1 minute. Go!

Hey, writer-type folks. Every Friday we do a fun free-write. No reason. Just ending the week in style.

Basically, you can write whatever you want in the comments section. You have one minute. Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. Play as many times as you like (doesn't have to be today, even). 

So, tell a friend. If you have one. If not, tell your enemies. Then send 'em here to read your 'one' and encourage them to play. 

One minute ain't a lot of time. Have fun! :)

Everything is cool and quiet underneath the water. The world above matters little, except if you're into breathing. I'm not. I think it's overrated. Like televised sports. Like expensive restaurants. You know what I'd like to do? I'd like to dive down deep, letting the water force me under until the pressure is too much and I am beer can crushed. Part of the water.

(Not feeling that one. Take 2.)

He wakes up with eye grit, rubs it in and then regrets it. He is a simple man, and he doesn't concern himself with such things. Preventing pain is low on the list of priorities. He stretches and dresses and brushes his teeth. He wonders why ... just why. Why everything? None of it makes sense. And none of it matters when the alarm yanks you out of that dream where you finally kissed Suzie at the Sadie Hawkin's dance. That dream may never come back. You may always wonder. 

The sledgehammer takes care of the alarm clock nicely. 

One minute. GO!

Hey, writer-type folks. Every Friday we do a fun free write. Basically, you can write whatever you want in the comments section. You have ONE minute. Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So tell a friend. If you have one. If not, tell your enemies. 

Sometimes I take a vacation outside. Strange place, that. Lots of people. Trees that reach toward an endless sky. Smells are different out there. I find myself wondering what the world smells like to a dog. Either wonderful or horrible. Has to be.

I am not a dog. I will taste wind. I will feel the falling sun, catch it on my shoulders. Fuck Atlas. He can keep the earth.

One Minute. Go!

Her hair was dark black. It smelled like some kind of fruit. One of the things I see at the supermarket and am too afraid to try. Too afraid to admit I don't know how it works. That's the thing, see. I don't understand how it works. Here you are, black hair and flower scent and I don't know what to do with you.