HeroesHeroes2 days ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
“You are heroes!” ~Lady_Ianite
Heroes, they were called. The heroes of Mianite. But what really makes a hero?
One was the disciple of good, loyal to his god since the beginning. He remained ever so loyal when he kept getting #Rekt during the devil’s siege. It seemed like his god abandoned him when he needed him the most, but he never gave up faith despite how many times he scream and yell at the sky. Or at his ruined base. His god awarded his patience.
One was also the follower of light, standing beside her boyfriend when their homes were under siege. She was as loyal as her companion and kept the boys in check and made sure they didn’t destroy each other too much. The two followers of light strengthened their relationship throughout the war, a feat that that not many can accomplish.
One was the complete opposite of the spectrum, the disciple of evil, the friend-turned-sworn enemy. He was also loyal to his god despite the number of times he failed the one
Perfect ImperfectionsThis world is a NIGHTMAREPerfect Imperfections17 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
To search for perfection
in an imperfect world is
nothing but mere MADNESS
in the eternity, where
No one fights against time
Who wants a life...
without any madness in it?
At least the world is...
keep fighting for perfection
Because in the end it'll worth something
you have never imagined before
FreakshowFor years, my friends and I worked for the carnival. Max would hammer nails into various orifices, Gabriel would exhibit his tertiary nipple, Adam would blow beverages from his eyes, Alice would sit and comb her beard, and I would dislocate the majority of bones in my body. In our years, we found amusement between shows; we would delight in the thrilling rides, devour corndog after funnel cake after corndog, and partake in the clearly rigged games around us.Freakshow6 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The patrons of our performance would jeer at us, scowl in disgust, call us fake, or even throw old refreshments at us. By the end of the day we’d have to mop up the stage. We were sometimes told we belonged in cages, like animals. On several occasions, people left rides when we got on. Not long after the very first performance, we were branded as abominations by a soft news journalist and threatened with violence by a gang of young adults.
Some days were more difficult than others. As I recall, the stage was occasionally litt
Adoption dayToday was adoption day so miss sunny had all the children come out side to get adopted by their new mommy and daddy. What kind of creature adopts you?Adoption day3 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Who adopts you
1) single mom/dad
2) mom with a boyfriend
3) dad/ with girlfriend
Or switch I get adopted
Verborgene WeltDas Mädchen sitzt auf der Parkbank und wartet, regungslos und stumm, ganz am Rand der Sitzfläche und mit den Händen unter den Beinen, als wäre ihr kalt. Feuerrotes Haar tanzt um ihr Gesicht; immer in Bewegung, immer wirr. Sie wartet. Sie wartet auf jemanden, der stehen bleibt und für einen Augenblick gen Himmel blickt.Verborgene Welt3 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Um sie herum fallen die Blätter und enthüllen eine verborgene Welt aus reinem Licht; ein Königreich der Träume, sichtbar nur für einen Augenblick. Es liegt auf der Unterseite der fallenden Blätter, wenn die Sonne sie streift, vorbeigetragen vom Oktoberwind – einen Moment lang ganz nah und im nächsten schon fort.
Wenn das Blatt den Boden berührt, ist diese strahlende Unterseite unsichtbar; die Oberseite ist goldgelb oder rot wie ein Rubin – hübsch, sagen die Leute, doch die wahre Schönheit bleibt ihren Blicken verborgen. Die Unterseite des gefallenen Blattes wird auf dem Boden zertreten
Mere ExistenceI was not born into this world. I just came into consciousness. I had no memories prior to bursting into existence, but at the time, I didn't really question it. It was as if someone jump-started me awake and shone a bright light in my eyes like thrusting open the curtains into a dark room. Though no one taught me to speak or walk, I seemed to have the ability to do all these things- I had a consciousness about the things around me. I had opinions about things I never came into contact with, and yet I still didn't question it.Mere Existence5 days ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I was in a room, rather, sitting in it. All four walls were bright white, even the floor and ceiling creating the illusion of a white void as there were no windows and no doors. Oddly enough, there were no light fixtures, and yet the room was bright, and shadowless. I don't know how long I have been sitting there, starring at the blindingly white wall, but in those moments I had no thought processes that I could recall. It were as if I was... Not yet
::Anti bullying week: TF2 ficklet - To be trustedThere's... something strange with this boy.::Anti bullying week: TF2 ficklet - To be trusted2 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
He's quite different from the others I've been working with. He does not speak loud, or does not actually even speaks at all. You barely have to extract the words from his throat and when he's with all of us he's just standing there, saying nothing, waiting for us to pay attention to him or not. And it's not hard tell he prefers when we do not. I can get that he's not really in found of groups, hell if sniper and medic are, but it's not the same. It's mostly like he's scared of us. Again something that' s quite easy so see. When you try to talk to him, he almost never raise his eyes, which is kinda disturbing, and his sentences are always short. I've managed to had a chat or two with him and... Well he's quite sympathetic and does not looks as the shy type at all. But again, you have to do the first step. I've tried to ask him why he was acting like that and even to reassure him about all the other guys from the team and even about me but eve
Sex ID“All human souls! Form a line over here for your sex ID!”Sex ID5 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
When we are born, we are a blank slate. A tiny, humanlike figure, and for some reason, we are always crying.
