Other [ugh?!] pasta's one shots

[pasta]

ok, these are one shots (?). i suppose that's what you'd call them lmao. idk it's just to refine my writing skills. a lot of them are little snippets that i wrote during class when i have free time. they can be inspired from songs, mvs, dramas -- anything that can inspire you. i thought i'd be fun to have my own fiction thread. i often read over the threads in this part of rpn, so i decided to give it shot. forgive me, if they're lackluster or overall bad. however, i do have some confidence in my writing, so i'll let you know if i feel one didn't 100% meet my standards.

let's see how my writing can evolve.

 

[pasta]

i used one of the plots i wrote from my 1x1 thread as prompt. i actually am quite proud of my writing in this. lately, my writing has been dramatically getting better probably because i've started reading more. it stops a little abruptly, but i felt it was best to do so. i didn't want to burn myself out and have it become incredibly boring!

painter - #angst #painting #????

He broke another canvas, snapped it in half like a pencil, watching as the face in the center ripped over the starch paper and paint flew from it. All he saw was inescapable death burning and clawing at the countenance of his lover. He wasn’t surprised when there was a familiar patterned knock at the door a little while later. Someone had called in on him again, probably due to the snap of the wood. It was a wellness check for what felt like the 80th time in of the week. “Please leave me to my mourning,” He muttered in annoyance under his breath. Which neighbors were asking for some officer to be sent over?

Perhaps his mourning was going on for far too long. It had already been well over a year since his death, yet, he still couldn’t seem to let him go. He slipped through his fingers like sand, so quickly. Without his muse, how could he successfully paint? Every painting was a capsule of time, each one a memory. But, now his memories were lacking. How could paint someone who wasn’t there to smile?

Sighing, he approached the apartment door, unenthusiastically dragging it open like his arm was limp or asleep. He met with a familiar face; it was the same officer who did the check every time. It was the same routine, open the door, let him in, have coffee and chat for a little bit. Quite lackluster, but regardless, the painter always enjoyed his time in the end. He didn’t get out much unless it was for simple human needs, so it was nice to have some sort of socialization.

“Again?” He sighed softly, watching as the male nodded in return. “I broke a canvas.”

“Blood?” The cop questioned, beckoning towards the splat of deep, red paint against the painter’s dull cheek.

He quickly shook his head, raising the sleeve of his blue, button up to wipe away the paint. It smeared against his cheek, making a thick streak over his skin. “It’s just paint,” He explained before moving out of the way to allow the cop into his apartment. “It’s kind of a mess,” He said sheepishly as he scratched the back of his neck. In the center of the studio apartment was the broken canvas, the face in the center molten due to the paint still being wet.

“It’s alright,” The cop chuckled lightly. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Worse?” He muttered to himself, slightly insulted that the other still implied the place is messy. He followed behind the man before maneuvering around him to get to the kitchen. “I’ll get you a coffee in just a moment."

The coffee began dripping from the rather outdated coffee machine. Unfortunately, he couldn’t afford the brand new and shiny machines that let you use the differently flavored cups like donut or cupcake. Nope, he was stuck with the off-white machines that took a little longer than they should to drain through the caffeine grinds. While he stared at the memorizing coffee falling, he began to wonder. What would have happened if they grew old together? His muse and him forever intertwined as lovers, holding and guiding each other through life. What would he have looked like when he was fifty? Eighty? It was painful, but he forced himself to think of it.

 

[Makomin]

UM okay, RUDE.

Why are you so talented?????????

 

[pasta]

UM okay, RUDE.

Why are you so talented?????????

ah, WHY ARE YOU SO SWEET????? um okay, rude

 

[pasta]

alright~ so, i used teeth rotting as a way to explain this characrer's view on dirty minds. idk, it was a fun write, so i decided to post it.

teeth - #onlinebadsometimes #metaphorical

In place of pristine, white smile was rotting decay. He stared into the black cracks of the man’s teeth, watching as his lips would close over them, sounding out a word. It was like there was a constant ticking noise in the back of his mind as he stared at that rotting crack, watching at a smile spread over it. How ugly. The darkness was seeping through the gaps and around the brownish yellow stained teeth. He supposed he focused too much on details on faces, but it was teeth; he didn’t want to kiss that mouth. Could this be considered a catfish story; all his photos had his mouth closed and now that they were in person, he finally opened it — it was just pure decay.

