Yo, my name is Willis, I talk a mile a minute, and I got a lot to do, so let’s make this quick. I’m on my way to the pharmacy, ‘cuz my father, he is sick. I didn’t really know the girl; we were never tight, but I saw her by the pond one day; she was in a fight. She was talkin’ all crazy, to herself, no one was there. I looked for something in her ear, but it was totally bare. I think she thought a ghost was by her side; or something invisible. Whatever it was, it had lied, and she felt that was impermissible. It was something about religion—myself, I don’t have faith. For Viola, it seemed like hers was the same case. Someone close to her was in a cult, or maybe something like it. She needed help to save her friend. As for the cult, she thought she’d fight it. She caught me peeping on her convo, and stopped right in her tracks. She didn’t seem upset with me, but told me I needed to relax. She did not deny she had had a religious argument, but didn’t want me thinking that she was just intolerant. I assured her that her business was her own, and I’m only telling you right now, since she’s gone off to the unknown. Well, we shook each other’s hand, and parted ways, but I could tell she was still worried. I later found her...stands [sic], by the locker bays, and now she was real hurried. I tried to ask after her friend, but she brushed off any issue. I thought that she would start crying, so I checked my bag for any tissue. By the time I looked back up, she was nowhere to be found. I tried to keep looking for her, but she got lost in the the high school crowd. I went on vacation the next day, so that was the last time I saw her face. By the time I returned, Viola was gone, and out of this lively race.
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Botner
This is a highly experimental series wherein I write a story prompt, let an AI text generator continue the narrative, and then I write the conclusion.
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Big Papa
Two new friends, Ellie and Lowell fight to wrest control of an afterlife simulation from the megalomaniac who stole it from Ellie and her team.
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My name is Nick Fisherman III. It's not my real name, but that's not because I'm trying to hide from my former agency, or something. I named myself after someone I've known for most of my life, and he chose it in honor of his late best friend. I took up writing when I found myself failing 8th grade science, and realized I might never reach my dream of becoming a biochemist, a meteorologist, and a quantum physicist. I started developing my canon after a scouting trip to an island inspired what I thought would be my first novel. I founded this website upon the advice of many people, who told me I needed to get my work out there, and not wait for an agent to accept my manuscript. You can expect one new story every day. Weekdays are for microstories, which are one or two paragraphs long. They're usually only thematically linked, so you won't have to read one to understand another, but they do sometimes tell a combined story. Sundays are for my continuous longer story, The Advancement of Mateo Matic, which I started in the beginning, and won't end until 2066. Saturdays are for long series, most of which take place in the same universe as Mateo, and add to the larger mythology.

Monday, January 28, 2019
Microstory 1026: Willis
Labels:
bag
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conversation
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crowd
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crying
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cult
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death
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faith
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fight
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lies
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microfiction
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microstory
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perspective
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rapping
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religion
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school
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secrets
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water
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