#A Taste of Home

Claye paused, struggling to catch his breath in the thick, humid air. It had taken him months to fully furbish the greenhouse module with planters fashioned from their dismantled ship—sowing seeds, discarding the faulty, nurturing the needy. His work was finally coming to fruition.

Wiping his brow, Claye returned to his prize plant. Luscious leaves spilt over the soil, sagging under the weight of bright red berries. The sight made his mouth water. Subsisting only on freeze-dried, vacuum-packed rubbish, he'd almost forgotten what real food tasted like, and forgetting was painful. But Arjun would kill him if he didn't wait.

He activated his comms. "It's time."

The young man appeared round the door, panting.

"Did you run here?" Claye asked.

Arjun grinned. "I wasn't sure I could count on fraternal loyalty to hold you back from the feast."

"Feast!" he scoffed, picking the two ripest, reddest strawberries. "We're only having one each! We've got to ensure failure isn't fatal."

"Fine," the young man sighed. "On three? One..."

They lifted the fruit to their mouths.

"Two..."

Claye's lips brushed its skin.

"Three!"

He bit down, sweet, tart juice flooding his mouth. Savouring every second, he chewed until the last drop of flavour faded before glancing at his friend. "So," he said, "what do you think?"

Arjun started out of his reverie, meeting Claye's gaze with a grin. "Tastes like home."

WC: 230

I really appreciate any and all feedback

See more I've written at /r/RainbowWrites

When the knight went to rescue the princess, he expected to have to fight the dragon with sword and shield, not with words.

In future, please report posts that you suspect of being AI-generated, as it is against our rules. Thanks!

Thanks GD! Kinda tempted to try and do something more with this concept so the detailed feedback is really appreciated!

Thanks throw! Gotta be honest, this one hit a little hard to write, so it's nice to know some of that came through.

In future, please report stories you suspect of being AI-generated as it is against our rules. Thanks!

Diary of a Teenage Enby

It was puberty that did it.

Don't get me wrong, there had been stupid comments and snide remarks before that.

"That toy's not for you."

"You can't play with us."

"You're pretty strong... for a girl."

But, most of the time, at that age, I didn't have to think too much about gender. I wore what I wanted, with thin scraggly hair and without a care in the world for how I looked. I was often mistaken for a boy and didn't mind at all. In fact, I kind of liked it.

But it had to come to an end eventually. And that end was puberty.

The growth spurt hit, and my body changed into a shape I didn't recognise or want. Suddenly there were all these expectations for how I should look, what I should wear, and how I should behave.

I wish I could say that I stuck to my guns — that I kept being me with no apologies. But teenagers are cruel, and school is hard. So I learnt to play the part I'd been cast in. Someone who wasn't me. But at least she was happy — or good at pretending to be.

And that's how I got here. Unable to look at my reflection without my stomach tying itself in knots. Flinching internally every time I hear my name — hear myself spoken about. Trying not to blame the people who so clearly don't know me when I haven't even given them a chance to.

And instead of doing anything about it, I spend my time sitting under a tree at the bottom of the garden, scribbling all my secrets away in this journal rather than saying them out loud, too scared that my true existence will misqueme the world somehow.

I learnt that word in English today. Misqueme. Apparently, it comes from an old English root cweme, meaning agreeable or acceptable. I know that I should strive for the best. To be proud. To be happy. To be loved. But most days, I'd settle for acceptable, to be honest. Agreeable would be a bonus.

And the first person who needs to accept me, is me.

So that's why I'm determined that today is going to be different. I might still be sitting with my back pressed against the bark of the old apple tree in our garden, scribbling away. I might not say any of it out loud yet. It might only be a small step but soon, I hope to be able to accept my reflection a little more, because today, I'm ordering a binder.

I'm sure I'll tell you all about how it goes. After all, who else would I tell?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

It arrived today, waiting on the porch when I got home from school. I grabbed it and hurried up to my room before I tore open the package.

Wriggling into it wasn't exactly dignified, and the fabric was stiff against my ribs. Constricting. But when I put my shirt on over the top and smoothed it down... It was the most comfortable I could remember being in years.

I couldn't stop smiling at myself in the mirror, joy bubbling up inside me until it boiled over into a fit of giggles.

