never grow up.I have a monster living underneath my bed.never grow up.7 years ago in Children and Teen More Like This
Hes made up of burnt frog skin, white-red cobweb veined eyes and a collection of missing pebble teeth. Sometimes we play scrabble.
(The first time he was just a mechanical hum beneath the bowing wooden planks, he was just a faint smell of green and he was just a hot cloud of fog around my lips. Its the wind, its the wind, I breathed. Then he breathed back, heavy and loud and monster-like; AM NOT.)
He always spoke in capitals; MONSTERS ARE MUCH TOO SCARY FOR LOWER-CASED LETTERS, he informed me one night under pink covers. I shined the flashlight into his eyes until they changed colour and he bared his teeth.
He sometimes visits my dreams. The grass turns sickly where he trudges and the woodland creatures whimper and scramble in his wake. WHERES MY HUG? He holds his warm monster limbs out, palms snatching me from my happy-ever-after and grins gap-toothily. I manage a chuckle as I buckle in his embrace.
He used to keep me
Deadbird BackgroundDeadbird Background4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I apologize in advanced for any spelling or grammatical errors -- while I did read over this twice, I may have missed something. Sorry!
"The December wind wrapped itself around the two as they briskly made their way down the crowded sidewalk. They didn't mind the cold all too much for their sheer excitement kept them warm. A mother and a son had traversed into the Inner Sanctum of the Main City to prepare for the festivities. It was the 20th, and on the 21st a world-wide celebration would ring out in glory of their leader's name and birthday. It wasn't just a celebration for him, as on the 21st everyone shared in on the gift giving and good will spreading amongst their friends and loved ones. The mother and son, however, had missed out on their shopping and were forced to rush and see what they could get the night before.
"Every corner they turned and every step they took left them visually bombarded with fantastic, glowing displays of old time toys and new wave technology. Add
To be a Werewolf...To be a Werewolf...9 years ago in Spiritual & Occult More Like This
Imagine for just a moment. Imagine what it would be, to be a Werewolf...
Imagine yourself standing in a field. It's dark, wind is blowing lightly, and moonlight is spilling out over the grass. A silvery light that steals most color. Clouds hide the moon for now.
In the distance, a howl. The howl is much larger and louder than a dog's, or even a wolf's. This howl sends a shiver down your spine. You stomach tingles with excitement, and fear.
You'd like to believe that you're not afraid. Deep down you are. You're frightened at this horrible sound.You quickly try and force it out of your mind.
You try to think of something else. Anything else... but you can't.
Again you hear it, closer now. The fear returns. The excitement returns.
This time it's lodged in your mind, replaying the horrible disturbance of the quiet, again and again. Your breathing starts to pick up, without your consent. The grass around you is rather tall, but still below waist level. You'd see something if it would approa
Master of RavensMaster of RavensMaster of Ravens9 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
My little brother is nine years old the first time I decide to kill him.
During the night, snow fell over the jagged wreckage of our land. In the morning I realize he will follow me outside if I call to him. Like an awkward-limbed colt he'll stumble through the snowdrifts, and I can leave him to the ice and wind in the shadow of a three-walled building. No one will see me. Our father will think he has gotten lost on his own. I too will cry when they find his body. When the mourning is done, however, I will be my father's true and only son. 'Cam,' he will call to me, and I'll kneel down before him.
My father. Master of Ravens. Crow-Runner. The Blackbird King.
I pull on my winter boots, knot the coarse laces.
My little brother asks, 'Cam. Where are you going?'
'Out,' I tell him.
'To play in the snow?'
'To look at it.'
When he was born, my little brother was named Taliesin. His is a world without myths, of course. Such things perished in the great f
Introductions"Hi, I'm-"Introductions4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"I know who you are."
"You're the guy who thinks he's invisible."
"I have a name-"
"It isn't important. Because you really don't think it's important."
"All right. Since we've started out this way, let me just tell you, I know you too."