I wonder why that is.
Like all other souls, we begin going through life and enter this line for something called Sex ID. I’ve done this before, more times than I can count. My body won’t remember this, but I will.
I get closer to the front of the line as I age day by day, until I am two years old. When I hit that age, I am at the front of the line.
So each day passes, and I learn more and more.
If you are female:
You are weak.
You are submissive.
You are the caretaker.
You are the damsel.
You don't debate.
You don't speak out.
You don't play games.
You don't learn.
You don't leave.
You're not the hero.
If you are male:
You are strong.
You are dominant.
You speak out.
You can play games.
You can learn.
You are the hero.
You don't cook.
You don't sew.
You don't clean.
Era uma vezEra uma vez. Era pois já não é, e uma vez pois foi um momento singular. Nesse momento singular, um homem, do gênero humano, que surgiu desse imperativo de que surgisse, dessa força inexorável que guiou tudo que havia até então até ele. Ele pensou em sua origem e a chamou de Deus.Era uma vez1 day ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
E Deus deu-lhe olhos. Ele viu um mundo muito maior que ele mesmo e percebeu o tamanho de sua insignificância, olhou ao redor e percebeu que era só. Deus deu-lhe consciência. Ele viu a centelha da criação em todas as coisas e percebeu como Deus era grande, ele viu a beleza. Deus deu-lhe ouvidos. Ele ouviu o mundo e o achou vazio, ouviu a si mesmo e achou-se mágico. Deus deu-lhe tato e olfato. Ele sentiu frio, calor, cheiros bons e outros nem tanto.
Então, como se fosse de sua natureza, para bem ou para mal, transformar o singular em plural, o único em corriqueiro, já não era um, mas mais e mais ainda. Como se fosse se
The man at the bus stopStep, step, step. The sound of my dragging feet against the wet cement doesn't sound real to me. I pace back and forth. The icy cold rain is crashing into my skin, seeping into my flesh, chilling me more than it should. The clouds in the sky form a roof over the Earth, casting the Earth in shadow. The street lights battle against the shadows, attempting to blanket the street in a sickly yellow glow. Their attempts are all in vain. There's a thin layer of mist that obscures the rest of the damp street from me.The man at the bus stop1 day ago in Short Stories More Like This
The froth seeps from my icy lips and melts into the inky night. I continue pacing, my footsteps heavy against the drenched cement. I close my eyes, water flicking off my lashes, and continue pacing. My legs grow weary. I take a seat on the generic, metal chair that is provided at every bus stop. Immediately after I sit down, I regret my decision. The seat is an ice cube, chilling me down to my bones. I jump forcefully up, my feet crashing into a murky puddle, sending water flying
Kings and Beggars BFP November Prompt The King may not be all riches and snobbery.Kings and Beggars BFP November Prompt1 day ago in Short Stories More Like This
"I'm sorry my Duke, but I just need to take out another loan."
Woosh goes the Duke's breath. "What now for my King?"
"My daughter is getting married. I need to clothe my daughter wonderfully so she seems well off. The dowry we should get should be enough to pay off my debts."
"Fine my King. I shall loan you this. But your other Dukes are getting itchy for their money back."
"I know my Duke. But I tell you, I shall have your money. Thank-you for your generosity my Duke."
The King may just as well be the beggar. As illustrated above. And the beggar may as well be the King.
The beggar sits atop his makeshift throne of dirty rags, broken metals, and rotten foods.
