line from conan gray - maniac

“people want to get what they don't have”

“You’re so much better off, and you don’t even realize it,” Jayden spits, “I wish I had your life.”

“It’s not as glamorous as you think it is,” Logan retorts, “There are some aspects of your life that I wish I had.”

“Really? Like what?” snaps Jayden, “Barely being able to make ends meet? Never eating proper meals?” The dip between his brows deepens, lines in his face drawn taut. His ears are a bright red, muscles in his neck bulging.

“At least your family cares about you. They love you for who you are, not your achievements,” Logan cries out, expression pained. Bitterness is apparent in the creases of his eyes. It spills out from the edges of his lips, flowing out like ink onto an empty page. “I have no value if I don’t perform well.”

“You had those opportunities. I never had chances like that,” Jayden clenches his fists in frustration, “Private tutors, paying off teachers for extra help outside of school. My family would never be able to afford that.”

“I never asked for any of that,” Logan exclaims, voice cracking, “All I ever wanted was for my parents to be proud of me. To be loved,” he whispers, voice fading out.

“You still can’t deny that you’re privileged.” Jayden crosses his arms over his chest, but his tone has softened significantly, the edges dulled.

“I know that I am. I admit to that.” Logan lets out a long breath, “Still, my life isn’t perfect. I’m just saying that when you say you wish you had my life, you have no idea what my life was really like. It’s not as great as it seems.”

“Better than my life,” Jayden mutters.

“If you value certain things,” Logan trails off, “The grass is always greener on the other side.”

(302 words)

Water envelops my hands, gleaming in the midafternoon sun. Droplets bead at the edges of my fingers. I look down in disgust. Out of all of the abilities I could have gotten, why did I have to end up with this one.

The most useless of all.

It is extremely hard to control due to its liquid state and takes years to master. On top of this, you need existing water to use the ability. We live in the middle of a desert.

Sand stretches as far as the eye could see. A vast expanse, dotted with stray trees, branches frail and thin. The wind picks up, picking up sand in its wake, swirling it across the sky.

I glance over at the others. They sit around a pile of sticks, fire blossoming from their hand, sparks spraying from their fingertips. They gaze at it in wonder as it creeps up their arms, tracing its way across their body.

What I wouldn’t give to be them.

Instead, I sit in front of a rusty bucket, attempting to draw out the dirty water that not even the poorest beggar would touch. It swirls around the bottom, silt gathering. Putrid smell reaches my nostrils.

(202 words)

content warnings: subtle mentioning of death, blood

moments that broke me - a writing comp entry

———————–

I can not sleep.

Her presence is here.

It is in the gentle summer breeze, seeping in through the window, like water slipping between careless fingers. Her warm breath as she whispered stories in my ear, ones that she thought I could not hear.

It is in the broken vase by my bedside, fractured pieces held together by strings of glue. The one that she gave me on our anniversary, placing it into my open hands like it was the sun and I was her world.

I don’t remember if I said thank you.

I don’t remember if I smiled.

I do remember when it shattered.

When I dropped it in my carelessness, my negligence. The fragments embedded in my hands, crimson staining my palms. Dark ink streaks on the pages of our story, the ones that she painstakingly wrote, huddled over a dim light. Trembling hands across the paper.

My knees scraped the floor, unable to hold up my weight any longer. I held us in my hands. Like glass shards, they reflected memories back at me.

We fell apart at the seams; I miss what we used to be.

———————–

We were strangers.

She laughs at my joke, which slides out from underneath my tongue before I can stop it. I watch her smile, my heart thrumming in my chest, thoughts going a million miles a second. She looks ethereal, her pale skin luminous, her presence intoxicating. An angel in my midst.

I feel as if I have opened my eyes for the first time.

As she looks down at her phone, distracted, a strange disappointment floods my senses. Instinctively, I brush my fingers against her chin, gently tilting her head towards me.

“I could look at you for hours,” I whisper, words slipping out before I can reconsider. I gaze into her eyes, flecks of gold entrancing me. She pauses, and uncertainty lingers in the air. My heart misses a beat.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” she finally responds, slipping her hand into mine. We lock eyes. I like the way she looks at me. A mix of wonder and amusement sweeping across her features, a touch of laughter at the edges of her lips. I can’t take my eyes off of her.

Gently, I pull her closer, our shared breath turning to wisps of smoke in the cool winter air.

