# January 2016 - LM - Choose a Song



## kilroy214 (Jan 2, 2016)

*LITERARY MANEUVERS*​Choose a Song​



The winner will receive a badge pinned to their  profile and given a month’s access to FoWF where you’ll have access to  hidden forums and use of the chat room.


 You choose any song you  wish, and write a story based off of whatever inspires you based on it.  So basically - anything in the world you want to write, I'm sure you'll  find a song about it. In any case, leave a link at the very least, above the title. The song title DOES NOT  have to be part of the story. Just let us know which song it's based on.


*The judges for this round are:*

*ANONYMOUS! - *that's right! Who are the judges? Wouldn't _you_ like to know!


*Rules*



*All forum rules apply.* The LM competition is considered a creative area of the forum. If your story contains inappropriate language or content, do _not_ forget add a disclaimer or it could result in disciplinary actions taken. Click *here* for the full list of rules and guidelines of the forum. 
*No Poetry!*  Nothing against you poets out there, but this isn’t a place for your  poems. Head on over to the poetry challenges for good competition over  there. Some of us fiction people wouldn’t be able to understand your  work! Click *here* for the poetry challenges. 
*No posts that are not entries into the competition are allowed.* If you have any questions, concerns, or wish to take part in discussion please head over to the *LM Coffee Shop. *We’ll be glad to take care of your needs over there. 
*Editing your entry after posting isn’t allowed.* You’ll be given a ten minute grace period, but after that your story may not be scored. 
*Only one entry per member.* 
*No liking entries until the scores go up.* 
*The word limit is 650 words not including the title.*  If you go over - Your story will not be counted. Microsoft Word and  Google Drive are the standard for checking this. If you feel it’s  incorrect, send it to the host of the competition and we’ll check it for  you and add our approval upon acceptance. 





*There are a few ways to post your entry:*



If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you can simply post your entry here in this thread. 
You can opt to have your entry posted in the [URL="http://www.writingforums.com/threads/162587-January-2016-LM-Choose-a-Song?p=1947826#post1947826"]*LM Workshop Thread*[/URL] which is a special thread just for LM entries. You would put your story  there if you wish to protect your first rights, in case you wish to  have the story published one day. Note: If you do post it  in the workshop thread, you must post a link to it here in this thread  otherwise your story may not be counted. 
You may  post your story anonymously. To do so, send your story to the host of  the competition. If you wish to have us post it in the workshop thread  then say so. Your name will be revealed upon the release of the score. 


Everyone is welcome to participate. A judge's  entry will receive a review by their fellow judges, but it will not  receive a score.

*This competition will close on:*
Saturday, January 16th, at 11;59 GMT
Click here for the current time.

*Good luck, everyone.*​


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## bdcharles (Jan 4, 2016)

*Three Days: A Literal Triptych, Based On A Song*

Okay so maybe it's more of a two-parter 

Note that there is adult content and language.

It's based on Three Days, by Jane's Addiction. Sorry, I didn't see this bit until > 10 mins after submission but there it is


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## Ephemeral_One (Jan 7, 2016)

*The Birth of a Champion*

Johnny Hollow - Superhero

	On a moonlit rooftop overlooking the city are two shadowed figures. Their red eyes fixated on the bountiful lights adorning the great museum below. Both wore dark grey shirts with white pants but the left one wore hood and was crouched down. The right of the pair placed a finger to his ear and nodded once before announcing, “Master Sage, the boys in charge are celebrating.”


 	“Skip phase two, lieutenant. We shall play their cunning game of switch and bait. So shall we announce the end of this land of the lost and sedated,” Ordered the figure with a rasp. His gaze never looking away from the party below.  Sage's hooded head jerked up and he announced, “It looks like we've been betrayed.”


 	Behind the pair stood a shape limned in the light with brilliant purple eyes. Dressed in solid white with a bandanna of a wide smile did nothing to conceal their identity. Sage sucked in a deep breath and let it go. His new opponent announced, “I'm here to save my soul and take back what you stole!”


 	“Timothy, be a good mage and back to work...”


 	“Never!”


 	“Shall I call the others back?” The lieutenant asked as he reached for his ear. Sage stilled him with a shake of his head.


 	“Go on ahead. There's no need to resurrect a crusade over one fool child. I'll hear Timothy out,” Sage instructed. With a nod, the lieutenant leaned back to fall off the building to vanish into the night. With a chuckle Sage asked, “So, what is your complaint?”


