50 word stories. All exact. Count if you want.
Whistling to himself, he walked down the dirt trail, the sun shining in his eyes as the gravel crunched beneath his feet.
The tune was in a minor key, his feet were sore and head pounding.
He collapsed, unconscious but fully aware of the fact that he’d never be found.
Tearing up, he managed to smile, with such pure emotions of care and sadness emanating from him that she almost didn’t.
She turned away, her eyes already glassy, and walked off into the distance, with cloudy skies, swirling winds, and a cliff that was calling out to her, calling, “Jump.”
The little things can sometimes be all that matters.
You push me down? Fine. You call me names? Fine. You abuse me, fuck me, torture me to my breaking point? Fine, bitch.
But you take my pencil? You take my sanity? You’ll never get the chance to hurt me again.
You often sit, staring out into space, wondering if you could. You blink, once, maybe twice, letting the soft liquid fall out of your watery eyes. It’s too beautiful today, you decide. This can wait.
The next rainy day, you were found dead, lying in a field, bled out.
He plucked at his guitar, smiling to himself, knowing he was rare. He was one who is unfazed, one who is unabatingly happy.
He knew he had no chance with him, he knew he was hated by society, but he smiled still.
He had no regrets, and nothing to fear.