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There once was a woman who hated her husband. She was once in love, but ever since he kissed her as a bride, she has begun to loathe his every move. She despises how he pets the dog, obviously she does it way better. She cannot stand how he buys her flowers on a schedule, every Wednesday. She wonders what the point is if there’s no surprise! She questions if he even loves her still. But honestly, she hopes he doesn’t.

In order to catch a break, she would take long walks in the forest and say she was out berry picking. She would pick and eat the best ones sitting under her favorite cherry blossom, and bring home the small sour ones for her husband. Wanting to spend more time away from home, the woman decides to take a different turn than usual. Something was drawing her there.

Behind the most beautiful blueberry bush, she notices a glimmer behind the leaves. Peering through the branches, she finds a sword. A shining silver sword. She gasps in wonder and astonishment. The handle is majestically bejeweled with ruby and turquoise and emerald, all of her favorites. Suddenly, an idea rattles her brain, it rattes her brain in such a wonderful way she’s never felt pleasure like that before.

The woman has a whole new glow upon her face, as she skips gallantly all the way home. She is the most excited she’s been to walk through those doors in a very long time.

“Hello my dear!” she squeaks into the house.

“Aren’t you cheery?” She hears her husband yell to her from the upstairs.

She hears her husband begin to make his way to the staircase, as she hides to the side of them, perfectly hidden by the wall. Step. Step. Step. Closer, closer, and closer. Her husband turns the corner, she jumps up and pierces the sword straight through his stomach. Release. My god she hasn’t felt this good in ages.. His body falls to the ground, and she disposes of him properly. This is a new beginning, she thinks to herself.

She makes her way back up to the doors of her home, grinning ear to ear in complete bliss. She turns the handle, opens the door, and there he is.

“I see I know how you really feel.”

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The painting hangs opposite a door. It is not in the direct line of vision of whoever is entering the room at the start, the room wasn’t designed that way. So instead it sits in wait as the person enters and closes the door behind them. One can only hope that the setting is dark. So then when the intruder casts a look about the room, their gaze catches on the outline of a bright white figure against the darkness of the room. The painting is set perfectly at eye level, so that it appears to be the upper portion of a person, standing as if they had been waiting for the intruder. Known about them all along. Someone with a smile on their face and death in their hands. As if they were saying “found you” in a cooing, mocking way. Just placed to give the intruder a jump if they decided to enter the room.

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A girl dressed in all white lay on a slab of ice awaiting her husbands return from battle. The longer she waited the more worried she became. After 3 days she had enough. She threw on her white lace coast and crystal headpiece and drew her white and blue patterned horse from her stable. Off they were on a quest to find her husband deep in the battle caves. Her horse halted at the entrance to the overgrown opening in the rocks ahead. She hopped off her gorgeous travel partner and set into the cave on her own crystal knife in hand.  The further she went her hope became slim. The sound of a deep and heavy breathe echoed through the caves walls. Without fear she ran in the direction of the sound thinking she recognized the voice. Finally she saw him. It was her husband covered in ice and snow. An icy tear ran down her left cheek she slowly walked towards him as he stood staring in disbelief. His eyes soon began to water as well and they embraced each other in arms. Their breathes were cold and hearts warm. Once again they were together and now they felt more love between them then they ever had before. They could go home now. And thats just what they did.

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Answers are used on questions

As truth is used on lies

To separate the false from fact

We answer, do or die

Do what you must and muster your strength

For death is a constant purity

For both rotting filth and holy faith

So act, have faith your crimes have will

Every action is an act of reaction

Because cause always has an effect

Since the beginning of time it intermingles seamlessly

No one unaffected, it just “is” with no “why”

Time, passing as regrets are stacking

My only hope is in those that change

For everything never stays the same

And consider, using what your given

Given the truth to separate the lies

So that you can act on your truth and confess your crimes

Death proving to be the only other option in “do or die”

As time is proven to be wasted but never slowed

You should change the world with what your given

Because your will can change everything

Even change the ones you don’t know

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Dellius, a noble rider in the Kings guard, had come to the bridge he had been searching for on the map. An aged map, the sides crinkled and torn, the ink faded, was guiding him through the badlands. The bridge not able to hold both the knight and his steed, Dellius descended from the saddle onto the soft earth. He stepped to the bridge, a solid bridge, he held a stolid expression as from underneath a rack of wood popped a spike. Multiple quick shots into the air, the stones fell, Dellius had still not attempted to cross the bridge. On the other side, a dense forest at the North East corner of the badlands held many black trees that stood tall, and grew with many thick, black branches. A rope plunged into the path and a caped rebel swung off into a cloud of dust. Dellius drew his blade swiftly and stood in his guard, he held the sword high. The man on the other side dawned a bright red coat with the gold trim of a rebel, a black sash and gloves, black boots, and a feathered cap. The man stepped to the bridge and removed his cap.