 	“Complaint?” snarled Timothy burying his fingertips into his palms. Thrusting both hands forward, lights swirled and manifested into a sword and shield. Timothy roared as he dashed forward, “I'm tired of you looking down on us!” Raising his blade high, Timothy brought the ivory edge down onto Sage's head. Sparks crackled and an orb of raw magic held his weapon at bay.


 	“You're choosing the unenlightened over us?” Sage asked nonchalantly.


 	“They're! Still! People!” Shouted Timothy with every savage swing of his double edged blade. Raising a single finger, a beam of red light lanced out. Managing to catch the attack on his shield, the blow sent Timothy skidding backwards. Digging his weapon into the roof, Timothy killed his momentum. Sage launched another beam that his enemy caught on the blade this time. This time the attack dispersed at once. Timothy announced, “I'll stop this storyline of mass destruction!”


 	Sage's eyes widened. He laughed maniacally for a moment before saying, “I've been waiting, waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting and waiting! And I guess it's no surprise that one among my own number chooses to, if you'll forgive the pun, take up the blade.” Reaching out with an almost skeletal hand, shadows wrapped around Timothy before he was flung off the roof, in the direction of the museum. Unable to break free, he crashed into the building with the force of a meteor.


 	Timothy found himself unharmed and able to move inside the museum. An otherwise normal political rally with the bright reds, whites and blues was now marred with debris from his forcible entrance. The crowd looked on as Sage drifted into the room on a disc of air. Without a word, he launched a beam from each of his fingertips. Blocking with his shield, Timothy launched an arc of power with a swing of his blade.


 	The impact tore open a gouge across Sage's stomach. Clutching at his wound Sage gasped, “Well done, my dear White Knight. You have stopped me for now. But, will these people you've chosen understand what you've done to be free of me? Just know that I will return!” Shooting up through the hole in the ceiling, Sage vanished. As the night air whistled past his ears Sage smiled to himself, “I've been waiting for a Superhero intervention for so long. The fun begins.”


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## captflash76 (Jan 10, 2016)

"Available" - song recorded by Margie Rayburn-1957 - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dv0C5SP8ohE

I was dry. Scorched as one of them cattle skulls hanging in every bar I drank in. I took a short-cut through the alley, in a hurry to get to Casey’s Pub. As I walked, I checked my pocket making sure my ten was there.

“Yeah,” I mumbled fingering the bill.

 I had to take a leak ... bad. I spotted some trash cans scattered in a loose clump. They hid in deep shadow near a brick wall ... perfect. I pushed between them. That’s when I saw it. It looked like money. A rubber band was twisted tight around the bundle. I took a closer look. The smell of my urine and the rot of old garbage made me gag. Sure as hell it was money. I peeked above the can tops ... looked all around ... I was alone. I shoved the bundle deep down in my pocket.


 ***


 Casey’s Pub was quiet. Old Mclean and Paul, the bartender, held up the mahogany. Paul was a big man with no sense of humor. I ordered a beer. He set a sweating bottle on a little square doily and stood staring at me, fists on hips.

“What?” I said.

“Money asshole,” Paul squeaked.

 Paul was a sumbitch, but a six-three, two-seventy sumbitch. I ponied up. Paul was the kind a guy, you laughed at the sound of his voice, you woke up with your jaw broke and missing a few teeth. The regulars at Casey’s knew their place.

“Can’t ya’ put it on my tab?” I smiled ... he didn’t appreciate my joke.

“Cash, you prick. You know the drill around here ... cash.”

I dug in my pocket and threw the ten on the bar. By the time he had it flatten out, I’d drained my beer.

 Paul took the empty and my money. He returned with a fresh beer and my change. As he set the bottle down, the door opened. This babe, a flat-out fox, walks in. I gawked. McLean would’ve gawked, too, but he was in the bag. Paul? He just walked away.

 The chick cruised by leaving a heavenly scent in her wake. She turned, slow-strolled back and I gulped. She wiggled her gorgeous bottom on the stool next to mine. My stomach flipped over.

“Hey handsome,” she said. “Buy a tired girl a drink?”

 “Hey,” Paul choked ... none a ….

“Hey honey,” she winked at Paul. “I’ll have what the gentlemen’s having.”

She was talking about me? Wow.

“We don’t allow no hanky-panky in here,” Paul squeaked.

“You sick or something, honey?” She stared at Paul all big-eyed and smiling.

“I ain’t sick,” Paul tried a growl. “Just watch yourself.”

 “I always do, honey,” she said.

 Paul brought the girl a beer, doily and the rest of my change.