“Do you want to go to the park?” I ask her hesitantly, “I’ve heard the sunset is pretty from there.”

“That sounds good.” She smiles. An odd sort of grin overtakes my face. The kind that you couldn’t stop, even if you tried.

Grasping her hand tightly in mine, I break into a run, pulling her with me. She lets out a startled gasp, which soon dissolves into laughter as she begins to run as well.

We race down the street, our hair fluttering wildly behind us like banners, stray strands plastered to our faces. The wind tinges our cheeks a feverish pink. My scarf twirls in the air, spinning like a skater on ice.

Lying back on the grass, our chests heave as we gasp for breath. My body shakes with exhilaration, riding on the thrill like a rollercoaster. I’m not sure if I ever want to come back down.

I intertwine my hand with hers as we gaze up at the sky, a wash of orange creeping into soft gray as the sun sinks below the horizon, fading from view. Slowly, it darkens into shades of deep blue as stars begin to emerge from its folds, awakening from their slumber. A new beginning.

“Thank you,” she starts, “For that…experience. You’re quite an unpredictable person.”

“Ah, well. They say love can drive a person wild.” I glance at her slyly.

“Sure,” she responds dryly, rolling her eyes.

“Would you… like to do this again sometime?” I fidget with the sleeves of my jacket.

“I would love to.” She squeezes my hand gently.

I jot down my number and hand it to her. She cradles it in her palm, clutching it to her chest as if it were a treasured possession.

I loved her then.

———————–

We bought a flat together in New York City.

I sit in a plush velvet armchair, gazing out the window at the streets below. It’s raining outside, droplets pattering the ground in rhythm as they permeate every inch of their surroundings. Faint sunlight filters through the dark clouds, reflecting off of the beading water.

The door opens, and I hear her boots squeak on the tile floor. Water drips from her pants. Droplets line their edges.

“You’re soaking wet. What happened?” I jump up from my seat, rushing towards her.

“I’m fine," she waves off my concerns, “Come with me.” She wraps a cool hand around my wrist, tugging me towards the doorway. Her touch is urgent, pulling at something deep inside of me. I cannot ignore it. Reluctantly, I follow her as she leads me outside.

“I don’t see the point of dragging me out here,” I mumble, pulling my hood over my head as we reach the street.

“Shh,” she places a gentle finger on my lips, sending ripples down my spine, “Close your eyes and listen.”

I can hear the rhythmic pattering of rain droplets as they hit the ground, the cracks of lightning, the rumbling of thunder. A storm’s symphony. Water trickles down my face, creating rivulets down my spine, tracing intricate paths across my skin.

I open my eyes.

She takes my hand in hers, grasping my waist firmly with the other. With a gentle touch, she twirls me across the concrete, my body bending and flowing like a river. I create long strokes through the air, arching my back to form a graceful waterfall as my hair skims the ground.

I do not feel as if I belong here, in this time and space.

I am the summer breeze.

I am the whispering of the rain.

Everything and nothing all at once.

Finally, she pulls my body to hers, and we tilt our heads back. Hair plastered to our faces, water beading on the edges of our lips. I can taste the sweet summer rain.

It tastes like her.

I got too comfortable.

———————–

Cracks begin to form.

It’s been five years since that fateful day.

When I pledged to love her forever.

The sound of clinking cutlery fills the air. Dim lamp light casts dark shadows across the table, creeping up from the recesses of the room.

“How was your day?” she asks through a mouthful of noodles.

“Good.”

“Did the new order come in?”

“Yes, it went well.” I push around my salad with my fork, scraping the plate clean. I pick it up, bringing it to the sink. “Goodnight, I’m heading off to bed.”

“Goodnight,” she murmurs, face unreadable in the darkness. Yet, I can still see the traces of words across her lips, hesitancy lining the edges. She stays silent.

Indifference.


———————–


I didn’t give her what she deserved.

We grow old together.

“Do you want to come outside with me?” She asks me, “It’s a good day for gardening.” A hopeful light fills her eyes, trailing down her body in threads to her shaking fingers, which cradle packets of sunflower seeds.

“I’m busy reading my paper,” I respond as I raise my cup of coffee to my lips, taking a long sip. My eyes don’t leave the page.

“Are you sure?” she starts, “It could be…just like old times. I picked out these flowers because they reminded me of us.” She tucks her wrinkled hands into her pockets.

