The Little Book of Bazaar Writing

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Little short stories/paragraphs about everything from depression to relationships, to drugs and sage's etc. If you're ever looking for a good writing prompt read inside, the prompt will always be above the title of the piece! I hope you enjoy!

Submitted: June 01, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 01, 2017



Piece #1

prompt: Twilight Blinking

Twilight Blinking 



I miss the smoke that flurries between your oh so soft, pink velvet lips, thatInfiltrates my lungs making my head spin, causing those silent dancing fireworks to appear in front of my eyes, bringing that oh most delightful high. I miss your sweet scent and your soft hair. I miss the touch of your hands on my thighs, grazing around my body across my back and over my shoulders down my arms until we're holding hands. I crave the smell of the drugs that they said would kill us if we ever tried them, but we haven't died yet. I miss being known as yours, and being one of the bad kids, I miss my mom giving you hell and seeing you fight for me to show me that you loved me. But you lied about that. You lied when you said you loved me! You lied when you said forever. You lied when you talked. You lied about where you were and who you were with.  Is everything here a lie? All the words said and times spent together, all the laughter shared and memories made are they all a lie? We're we just a lie? Why are you lying to me? Why is everyone lying to me? Stop lying. Stop lying. Stop lying to me! Was anything here ever true?! Were we to busy getting high watching the twilight blinking in our eyes, to notice that this was all a lie? That the only truth was when they said that these drugs would kill us? Because they were not wrong. We did die. We got Strangled in your web of lies, suffocated from our smoke, infections from our needles, we got distracted by these dancing fireworks. Were their words the only thing that was true here? We were in pain but we never noticed, not until it would wear off but we just chose to forget and pressed that metal tip into our veins, again and again and again until we'd run out, but then we would just switch to something else. We would find something new. We would never run out if we just kept switching. But we did. We ran out of money, out of love, we ran out of life. We died and didn't even notice because we were to busy lying  to ourselves. To each other. You killed me but I also killed you.  We are no longer one. But two. two helpless, jobless, loveless addicts who are dead. We can still walk and we can still talk but we are dead and Our love is dead. I know we are dead because even the dancing fireworks have stopped these oh so joyous truthful dancing fireworks are gone, and no matter how high I get, no matter how hard I try these dancing fireworks; this twilight blinking just won't come back.  








Piece #2

prompt: Your sage


I Know the Pain

This letter is hard for me to write. It's hard for me to write because it's not fictional, because it tells truths that people don't know, that people might judge me for. Suicide – noun: the act of one intentionally killing him or her self. People always say that this is an act of the weak and I believed this for a long time.  I used to know this girl when I was young, she killed herself when she was in grade 8, I didn’t understand why she did it, I couldn't grasp the fact that she wanted; that she needed to end her life before it even began. She hadn't experienced anything, not love, not sex, not family, not confidence, not life. I didn't understand why she even had the thought of killing herself in her head, I didn't understand why she didn't just go get help and go talk to somebody, I didn’t understand why she let people's words get to her, why she was so weak, and so selfish. I didn’t understand her struggle, her journey, her perspective, or her feelings,  I didn’t even consider them, because I just thought she was frail and greedy, but then grew up. I grew up and I began to realize why she did it. I understood how peoples actions and words got to her, and how she was too afraid to talk to someone so she just suffered in silence, I now understand why she couldn't be as strong as she wanted to be. I understand this now, because I've experienced it. I've experienced the pain of they're words, and actions, they're name calling and rumor spreading. The pain of being called a faggot or a dyke because love is love and it doesn’t matter whether it's with a boy or a girl. The pain of being told that you're so thin, you must throw up what you eat, and having people believe that, and then having them tell your parents that, the pain of having your parents believe the rumors that have spread about you at school.  I know the pain of the snide remarks that bring down your self esteem tremendously, that make it hard for to even walk into the school. The pain of feeling all alone, and thinking of all your flaws;  the pain of being told your many flaws to your face until you cry in front of the group laughing at you, the pain of knowing that I'll never be good enough for my family, the pain of having to close yourself off from the world because it's too much for you handle alone. I know the pain of being so alone that you'd do anything to get someone's attention. I know the pain of having pictures that weren’t meant to be seen by anyone, on everyone's phones, I know the pain of people laughing at that one time you felt good about yourself, and calling you a whore because you picture of it on your phone, I know the pain of having no one stand up for you when you cant stand up for yourself, I know the pain of the cold metal blade against your skin, and the white sheets stained red. I know the pain of sitting in a bath tub bleeding into the water and thinking that, that rose colored tinge of your blood in the water is the only beauty that will ever come from you. I know the pain of failing half your classes in school because you can't focus, and pay attention. I Know the pain of being so scared that you can't talk to anyone because they’ll just say that you're fine, that so many people have it worse than I do, and that I just want attention. I know the pain of not being able to be who you want to be, of being told that you can't be you.  I Know the pain of the warm salty tears running down your freshly washed face as you get out of the shower and see yourself in the mirror. I know the pain of thinking about, suicide. I've thought about time and time before, even though my mothers worse fear is finding her child laying dead on the bathroom floor.  I know the pain of freshly cut skin, and breaking down. I know the pain of being so close to killing yourself, that you have notes written, and your plan ready, I know the pain of saying your last goodbye, But I also know the lack of pain since  being introduced to you, my sage, my savior. When I met you I had something to be excited about, to anticipate at the end of the day. I had met someone who was nice. You Always talk about how you don't expect to change anyone's life, and that you don’t expect them to remember you in 20 years. But I will, because you have changed my life, you've given me hope, you've shown me that even if your plans get ruined, and you drink away some time, you can still be happy, and you can still make your way through life being positive. You've shown me that being so crazy in love is possible, because you express this about your wife. You've shown me that there's always a way to win an argument, you just have to think it through. You've taught me how to write, and with this I express myself and I destroy these pages and not my skin, you've become my sage, and I'd just like to thank you; so My dear sage, thank you so fucking much because even though you had no idea of what I'm going through, you still helped me, you still saved me.  

