BBU application - response by Player1

Unpromted contribution

Scratch.

My head itches consistently. I think it is from the poisons the matriarch used to burn away the kink of my hair. I imagine my damaged scalp, waiting for revenge after a youth of suffering for beauty, hidden under my now lush afro.

But its not that deep, I’m a stress scratcher.

Mostly because the world as we know it is doomed and I’m not sure what else to do but scratch when the robot that controls the world dips his phallic fingers where they don’t belong - my mind.

I think I may just be bored and I itch to pass the time. Maybe it is just dry skin.

Maybe I’m a bee, I scratch at my consciousness to spread it’s pollen. My fingernails carrying wisdom from keyboard to handshake to sandwich.

Maybe, my mom was making honey all along.

Prompted contribution

Prompt

Response

The building was made of soap and while it’s design was meant to rise and fall, usually around 6 -7pm, each time the building collapsed, it’s inhabitants where left broken, without escape and sometimes they were even forced to return from the dead.

Still, after decades of male observers scoffing at what they considered inferior structure and denied the value of it’s inhabitants, Sabrina, Lydia, Adam, Ileya and even her brother where going to get out of the building alive without anyone suffering amnesia.

In fact, Sabrina decided, the building was going to stay standing. The trauma of abuse would not bleed her family dry or melt the foundations of her home. She was protecting her boundaries. All of them.

So that all observers would be inspired to hold space in their own homes as well. But this idea was bordering on overtly educational TV and audiences dislike that even more.

So she called a family meetings and invited the village medium to call the ancestors into the room. Crouched around the black screen, they waited for a message from the other side. Lydia, noticed it first. The sound. Even though she was slightly older than Adam, she could hear vibrations he could not, but even when the song was at its loudest each person in the room only heard one element of the composition. Either the melody, or the lyrics, the beat, or a strange feeling.

and then it was over and a piece of soap fell on the screen.

They needed to work together and fast.

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