them, anyway.

He cried when he was dropped off at the orphanage, though.

Twelve years under the care of a butler and maid who he would never see again in his life.

So, he took the knapsack.

He broke the trinkets.

He watched them burn.

He laughed.

She opened her fingers, revealing the pendant. The blue sapphire shone up at her like a bright eye. The eye of her mother, her grandmother, her great-grandmother.

It weighed heavily against her, a reminder of her family. She remembered her mother's weak fingers dropping it into her eight-year-old hands. Such a privilege to own, such an honor to have.

A legacy.

She leaned over the well, looking at her hazy reflection. The responsibilities of her ancestors whispered in her ears, and she held out her hand.

The pendant fell for a long time before splashing in the dark waters below.

One Hundred Words.

I did not understand just how difficult it would be to write one hundred full, cohesive, and understandable words until now.

There are so many thoughts swimming in my head, so I will choose my words with great care.

Now, before I begin with my profound ideas, I must brush my teeth. Good hygiene is very important. Especially to me. Please remember to brush in a circular motion, not just side-to-side. More plaque is removed this way. But I digress. Now on to my writing.

OK. Here goes:

Damn. My word count is maxed out?

So sorry!

the whispers still

on the misty hill

while I fold my arms

and pray

I hold in a scream

for hours it seems

while I wait for dawn

to break

Show yourself!

I sing aloud

as the trees

bend in the breeze

the branches shiver

then still

as I hold my breath

waiting

on that misty hill

a fire burns inside my soul

hoping I will achieve my goal

to call the Great One from the sea

but the only one I see is me

I wait for hours

but no one arrives

I leave dejected

with a lonely sigh

He loved digging in his idyllic garden.

He only asked for silence in his sanctuary, his Eden. He hoed rows and rows of purple turnips, planted patches of spinach and Swiss chard, and tended to his tomatoes as if they were his tomorrows.

Mr McBrian was Lord of his Land, delegating zucchini plants and ordering asparagus to thrive. He welcomed the robin and the lark, but resented the neighbor’s chihuahua Fifi more each day. How could paradise be paradise with that eternal, infernal barking?

He filled in the deep hole with rich, black earth. That dog had it coming.

She grazed my fingertips with a curious hand, and I was dumbstruck. Every atom said to return the gesture, but it was as if my cheeks along with the rest of me overheated , I could only speak gibberish and hope to get my point across. I met her eyes and the world was empty. I saw her smile and I was a fearless crow amongst lions. From that moment my world was compromised to her. Such a cliché to fall victim to . With a million words in the English dictionary I cannot describe a soul so utterly pure.

"Can you surf like a pro? Than the water dome is for you!" The water dome was a new development in 2037. People didnt want to wait for waves anymore when surfing, so the Water Dome was developed to create waves. You choose the time between each wave and the height, and the Water Dome will make it. It became popular when two pro surfers used it. After the Water Dome became popular, not that many people went surfing on beaches anymore. Until the water dome broke. Ever since then, no new creations like the Water Dome were made. Nature can be better than technology.

Drunk off cheap wine ordered off a trillion-dollar monopoly and sober off the thought of humanity's worst year coming to a close, I lazily sat in bed. Waiting.

I had made it very clear to myself: I wasn't going to sleep until the clock struck past midnight and Cinderella had to go home. (Not that Cindy or anyone else would be outside their homes because of the meteor showers or zombies, though.)

After a few minutes of slumping against the bedframe and letting my eyelids droop, I open my phone.

The screen smiles back sadistically: 12:01 am, December 32nd, 2020.