“What’s up, Paul?” I said, there were a few bucks left.

“Happy hour. Lucky you. More ways than one, maybe,” he grunted a chuckle.

 The girl turned my way and we clinked bottles.

“Thanks, baby,” she said.

“Don’t mention it,” I said. “What’s your name?”

 “Call me, Mona.” She blinked her innocent blink. “I moan a lot. What’s up, honey? Anything interesting?”

I held up a finger and ran to the men’s room. In a stall I checked the roll, there was ten grand there, maybe more. I peeled off a hundred.

 I slipped onto my stool … stretched. “I worked hard today … I’m stiff.”

 “I’m available, baby. I fix stiff. Make you feel a hundred percent better.”

I jumped up. “Let’s go,” I said.

“Hold on, honey, gotta’ fix my face.” She slipped off the stool and dug in her purse. 

 Her hand darted out. Next I knew, a handcuff locked on my wrist with a sharp snap.

“You’re under arrest, sweets. Solicitation of prostitution. Officer Danitti, Vice Squad, Barnwell Police. Your tax dollars at work ... honey.”

​


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## PrinzeCharming (Jan 11, 2016)

*Sealed Acquaintance (646/650)*

*Sealed Acquaintance *
Inspired by Sam Hunt's Take Your Time

Burkville, a small town nestled in northeastern Connecticut, engaged the community with annual events and fundraisers near the high school. Burkville Academy, home of the Burkville Griffins, is a boarding and day school with less than four hundred students enrolled. The students were taught to explore their opportunities for the next four years, except for finding love. High school was a time for self-discovery without drowning in the stagnant waters of a small rural community. The student body represented a school of bass eating everything that passed through the front doors of the Learning Center. The struggle to get laid with someone new was as real as the desperate attempt behind cannibalism. It’s a mammal. Mammals have meat. Survival requires protein. Meat has protein. Let’s eat them. 

 The students were split up as either friend zoned or poor choices. The nerds were the parasitic leaches attached to the sidelines waiting for their share. On a good day, it was someone’s hair follicle placed on a microscope slide. The teacher’s pet would try to use their slide as extra credit, but that never worked in their favor until they enrolled in Anatomy and Physiology.  It was required that all extra credit relates to the current lesson. The ecstatic faces lit up as soon as they discussed Trichology. 

“Ew, this one is gray!” a student proclaimed to the class after careful examination under the microscope. 

Mrs. Reid, the oldest science teacher in the Albert Winsted Science Complex, lit up with a beautiful shade of pink. She slowly caressed what was left on her head.  The class chuckled as they watched her become self-conscious. 

Mrs. Reid’s class was one of the homeroom classes allowing the students to transition to breakfast before class began. It was seven o’clock on a Monday morning when the daily traffic of students rushed to the dining facility for homemade pancakes topped with Vermont’s pure maple syrup. There were sausage patties, waffles, a wide range of boxed cereals, freshly picked fruit from the nearby orchards, and a smorgasbord of beverages. As everyone settled, a sudden angelic glow passed through the main doors. Jessica Harley, the new Burkville Academy transfer, had a radiant smile that would mandate Braille on everyone’s schedule. The jocks acted as predators on top of the large food pyramid living in an ecosystem of cliques and territorial instincts. The cheerleaders rolled their eyes as Jessica followed Mr. Huckleberg, the dedicated principal of nearly four decades, on an exclusive tour of the campus. Jessica returned back to the dining facility and sat down with the Drama Club as they were discussing their next play. 

Jessica quickly engaged in the conversation with a brief introduction. “Hey guys! I’m Jessica. I’m new here. Did I hear that correctly? You’re planning to host another play?” 

 The group nodded. “Yes, welcome to Burkville Academy! Would you be interested in auditioning for _Little Annabelle_?” the president of the club asked. 

Jessica’s enthusiasm was contagious. “Would I? Yes! What’s it about?”

The president cleared his throat. “Annabelle is a young teen who discovers how dreams are the imagery of procrastinators. She interviews her friends and makes a few of their dreams come true.” 

Jessica nods. “Where’s the sheet?” 

The group laughed. “There isn’t one. We already nominated you!” 

Jessica thanked everyone at the table, and then paused when she discovered my hand reached out for hers. She smiled as we exchanged our handshake. It was difficult to release Jessica’s soft hands pressed against mine. 

“I’m Alex. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Hey, I’m Jessica. Thanks!” 

I leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I like your Tiffany necklace. It suits your character.” 

