Fallen AngelKOn the appointed hour of the fateful night, a single tear fell from the heavens. It signalled a fall, a fall like many others but unlike them all.Fallen Angel22 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
An angel was weeping.
He wept not for himself but for the poor loss soul that had fallen. A lost soul that lost its direction when grief and despair tore through its core. Despite it all he did not understand her loss, nor about her despair. All he understood was a broken soul as it sang its dark hymn of misery.
He, who was a perfect pure being, lamented and mourn for her beautifully broken soul. He mourned for the future she was supposed to have, a bright beautiful future painted in bliss and peace. He grieved for her. He, who was not suppose to feel such trivial emotions, was grieving for a mere imperfect human.
'None of it was his fault'
The voice of reason instilled in him spoke, it was her choice that led her to her fall. It was her choice, her choice to forfeit life in exchange for another. Her choice to make a bargain with the
The Poet and The Philosopher“Am I real?”The Poet and The Philosopher14 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
“That’s a grand question.”
“And valid, considering the circumstances.”
“What’s your answer?”
“I thought you were the Philosopher here.”
“Are we not entwined?”
“Not necessarily. Unless that’s your answer?”
The restaurant was like the dress from a Klimt painting, stretching down for opulent floor after opulent floor. Sideway marble pillars stretched like a hand, into perfect fractals and then perfect foundation, in which walls of gold leaf and semi-precious mosaics curved into a domed cylinder. The dome itself was made of crystal, and the night sky above showed the light of its infinite stars shimmering, forever.
The crowning features of this restaurant (not named yet) were the colossal chandeliers, hanging from a massive screw in the centre of the dome above. Thousands of bulbs glowed like white-hot eggs, lining the sloping arches and curves of each ornament, before
When Time Forgets“You know, sometimes I really want to stop time.”When Time Forgets2 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
That was what my sister said to me one autumn day.
It was sunny, with yellow falling leaves like sand sprinkling down an hourglass. I thought about how they would fall, until each tree branch was stark and empty.
We sat on a wooden bench, motionless, until I finally asked her why she wanted to stop time.
“To stop people from drifting away, to stop you from drifting away,” she answered.
“But where will I go?” I asked.
“I don’t know… maybe just away.”
“I’ll always be here if you need me.”
“Always, forever… they’re all lies. I will disappear, or you will, everyone will in one way or another - unless we stop time.”
She then reached out her hand to catch a falling leaf, only to miss. It was as though she was trying to stop a grain of sand in an hourglass. Then the wind came, the leaves twir
She opened the door.She opened the door.She opened the door.2 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Surely nothing good could be waiting behind it.
That old and scarred wooden door.
It would be better if she just let it be.
Not releasing the unknown that's lurking on the other side.
It would be easier.
The room had always felt all right, it felt safe.
Opening the door would risk ruining everything.
Yet she still grabbed the rusty metal handle.
Because she realised that nothing would be ruined.
Whatever was behind the wooden door was just a new step in her life.
A step from which she will continuously move on to another step,
no matter what kind of step the previous one was.
Because it didn't really matter what was on the other side,
just as long as it was something new,
be it terrifying or wonderful.
Because there is no good or bad change. Just change.
And that's what she wanted. Change.
Something other than this room.
So she opened the door.
Because she had decided that she wanted to live.
Even if it would kill her.
your soul is old and rusty My heart does kickflips in my chest when I see you, and crashes at 90 miles per hour straight into asphalt tires, squealing and scraping as they try to stop, but blood is slippery and wheels like to roll.your soul is old and rusty 3 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
I was 11 when I first fell in love or at least I thought I did but love is similar to platonic love so I didn't think it was real. Platonic love is what I feel when my hands are scraped and bloodied from letting them drag on the floor as they drag me to prison, but I'm not innocent of the crimes I haven't committed.
This is really a failed love letter to a boy who does not exist so it's pointless. I just wish someone could pick up my puzzle pieces and find them to be missing pieces in theirs. Or rather, I'd not because romance is sickening.
