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Young Writers Society


Let's discover how similar or different we really are.



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Points: 321
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Mon Oct 06, 2014 4:07 am
Taylorb1997 says...



So here's a game that I hope will both get over time a ton of people involved and replying, this will both let us all get to know one another better as well show off our literary merit (in a competitive but friendly manor) to all the YPS members! What I'm asking all of you to do is give the most random/funny/scary/crazy situation you can think of. Include 1-2 character figures, and 1-2 obstacles if you want a short story response, and just a scenario or idea if you want a poetic response. It's fairly open ended. Once your idea is commented my goal is to try to come up with responses either creative or poetic respectively including your random ideas, after that hopefully others will join in. After a while everyone will be submitting and creating, eventual making a cool record of how people interpret ideas differently. I'll start by making a reply first with request it be responded to poetically. Hopefully this picks up, I really want to see how similar and different our creative minds all are! Happy writing,

Taylor
  





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Mon Oct 06, 2014 4:17 am
Taylorb1997 says...



First challenge:

I'm going to make this one kinda easy to start with so you all better make excellent replies

growing older we get further away from our inner self but also grow opposed to the chance to reconnect with it
  





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Mon Oct 06, 2014 10:58 am
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Dracula says...



I'm walking a road which is getting older
The surface is becomming rougher
The gravel is more frequent
The road ends soon, I think.
Yet there is always the chance
For me to turn around
And find my way back
To where I began.
But I'm going too fast
And the road is ending
Too quickly and I can't turn back
I'll just keep going until my tyres
Are white like the gravel
and my skin when I'm dead.
I bought a cactus. A week later it died. I got depressed because I thought Damn, I am less nurturing than a desert.
-Demetri Martin
  





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Mon Oct 06, 2014 11:56 am
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SkyeWalker says...



I thought about myself as I sat down on that rock by the seaside.

I thought about my life.

I thought about my past.

I thought about my future.

What would I be like in five years? Ten years? Twenty years?

Well, the answer to that would be WAY more mature than I am now. I honestly don't know how much more immature I can be.

I know my life seems like a ton of crap right now. Heck yeah, I feel the stress as if it was a liquid pouring down on me. And heck yeah, it's gonna get a whole lot worse.

But the present and future weren't what I was worrying about. No, definitely not.

As I was sitting down on that rock, looking out to sea, I thought about my past self. I was wondering why I was so innocent as a child. I hadn't been exposed to the cruelty of the world, I knew nothing. But you know what? I 'm glad I can't reconnect with my past self. You know why? I would fail at life, because I knew nothing.

(Side note: I... I just have no clue what I just wrote. Really. XD)
My pronouns are they/them.

Formerly Zhia and Reneia
  





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Mon Oct 06, 2014 10:38 pm
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Dracula says...



Can I submit an idea?

A young boy wakes up on a strange planet.
Write a very short story about it. :)
I bought a cactus. A week later it died. I got depressed because I thought Damn, I am less nurturing than a desert.
-Demetri Martin
  





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Mon Oct 13, 2014 8:17 pm
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Rook says...



The young boy woke up on a strange planet.
Unfortunately, there was no atmosphere, so he quickly asphyxiated.
The end. c:
Instead, he said, Brother! I know your hunger.
To this, the Wolf answered, Lo!

-Elena Passarello, Animals Strike Curious Poses
  





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Tue Oct 14, 2014 3:28 am
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Taylorb1997 says...



fortis wrote:The young boy woke up on a strange planet.
Unfortunately, there was no atmosphere, so he quickly asphyxiated.
The end. c:

The young boy wakes up on a strange planet.
Unfortunately, there was too much atmosphere, so he quickly died of hyperoxia.
The end c:
  








The secret of being tiresome is to tell everything.
— Voltaire