MWC19 - January- New Beginnings

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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Welcome to January's 2019's Monthly Writing Contest: - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - MWC19 - January- New Beginnings - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

This year I want to challenge the Newgrounds writing community in monthly competitions. Please write original works. Don't pull up something you wrote years ago that may fit this theme, the point is to write something new and to challenge yourself. At the end of each month a winner will be picked and a new prompt will be posted for writers to get started on.

  • THEME:

To celebrate the new year I want to challenge everyone to write a piece focusing on new beginnings. You have the creative liberty to write about any subject that you want as long as it contains the essence of this theme.

Think about a big change in someones life, extraordinary events, or amazing opportunities. Make us cry, laugh, elate, or fear. Make us feel!


  1. Word Count Maximum: 4000 words
  2. Story must have a strong presence of the monthly theme
  3. Story must be submitted by the deadline below


Feb. 2nd 2019: Midnight EST (ie midnight between Feb. 2nd and Feb. 3rd)


(Prizes may change in future competitions. We are testing the water with this one to see what the interest level is at)

1st Place: Supporter Status

2nd Place: Honorable Mention

3rd Place: Honorable Mention


  1. Post your stories in this thread. Don't post to a website or userpage. We want the version you submit to be the final version. We don't want people to edit submissions after they've submitted them other than the original time period that Newgrounds gives to edit posts.
  2. Do not post revisions in this thread.
  3. You may submit one story only, one time.

  • Judges:

  1. Fro
  2. (TBD)
  3. (TBD)

BBS Signature

Response to MWC19 - January- New Beginnings 2018-12-22 17:17:59

The Winter Journals


December 17, 2018

You never really know what you’ve got until it’s gone.  Sure, that might seem like little more than a trite cliché, but there is a reason that they exist, after all.  It’s because they’re based on very real and often poignant moments in a person’s life. Just because something is clichéd, that doesn’t make it any less important.  At least to that person, anyway. We’ve all been there.

In my case, what I’m referring to is yet another cliché: love.  Within the past year alone, I’ve lost my girlfriend of four years, who - incidentally - had just agreed to marry me next Spring, and my mom.  Two of the most influential women in my life, gone. Just like that.

If the first death caught me off guard, the second left me utterly reeling, feeling a deeper sense of loss than I ever have in waking life.  At times, I feel as though I’m losing my sanity, or even that it’s already vacated the building. If I’m being honest, I don’t even know how I can write about it now.  But that’s what I’ve been tasked to do. My therapist says that it will “give me closure,” or at least help me to “deal with my pain.” Supposedly, putting words down on paper magically grants a sense of catharsis.

I don’t know, maybe he’s right, but that might even be part of the problem.  Not his being right, but that he’s, well...a he. What I need right now in my life is a good female influence to help keep me grounded, because I feel like I’m about to lose myself completely.  Granted, I’m having kind of a bad day. But like the good doctor says, I’m entitled to a few of those.

Hey, I can’t really fault Dr. Hayashi for his bedside manner.  He’s got to be one of the most caring, thoughtful guys I’ve ever met.  There’s always a good-natured smile plastered firmly on his face, and while my more cynical nature tells me it’s because I help to pay his bills, that smile rarely seems disingenuous.  The way it crinkles the skin around his eyes and seems to soften his gaze, especially when he’s amused or talks about his kids, that’s just not something one can easily fake. Might as well give him the benefit of the doubt.

December 18, 2018

At first, I wasn’t going to talk about death.  At all. I know, that seems pretty lame when it’s basically what I was told to write about, but it’s not really the kind of thing I enjoy delving into.  Especially not the deaths that are still so near; the ones that still break my heart every single time I see their faces in my mind’s eye. But ultimately, I would be remiss if I didn’t talk about what happened.  About how and why my two favorite ladies were taken from me. I mean, after all, that’s why I’m sitting here.

In classic defense mechanism avoidance, I want to keep on just typing about silly, meaningless stuff.  But again, that’s not why I’m here. So why is it so hard to begin?

December 20, 2018

Okay, no more waffling.  I’m here to scrape this oily blackness out of my soul, so here goes nothing…

My girlfriend, Val (short for Valerie), was hit by a car.  No, she wasn’t in a car accident. She wasn’t even in a car.  All she was trying to do was cross the street. The sign flashed WALK, and she did.  I happened to be on the other side of the street, still almost halfway down the block, when I saw the shiny red sports car break free of traffic.  I was just about to wave back to her after she’d spotted me and waved in my direction. She wasn’t hurrying, though I could instinctively tell that she was as happy to see me as I was to see her.  We always met up after classes, and our high schools were only a couple miles apart.

The first thing I heard was the sound of an engine roaring to life.  I remember how the sun flashed off the vehicle’s metallic paint job. It nearly blinded me for a moment, and for some reason, at that same instant, the driver gunned the engine.

