Dear wickedly awesome readers,

Let’s play a little game, shall we?

Every Monday, I’ll post a short rambling based on a prompt provided by you. In the comments, please make suggestions for the following week. One shall be picked at random and the game continues on.

The only rule? It must be 7 words or less.

I hope y’all will play along because, umm, it totally won’t work otherwise. Love you guys!

Hugs,

Annie

P.S. Psst! Get the ebook version for free here.

WEEK 39: Stay

Prompted by: Carole

WARNING: This fictional storyline may contain very disturbing situations, dubious consent, and graphic violence.

PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
PART ELEVEN
PART TWELVE
PART THIRTEEN

It was a mistake.

I wouldn’t regret a single moment. I wouldn’t change a single thing.

But it was still a mistake.

There would be serious consequences for this.

I’d held her in my arms. Tasted her on my lips. Inhaled her into my godforsaken lungs again…

Continue reading “WEEK 39: Stay”

WEEK 38: But remember, just for tonight

Prompted by: Tiara Giles

The crazy author says: Yeah, I couldn’t bring myself to kill off this storyline quite yet. The struggle is real…

Today was the day.

She did the same thing every year. Visited all the same places. Went through all the same motions.

Every single year.

Trust me, I would know. I’ve been her shadow for the past three.

Today was the day she hated me.

And the day I hated myself.

Continue reading “WEEK 38: But remember, just for tonight”

WEEK 37: Shoving the gun in his bloodied mouth

Prompted by: Yamna Rashid

The crazy author says: I took creative license and shortened the original suggestion (“I shoved the gun into his bloodied mouth”) to 7 words cuz I like 7 😏

The crazy author also says: Yeah, I’m reusing some chick’s name from a past flash fiction for the dude. Don’t judge me. Thanks.

I couldn’t breathe. I might throw up again. I was having another panic attack. Shaking uncontrollably. Like a dog shitting razorblades. Or a cat pissing goddamn shurikens.

My name was barely legible.

But it didn’t matter.

Because it was done.

Continue reading “WEEK 37: Shoving the gun in his bloodied mouth”