ABadChoiceOfWords
@abadchoiceofwords.bsky.social
By moonlight they come
Some sing
Some sob
Some scream
But they all come
Into the light of the night
Some sing
Some sob
Some scream
But they all come
Into the light of the night
Pinned
Hi. I write. You'll find a pile of stories, just below. Little things, tiny: hopes, fears, delusions, dreams. Sometimes, sorrows. Manytimes, monsters. Here, even, be dragons. Sit a little. Read a while. We won't bite.
Honesty is our best policy.
The rest are all way, way worse.
The rest are all way, way worse.
December 19, 2025 at 9:43 PM
Honesty is our best policy.
The rest are all way, way worse.
The rest are all way, way worse.
"That's just my style."
In honor of spooky month, share a 4 word horror story that only someone in your profession would understand
I'll go first: Six page commercial lease.
I'll go first: Six page commercial lease.
October 12, 2025 at 10:35 PM
"That's just my style."
Power always needs more power to feel safe from all those folk it hurt and maimed and killed each time it seized a bit more power.
October 1, 2025 at 11:24 PM
Power always needs more power to feel safe from all those folk it hurt and maimed and killed each time it seized a bit more power.
I use considerably more conjunctions than most, and start sentences with them. But not too frequently! I float more commas, too; though I keep them to necessary minimums. And fragments! Lots of those. Especially the short and implied- or inherited-subject sort. Clarity, so they don't deceive.
September 24, 2025 at 10:34 PM
I use considerably more conjunctions than most, and start sentences with them. But not too frequently! I float more commas, too; though I keep them to necessary minimums. And fragments! Lots of those. Especially the short and implied- or inherited-subject sort. Clarity, so they don't deceive.
We cannot say ‘steal’, we cannot say ‘kill’, we cannot say ‘suicide’, while they ***** what we make, **** us when we protest, and tell the world it was *******.
September 9, 2025 at 12:29 AM
We cannot say ‘steal’, we cannot say ‘kill’, we cannot say ‘suicide’, while they ***** what we make, **** us when we protest, and tell the world it was *******.
When they command what is and is not obscene, obscenity is then art and speech and protest against them.
August 12, 2025 at 5:34 PM
When they command what is and is not obscene, obscenity is then art and speech and protest against them.
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
A wonderful flight alimation by the incredibly talented Kemelvor. Thank you once again for this incredible piece <3
Soaring in the sky, seeing the beautiful world from high. The winds will carry you far, because there are many wonders to see from above.
Character : Fáolan by AlbinoDeer, from the story The Crushing Light :
www.royalroad.com/fiction/1020...
#dragon 🦋 #animation 🦋 #digitalart
Character : Fáolan by AlbinoDeer, from the story The Crushing Light :
www.royalroad.com/fiction/1020...
#dragon 🦋 #animation 🦋 #digitalart
August 2, 2025 at 5:20 PM
A wonderful flight alimation by the incredibly talented Kemelvor. Thank you once again for this incredible piece <3
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
I did not want holes in my arms. Snuggles did not want to go to the vet.
Neither of us walked away happy.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity
Neither of us walked away happy.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity
January 10, 2024 at 10:09 AM
I did not want holes in my arms. Snuggles did not want to go to the vet.
Neither of us walked away happy.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity
Neither of us walked away happy.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
Worship our flag, our leader, our law. In this world of men, their power begs awe.
Those who do not: apostates.
Those who cannot: heathens.
Those who will not: heretics.
Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers: flush them out, hunt them down—they are un-like us, and must be made gone.
#vss #amwriting
Those who do not: apostates.
Those who cannot: heathens.
Those who will not: heretics.
Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers: flush them out, hunt them down—they are un-like us, and must be made gone.
#vss #amwriting
December 30, 2023 at 11:08 PM
Worship our flag, our leader, our law. In this world of men, their power begs awe.
Those who do not: apostates.
Those who cannot: heathens.
Those who will not: heretics.
Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers: flush them out, hunt them down—they are un-like us, and must be made gone.
#vss #amwriting
Those who do not: apostates.
Those who cannot: heathens.
Those who will not: heretics.
Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers: flush them out, hunt them down—they are un-like us, and must be made gone.
#vss #amwriting
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
"Hydras can't keep secrets. Terrible liars."
That wasn't quite true. They're excellent liars—maybe the best. But, with that many heads, they never agree on 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 lie to tell, let alone 𝘩𝘰𝘸.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity
That wasn't quite true. They're excellent liars—maybe the best. But, with that many heads, they never agree on 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 lie to tell, let alone 𝘩𝘰𝘸.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity
April 13, 2024 at 11:32 AM
"Hydras can't keep secrets. Terrible liars."