My mind went blank.  For maybe a second or two, I convinced myself that there was no way he’d hit Val.  She’s be safe, and I’d be there at the corner to greet her. We’d talk and laugh about the crazy driver in the red sports car, and what a close call it had been.

Then I heard the thump.  It was so soft, felt so far away, and my mind seemed to take flight.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Val went up and over the car as it sped down the road, never even slowing down when her body hit the ground a few moments later.

December 21, 2018

You know how people talk about things like that playing out in slow motion?  I think that’s just how they remember it afterwards. Because that’s how it is for me.  Every time I think about Val, the accident plays over and over in my head, like some kind of profane home movie, and it’s almost always in slow-motion.  Weirdly enough, I often imagine that I was much closer when it all went down. My own memories taunt me into believing that I could have just reached out and taken her hand, somehow saving her from such a horrible fate.  Of course, that’s nothing but a cruel fabrication of my subconscious mind.

After the sickening crunch of her body slamming into the pavement, I needed to run to her.  I wanted to scream. The reality is that I couldn’t even move. I felt sick, dizzy, like the ground itself was swaying beneath me.  To this day, I have no idea how I didn’t throw up on the spot, but I managed to force my rising gorge back down.

Then I was running.  I sprinted like a madman lost in a dream until I was standing at the intersection.  The traffic was moving around her, and I quite frankly didn’t know what the hell to do.  I guess that I must have been shouting her name, because a lady with a bag of groceries under her arm sidled over to try and comfort me.  After I’d calmed down a little, she carefully set her bag on the sidewalk, pulled out her phone, and dialed 9-1-1. Why didn’t I have the common sense to make that call?  I thanked her, and she responded with a thin, concerned smile. As the wail of sirens began to approach, I sank to my knees and finally broke down.

December 22, 2018

When the ambulance arrived, Valerie was pronounced dead at the scene.  Apparently, no one had managed to get the driver’s license plate number, but there were several people in the area who were able to give a vehicle description, including my own.  I guess they still haven’t caught the guy, though. If they had, I’d be called in to testify in court.

Honestly, I hadn’t even thought about that until just now.  Damn! That’s just how trapped in my own head I’ve become lately.  Maybe there really is something to this whole catharsis idea.

December 23, 2018

As for my mom, she was taken by one of the most clichéd diseases of all time.  You know, the one that kills hundreds of thousands of people each year. That’s right.  Good old cancer.

My dad and I had no other choice than to simply stand by and watch helplessly as mom’s health deteriorated.  Oh, I guess I haven’t really mentioned my old man yet. The thing is, I almost feel as though he’s even worse off than I am most days.  He gets up, goes to work, comes home, and just sits there until he goes to bed. Sometimes he watches TV or reads the paper, but he seems to have lost his zest for life.

We hardly talk at all, and when we do it’s just a polite nothing.  What is there to say, really? I guess I can actually kind of understand how he feels, even if I didn’t know Val as long as he was together with mom.  I’ll be turning nineteen in a few months, but they’ve been married for over twenty-five years. At this point, I can’t even relate to being alive for a quarter of a century.  Man...

Response to MWC19 - January- New Beginnings 2018-12-22 17:19:06

December 24, 2018

Back to the topic at hand, my mom was actually diagnosed with lung cancer just over three years ago, at the end of October in 2015. Two years into her treatment, the doctors had said that she was in remission. They’d attacked her cancer cells aggressively with a combination of chemotherapy and radiation, and she had ultimately decided to shave her head when the first hairs started falling out. I remember how she said that if they didn’t want to stick around, they could all just pack up and get out of town. She was awesome like that; always so upbeat, even in the direst of situations. We all laughed at the time, right in the face of Death.

Back in early August of this year, when one of her routine hospital visits revealed that the cancer had metastasized, not only in her lungs again, but also in her liver, the horror had come back to roost. “That’ll teach us to laugh at Death,” I thought, bitterly. Just three and a half months later, He had collected his pound of flesh.

I really need to take a break from this writing. Since starting one week ago, I think I’ve gone through two whole boxes of Kleenex. This shit is painful, that’s for sure. Not that Doc Hayashi didn’t warn me that it would be, but man. I seriously had no idea.

Holy crap, I just realized that tomorrow is actually Christmas! Mom and Val both really loved Christmas, but there’s not one single trace of it in this house or in our hearts this year. I can’t stand to see all the traditions fall by the wayside. I’m going to see if I can talk to dad about at least getting a tree. I’ll even decorate it by myself, if I have to...not that I’m looking forward to untying the gigantic knot of Christmas lights. Nothing feels right about this.

Okay, journal. Just writing about my feelings isn’t good enough right now. I’ll be back, but probably not until after Christmas. If it’s going to be the two of us from here on out, we need to make sure that we can survive on our own. No, no just survive. We’ve lost too much. Now I’m just writing my thoughts as they come, but I guess that’s okay. I’ll be back. I promise.