His peons scurry to and fro beneath him.
a gentle way to break usThe grass was slowly dying due to the winter's hands, stroking over it, letting it sway with every cold breath, every now and then. The forest that surrounded the graveyard was quiet, all consumed by the coldness, slowly creeping through the branches, patiently waiting for the last leaves to fall, like sinful angels from the sky. The weather was all harsh and cold on this day and my foot stepped on frozen ground. What an ironic thought it was, that he didn't die at the break of winter, like all things, but in high summer, when everything's supposed to be alive. That didn't stop him from dying and now what was left of him were some remains, bones and a cold gravestone towering against the grey sky. When I die don't cry, look at the stars and say goodbye was engraved into it, no name, no dates. I said goodbye several times but never did it work. Never did the word bear the pain of an ending, but as well the hope for a new beginning. Never did it bring the promise of summer througha gentle way to break us3 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Adventure Time of Mushroom Kind Forests of Spessart were always thick and endless. Rich on hills and secret alleys, a trees of hundreds years old and flowers blossoming with a feeling and smell of disturbed, yet inviting calm of a nature voids. Visitors here had a strange shivers on their backs, if alone not in pack, it became even more apparent. So untouched by a world of man, in all times, they seemed like a part of something that ages, but doesn’t know a ticking of clock. A Mountain like picks of a horizont lands, with fields of lonely farms in a distance. So much territory they covered that, if at one part of it was a mist, the other one was drowning in beams of a clearful warmness of sun. It was, by all occasions, a weird place. It never had fables about dragons, or trolls and goblins and fairies waiting to lure travelers away into horrific details of a folk tales. Some would enter it, to never be heard again. But maybe just to come from the other side of it, away from the way of life that leftAdventure Time of Mushroom Kind3 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Instunctive AngerBollertent was once my kind of town. Small, quiet and good folk, but not until the years passed and the neighboring cities rapidly expanded to Bolertent. Alot of the residents were not pleased. They had little to no power about it. Most of them were old and retired. I was still young and enjoyed the elderly company. The city folk, not so much.Instunctive Anger3 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Daunting signs were easily seen as they came in. Music being played with ear piercing volume and crude lyrics about substance abuse. Young kids revving their cars to intimidate and show off. Leaving marks on the streets and foul odors in the air. Some of us encouraged the parents to take more responsibility to the children. We made some progress, but most of the kids were moved out and on their own. We tried the police and it secured the order almost immediately, but one by one. We passed off.
Three years and all the once quiet people who rocked in their chairs, greeted each other kindly, hosted barbecues for fun and invited the entire town for m
The Sage and The Traveller"Why should you fear death?" he asks.The Sage and The Traveller4 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
His tattered clothes flutter amidst the night breeze, the fire cracking, piercing the silence that came after the old man paused. The young man, confused, his gaze innocent, but naive, stares at the gnarly face that showed signs of beatings, yet a warm smile adorns his vise.
"All flames die down one day". He moved his wrinkled hands, embers flying up as the stick ruffles through the campfire.
"It's not about the flame. It's about what it has left behind". He looks forward, towards the unending horizon of the fields, the humble shine from the moon barely lighting the beautiful, hilly meadow. Then he turns his head, the gaze of a relic, battered, forgotten, but adamant, meeting with a young man's.
"Does it build? Or does it destroy?"
Smiling, he places his aged hand gently on the young man's shoulder.
The BreadmakerEdith knelt before the bread ovens, pushing limp, sweat-soaked hair back from her forehead to better look through the tiny window at the tiger loaves cracking in the heat. She heard Flavia scolding another cook for burning a loaf, her usually kind voice cracking out under the stress of the incoming orders. Every time the far steel door opened to release the loaves, Edith caught the sound of loud voices and something too happy to exist in her world.The Breadmaker4 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
France was celebrating. What, Edith knew not, but that they were was obvious. She imagined the wine connoisseurs were having and even worse time of it. She’d worked in (been sold into) the wine trade once, but they soon found her to be all but useless as a connoisseur, as unable to read the swirling script on the bottles as she was to read the unadorned black letters Flavia read out to the cooks.
The loaves were done. Smoothly, Edit pulled open the oven, feeling the hairs on her arms all but curl from the heat before she managed to rem
The Path to ForgettingThe flames reached towards the night sky, as if to devour all of its stars along with the now smoldering building. All he could do was watch as the shadows of his life turned to ash in the merciless flames. He listened in silence as the last echoes of screams floated away along with the dark, soulless smoke that seemed to disappear into the shadow of the night. He didn’t blink, didn’t cry, just sat there wishing that he had the strength to feel the pain of his loss. There was nothing now. He stood slowly, shaking as he did so, and began to walk. He walked straight through the ashes and lost what was left of his sanity with the memories of his now broken life. He would forget, because it was easier than remembering, he would walk, because it was easier than standing. Nothing could fix this, nothing could change how this turned out. He didn’t want to change it though, he wanted to forget it, all of it, to him it wasn’t even worth remembering. His feet ached, but hThe Path to Forgetting5 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
What He Could and Couldn't RememberHe couldn’t remember any of their last words. He couldn’t remember what their faces looked like or how tall they were. He couldn’t remember whether they smelled of musty gunpowder or of burnt grass. He couldn’t even remember what colored uniforms they wore.What He Could and Couldn't Remember5 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
they aren’t here anymore.
