Abysmal Interactions

This was inspired by the six-sentence story prompt by girlontheedge. This weeks prompt was board, and I took that in the message board style. A woman quickly learns the internet is both forever and full of idiots in this twisted little story.


She did not want to get out of bed this morning, as she already knew that there was no good to come this day.

She got up slowly, deliberately not checking her phone, and went about her morning routine: Take meds, brush teeth, shower, get dressed, make breakfast, and eat it.

It was only as she sat at her table with her coffee cooling that she could no longer pretend that this was any other day, and there was nothing else to be done, but face the music.

There were 342 unread messages, notifications to be scrolled for what felt like an infinity, and the last shred of hope shriveled and died within her.

She had engaged with the troll, no not a troll, an idiot, who posted something so stupid that she couldn’t help but reply with the unpopular truth, and now she was paying for it.

For every well educated person agreeing with her, a dozen dullards drowned out the voices of reason, spewing vitriol on every account she owned, and as the phone dinged in rapid procession, she wondered if telling the truth had been worth all of this.

Ends Justify the Means

I am not sue what the motivation for this was, but its the story of someone who always takes second place. Its a little bit about getting what you wished for, but it not quite being what you wanted. Take a look, and tell me, what do you think?


She stood holding the medal and wanted to weep, knowing what was done to get her here.

She was good, actually, she was the best, but she had lost out more than once due to her nemesis, Amanda Cartwright. Technically speaking, Amanda was near her equal, but emotionally, in a performance, Amanda couldn’t hold a candle to her and knew it.

Amanda wasn’t one to win gracefully either. Every time she won, she rubbed it in. Made sure to thank Chloe for trying. For showing up, even though they both knew how it was going to end. It was infuriating as it was true.

The worst part for Chloe was knowing that she was better, in just about every way, except one. Amanda was prettier. Amanda was was taller, thinner, blonder, and just prettier than Chloe. Everyone said that Chloe would grow into her looks, which was a polite way of saying she was kind of funny looking, and well she was.

These weren’t beauty contests though, they shouldn’t have been basing the decisions on the contestants looks, and yet, its the only reason that Amanda was winning. Until today that is.

Her sister, her evil, loathsome, little sister, who was sick of getting ‘dragged all over hells half acre’ as she put it, decided in a surprising show of sisterly solidarity to put an end to it. She put hair dye in Amanda’s oil treatment. Black hair dye, which not only turned Amanda’s hair a deep unnatural black, but also had stained her skin in all the spots of oil she hadn’t wiped off, because knowing it was oil, it was safe.

It had made Amanda look dead, her natural peaches and cream complexion was washed out, and the scream Amanda had given when she saw herself in the mirror… Well Chloes first thought was that she got injured.

And then people turned on her. As she cried, everyone else just laughed. It was karma of sorts, all that meanness over the years coming back to her. The girl she called fat, the one she said was stupid, the boy she called Mexican even though he was obviously native American, all of the people she had mocked and taunted with her wins, saying they would never be good enough, they all took a turn tearing her down.

She ran crying from the auditorium, and Chloe was one of the ones laughing, because no one person had ever deserved this more than Amanda Cartwright.

Then Chloe found out her sister did it, specifically to make her win, and her stomach flipped. It was funny as a joke, but as sabotage, she felt guilty. Then she won, and she felt horrible. It was like the win was soured by what her sister did to get her there. She = knew she deserved the win, got there on talent, but there was a part of herthat knew, knew that if Amanda was there she wouldn’t have made it. And know she had a lingering doubt that maybe, well, what if Amanda was better. What if she was winning because Chloe wasn’t as good. What if Chloe only stood here holding this medal because her sister went Tonya Harding on my competition.

Winning had never been so bittersweet.

Panic Attack

This weeks six based on the word RHYTHM is the story of a man on the way somewhere important (maybe a job interview), and not having a great time of it. Despite the tone, this one isn’t based on experience, as strangely the huge moments almost never give me anxiety… Also the title is based on the song of the same name.


The anxiety went flashed through him, every muscle primed for a fight that was only in his head, and he tried to will himself to relax. The sensation of unfamiliar fabric rubbing across his skin with every movement set his teeth on edge, and the press of the tie into his neck felt like it was choking him.

He tried to focus on the rhythm of the engine, but gave up when he could barely hear it over the sounds of horns from the traffic jam outside. The possibility of being late ratcheted his anxiety up to a whole new level, and he fumbled his headphones out of his pockets, to pair with his phone.

It would eat his battery, but it would be worth it, and when they beeping of the blue-tooth was replaced with the sound of electric guitars, he cranked the volume until the lady sitting beside him gave him a dirty look. He closed his eyes and let the music fill him, tapping his feet to the beat as the chorus rose and he took in a deep breath, then let it out, he could do this.

Night Owl

This was based a little upon my own discovery of revenge bedtime procrastination, an ADHD meme from Tumblr, and just some overall irritation at someone I know using the term functional until I felt more than a little violent.


It was one thing to discover that others deliberately stayed up to late to get time to themselves, and another to discover that it had a name “revenge bedtime procrastination” and a list of known causes and effects.

There was a certain flare of indignation that went up at being so targeted, and then a small measure of relief at the knowledge that this was not just being broken, this was a thing. Just another of many of the things that Brandon had, but would never take the time or money on having diagnosed, because frankly no one cared.

Brandon was single, had a good paying job, and as long as he was, as the shrinks say “functional” and wanted no specific accommodation, there was not reason ot get one. In fact, there were nothing but negatives, with the current perception of mental health as it was, haivng this on file could only hurt him. In his line of work it would practically make him unhirable, and for what exactly, a certificate declaring what he already knew to be true.

No no, he was better off just dealing with it alone, the best he could, as he always had. And following the tips on the article, because he really could use some more sleep, oh, wait, those trees can do what?