This Week's Prompt:

What is your New Year's Resolution?


Submitted Prompts

Malisha

Fireworks cackled somewhere outside, fired as a traditional feature for the new year. I never bothered going outside to watch them with the rest of the town because there was no point. None of us were excited for the new year, actually. Everyone else was already asleep, probably stirring at the sound of the fireworks going off, muttering for it to stop, and then trying to lose themselves to sleep again.

I looked outside. I didn't see the fireworks- they were going off on the other side of town- but I did see the other lights illuminating rows upon rows of houses. They were celebrating, having fun. What was fun? Going through the motions of life three hundred sixty-five times a year? Waking up each morning to tell yourself something you were going to forget after you brush your teeth? Then you have something called a New Year's Resolution, all in capitals. Most of them were lame: quit smoking, stop drinking, get my N, buy an iPhone. Then some are more practical: learn French, get straight A's, get into Harvard, go visit my grandma. But me? I didn't make any. It was the same every year and it will be for years more.

Stay alive to see another day. I owed my friends and myself that. Stay alive to watch the sun rise and set each day, stay until I fulfilled my purpose in life. Whatever that was.

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Week 2: What is your New Year's Resolution?

Week 1: What do you do on the day of a snowstorm?

Malisha

I never liked snow. Snow made everything harder to do stuff. It was a pain to walk in, a pain to avoid, a pain to suffer through when a car drives straight into a puddle and splashes you. Seriously, don't those people have any sympathy for the poor suckers who have to walk to school? I guess I like snow the best at night. I'd just watch it fall, watch it drift from the clouds. The whiteness of it makes it look purer in the darkness, and it kind of looks like it glows under the streetlights and whatnot. Whenever I watch it fall like it, I can't help but like snow. But, during the day, I can't stand it.

Michelle

There is no better epitome of a lie than New York covered in snow. The snow covers the grit and grime of the city underneath: the bland concrete floor is now a crisp white and the worn out, decaying brick buildings sport a brand new white coat. Everything glistened despite the time of the day, whether it was under the winter sun or in face of the city lights.

New York submerged in snow embodies the very definition of a lie.

Shields

As a child, snow is magical. It's fun. It's bright. It means getting bundled up to the size of a human marshmallow and playing around in the cold, powdered wonder. The snow is a promise of a day off, time to play, and mom's delicious hot cocoa.

As a teenager, snow is hope. It's wearing your pajama pants backwards and sleeping with a spoon under your pillow. It's constantly checking the news in the anticipation of seeing your school districts name flash across the bottom of the screen. Snow in your teenage years is the possibility of having an unexpected break in the middle of a never-ending semester.

As an adult, snow is memory. It's what your family did when you were younger. It's flashes of waking up to see the world covered in white, pure white. Snow when you are old makes your eyes glow with a childish gleam you thought you had long lost and it causes you to slow down and simply remember.

Sands

When I lived in western Montana, a snowstorm was not a good thing. Sure, those nice six inches meant a pretty sweet snowman, but thirty minutes later when you came indoors fingers were ready to fall off and suddenly everyone had whooping cough. Snow didn't mean snow days either. Us "tough Montanans" didn't need snow days; we could drive in any amount of snow and brave the adjourning -15°F temperatures, whatever the wind chill. We had a proud record of one day off every ten years, so chances are you'd only have one snow day your entire school career. Spend it wisely; indoors, by the fire, with lots of tea and hot cocoa.

Sitely




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