"You're the girl who is broken."
"I am not broken."
"You're the girl whose eyes close every night and open the next morning, only to find you have never slept at all."
"I sleep well. Besides-"
"You're the girl who dreams of a happy ending even though she has seen seventeen...no, eighteen unhappy ones in her eighteen years."
"Happy endings are over rated. And you're-"
"You're the girl who wants something bigger, something stronger, just so the weakness in her body becomes something so much more."
"You don't understand weakness the way-"
"You're the girl whose heart broke when she was so young, and she fixed it back together with superglue, but cannot ignore the cracks."
"Superglue makes for a good companion, especially when-"
i keep looking.wanted:i keep looking.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
a boy with dark hair and bright eyes with a smile that'll drop my stomach to my feet. a boy that says his heart feels more full when he's holding my hand and will tell me how my eyes remind him of the ocean at night because somehow the water looks deeper when cast in milky, silver light. a boy that'll laugh at the way i wrinkle my nose when i'm confused and will tease me because he knows i like nothing more than to be harassed. one that'll throw me over his shoulder and throw me fully clothed into the pool, that'll call me ridiculous, that'll roll his eyes and sigh. one that'll secretly love the fact that i'm a mess because it keeps things interesting.
a boy that respects the fact that i lay down boundaries but likes to steal kisses around them anyways. a boy that messes up my hair when i'm not looking and bites my lip when i'm not paying attention. a boy that doesn't need me, but wants me all the same. one that has a life of his own but has room to fit me in at his sid
telling a sad story backwards-17.telling a sad story backwards-6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
it smells like grief and sterilized metal.
i climb into andrews bed, though the nurses have strictly forbidden it. he closes his eyes and holds me tightly, because he says when he cant see me, it is easier to pretend i never happened to him.
he pushes the cart aggressively down the aisle, pretending to mow over old ladies doing their sunday shopping.
"stop," i say giggling, lobbing a can of ravioli at him.
for a moment i think he simply didn't see me throw the can; it glances off his chest and falls to the floor, exploding in a pattern of red arrows. i don't notice his eyes rolling back in his head or the graceful way his body collapses to the floor.
the only thing i notice is the distinct thudding sound as his head hits the metal shelf and the screaming that may or may not be mine.
later in the hospital he calls for me and says he wants to apologize for keeping secrets, and the doctors launch into a medical explanation of his cancer.
their eyes are sad.
Untitled Tiger Project Part 1Untitled Tiger Project Part 13 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The strange feeling came over the tigress Penumbra once again. Her paws tingled, her charcoal hair rose as if electrified, and her body felt faintly as if it were being constricted by the air around her. She flicked her ears in irritation, but she was too used to the phenomenon to express actual alarm. She didn't even bother to raise her head off of her single broad foreleg. The sensation would pass, as it always did, and she paid little mind to it.
It was the water leaking from the rusted pipe above her head that caught her interest, though. She had been absent-mindedly watching the pure water fall, drop by drop, from the peripherals of her vision. Now the rhythmic, predictable dripping slowed until it stopped. Then, in defiance of every law of fluid dynamics that Penumbra knew, the drops of water began to rise from the floor and slip back into the pipe. Penumbra stiffened and swivelled her head to watch.
Hate Me... Please~~Hate Me... Please~~Hate Me... Please4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I want to scream at you
Even though you didn't do anything
I want to sew your lips together
when you happily smile at me
I want to kick you down
After you've picked me up
I want to shut your eyes forever
So I don't have to see them glint with hope
I want to make you cry
When you dry up all my tears
I want to tell you that I hate you... but I can't
Because you love me and you would die if I left
So the thing I want most in the world
Is for you to hate me
Maybe then I wouldn't feel so bad
I'm coming out: I'm straightMom? Mum? Can I talk to you?I'm coming out: I'm straight7 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
My voice quivered. Both of them looked up at me. Moms head was in Mums lap. Mum was slowly stroking her forehead, leaning down to kiss her forehead while still staring at me intently. A satanic bible was placed in Mums lap, the thin, withered pages torn in a few places from continued reading. You know you can talk to us about anything, Mom said, smiling, sitting up a bit straighter. She leaned over to kiss Mum, who kissed her back. I took a seat on the couch and pulled my knees up to my chin, staring down at my cuticles. Even for a guy, they were pretty nasty.