Jessica giggled. “Thanks, but you don’t know me.” 

I nodded. “No, but I am willing to listen.” 

I signaled Jessica to follow me to the courtyard outside the dining facility. 

She _kissed_ me. Butterflies danced inside.


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## rcallaci (Jan 13, 2016)

*White Sails (646 Words) Language*

White Sails 

Space Oddity by David Bowie https://youtu.be/yY-cZew2xTc

My hands were shaking; it took all my effort to keep the spoon steady. As I watched the glorious China White turn to a thick gooey delight, my stomach started doing flip-flops. I was a body wreck in distress. I haven’t had a fix in five days. My head and body was screaming for the White. I was in county doing a little time for loitering and lewd behavior. I live in a cardboard box for Christ sake; I’m not going to pee and shit where I sleep. Those pigs just wanted to fuck with me; they wanted me to rat out my source. That will happen when pigs fly.

I stick the needle in my bruised and scarred arm and wait for the magic to happen. Relief comes in waves; everything slows down, all the bullshit and noise fades into the background. My mind drifts back to bygone days when life was filled with hopes and dreams. I replay and drift back to those times when people that I loved, loved me back, and the decisions that I made were healthy ones. 

I drift amongst the clouds and see a ship with massive sails headed my way. I float towards it, hoping it would accept me as one of its passengers or crew. 

My mind swings back to that unwelcome place called reality. How the hell did I get my hands on China White?  The best I could afford now is the black slop. Ah! Now I remember. Josephina, my fellow addict and supplier gave me the White as a gift for keeping my mouth shut. She well knew, as I did, that the White was too pure and strong for me. I was a used up junkie, no longer capable of being the #1 enforcer of the Torres Cartel. The junk ate me up which finally got me ending up living in this shithole of cardboard box. But I still knew too much, I needed to be silenced, I understood that, but rather than putting a bullet through my head or slitting my throat, they let me go out on the best high that the White can give. It pays to be loyal.

I’m now swimming in a sea of clouds; I hear voices calling my name. Roberto! Roberto!
Swim harder or the Ship to Nowhere will pass you by. I swim like a madman; I see Death’s arms reaching towards me. There’s no way will I let death slip away from me.  Soon iTs embrace will release me from this world of pain. 

“The son of a bitch is unresponsive”, said the male cop. “If we don’t get his stomach pumped out in the next five minutes he’s a goner for sure.”

“It’s too late”, said the female cop. “All the pumping in the world is not going to bring him back. What a missed opportunity, if we only knew that this low level junkie was in reality Roberto Chavis, we would have never let him out of county. The things he could of told us.”

I’m on the deck of the ship. The crew surrounds me; one by one they slap me on the back and welcome me as one of their own. The Caption barks out orders to set sail. 
We unfurl the White Sails. What magnificence. There whiteness momentarily hurts my eyes. The Six-Pointed Stars placed in the center of the sails are etched in red. They sparkle in the darkness. Forever will I float on these seas of nothingness, I will weigh anchor from port to port; sailing on a ship that goes nowhere. Death couldn’t get better than this.

“The poor bastard choked on his own vomit. He had enough heroin in him to kill a cow. 
What a horrible way to die, I bet he suffered some.” The coroner placed him in a body bag and zippered it shut.


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## aj47 (Jan 14, 2016)

Extra Credit


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## jenthepen (Jan 14, 2016)

Every Breath You Take by Sting 

 648 words. Warning: disturbing content.*


Obsession* 

“May I help you, sir?”

Rupert, startled by the voice at his shoulder, jumped back and quickly shook his head, “No, I’m er...”  

He moved away from the elderly librarian without finishing the sentence and took up a position by the returned books. Picking up a novel, he flicked through the pages blindly as he watched Alison Bentley stamping the books of the short queue of people at the desk. The older librarian had joined her now and Rupert timed his return to the counter carefully.

Alison handed a pile of books to the woman and turned to the next customer. Her smile faltered as she recognised him but she fought to remain professional. She could see that he had no books to check out but was clutching a piece of paper in his fat hand.

“Hello, Alison,” he smirked, “and how are you today?”

She looked at him steadily, unwilling to let him see how uneasy he made her feel. His creepiness had bothered her ever since she moved into the apartment above his and he had tried to force his way into her life. She had even moved to avoid his attention but now he was appearing here at the library where she worked more and more often.

“I have a little job for you,” he said, handing her the piece of paper, “I’d like to order that book, if you don’t have it at this branch.”

