#auothors

[hallekrahn]

Jealousy Killed Michael

I woke to the shock of snow falling on my face. I noticed that everyone had started out into the winter trail, all except the one kid. I couldn’t seem to remember his name. He tittered slightly, taking my hand and offering to warm ourselves with a race in the mid-winter snow. We caught up with the other three, all dressed in long trench coats and wool scarves. I tucked my mitted hands into the pockets of my parka, wriggling between the two tallest boys. One of them wrapped his arm around my shoulders, telling us about how he’d be famous if he went through with his plan to save the world. We laughed, a voluminous plume of warm air just ahead of us.

The tallest boy (the one with his arm around me) took my hand by surprise, spinning me in a circle before hugging me tight to his chest. A huffed down chuckle escaped from the stately blonde. His heavy body “nudged” the lankier boy and me, sending us flying into the snowbank. Smirking at one another, we grabbed handfuls to throw at the boy standing before us. Instead of hitting him, I hit the redhead not far behind.

She shrugged, wiping the cold precipitation from her face. When the tan, dark-haired boy grabbed his snowball, I jumped. He was the nice boy that waited. Michael, I remembered his name now. His orb of white hit the redhead square in the back of the head, and the snowball fight was on. We must’ve laughed for hours. And I couldn’t tell if the cold or our breathlessness was the cause of our red faces.

“Michael?” I asked, though I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to.

“Shut it,” he muttered, holding an icy hand to my mouth. “You don’t ta--”

The world muted following the loudest sound I ever heard. My ears rang, as muffled cries and shuffling---stomping---of feet surrounded me. I don’t know when or how, but I was on my knees, Michael’s white scarf stained a vibrant red. His head lay lank on the ground, the color from his scarf leaking out into the snow. The blonde boy was at my side, squeezing my shoulder as I shook, rocking back and forth before the boy who cared so much about me.

I heard something heavy hit the ground. The lanky boy had thrown his bag to the snow at his feet. The redhead watched him solemnly. She was probably only glad he wasn’t off to jump some kids in anger.

“What do we do?” My voice was hoarse as if I’d been yelling for weeks straight without a drop of water. The blonde shook his head, urging me to follow the other two. He had taken care of messes like this too many times before.

I listened, walking up to the other two. The girl was crying, her freckly face blotchy red, no longer from the fun of ten minutes ago. Or was it ten hours ago? Days? Grief must do odd things to your sense of time.

The wolfy boy ahead of us gave out howling bawls. I stopped myself from looking back to see what the blonde was doing. He knew grief like an old friend. It was new for us. Still, it felt familiar, as if we’d seen it so much during a great war or a battle resulting in nothing but death. White snow turning red without termination.

I heard the click of something like the one before Michael fell. Then I saw a girl just like me. She was slim and pale, jealousy flooding her eyes. When the gun pointed at me, I realized this body wasn’t mine. The one I could see. The one with the gun. That is me. This body had skin like Michael’s, and hair just as coarse. I was in his sister’s body. Baby sister.

I snapped my eyes up just in time to see Michael’s little replica in girl form notice me. As she brought her arm up to point at me, I prepared quickly to fire the next killing bullet. I wondered if she would bleed as gorgeously as Michael did. The cold metal in my hands longed to be hot, but instead, my throat felt warm. It was if a thick, warm liquid was poured onto me. It was an odd impossibility. The world turned red when my fingertips touched the incision through my neck, deep maroon painting them. As I was tipped backward by a hand of energy much stronger than my own, I saw the blurry image of shiny metal dipped in my blood. A tanned hand clutched the handle.

[poetrywhore4ever]

We are writers, my love. We don't cry. We bleed on paper.

a.y.

[dubaarnews]

national camps: National Camps: Pandemic-forced stop-start pattern hurting India’s plans to get sports back on track | More sports News – Times of India NEW DELHI: The moment things start looking a little better, it strikes again. That's been the nature of the yet untamed…

[newsbunddle]

national camps: National Camps: Pandemic-forced stop-start pattern hurting India's plans to get sports back on track | More sports News - Times of India

national camps: National Camps: Pandemic-forced stop-start pattern hurting India’s plans to get sports back on track | More sports News – Times of India

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NEW DELHI: The moment things start looking a little better, it strikes again. That’s been the nature of the yet untamed coronavirus, which continues to disrupt India’s plans to get sports back on track. The latest setback happened at the Dr Karni Singh Shooting Range (DKSSR) in Delhi, where a coach tested positive for COVID-19on Thursday. The Sports Authority of India (SAI) assuaged fears…

[moonlit-jeno]

i noticed you don't have anything with ten on your masterlist and i wanted to know if i could request anything? ive looked through your works and theyre really good but hes my ult and i really like him👉👈 if not it's fine, i'm a auothor too and sometimes request are hard! but i'm gonna follow you and hope for something!

ah yeah idk why but ten’s hard for me to write for, and my reqs are closed rn, but i have a few waiting to be written for him that will be up (hopefully) soon

[anuxanamoon]

Kinda sorta low-key pissed.

So apparently there was supposed to be a walk out today and I as fucking excited cause I never done it before. I even asked my fucking dad if I could do it cause it's like a protest to the superintendent of my towns schools cause they're trying to make budget cuts and the schools are suffering for it; we can't go on any field trips or have after school, and I go to a fucking art school so budget cuts aren't what we need going on right now.

But I feel like shit cause I'm in English class and my friend's are sitting across from me paying no fucking mind to me, I guess I should be used to it by now.

Anyway the fucking walk out was cancelled and rescheduled to next week, only people is next week is a long fucking time away and I'm impatient as a mother fucker also my mom gave me ten dollars to use cause it was at 11 a.m. and I was just gonna be walking around downtown until 2:15

I wanted to go window shopping with my friend but she left early.

Fucking English sucks actual anus. We're reading this shitty book called Sula and I've read maybe two pages before realizing I actually hate it- it's about this little black girl in the 1920's going through life. The book's good in the sense that the description is on point but the plot isn't for me.

I'm reading "organic cigarettes" on wattpad. It's an Ereri fanfic, it's pretty well written.

Okay that's an understatement. I love this book the deatail I'm each paragraph is like getting high for an auothor. Its like an orgasm every sentence, fuck I love that book. Go read it.