December 27, 2018

   The last few days have been an absolute freaking whirlwind of activity! It seems like dad was waiting for me to be ready to talk. Ironically, I was waiting for him. Clearly, since we’re a couple of totally dysfunctional dudes, we just kept right on waiting, each giving the other one his space. How stupid! It’s actually kind of hilarious. Thankfully, the silence has finally been broken.


Suffice to say, after my abrupt exit on Christmas Eve, things just started happening. It’s like our time was frozen or something. But now the clock has started ticking away again, and boy am I relieved.

After we talked about Val and mom, how much we miss and love them, and how incredibly lost we feel, we hugged it out. I’m not too man enough to admit that there were tears. On both sides. Yet another box of tissues took a critical hit, but we were both back in our standard orbits. That is to say, we felt connected again. And I never even realized how much I missed feeling connected to someone until we were smiling, laughing, our eyes still leaking, and sharing all of our crazy, painfully nostalgic, and thoroughly wonderful memories of the women we loved.

Correction: love.

Although it was already pretty late in the evening, and we both felt more or less husked out, dad vehemently agreed that we should go out and pick up a tree. It had to be done. And so it was, and when we got back we were thoroughly chilled, feeling more awake and alive than either of us had in weeks. After we got the tree propped up in its usual spot in the middle of the family room, we just stood there and admired it for a while, sipping hot cocoa. I was really happy that I’d taken the time to learn mom’s recipe, and dad wiped away a tear as he told me that it tasted like home. The fresh scent of pine gently wafted from the tree, and I breathed it in, grateful to smell something other than the same stale, stagnant air.

After that, we were pretty much beat, but we decorated the tree anyway. Each decoration came with its own memory, and we reminisced quietly as the night wore on. Finally, well after Midnight, we bid each other goodnight and, since it was already the next day, a Merry Christmas into the bargain. More hugs were had. I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, and it was one of the deepest, most peaceful states of oblivion I can ever remember having in my life.

Response to MWC19 - January- New Beginnings 2018-12-22 17:19:27

December 28, 2018

   I awoke on Christmas morning, feeling thoroughly refreshed, to the delectable scent of cinnamon rolls. After endless days of barely being able to drag myself away from the comfortable solitude of my bed, I fairly jumped out from under the covers, pausing only to throw on a pair of soft flannel pajamas and pop my feet into my slippers, before all but sprinting out into the kitchen. Despite everything that had happened the night before, what awaited me was even more incredible.

There in the kitchen sat my dad, happily munching on a positively humongous cinnamon roll. But that wasn’t even the most surprising thing. He wasn’t alone in the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Ramirez, Val’s parents, had decided to come by and see how we were doing.

How we were doing? I couldn’t even believe this. I’d been agonizing over how they must be feeling, having lost their daughter. I wanted to talk to them, to tell them how sorry I was that she was gone, but it ultimately just sounded so flat and useless in my head. And here they were, bearing a platter of steaming cinnamon rolls, somehow seeming more or less okay.

Suddenly the idea of a bona fide Christmas miracle didn’t seem quite so silly or clichéd. And yet, we had hoped and prayed for a miracle as mom was slowly wasting away during her most recent array of cancer treatments. To no avail. I had begged and pleaded with God to bring Val back to me, or to at least let me wake up; for it to fade like some kind of nightmarish dream. But that’s not how it works, and I know that. Not that knowing makes it any easier to accept, but there it is.

As I stood there at the entrance to the kitchen, obviously staring and almost certainly drooling, dad wiped the crumbs from his mouth and waved me over with a wink and a smile. I tentatively hugged everyone, sniffling as the threat of tears stung my eyes and my throat tightened up. Mrs. Ramirez offered me a cinnamon roll, which I accepted eagerly. As I shoved the warm, sticky sweetness into my mouth, it was just all too much to bear. I straight up bawled like a little lost child.

We all cried, then. It was like I’d kicked down the dam, or the clouds had burst, and we all just had a good cry. Oddly enough, none of it felt wrong or awkward. It just felt, I don’t know...cathartic. Curse you, Doctor Hayashi! I really need to thank him when I see him next week.

After we were all cried out, and we had more clung to each other desperately than simply hugged one another, the box of Kleenex made the rounds again. Then we simply sat together and talked.

I made a nice, strong pot of coffee for anyone who was interested. Then I asked if anyone preferred tea, and Mrs. Ramirez asked what kind we had on offer. She opted for chai, and after the kettle whistled to get our attention, I set to steeping it in two large mugs. After a spoonful of sugar and a generous splash of milk, they were ready to go. Mrs. Ramirez smiled, thanked me for what felt like more than just the tea, and put her other hand on my cheek for a moment as she accepted her cup. It was like, despite our best attempts at being festive, we could still feel the grief that lie hidden just beneath the surface.