Alison prepared herself for some cryptic message and was surprised to find the title of an innocuous and obscure text book on applied mathematics. Only the precise uniformity of the letters and spacing in the handwritten note gave a clue to the obsessive nature of its author. She quickly typed the information into the computer and scribbled down the details of when the book would be available. She handed the paper back to him, snatching back her hand as he tried to grasp it.


Rupert quickly let himself into his apartment and hurried to the room. His breathing quickened as he gazed at the mementos that lined the walls. Alison was in all the pictures, of course. He took out his phone and studied the latest batch: Alison at the library counter, Alison stocking the shelves and, his favourite, Alison bending over to pick up a pile of books. He put down the phone and, with trembling fingers, he pulled out the piece of paper that Alison had touched. He brought it up to his face and kissed it, trying to catch the smell of her hands. Gently, he licked around the edges where her fingers had held it, his other hand stroking at his own inner thigh with mounting urgency.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang and Rupert jumped in alarm. He waited in silent fear and frustration until the caller finally left but the mood was ruined and he knew this visit with Alison was over.


It was after midnight before Alison came home. Rupert was angry and disappointed that she had kept him waiting so long. He was cold and aching from crouching in the bushes behind her apartment and even the sight of her car pulling into the parking space could not lift his mood. He stood, waiting for her to emerge into the brightness of the security light over her door but, when she finally appeared, he was shocked to see that she was not alone. The man had an arm around her waist


The morning light, spilling into the room did nothing to assuage Rupert’s anger, and Alison, looking down from the walls, seem to mock him. He took the carving knife and tried to show her that she was his alone but, no matter how he cut, her smile never faltered.

“Don’t you see,” he wailed, “you belong to me!” and, tucking the knife into his belt, he set off for the library.


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## godofwine (Jan 14, 2016)

Zoom - By Godofwine (song Zoom by The Commodores)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QPQz5nCn158

If you want to read the real full story of the meaning behind this song follow this link and scroll up to page 193
https://books.google.com/books?id=z...page&q=the story behind the song zoom&f=false


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## W.Goepner (Jan 14, 2016)

Deuce Coup


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## Teb (Jan 14, 2016)

*Lost for words*

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...hoose-a-Song?p=1952692&viewfull=1#post1952692


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## sed (Jan 14, 2016)

*Through the snow*

Emile Pandolfi - Once upon a December

618 words

*Through the snow*

From behind a half-frosted window, Trevor watched the large snowflakes continuously fall beyond his cabin's blue porch light outside. The afternoon winds had since died down, but the snow bands they'd brought were now free to unleash their icy fury on every town and village directly east of the local lake. He sighed quietly as the woodstove cracked and popped in the living room behind him, his tired eyes wandering out past the small clearing of his snow-covered yard before finding the dark tree line of the surrounding forest. She was out there, somewhere. He could feel her now that he'd stopped running.

With another sigh he pulled his new winter coat from the recliner beside him before a small thump echoed throughout the two-room cabin. Trevor stiffened as his nervous eyes glanced around the tiny room before coming to rest on the tattered book of arcane mythology that must have fallen from his coat pocket. His Bluetick Coonhound, Radar, lifted his furry head behind him groggily before plopping back down next to the woodstove. "No need to get up," Trevor muttered as he picked up the book and pulled on his heavy jacket before stepping out into the night. 

The smell of freshly cut pine and the bite of arctic air met him as he shivered before lighting a cigarette. It _was_ cold, easily the coldest he'd seen it in the few months he'd lived here, probably colder than he'd seen it _anywhere_ in his thirty some-odd years. According to his flannel-clad "neighbors" (the closest being two miles from here), he hadn't seen _nothin'_ yet. Regardless, his free hand found the warmth of his coat pocket quickly enough before bumping into the ancient text therein. He pulled it out momentarily, his weary eyes studying it's leather-bound cover and Latin title,_ I guess archaeologist isn't exactly a job you can just quit after all._

With another shiver he stuffed the book back into his pocket and lifted his cigarette to his lips before halting suddenly. Slowly he turned to his left and froze as he noticed the pair of eyes watching him from the porch shadows. Despite the darkness he could still make out that meticulously straight black hair as it hung down over a red woolen jacket and slender frame. As if in a dream, he felt himself turn back around slowly, his arm mechanically raising his cigarette to his lips as his blank gaze surveyed the glittering blue and white landscape in front of them.

"Hey Trev," she whispered, her coarse yet melodic voice slicing through the dense silence and sending waves of revulsion and yearning through him simultaneously.