“You’re too stuck in the past,” I snap at her. I regret it almost instantly. Her smile crumbles like a building struck by a wrecking ball, falling to pieces in seconds.

“Things were different in the past,” she murmurs, tone wistful, “You were different.” With that, she walks out the door, grabbing her cane.

We were different.

———————–

I hesitated.

A brush clasped in her hand, she draws stories across the canvas, precise brushstrokes bringing the characters to life. They spin and twirl across a landscape of color, swaying to the gentle summer breeze. Soft creases of concentration appear across her brow. Her eyes are distant, unfocused as they flutter back and forth like a butterfly’s wings, flitting across the room.

She adds streaks of orange to the sky, a sunset emerging from the depths of the canvas. As she puts on the finishing touches, she pauses, brush held in midair.

“Do you love me?” she asks, lips parting slightly. I hesitate, fingers resting on my keyboard. My heart beats faster, palpitating in my rib cage.

“Yes,” I say. She doesn’t respond. Tension hangs in the air, delicate threads pulled taut across the room, quivering from the pressure. My answer feels incomplete.

I reach for her hand, squeezing it comfortingly. Turning to me, she smiles weakly, brushing her fingers against mine. Only now do I notice the tiredness flooding her eyes. The way her fingers shake in mine, the shuddering of her body.

“Do you really mean it?”

“Of course,” I soothe, grasping her hand tighter.

As if holding her hand longer will make her believe my words

As if holding her hand longer will make me believe my words.

The guilt seeps into every fiber of my being. Water trickling down my spine, a numbness spreading down my back. I can’t feel anything.

Will that make it all better?

I hold onto her. My lifeline. The warmth of her hand pulsates throughout my body. She hums happily to herself, each whisper of sound shattering my heart to pieces.

What are we?

———————–

I hate the way she looks at me.

She holds a vase in her hands, a pristine white, sunflowers dotting the surface.

“I made it myself,” she says, a small smile spreading across her face. The sun emerging from its slumber. Her gaze shifts towards me, expression fracturing as she takes in the visible confusion on my face. My mouth parted in surprise. Head tilted to the side. “It’s our 40th anniversary,” she adds, voice tapering off into a soft whisper.

Bewilderment shifts to cool realization, flooding throughout my body. Ice-cold water poured down my back.

“Oh,” I say, the word catching in my throat, edges slicing at my tongue, “Well, it’s just a date. There are more important things.” I shrug, trying to play it off, indifference rolling off my shoulders.

“Right.”

She places the vase into my open hands.

It slips from my fingers.

The world stills.

My breath caught in my throat.

I’m falling.

Falling.

Air rushing by my ears.

She lunges for the vase.

I think she’ll catch us.

I let her take control.

The weight is too much.

A second too late, I reach out my hands.

It shatters instantly, shards scattering out from the impact point.

A glittering wreckage.

———————–

I'm not a good gardener.

A sunflower lies at my feet.

I thought that once it had grown, I wouldn’t need to sustain it.

It had water; it had sunlight.

It would flourish on its own.

There was a crack in the stem.

An irreversible wound.

It was too late.

We were too broken.

I’m broken.

———————–

I lost her.

The distinctive smell of disinfectant pervades the air, stinging my nostrils. Machines beep all around me, screens, monitors, and tubes filling the room.

I clasp her hand in mine, trembling against the white sheets. I can feel her heartbeat, the slow, rhythmic beat. Steady. Please stay steady.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe, wetness at the edges of my eyes. Silence.

“Owen,” she whispers, voice faint and cracking like sandpaper. She lifts her head off of the pillow, shuddering from the effort.

“Madeline.”

Tears begin to well from my eyes. Ink stains on the white pages.

Our story brings itself to a close.

I wept for what I once had.

I wept for what I could have had.

I wept for all the chances I did not take.

Treasure the precious moments.

———————–

(1999 words)

*edited to add content warnings

whyy scratch filter

very rushed very bad weekly ASDFS


Weekly 4:

- Jacob and Blythe, two teenage boys with very different statuses. Jacob is the crown prince, set to inherit the throne. Since birth, he has been raised to fill this role, and every aspect of his life revolves around it. Yet, he dislikes the responsibility that comes with it. He often wishes he was ordinary. He treasures freedom that so many take for granted.

- Blythe is a stablehand. He is a commoner and grew up as an orphan, extremely poor. Despite this, he is very bright, and quite intelligent. Though he has never formally attended school, he learns on his own time. If he had been born royal, he would certainly have had a high place in society.

