#soprompt

[amarantine-amirite]

Band-Aid Words for Band-Aid Solutions

There are two types of people in the world: reactive and proactive. Reactive people blame others when things don't go their way. Their behaviours are reactions to their surroundings, and the social weather rubs off on them. Every response is a knee-jerk response.

On the other hand, proactive people act in advance of a future situation. They take control, make things happen rather than just adjusting to a situation or waiting for something to happen. Proactive people do not blame anyone or anything, and they carry their weather with them.

The choice seems obvious. Being proactive is the way to go, right?

Well…not exactly.

Here's the problem with "being proactive", in the sense of what the word means to people like project managers and school principals. Those guys see the word "proactive" and they think it's synonymous with "psychic". It's almost like they expect you to predict things that nobody can really predict.

I'm speaking from experience here. in the past 48 hours, I have heard such bullshit as “Don’t blame me for your lack of planning" and "Things aren’t going to be what you expect; you should really learn to adjust your expectations."

What "lack of planning"? What "expectations in need of adjustment"? Oh, wait. You mean getting upset about having to wear a bodysuit under my prom dress, don't you?

My initial response to having to do this was abrupt, reactive, and somewhat bratty.

"That’s not fair!" I whispered angrily, "I don’t need to wear a bodysuit, and none of my friends have to deal with this! Why do I need to wear a bodysuit?"

Mrs. Shropsharp, the guidance counsellor, calmly explained to me, "Flora, since you have an autistic spectrum disorder, there's a risk that you might spontaneously disrobe at inappropriate times. That's why you need to wear the bodysuit."

Preposterous. "I’ve never had a problem with spontaneously disrobing in public." I responded as respectfully as I could. "Other people on the spectrum might, but I have never done this."

Shropsharp looked at me and said, "Your language sounds very reactive. When you go home tonight, maybe you should try and write down what a proactive person would say in such a situation."

When I went home, I tried that. And I surprised myself with how much I got down:

So, things aren’t going my way, And the circumstances are such that I can’t talk to my friends about it because they won’t know where I’m coming from. Even though I don’t need a bodysuit, I should think about giving it a try.

I’m not going to let the fact that the school has asked me to wear a bodysuit under my prom outfit put me off from going. Perhaps somewhere on the Internet I can look for a bodysuit?

Even though I have never had a problem with spontaneously disrobing, other people on the autism spectrum do; and I have had issues with clothing being too scratchy in the past. What if I choose to wear a prom dress that feels inordinately scratchy? I should probably wear a bodysuit underneath, not to prevent me from becoming naked if I decide to spontaneously disrobe, but so my attire feels comfortable.

I hated what I wrote. It didn't sound genuine. It completely ignored all the practical problems with the idea. Wearing a bodysuit would make it awkward for me to go to the bathroom. Also, most formal wear stores carry absolutely nothing that covers a bodysuit. Even if you can get something, you're still going to look like you've got a t-shirt under your dress. On top of everything else, it unfairly singles me out for having autism.

I tore out that page in the notebook, and instead wrote something more genuine. I wrote, “Why do kids even want to go to prom?”

The answer was shockingly simple. Kids are in love with the idea of wearing a beautiful gown and dancing around a ballroom as couples spin and candles flicker, the moon shines outside, and swaying in their lover's arms without a care in the world.

That’s not really a thing anymore. People mostly entertain themselves nowadays. Take bowling. People don’t bowl in leagues as much as they used to. Technology such as TV and the internet have allowed people to entertain themselves in a more individualized way than ever before. Thus, bowling in and of itself is the entertainment, as opposed to socializing with your teammates.

In the end, I spent prom night at home. I was home alone, and I wore the fanciest dress that always sits in the back of my closet because I have nowhere to go. I then put in wireless earbuds, and danced around the living room barefoot. I closed my eyes. I expected it to feel something like you're dancing around with the prince of your dreams.

Except, it didn't quite work out that way. When I closed my eyes, I found myself at  the intersection of a road and the train tracks. The road had several steep ups and downs. A large, hemispherical effigy burned in between the train tracks while a huge, red moon hung in the sky. The spindly branches of nearby trees caught the light of the moon as they blew in the wind. And between the unholy looking flames and the large, foreboding moon; you'd be forgiven for thinking that you took a wrong turn at Albuquerque and somehow wandered straight into Hell.

