Prose that Blows 11 - It's All About the Feels


Elizabeth was walking through the neighborhood on a sunny day wearing light blue underwear, a light blue bra, black jeans and a yellow button up shirt. She was heading to the park because the most happiest thing happened there. She met a nice boy named Stevie who she now adores and has a crush on. She couldn’t keep her mind off of him until she turned a corner and saw him talking to some friends. She hid behind the corner wall and stared at him. She felt her heart beat faster, she started blushing and she felt her love for him getting bigger and bigger.

Average: 1.8 (5 votes)

One Mile Circle, The

She could already feel the difference. Before, the car had been a separate entity, something she drove, under her command. Now they were together, one thing. She was three-quarters machine and one-quarter woman.  Before she was sleek, with a runner’s body and suggestive curves. Now she was downright aerodynamic, with a three-liter engine giving her the kick she needed to really move.

Average: 4 (5 votes)

New Rules, The

It’s really simple.

Don’t get scared. Don’t get mad. Don’t think about it. Especially don’t think about boys. Otherwise it will happen again.

Through the dark twine of the weirwood, the indigo sky is cool and brilliant under both moons. I’m awfully aware of how far one could fall up there. Just prffffft and….well….. Oh God. Out here there would be nothing to stop me going higher and higher and…I feel myself clench against the new rules and the sudden tightness in my clothes.

Average: 4.4 (5 votes)

Stress Inflating

Brooke was bored. No no, not just bored, sad. She’d just broken up with her longtime boyfriend, and she was feeling the pain. They had been through everything together, traveled all over the world and back, and now this. She had caught him cheating on her with another woman, but not just any other woman, her best friend.

Average: 3.3 (6 votes)


We lay in the park, drunk with ethnic motives of the planet. Musicians of all skin colours change one another. Her stomach starts growing. “How do you do that?” – I ask lightly. She shrugs and spreads hands wider on the grass, eyes locked on the stage: “Endocrinologist told me this is not dangerous”. I embrace her slowly ballooning tummy. She grows more relaxed and rounded. We smile at each other. I crawl to sit behind and around her, to support her frame – the pose is more intimate than intended, but it relaxes her even more.

Average: 3.3 (3 votes)

Rage Read

She could not stop reading.

Without a doubt, it was the worst book she had ever read.  Its characters were stupid and juvenile in their execution.  The sentence structure and wording bore all the refinement of crude oil: black, monotonous, and stinky.  An erotic novel of pervasive popularity, yet containing not a single line that brought her carnal pleasure.  Rather than forge a white hot yearning in her loins that was the author’s overtly obvious intent, it only forged a white hot rage that sat heavily within her entire being.

Average: 4 (5 votes)


Katie had had a dull life. It all started (or ended) when she was given a puppy as a child. She laughed as it gambolled around her but suddenly heard a hissing noise she couldn’t place. She quickly located the sound as she felt herself swelling up like a balloon. Her parents quickly whisked the little dog away, naturally thinking she was allergic. But Katie knew different.

Average: 4.6 (25 votes)

Check, Please

First dates are no fun because they’re basically a list of don’ts. Don’t be too eager. Don’t be too cold. Don’t show a lot of skin. Don’t be too shy. Don’t laugh too hard. Don’t seem too desperate.

Wendy knew the rules, and she knew just how crucial it was that they be followed. And dressed in a high-buttoned blouse and a simple skirt, tonight’s dive into the waters of the dating pool was going well enough. Phil was sweet, he was clever, and he made her laugh. He was dangerous.

Average: 4.3 (6 votes)

Note on Inflation, A

“Thanks again for lettin’ me use your space” AnDJrea’s voice echoed through the warehouse-turned-nightclub as she finished hooking up the last few power cords into her equipment.  The lithe teen looked like a DJ booth had exploded on her.  Dyed green hair that ended in two very long pigtails, a sleeveless black-and-neon-green vest with an assortment of buttons, and a green skirt.  Her neon legwarmers completed the look.  “It really helps to have a space like this so I can hear how the music will sound in the end,” she continued.

Average: 3.6 (5 votes)
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