#WritcoStoryPrompt90
Which method of discipline do you prefer, soft or tough? Create a story about the query to back up your response.

Laying on my bed, shoes on and the Vegas night outside whispering it's never sleeping call.
For a first apartment this studio has been good to me.
Small parties and late night acid induced epiphanies.
Art and small objects decorate every wall.
They can keep the deposit.
The skate boards rest adjacent to the door but I'm staying in.
It's not every night I get to trip this hard.
The bed beneath me feels like a small boat in an ocean despite the small space.
The decorations add depth and each section a small meaning or story.
My skin buzzes lightly and I feel my teeth with my tongue.
"I should play some music"
The TV begins blasting a fine metal band band.
The song Charlotte
The neighbors never seem to care.
I'm not surprised this city is loud and powerful.
I wish I had stepped out for the sunset but morning is only the night away.
My mind wanders.
This world is chaos, benign and benevolent indifference.
My chest gets tight as the wall melts a little and the window starts looking at me.
This dread, this meaninglessness seems to means so much to me...
I feel the building around me as if a cave in some prehistoric mountain.
"I'm absolutely free"
this thought, this freedom and mortality.. like a timer had been set before me to..
for me to..
what?
it's all been done I suppose for me to die..
I Look onto the ceiling still laying flat a cheap poster of a water fall pouring out of a black hole into space becomes the opposite..
The world being sucked into oblivion.
I take a deep breath my entire body this papable shell around my mind.
For a moment I accept the thought.
Death is okay.
Maybe I should like ..
just get this over with?
Peaceful and willing not angry or afraid.
Just skip to the finish line.
The skng changes as I sit up.
The windows stare doesn't bother me this time.
I smile to it and wave to the world in my mind through it.
As I walk to the bathroom not 20 feet away the kitchen decorated with countless bottles and bongs
Embrace your self.
I wanted the tub.
to lay down and know if wouldnt leave much of a mess.
i wanted to finally get there.
When the mirror hit me
I looked at this guy,
Long hair a weird look in his eye.
Tattered punk vest and a lil scar by his right eye.
I let out a small laugh. . a brilliant feeling in the space.
I stopped.
Looking him in the eye and measuring the man before me as if an employer or judge of some kind.
It truly amused me how serious he looked.Beside himself with goals smd meanings.
It was beautiful.
Not His face or anything in particular.
His history. His Presence.
I loved him.
I couldn't hurt him. I had no right to take away his gifts 5o the world.
The shower curtain I picked up with cursive letters with little eifle towers on it looked as though each spot floated down a river.
I have to start living.
living fir me.. for him.
No ones coming to save me.
Meaninglessness isn't tragic its beautiful.
Beauty is meaning enough for gratefulness.
I'll never forget the moment I sat back down.
Nowhere tun.
nothing to run from.
I was simply there.
I should start writing again.








© All Rights Reserved