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Like clockwork three fire trucks pulled into the parking lot of the burning apartment building, all from different stations. The city had been poor lately from the rise in crime. twenty-four firefighters got out of the trucks immediately nine of them rushed inside after spartan kicking the door in,  inside  there was five unaccounted people , the three chiefs congregated together to discuss the best plan of action while the rest of the men started to unravel and hook up the hoses only one hose could be hooked up because recently a bank truck was stolen and took this street as part of its route knocking out 2 fire hydrants a 3 lampposts and a stop sign. they did the best they could with the single hose the rest of the men started climbing the ladders to peer through windows suddenly a man was heard and seen walking into view through the ash it was the firefighters carrying the trapped members , one by one they all climbed down the ladder with black ashy faces burnt and torn clothes and some with mild injuries, the building abruptly exploded but at least everyone was safe. at every human that is …

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Fear

Her heart rate sped up and the blood pumped faster despite feeling sluggish like honey. Her hands gathered sweat in the creases and her muscles quivered as they tensed. He stood before her, two heads taller at least and a smile that seemed to stretch from ear to ear. His eyes reflected nothing but darkness and she could see the faint reflection of herself as he grinned down at her. She didn’t dare speak, she knew her voice would break if any words were even able to force their way out. Plus there was nothing to say, everything from here on out seemed terribly inevitable.

Anger

I hated him more than words could express. Angry tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I did my best to keep them at bay. He did not deserve to see my cry, he did not deserve to witness how much he affected me. I would be fine without him. He had brought this onto himself anyways. Cheating 🤬. He seemed like the devil right then and not the handsome man I would have followed to the ends of the earth just a short week ago.

Pleasure

She loved the Spring more than she could describe. She loved the feeling of the warm Sun kissing her skin and the new dew stained grass tickling her shins. Spring was the time when the weather was just warm enough to shed the coats of sweaters of winter. Yet it was not too hot to the point where the idea of stepping outside and away from air conditioning made you groan. Spring brought with it the encompassing aroma of flowers whose smells were as lively as their colors. She particularly enjoyed the small garden in her backyard, where every year she went to the local market to painstakingly sort through various seeds until she found those that would blossom into the flowers she desired that year.

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The disclosed world flaunted with neon colored cobras and crystal-eyed zebras. The surface, covered with illusions of glimmering spirals, running water and layered with viscous vibrant plants. The edge of the mystical desert led to an enchanting jungle, overtaken by Giant sequoia trees with lime green and aqua blue leaves attached to dark brown trunks. The trees’ interior were lit up with homes of flying squirrels and ravenous chipmunks. Evergreen-colored vines speckled with poisonous ruby berries consumed the trees from the roots up, holding the monstrous piece of wood to the rest of the planet. Rumbles and bird chirps pervaded the jungle, along with the roaring echo of grylloidae and cicadoidea. The bushes' leaves rustled in the unquiet wind, resulting in gentle swishing sounds to break the silence of nature. The scent of the planet was most significant, with a lingering smell of damp moss, azotic flowers, and most dirt. The carried air was full of fresh oxygen and a grand bouquet. Guided by red clay soil, the path diverged with an elegant waterfall, charged with warm transparent water. With the touch of water, wounds can be sealed and souls can be repaired. The bed of the basin was covered by crystals of all colors infused with the properties of the moon.

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The movie had been playing for about an hour and thirty minutes when Charlotte had fallen asleep against Chance's shoulder. He had to give it to her, he was surprised she had stayed up this long, and he was even more surprised with himself. Usually he was the one who fell asleep first when he was hanging out with his friends and they were all watching a movie. And he was exhausted, his eyes barely registering the bright shine of the TV screen. He knew he should turn the TV off, get up as quietly and slowly as possible to hopefully not disturb Charlotte, and make his way upstairs to his room. Chance knew all these things, but instead he kept one arm wrapped around Charlotte’s shoulder as she snoozed quietly, her blanket pulled up right to her chin.

The movie dragged on, coming slowly to a close. As the end credits started to play, Chance grabbed the remote and turned the volume down so the light music was more background noise. He rubbed his eyes before settling back into the couch. As the end credits closed out, he turned off the TV, the darkness closing around his gaze while the imprint of the TV screen stayed in his vision. He tilted his head back, feeling Charlotte shift a little as he did so, but she stayed fast asleep. He smiled to himself, squeezed her shoulder, and drifted off to sleep.