- During an important festival, Jacob hides away from everyone, disappearing into the stables. There he meets Blythe and begs him not to give him away. Blythe reluctantly obliges, after Jacob promises that he will reward him for his silence.

- The two boys quickly become friends, and Jacob enjoys these bits of freedom. Being friends with Blythe makes him feel normal. He can ignore the weight of his duties, even if just for a few moments.

- Jacob often sneaks Blythe into the castle, where the two roam around. Nobody knows of their relationship, and it wouldn’t be beneficial for either of them if they were found out. A prince should have friends of a similar status and not interact closely with commoners.

- Jacob stole a large cake from the kitchens. On his bed, the two share it, and Jacob feeds Blythe pieces as he reads over one of the two’s favorite books. Some gets on Blythe’s cheek and before Jacob can stop himself, he brushes it away. Something passes between them and suddenly everything becomes awkward.

- They become something more than friends, but neither is able to accept it. They continue on as if nothing has happened, sharing secret moments and glances. Finally, Blythe makes the first move, kissing Jacob after he comes back from a trip to one of the neighboring kingdoms. Jacob does the same back, but guilt brews inside him. He has just been offered a marriage proposal to one of the neighboring kingdom’s princesses, an alliance that will greatly benefit their kingdom. However, he chooses not to tell Blythe, wanting to enjoy the relationship.


-They begin a secret relationship. As it furthers, and they become more intimate, Jacob reveals the truth, unable to keep it from Blythe any longer. He becomes extremely angry, saying that Jacob doesn’t treat him or the relationship secret and only wants to be with him to “rebel.” That he will toss him away at the first chance. He’s tired of being a secret lover.


(448 words)


Exposition:

Jason buttons up his shirt, tucking it neatly into his pants. Lace lines the collar, intricate detailing down the front and across the shoulders. He turns to his closet, pulling out a maroon vest. Gold designs decorate the entire front, depictions of blossoming flowers stretching upwards, with gilded buttons at the clasp.

He turns to the mirror, letting out a long breath. In the mirror, a tall figure stands, short straw-colored hair slicked back, piercing green eyes evident through a sea of freckles. Tailored clothing hugs every curve in his body, accentuating his small waist and broad shoulders. He rolls up the cuffs of his sleeves, revealing a gold bracelet and several rings, with gleaming green gemstones.

A prince.

Jason can barely recognize the person staring back at him.

Serious demeanor, cool, unbothered look in his eyes.

His mouth is a firm line.

Harsh angular brows.

(146 words)

Jacob reaches for his crown, placing it firmly atop his head. Strands of gold intertwine to form a gleaming circlet, embedded with rubies, held firmly in place. It feels heavy. An awkward weight. No matter how many times he does this, he doesn’t think he’ll ever truly get used to it.

How he longs to take it off, be free from the restrictions that bind him. To frolic in fields of flowers, pollen staining his clothes. Cool raindrops on his face, trailing down his neck. Damp strands of hair. He loves the earthy smell the morning after it rains.

Letting out a long sigh, Jacob opens his door, entering the hallway. His fantasies are just fantasies, after all. Unrealistic for a reason.

—–

Jacob waves at the crowds from his throne. His back aches from the rigid back, which digs into his spine. It is made of fine, imported cherrywood. The edges are encrusted with gold, which is melded into the grain of the wood. On the top, they form three spikes, curving outwards like waves. Another flashy display of their kingdom’s wealth.

He knows full well what commoners think of royalty. How they idolize them, worshiping them like gods. They cannot make any mistakes.

The crowds scream his name, cheering loudly as they press against each other, reaching up to get closer to him, desperate hands flailing in the air. Their bodies pack the narrow streets like sardines.

It’s exhausting.

Having to be perfect all of the time.

Presentable.

The forced politeness and smiles that he plasters across his features.

God, when will it end.

—–

Seven years old.

His nanny, Alicia, was reading Cinderella to him. Jacob sat cross-legged on the bed, eyes wide in excitement. Her storytelling was spellbinding, words making the characters come alive, emerging from the pages.

“What do you think of Prince Charming?” she asks him, a gentle smile upon her lips.

“He’s very brave,” Jacob murmurs, his head tilted to the side in thought.