He cocked his chin and began to speak, “I am Horacio Dunst of the Rebel Battalion and you good sir, are trespassing in the pristine of the Badlands. As the designated protector of these Badlands I’m afraid I’m going to have to put you under arrest, or if you would prefer, send you into the blissful eternal slumber we all wish to receive.”

Dellius replied by rushing the bridge. Horacio drew and they clashed with the great spark of the hot iron medal. It was a green light that cascaded into wonderful smoke streaking across the forest. With a swift pass and the end of the duel, Horacio Dunst was no more.

By the end of the week, Dellius returned to a guild of trumpets and a bountiful feast in honor of the return of the Queens’ locket that she had missed so very much. He was honored among all and for his bravery in the Badlands he was rewarded with the title of General to the Royal guard.

Dellius stood for the congregation on a mountain of oak in the village square and rejoiced for chants of his name to which he replied

“Good people of Fort Nok, in return for my deed I do not wish for tribute nor worship, nor do I wish for a gaggle of gifts and riches laid at my door. I only wish that for this eve, all creatures great and small may eat, drink, and be merry under a full moon that provide glow to the streets, and glow to the hearts”.

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Speech Writing - satire, fantasy, humour

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Speech Writing - satire, fantasy, humour

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I am the prince of The Grand Empire Hypocritopia, and as mere peasants, you well know the issues this “society” has with me. Yes I'm not talking about you mere peasants I'm talking about me a grand emperor that has society against them. As a man much wiser, more humble, and more handsome than me once said “...” ... As you may be able to tell from the silence, there is no one more handsome, more humble, or wiser than me.

Even if the devil of the parent I call my mother told me that I looked like a pig and swore I was an antichrist when I walked backwards up a wall, I know I was a perfect child. She also said she “was afraid of showing me to the other noble woman” because “They might faint and collapse at the mere sight of me”. I am sure she meant that the others would be so overwhelmed by my majestic and handsome visage that they would faint on the spot. *Snort*.

This young master only requests that you answer this one question, are you willing to die for me to inherit the throne that my late imperial father incorrectly said would go to my second brother in his will when he surely meant me? He claimed that the person who should inherit the throne shouldn’t be ugly, arrogant, and stupid. This proved to me that he meant my brother!... Everyone who didn’t nod their heads is to be sent to prison for treason against the rightful emperor.

Now that my power is to be established and I am to gain women, gold, silk, the throne, an army, and women. I wish to tell you peasants that you should start licking my feet and not run over to that dreadful younger brother of mine. With his “tax based on income” and “Consistent federal currency backed by gold standard”, why would we need a currency backed by a gold standard when GOLD is backed by the gold standard. Can’t he see how much money I and the people that had bribed me will lose if he both increases our taxes and lowers yours! This is a terrible thing done by a terrible person.

I propose that you give us your money so that we don’t have to spend our own money when funding our army to crush any and all opposition! Some may die, but that is a risk I am willing to take. As all of you should feel lucky to die for a man as great as me. Sometimes I wish I could die for myself, but I just couldn’t, as fighting would both ruin my beautiful face and I have all you mud-eating, wheat smelling, pig-looking, dumber than the bricks you place, dreadfully poor peasant to die instead. Thankfully, your money and donations will go a long way to fund the war you are going to fight in my stead.

Thankfully my brother has only gained support from 90% of the politicians of the country. They are people who do not matter when it comes to my power as an emperor. All of the people who bribed me are the ones who truly have a hold over the country, and are the people who my brother wrongfully wants to expose their crimes. In my opinion, they have done nothing wrong! The black markets, though I have never been there, are supposedly a completely free market. As well as all sorts of fun entertainment, like gambling, drugs, and fighting rings. I may send some of the conscripts to the fighting rings to entertain me during this boring and ultimately time wasting war. As we all know, nobody could defeat someone as strong, handsome, and perfect as me. Have I mentioned how humble I am?

Now then, send your most beautiful daughters and wives to my castle as tribute so that… wait… stop throwing things! GUARDS! Why aren’t you stopping them?! AAAAAAAA!”

This is an excerpt on a case study of “The worst types of royalty” about the last recorded speech of the worst known royal scion.

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It's a cold day, the smoke trail hitting her cheek being the only thing able to pierce through the layers of cold blanketing her skin. The sigh she sings is heavy, somehow drenched in apathy yet held an undertone of passionate rage. She adjusts her dress in an attempt to alleviate the scratchy awkward feeling the concrete gave her. Where they dangle over her feet at the end of lengthy arms that draped over the knees she had pulled up to her chest, she’s intent on watching her fingers twitch and tap to a beat that had never been heard before.