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Warm air flowing through palms that stand tall. The sun and the sand work as one to bring you to a better place. Your house with gates and a big door welcoming you to a self-made kingdom. Visions you will get in your head as you dream, wishing you were really in a place like this. The only place you can go where there’s nothing you have to deal with or make sense of. Nothing that stresses you, worries you, or worse. This is a place that you must go to, but never can, because reality is shaping your existence and future. Day after day you become more and more a pawn to society. The world beats you to your knees without mercy as you try to catch a moment. A breath of air. The house you had once been a part of was now a broken remnant of scarred memories, yelling, screaming even, and you were the reject. Not a single person wanting you or needing you to do anything, yet asking of you everything. You had become what you tried running away from. It’s now broken. You are broken. The others judge for your non-conforming ways as you desperatley try to stop the train from going off the tracks. You built the tracks though. They’re becoming wobbly and rusted from stress and pressure from close ones to be something lesser than what you know you are. Trapped in a vicious cycle that eats you up and spits you out every day and nowhere to go because you're just not able to yet. Too young, too smart for this type of lifestyle with “reckless abandon” as you live happy and comfortable opposed to the standard American regiment of regurgitated ramblings saying you must do this or that to get to here. The people that say this know of no success ever and yet still get away with telling you what you must do to be happy. I would be happy if I could go home, not my house, but the home in the vision I see in my head every single day, with the gate and the big door, and cars, and more money than a person could ever need. So I fight, and will continue to fight, never wanting to end the fight because I want to go home. I need to go home. I will go home. The world will know and remember me, for going home.

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This is someone describing a butterfly garden but they're just really mad and pessimistic

The path was overgrown, through the eroding concrete sprung little green infections with tiny white flowers budding from their crooked stems. Small sloppily placed stones lined the trail and acted as a barrier between the walkway and the unruly lawless nature surrounding it. Warm water droplets fell from overhead, though it was hard to differentiate between that and the sweat that was starting to drown me. Walking became a task as wings flew into my face from every direction. Flashes of color hitting me for just a second, mocking me, getting close enough to make me brace myself for the chaotic mess of movement to hit my face, but as I pull my head back, the wings diverge, making a fool of me. In my hair I feel an unwelcome itch, I put my hand up to ward the creature away from me. Please do not touch or swat the butterflies. An overly friendly elderly lady spat at me with a condescending tone. Two young children pushed me aside as they scurried down the path chasing one of the more colorful insects, following them was a toddler who was freshly toddling and every step was almost resulting in stitches. Accompanying the obnoxious pigtails shortly behind was an irritatingly content young couple smiling in awe at their surroundings, ignoring their offspring who were adding to the havoc of the environment.

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The strain between gravity and the lids of my eyes. Unfortunate, on such a cold morning as this in late December. Christmas passed and gone; not even the comforting, warm feeling that lingers. Another reason to not awaken. Yet the nail still drops from the candle, giving attention to my morning alarm. I rise in my cap and gown to the aligid floor. Grievencing my awakening, praying that I wouldn’t last another day in this world. I once thought a life of solitude would be wisening for the mind and soul, it is, in the most aching way possible. There isn’t a day where you wake up, comforted by the day ahead, resting assured you will receive the daily dose of dopamine needed for an average human. Working with the dead only makes you want to be apart of them more. Yet, that would be against the grace of God. Hell is a place of burning and fire, and I know my brother is resting there. My mother and my father, who’s to say. I haven’t seen them in 16 years. They're most likely dead. From the likelihood of their final fate on either paradise or burns so unbearable, they looked to be heading down the path of least resistance. Take that how you will, but if I believed in life after death, it would be true.

The sizzle of the candle burning out it’s last release of life reminded me to get to the consistency of my daily routine. My bones creak, hesitating down the already groaning stairs, uneager to do my daily tasks. Living a life such as mine, in solitude and no passions or needs except for the hope that I’ll die earlier than my expiration date. My life is not worth living. Looking at the other bodies, their scars, their clothing telling of their fruitful life of happiness, their lifeless eyes still holding the story of their lives that could have never been of any of the same beginnings or endings of mine. They’ve felt more than longing and I know I don’t deserve a better life, I’m just a person to cross paths with others to their mourning. A mere background character.