****Note about this piece, this is one of my favorite pieces of my writing because it is very truthful and I had made it for my sage, who loved it. So it makes me very happy. Just thought you should know****




Piece #3

prompt: Love



I Love You Best Friend


She smiles and says hello, waving as she passes acting chill and mellow. Her friends greet her as glides by, she puts on a smile to make the day fly.  People start to talk as she walks. She's feels all eyes glaring at her, every though no one is staring at her. She laughs off any comments said even though they're as heavy as lead. She says she's fine and okay because she nice, and doesn't want to be in the way. She leaves school and says bye to her friends. Smiles and laughs when she picks up her bag. She starts walking home joyous and fine. Playing her music and walking in time. She goes home makes dinner having a laugh. Cracking jokes as her dad pats her back. She seems to be having her way with an eventful joyous day.  

But at the end of the night she cuts her wrists, she feels she's lost she throws a fit, they say hide it so cuts her hip. She is fine she is OK, fixing  pain with pain is how you make it go away. Her blank face changes as she hears a knock . The door The door go turn the lock they cannot see the her hips; They cannot see the pain, she asks for them to go away. They ask what's wrong she said she's had a bad day no visitors please; please, please go away. She pleads for them to leave as she weeps quietly feeling her blood leak through the sheets. Her new white sheets now are now unclean, a reminder of the pain she holds in until sleep. She weeps, she weeps,  she weeps until she sleeps. Dreaming of all the things she eats. This makes her nauseous and she asks why? she thinks she's fat but I can't see why. I cannot lie she is perfect and thin. I'm not being sly, she is such a win. She looks in the mirror and sees someone else. Someone without her speckled green eyes and those beautiful dimples, she sees someone bland with a lot of pimples. I tell her she's wrong and as beautiful as can be, but she disagrees, she just cannot see. Her beauty doesn't make everyone cringe but instead makes everyone envious of her glow. Little does she know she makes our hearts grow. I love you so much so my dear please don't go. Stay strong and stop hating yourself.  You have made my heart grow kind of like the Grinch from that dr. Seuss show . I can see your beauty in every crook. That little scar isn't a nook but a story for you when you choose look. I love you best friend and you are strong remember this for It is not wrong. 




Piece #4

Prompt: Something happy, Anything happy!