Quiet sipping punctuated our easy-going and meandering conversation, and everyone opted for a second cinnamon roll. I think dad may have actually eaten three. I also learned that Mr. Ramirez is equally as fond of a good cup of coffee, and he thanked me for my diligence as I put on a second pot.

About an hour later, our special guests had to leave. They had two other children, both of whom were in college, and Mr. and Mrs. Ramirez needed to be back home when they arrived for Christmas dinner. The stack of cinnamon rolls, though greatly diminished, was left in our care.

After her husband helped her with her coat, Mrs. Ramirez came back for another nice, long hug. Then she planted a quick kiss on my cheek. I must have looked surprised again, because dad gave me a knowing grin as he leaned against the counter. After she stepped aside, Mr. Ramirez came over and pumped our fists vigorously. He seems like a guy who doesn’t give out hugs all that often, so I felt even more honored by the previous show of affection. I made sure to return his handshake with the same level of gusto. He smiled widely and nodded, obviously pleased.

Then they were out the door, wind and snow blowing around them as they forged their way down the sidewalk and bustled into their car. As I heard the engine turn over, I thought briefly about the maniac who had killed Val, and I felt the smile vanish for a moment. But then I thought about how Mrs. Ramirez had promised that they’d come see us again soon, and I couldn’t help but feel a new smile beginning.

December 30, 2018

   The remainder of our Christmas turned out to be just as magical. My grandparents all made an appearance, both on my mom and dad’s sides. Even my mom’s sister showed up, whom we hadn’t seen in ages. She looked just enough like my mother to catch me by surprise, but I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and greeted her at the door. Then my aunts and uncles who lived nearby arrived, along with their three kids in tow.

The growing throng brought all kinds of delicious goodies, and we ended up having two turkeys, one ham, and a grand total of three steaming bowls of mashed potatoes. There were tons of other things on offer, and we all had more than enough to eat, even when my bottomless pit of a best friend, Warren, showed up completely unannounced.

Anecdotes and witty repartee passed across the sprawling dining room table, jokes both new and old elicited at least polite laughter, and the warmth that I felt came from far more than just the hot food we were all stuffing into our bellies. Our house had become a home again.

The day passed by both slowly and far too quickly. Leftovers were put away, wrapping paper was shredded to tiny bits, and presents were oohed and aahed over. I’d been bugging my dad for a car before life had basically gone sideways, so I was thoroughly relieved when he presented me with a brand new 21-speed mountain bike. Once upon a time, I would have complained about how aesthetically lame it was to wear a helmet, but when he brought one out from behind his back with a big red bow slapped on top, I couldn’t help but smile and hug him right there on the spot. It’s kind of funny how much your perspective can change with time, isn’t it?

January 1, 2019

I know it’s been a few days since I’ve written in this journal, but I wanted to put all of these thoughts down before they faded too much. After this, I don’t think I’ll be journaling much any more, if at all. Things are too good right now, and I’d rather live life than spend too much time writing about it.

Mr. and Mrs. Ramirez invited us to their place for New Year’s Eve, and while it was just a small, intimate gathering, it felt perfect. Nothing was expected of anybody, and we simply enjoyed our time together. Their kids were still home from college, so I got to hang out with Val’s older brother and sister a little. They each took me aside in turn, wanting to talk about their little sister and hear about some of my own experiences with her.

Her brother is the resident tough guy, and we both managed to remain moderately stoic during our conversation. Conversely, Val’s sister really needed a sympathetic ear, as well as a shoulder to cry on. Although I hadn’t seen either of them in almost a year, they still felt like family, and it felt like I was a part of theirs.

No resolutions are needed this year. I’ve already found my resolve. Dad and I will keep right on living in the now, never forgetting who and what we’ve lost, but preferring not to dwell on our grief too much, whenever possible. I’m sure it sounds like a cliché, but we’re both going to be just fine.

Ladies and gentlemen, you have likely read other stories on this thread by now that go through the topic of “New Beginnings”. What pops in your head when “new” is said. Shiny? Presentable?Nice? Well, my story lives on the south side of town.You’ve maybe read the others and seen tragedy overcome by triumph. A good new beginning. However, my abundance of words in a box are drugged with tragedy. So, with that, I present to you a story that involves a child who’s past few days have been, shall I say,-

Not So Triumphant

By HomeOfTheBray

December 26th, 2008. Willard, Missouri.

The roaring noise gets louder and louder as the seconds roll by. 

As any Missourian will tell you, tornados absolutely suck. They also happen all the damn time. But, in all fairness, it’s a bit late for one at this time in the year, isn’t it? As I recollect, there were four in the six months prior to this one. The last one being in September, and the closest one to our house was seven miles away in Springfield.

Now this one’s practically touching me and my family.

