“Shout Out To Everybody Who’s Trying To Get Their Life Together. Working On Yourself Is The Hardest

Winter Jasmine/

Here Now

earliest morning, golden aura

inaugurates the policy of the day:

a blazing bonfire of mandarin kisses

creates an inferno of radiant beauty

heat and light, illuminate and ignite

hope above a frostbitten, february horizon

promise of warmer days to come

after winter's mountains of snow

and castle walls, iced in icicles

dissipate into winter jasmine,

snowdrops, crocus and daffodils

bouquets of blooming blossoms

that spill splashes of magic

permeate the mood of the moment

with hues of exuberance and pure joy

excitement of being here, now

©️ @followcb ☆ February 16, 2021

Image & Poem by Chris Bartlett

Kauneonga Lake, New York

me: oh look a writing competition for people my age, let’s enter

writer’s block: -twerks its way into my open document-

me: understandable have a nice day -just stares at the blank document thinking about writing rather than actually writing-

A quick list of things you are not:

damaged goods.

a burden.

worthless.

a failure.

stupid.

a waste of space.

weak.

a lost cause.

alone.

Sometimes I feel like getting over the hump of writer’s block feels like more of an accomplishment than actually writing the thing itself. So incredibly satisfying, 1000/10

i’ve wanted to post it since november 2020 but i promised myself that i wouldn’t post it until it’s done

When I open a blank word document and my story hasn't started itself ⬆️

When I open my WIP after two weeks of not writing and it hasn’t finished itself:

PART 2

Sorry it took me a while to get round to it, I’ve been pretty busy recently.

Thank you @all-usernames-are-taken for the ideas!

The pain went as rapidly as it appeared. The ringing in my ears disappeared with it. Shaking, I gripped the dresser below the mirror and stared in disbelief at my reflection.

‘It started so suddenly. I was fine, and then suddenly blood was pouring from my ears and nose.’

This couldn’t be possible. The leak from the lab happened three years ago — a virus could never live that long without a host.

But this was no ordinary virus, was it?

I grabbed my phone, and attempted to call the police. There was no signal. I tried to call my clients, the parents of Ava Stone, but I couldn’t reach them either. Part of me knew that that was probably a good thing: I couldn’t allow this virus to spread any further. The damage it was capable of was obvious.

Instead, I turned on my camera, and began to record. I explained everything which I’d discovered, and how important it is to prevent the virus from spreading. If anyone tried to find out what happened to me, hopefully this would be good enough to make my death worthwhile.

I put my phone away and left Ava’s house. Before I died, I wanted to do one last thing: to explore the government lab. The thrill of breaking the law even further filled me with excitement. After all, what did I have to fear?

The lab was about half a mile off the outskirts of the town. Like all of the other buildings, it looked run-down and neglected. The white paint was peeling, and the walls were dirty and yellowed.

I stepped back, then ran forwards and kicked the door with all my weight. All I achieved was a stubbed toe and a sore ankle. I turned my attention to the window. The glass was reinforced with metal, but the frame around it was old and decayed. I picked up a large branch from a nearby tree, and rammed it into the corner of the window, which shattered. I took of my jacket, and lay it over the remaining shards of glass. Then, I leapt up and shoved myself through the tiny window. I was only just small enough to fit — thank god I’d never had a growth spurt.

Inside the lab, it was just as derelict as the outside. Everything was covered in dust, so thick that I sneezed. I made my way through the abandoned rooms, instinctively trying to be quiet, even though I knew there was no one to see me.

Something in the corner of the a room caught my eye. It was a just cupboard, nothing particularly interesting, but something was off about it. Everything was dusty, except for the handle. Someone must have touched it recently.

I crept forwards and opened the cupboard. Instead of revealing shelves of equipment, it had steep stairs leading deep underground.

A secret underground facility underneath an abandoned government lab. Could this day get any weirder?

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, it became clear that this place was well looked-after. It didn’t smell of dust and decay; instead, it reeked of antibacterial spray. The corridors were shiny and white, and no cobwebs could be seen.

And I could hear movement.

I opened a random door and darted through it, hoping nobody saw me. Normally, I’d be more afraid, but what could they do to me? I was going to die soon enough, so I might as well finish solving this mystery.

I turned around and examined the room I was in. It was another corridor, shorter than the previous one, but instead of rooms on the side, there were cells. 

Cells with people inside.

I clutched the wall, horrified. People? Real, breathing people in cells underneath a government lab? Maybe they were prisoners, but they didn’t look like prisoners. There were young children behind these glass walls. Dumbstruck, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit record.

Cautiously, I rapped on the glass of one of the cells, which held a middle-aged man. He sat up and blinked rapidly. He said something I couldn’t hear, then repeated it, this time screaming the words.

“Help me!”

People in the surrounding cells began to wake up and shout with him. I spun around, filming the scene, until I locked eyes with a young woman. I’d never met her, but I’d seen her picture many times.

