Novel & Cerita Angst Writing Prompts

*X Ambassadors- Unsteady *Anson Seabra- Broken *Astrid S- Years *NF- Paralyzed *~*~*~* No. No, no, no, no, no. Anger, fear and hurt bustle in me, my body is shaking and I can't stop it. Whatever hope I had in me is gone now, emptiness taking its place. "What the f*ck is this?!" I yell turning to him, I haven't moved into the room much more.

Angry at him so, that I could stop feeling my being continue to be drawn to him. You know what. If I insisted on having all this angst coursing through me, I might as well use it to my benefit. I jumped out of my bed and went over to my laptop. I would open up my work in progress novel, the one that I had started about Noah and me.

" I'm not punishing you . I'm angry . You of all people should know that I'm either not chatty or warm towards anyone when I'm angry . See I'm stuck in between a rock and A hard place where you are concerned . I love you and you know that very well. I made a promise to God and everyone that we love to be there for you, through sickness; health , for better or worse . I've been challenged on all fronts and I don't know what to do now. I don't know how to react. I don't know what's right. I don't know what's wrong and it's frustrating because I can trigger you and you can go back into your shell and not talk to me. " Angelo lifted up his head and looked at me . I was quiet because I was listen

My throat burns. My hands move before my brain fully catches up. I stalk toward my drawer, yank it open, and rummage until I find my car key buried under a pile of silk scarves. My jaw clenches. I toss the scarves aside and grip the key until the sharp metal edges bite into my palm. Good. I need the sting. I need something real to hold on to. My anger feels alive, buzzing, electric under my skin. I throw on the comfiest clothes I can find, loose joggers and a soft black shirt. Something that doesn’t remind me of anyone or anything. Something that doesn’t cling or restrict my movement. I grab my phone, shove it into my pocket, and walk out.

I clutched a pen tightly in my trembling hand, my fingers quivering with a mix of anxiety and determination. The blank paper before me seemed to mock me, a stark canvas waiting for me to pour out the anguish and tears that had been festering within me for so long. The weight of my emotions pressed down on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. My heart ached with the pain of what I was about to do, but I knew that it was the only way forward, the only path to the freedom I so desperately craved. With a deep breath, I began to write, my pen scratching against the paper, each stroke echoing the turmoil in my soul.

Always pride. I sat at the steel desk, Lira’s vial rolling between my fingers. The glass was warm now, as if her ghost lingered inside. The blank page glared at me, the pen trembling in my grip. Forgive me. Pathetic. I pressed the nib to the paper. Ink bled into the fibers like a wound. You’d hate what I’ve done. What I’m becoming. A cough rattled from the cot. Angela’s claws dug into the mattress, peeling gouges in the foam. “You’re staring,” she muttered, voice raw.

The office, draped in rich, dark wine wallpaper and bathed in soft, muted lighting, felt almost stifling—its silence thick with the residue of unsaid thoughts. Her mind raced, a tempest of anxiety and doubt swirling chaotically in the aftermath of recent days. She cast furtive glances at Dynasty, who was unsettlingly still, her gaze locked onto an invisible point as though bracing for an impending deluge. Angela pondered in dread how long this icy calm could persist before it shattered, unleashing a fury that could rival any tempest.

Electic sparks were flying everywhere. Her body broke into cold sweats. Her frantic gaze searching for Theo. Fear squeezed the air from her lungs when she couldn't find him. She was on her own. Angela gulped hard and wheeled her chair towards the exit. Her limbs were shaking, her gut was clenching with dread. Flames prowled around them like a deadly predator. Someone bumped into her wheelchair from behind causing it to turn over. A hiss tore through her throat as she fell to the ground. Her head hit the chair's arm prompting a whimper from her. She pushed the chair off her body with her shaky hands and struggled to get up. But it seemed like an impossible task. Damn her legs, they had sudden

I slap my forehead. “I’m such an idiot, oh gosh. I’m such an idiot.” Cameron reaches out for me, but an overly drunk Angela pulls him away. My panic now turns to fear. Oh shit! What if she saw, will she want to fight? I can’t fight. I’m not that scrappy. Like, I’m fit and I’m sure I could throw a punch, but oh dear, I’m having a panic attack. My eyes close and I try some breathing exercises. After a minute, I open my eyes and I see Cameron is now a few people over from me dancing with Angela as if he wasn’t just obliterating my entire being with simple, sweet kisses.

We need to move faster. My jaw sets. Fine. If they want a war over who owns my story, they’ve picked the wrong backup girl. I open my notebook to a clean page. At the top, I write: *Things I Owe No One.* Under it: - My lullaby. - My daughter. - My fear. - My forgiveness. And under that, in smaller letters: *But I might loan out my rage.*