It might not have been perfect, but it was more than just acceptable.

And it gave me the confidence to do what I needed to do.

Feeling its grip around my chest, as if embracing me in a tight hug, the stiff fabric was like armour for my heart as I marched down the stairs and into the lounge — to where my parents were.

And I told them. Not all of it. Not all the half-thought thoughts and questions and worries and secrets. But I told them enough. Told them about the lie of who I'd been pretending to be. Told them the name I'd picked out years ago in my head. Told them my pronouns. Told them who I really was underneath it all.

I'm fairly certain they didn't understand, not fully. But their smiles shone brightly through the tears. And I'm sure mine did too.

I know that the world isn't perfect. That they won't be perfect. That it will take time. But today I took the first step on a journey that I've been waiting my whole life to make, and of that, I am proud.

WC: 727

I really appreciate any and all feedback

See more I've written at /r/RainbowWrites

Heck, what did I miss? I thought I had the full 14.

Edit: Ah, it's "loops". I must have cut that in an edit. Will add it back in.

Ooh! Lovely descriptions in there! You did a great job creating that sense of unease and uncertainty! Thanks for writing!

The clouds have eyes. And they're watching.

#The Perfect Coffee Order

My first reset of the day happens when I fluff up my coffee order. Too flustered to decide on a drink, I accidentally string them together and ask for a "hazelbread latte". I stammer to correct myself but it's too late. The regret has already taken root. I just have time to feel the flush of heat to my face as I cringe before a familiar hiss of static fills my ears, and the past couple of minutes whirr by until I'm back waiting in line.

This time, I rehearse my order in my head. Gingerbread latte. Gingerbread latte.

When I reach the front, I practically shout it at the poor girl behind the counter. My face flushes. I cringe. Static hisses in my ears, and the minutes whirr back again.

On my next go, I get past the order. But when it comes to paying, I send a handful of change scattering. Face flushes. Cringe. Static hisses. Minutes whirr back.

The next few loops pass similarly, but with frustration and impatience building inside me, time starts slipping away, the seconds speeding by. I can hardly figure out the source of my regret before it's taken me back to the start. Flush, cringe, hiss, whirr. Flush, cringe, hiss, whirr.

With a deep breath, inhaling the rich nutty aroma of freshly ground coffee, I force the frustration away. What sense is there in being impatient when time isn't actually passing?

Gradually, the seconds start slowing, giving me long enough to think. I'd learnt from past experience that there was always more than one solution. Whichever path I take, it will be one of many outcomes. I've been fixating on the coffee order, but maybe it's time to tunnel out an alternate exit. After all, I don't really need a coffee. Do I?

I make it all the way to my desk before I reach for a cup that isn't there. The hiss of static fills my ears as the minutes whirr past, leaving me back in line.

Certain that my only way out is through, my resolve strengthens. Learning from my past errors, I manage to politely order my drink and pay by card before stepping to the side to allow the next person forward. I press my back to the wall so that when a man walks past with mugs balanced precariously on his wobbling tray, there's at least an inch clearance between his feet and mine. Of course, he doesn't notice, his eyes fixed on his drinks.

After exactly two minutes and twenty-five seconds, I step forward just as the barista calls out, "Gingerbread latte!"

"Thanks," I say with a smile and a nod, taking the cup from their hand ever so gently to set down on the counter and press on the loose lid. Though the skin on my hand was never technically scolded by spilt coffee, the memory of it still smarts.

With my drink secure I head for the door. I did it. The perfect coffee run. Nothing to cringe over later. No injuries to nurse. I have the exact drink I want to fuel me through my day.

Sometimes, I curse my strange affliction, making me feel like an anachronism in my own life, but then moments like these make me wonder: how does everyone else cope without it? How can they be satisfied with such an imperfect existence?

Chest puffed up, I reach for the door—

—as it swings into me, sending my cup flying, coating me in hot liquid. Resigning myself to one final attempt, I wait for the hiss of static to drown out the stranger's apologies. But before it can, a gentle touch on my arm draws my attention, and I meet her gaze. I lose myself in deep brown eyes and a stare as endless as time itself.

"Are you alright?" The words reach my ears eventually, but it's as if they travel through treacle to get there.