Curse-Bearer (Part One)At night, Ammi feels most alive. Perhaps it because the legends are true, and that woodland spirits—the spirits some believe to wield control over life itself-- awaken during the night, gliding through the trees like wind. Or perhaps it because that one particular spirit, the one who keeps her the way she is, the one whose essence courses through her veins, is particularly powerful during the night. During the darkest hours, for that is where he is rumored to have dominion.Curse-Bearer (Part One)3 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Or perhaps it is merely because during the night, when the world is steeped in darkness, no one can truly see her.
Part of her wishes that it was always night, that she could always go about freely, unburdened by the weight of stares and hushed gossip. She could travel without her cloak, uncover her face—even pretend that she is normal, healthy. Not scarred by the disease that has ravaged her body since she was born, causing her to be misshapen, deformed. Some have even referred to the state of her
Life and DeathTwo beings sat across from each other from a wooden dining table.Life and Death7 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
One lightly wrapped his long, thin, fingers around an empty wine glass, his thumb stroking the rim of it.
The other rested her head on her heel of her hand, the other tapping in a rhythm unknown to both.
The male stood up, still keeping the glass in his hand, and walked halfway to the woman.
Then he stopped, as if an invisible barrier separated them.
The man's hand wandered in the air, finally making a strange popping noise.
His glass was suddenly filled with wine, and which he quickly drank what was in it.
He sat back down, as he threw the glass behind him, causing it to shatter into small pieces.
The table suddenly shortened, bringing the two closer together.
His hand grasped onto the woman's chin, his fingers lightly petting her soft flesh.
His body was nothing more than a ragged skeleton, with bloody skin and tissue clinging desperately onto it.
Some of his hairs still protruded from
Infinite ArmsSummer, Year 762 of the New AgeInfinite Arms19 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Oakfern, The Shoals
Featuring: Corrin, Falasnornia
Mentioning: Nazam, Gunnolf, Selkie
Several days of precise, careful travel found her in a place every Oakfern at present was forbade to be- the ocean. The scent of the salt and the feeling of the wind in her mane made Falasnornia weak with happiness. It was rare that an Oakfern would want to leave caverns regularly, but this place was as holy to her as the moon pool of her ancestors.
The sea. The feeling of the sand, the sound of the waves… Even better, the full moon’s reflection splayed atop the dark waves. Ocean and Sky met in the center and created and endless bed of dark blue, stars and moon light shining everywhere. Falasnornia could feel emotion well up in her chest at the free
Writing Prompt #2- Why the Leaves Change ColorsTrees have been around since as early as man remembers. There was, however, a grand tree who was so old, all other tress couldn't remember a time without him.Writing Prompt #2- Why the Leaves Change Colors2 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
The grand tree loved the skies that Sol and Luna painted together. From early spring to the last day of fall he would wait until the last of the color fades that belonged to Sol before resting his eyes. He would wake up early to see Luna leave for the day. And he did this every day for his entire life.
Young trees became elder, and new trees came to be. And before winter would begin, they would all sleep, for all trees in this time hated the cold. But with every year that passed, the grand tree would take more and more time to wake when each new spring began. One spring, all the trees knew it would be the last year for the great tree.
The grand old tree wasn't afraid of this coming, but he was afraid that the day he died he wouldn't get to see the nighttime sunset one last time. When his final day came, the last day before winter
Questioning A Cat's HumilityI'm beginning to think I'm more possessive of little time highlights than I let on, the perfect small ones playing such a huge role even when I was the only one rolling in that moment. I don't like staying still anyway, reading that whole book of time. Essentially, I like writing into the history textbook only I can read. Sharing it now, I could read you the very first page of it up to its current 1,800th (it's ongoing) but to keep the rambling train tracks I travel from heading too far, I'll let your eyes or ears pick up on one highlight.Questioning A Cat's Humility2 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
I remember a little furry black ball hiding in the blackness of shadows, perhaps because the colors matched. Whatever the reason, I was able to see life through the camouflage and observe. Although it had its own little kingdom - a thin rectangle space between the fences of classroom buildings - it was obvious to learn that we were the rich food merchants compared to this hungry, lowly peasant. Leaving his sanctuary to eat would've been more difficul
DC- Not Just PityJune 23, 2010DC- Not Just Pity3 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Doctor James Moore had seen a lot of people come through the emergency room in his time, some fatally injured, some with minor abrasions and some who would never recover fully. It was always the children that upset him; it didn't matter if it was a buzzed teen who'd crashed his car or a five year old who'd been bitten by a dog- seeing someone who had most of his life ahead of him come in bleeding and scared left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
The numb ones were the worst, though. Dr. Moore had worked in social services while earning his medical degree and knew the empty look of an abused child from the shock of a first-experience in trauma. On most occasions the kids didn't return to his practice more than once, obviously herded away from the attention by the parent responsible, and there was little he was allowed to do other than alert someone qualified of the mistreatment.
