Donut. I mean... hold on, let me try again.

Don't bully me for writing in my own challenge. I know it's lame: "look he's writing in his own challenge; what a loser."

What can I say. After reading your works, I was so mutterly impressed. Did I just say 'mutterly,' I meat utterly. NO MEANT; I MEANT UTTERLY.

ugh.

I won't let mispronunciation ruin my 100 words. Maybe I shroud say everything really fast. No wait, I meant- ah screw it. Who cares. Almost every person that wrote in this challenge died anyways. Maybe I'd leave one word.

This-somehow-counts-as-one-word-Do-not-like-this-post-I-want-someone-other-than-me-to-win.

God, thank you for allowing me to have been blessed with this life. Jesus, thank you for your amazing love and sacrifice. I am so grateful for my family and friends. I am in awe of the beauty and peace in nature. I am thankful for being inspired by those amazing people who are truly everyday angels among us. Those who are so generous, kind and supportive of others. There is good in this world, among all the madness, there is good. I am so sorry for ever wasting a moment, because this ride called life truly goes so fast.

Tomorrow only comes for those who live today, don't sit back and accept your fate.

Life with purpose, make the best of it.

Find someone you love and be someone they admire.

If you see a hero in your heart, follow that, become like that.

Accomplish for the right reasons. Do your work for the right reasons.

Forgive your parents, love your children, and let your children forgive you.

Take the time to walk. Take the time to be silent. Be silent.

Learn everything you can about this world and do something with your knowledge.

Help when able. Help life.

One hundred divided by three is thirty-three with a repeating three after the decimal. That means I have only thirty-three times left to say 'I love you,' and for only one of them can I add a 'too' on the end. All thirty-three times are reserved for one person, but I don't know if I'll ever be given the opportunity to use the 'too.'

I'm so close to the End.

I can feel it, right there.

It's looming straight ahead, if I can just reach.

Writing a novel is work man.

The kind that makes calloused hands.

A few tens-of-thousands of words back, I thought:

I'll never make it.

But here I am now, mere pages away.

And then.

What comes after?

Readers, I hope, at least some.

Things seem to have shaped up nicely so why...

Can't I decide what is still left unsaid?

Isn't it strange how follow-through...

Feels almost like getting letting down?

Even so, I'm here, so near it hurts.

Oh, I have one hundred words left? Gee, one hundred words. That seems like a lot. Hm, what should I say? There are so many possibilities! Should I talk to my family? My friends? Maybe I should apologize to that kid I pushed down the stairs that one time in second grade. Nah, I’m sure he’s over it. Maybe I should give a speech. Yes, that’s it! A public speech to inspire the masses! A speech that will motivate those down on their luck to keep going! A speech to save the world! Alright, here I go. Attention, everyone! I-

I can’t waste a word. But what words would be a waste? What could possibly be so important to say? I could speak on society, or the universe I have perceived—but what would that accomplish, and who would even listen? This hundred is no different from the hundreds before—a parody of self-importance, a delusional whisper into the crashing waves of experience. I love my mother. Everyone should call theirs more. Smile—dance on the street, buy yourself a cup of coffee, stop to watch the birds when they land. Yell your finite words as loud as you can.

Hello, my dear. I know I was never all that you wanted or expected, but I’m glad you‘re here. I wish I could have told you how much you mean to me. But to tell you the truth, I don’t think more time would have given me the courage to say it. All the things I never said will have to die with me now, and that‘s something I’ll have to be okay with. Thank you for sticking around with me, even after everything. I know I wasn’t the best person. I’m so sorry, I love you. Goodbye, my dear.

To the prettiest girl in America,

I got a hundred words to give you- those stingy bastards were only gonna give me ten, can you believe it? I talked 'em up to a hundred, though, don't worry. I can argue blood from a stone, isn't that what you always say? I don't got a lot of words left, damn it, always runnin' my mouth, so I'm gonna lay it out: I love you, sweetheart, and I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault. There wasn't nothing anybody could do, but I'm sorry to go. A kiss to Baby, and your Ma.

Yours

After 2 and a half years, I started going out of our house again.

I still panicked when I'm alone outside but it's still an improvement right?

I'll stroll around the front yard, 30 steps.

That's a good thing.

I still looked around first to see if he's watching me.

It's good that he isn't. Though I realized I've made a habit out of it.

Dad proposed to continue my neglected learning in driving, ah yes, I should continue.

I'm trying to look at a stranger's face again, realized I couldn't recognize them though.

You see, I'll be trying again.