You know the drill. Write the saddest story you can with only two sentences. (Also, we all know the one about the unused baby shoes, so don't even bother. Write your own.) I guess I'll start. (This is basically just the backstory of one of my characters summed up in two sentences.) They give me pretty dresses and elaborate doll sets, thinking it'll make up for what I don't have, but it can't. Nothing can replace the love that parents are supposed to give, but that mine are always too busy to provide.
I watch them dance, eyes locked, smiling at each other. I sit alone, eyes locked on nothing but the floor.
Strangely, I have never been able to forgive my father for his mistakes, 'Strangely' because I am so much like him, that I have never been able to learn from them, either.
Perhaps our people aren't justified in their agenda of dominion over all things. Would the universe be better off if we simply ceased to be?
Once full of life and boundless joy, my pup lay motionless before me in the grass. No more pattering behind me nor begging for scraps, no more greeting me at the door nor snuggling in my lap.
It was her 95th birthday, her ears attentive for the drop at the letterbox as any day before; but nothing. She allowed a soft sigh to mark the hour that finally procrastinated beyond today's delivery, and with her sigh died daily hope; leaving only the remains of yet another day devoid of human contact.
(Hey look I made another one about a different character of mine) I was the only one in my family born with any sort of power, and I thought I could use my control over water to help people. One burning house with my mom and sister in it proved that I'd gotten my hopes up.
The length and the wordiness seem to be intentional, and serve well to accentuate the long, fruitless wait depicted.
Thinking over my earlier post, here's a variation on the theme: No party guests to sing him happy birthday or presents to rip open, no candles to blow out nor even a cake to cut - Jack celebrated his birthday alone as he had these past 14 years. Sat silent in his favourite wing back chair with a shawl draped over his cold legs, his body waiting to be discovered, this was his sixth birthday as a dead man. I don't know which is saddest
TY I am, as my username alludes to, what I like to think as cheerily verbose. Others have thought it little short of prolixity.
Arthur had started shredding his Mother's slippers up 4 days ago because he knew it drove her crazy and she would always come reclaim them, but now he was too tired for even that. Now, after 4 days of waiting with a dry water bowl, he could only lay his head in her slippers and let out a soft meow.
My bad. Here's a more lighthearted one: Arthur had started shredding his Mother's slippers up 4 hours ago because he knew it drove her crazy and she would always come reclaim them, but now he was too tired for even that. Now, after 5 hours of waiting with a food bowl only half full, with the last of his strength he could only knock the crystal cat dish off of the counter and let out a soft meow.
She didn’t realize I was watching, some time after she’d plunged the knife into my chest and brought my heart to a cold stop. As the last of my sight began to fade, I looked on helplessly as the woman I loved covered me in a blanket of dirt until only darkness remained.
"...her things were gone" delivers more force, I think. It's more personal and more pertaining to her personality.
