Conversations with an old friend (during school).Conversations with an old friend (during school)1 day ago in Short Stories More Like This
You're sitting on the teacher's desk. Why the hell are you doing that? I always knew you had a funny way of acting. You observe the other students. You're eyes met mine. Hi there.
Hey, do me a favor and strike fear into the kid behind me, will you? Please. He keeps jostling my desk with his feet. I think he likes me. Sick. He smells like the inside of that nasty dresser downstairs. You know, from my aunt's house?
Why can't you make yourself visible to him? Why only me? You said before that it would be no problem. Oh yeah. We wouldn't want him screaming in the middle of class. Those eyes aren't too inviting.
C'mon, I'd love to hear him return to school the next day, claiming his house w
dukkhaPleasure got distracted by stomach pains.dukkha2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Thy Own PoisonTo willingly ingest the dark poison that has been handed to thee, to allow it to fill thine up and pull thee under, is a fool’s doing, and still no more noble am I for the action than a common thief, he who takes what he wants and bids no thought to those whom he hath stolen from. For it is I who has cast the pain upon the unsuspecting victims, dragged them into the dark lair of the hunter that feeds off of pain, the hunter that hands thee thine own poison for an attempt at redemption. Death or damnation, but is death not thine own damnation in itself? Death can not reverse thy wrongs nor can it bring thee any peace, for thy place in death is none other than the hell I wish to escape while living. His poison I shall drink anyways, for death by thy own willing hand seems better than death by anyone else’s.Thy Own Poison2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Yet they will mourn, and cry why shall I in response. Hath thou not felt my nails digging into his back? Hath my venom soaked words not struck deep enough? Do they not fea
Life and DeathLife and Death2 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Life and Death sitting beneath a tree.
Death picks up a fallen leaf and says to life, “do you know the difference between us?” Life responds “No I do not”. Death holds the leaf in his palm and watches it turn from green to brown. Death says “You’re and easy lie and I’m the painful truth.” Life says “I still don’t know the difference between us, brother.” Death says “yes my brother, I lead only to you that is true, but you cannot exist without me, as I begin and you end and nothing would die if it did not live.” Life takes the now mulching leaf and places it on the ground, to where he takes a seed from his pocket and buries them both together. Life puts his hand on the now unearthed ground, where the ground splits and a tree, although a sapling starts to rise. Life says “both of are roles portent to one anoth
The Lord and his Bird - Talks at life's edgeI – DyingThe Lord and his Bird - Talks at life's edge2 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
As on every Saturday, she entered the libary. Accurate to the second. Her Lord was already sitting in his green armchair at the window, a glass of wine in his hand, like always. As she made a noise, he turned his head and smiled. Like always.
„Come here, little bird“, he said, remotely waving at the red armchair in front of him. She followed his invitation, took the few steps towards him and sat down. Then she looked at him again.
His short, black hair was kind of messy, wisps of it falling over his forehead. She could see some of them slowly turning grey. The years slowly left their marks on him, turning his hair grey in a process that was very much like autumn turning the leaves of trees golden, orange and red. Slowly, and then all at once. But for now, it was still black. Also black was the leather coat he was wearing and also his shirt. As were his pants. Black. He was all cloaked in darkness. Had she before thought that he'd get old, because of his hair
if we were all made of paper and the air was goneShe breathes the smoke in and it warms her, just enough so that she can focus on other things, like how her hair hangs limp and tangled around her shoulders, how just the tip of her left pinky toe is starting to poke out of that hole in her sneaker. The bench is stiff and cold under her, and the world surrounding moves in startling color. An old woman clutches a large purple shopping bag. A skinny man in a suit talks loudly at thin air, one hand poised on his left ear.if we were all made of paper and the air was gone2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She watches and she inhales, quietly. Smoke curls around her head as she breathes out. It licks at the horizon. The bench rocks and she feels a weight in the air next to her.
"I'm going to die of lung cancer, and it'll be all your fault." She smiles around her cigarette in response, but doesn't turn until she has a mouthful of smoke, blowing it out slowly and deliberately, feeling somewhat dragon-like as she does it.
"You can leave," she says. "If you want." He won't.