It was the second time he had met up with him. His mouth had gotten worse since last time, and his crooked words left him sick to his stomach.

He dipped his head to take a sip from his black coffee, but he stopped himself. The black of the caffeinated drink reminded him of cracks in the man’s teeth. He nearly gagged as he set down the mug and unhooked his slender fingers from around the handle. Perhaps he was being too cruel. Could he notice his eyes watching those dirty bones grind against each other? What if he got the wrong idea? No, impossible. But, something in the pit of his stomach told him he was scared.

He forced himself to make eye contact with his pale, blue eyes, and he offered a fake smile. “You mentioned you have work soon,” He managed to slip out. “When is that?” Did that sound desperate? He honestly wanted to end the date and delete the tinder app immediately. Online dating was cursed. And, that mouth was so haunting. It wasn’t even that bad, but the way he spoke stabbed into his eardrums. His teeth were fine visually, but the way he spoke made them look disgusting and rotten. Each word made his mouth turn blacker and blacker.

“Oh, I took the day out,” The decayed mouth answered with a soft chuckle of dog breath. "So, we could more spend time together."

Silence surfaced over the pair like waves washing over the shore. He refused to spend another hour with this man. “Well, I have somewhere to be in a little bit,” He lied as he clasped his hands together under the table. “I’m going with my mom out to dinner,” He explained, with a faux look of sadness.

The man before him nodded with a look of understanding. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you next week, and maybe then, we can head back to my place afterward.”

His place? He watched as his teeth decayed even further, while the man's dirty mind painted blackness over his pearly whites. There was no way in hell he would go back to his place. Yet, he nodded. It was like he had an addiction to this man; he loved to hate him, and he couldn’t decline anything. “Yeah,” He muttered softly before slowly standing up from the cafe seat and gently used the palms of his hands to fix his wrinkled shirt. “I’ll see you then,” He sighed.

 

[pasta]

He pointed it square at my chest
(Oh god!)
With anger and violent intent
So I threw him over the edge
(Oh god!)
Body pounded against the hard ground
Blood pool surrounding the fatal end
(Oh god!)
I’m dead, I’m dead
​

awful poetry lmao​

 

[pasta]

uh, this is a rant piece thrown into some poetic mess??? idk, it's not supposed to be a one shot, so it's not fancy or nicely written tt. i just was feeling shitty and angry, so i decided to write out my emotions.

rant - #emo #feelings

She didn’t even know when the fighting began, it just happened. It started off relating to the circumstances, but then it descended into petty insults from the attacker. She wasn’t the type to insult someone’s appearance, but the other was. They’d dig into your most sensitive spots and chew on them like ravenous dogs. It stung. No, perhaps it was more than a mere sting, it was like someone was gouging out your eyes all while picking at your brain.

And when tears would well up, they’d laugh at her and taunt her for sobbing. She wanted to bash them with anything she could; she wanted to inflict pain on them just as they were to her. She grabbed a water bottle and chucked at the poisonous speaker, and watching as the plastic smacked against their skin. For a moment, she felt at peace, but it was soon washed over with a wave of dread, a wave of sadness. She wanted to spiral into a black hole of death and never reach the ground.

The antagonist picked up her laptop and threatened to throw it at her with words laced hatred and infection. The piece of tech smashed against the ground, and it was followed by more yelling.

Why were people so cruel?

While climbing up the stairs, she threatened her own life after being told she should end it. “Glad you don’t care! No strings attached when I do it.” Her booming voice faltered our towards the end as tears finally overfilled and slipped passed her tear ducts.