“What about Cinderella? Do you think she’s beautiful? The perfect fit for a charming young prince like you.” The nanny laughs, ruffling his hair affectionately.

“But, I don’t want to marry her.” Jacob pouts. “I want to marry Prince Charming!”

Alicia freezes, eyes open in fear. The world stills. Jacob doesn’t understand what he has done wrong, yet he can see the wrongness of his answer reflecting in her features. The taste of the words on his lips

“Surely you don’t mean that,” she stammers. She grasps his shoulders tightly, shaking him back and forth in a panicked fervor. “Tell me you don’t mean it.”

“But, but I do mean it. He’s handsome and brave.” Jacob crosses his arms over his chest firmly. He twists out of her grip.

“You… you can’t. Princes can’t marry other boys.” Alicia cups his face in her palms, “Do you understand that, my sweet prince.” Her eyes are unfocused, flicking back and forth wildly, occasionally focusing back on him.

“Yes,” he responds dejectedly, trembling in her grip. “I understand.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, she releases him, relief blossoming across her face. He immediately backs away, frightened.

Only then does he begin to understand what his responsibilities as a prince mean. Restrictions. The things he can and cannot do.

Choices that have been made for him.

The heavy weight of his crown.

—–

“Jacob, you need to go greet people in the throne room. There is a long line of people waiting for you,” Jacob’s mother, Queen Adeline, instructs. Her mouth is a firm line, brow furrowed.

“Why?” the words slip out from between his lips before he can stop them. He braces himself for a reaction, already knowing what the response will be.

“Because you’re the crown prince. This is your duty, your responsibility,” she chastises. The lines surrounding her mouth tighten in frustration. They’ve had this conversation so many times.

“I never asked for this. I don’t want this responsibility. You said that I had to participate in the festival. I did. I’ve served my purpose.” Jacob clenches his fists tightly at his sides.

“That’s not something you can change. Get prepared for the greeting. Make yourself presentable.” Queen Adelin commands, eyes narrowing.

“No,” Jacob says, voice dark and booming. Before he can reconsider, he breaks into a run, racing down the stairs, coattails flapping wildly behind him.

“Jacob,” Queen Adeline calls after him, her voice echoing throughout the palace, “Come back here,” she thunders. He ignores her words, blocking them out of his head. As he runs throughout the hallways, he tries to think of a place where nobody will think to look for him. His mind races.

He turns the corner, seeing a wall of horseshoes, pinned to the wall. Of course, the stables. He pushes open the door, the smell of manure making his nose wrinkle. Numerous stalls line the walls, horses heads peeking over the wooden doors. Upon seeing him, they stamp their hooves, nostrils flaring as they neigh loudly.

A tall figure stands at one of the stalls, coaxing one of the horses inside. He’s dressed in plain, fitted green pants, which hug his slight frame. Leather riding boots hit just below his knee.

“Hello,” Jacob starts. Immediately, he turns around. His pale blue eyes bore into Jacob’s, the intensity startling him. Short brown hair frames his face, accentuating his sharp features and high cheekbones. Intriguing.

“What are you doing in here?” The boy looks him up and down curiously, “Royals don’t usually come down here.”

“I…I need a place to hide,” Jacob says, “If you help me, I’ll reward you handsomely.” The boy folds his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised.

“What kind of reward?” he questions.

“Anything you want.”

“Ok, deal. You’d better keep your promise, or I don’t know if I can keep my lips sealed.” His lips quirk upwards into a small smirk. “Go into the broom closet over there.” He points to a small door next to Jacob. “I’ll cover for you if anyone comes in.”

(1007 words)

Ingredients used:

Jim Flabsdz (new character introduction)
Writing Utensils (foreshadowing)
Smalls (flashback)
Frying pan (symbol)
Gurtle (plot twist)


total is 1601 words

ceeslay critique <3

hi ceeslay! overall i loved your piece, the imagery is amazing and i also really like your stylistic choices in description! i think there is basically not much to point out in terms of general things, but i did notice that you repeated a certain phrase twice “thin line” and while it's a good comparison between jacob and his mother i also kinda found it repetitive (( but it's a nitpick because i can't really find anything else. also, jacob said that he already participated in the festival but there aren't really any details about that so i was a bit confused on what exactly he did, since “greeting people at the festival” kinda implies that it is only the beginning of the festival? honestly other than that i have nothing to bring up: the themes, plot, pacing, all that jazz, are very well done!!