@soprompt

[the-ultimate-nobody]

“You’d make a good parent, you know.”

Oolnu snapped his gaze from the sleeping baby cradled in his arms to look at Cisca. 

“Shut yer yap!.” He hissed, trying not to wake the alien baby. His tail waves back and forth angerily and his feet clawed the metal floor.

Cisca rose both of her hands, but her smug smile didn’t leave her face. “I’m just saying. For someone who grew in the city dump, you can be a pretty good parent.” 

Oolnu continue the low growl at the human when a whimper passed by in the quiet room. Eyes focused on the baby, waving it’s arms. Oolnu began to coo at the baby until it was wide awake, which he didn’t mean to. They began to laugh and tug on to his fur.

“N-No, s-stop. Stop, tsk, OW heeey!.” Oolnu whispered, juggling the baby to his right arm to the left.

He set the alien baby down which then they crawl to a toy that they found. 

“Daawww, Look at this!!” A new voice erupted, Oolnu’s ears flickered towards the door, then his eyes followed. Mizuchi, his hands filled with seem to be diapers, laughed at the scene. Beside him was Miph and Reye. who were both confused but chuckled at the view. 

[kaygalvan]

and we all fall down

Oh, I wish I never ever seen your face.

I wish you were the one,

Wish you were the one that got a w a y.

It was her. It really was. As he stared at the face of the woman he loved, darkened by bruises, he couldn't bring himself to speak. A pale hand twitched slightly, as if to touch her hand, her face, anything, but instead, the motion stopped, and the hand hung limply at his side yet again. 

"Sir?" the detective asked, staring down the trembling man, trying to catch his eyes, that were glued on the body on the cruel steel tray in the morgue. "Sir, is that in fact your wife, Faythe Landway?" 

Kay felt his world start to crash in on him, everything crumbling and falling apart. What he had so carefully built up with tape and glue was drying out and cracking and showering him with the crumbs of the ruins that were about to happen. Kay swallowed, feeling his heart get engulfed by a cold darkness, and fall into the pit of his stomach. His hand twitched again, moving slightly from his side towards the gleaming metal of the tray jutting out from the wall in the morgue, but he, again, couldn't find a way to touch the body that was sure to be as cold as his own. 

Everything had fallen down. It was strange how forever could be done in an instant, a cold knife through a warm body, a punch in the gut and a slap to the face. It had never occurred to Kay that their lives, that had been so closely interwoven until that point could unravel and separate so quickly. 

He shouldn't have let her go out tonight. He knew that there had been attacks in their neighborhood recently, and he knew that even though she was a fighter, there was no way she could take on these monsters. Who was Kay kidding, though? There was no way he could have argued with her to stop her-even though he was a lawyer, she was his wife, and she would dig her heels in and always get her way. 

"I think...I think I'm going to be sick," Kay managed to quietly blurt out, before running from the morgue and making a beeline for the bathroom.

"Sir? Sir!" the detective called out, running behind him, the bottom of his long, woolen coat ballooning out behind him. As Kay realized that he wasn't going to make it to the bathroom, he shoved his face towards a nearby trash can and was violently sick, as if his internal organs were trying to physically eject themselves. At the end of the hallway, the detective saw what was happening, and turned back around the corner, his woolen coat coming to rest around his ankles yet again. Kay threw up until there was nothing left and then dry heaved until he couldn't anymore, as if his own body knew that Kay didn't-couldn't-live without her.

It was like he was a young boy again, with his mother yelling at him, and his father standing helplessly by, and he could foresee the coming of the cruel world that would become his personal nightmare, and he was holding tightly to the life he had been living so far, cradling it close to his chest and begging it to never let him go.

Kay sank to the floor by the garbage can, his back sliding slowly down the white, cinder block wall.In the brightness that surrounded, there was a bubble of darkness that engulfed him as the torn and tattered ruins of what he had spent so long on fluttered down around him in burning, smoldering embers. 

He kept imagining this river somewhere, with two people caught in this current, desperately trying to hold tight to each other but finding that the other was slipping out of their grasp and being swept away in the tide. Kay wiped his mouth with a shaky hand, the bad taste linger still. Hoisting himself from the floor, he forced his reluctant body to find its way back to the morgue. 

