5-minute Challenge

We sat on the roof of a hostel, outside the kooky costume party going on inside. I was sitting there wallowing in my shame when she slipped outside and asked if she could sit with me. I nodded and said, mechanically, "Yes." After that I planned to shut up and keep staring at the rusting sky and the dazzling array of light-studded skyscrapers and cranes, the empty hammock and the herb gardens - which I imagined must be breathing in car fumes even at this height. She spoke in some accent. Chinese? Taiwanese? Korean? I don't know asians.

"What's your name?" she asked.

I told her my name bluntly. What the fuck does she want?

"I don't have a costume," she explained, embarrassed. "You not gonna go to the party?"

I shook my head, and spoke slowly in words I hoped she would understand. "I'm not a traveler. I don't really belong here."

"Oh," she said, confused. "Then what are you doing here?"

As she spoke, a young man, shirtless in neon top hat, ambled out drunkenly and pissed off the roof behind her into the car park below. I smirked, then said, "I'm trying to find a place to live."

You can choose either, but as the OP I admit my instructions are misleading, and wish to correct my mistake.

You have up, and until, the 5-minute mark to finish your work. You do not have to work all the way up to the 5-minute mark, and can finish much earlier if you so desire, but you cannot and must not exceed the 5-minute mark (or you shall otherwise be disqualified from the challenge). Apologies for the confusion.

Excellent. I will begin.

The cat stood on the table in front of the open window, projecting his long shadow upon the walls of the small, disorderly kitchen. A fine moon was shining outside and the soft breeze of the north brought the curtains inside along with a good smell of lavender from the fields outside. France was in a peaceful state now, after the years of war that had shaken the country to the bone, and overturned democracy in favour of a robot led technocracy.

He has just browsed Yea Forums for five minutes when he saw it.

The meme which contained all memes.

Authors of the antiquity had classified such rarity. Plotinus spoke of a meme which impersonated both the divine and the change of wordly things; Homer made references to such a device, closer to the gods than to mortal men.

Nevertheless, the meme was meant to be kept holy. He was hopeless: the thread had been deleted, and the user who possesed the meme of memes was enveloped in the darkess of the web, disappearing with the gift of the gods.

The destiny and the mods defied his hope of joy.

So it came forth as the petals trembled and bowed, belching out the last bit of nothing they'd been keeping safe. It came forth between the flowered bushes, still damp, trembling and twitching and dripping. It came forth and nothing changed. The bushes bear witness to it all, with branch, twig and leaf being the better for it still, their broad green cheeks blushing pink at the early sun. The cardinals laughed and shrugged in their ignorance, the siproeta danced in the haze. Not one noticed but the gushing shrub, and like that it went with December in peace and contentedness.

I see a little silhouetto of a man.
Holy shit! Holy shit!
I think it's Peter Dinklage.

Nothing good can come from a thinking heart.

I think I’m finally starting to realize that now. Hume said it, many others did too, when time comes to take an honest look at ourselves, we are deeply emotional creatures. Intelligence, the one we measure through reason, although the most important thing that has happened on this planet, has really just helped us add layers of complexity to feelings we still share with apes. All of the beauty and wonder that has ever seen the light of day has come from the brain serving the heart, never the other way round. Wether i want to understand, connect or build, all of those must take root in emotion, otherwise rendering any desire shallow, therefore useless. I must let the heart exude, and understand that reason will hopefully follow.

As always, the nightclub was gorging with nameless female body parts, James just floated aimlessly near one than the next until he came into contact with a pair of earnest eyes. His experience was lacking to say the least, but he had always felt quite confortable with this first step. Buried under the music and the various substances, all egos shrunk to fit into something larger, something everybody shared and everybody created. Out of this human haze two people will sometimes lock eyes, once, twice and again. That usually gives them their humanity back, in attraction they find themselves, rebuild a full person out of the bare shoulders and flowing hair they had been focused on. After all there must be someone to attract.

Probably the fourth album had finished since they had arrived. Paul felt drunk, but not as much as he should have. It was approaching four o’clock, he wouldn’t be able to bore her with art conversations for much longer. She had come back to his place, she had expectations, and he had to get over his unreasonable fear. Still not acknowledging the situation, he talked about the fact that he would be tired for work the next day, her interest in what he had to say was dwindling, so Paul decided to unfold his couch into his bed. He had no idea how to proceed. The unspoken, ignored desires weighed heavy in the air, none of them even heard the loud music as they sat on the side of the bed. Unable to summon a confidence that was not even necessary anymore by this point, he asked if she though it would be a bad idea if he kissed her. She laughed, as if to cover what she really felt, then said that it wasn’t.

This tall brown coffee table gets in the way of my legs, and I can feel a sharp pain right below my kneecap. When I move, the pain worsens and I can feel an intense heat come down my calf. The air thickens with burnt protein and butter. It's the large BBC. I can feel it pulsate when the heat comes dripping down to my feet. It's hot load runs in my veins. I'm as black as a nigger's coffee.