There were three general reactions to his methods; the ones who had nowhere else to go,
[ Ushijima x Reader x Oikawa ] Notice it[ Ushijima x Reader x Oikawa ] Notice it21 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
This story takes place during the Shiratorizawa vs Aoba Johsai match. Note that Oikawa apparently broke up with his girlfriend during training camp arc.
You couldn't help but feel sorry for Oikawa. He had worked so hard, and yet Aoba Johsai was still barely keeping up with Shiratorizawa. However, you couldn't help but also feel happy for Ushijima. He too, was your friend... or something like that.
You distinctly remember meeting the boys in junior high. You were in the year behind them. That time, Kitagawa Daiichi lost against Shiratorizawa, too. You'd comforted Oikawa whilst he was down, and approached Ushijima to give him a piece of your mind. To your surprise, although he was rather blunt about his egoistic views, he did end up apologising for supposedly offending you.
Somehow, you ended up keeping in touch... you never quite knew what kind of relationship you had with Ushijima. He seemed to consider you a friend of some sorts, sometimes inviting you to hang out or come
The Greatest Promise Part 1 The cold touch of the sea's breeze kissing my fur, was like a soaking memory of a long lost romance. As I cross the sands of this sea's shore, a sea that I have called a friend, a lover, and now the home of my grave.The Greatest Promise Part 15 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
From my first breathe at birth, I was stranded with a destiny of struggle and isolation. My knowledge of such a terrible place was empty. Only towards the days that I lived ahead did I realize, that my ghost would soon come here and face a great judgement.
As I strain the weakness numbed strength to tilt my head and glance with fading sight behind me. There they were, washed away by the tides of the ocean's restless emotions. The pawprints that reflected my lifeline. Between the laughter within' dread's kiss on me or the overwhelming ache of straining my numb strength, my head soon hung limp.
This place is an isolated asylum, a place of last days. My years were short but lived even shorter. The battle to choose what's the easiest escape from the shame of
BlindBound by our own vices, we see not what we do....Blind2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
In a shop window I passed by today I saw a most wondrous figurine. Inside a tiny birdcage lay rest a small fairy-esque being. Her wings were the most delicate feathers, her body draped in gossamer. Her eyes so piteously pleading to be freed, yet even though the key dangled from the display case, not a single person reached to do so. The fee upon the door read, For a mere $1 you too could bear witness to a miracle, if only you believe...