"Oh... yes. I'm fine." My own voice sounds strange too, each syllable extended. "I'm sorry—"

"Nonsense. It's me who should be sorry." Those brown eyes flash as lashes flutter in a blink, the corner of her mouth twitching up. "Though if it wasn't for my clumsiness, we might never have met."

My lip twitches up in a mirror of hers. Despite the coffee seeping into my clothes, I can't help but agree. There isn't an ounce of regret in me. In fact, I wish I had time to drink in every last detail of this moment.

As I stare into her eyes, I can feel my heart pounding inside, as if it's racing. But it seems as if the time between beats is growing and growing. Everything is moving slower and slower.

Until it stops.

And there is time enough at last.

WC: 800

I really appreciate any and all feedback

See more I've written at /r/RainbowWrites

#A Letter to a Lost Love

It's easy to feel empty without you.

I thought those first days would be the hardest — when the grief tore through me like ice-cold fire, sending pain lancing through every cell of my being. But when the fire had burnt out, it left behind it a numbness, as if, in cauterizing the wound you'd left behind, it had singed every last nerve ending.

Since then, the emptiness has only ever been a breath away. All it takes is the sight of a vacant chair, the hole you left on the side of my bed, or some other gaping chasm in my life. I'll be sitting on my desk, flicking through the mail, and see the space where your name should be on the bills, and the emptiness comes crashing in.

But there is one thing that helps, and I'm sure you can guess what it is.

Whenever it all becomes too much — whenever I feel like an island cut off from love by a vast ocean of grief — I turn to music. I go to our CD rack, filled with every album we bought — memories of each gig. I let my fingers trace the imprint of signatures hastily scribbled at the merch table as I slip the disc in and press play.

After a couple of seconds of whirring, the air is filled with blaring horns, stabbing and sauntering over jaunty bass and offbeat rhythms. I may not be able to move like I used to, joints creaking and cracking in protest, but as the music seeps inside me, it's impossible not to sway and shimmy just a little. And as I do, I close my eyes and let the tunes carry me back...

I remember the first time you took me to a gig — so different from the soulful, sorrowful ballads I'd clung to throughout my angsty teenage years. This music was joyous. There may still have been anger and loss and love, but everything was bundled up in sunshine. You introduced me to so many new things, but it all started there. Those late-night gigs in the basement of some pub or club decked out in our checked shirts and trilby hats. The smell of smoke clung to the furniture, despite not having been allowed inside for years. Our feet stuck to the floor as we danced and hopped and kicked.

I remember our first kiss, shared under a streetlight as you walked me home. And every kiss after that.

I remember Summers spent at music festivals, twisting and twirling together in a field, pints of cider sloshing, a pair of wasps buzzing around after us, locked in their own mirror of our dance.

I remember lounging in the sun, sharing a pair of earphones.

I remember love blossoming in those lazy afternoons.

You made me realise that life could be so easy with you. And it was.

Of course, we had our problems. The trials and tribulations of life are hard to avoid. But with you by my side, even in our darkest moments there was always a song in my soul.

Then you were gone. And for a while, you took the music with you.

But don't worry, my love. I found it once more, stacked neatly away with our memories.

As I sit listening, foot tapping away, the ache in my chest is still there, but there's also a smile on my face. I hear you in every note of the song, see you in every ray of sunshine, and feel you in my soul.

When the music plays, you're with me, and it's hard to feel empty anymore.

WC: 604

I really appreciate any and all feedback

See more I've written at /r/RainbowWrites

Thanks kat! Really enjoyed trying something a little different this week.

Thanks Astro! I've focused in on the kiss a little more to make that moment of awakening a little clearer.

#Pride and Joy

I suppose, if I'm honest, I spent a lot of my life pretending to be someone I wasn't. It didn't seem that way at first — didn't seem like a lie. I was just taking the easy path, keeping my parents happy, as any dutiful daughter should. Avoid conflict. Avoid confrontation. Avoid drama. And it was working.

I just didn't realise that I was losing myself in the process.

With my friends, I could be a little more myself. They were my safe haven, a little carved-out refuge in a swirling sea of fear and distrust, all of us outcasts, conforming with our non-conformity. But even that became a performance. We'd sit around in deep discussion about the wrongs of the world, pontificating on some topic or other, quoting philosophers or authors anywhere we could as it was easier than having ideas of our own.

