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Featuring those who submitted to the previous writing prompt from Live-Love-Write, here are the participants for this week, listed in reverse order of submission, along with information on the newest prompt. Please remember to fave this journal to help support your work and the prompt!

To submit to the writing prompt, please remember to put "for the Live-Love-Write writing prompt" in your artist's comments and submit to the Writing Prompt gallery for your feature every week. Entries without this info will be denied. To submit to a past prompt, send us a note with a link to the entry and the prompt information.

All literature and comics in response to the prompt are welcome and encouraged.

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Last Week's Writing Prompt

Respond to the following theme:

Window

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Admin's Choice:

The Soul's WindowHer face looked sad as she stared distantly at the pavement, her eyes empty of all thought and emotion.
I could see why – her future must have looked as dim to her as it did to me.
She was slumped over her lap, hands resting limply on her legs. I watched her sigh deeply and wished there was something I could say that would help her.
But as I dared to glance at her reflection in the window behind her, her future caught my eye and I knew that she was too far gone.
The glass swirled and suddenly she was standing, her eyes closed and the wind sweeping through her short-cropped hair. She looked almost exactly as she did now, only there was a strange peace written on her pallid features. My stomach did a turn as I realized she was standing on the edge of a tall building.
Her reflection took a step forward and I ripped my gaze away, feeling suddenly sick.
The real her straightened and looked at me hollowly and I hurried away, tears pricking my eyes.
I’d been like this ever since I Three Doors DownSome people live three doors down from me.
They argue really loud; I sometimes watch them out the window,
Other times I don’t want to know.
It’s rare when we can all find a way to agree.
But it’s unanimous, tonight we’re going to make some changes.
For some reason I’m really nervous though.
When I’m gone I constantly feel like I’m free.
It always seems that your arms feel like home no matter what,
Those people three doors down, they’re the ones I owe.

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Poetry

The Keeper of DeathAlways cool, always distant, unseen
An apparition living on the edges of life
I’ll open it up, like a portal
Half expecting to see a new world and
Not another scene of familiarity.
Who am I, this keeper of lost thoughts?
Who am I, transparent,
Like a lie telling one that they are free, only to have their fingers press against the glass
They know better than that
Outside, inches away
With light streaming out like doorways into the darkest nights
Strolling, in and out of favor
Which path to choose?
A girl sits, staring out, wondering what is in store
A man pounds against, distraught with what has come
Some want out, others in
To distracted to see
The nothing, the me
Standing before them
I am suffocating
Like the lifeless pane their focus keeps
Everyone looks to their window to see
Something unlike the side in which they sit
But death, like life
Is the aimless wander
Of those unseen by those who see through them
Passing judgment over which that cannot be changed
And who am I but the An Optical Illusion
Do you have a-
no, never mind.
Sorry, I thought
I saw a…
in the window.
But it wasn’t there.
Sorry,
it wasn’t there. :thumb400797652: :thumb400301138: :thumb399989001: MusingMusing
Leaning my elbows on the sill
of the only window in my tiny flat
I'm looking at the world outside.
Scratching my arms softly,
just so that I can feel my nails -
I'm stable enough finally
to not harm myself anymore -
I wonder who's more trapped:
Me, in my snail shell that is my home,
working on my depression
with professional help
or the people out there
who hide themselves behind veils
of willful ignorance
I wonder who's poorer:
The beggar on that street below
who I know shares the bits he gets
with his loving family
or the rich guy in his Ferrari,
with no time for family or friends,
worrying what to do with his money
I wonder who's better off
The kids who play outside
loud and happy, seemingly unattended,
parents watching them from the window
or the child in the villa upstreet
heavily protected, playing piano
inside, under strict schedule
Leaning my elbows on the sill
of the only window in my tiny flat
I'm looking at the world outside.
Musing about the people up and down
the st

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Prose

The windowAt the beginning, it was crowded by the many youngsters pressing themselves against the window just to get a peek out it. So many days and nights were spent pressed against its shiny staring at a world so unlike the one on other side of the glass. A child most particular would spend days and nights just staring. She had the promise of the forbidden beauty, soft brown hair curling a bit in the back and large doe-brown eyes just staring and taking in everything.
She never wanted to leave.
She was always the first to get there and the last to leave.
Even as the years past and her friends left, she remained. A young woman now staring out the window that she carefully kept clean and bright. Her hair had fully evolved into the beautiful ringlets and curls that had been promised as a child. Her eyes were soft enough to capture the wildest heart but instead only gazed outward.
The window was always there. It captured her heart and soul.
No one could live up to the window. Now as years continue Night ClassYou stepped back and told me to open open my eyes. I did.
I had never done this before, but believed you when you told me it was worth doing. After you looked into them and saw something that convinced you I was there, really there, you smiled and it was like the sky fell.
“We have to pick the right one.”
You held my hand and guided me through the dark, until you found a broken off piece of sidewalk, half buried in a pile of leaves, tucked into a corner.
“This will do.”
It was louder than I thought it be. I would've ran if you hadn't been holding me in place. I must have underestimated you. In the first few seconds afterwards, all I could think about was how confident you were. How strong your arm looked propelling that block of cement, and how impressed and shocked I was that it shattered on the first try.
When the porch lights around the school starting coming on, we ran for it, back to your house,where we watched the flashing lights take a turn around the blo Through the WindowI stared out the window, rain pouring down on the other side.  I felt empty, lost, like the rain was filling me up.  It kept filling me with nothing but pure, empty water.  It replaced everything else.  A tear fell out of my eye and onto my cheek, it was as if the water had completely filled me and was now overflowing.  Closing my eyes, I leaned my head against the glass of the window.  It was cold and icy against my forehead, but I didn't move, I couldn't move.  The iciness began to radiate and penetrate every inch of my body.  Now I was nothing but empty and cold.  I put my hand to the window, I could feel the rain pattering against my hand through the window.  Another tear fell out of my eye and onto my hand.

Mature Content

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This week's writing prompt, from October 1 to October 10, is:

Write anything that features one or more of the following:
- sugar
- spice
- everything nice
- the phrase "That's not my baby"