Writing Prompt: I didn't know what was happening at the time…

A loud knock at the door. 6:00am. I didn't know what was happening at the time. So like an idiot, I sleepily answer "morning. What can I help you with?" Before being slammed to the wall by a triad of policemen whom absolutely hated my guts. For what reason, I am not sure. "You're under arrest for making a girl from the Phillpines uncomfy. This may be due to my ill-timed desire to masturbate. Not my proudest moment, in all actuality. Gonna be a long life, this will.

Writing Prompt: Write a review of a book you never wrote

"The Pulse In My Eye" is truly an eye-opening experience. The premise? A young man stuck in a Suburbia where though women maintain a positive opinion of him, there's something very vile about this individual. It isn't until the 3rd chapter (5 chapters of 100-count pages each) that it's evident as to why (SPOILER: the man is a sex addict.) Though easily labeled words of sexual persuasion are evident, the real danger happens to be how comfortable this man feels about his sexuality. Hyper-sexuality, really. To the Reader, the big giveaway of said behavior is likely an intentional act of malice. But in the author's opinion, I'm sure the actual reason his anti-hero commits some of the "crimes" He does is sadly because he knows not how to really control his libido. That may be his situation for a while. There's a good chance no one will really understand. That's okay. It's not meant to be heard.

Writing Prompt: Difference between earliest and latest death

I think the most major lineage of difference between the first death in my family & the last major death is the amount of time I remember talking to the folk affected by it. My mother's grandma died when I was 7 or 8. She was sad about it but I didn't ask very much about it.

Supposedly because I wasn't so caring. With my father's father dying however…

In that there was a larger quantity of pain resonating in me.

Writing Prompt: The Time You Were The Most Terrified…

The time I felt most terrified probably was when I broke up with my first love. The sour bitterness in me was unlike anything I've ever felt before. A rush of infuriated sorrow that really couldn't wait 'till tomorrow. Tears poured, mouths frowned and pain oozed out the very part of my body parts that held the liquid I would've used potentially to help conceive a baby. I missed her. I still do.