The Night Write

I write at night, specifically between 12 am to 7 am and I only get 100 words per night. Not one less, not one over.

[darklesmylove]

[colebeal]

we sat here freezing, about to leave, and then the mountain turned pink, and a layer of fog settled over the frozen trillium lake

[icasais]

[midsommars-deactivated20201109]

Baby Driver (2017) Directed by Edgar Wright

[fromhufflepuffwithlove]

Hufflepuff Male and Hufflepuff Female Couple Aesthetic

|REQUESTED|

[thenightwriteseries]

NightWrite 7

I don’t think there was anything quite like it ever again. The way he saluted his goodbye with two fingers pointed at his brow before whisking them away into the air, grabbing his satchel and turning away towards the doors that gleamed from the sunlight. I could see the crooked smile he always wore when he left a room, the way it curved up on his right cheek, and then I never saw it again. He left as quick as when he first came and without a word of warning, he was gone, a darkening silhouette in the blinding light.

[thenightwriteseries]

NightWrite 6

I'll never forget the day I completely fell for her; it was around 8:37 in the evening in the middle of summer. We were on our way back to her house after going on a date to a local arcade. Ruby by Foster the people was playing on my car’s speakers when we started to kiss. It felt like the perfect scene out of a movie and the way her lips fit perfectly on mine, it was everything I could ever dream of. I never truly believed all those cliché songs about home being a person until I met her.

[thenightwriteseries]

NightWrite 5

I always imagined love to be pink and red. I didn’t think it would be the pink lipstick stain she’d leave on the napkin at dinner or the red claw marks she etched into my back after sex. I imagined red as roses like the ones I would pick up on my way home from work, or pink like the driveway to my old childhood home. I didn’t think love would mean not over planning the future of where you’re going to live, how many kids you were going to have, or what kind of job you might be doing.

[thenightwriteseries]

NightWrite 4

First came the flashes of light, brilliant flashes above my head, and then came the siren. I scramble around in bed, clenching my ears in an attempt to block out the high pitched scream while squirming out from the comforter. The room goes from pitch black to blinding silver in seconds, over and over. I struggle to find my glasses until my fingers wrap around their frozen frame. My feet shuffle around on the carpet, I stumble from side to side trying to slip some shoes on while reaching for my sweater in the other direction. I'm out the door.

[thenightwriteseries]

NightWrite 3

They weren't going to know what hit them until it was too late, or at least that was the plan before it all went to shit. That's what they told me. They spent weeks drawing up every possible outcome, every weak link in the chain, all the inconsiderable variables. There wasn't a protocol for something like this, especially since no one anticipated they would fight back.Most people deserted the attack while others ransacked through official buildings, finding schematics for future builds and plans for the city. After the rebels took control it felt like the city had lost its emotion..

[thenightwriteseries]

NightWrite 2

On the night that it down poured and the street lights shimmered on the gloss of the streets, there was silence across the town. The rain rushed down roads into storm drains and the mice stowed themselves in their hideaways, trying to find solace from the storm. I remember listening to the hard taps on the window at three forty seven in the morning. I only buried myself deeper into the comforter and strangled my pillow for cuddliness. I was alone with the dark. Sure the street lamp shined through the cracks of the blinds, but it only felt lonelier.

[thenightwriteseries]

NightWrite 1

This is it. The great big start of it all, where the bells start ringing and the whistles start whistling. This is how the train takes off, in its grand merriment. It starts with a ding, and it ends with one like elevator doors closing, like a typewriter demanding a new line, like a waitress slamming down a new order. You don’t know where things are going to go, but they’ll get on their way and there’s no stopping the unstoppable force. And of course, that force takes off on its own alone, exactly just like me. Alone but unstoppable.