Mom is making last minute efforts to stack up all the food because, as I recall her saying in the last ten minutes she was seen alive, “HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT A TORNADO WOULD HAPPEN IN FUCKING DECEMBER???”

I’m currently hiding under a mattress in the bathtub. It’s a small space, but it’s the only reason I’m still alive. There’s only room for me, but my mother and brother both have their own spot to hide from destruction. But because a couple shitty cans of Campbell’s soup and stale chips are more important than living, they have yet to reach those spots.

And Dad? Well, he’s far away, in the same place he’s been for the past six years. Where? Up north. Where up north? No idea. I only ever asked my Mom twice, and she just told me he’s coasting off of welfare checks up North. Whether that means he’s just a few miles up north in Kansas City, or way up north at the tippy top of Canada freezing his balls off I have no idea.

I hear a cascade of loud crashes that sound like they’re just inches away. I peak from my measly mattress. The deafening sound of a hellish tornado ripping apart a house get louder. Or closer. Or both. I hear the unmistakable thumping of somebody running.

The door opens. Nobody is there. Nothing is there, including the wall that usually was in front of the bathroom. Debris is flying everywhere. I see mother running. She sees me and starts running towards the bathroom. I hear something coming towards me. I see mom reach her hand out to me, even though she’s at least ten feet away.

And then, with the sound of wood hitting bone, and a bright light overtaking my vision, she was gone.

21 hours later...

Turns out the sound of wood hitting bone was a large chunk of a tree slamming into my face at 90 miles per hour. I woke up the next day with blood running down half my face.

The Willard Post would eventually write something about me. A week later, residents in the town would wake up, collect the soon to be extinct newspaper, read the headline “Tornado Death Toll Rises To Seven”, and after reading the editorial about the girl who lost her brother and the family that lost their dog, readers would see a picture of me. Below the photo, a caption reads, “Local 14 year old Ian Halas wanders through Northway Pines - the small community south of City Hall that was hit the hardest - searching for his brother and mother.”

Why the numbfuck editor of the Post said that I was “searching” for my family, I have no idea.

That sea of rubble that sat in front of me was my family. I had stopped ”searching” for them three hours prior to when the photo was taken when I saw them both flattened below an infinite pileup of bricks and wood.

“Ian!” A far away voice shouted. Skipping down the street is a girl I (used to) go to school with, Jenna. Or was it Jaine? Look, I just had a piece of a tree fly right into my face at full speed. If you were me, you’d lose some brain cels too.

She seems awfully euphoric for somebody walking through a neighborhood of destroyed houses, but I suppose that’s what happens when your family has just moved to AllTheMoneyInTheWorld, USA, where tornados don’t happen on Christmas fucking weekend. I never liked Jean (Jenna, Jaine, whatshername). She never shut the hell up and always came off as an entitled piece of shi-

“Which house is yours, if you don’t mind me asking?” She asks.

I do mind, actually, and I would prefer it if she were to take a few thousand steps back to her three story mansion up in Golden Toilet Seatland so that I can privately mourn the loss of the only two people in life I ever became attached to, but instead of telling her to piss off, I decide to give her an answer.

I point to a house that isn’t mine, a house untouched by the disaster that has just occurred. I do this to spare myself of having to hear her probably long and awkward as hell sympathies (Everything happens for a reason, bullshit, bullshit, etc.)

“Wow, you are so lucky. Anyway, I came to tell you that my brother got into Duke. Do you know hard it is to get into Duke. Their acceptance rate is something like-“

As she goes on and on about how her smartass brother bribed his way into Duke University, I let my mind dwell on my own brother.

Interestingly enough, Nicholas wanted to go to Duke’s polar opposite: North Carolina. Although Duke’s acceptance rate is lower, it requires a higher GPA to get into NC.

Nicholas was within pissing distance of getting in. He was interested in a career in writing, and a degree in literature was not far away with the GPA he had.

Now he doesn’t have a GPA. Or a pulse.

I have my sights focused on a patch of splattered blood sitting on top of the rubble that used to be my home. It’s not exactly a sight any sane person would invest there time into, and it’s really unsettling, as you can imagine. But as I’m staring at this unpleasant splat of human blood, a question lingers in my head: Who’s is it?

My mom or my brother would most likely be the answer, but then again, I was pretty banged up too. I woke up and the left side of my face was bathed in blood. Although I was no happy camper with my injury, there was a larger problem at hand.

After browsing through the destruction, I discovered my mother and my brother. From my view, I had concluded that the entire house had collapsed, crushing them. Brick, wood slabs, pipes, you name it, it had ripped through their skin. It didn’t look like a pleasant way to go at all-

“Ian!” Another far away voice called out. I was looking at Ms. My Brother’s In Duke, but I had recognized the voice enough to know it wasn’t hers. Sure as shit, I look a few feet behind Jenna Last Name to see my Aunt Sarah

I didn’t want to see her, but, by law, I needed to...