July 27th  

The burning sand under my feet, the cold bubble gum flavor on my tongue, the soft feeling of your hand in mine, the sound of the ocean waves crashing down, and the little kids screaming with joy as the slay water floods over their toes. Oh so many happy memories with you, ones that I will cherish forever, however this one will always be my favorite. This small,  last minute beach trip  turned into the happiest day of my life.  July 27th at 8am I get a call from you. I answer pretending to be angry, because it's so early during summer holidays, but I could never actually be angry at you. You're so excited and happy, you're a real morning person. You ask me if I want to go to the beach with you and by ask I mean you demand that I throw on a bathing suit and sunglasses and get my ass out the door because you are 5 minutes away from my house. I of course agree and do what you say. Our 40 minute drive there was full of blasting music, horrible singing, and laughing so hard that we can't breath and end up just clapping silently looking like some disabled seal,  which probably isn't the safest when you're driving but we couldn’t help it. The people who were driving next to us probably thought we were insane, but nothing mattered because we were together. When we got to the beach you made this big deal about how we can't keep our shoes on and that we should really just leave them in the car, even though they're just flip flops and we can stick them in our bags, but shoes and sand don’t mix, no matter how little they cover your feet. I eventually convince you to just put them in my bag incase we decide to go somewhere. I can remember your exact facial expression in that moment, it's as if you had this insane epiphany; your face lit up with joy, and you started screaming 'lets get ice cream' while jumping up and down like a five year old; it was absolutely beautiful. We of course got ice cream, although the people at the little shop looked at us like we were crazy for getting ice cream at 9 am, but we didn’t care we were overwhelmed with joy already. Walking down the shoreline hand in hand, watching the children play, and birds attempt to steal peoples fries, we talk. We talk about everything and everything, we talk about why are favorite color is what it is, mine is pink, because it's the color your cheeks fill with when I compliment you. Yours is amber because you think the name is pretty, and  you believe that if you name your child Amber that she'll be just as pretty as the stone. We eventually plant ourselves in the sand, but it wasn’t long before you spot a candy shop and run towards it as fast as you can laughing like a child. I begin walking behind you fiddling with the amber hearted ring you gave me a few months ago, laughing and smiling at your child like attitude, right then in that moment I finally knew what love was. I knew I had fallen deeply in love with you.  




Piece #5

Prompt: You find your suicide note marked three days ago, it's visibly your hand writing. 




Zero, One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breath, let your lungs expand and contract, in and out, gasp and eject, inhale and exhale. Zero, one, two, three, four, five six, seven, eight, nine.  Wiggle your fingers, start by wiggling your fingers. Feel the pushing of your bones as your joints move for the first time in three days. Cracking and rubbing, feeling fuzzy and stiff. Zero, One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Now, scrunch your toes, make the numbness go away as that stabbing and tingly feeling enters your feet. Zero, One, two, three, four ,five, six, seven. Side to side, move your neck side to side, let it pop and crack, allow that instant migraine go to your head. Zero, One, two, three, four, five, six. Roll your shoulders, feel all your back muscles move and begin to loosen. Zero, One, two, three, four, five. Open your eyes, allow them to adjust to the light, fight the burning feeling and keep them open. Now blink. Zero, One, two, three, four. Elongate your arms and legs, become a starfish on the floor, stretch your body. Zero, One, two, three. Stand up. Slowly stand up, don’t fall down, lean onto the wall, worry about the stain later. Zero, One, two. Dial the number, dial the three most important digits on the phone.  Zero, one. Ask the operator to send help, disturb the silence in this air and force those words out. Zero. Pick up your note, sticky and red, read it over, read what you've said.  


The note. 

August 27th 2006 

Rain; lots and lots of rain, this makes me happy I very much enjoy the rain. It's been raining for the past 2 days, it's been very relaxing, I've taken the whole week off of work, just so I can sit in the window watching and listening to the rain. 

I've began counting again, counting to get myself through it all. I've tried explaining this theory to others but they're just as confused and doubtful as I was when you first suggested it to me. I've tried not to let this disease control me, I've tried to fight it and not let it use my emotions, but as I write this note I'm starting to see that I've failed at that. You see, I'm not doing this because I'm scared or because I'm unaccepting of this diagnosis, because I do take my meds, and I do count like you tell me too, I'm doing this because I'm tired of being unhappy.  I was originally going to write to you, to my mother, my father, my sister, my brother, my best friend, and my ex-lover, but  I'm only writing to you, because you're the only one whose cared, and yes caring is your job, and this affection I feel  might just be an act so you can do your job and fix me, but it doesn’t really matter because I trust you. I didn’t take this whole week off of work just to listen to the rain. I've been really sad lately, I've been barley functional. I've tried to feel  better but it just doesn't work, running doesn’t help anymore, neither does counting, I'm helpless now, I am unable to work, speak or cause noise, I am barley able to write. I've been blacking out because I hyperventilate every now and then because of certain delusions, I probably wont remember writing this, so I've tried to write the little I have to say before something changes. I'm not a gun person, they make to much noise, I'm not a pill swallower because ending it in a puddle of your own vomit isn't appeasing to me, I'm a white sheets on the ground and a kitchen knife kind of person, not because of the pain or the silence in it, but because of the drama, because of the little poet in my head that links the white sheets to purity and the crimson color to sin, therefore I end up cleansing my blood, my body before saying goodbye. I end up dying the pure self I was when born. I'm sorry I couldn’t do more to stop this sadness, but maybe it's just time. Time to say good bye, time to say thank you for your efforts, time to become pure... 


