The NameOn the eve of Tvesa's death, people couldn't recall her name. The townsfolk examined her corpse closely and rechristened her as Rubia. And thereby, our town of shadows had a new member. Rubia.The Name4 years ago in Literature More Like This
My acquaintance with Tvesa had been simple. We were born into the same town. This town. I still live in. An assemblage of congested places. Of many houses. And their windows. If you had to meet the sun, you had to be on the roofs. The sun-rays never penetrated beyond that. The lanes and by-lanes of our town were always a mingling of overlapping shadows. Shadows that went right through your skin. Poured in through your eyelids, even when they were closed. Landed right into your veins. And flowed with your blood. My acquaintance with Tvesa was amidst the many dissimilar shadows of our town.
In our childhood we both knew to fly. Our childhood was a collection of a multitude of moments we had spent suspended in the mid-air. We jumped from roof to roof. All children. In the suns
Red SidewalksFlame is a girl who likes writing poems on her palms.Red Sidewalks4 years ago in Literature More Like This
She writes wishes on them, too, and wouldn't wash them for days until her aunt shoves them under a running faucet and scrubs them clean until Flame cries.
Mommy, Daddy I
didn't mean to
She loves drawing as much as writing, and etches family portraits on to the side walk until the rain comes from the heavens, and it becomes far too obvious what that red line above their heads are for. The little girl survives, every time. All smiles with a silver crown, she stands alone under an over-turned plastic box. She is like the last bomb survivor of Hiroshima: there but has the sickness in the marrow of her bones.
Her eyes are always looking at the past, they're supernovas of the sun; a thousand million molecules and atoms exploding and sucking everything in with them. Her hair is and shriveled like the last tomato on the vine and as bright as bl
Flame and AshFor the Flame and Ash Short Story and Poetry Contest. Approx. 1500 words. Summary: There must be balance, always.Flame and Ash4 years ago in Literature More Like This
Flame is riding the bus when the man across the aisle looks up from his magazine and begins to stare at her. She ignores him. She is trying to decide where to start with this city; so far, she's seen half a hundred places, open doorway hearths leading to rooms with windows painted shut. She smiles, imagining smoke filling those rooms, glass breaking onto the sidewalk below. White towels waving, I'm here. The buildings pass, their brick and stone growing more colorful with graffiti, crumbling more with neglect. The man leans over a bit.
"Where is your mother?" he whispers. "Little girl. Where is your mother?"
She sighs. His tone is not that of a concerned adult. It's something else. Something greasy slick with excitement, nerves. Enticements. His voice is almost a tangible thing, an oily
Of flame and ashWhen people think of a fire goddess, they think of Pyra, the nymph who dances in the flames. She wears them like a dress - wreathing her, making her skin glow. Her features are simple but pretty, fire dancing in her eyes and her hair as she wriggles and twists in the grate.Of flame and ash4 years ago in Literature More Like This
They do not think of me, Cinis, because I do not look like a goddess to them. Pyra may rejoice in the fire, but it answers to me. I am its mistress; it is my bidding that sends it blazing to destroy everything in its path; my words that summon it out of hell and kindle it in dark places.
But could I do so untouched? No. For fire does not wear a leash. It rages around its mistress and scars her as if she were one of the hapless mortals to be incinerated in its scorching heat. My face and arms are more scar tissue than unblemished skin, knots and whorls decorating my features like some old ravaged tree. Even my body has suffered the ravishes of its uncaring tendrils - flickers of scars across my ribs and breasts, remi
I Burn Out Hard, Like a SparkI used to be beautiful once.I Burn Out Hard, Like a Spark4 years ago in Literature More Like This
There was a time when I was loved. I was cherished, prized and valued. You wouldn't think so looking at me now. I sit here, horrible, ugly, disfigured, unwanted, unloved. But back then, I was something.
Not that long ago, I was a thing to behold. I sat in my place, respected and revered, while many gazed upon my beautiful visage. They would travel from far away lands to be enraptured at my striking beauty. Modesty was no option for me. I swelled with pride at the smallest glance, the tiniest slice of attention. As I sat in my place of honour, I felt like all was right in the world and that nothing could ever tear it from me.