Despite her focus on them, she doesn’t notice his hand approaching until it crudely nudges her own. She doesn’t move. Her fingers shift when he nudges her hand again, with more force this time. Looking down at the obstacle interrupting her rhythm she sees the burning paper stick he was offering. For the first time after sitting, her eyes meet his face, he’s not looking back, her jaw protests when the clench she holds on it strengthens. He nudges her hand again before she finally swipes it out of his clammy hand, her nail scratching his knuckle on the retreat.

Her lips part, pushing past the initial stick the cold gave them. Elbow now firmly planted atop her knee, held between two fingers she lifts the cigarette up to her mouth. A small moment of relief fills her head after she breathes in the smoke. Lightly tapping the cigarette, she returns to her beat.

Looking now, she finds him staring at her from where he’s sat on his suit jacket, one leg spread out, the other bent with the knee pointing outwards, his mouth pulled into a tight line. His right palm is wrapped around his knee, he squeezes, then releases, then squeezes again. Then there’s tap tap tap of his foot, it dances to an unappealing rhythm, one heightened by his dress shoes that seem to simulate the sound of a tap shoe. Eyebrows high to where they crease her forehead, she meets his eyes, directs her gaze to his fidgety foot, then back.

The foot stops and the wrinkles at the bridge of his nose tighten, a look of confusion settles on his face. That is until flippantly rolling his eyes and then picking up the incessant tapping again, this time with a purpose.

A tooth pierces her lip while she sits and glares, hand shaking around the cigarette. Lifting her elbow and raising the paper above her head she kicks her leg out, colliding her foot with his. For a moment he loses the lines in his face, bafflement consuming his features. It’s not long until he responds with a harsh kick of his own, one she can feel in her toes. This time she goes for his ankle, introducing the heel of her boot to it.

A sharp intake of air hisses through his teeth before he moves to ram his shoulder into her elevated arm, causing her torso to twist in on itself away from him. A tiny sound of rage is the only warning given before the cigarette bends in her forming fist and her boney elbow finds its target in his ribs. Fingers wrap a cold firm grip on her wrist, cigarette then slipping from her grasp when she flicks her wrist, landing a fist into his nose. In a rushed reaction he bends her arm back away from his now bloody face, still not releasing her, she turns her body, and grabs his shoulder with a tight grip, pushing him into the concrete.

He now has a hold on both of her wrists from where he lay below her, and is lifting his leg in preparation to knee her in the gut, when suddenly the door behind them opens with the sound of a record scratch and they pull apart. While they dust off their clothes and attempt to look casual, the remaining embers stuck to the end of the deformed cigarette catch her eye.

Everything is silent as she watches the only warmth in a world of blue, fizzle out.

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Mr. Crawford picked up his brass walking stick, kissed his wife on the cheek, and made his way out the door and toward the house.

He nodded at the street vendors as he bustled by their stands. They mostly ignored him, busy setting up their produce and laying out their wares, preparing for another day.

He rounded a tailor shop and stepped out onto the main road. It was early in the morning and the village’s usual bustle had not yet begun. The road was muddy from recent rain and the wheels of the few carriages that passed along it pushed the sticky substance up behind them with loud sucking noises, leaving tracks in the ground like the paths of huge snakes.

A group of dirty-looking children mucked around in the turbid puddles laughing. Crawford regarded them quietly as he stopped to wait for a cab to pass by. He had always had a soft spot for children, and though he and his wife had tried many times, God had never granted them one of their own. As he watched, one of the children hoisted himself up onto a stack of crates and jumped down on top of another boy, letting out a loud war-cry of sorts as he did so.

His heart seemed to momentarily skip a beat as his gaze fell upon a thin, dark-haired girl. She was tossing stones into the air and letting out shrieks of gleeful laughter as they came down with splashes in the mud. His mind darkened and his thoughts returned to his business: that of the recent disappearances of dark-haired young maidens in the Village. He thanked heaven that this girl was not maybe only five years older, for the victims so far had not been as young as she.

He turned back to the road and stuck out a hand towards the driver of a two-passenger carriage coming his way.

As it came to a stop he saw that the cab was not empty. Inside sat a slender, red-haired woman in a dark dress, white gloves over her delicate hands, which lay in her lap. She turned away from the window as the cab came to a stop and fixed Crawford almost immediately with a questioning gaze. Then, her face changed to one of surprise, as if she recognised him.

He nodded at her carefully and reached out for the handles next to the cab door, stomping his muddy boots on the step before climbing inside.