Exhaling slowly he managed, "Undine," before the sound of footsteps began slowly crunching through the thin layer of snow atop the porch timbers behind him. In quiet desperation he listened, each step sending shock waves up his spine as she closed the distance and came to a halt. He felt her cold white hand gently brush back a strand of brown hair behind his ear before coming to rest on his unshaven cheek. In horror he felt her slowly but firmly guide his face towards hers, his frantic eyes wild as they met her compassionate, inviting gaze. 

Without warning the porch light blew out and darkness swallowed them. Motionless within the dark Trevor waited, his own labored breaths the only sound amidst the silent snowfall. 

 "It's cold Trev, and it's been a long journey. Let's head inside and talk awhile."

It was a few hours later before the dark-haired, twenty-something emerged from the burning cabin beneath a purple morning sky. Optimistically she pushed through the snow-covered clearing with Coonhound in tow before disappearing into the surrounding trees.


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## joshybo (Jan 15, 2016)

*The Oracle
by joshybo
based on
Climbing Up The Walls
by Radiohead*​


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## inkwellness (Jan 15, 2016)

*It's My Party!*

It's My Party! (641 words)

Based on the song: It's My Party by Leslie Gore www.youtube.com/watch?v=XsYJyVEUaC4


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## tjc5172 (Jan 16, 2016)

John Legend- Again*

Another Again
*
(graphic language 610 words)



“Why do I do this to myself?”
The woman with the raven-black hair switches cheeks on the tattooed chest of a man who is staring blankly at the ceiling.
“Why do you always ask?”
The tattooed man absently mindedly runs his calloused hand up the round of her “other” cheek to the small of her back and back down again. The raven haired woman closes her eyes in response to this motion and opens them upon the finish.
“You’re crazy and I’m even crazier for doing this. Every time, without fail, it always ends unceremoniously for me while you just move on.”
The large, tattooed man shifts uncomfortably on his back and looks down at her in a mustered show of seriousness.
“If I was always moving on, then why do I always end up in this position, literally?”
“Don’t be funny”
“I’m not. We’re stuck together, you and I.”
“Such a romantic.”
The lightly freckled, raven-haired woman takes her head off his chest, gets up, sits on the edge of his bed and picks up her phone.
“That lackluster huh?”
“Don’t fish for compliments. I like you better when you’re quiet.”
“Checking in with some guy?”
“You have the nerve to actually be jealous?”
“You bring it out of me. I’m jealous of myself fucking you in my own daydreams.”
“You’re ridiculous. If you feel so jealous about me, why is this our first time seeing each other in a year.”
“You know how we are. Never in the right place at the right time. Besides, you remember how we met. How can I trust you when I stole you from someone else initially? I think what we have is safe for everybody.”
Angela drops her phone and winces at the blow. Michael stiffens and sits himself upright against the headboard of his bed, readying himself for the fallout. 
“Fuck you. _Safe_. What is that shit? I’m safe enough to fuck in between girlfriends though right? Oh, I’m sorry, sometimes during as well? Do they agree with this?”
“Don’t act like you’re not doing the same thing.”
“Yea, whenever you disappear. That’s the thing Mikey, I’m always here. You know this and you take advantage of it and hide behind excuses. Do you want me to apologize for giving myself to you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I love you, I just can’t trust you. That’s what it is. I’m no angel and I don’t judge you for anything especially because it led us to each other, but how am I supposed to trust you? All it takes is something new and shiny for you to shift your interest.”
“How can you say that to me? How can you resent me and love me?”
“I ask myself that all the time. I can’t let you go though. No matter how much I try.”
Angela stares at the only man she has ever loved and who’schild she once had removed from her after one of the many times he went missing. The man she will probably ever love more than herself simply because of the undeniable connection of their beings. 
“I’m not going to apologize for how we met. Our connection was undeniable and if you’re afraid, you’re afraid. I have to do what’s best for me.”
“What about us?”
“There is no us. I’m engaged Mikey. I’m not putting my life on hold anymore. I gave you a chance today. I would have called off everything if you said what I needed to hear.”
Michael recoils as if hit by a shotgun slug.  
_“__You can__’__t __Ange__, I love you. We belong to each other. You belong to __me__.__”_


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## Smith (Jan 16, 2016)

Night Drive (475 words)

Based on the song of the same name by Jimmy Eat World.


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## chrisatola (Jan 16, 2016)

*Pitch (648 words, one profanity)

*Pitch

Me and My Uncle Grateful Dead, written by Judy Collins


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