I took a deep breath. Guys? I dont really know how to say this but, I think Im heterosexual.
The room went silent. Mum looked up from our satanic bible and pursed her lips. For a second, I thought she was going to reach out and slap me. In a tight voice, she said, You know how we feel about heterosexuals. We raised you to be
Star-SentOnce there was a girl who was in love with the night sky.Star-Sent5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She had visited planetariums and read children's books on astronomy. She had learned to identify nineteen different constellations and would always look for them on dark, clear nights. She had gotten her father to stick glow-in-the-dark stars and planets to her bedroom ceiling. She had eaten freeze-dried astronaut ice cream and thought it tasted better than anything else in the world.
As time passed the girl began to learn about the universe, about things like asteroids and black holes. Little by little she came to know the invisible forces that governed outer space, and the night sky became more than just a sky to her. It was a giant treasure box, filled with the secrets of the places beyond earth.
The girl's love slowly turned to longing. She wanted to know the stars through more than just pictures and models, because deep down she believed that there was something in the universe she couldn't find on her own planet. The thoug
The DoctorWhen I was seven, I was diagnosed with emotions.The Doctor3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Poor girl." I heard them say. "She'll never survive this one."
I laid with my face towards the ceiling on the cold examination table, listening to them discuss my fate. I felt something breaking in my chest and something burning inside my throat. A small tear slipped down my cheek.
"Doctor! Look at this!" Shrieked my mother, "Something is coming out of her eye."
The doctor rushed over to me and wiped the tear from my cheek. He touched the top of my head as he whispered, "I am so sorry." And then he turned to my mother. "It's a tear. It means that she is sad."
"Sad?" My mother asked inquisitively.
"It's one of her emotions. This doesn't attack the same way that normal diseases do, there are all sorts of different symptoms. Right now, she is sad and the only way that I know how to explain it is that she is feeling down."
"What do you mean by down?"
"Her emotions can best be described as ones that are upwhen she is feeling good, and
Besame -Kiss meBesame -Kiss me4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
*I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. Is property of Hiromu Arakawa, Square Enix, Funimation, and Aniplex
She grabbed his hand desperate. She only wanted to delay him a little bit more. He turned to see her surprised. Before he could even say something she kissed hi
Save The Whales"You know what?"Save The Whales6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"We should never fall in love."
"Well, it's simple, really."
"Explain it to me, then."
"We're opposites, you and me. You're the sun, I'm the moon. You are day, I am night. You're warm and you beat with the vitality of life. I'm pretty chilly and I beat my fists against the mirror for showing me reality instead of dreams."
"I still don't quite understand."
"I am a dreamer, and you are a dream."
"Thanks, I guess."
"No, listen--you're like the people who say 'save the whales'. You want to save the world, you want to do some good. You want to make a change, make a difference. And me... well, I'm the whale. I can't do anything except wait for you to finally save me."
"I'll save you. I don't mind."
"I'll never thank you. I'm a whale; I can't talk."
"I don't care. I'll save you anyway. And you're wrong, you know."
"I'm not quite what you make me out to be. I laugh so I won't cry, yet that doesn't save me when I'm alone. I try to save the
You've been on my mind...Quite frankly, you're heavy. Get off.You've been on my mind...8 years ago in General More Like This
We Need Villains NOT HeroesFor the longest time I have admired heroes. I imagined them to be people of change, people who would bring the world forward and take us to even greater heights. It was then however, that I realised the 'Human Obstacle'.We Need Villains NOT Heroes2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Humans as I discovered, perhaps in the most painful of ways, are rather unintelligent beings. They are driven by their core instincts no matter how much they wish to deny it. And the only difference between one and the next is how deeply they let those instincts consume them.