August 28th 2006 

I've been sitting here on a pile of white sheets stained that funny color of old and new blood mixing in the middle of my apartment with a metal blade resting on my other wrist for a day now. I have not moved except to write this, I have not ate, I have not blinked, I have not made a sound. It's still raining out, which is nice there's white noise. This has taken a lot longer than I thought, but that might be for the best, I'm bleeding but not to the extent that I wont make it another day, I might even make it two if nothing changes.  


August 29th 2006 

Still sitting. Untouched, unfed, dried eyed, with new wounds. Still bleeding. I don’t think I can go through with it. It's stopped raining so I sit here in a silence that’s screaming at me. I can't stand it. I think it's time to call for help, to scream, to yell, to throw stuff, so someone notices, but I can't manage to make myself move, to cause noise, to exhale with enough force it causes a cryPerhaps I'll just get better if I continue doing what I've been doing for the past two days. Nothing. Maybe I'll start counting to rid myself of the screaming silence.  


August 30th 2006 

I'm going to bleed out, I'm going to pass out, I'm trying to count to make myself move. Zero, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. I can't tell if it's working.  Zero, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. I'm seeing spots, its going dark.  








Prompt: The day after we died



The day after we died 


The day after we died, the birds still flew up high. 

We had not changed the world, nor affected it in any way; 

We changed your perspective but that's about it. 

The day after we died you suddenly caredyou agreed; and accepted. 

You denied that you had ever hated. 

We've seen this behaviour in you before. 

You will be pitied but not poorall because our lives are no more. 

We had died long agofrom you not being content. 

Our dissapointment to you had taken us away, 

You lost your love for us, when we started to love one another, 

You hated our delight; 

Therefore you disrespected our right. 

You said so many things that we gave up on our fight. 

You stared with disgust and made us feel disgrace. 

The day after we died we were no longer in the wrong place. 

We had freedom to love and be ourselves 

Freedom to lay together and not be judged. 

We are in our own little heaven where we can do what we want, 

Where we can rid ourselves of prejudice and annihilation. 

Ayou read this note we will be sitting in the air, full of love and tender care. 

Looking from above and seeing you there,  

Respecting afresh love everywhere. 

One paper had changed your heart and growth, 

 For the note you took off our bedside tote, 

Was our one and only suicide note. 






piece #7

Prompt: It is my Life


It is my life 

My life that has been shaping for 16 years 

My life where every decision made, affects something now or later on. 

It is my life where I get to see the world, and make friends, enemies, lovers, and even a family. 

It is my life that I am able to do so many things, so shouldn’t I be happy?  

Am I so ungrateful and selfish that I can't be content with what I have?  

Am I so full of my self that I can't accept this great life that’s been given to me, that I don’t have to even work for?  

Or am I unhappy because I don’t have to work for this gracious life. Am I unhappy I have no say in my life. 

I don’t control my life.  

You control my life, but I allow it. 

Its my life but I let you disrespect me, 

I let you make me feel little and unneeded. 

I let you put me down and ruin my day 

I let you walk all over me, because I am a doormat. 

I was taught to be a doormat. I was taught to stand up for myself but only if it wouldn’t cause a scene, only if there was no chance of it hurting someone's feelings, or if it was the slightest bit impolite I was taught to just stay quiet. Because if you are causing a scene, hurting feelings or being impolite you’re a mean girl, you're a bad girl. You're a mean girl if you stand up to your bullies because it might hurt they're feelings. How twisted is that? This is my life, my life of being something that people rub they're muddy shoes on when they walk into someone's house.  