LITERALLY ALL THE FORUM THREADS I'VE MADE!!!(last updated December 10th 2017)

Have you ever fallen asleep watching a documentary about insomnia?

BBS Signature

Long story short, my mother went into surgery for heart disease eleven months prior to the tornado. She was superstitious about something happening during the procedure that may end up killing her, so she wrote her will and testament.

In her will, she declared that me and Nicholas should be in custody of Aunt Sarah, which was - at the time - reasonable. Sarah was developing a hefty portfolio in the stock market. 

Mom survived the surgery, which was good because the stock market crashed, Sarah’s money dried to shit, and she went from living in a high-end studio apartment in New York as an investor, to living in a small, smelly room that barely qualifies as an apartment. She now paid the bills as a guidance councilor at a high school in Maine. A gangsta high school where the students are more concerned about shooting up their friends house than learning how to read.

In short, we got lucky...and then our luck ran out. And Sarah’s luck got worse.

Six days after the tornado, she took me on a car ride to...where? Why, the place every child dreams of ending up.

A job fair.

How she lost her job is beyond me, but as I’m standing in line, reminiscing about how we went from celebrating Christmas to standing in a damn job fair line all within less than a week, I look at the sign hanging over the building.


Below it.

“New Year. New Job. Better Beginning”

My ass.

LITERALLY ALL THE FORUM THREADS I'VE MADE!!!(last updated December 10th 2017)

Have you ever fallen asleep watching a documentary about insomnia?

BBS Signature

Response to MWC19 - January- New Beginnings 2018-12-31 18:21:10

The Winstons

When I was a child I used to live next to a very kind young couple. They’d often bring me sweets every time they came to visit my parents and even Christmas gifts during the holidays. I used to think it very odd that they never brought their children with them during these visits. But now I know why.


It started the summer we moved in. While my parents, aunts, and uncles collectively brought boxes and furniture in our new home I was left to my own devices. It was hard to be an only child playing with no companion. One’s imagination usually had to take over, which proved to be both a blessing and a curse. It would keep me entertained but whenever I told my parents about my adventures they would never believe me. So when I heard some children playing in the front yard of the neighboring house I was thrilled beyond my wildest dreams.


There were four of them, at first; three girls and one boy. The boy was the smallest of the four and the girls were quite motherly towards him. They continued to play what appeared to be tag as if they didn’t see me coming. When I came too close they turned their heads simultaneously with the same expression on their face. Shock. It held as I told them my name and that I was moving in next door. I was speaking so fast because of how nervous I was to be the new kid. But they welcomed me with open arms as the confusion wore off.


Their parents, the Winstons, were quick to introduce themselves to my parents and make quick friends of them as well. Their visits started soon after we moved in, which usually left me both happy and perplexed. I loved them very much, but the question about the absence of their children was always in my mind.


The five of us were inseparable, playing in my backyard every day. Lots of hide and seek, red rover, and hopscotch. I couldn’t have been happier because I made the transition from my hometown to a new one so seamlessly. No awkwardly waiting for someone to approach me at school. No lonely days on my own inventing ways to entertain myself. No eating alone at lunch time when school started in the fall.


Just before the first day of school the neighbor kids met me in the backyard. With them was another boy who was much smaller than the other. They all seemed a bit on edge and the discomfort on their faces, somewhat sad, only intensified as I asked who our new guest was. They told me that he was their youngest brother. Their eyes seemed to never meet mine until I excitedly welcomed the little guy, not even questioning where he’d been until now. All I knew was that I had another new friend and the details did not matter. The entire group cheered up with my acceptance and we went about our usual everyday amusements.


That night Mr and Mrs Winston visited. The father looked a bit distant and worn while his wife couldn’t stop sobbing. They did not bring sweets with them for me this time. My parents urged me to go to bed, looking extremely concerned for their own new acquaintances. Not being the kind of child that would disobey, no matter how much I hated bed time, I hurried up the stairs to my bedroom. The weeping continued for a long time, the whispers hard to decipher from my room. Despite my worries for them, I fell asleep before they even when back home.


The next day I woke to find that I couldn’t find the neighbor kids anywhere. I concluded that whatever happened must have been serious and in my young mind there was only one thing I could think of. They were moving. In a panic I ran next door hoping they were still there. I was relieved when Mrs. Winston answered the door, still looking puffy eyed from crying.


“Can your kids come out and play?” I asked.


She held her hand to her mouth and gasped with tears in her eyes. Without a word she simply shut the door in my face. Later on my parents sat me down and asked me why I would play such a cruel prank. I insisted it wasn’t and told them about my friends. This only made them more upset with me.