For a few moments, she considered it. She wanted to show the other what type of pain they caused her. She wanted them to live with that forever. They caused her suicide should be etched on some important wall of their brain. But, she stopped herself when she sat on the toilet lid with a plastic bag clasped between her palms. She couldn’t do that to her family, no matter how bad she hurt or how much she cried.

A shower would make everything feel better, right? It always seemed to smooth the puffy skin around her eyes and wash away the tears. She figured she needed one but she couldn’t help but question, “Is this how siblings are always supposed to be?” Hating and pounding on each other’s mental health like fruit flies surrounding a fresh apple. Why is this considered normal, but between a couple it counts as abuse?

So, is this normal?

Showers don’t fix anything, do they? They leave you with a faux feeling of relief, but the horrible, dead feelings always come back. Everything always ends up feeling like a tragedy. The water tastes the dead, the sun smells dead, dead, dead.

So, she questions if it’s normal, she questions why no one reaches out to her when they know how she feels. She wonders why they never apologize or get her help. Why must she suffer in her head because she doesn’t know how to hold her hand out for help?

But it all goes away and stays dormant deep within her mind until a little trail of poisonous words pulls back out that thread of thoughts.

 

[Makomin]

Wtf. I love these SO MUCH.

 

[pasta]

yeah, idk how to feel about this. it's okay. tt. i wrote it during my history class, ahaha. honestly, it could be the start of short horror book (cough with better writing).

where??? - #roadtrip #lost

The car in the stale heat with lack of air conditioning was nearly unbearable. Her sticky and uncomfortable skin alarmed her, and she wondered if she had sweat through her clothes. She groaned as she fanned her face with the map she was supposed to used to give directions. ‘No, tech devices,’ The other said. ‘I want to try and do this like my parents once did,’ she said. Now, they were completely lost, stuck in the dead sun, in the middle nowhere.

“Just, stop by and ask for directions,” She suggested as he turned down the radio.

“No,” The lover protested. “I want to do this myself.”

“Alright.” She sighed as he reopened the map, unable to understand and figure out where they were located. “I don’t even know where we are,” She complained as he slouched in seat. “And, it’s so hot. We’re going to fucking bake in here.”

The other woman finally gave in after realizing how severe their situation was, but unfortunately, the car didn’t get too far before it shuddered. Thankfully, before it could die on them completely, she pulled over to a shaded patch of on the side of the road where the trees hung over, dropping and weeping down above them.

“This is great,” She sighed. “The battery is probably dead, and again, might I remind you, we’re lost.”

“We’re not lost -- just, confused.”

“Same thing.”

She had wondered why her girlfriend hadn’t invested in a new vehicle yet. Her hammy-down car from her grandmother was starting to give in to old age just like the old woman had. The cracked leather seats would heat up faster than electrical blankets, and the entire car felt unstable. But, her girlfriend was stubborn. Every time she mentioned purchasing a new car, she shut him down instantly.

She climbed out of the car, now able to understand how incredibly sweaty and uncomfortable she had become. She wiped his face on the hem of his shirt before popping the front of the car. Cluelessly, he stared at the inner parts of the car. She had fixed cars with her father before, but now, she was without him, and she had become stupid. She unbuttoned a few buttons of her lurid Hawaiian shirt and hung her head loosely under the hood of the car. Of course, she was ripped away by her girlfriend and scolded for so freely standing under the piece of metal. “Yeah?”

“We’ll just call a tow truck or something…” She frowned.

“But, we’re lost -- we don’t even know where we are.” The woman sighed before pulling her dark hair back into a ponytail. Unlike the other, she was freely reaching for her phone. “Lost, my ass,” She muttered as she fished her phone from her mom jeans -- awful clothing choice for a scorching day like this. “No more paper map.”

Well, that’s how she ruined their “vintage” road trip according to her partner.

“I just don’t want to die -- this is like the start of a horror movie.”

“No, it’s not. Put your phone away, please.”

A whine like no other wailed through the air, like the wind whistling on an angry day, as her girlfriend tried to pull the phone from her hand. "When did you become five?"