It is my life where I am unable to make any decisions because you control me. 

Because I can't be impolite, because I can't be known as the mean girl. 

This is my twisted life of great adventure that's full of dread and regret for not saying what's on my mind, for not saying no that one time; those many times.  

It is my life, but you're in control. 

You; you're In control. 

Oh, how I want this to change, but its too late. 




Piece #8

Prompt: The Long Goodnight


I want those long goodnights where we find out everything about each other, good and bad, those goodnights that take 3 hours because we don't want to stop talking teach other. I want those nights that we never want to end. I want us to have those long goodnights that lead into two am talks where you find out that I can't sleep with pants on because they mess up the safe feeling the blankets give when they wrap around my legs, and that I'll always have a fuzzy blanket on my bed because I love that soft feeling against my skin, the long goodnights where you tell me that you always want to know when I'm having a hard day and that you'll always be there when I'm at my lowest point.  I want these long goodnights where I listen to the piano version of Merry Christmas Mr. Laurence and Primavera because they sound almost as beautiful as you. I want to listen to you read everything you write, or the book you're interested in before I go to bed.  I want those long goodnights where you call me just to say that you're getting ready for bed and wanted to hear my voice before you fall asleep. I want you to know about my little tweaks, like how the sound and smell of rain relaxes me completely and the little droplets of water stuck on the window dancing when the light hits then make me my happiest, how matching underwear will always mean it's going to be a good day, and how I always need to wear a necklace to fiddle with. I want to tell you the story behind these scars and why white sheet references are so important to me. I think I want all this but I'm not sure if I just want the idea of it. Because why should we have these beautiful long goodnights filled with love and personal information when we don’t even see each other 




Piece #9

Prompt: Disappeearing self


I hate odd numbers 


You know that feeling, like you don't exist? That feeling where you're just so totally invisible to everyone that you could do anything and they wouldn't notice? Where you're just laying on the hard wood floor looking at the lights on the ceiling while everyone around you is in groups. You can hear the one girl with the black hair the over sized gold glasses and blood red lips talk about a party she was at that the cops crashed the other  night , The girl in a big sweater with her hair up talking about math and science, the boy with the orange hair and broad shoulders talking about football, the group of girls wearing slippers gossiping about who's sleeping with who, the two boys whisper fighting in the corner because they're scared someone will hear that they're fighting about their relationship and not talking about girls. I can see and hear all of them but they can't see me. Their conversations are white noise, even when it sounds like they're screaming because all I can do is breath in and out, in and out, focusing on my lungs expanding as a tear roles down my cheek. We get told we need a partner. God I hate odd numbers.  I hate odd numbers and partner work, I hate this place and these people, I hate the silence that appears but I hate the laughter it gets filled with more. I hate that when I get put on the spot I can no longer breath, I hate that my lungs contract and cramp and stop working, I hate that I'm gasping for air right now I hate that my lungs stop not only when I'm in front of a crowd but also when I'm with you.  I hate that you make me nervous and I hate that this is a big deal for me. I hate that I only disappear when I don't need too. I hate that I'm stuck here unable to breath when I wish I could disappear. I hate that the white noise of their conversations means nothing to me, I hate that I'm forgetting to breath, focus! in and out in and out.  my mind wanders and the tears keep rolling I can hear the steady drip of them as they hit the hard wood floor one by one. I think of all the happy times but none of them come to mind. I hate odd numbers that's all I can think I hate odd numbers.  

I hate odd numbers  

Someone's always left out 

 that someone's always me.



Prompt: The dream at your fingertips



The dream of it all, I must reach you. You are every dream I've ever had in human form. terrifying, frightening, manipulating, repulsing yet perfect and symmetrical. You're the dream simply resting at my fingertips, but too far away to grasp. 




Prompt: Perfection



Perfection; something many people deem to be impossible, but I must argue against this statement. I know perfection. I've seen it. I've seen perfection in her angelic smile, and star lit eyes, her silky hair and freckled nose, her crazy laugh and quiet giggle, her long neck and slim shoulders, her perfect figure and her outstretched legs. Perfect is this goddesses healing scars and battle wounds, her intelligence and her amity, her gliding walk and confidence, her personality that lights up the room. Perfection is her saying hello when she passes by. She is perfection and perfection is her.




© Copyright 2019 Emily Perrier. All rights reserved.

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