“While we are quite proud of how strong your imagination is, there is a line. The Winstons do not have any children. Mrs. Winston has had 5 miscarriages. She lost her recent pregnancy a few days ago. That means all of her babies died before they were born, sweetie. Please do not mention your imaginary friends to them again.”


I never brought them up again, but I continued to play with my friends. As the years went by there were three more to provide me company. At first I didn’t understand what was happening, but as I became a preteen it began to make sense to me. It didn’t stop me from talking to them, it didn’t even frighten me. They hid nothing from me and I shared my own intimate secrets with them. Even under the circumstances I still enjoyed their company.


The Winstons finally had a viable pregnancy when I turned fifteen. We were all very happy for them, even her previous children rejoiced. As the day approached we all anticipated their parents finally being happy for a change. Finally, one of their siblings would be able to be born into the world. Sadly, I found Mrs. Winston sitting with her eight children in the garden of their home after school in the spring. It was clear that she could see and talk to them. There was sadness but also a sense of peace among them. Strong cries of a hungry newborn filtered through an open window and all of them smiled. Everything was as it should be. No one was alone anymore.

Response to MWC19 - January- New Beginnings 2019-01-04 18:24:57

Tittle:the future become the present when you start again.


Some days i wonder where you are. Like the blackness of my soul you stole away from me the minute you left my world. I can’t explain it anymore but your gone. I don’t know what it is what drove you to stand next to me but you where there. Like an oil stain on paper I couldn’t remove you from my life and then suddenly you disappeared. Nobody knows where you are and I never heard of you again but this time I have to start over again.


Like the past the present is just as important and you where a part of my past. A painting that is hanging on my wall reminds me every day of you and all that I am missing but you’re not there anymore.


The present is a gift. A gift that by some has been given by a god or some other creature with magical powers but for me it is just another day. Now it is another day without you. It might be a day that could be special, and everything could be changed in a second with out knowing what has been going on and I know that.


Like a waterfall it falls every day. Let’s say this waterfall will never dry and it will keep on going and it will always fall as far as it can. never ending in a splash on the ground but continuing like the place it fell from was a floating island you will never be able to see again.


You will remember the grass you once pasted, you will remember all the trees you saw, the night skies where you could admire the stars and where you saw a falling star once and where one time you floated past a village and you stayed for a while but then had to move on again. These are the memories of your past. But again, there was a ledge and you fell from the edge of the world moving on from that one to the next.


You will fall, you will always fall again and again and fall harder than another time but in between you still can look up at that island where you had those memories and wonder how it could have ended if you stayed but you didn’t and your heading towards your new world. Instead of looking back you will look forward and there will be a new world waiting for you. Like the world you left behind was doing before.


One with new rivers, people, trees, smells and more. Where you can have new experiences and your future will be laying there waiting for you to arrive and instead of being your future then the future will change in to your present and will show you new wonders of his world.


And one day that present will pass on to be your past like all your futures will. They always will be waiting for you to arrive in there moment and they will all have there moments to shine. I wouldn’t call it just a day anymore. Maybe it could be a present of your future. Maybe that’s why the present is named after a gift. It’s a present specially made for you.


But not all futures are wonderful, and neither can be your presents. Not all beginnings are one to look forward to. Some futures are grim and sad. Ones you will never expect but shape you to the person you are today and even those futures are a new beginning of your personality.


The heartbreaks, the betrayals of friends and family, the loss of people and more are also new beginnings. Some of those beginnings are now the past for some people and they never got the chance to say goodbye. They started scared and crumbled. Dead in the eyes with just one little bit of hope where they hoped other futures would be better.


Not every beginning is a good one, but every beginning will end eventually. People would call them sections or chapters like from life. When someone dies it is a new beginning in the life of someone else. They will have to life forever without that person and that might hurt but it will give their wings strength or let them become a fallen angel broken and lost.

Nobody knows what they will become in the future. Only the future will know that story and the time master will know as well. They may sit in a chair. The past, present and the future writing their books and then passing them onto another.


The future writes the books. She writes all the things that happen for everyone or just one person. With a stroke of her pen she will write a full book for every person’s life. One shorter than the other. It might make her sad that a daughter just born passed away from a disease, but she goes on every single day writing a new beginning and a new chapter for a boy, a girl or someone in between.


Then there is the present. He gets all the books that the future writes and makes sure every single action gets carried out. Like a movie director he sees all the actions people have done and makes sure they get all carried out as the future has written for them. He sometimes gets sad as well because not everyone has a happy beginning or ending.


Then there is the past. Sitting in the last chair. Like the other two he knows what has been going on, but he is special. He stores the present into the past. Thousands of book cases where he stores everything every day and he knows what goes on. Every sad memory left behind by people who have to start over again but also the happy new couples and parents and more people who are so happy about the beginning. He knows these memories are lessons for a better future even though some lessons are hard and cruel, And then there is the time master who manages time, so time is not stuck in one place.


