The Prosocalypse

This is a short thing I wrote for class awhile ago. The response was... mixed. Again, this "short story" ended up becoming something of a first chapter. For the most part I don't write anything I don't already have a preconceived world for, so some things I write or think about take place in specific settings I cobbled together over the years. This one is rather new, as far as settings go. I'll explain it if there is interest. Anyway:

Something I wrote in a creative writing class

I've been apart of a few creative writing classes to help motivate myself to write more and hopefully force a creative epiphany. Instead, I can say without a single doubt that I have uttered the following words while reading someones work "His kisses were like earthquakes, destroying my world as he pulled aside my Cinderella panties."

I felt very much the same as I got to listen to, read, and critique over eighty or so short stories and poems over the length of these classes.

Anyway, each class required a forty page typed portfolio of original work for a pass. You could either commit yourself as a poet or a fiction writer, thus making that specialization the meat of your portfolio and whether or not you actually had to stress out when due dates neared. We were also required to anonymously submit a short story for a class "read around" that mostly boiled down to a lot of abused people secretly showing their wounds or weird people trying to shock everyone or boring people being boring. Funny enough, I never actually finished a short story. Everything I wrote ended up looking more like a "Chapter One" than a short story.

This is one of those, something I thought up when my professor asked me if I ever considered writing something that wasn't science fiction or fantasy.

Story after the jump. (And if anyone can offer some advice on keeping my format so it isn't such an eyesore, I'd appreciate it.)