I'd say something like "More people should see that history is nothing more than a tableau of crimes and misfortunes." and someone else would counter with "Ah, but it is difficult to free fools from the chains they revere." Then, we'd all nod wisely, sipping drinks we didn't really like and congratulating ourselves on escaping the chains of society by living on its outskirts like it was something we'd chosen for ourselves.

Scott only managed to convince us to come to the club by claiming it would be ironic.

Of course, we clung to the walls at first, used to life on the fringes.

The music was loud. The air was thick with the musk of sweat and booze and smoke. The floor was sticky and the lights hurt my eyes. I hated it.

Until I saw you.

You were in the middle of the dance floor. Of course you were. You were spinning around with your arms outstretched and head tilted back, hair flowing and swaying around you, shimmering in all the colours of the rainbow under the electric lights. Your eyes were closed and your face was painted in an expression of pure joy.

I couldn't help but smile just to look at you.

And when you looked at me, eyes twinkling, I thought my heart had stopped.

Suddenly, the music wasn't too loud. It filled my world, surging through my soul. The lights weren't glaring — on you, they were beautiful. The air was thick with the scent of life, and when you beckoned, I braved the stickiness of the dancefloor.

Conversation was impossible. Anything more than a single word shouted in an ear was lost to the beat. But we didn't need words.

It was the freest I'd ever felt, letting myself go as I swayed and spun and shimmied.

And when you took my hands in yours, the electricity in the atmosphere and the music and the lights surged through my veins. Then, as you drew me closer, that tingle of static grew to the roar of lightning until our lips met and...

It might have been a cliché that would have made me and my friends roll our eyes and groan, but when we kissed, sparks flew. The tickle of your breath. The heat of your skin against mine. The taste of your coconut lip balm.

I thought my chest would burst with the joy bubbling inside.

From that moment on, my grin refused to fade, no matter how much my face ached. I stared into your eyes as we boogied the night away.

Disco has held a special place in my heart ever since, as have you. To be so truly yourself — so free of fear or worry or shame. To be proud of who you are. To simply let go. People are embarrassed by it, but I love it.

Perhaps our story could have had a different ending. If I'd clung to your hand when the music finally stopped. If I'd followed you back into the real world. If I'd ever learnt your name. But perhaps that night was everything I needed it to be, and anything more would have just been greedy.

So, whoever you were, wherever you are now, thank you. Thank you for that one perfect night. Thank you for helping me find myself. Thank you for helping me be free.

WC: 708

I really appreciate any and all feedback

See more I've written at /r/RainbowWrites

Redecorating your house, you find something surprising under one of the many layers of wallpaper.

Congrats! A great achievement and I hope you're really happy with what you've produced and continue to enjoy writing as much as you clearly have been!

Seeing as it's almost Halloween, here's a slightly spooky one:

You're a ghost haunting the house of a young woman and have decided she'd be just perfect with her friend who comes around all the time. It's time to play matchmaker from beyond the grave!

That was a fun take on the prompt! Nice powers and conditions! Thanks for writing.

Hehe, I like how you started off with so many horror story tropes in order to subvert them into some great comedy-horror. Thanks for writing!

That was sweet! Thanks for writing.

That was sweet! Thanks for writing.

Naww, that was a nice wholesome-ish (in a gruff kind of way) story. I'm always a sucker for a post-apoc found family type vibe. Thanks for writing!

Ella is an early career research scientist. She's hardworking and ambitious, but she struggles with imposter syndrome.

Hey, the spacing looks good to me, as does the grammar for the most part.

A couple of small tips:

1. The dialogue tag is part of the sentence, so it should be:

> “I saw right through you too,” it replied.

When the text outside the dialogue isn't a tag (perhaps it's a separate action or something) then it remains a separate sentence.

2. Try to avoid repeating the same word close together, particularly long and unusual words. For example, in your second paragraph, you use the word "auditorium" a fair few times and it starts to stick out a little.

I thought the way you told this story was really interesting. I liked the interspersing of the speech in italics with the action. And I think you did a good job building that slightly unsettling feeling that not all is well.