The boy sitting next to her shrugs
A glow in the darkLet me tell you something. This story isn't about anything you know. It's about something different, it's so much more as you think now. And however you say, it's all happening behind your little backs. When I stood on a hill and fought with my fears and lived between light and dark, you were at your warm home in front of a beautiful fire, burning gently in your Oven, to get warm food.A glow in the dark19 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
You are such a brat, your pure existence scared me.
I hated being around you all. And so I went to the Hills.
Where no life is found, and no one ever existed.
It was so cold around here, just I wanted to feel right now and I wanted to FUCKING being alone, and NO I didn't wanted you to follow me.
Either way, you did, you followed the witch into the woods, through the stream and the ice-cold mountains and snow storms.
I never knew why you should do this. But you ruined it all.
You bloody Idiot. You ruined it all, and I didn't even kill you.
When you looked at me through the storms, why did you hide?
I am n
Luba and SashaLuba Praskoviyna Yustineva would never describe herself as a woman of secrets. As a government secretarial clerk she does occasionally come into possession of sensitive documents, but never once has she considered herself a gatekeeper to forbidden knowledge like her counterparts in the Ministry of Intelligence or other such high-stakes offices. She has seen few ministerial assistants and even fewer real ministers, and those have always been by chance; she's really more like a railway switchyard than a border crossing, directing and redirecting traffic from ports unknown to destinations unvisited. The work may be dull, but it is straightforward, and given that she's barely 27 and making triple the minimum wage working 9-to-5, five days a week, her life is, by all accounts, comfortable, and by national security reckoning, reassuringly average.Luba and Sasha4 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Lounging in her living room armchair she is struggling to finish the last pages of the chapter to her current read while the national news
SummerSummer was homemade lemonade and picnics in the gloaming. Summer was watching the sunset to the music of cicadas. Summer was watching the symphony of fireflies after the sun had fully departed the sky, a million tiny lights floating all around, vanishing only to reappear a moment later.Summer1 day ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And yet, summer had been none of these things before this moment. But now, summer could only be these things. Forever after, no matter how old I grew, summer would be those things.
I spent so much of my life on a ship; summer had always been when we landed somewhere hot. But now, summer was this. I’d probably never have another summer that looked like this. The odds that we would be around again on the right summer day for this to happen ever again were unlikely.
It made me a little sad, but at the same time, it made this moment more precious than it could otherwise have been.
His hand covered mine. I couldn’t look at him, the moment was too beautiful.
“Well, isn’t this as fantas
Der KrueppelIm Folgenden, möchte ich euch meine Geschichte erzählen. Es ist ein bisschen kompliziert, sie euch verständlich zu machen – und ihr werdet auch bald verstehen warum – jedoch will ich mein Bestes geben.Der Krueppel3 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Vorab gilt zu erläutern, dass ich ein Krüppel bin. So zumindest, nennt mich die Menschheit. Mein Geist sei ebenso entstellt wie mein Körper, wurde mir immer wieder während meines Lebens gepredigt. So könnt ihr euch nun hoffentlich ein Bild von mir machen.
Faszinierenderweise ist nicht jedem Menschen klar, was das für einen Krüppel bedeutet, als solcher bezeichnet und behandelt zu werden. Denn der Krüppel kennt nur eben dieses Dasein und kein anderes, für ihn ist alles, was er sagt und tut völlig selbstverständlich. Jede Bewegung, jedes Wort gebietet ihm sein Geist und Körper, ebenso wie es das bei einem Menschen tut. Für ihn ist es daher äußerst befremdlich als etwas völlig Unnormal
Death Diary (Entry 52)Death Diary (Entry 52)6 hours ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Entry Fifty two
You’ll have to forgive the lateness of this entry…and also the brevity. I’m afraid that this Ebola thing has gotten more out of hand than I anticipated. Pestilence is at it again I fear, and he’s got a new toy to play with. Now I’m not spending this whole entry on that nonsense, you hear enough about it I’m sure from the media…but I will say this about Ebola. For those of you who are afraid of Ebola becoming the next big pandemic and that it will go airborne….relax. As much as Pestilence would love for this disease to hit the airways, he’s not that quick about it. Virus’s like this do not mutate in such a way easily. Also, keep in mind that Ebola has been around for many, many years, and it is in no way a death sentence, if given the proper treatment.