It was Ava Stone.

Before I had time to comprehend this, her expression changed to pure terror. But she wasn’t looking at me.

“Turn around, Miss Walton.”

I turned around. A woman in a biohazard suit was pointing a gun at me.

“How do you know my name?”

She ignored me. “Hand me your phone.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I have a gun.”

“I’m going to die anyway,” I replied, with less certainty than I wanted. Ava Stone was alive, and so were all of these other people who I could only assume were from her town.

“No, you’re not. You’re going to be quite ill for the next few days, but you’ll survive. Now come with me.”

I followed her down the corridor, not knowing what else to do. She walked into a room and sat down, still pointing her gun at me.

“Sit.”

I sat.

“Why are you here?”

“Why are they here?” I replied.

“I’m the one asking the questions.”

“Why should I answer? You’re going to kill me anyway.”

“I’m not going to kill you. A dead body has no use.”

“Then why should I answer your questions?”

The biohazard suit covered her face, but I could feel her fury radiating off of her.

“How about this,” she said. “You answer a question, then I answer a question”

That was... actually a pretty good deal. “Sure.”

“Why are you here?”

“I was hired to investigate what happened.” I paused. “Why do you have a bunch of people in cells?”

“We’re trying to create a biological weapon. One which can wipe out entire countries in a day. We pretended the virus was leaked so we could test it on the town, assuming it would kill everyone. Everyone survived. We couldn’t just let everyone leave after what happened, so we adapted our facility to make it look like it was abandoned.”

“That’s inhumane! What do you do with all these people? There are young children!”

“It’s my turn to ask a question. I watched the videos on your phone. How did you figure out what happened?”

“I found a diary. It talked about how there was a leak from the lab and everyone was getting ill.”

“Where is this diary? Do you still have it?”

“My turn,” I said. “What do you do with all these people?”

“We test our viruses on them,” she replied, as if that was the most normal thing in the world. “Now, WHERE is the diary?”

“Ava Stone’s house. 32 Shortbrew Lane. What are you going to do to me?” A dull ringing noise echoed in my ears.

“We’ll test viruses on you, like we do with everyone else. It would be interesting to see how people from different areas and with different races are affected. I can tell that the virus has a faster reaction on you than it does with most people. In fact, from the dilation of your irises, you’ll probably pass out at any moment.”

The ringing noise was getting louder. My head throbbed, and the walls were swaying. The floor reached up to meet me and everything went black.

I opened my eyes. I was lying on a pristine, white bed in a pristine, white cell; and, ew, I was wearing different clothes. The ringing in my ears had disappeared.

The sound of gunshots woke me up properly. Shouts echoed down the corridor, and to my surprise I saw police freeing everyone from their cells. Even more surprisingly, they were accompanied by Mr and Mrs Stone, who were hugging their daughter.

When my cell was unlocked, I raced over to them. “What’s happening? Why are you here?”

“You’ve been gone for a week, so we contacted the police,” Mrs Stone said. “They saw the broken window in the laboratory, so they followed your trail and found all this!”

“We can’t thank you enough.,” Mr Stone said. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have found Ava.”

A young man came over me and held out his hand. I shook it politely.

“Hello Miss Walton. My name is Adam Haider, and I am a government official. I have some questions for you about what you’ve discovered.”

“Do you know about the virus?” I asked.

“That’s what I came to ask you about. The—”

“Has anyone left the town recently?” I interrupted him urgently.

“Uh, yes, of course, to inform—”

“The virus is STILL HERE. You need—”

Adam Haider’s radio buzzed. He picked it up.

“What is it? I’m busy,” he snapped.

The voice from the radio replied, “Sir, this is important. Our men are bleeding out of their ears and noses, and some have passed out.”

“Shit,” Haider muttered.

“That’s not all, sir. This has been reported in nearby towns — towns which we sent soldiers to after they examined the area.”

Adam Haider dropped the radio. At first I assumed it was out of shock, but when I saw his face I realised I was wrong.

Blood was trickling out of his ears and nose.

On November 19th, the population of the town of Warmosa vanished. No explanation was ever given by officials and the town was eventually closed to the public.

You‘re a private investigator hired to find the truth behind the event. After trespassing into the town, you find a private journal detailing the events that took place on the days leading up to the disappearance.

4. The tiny, miniscule, impossible possibility that my story turns out amazing and I sell tonnes of copies and they make it into a film and I meet my favourite actors who like the story so much that they want to be the main character

I write my stories for one or more of three reasons:

1. Aesthetic

2. That One Scene

3. Spite

If you think someone’s shirt is cool, tell them! If you think your friend is beautiful, tell them! If you love someone’s art, tell them! Speak goodness into the world, it is time to stop suppressing kind thoughts.

For all those moments my WIP goes violently off its outline 😓