That wasn't quite true. They're excellent liars—maybe the best. But, with that many heads, they never agree on 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 lie to tell, let alone 𝘩𝘰𝘸.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity
That wasn't quite true. They're excellent liars—maybe the best. But, with that many heads, they never agree on 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 lie to tell, let alone 𝘩𝘰𝘸.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
When I was young, I knew not who I was—so I became what others told me to be.
When I came older, in bits I grasped what I was—I kept this to myself, for I knew not how to tell.
Now I am what I am, a teller of tales—and by practice, in pieces, I can almost tell my own.
#vss #writingcommunity
When I came older, in bits I grasped what I was—I kept this to myself, for I knew not how to tell.
Now I am what I am, a teller of tales—and by practice, in pieces, I can almost tell my own.
#vss #writingcommunity
January 12, 2024 at 8:54 PM
When I was young, I knew not who I was—so I became what others told me to be.
When I came older, in bits I grasped what I was—I kept this to myself, for I knew not how to tell.
Now I am what I am, a teller of tales—and by practice, in pieces, I can almost tell my own.
#vss #writingcommunity
When I came older, in bits I grasped what I was—I kept this to myself, for I knew not how to tell.
Now I am what I am, a teller of tales—and by practice, in pieces, I can almost tell my own.
#vss #writingcommunity
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
She took me in. I owed her. Spent years paying it back. And then we’d a good thing going, so we kept on and on and on. Don’t know who owes who, now, but it still feels like me. And that’s fine. I wanna pay her back again and again, and keep owing her as long as I live.
#vss #writer #amwriting
#vss #writer #amwriting
April 6, 2024 at 10:23 PM
She took me in. I owed her. Spent years paying it back. And then we’d a good thing going, so we kept on and on and on. Don’t know who owes who, now, but it still feels like me. And that’s fine. I wanna pay her back again and again, and keep owing her as long as I live.
#vss #writer #amwriting
#vss #writer #amwriting
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
What you've been taught is damnable lie.
Know now the truth: cheesecake is pie.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity #poem #poetry
Know now the truth: cheesecake is pie.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity #poem #poetry
January 3, 2024 at 6:41 AM
What you've been taught is damnable lie.
Know now the truth: cheesecake is pie.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity #poem #poetry
Know now the truth: cheesecake is pie.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity #poem #poetry
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
There's not one trick or even two
But in my time I've found a few
A dash of rhyme, of rhythm, of beat
To move their lips, their minds, their feet
By simple words, they sing the best
And dance far fairer than the rest
For with one short and pithy phrase
Your passage rings their ears for days
#poetry
But in my time I've found a few
A dash of rhyme, of rhythm, of beat
To move their lips, their minds, their feet
By simple words, they sing the best
And dance far fairer than the rest
For with one short and pithy phrase
Your passage rings their ears for days
#poetry
March 25, 2024 at 7:16 PM
There's not one trick or even two
But in my time I've found a few
A dash of rhyme, of rhythm, of beat
To move their lips, their minds, their feet
By simple words, they sing the best
And dance far fairer than the rest
For with one short and pithy phrase
Your passage rings their ears for days
#poetry
But in my time I've found a few
A dash of rhyme, of rhythm, of beat
To move their lips, their minds, their feet
By simple words, they sing the best
And dance far fairer than the rest
For with one short and pithy phrase
Your passage rings their ears for days
#poetry
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
They were traitors, to a new call of treason. Their girl screams—by axe-stroke, orphaned. Spared, yet not as mercy; each dusk she screams again at the end of the butcher’s revelry.
This night, a careless skewer in reach. His neck spills as prey. Her first, not last.
#vss #writer #amwriting
This night, a careless skewer in reach. His neck spills as prey. Her first, not last.
#vss #writer #amwriting
March 16, 2024 at 6:02 PM
They were traitors, to a new call of treason. Their girl screams—by axe-stroke, orphaned. Spared, yet not as mercy; each dusk she screams again at the end of the butcher’s revelry.
This night, a careless skewer in reach. His neck spills as prey. Her first, not last.
#vss #writer #amwriting
This night, a careless skewer in reach. His neck spills as prey. Her first, not last.
#vss #writer #amwriting
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
"Your world is ending," spoke the beast.
It was no prophecy, but a telling of truth. Such poison days could not go on.
We prayed to gods—ours we knew and more we did not. Some even prayed to that beast, monstrous as it was. But it gave us no salvation, same as all the rest.
#vss #amwriting
It was no prophecy, but a telling of truth. Such poison days could not go on.