But like I said, I’m not here to talk about Pestilence and his idiocy…rather I’m here to take you down memory lane…to take you into
RUMINATION #7 OTTER CONFUSION, PART 3 OF 4“Why do we have to go with Atomic?” Earp looked up,RUMINATION #7 OTTER CONFUSION, PART 3 OF 414 hours ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
as they walked behind the sulking Atomic,
still with its head slow, rolling directionless down the path.
“You here to show Atomic where to shoot,” said the Anchovy suddenly
“Now to go left through the trees, it’ll be quicker,”
“Do we have to talk to it?” Rupert said with an unwilling face.
“Good luck, pal,” Croak puffed, Earp certainly wasn’t very willing to do it
“Way to stick together, fellas,” Rupert begrudgingly went ahead and
“Were going this way,” the robot barley noticed him and as the frog
guided him slowly towards the trees.
“Will you be my new friend?” the robot’s voice echoed within its body.
Rupert’s eyes darted back to his friends with a look reflecting a dire
need for help “We’ll show them won’t we new friend,
will show them how mean they are, and why its wrong.”
Oh. - CHAPTER 2"I rise from the dead again."Oh. - CHAPTER 21 day ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Woke up when my parents came in and yelled, "It's 6:40, wake the hell up." Didn't change, didn't brush my hair, just put it back in a beanie, threw on shoes, and ran so I didn't miss the bus. Just so happened that my pajamas were all black. Funny, isn't it?
Got to the bus stop and my phone wouldn't turn on. Turned on my iPod instead, and the first six songs were relevant to the events that had passed on this day. It's a neon sign in the front of my mind. But is this healthy, or am I just polluting myself?
"It's a revolution, I suppose."
I still can see myself sitting in the back of English four years ago, with a clear view of a red pen and a porous notebook. The "Holey" Notebook, if you will. I remember the red ink slashes on my wrist, the scratches and tear stains on the paper, and his pitiful face telling me, "You're too important to lose." The words "Shoot me down" were scars to my writing, forever engraved in the back of my mind. Hi
NaNoWriMo general information---Title: Silver GlassNaNoWriMo general information3 days ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
--- Idea: After the death of her ill master/ father figure Sara loses her faith in the Damon, his [her "father’s"] death is made worse when she is thrown of the only home she has known for more than a few weeks as the people of the town feel a lone woman could bring down the morals of others through unsavory actions (prostitution, drugs, drinking, etc.). Wither her removal from the town, she goes to a local temple to ask the advice of a monk, this monk points her to a spiritual quest through the war torn country she resides in to the Breathing Cave where the most important religious artifact is held.
~Gin: Father figure, dead
~Sara: Main character, her conflict leads her through dangerous places and to an end goal the rest of the nation has not yet come to terms with.
~Dax: town leader, his decision to throw Sara out
~Brother Bartholomew: monk that directs Sara on her quest
~Samson: old friend of Gin’s, allow Sara to stay with him f
Shfting Sands and Three ShadowsThe sands are shifting and I can feel it. A sandstorm is headed my way. But do I care? I don’t. The palace is only a five minute walk away. Might as well stay here as long as I can. Nobody ever notices I’m gone unless I come back. I’m just the nameless princess with the dead parents and an advisor ruling the country till I come of age. I honestly doubt it. They don’t even know my birthday.Shfting Sands and Three Shadows3 days ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I look back, three shadows stare back at me. One thing, they’re all mine. But none of them is me. There’s the long one, and a short one, and one that’s always wandering away. The long one always stands there, long hair flowing in the wind, on the other hand, I have short hair. The short one has a glass pebble in her hand all the time, and it sparkles the way shadows don’t, casting a green tinged sparkle near where her hand is. The one that constantly wanders away has short hair like mine, only that it’s straight and not wavy like mine is. She stay
A boy's tenth birthdayWhen I was a boy, my father would take me out walking. We would go through the park or through the woods. I always looked at him as a big strong man. One day on my tenth birthday, it was storming out. My mother came home early to cook a nice birthday dinner for us. I couldn’t wait to see what she had planned! I asked my mother “What are you making?” She said “A big surprise for my special little man.” My eyes widened with curiosity. I wonder what father will bring me on my birthday. I always over thought things… but I was told it was a good thing. 3 o’clock rolls around… no dad? “He’s 20 minutes late” said my mother. Another 15 minutes goes by… still no call or text from my father. Strange usually he would at least call if he was going to be late. “Knock” “knock” we heard someone at the door. I ran as fast as I could and opened the door, daddy! Only… it wasn’t my father… TwA boy's tenth birthday8 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