It’s a nice idea right? Everything even the past is already written in the future. All your chapters stored into the hands of the future until the present gets their hand on it. Or isn’t it more beautiful that every new beginning has been a future and became your present and later your past.


Maybe we will never know or maybe when your chapters end another book gets opened and we start over again fresh with a clean slate. Or we get to a door where you get a choice. Live again with no memories of your past or pass on with every memory preserved as the person you where and always will be.


You will never know until then we will only know that there will always be new beginnings until we end our books forever.


Until then we will always have to look towards the future with a smile, have to live with the present and learn from our past and even though the past will sometimes let us hate the present and the future we will have to remember that we will always have a choice if we want to start a new chapter again and begin a fresh start.


We will never be alone in our steps into a new beginning and there will always be our guardians that will protect us and support our choices and that’s why I will let you go and start fresh again.


I will turn the page over and there will not be the oil stain you left and I might turn back the page to look at what happened then and I will not always be happy with the choices I made but I will not dwell on keeping myself on that page and I will turn over a new one.


Even if the new page is fresh, I will stain it with my new words of my new beginning where I will meet new people, make new friends, and become the person that I wanted to be even though I am scared of what might come towards me.


I will chase the life goals I always wanted to for fill, and I will learn from my mistakes to see what will make my future even more beautiful than it could already be. I will never regret the people I have met without a doubt and I will never regret meeting the new people in the future because they make the person I am today and I am proud of that.


The fresh page will make my new life longer than it was before and even though it will scare me to death it will make me stronger and I will never forget that. A new page isn’t always beautiful, but it will give new meaning to life, make you stronger as well as let’s you see the other beautiful things in life. I hope my chapter will go on for a long time still.  


My name is the future and right now I am looking towards the present who I will become. I will have to start a new page again and say goodbye to my future. I finally will see my and your stories played out and even if you stain the page like I sometimes had to do before. Let’s make something beautiful toghter. 

Response to MWC19 - January- New Beginnings 2019-01-13 20:59:35

So I am allowed to post about new beginnings on this writing contest, I thought I should write about turning my life around after finally having my misdemeanor expunged after working for the city where I live for four month's. This has been one crazy experience I can't get over the feeling that I am not punctuating my word's properly or even uses sentences correctly without being redundant. The new year has brought a lot of joy into my life, met these two good looking women that are republican's and were campaigning for their dad to win the seat of state representative. Let me tell you these women are the best looking women I have seen in a while, they both are completely flawless and embody everything that I am looking for in woman. Needless to say I did not even try to ask for their number or social media I just told them if they ever wanted good luck they could let their friends know that me Embolio voted for their dad. Considering the fact that I just drove home in my sisters' car after living in a city for a new year and not being able to really purchase what my heart desire's, I am really impressed by the fact that these women have generated so much good luck in my life as of lately. Planning on getting a broom and dust pan with a plastic garbage can and sweeping up this part of the city were I live that is littered with cigarettes and then getting rid of the trash can or returning it in order to get my money back. Also thinking about getting a weed eater and dressing up as a city worker and weed eating the part of the city littered with cigarettes. As you can tell I am really enamored with these women, I want them to be mine even though I do not know anything about them other then the fact that they are good looking and their Dads' last name. On a different matter at hand, I am trying to get more into underground Death Metal, Black Metal and Industrial, have been purchasing a lot of Heavy Metal, Death Metal and Black Metal. Finally obtained a copy of the highly sought after Haemoth Nemeton split and I am really blown away by the split tape. This tape is the rawest Black Metal split I have ever heard in my life. Nemeton uses the craziest drum machine double pedal work I have ever heard in my life combining the sickest Black Metal croaks I have ever heard with the most hypnotic Black Metal guitar riffs. Haemoth is even crazier, considering that all other Haemoth releases are more played out I can listen to their side of the split for the rest of my life and never get tired of listening to Haemoth. This year 2019 is also the first time I will be able to go to college after spending a whole year re using all my old change to purchase tooth brushes, clothing food and CD's. Really grateful to be in college and pursuing a career in criminal justice their is a certain pride in feeling your skin peel from working hard and using every single old penny to buy food and munchies. Love having my mouth feel numb with the feeling of recycling all my other band merchandise and walking to the local dds by where I live in order to obtain my drivers permit. Planning on purchasing a BMX bike with helmet in order to ride to the Harley Davidson store by where my Dad work's in order to purchase some good quality biker clothing. Getting acquainted with the way the city work's and I do not want to be at the mercy of the local food workers who smoke cigarettes especially after learning how to ride a street 500 Harley Davidson motorcycle. I know that my grammar may not be the best although I wanted to take the time to point out that more people should embrace new beginning's. As I am writing this I am going insane from all the tension in my left arm from the scars of self harming years ago and I must say that I do not even have the will to finish the required four thousand word's.