We prayed to gods—ours we knew and more we did not. Some even prayed to that beast, monstrous as it was. But it gave us no salvation, same as all the rest.
#vss #amwriting
March 15, 2024 at 4:25 AM
"Your world is ending," spoke the beast.
It was no prophecy, but a telling of truth. Such poison days could not go on.
We prayed to gods—ours we knew and more we did not. Some even prayed to that beast, monstrous as it was. But it gave us no salvation, same as all the rest.
#vss #amwriting
It was no prophecy, but a telling of truth. Such poison days could not go on.
We prayed to gods—ours we knew and more we did not. Some even prayed to that beast, monstrous as it was. But it gave us no salvation, same as all the rest.
#vss #amwriting
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
They report less to the State, but more to the News. They cry progress; they cry decay. They beg—more guns, more bullets!
And the morticians—more tongs to pry those bullets from the poor, the broken, the different. A city on a hill that shines of blood.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity
And the morticians—more tongs to pry those bullets from the poor, the broken, the different. A city on a hill that shines of blood.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity
January 15, 2024 at 7:36 AM
They report less to the State, but more to the News. They cry progress; they cry decay. They beg—more guns, more bullets!
And the morticians—more tongs to pry those bullets from the poor, the broken, the different. A city on a hill that shines of blood.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity
And the morticians—more tongs to pry those bullets from the poor, the broken, the different. A city on a hill that shines of blood.
#vss #writer #amwriting #writingcommunity
This morning they found three more holes. Smashed headstones, same as. Also same, none remember what those read.
Vicar held prayer midday. Rain. Dozen showed. Some left flowers.
Will speak with him this evening, see what he’ll tell a worried soul. Darker clouds come. Rough winds.
Love,
A.
Vicar held prayer midday. Rain. Dozen showed. Some left flowers.
Will speak with him this evening, see what he’ll tell a worried soul. Darker clouds come. Rough winds.
Love,
A.
July 11, 2025 at 6:20 AM
This morning they found three more holes. Smashed headstones, same as. Also same, none remember what those read.
Vicar held prayer midday. Rain. Dozen showed. Some left flowers.
Will speak with him this evening, see what he’ll tell a worried soul. Darker clouds come. Rough winds.
Love,
A.
Vicar held prayer midday. Rain. Dozen showed. Some left flowers.
Will speak with him this evening, see what he’ll tell a worried soul. Darker clouds come. Rough winds.
Love,
A.
An unconfident story frets fervently over what audiences understand and remember, and wastes much space explaining every small bit.
A confident story lays out such a feast of nuance that audiences grasping barely a quarter will walk away well-fed.
A confident story lays out such a feast of nuance that audiences grasping barely a quarter will walk away well-fed.
June 30, 2025 at 10:37 PM
An unconfident story frets fervently over what audiences understand and remember, and wastes much space explaining every small bit.
A confident story lays out such a feast of nuance that audiences grasping barely a quarter will walk away well-fed.
A confident story lays out such a feast of nuance that audiences grasping barely a quarter will walk away well-fed.
"We needn't kill it, friend. Just wound it and wound it, cut by cut, till enough of the other side'll nod solemn and agree the old boy'd be better off put down."
June 19, 2025 at 10:42 AM
"We needn't kill it, friend. Just wound it and wound it, cut by cut, till enough of the other side'll nod solemn and agree the old boy'd be better off put down."
If you hate our neighbor who looks a little different, how do I trust you don't hate me who loves and lives a little different?
June 18, 2025 at 2:33 AM
If you hate our neighbor who looks a little different, how do I trust you don't hate me who loves and lives a little different?
Prompt was "Tyrant's mirror." Five minutes planning, fifteen execution, and a few errors tweaked after reading it for the other workshoppers. Not quite flash fiction, not quite microfic, but I guess this's where I land at that time window.
June 11, 2025 at 6:45 AM
Prompt was "Tyrant's mirror." Five minutes planning, fifteen execution, and a few errors tweaked after reading it for the other workshoppers. Not quite flash fiction, not quite microfic, but I guess this's where I land at that time window.
Each day’s end, the bleeding leaves me drunk. I no more but labor, weep, sleep. One shift on, one shift off: rest-enough to recover what I’ve given to make the work happen. And in my dreams, I also dig. Up, down, it does not matter—so long as the fires stay fed.
June 2, 2025 at 9:23 AM
Each day’s end, the bleeding leaves me drunk. I no more but labor, weep, sleep. One shift on, one shift off: rest-enough to recover what I’ve given to make the work happen. And in my dreams, I also dig. Up, down, it does not matter—so long as the fires stay fed.