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“I’m a little concerned by what I see here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This … all of it.”
“That’s NOT every tool I own covered in red paint?”
“Okay, it’s bad when you say it like that.”
“Stop. You’re lapsing into sitcom-speech again. This is serious.”
By Creepy_Snowman URL on 12.08.2017
I’m not concerned when I see my opponent. I’ve always wanted to fight them, even though they’re intimidating physically and their skills as well.
By Lee on 12.08.2017
yearning will often lead to learning
ideas start churning, your inner fire brightly burning
some will say “what you’re learning is concerning”
and as you out-level them, concerning tersely turns to spurning
By omqwat on 12.08.2017
The taller man gave his accomplice a concerned look, eyebrows drawn together in the kind of disappointed frown one might expect from a father or friendly-employer.
By darseyrsm URL on 12.08.2017
He looked concerned about something that wasn’t in the room like there was something under his bed that waited for him to leave the house so that it could climb up and explore for the day while he worked. He looked concerned because he worried that this was enslavement. He was concerned that after all he was a bad guy.
By Flyderkov URL on 12.08.2017
Noah acted concerned, but I knew he wasn’t; his dark brow was furrowed, like a sleeping caterpillar, but nonetheless, his real feelings were more similar to glee rather than worry. As he watched the cashier get cuffed and dragged out of the grocery store, he turned his head toward me.
“So…did he find meth on him, or weed?” he asked.
I stared at him. “Neither.”
By Belinda Roddie URL on 12.08.2017
I felt myself melt in the dead of Winter at the foot of your doorstep, and consciously made the choice to open that hearth to share it.
I felt myself stretching toward the sun in the Spring with the light you brought me, but sitting under cherry blossoms I felt it begin to burn.
I felt myself shrivel away in the dark of that hallway when I asked you for a kiss, and that darkness found it’s way to my eyes my ears, and my mouth.
I felt my self disappear behind my pride and selfishness in the Summer, pleading for an answer from one of me, from friends, from professionals, feeling my way around in the dark I created.
I felt my self dying with the vine maples in the Fall, every leaf that dropped a bright red lie that stole a little bit of life from me as it settled on the ground, destined to be blown away.
It’s Winter again, and my self is stunted by the darkness, frozen by the frigid air that makes every step a sharp crunch as the last of the leaves are swept away by the relentless change of seasons.
When you can’t plead for forgiveness, you can make it so easy to be hated that you don’t deserve it, content with being a memory, if even that.
Content with being nothing.
By mistyfizz on 12.08.2017
When you can’t plead for forgiveness, you can make it so easy to be hated that you don’t deserve it, content with being thought of as nothing more than a bad memory, if even that.
Content with being nothing, if it means it doesn’t hurt.
Is it possible to be concerned when you are powerless?
Is it possible to be powerless yet do something?
Is it possible to do something and not get into terrible trouble for doing it?
Is it possible to get into terrible trouble and then get out of it?
Is it possible the answer is yes to all of those questions.
Say yes then, and get on with it.
By Joanna Bressler on 12.08.2017
Her eyes are full of swirling stars, swimming in a sea of deep, lapis lazuli blue, the kind you dig up from archaeological sites and that belonged to princesses a long time ago and now is the possession of the world.
By Riannon on 12.08.2017
By Ai URL on 12.09.2017
By mistyfizz on 12.09.2017
Her brow furrowed as she listened and he shook his head, “No, stop, don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”
“It’s clearly not fine.”
“You worry too much,” he exhaled.
“Well telling me not to worry is not going to make me worry any less, okay?”
By Bridget Grace on 12.09.2017
When you didn’t show up in School on Monday, nobody could reach you. You didn’t answer your phone and your parents didn’t either. I thought you threw in the towel because the finals had gotten the better of you and that you were out there enjoying the day, spraying “fuck School” on a wall.
On Tuesday we still hadn’t heard from you. On Wednesday our teachers didn’t ask us to try and call you anymore. We didn’t really think about the reason why.
On Thursday you still hadn’t turned up. We wrote another message on Facebook. “We are worried about you. It’s okay if you gave up on School, but disappearing like that is extreme. Please let us know you are alright. .” No answer came, as was to be expected.
Friday came around and within the first lesson, our teacher picked us up from our different Project Groups. We were almost running along the aisle, because she was walking so fast. We knew it had something to do with you. We just didn’t know how bad it would be.
Once we were all sitting down, she broke the news. Took a deep breath before speaking and told us, you had comitted suicide Monday morning and had died in the hospital Tuesday night. I will never forget my classmate’s loud scream right after.
By orangefish2 on 12.09.2017
Furrowing brow retreating into itself, wrinkles in the brain reflected on the forehead. “Where did you get that?” with the implication that any answer will be unacceptable; “Why?” without expecting a satisfying response. Concern is the precursor to anger, even in its sincerest most empathetic forms; concern is the brain attempting to meld with another brain and finding it wanting, and making a desperate scramble for answers before deciding upon wholesale rejection.
By Kybard on 12.09.2017
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.