“Are you Mr. Crawford?” she said in a matter-of-fact tone as he took his place on the bench beside her.

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Class created prompt 5. Most people jump at the thought of murder. You hear all those horror stories on tv and social media. What I never understood is why I never feared it . I've felt like this since childhood. I was actually fascinated by murder. I studied killer patterns in documentaries and tv shows. It was a hobby. I never told my parents though. I figured it scared them. As I grew up my fasciation grew. I developed a hobby for hunting as well. I felt it relieved an urge inside me. I didn't know what the feeling was yet. But I suppressed it as much as possible. When I grew up, I had a lot of feelings I didn't understand. I began to have intrusive thoughts of harming people, and as time went on they grew and grew. One night I had a couple drinks in my system and I began to spiral. I was going to kill someone, and I knew who. You see, in high school I had this best friend. Let's call him Ryan for the sake of keeping my identity anonymous. We did everything together. We went to parties together, camping, always were together in school, and were basically family. Until one day he betrayed me. I was head over heels for this girl, I found out through her texts that they had been having relations.I found out he had also been hitting on my little sister. She's two years younger than us and I'd never support them together. I'm his best friend and I know what kind of person he is.  Something inside me switched that day. He was my enemy. I hated ryan. Its been 4 years since then. I had blocked it out for a while. But now under the influence my memories are resurfacing. And it gave me a reason to kill him. I began to plan. I was going to catch him in a public place, be friendly and say hi, and offer to go for a drive to reconcile from our past. I'd then bring him to my house and offer him a drink. This drink will have crushed Delphinium flower seeds. These flowers are highly deadly. It'll be a simple way to take him out. I began to research where to get these flowers., and went to bed feeling fulfilled and ready to do something I've wanted to since a young age.   - anonymous 

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Class created prompt 5. Most people jump at the thought of murder. You hear all those horror stories on tv and social media. What I never understood is why I never feared it . I've felt like this since childhood. I was actually fascinated by murder. I studied killer patterns in documentaries and tv shows. It was a hobby. I never told my parents though. I figured it scared them. As I grew up my fasciation grew. I developed a hobby for hunting as well. I felt it relieved an urge inside me. I didn't know what the feeling was yet. But I suppressed it as much as possible. When I grew up, I had a lot of feelings I didn't understand. I began to have intrusive thoughts of harming people, and as time went on they grew and grew. One night I had a couple drinks in my system and I began to spiral. I was going to kill someone, and I knew who. You see, in high school I had this best friend. Let's call him Ryan for the sake of keeping my identity anonymous. We did everything together. We went to parties together, camping, always were together in school, and were basically family. Until one day he betrayed me. I was head over heels for this girl, I found out through her texts that they had been having relations.I found out he had also been hitting on my little sister. She's two years younger than us and I'd never support them together. I'm his best friend and I know what kind of person he is.  Something inside me switched that day. He was my enemy. I hated ryan. Its been 4 years since then. I had blocked it out for a while. But now under the influence my memories are resurfacing. And it gave me a reason to kill him. I began to plan. I was going to catch him in a public place, be friendly and say hi, and offer to go for a drive to reconcile from our past. I'd then bring him to my house and offer him a drink. This drink will have crushed Delphinium flower seeds. These flowers are highly deadly. It'll be a simple way to take him out. I began to research where to get these flowers., and went to bed feeling fulfilled and ready to do something I've wanted to since a young age.   - anonymous 

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I am a woman, taught to be quiet and polite. To be small and dismissive. I am a man, taught to be strong and emotionless, to be the provider and to carry on the family name. I am a feminist. sick of the unwinnable fight.  I am a watcher, who gazes upon injustice. I gaze upon the brawl between men and women. All the conflict we have with one another, the disagreements, the immoral treatment, but only if society is willing to look through the way we treat each other, stop and look at one another, what we have done,  and look forward to a brighter future, to that, I say: We need each other. If men and women started to listen to each other, then and only then as a society, we will grow. It’s not hearing the cries of women fighting for their bodies and not men scared to show their emotions without being called weak, to say they are human. Not some freak of nature. We need each other. yin is not better than yang, the sun is no better than the moon. Together they work in perfect unison. I’m sick of trying to prove who is better and who is worse. Who is weak and who is strong. To not compete but to complete. To not divide but to rejoice.  This isn’t a competition. This is a fight for unity. The day we stop and listen to each other, men and women start working together instead of trying to prove themselves to each other. What is there to prove? What are you trying to do? Who told the women you need to be lower than men? Who told the men to always be higher than the women? What fight are we trying to win? Because there is no prize. There is no achievement. All there is, is the never ending fight of inequality.