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Fear

I gulped ragged breaths of hot soot-filled air as I tore through the winding crowded streets. The stitch in my side was like a knife between my ribs. Adrenaline raced through my veins. My heart was thundering against my ribcage, threatening to break free. I chanced a glance over my shoulder and regretted it at once. Hoards of people were engulfed in columns of flames. They screamed and writhed, desperately trying to put themselves out but to no avail. The fire consumed their bodies and they fell silent, reduced to ashes. The reptilian laughter of the dragon echoed overhead, clearly loving the carnage it was spreading. I managed to tear my gaze away from the gruesome sight. My legs pleaded for rest, but I forced them to move. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.

Anger

I wanted to punch that stupid grin off of Loki’s stupid face. He reclined in a mauve armchair, observing my futile attempts to free myself from the invisible ropes bringing me to the floor. His cunning fiery eyes flashed with amusement. I should’ve known trusting him would be a bad idea. He had the same name as the Norse god of mischief, after all.

“What are you waiting for?” I growled. “Just finish me off already!”

Loki clicked his tongue in disappointment and shook his head, the way a parent does when their child misbehaves.

“Temper temper dear,” he cooed. “You’re in no position to order me around, are you? Besides, it would be rather boring  if you died just like that,” he splayed his fingers in a mock explosion.  “I think I should be rewarded for my hard work, don’t you think, dear?”

“Hard work? Hard work?! We did everything for you!” I spat more colorful words at him. The man completely ignored me and said more to himself than to me:

“Yes, I think the king would pay handsomely for your head.”

Pleasure

The first bite of that tiramisu was the best thing that Emma had ever tasted. The coffee was bitter and earthy, yet complemented the rich sweetness of the chocolate. The sponge was impossibly soft and felt like clouds in her mouth. The cream was light and fluffy, just like freshly fallen snow. The heavenly melody of flavors danced across her tongue, caressing every taste bud. Her stressful day at work seemed more like a memory now. As she took a second bite of cake, her manager’s snarling face melted out of her mind. Pure bliss replaced the rude snarky remarks of the customers. The only thing that mattered right now was Emma and her dessert.

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It was such a complicated time in the hospital, nobody knew what was going on. Not a soul could possibly grasp what a retired mercenary was doing in our building. He stumbled into the E.R. with a wound that had been dripping an alarming amount of blood. He wouldn’t talk or tell anybody what happened so we immediately called in our doctor and got to work. When the doctor arrived he discovered a bloody knife sticking out of the man’s back that had been concealed by the trenchcoat he was wearing. Because of the placement of this knife the doctor was incredibly worried and decided to run some check-ups before beginning an operation on this man. Doctor Smith grabbed his stethoscope in order to take some vitals before proceeding. The man had calmed down at this point but refused to speak to anybody other than the doctor. He told the doc what happened and said that he was attacked by his wife’s ex-husband out of pure jealousy at the fact that he was with her.

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I am gently nudged awake by the warm glow of the sun, but it is not my own. The sun hasn’t shone for me in quite some time, but being here now brought to realization my impossible solitude. My destruction began long before the official condemnation, before the bounties started rolling in, before the exile. I should have predicted the consequences of my increasing sloppiness and the attention it would draw-- to myself and to the society. In time, I became a stranger to both of my families-- the family with which I share blood was made aware of my business as a twisted reminder from my other of what we were. My resolve could not withstand the shame and the guilt, and I fled.

I have to force myself out of the tiny, yellowed bed I’d made my stay in, and I sigh as I sluggishly undress and redress. I skip the other steps, leaving the cramped child’s bedroom and making my way toward the nearby kitchen’s door. It was already approaching the end of the morning, but I could not afford to waste time eating when I had to find work. Before my hand reaches the door, however, I am stopped by a grumble from Astrid, who reminds me to “make sure to look out for Isabella, dear”. Despite her daily urges for me to seek out her daughter, who supposedly is in business and looking for hands, I have not once been able to find her.