But it was. That night, I was lucky to survive. Swirling amber licked and caressed my brethren, turning them to dust. Their bodies twisted and curled in the merciless heat. Light and shadows danced through the halls. Ashes swirled in the midsummer breeze. Before anyone knew what had taken place, it was over. I no longer sat i
Without WarningIt cameWithout Warning4 years ago in Literature More Like This
All of a sudden
A vision, an omen
Of anguish and pain
A wasteland, grey landscape
All burnt down to ashes
Drowned in the dark
Then cities and people
Prey to the flames
Planes over their heads
Casting shadows of death
A celestial gift
Their uranium rain
Two eyes on the future,
Two eyes on the past
Sharing one same curse and fate:
Yesterday in flames
Tomorrow to ashes
Destruction and hate
Are all they can see
Lead but to one grave.
Of Ash and FlameA wonder. A mystery. Was it ever truly known, the correlation between death and the disposed? It crackles and burns, peeling away at layers of pain. A wonder of ages to see the crooked crown on the scornful head. Could you explain the relationship of woes and worries, the care that goes too far on a dissatisfied heart?Of Ash and Flame4 years ago in Literature More Like This
The spice of life for only those who are dead, fearing that their eyes might become home to the fiery furnace of Hell itself. A blank expression on a mottled face makes even the hardest of hearts grow cold with despair. Is there any hope? A joining of happiness to the sorrow and pain that comes from the bond of indulgence and gluttony?
Not a person knows or understands how one can go in hand with the other. It sparks and melts, bringing together a horrid symphony of hurt from an otherwise warm and tender believing. Not a thing is alive that knows not of the two that sleep in sorrow for the morning's rain. Not once is it known
Of Ash and Flame
Flame and AshMonster.Flame and Ash4 years ago in Literature More Like This
The faintest whispers of accusation still hang in the air. The word wraps itself around her slender neck, coiled and tight, like a snake: fangs bared and ready to strike. She lets its venomous teeth sink into her chest, sending poison straight towards her non-existent heart. It vanishes as a wisp of smoke rises.
She ignores him. Before her, the warehouse is ablaze, bright orange fire eating every brick and plywood. It is a beautiful sight. A smile forms on her cracked, bleeding lips: a smile of triumph as the sweet taste of vengeance spreads. Who is there to challenge her? Not even they can. She remembers them standing in front of her, mocking, angry, afraid and greedy. Their speeches are shallow lies, eyes reflecting their hunger for a power similar to hers. The fire grows stronger, its heat spreading outwards, caressing her face. Her smile widens as she welcomes it.
JudgementalJudgemental4 years ago in Literature More Like This
Walking down the sidewalk you near a man,
wrinkles below his eyes, and veins on the back of his hands.
Hunched posture and short, frilled strides.
Holding his defenseless arms up by his sides.
Make eye contact and smile,
continue walking awhile.
Step after step, no destination.
Time after time, no duration.
As you walk, you near a man again,
black sweatshirt, pocket has his hand.
Fearless frown, not willing to move his line of sight.
Head slightly tilted back, with lips held tight.
As he gets close, you look away inattentively.
Yet, your peripheral attaches uncontrollably.
And, he passes; harmlessly. And you slowly stop,
putting your shoes halfway off the sidewalk.
See your reflection in the puddle below,
realize; you choose your friends and foe,
.....Based on appearance.
Burning MoonI'd rather not say that these past years have been years of sadness. They were lonely years, mind you. They were the loneliest years that I've ever lived, but that's to be expected. I've lost all friends about myself, though. This will be the story of a little girl, one with bright hazel eyes and hair the colour of sunrise.Burning Moon4 years ago in Literature More Like This
Back before we met I worked as a travelling salesman. Others called me a con artist, a swindler, a cheat, a liar, an equivocator. Looking back on my life, I was all those things and more.
It was that line of work that brought me to Bankview, a town too small to be found on most maps. Those were always the best places to make a few pennies; little connection to the outside world meant they were generally ignorant of the possibility of scams. It also meant that, if they threw me out, word of my ill deeds wouldn't travel very fast.
In the town there was only one place to stay; The Rosie Cheeks Inn. It was far nicer than many places I'd stayed before, although it would
Flamedarting, delicately,dancingFlame4 years ago in Literature More Like This
It longs to touch your fingertips
as it darts back and forth
it turns from red to orange growing stronger
each time it changes
it can build up
and make other days brighter
it is honest
and never gives up on you
to keep strong
it lights up the night
and brings you joy
when you would think nothing could
it warms your soul
and chases away your fear
that is why i always keep it near