The detective and the mortician were waiting there for him, respectfully gathered next to the body in some sick facsimile of  a funeral, their hands interlaced in front of their bodies. Kay swallowed back the vile taste that filled his mouth, forcing his mouth to form the shapes of the sounds that he couldn't bring himself to say. "Yes, sir, that is my wife, Faythe Landway," Kay whispered, before grabbing his coat from a nearby chair and sliding it over his broad shoulders. The mortician thrust a clipboard at him, and he scrawled his signature at the bottom, not much more than a scribble, the result of signing countless forms.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, almost inaudibly, as the mortician zipped the black bag up. 

[ameliathelight]

Christmas time is here.

A flash of blonde hair and a blue coat darted across the wet asphalt and passed in front of the bright yellow cab that pulled away from the curb. With an umbrella poised over her head to keep from getting soaked, Amelia dashed lightly up the steps of her townhouse, only stopping when she was under the protection of the overhang. Closing and shaking off the beads of water from her umbrella, she opened the door to be bathed in the yellow glow of her little home.

Immediately she was met by the shrill and giddy laughter of children, which brought a grin to her face. She felt her mouth water as the scent of baked goods reached her nose, cookies, pies, and hot apple cider. Shedding off her wet coat, Amelia placed it and the no longer needed umbrella by the door which she had closed in her wake. “I’m home!” she called out, rolling up her long sleeves at the sudden change in temperature. The laughter stopped only to be replaced by a chorus of overjoyed “Momma!”’s. Her own laughter swelled from her breast as two figures bounded around the corner, running headfirst into her. “Hey, cuties.” she replied, warmth clear in her tone as she bent down to bring her children into her arms, hugging them tightly. A third figure hobbled around the corner, a toothy smile and bubbly laughter trailing from her lips as she spotted her mother. “Ma-ma!” the infant giggled, stumbling over to the group. The blonde grinned and opened her arms wide for the little girl, only making her daughter’s laughter intensify. Swooping the babe into her arms she peppered teasing kisses on her neck, earning a high-pitched squeal and a grin. “Hey, boo.” Amelia said sweetly, grinning at her youngest.

“Momma, momma, daddy’s making cookies for Santa!” The eldest child exclaimed, her ginger pigtails bobbing up and down as she spoke excitedly. Her mother took on a surprised expression, her pink lips forming an ‘O’. “Is he really? You know what?” she asked in a hushed whisper, leaning in conspiratorially, her children following suit with wide, eager eyes. “What?” “He’s all alone in the kitchen right now... He could very well be eating all the cookies and leave none for Santa!” An horrified expression passed over all of the children and the eldest daughter let out an indignant cry. “No! Daddy, you have to leave cookies for Santa ‘else he won’t come!” She yelled, racing down the hall with her younger brother on her heels, their footsteps bounding against the hardwood floor. Amelia chuckled as she stood, bringing her youngest with her. She let out a small oof as she adjusted the toddler’s weight on her hip. “You’re getting big.” she complained softly. Her daughter giggled, coaxing a smile out of the older woman. “Lillyana-Grace, you didn’t eat a whole house while I was gone, did you?” she asked in mock-shock. The toddler shook her head vigorously with a louder giggle. “Did you... Eat a horse?” “No!” “Did you... Eat a cow?” “No!” Each no was accompanied by a string of giggles, each getting louder than the next. “Oh, I must be getting you confused with a little old lady then. You didn’t swallow a fly, did you?” “No, ma-ma.” she laughed with broken words. With a grin, Amelia set Grace on the floor, letting her follow after her elder siblings.

Slipping her shoes off her aching feet, Amelia followed the path her children had taken into the kitchen where her senses were assaulted by the mouth-watering scents of the holidays, seeing cookies already cooling on the island counter next to a delectable looking pumpkin pie. Her children were crowded around her husband on the other side of the room, her flame-haired daughter talking a mile a minute while the youngest tugged on her father’s pant sleeve and her son stood quietly next to his older sister. Leaning against the doorframe, she took in the sight of her little family with a tender smile, amused at how her husband nodded at everything his daughter said while trying to clean the mess of dirty dishes. Finally, content with the torture she let her husband suffer at the hands of their overly-animated daughter, Amelia spoke up. “Hey, kids, why don’t you go take out the Christmas tree decorations?” The two older children’s head perked up almost instantaneously and they needed no further prompting for they were already zooming into the other room, a babbling Grace on their heels.