La OndaDe nuevo me encuentro en este oscuro valle, rodeado de un árido suelo y un arenoso y gélido aire; realmente no sé cómo coño funciona este clima pero es lo que siento. Camino lentamente, sin la más mínima idea de hacia dónde me dirijo y con un vago recuerdo del lugar de donde vine. Cada vez que respiro, mi existencia se llena con la pesadez de la arena y se congela con el suave y a la vez doloroso frío, pero no puedo evitar continuar mi camino, pues algo dentro de mí me dice que continúe incluso en esta situación tan precaria. Levanto mi mirada del suelo y sólo veo tinieblas, tanto al frente como por detrás, lo cual es extraño, porque recuerdo que de donde venía las cosas se veían un poco más brillantes que lo que ahora observo. A mi lado se encuentra una puerta que creo está siguiendo mis pasos constantemente. Es blanca y de ella sale un brillo dorado magnífico. Me dirijo hacia ella, metLa Onda1 day ago in Short Stories More Like This
The Owl And The Curious MouseThe Owl And The Curious Mouse1 day ago in Short Stories More Like This
The wise owl looked at his friend the mouse, and said thank you for being with me to the very end. We grew old together and had great memories, but for now my journey has come to an end… the mouse’s shoulders sagged as he watched his only friend pass away in front of him… the mouse weeping deeply as the only thing he could think about was all the good times they had. The mouse smiled with tears coming down his face as he felt his journey come to an end. His last thought was “we will be together again.”
The Lord and his Bird - Talks at life's edge IIII – What makes us human.The Lord and his Bird - Talks at life's edge II1 day ago in Short Stories More Like This
The Lord looked outside, at the inner yard, where his daughter Marina was saddling her horse Brooke. With her was a young, slender boy, his name was Roan – as far as the Lord knew. „Mylord, the young novice is here.“, said a voice, coming from the other end of the libary. Deep and soft, gentle. It was the Commander of his guard who had been speaking. „Send her in“, he answered leaning back in his armchair, waiting silently.
His Bird entered the libary and took her seat, as she always did, smiling. He smirked a little and asked calmly: „So, did you think about our question?“
She nodded. „I think what makes us human is our faith. Not compulsory in God, but in other things, too.“
„Other things?“, he asked, inclining his head. „Yes. Like...ourselves, our laws, our kings and queens...family...friendship, things like that. I think our faith in the things we choose to have faith in makes us
NifleheimIs it night, or is it day? You ask yourself and wonder if the question should have more or less merit, but even as your inner eye pads the point with punctuation, you realise you could not care less. Time has no meaning here. Here in this place the distant winds rips through, deafeningly silent, a breeze so quiet that its shrieks tear holes in your wakeful mind. With no trees to break them, no mountains to guide them, the winds resound throughout creation.Nifleheim2 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
All around you is a veil of blue and white, mingled, interspersed until, paradoxically, it waxes grey like a powder. With the colour comes a cold. A cold so frigid and pronounced that it transcends meaning. So staunch the icy wind that it goes beyond feeling. It is cold that does not touch your flesh so much as pierce your soul, filling you, holding you, beckoning stagnation. Yet all the same, you cannot gather rot, for the coldest depth provides a boon, a sanctimonious purity which cannot be denied.
Beneath your feet the ground rece
The Old Man and The RainThe old man loved watching the rain fall. As he walked down his favorite path in the woods, he said “looks like a storms brewing.” The old man started walking slower as if he knew he would get caught in the storm. He smiled really big. Eventually it started to pour…all he could think is “the rain, the perfect mirror of my soul.” He sat on an old bench, just thinking of how when he was a boy, he would race paper boats in the streets. The memories brought tears to his eyes as all his friends and family were gone. He said “I wish I could race one more paper boat with my friends… the old man shut his eyes and passed in peace as the rain showered his tears away. His final thought was of his father teaching him how to make the perfect paper boat. Even in death, it’s not the end… it’s the beginning of a life long journey.The Old Man and The Rain1 day ago in Short Stories More Like This