If you walk out into the streets, you can see the well-adjusted average man. Yet in his mind he is not considering the good he could do with his life, he is only thinking about the next step. Where will I go next? Who will I be dating, what shall I enjoy next in life?
There is no thought of altruism; no sense of assistance for another. He could walk down an alleyway filled with the homeless and nothing would change...
If that is the case, then what is the path of truth? Is it doing
Shatterglass by eight 0f heartsShatterglass by eight 0f hearts3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It had survived things that no mug should have had to endure.
It had been dropped off cliffs, plunged into radioactive water, used to hold questionable substances and once travelled several hundred kilometres after Pilot tied a helium balloon to it. It had been thrown at Snippy countless times. It had suffered the indignity of being sat on by Engie after the Captain left it lying on a chair.
It had never been washed in its life.
But in the end, all it took was one little nudge, and the mug the great, glorious mug was reduced to a few shards of broken ceramic and a spatter of sad-looking tea.
It happened like this:
They were seated around the kitchen table in their current place of residence. "Kitchen", of course, is taken very broadly here there was no ceiling, nor were there any kitchen appliances; it was, in fact, merely a ramshackle table in the middle of an empty room.
Today's lunch consisted of cold baked beans which was quite the delicacy considering t
Eat"Oy, let me see your calorie card!" The skinny man at the hotdog stand demanded, holding my hotdog just out of reach.Eat5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I sighed and dug the plastic out of my pocket, handing it to him with a sour grimace on my face. I was sure I had already exceeded my allotted 1500 calories for today, but I was just so darn hungry. Seriously, what was one hotdog going to do to my figure anyway?
He shook his head as he swiped it through the scanner. "Sorry girlie. This hot dog is 242 calories. You only have 10 calories left for today." He shooed me away in preference of those with enough calories on their card to afford his food.
My stomach grumbled its complaints all the way home. If I had really wanted that hotdog I could have gone to the gym and earned more calories on my card, but I really wasn't in the mood for exercise.
It started in California, taking hold among the mothers who didn't want their kids to become fat
C.O.D. The tattoos, they caught on incredibly fast. I mean, it only took about half a year after the Death-caster came out. That's what the press called it, the Death-caster. Anyway, about 6 months after the first televised prediction, these tattoos starting showing up everywhere. It went from fad to craze to routine. Everybody did it. You would get some blood drawn. The machine would quiver a bit and hum. You'd get your paper and you'd go straight to the tattoo shop. Pretty much everyone has their cause of death, their C.O.D., tattooed these days. The accepted place to get it became the top of your left arm. Every time you go to check your watch, there it is in simple letters with a line underneath: Fire, Gunshot, Car Accident, Suicide.C.O.D.8 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Walking down the street you can see it all. Plane Crash and Brain Tumor are holding hands, window shopping. Prison Riot pauses to let his dog urinate on the curbsi
vacant.Look at her; shes a porcelain doll with never-ending milk legs all stapled to the bed, thirteen years young with forty-eight years suffocating her figure. Hes right up to her baby lips, offering cigarette breath and grinding his stubble on her cheeks, it reminds her of gravel and she closes her eyelids as it falls across her neck, inhaling the cloud of dust.vacant.7 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The curtains are draped across the sky, dried blood red casting shadows she cant tell the ends of. A dim flicker of a light and maybe a filter of moonshine illuminate the crevasses of his eyelids, forehead and awry mouth. His skin tastes of sweat and earth.
She was with her father in the afternoon, sharing his eyes and wearing the yellow dress he bought her. He was a quaint man who studied birds and told her she looked like a canary; he bought a voluminous cage (from the very same balding man he sold her to) and kept her in there at nighttime.
And now, three oh clock in the morn, the balding man has her; hes