It was that moment that she and her husband made eye contact and his expression softened even further and a lazy smile graced his lips. “Hello, Mrs. Reeves.” He greeted with a mischievous half smile, to which she replied with an unimpressed raise of her eyebrows and a quirk of her lips. “Hello, Mr. Reeves.” She padded over to stand in front of Caden and placed her hand on the cool countertop on either side of him, leaning up to peck him on the lips. “How was your flight, ‘lia.” her husband asked, wrapping his arms around her waist as she turned to lean her back against his chest. The blonde gave a shrug and traced patterns on the backs of his hands with her fingertips. “Long and uncomfortable, but bearable. They nearly lost my luggage, the bastards.” she replied, a teasing lilt to her voice. She felt his chest shake with low laughter and he buried his face in her neck. “They’re lucky they didn’t; I wouldn’t wish your wrath on anyone.” he teased and she batted his hand with a grin, stepping out of his arms.

“Want a glass of wine?” He asked, picking up a glass he had been cleaning. Nose scrunching up in distaste, Amelia shook her head and turned to the island behind her. “No, what I’m really craving is some of this apple cider.” Picking up a warm mug, she brought the rim just under her nose and breathed in deeply, eyes closing and a smile curling on her lips as she savored the smell. “Mmm...”

The sound of Caden’s chuckle reached her ears as she took a small sip, careful not to burn herself with the hot liquid. “Everyone is coming for Christmas dinner. Freddie called and said he’d be a bit late, though.” Amelia nodded as she listened, leaning back against the counter. “Ave and Kiernan are coming, right? I know they’ve been out of town for her tour, but they said they might be able to make it.” she asked before taking another sip of the delicious cider. Though she spoke to her friend often, Amelia had not seen Aveline in several months due to her successful ballet career. Caden nodded in reply, putting a newly-dried glass in a cabinet above the sink. “Yeah, they’ll be here just in time for Christmas, but they won’t be able to stay for long after that. Since Alaska and Nate are coming over, too, they figured they’d be able to hit two birds with one stone.” Amelia gave a sound of confirmation, nodding again. "Yeah, Sammy called me before I got on the plane and said she'd be bringing her boyfriend with her, which I told her was absolutely fine, but being Sam she was more telling than asking." She let out a small snicker.

The two stood in silence for a few moments before Amelia let out a small exclamation. “Oh! Julie and my brother are coming, too. Michael and Wendy are staying home for Christmas, what with the newborn and all, and I think Peter is going to be with Belle, but Jamie and Jules are definitely coming.” She relayed with a smile, happiness evident in her features. Unbeknownst to Julie, Jamie planned to propose sometime soon, plans which he had only told his sister.

The couple’s conversation was interrupted by a loud clatter in the living room. The two shared a look before darting in the room to see the three children standing around a mess of Christmas tree lights, looking very shocked and very guilty. With a raised eyebrow, Amelia looked at the siblings. “What happened?” Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, her eldest daughter said quickly, “Eric did it.” and pointed an accusatory finger at her brother who stood innocently next to her, whose expression took on one akin to a dear in headlights. With an amused smirk, Amelia took a step forward. “Eric Nathaniel Reeves. Did you do this?” she asked, knowing full well her five-year-old son was only an accomplice in anything her daughter did. The boy quickly shook his head, eyes wide. Turning to her daughter with a raised eyebrow, she gave her an expectant look. “Rose?” The redhead’s eyes cast downward and she shuffled her feet before her gaze darted back up to look at her mother. “We were only trying to get the lights up...” She said quietly. Amelia’s expression softened and she threw her hands up in mock surrender. “All right, all right, enough with the puppy dog face, you’re not in trouble.” Rose’s expression immediately lifted and she grinned at her parents.

With a grin matching his daughter’s, Caden spoke up from behind his wife. “C’mon, let’s get this tree decorated.”

[dariusyoung]

cigarettes and alcohol (can you tell it hurts?)

Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock on the kitchen wall with the slightly peeling paint beat a solid and sickening rhythm, Darius hearing it all too loudly in his head. With one hand still curled around the glass resting on the table, he closed his bloodshot eyes and pressed his fingers on either side of his nose. He sighed softly, his blood pounding in his ears as a headache brewed behind his eyes, his sinuses tingling with the anticipation of the coming pain. Tick. Tick. Tick. His heart rate slowed to be in time with it, his entire body slowing down and tensing up all at once as the first wave of pain hit him. The single lamp he had on, hanging over the kitchen table, suddenly felt all too bright and all too close and all too hot, and he pressed the cool glass in his hand against his forehead, taking deep, slow breaths, trying to work through the pain.

"Amneris, no!" The yell was too late as the shot rang out, almost in slow motion, as if it was a dream, instead of something real. Darius saw, all too late, the people with guns and masks, wreaking havoc at the festival. The shots popped in the air around him, but they seemed dull and muted as he dropped to his knees to cradle Amneris' head in his lap, his hand instinctively pressing down on the wound in her side. By the way her head lolled and her eyes could barely flutter open, Darius had the feeling that she didn't have much longer...but he couldn't allow that to happen. No, she had to survive. She simply had to. "Amneris...Ammy, Ammy, wake up. Open your eyes. Say something-anything." Darius tapped her cheek lightly, the tears involuntarily falling from his eyes and creating small wet spots where they landed on the soft, white t-shirt Amneris had been wearing, now tainted by the crimson, rust-colored stain now spreading across it. He smoothed her hair back from her forehead as she started to whisper something. Darius leaned down to try and listen to her, but his heart was thumping too loudly for him to focus. The sounds of gunshots and screams surrounded him, but everything was muffled through the cloud that surrounded his brain, his ears ringing from the gunfire and close calls. "Amneris?" he asked, tapping her cheek lightly. "Amneris, wake up, Ammy, please, please, wake up." Darius couldn't stop the tears now, and, as the outside world fell apart around him, he found himself isolated in an island of darkness, cradling the girl he was supposed to protect. 

As the vision ended, Darius let out the gasping breath he had been holding on to with everything he had. Panting a little bit, he blinked experimentally, trying to get his eyes to readjust to the light. His ears still rang with the sound of screams in the distance, and his mind replayed the soundtrack of terror that had engulfed him in darkness for the terrifying twenty minutes he had been caught in the crowd, holding the girl that he held in the first minutes of her life for her last ones. 

Darius grabbed the package of cigarettes from the table, and took his drink in hand, walking out towards his balcony. As he went out into the chilly night, in nothing but a light t-shirt and a pair of his ratty shorts (that Amneris had always hated but he wore anyway), he didn't care about the weather. He didn't care about anything more. Placing his glass carefully on the thick, concrete railing that surrounded his balcony, he tapped out a cigarette from the package, one of his last few, and light up. As Darius took in the thick gray smoke that once made him cough, and then made him feel numb, and now did nothing for him anymore, he stared out at the city. The smoke escaped in small wisps from between his barely closed lips as he tried to suck up as much of the nicotine and broken promises that had comprised his life for the past two weeks. 

Darius stared at the glass on the barrier he had been leaning against, and, in one swift move, he tossed the whisky back as if it was a shot. He had been drinking a lot lately, but who could honestly blame him? He had lost everyone he had ever cared about-Teresa left, Eric left, Tiberius died, and now Amneris was gone too. What was the point anymore? What was the point to living when everyone you ever loved and ever gave a shit about ended up leaving you behind? Darius felt the anger start to rise in his chest like an ugly beast, rearing it's grotesque head for what seemed like the 100th time that day. His thin lips pressed tightly together, and he stared at the glass in his hand as if it had caused all the pain and suffering that he had ever felt. Following yet another impulse, he wound his arm back, and launched the glass across from his balcony, hearing the tinkling of glass as it shattered against the building across the street.

For a second, Darius felt better, and he had the fleeting thought that everything was going to be okay-then he felt his chest tighten uncomfortably with the threat of sobs. As the dam broke, and he let himself cry, he sank to the ground. No matter how many cigarettes he smoked or bottles he broke, he wasn't going to be able to bring Amneris back.

[ignisxfatuus]