Many eyes fell upon the cage,but none seemed to note the prisoner within. Desperately I searched my pockets, praying I had enough loose change. But I fell shy by a quarter, and I couldn't help the fairy inside. I strode up to the window, tapping very lightly. Her small tear stained face turned towards me, and I nearly died. Inside that cage looking back at me, was my own face minaturized. I knew then I had to beg for that last bit of change. Pleading, begging, performing
Broken WorldI can hear their sorrow—yet there is naught I can do. The pain they face occurs each day. The clouds forever cover their sun. What of others more fortunate—do they care for their grieving brothers and sisters? No! Those with wealth hold no sympathy for the less fortunate souls that live among them. A rich man dies and soon everyone is told; however, when a poor man dies, there is few who cry. A sick person takes medicine in order to heal. Yet, when the world is sick with greed, what medicine is there to take? Sorrow and disease go unattended while many are in denial or are too comfortable with their own lives to care. This world is broken, but I doubt it can be mended…Broken World2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The Death of the UniverseThere’s no way we’d survive if the Universe stopped breathing, if maximum entropy was achieved and everything just stopped. All plants would cease growing: it wouldn't matter if we got our 5 a day or not, and negative calories from celery would mean nothing. The Sun would no longer reflect onto the Moon, and we’d be plunged into a perpetual darkness, eventually withering and dying. No more need to ask forgiveness for treading on someone’s toes in the work place, no need to repaint New York’s banner. Excelsior! The stock prices will climb still higher, crashing down and increasing without judgement or scrutiny from bankers.The Death of the Universe2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The dauntless among the sentient do not fear Earth’s terminus, but regular folk like me see their ideas as amorphous. Some would even go as far to say that they’re barbarians, lacking the consideration to be flabbergasted by the death of the Universe
nacre: ammolitecarefully pulling up the diaphanous cryolite stockings over smooth tombac-skinned thighs; hidden underneath a long & warm crocite mantle as tree trunk like legs winsomely stand in humus brown shoes, on the millions of pebbles & rusted metal train tracks, an elegant chiaroscuro of colors. tantalite eyes gaze into the distance of the approaching cassiterite steam train, while dainty fingers pin back the wispy curls of obsidian hair; smiling lustrously with thulite lips & teeth as white as pearls. calmly stepping off the narrow ablaze hellmouth. saving herself for another day.nacre: ammolite12 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
FFM31: GodlingsThe barbarian stared, a mix between flabbergasted and pure disbelief clouding all judgement. What had once been a beautiful three bean salad (complete with carrots, celery and the unplanned addition of shredded mystery meat), was now an amorphous bowl of sludge. It struck out in all directions at random, a semi-sentient multi headed beast attempting to both form eyes and eat everything in sight.FFM31: Godlings2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Such a hellbeast had been summoned- and then transformed into the moist, goo-like form by none other than Horus. The godling was currently sprawled out on the couch- in only a codpiece, and must have either had the largest spike of dauntless-ness in his coffee, or had absolutely no sort of self preservation at all. He idly picked at a corner of a stray pillow, pulling bits of exelsior from it's insides in a similar way to a small child gutting it's first kill of the spring.
If Barg Taalg was to be absolutely honest, he was pretty sure there was a reason that a pretty girl had called a catalyst
Of Machines and MenDearest Bethel,Of Machines and Men3 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I write to you from within a troubled state. Though the advancements in steam technology have presented us with unprecedented opportunities, I find myself beset by uncertainty as to its application on the battlefront. In their research, the Academy of Natural Philosophy has tasked us drill officers to probe the ranks for suitable applicants for their latest initiative.
I cannot go into detail about the developments of these young volunteers, but I must say the concept of integration of machine into man has left me quite concerned. We are to seek out even the smallest deficiencies in our troops and, in the case of those selected for prototyping, refrain from helping them overcome these physical obstacles.
I fear the age of the soldier is at a premature end. No longer will we drill alley rats into pristine images of humanity's apex, but instead cut away their undesirable aspects to be replaced with, albeit shockingly remarkable, machinery. This mentality carries far reach
Lie or TruthLies or Truth.Lie or Truth21 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Which hurts more? Knowing someone lied to you to protect you from the bitter truth or knowing the truth to protect you from the sweet lies?
People say ignorance is bliss. That it is better to not know anything about a heart-breaking subject than to subject oneself to grief and misery with the knowledge of the truth. Omission is not the same as lying. What a one doesn't know cannot hut one self but then again, to be made out as a fool when the truth screams before you but not taking notice is far more exasperating.
Sweet sweet lies to spare us from the pain. The bitter bitter truth to protect us from harsh reality. Which is a better option?
A sweet lie or a bitter truth?
After all, a lie turns becomes the truth when one believes in it whole heartedly and at the same time fact becomes fiction when one rejects ot vehemently.