The empty casing of his body was temporarily filled with a thick black smoke that began to melt him from the inside, only to fade and disappear in a matter of minutes. He took a puff here and there with his only intention to erase the day’s worries, to forget that he was alone, to forget who he used to be, and to forget that he had forgotten. The hills and valleys that were his face seemed to tremble as the biting winter wind tortured his callused hands. Raising the roll to his lips, he allowed himself to breathe in the dense grey clouds that escaped from the paper tube housed between his fingers, and feeling slightly more at ease, began to reminisce about the
A great idea"Holy crap! Look outside!" I gestured Jerry to look out the window of his house. It had been raining torrentially for a week, and the street he lived on had become a river. Being teenagers, we were trying to think of a way to exploit this rare event.A great idea6 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
"The kayak!" Jerry exclaimed triumphantly. Naturally, being a teenage boy, I thought this was a great idea. Ride the kayak down his street! How cool is that?
We rushed to his garage, grabbed the kayak from the rafters, and went outside. The rain was almost biblical in its ferocity. We waded to the middle of the street, and Jerry got in. There was no question of who was going first, it was his kayak.
No need for a shove off. It was hard enough just to keep the muddy flood waters from ripping the kayak from our hands. Jerry took off very quickly. Too quickly actually. We, being teenage boys, didn't think about where the impromptu river was going.
Cancer*tick, tick, tick*The human body was crafted to such a perfection, capable of maintaining itself much like a clock.*Tick, tick, tic-clack* each ceLl creates a speciAlized function, which makes up the oRgan, supplying the neceSsary life to the rest of the BodY. *Tick, Clack, Ticck-click* aNy smmall breAk in The cycle onlY perpetUates and corrupTTs the reSt of The MACHiNe. *TLACK, WHIRR, CL-CLICK* A tRreacherous POisOn, it GoEss n-nEarlY UnnOticed untIIl iT iS toO LaT-Te. *Crack, Clackclack-clank* It ISs An a-ABOmINatIOn tO liFfE aNd reQUIRES immmEDatE aCtIOn oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooTHherWISsE... *Click*.................................................................................Cancer6 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Ana You are never skinny enough. That's impossible. Always fat. Fat, fat, fat. The mirror tells you so, every time you look into its cold reflective surface. Your thighs, they're sausages. Where's the gap? You can't be pretty without the gap between your thighs. And what about those flabby arms? If you want guys to like you, you need dainty wrists. You need to look like they could break you if they hold on too tightly. The name of the game is to be delicate, like a glass feather. A flat stomach would be a dream come true. You want to see your ribs, see your spine. No fat on this body, please.Ana1 week ago in Short Stories More Like This
You stop eating breakfast. It's not that hard, since you don't usually have time for it in the morning, anyways. Then, you start skipping lunch, too. You count the calories obsessively. You can't gain weight. You can't be fat. Pretty soon, it's only a hundred calories a day. It's getting hard to stand up. The world is always spinning. But that's okay. You're dropping
A Discourse on DiscordSome of you ponies may be wondering why Discord, a spirit of disagreement and disharmony, has been given a second chance. Why would Princess Celestia see Discord as being used for good, worthy of being reformed? What purpose does disagreement and disharmony serve? I mean should there not be peace? Should there not be harmony? What most ponies fail to realize is that not all peace is good. There is peace with being content and peace in being complacent. Peace that is found in being complacent is not a good thing. It is not being content but just accepting things are because they have always been that way. What if something has always been a way but it was not good? Should we be complacent with something that is not good? I would think that my little ponies would say no to something like that. It is through chaos that shows us what is true and what it not.A Discourse on Discord1 day ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
How do you think new discoveries are made? It is either
Walking on Air “Asia Air has been a great success.” Said CEO Koichi Fujioka.Walking on Air2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
His smile was warm. His face relaxed and calm, not a single drop of sweat hanged from his once stressed brow. His teeth were clean and shining. His suit, well kempt and appealing to the eye, as he always had it.
He waved a hand upwards, attracting attention to the large “Asia Air” sign above the boardroom.
“We are the most successful airline in all of Asia, the Middle East, and Oceania. Soon to be the most successful worldwide, I might add.” He said with a laugh. The other members of the meeting chuckled loudly along with their superior.
“Now that the Iraqi No-Fly Zone conflict has ended we can move forward with g