The Race - Short Story“It’s your race and yours alone. Others may run it with you but no one can run it for you.”The Race - Short Story3 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
How right they are. Even now I feel my heart slam against my ribcage. Any time now, the bones will shatter, piercing my flesh with shards like daggers. Why am I so nervous? There is no life and death, no risk of harm, no exam encroaching - yet this dread is all consuming. It is so constant now, like my stomach is a storm threatening to break loose. Waves of anxiety surge through my brain, exploding against my skull as though desperate to break from the turmoil. Thunder crackles overhead, making my temples ache.
I am just another person, another student, another racehorse. I trudge along an unending road filled with others, yet alone I walk. I pull behind me a cart of text books and assignments; pet projects and exams papers; hopes and dreams. They weigh on me like lead – a burden of my own making. Of course, it is my choice to do this. I may tip the weight from my c
lightlight4 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
A guy was given the privilege to choose his powers. He chose to have the ability to control light and thus creating illusions. This power also made him immune to all illusions. Then once he received his powers, everything changed. He looked at his surroundings and it was all fading as if some illusion. He then realized that everything was an illusion. All his friends, families and everyone he knows or does not know seem to have faded into his memory. He looked at himself. He did see himself but did not see him as what he was before. As seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours, hours to days and so forth; what felt like years turned out to be merely a fraction of a second. Because in reality, time and space itself is an illusion. Thus, he became desperate. In search for everything in nothing. And on the depths of his despair, he remembered something. He remembered that he has the power to "create" illusions. He then said "Let there be light".
Reality is just an illusion. Wh
Love Love, a simple four letter word, what does it mean, what does it do? Why are we infatuated with love? Perhaps we should break it down a bit, let's get the websters definition. Websters Dicitionary provides three definitions for the word Love, the first being, "a feeling of strong or constant affection for a person" The second, "attraction that includes sexual desire : the strong affection felt by people who have a romantic relationship" and the third, "a person you love in a romantic way" So now we understand there are three different variations of the word love. I suppose four if you include my personal definition.Love1 day ago in Short Stories More Like This
Let's take a look into Websters first definition, "A feeling of strong or constant affection for a person." Well we know that feelings are tied to your emotions and if you have a strong or constant emotion you're really feeling for someone, such as if you have strong hatred towards somebo
Out worlder or...?Ever since I was a little boy, I knew that I was different from all the rest. I knew because I cannot speak with my mouth, and I can not see with my eyes. I can only hear with my ears. I can only touch with my hand to see...Out worlder or...?5 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
The way that I communicate with other's is through the thoughts that I send to them. This is my only way. I'm sure normal humans can't do this...so I-know that I am not human. I don't know what I am. Whenever I think about this, it scares me. I can't understand it. No matter how many people tell me I'm smart, It matters not because I cannot even answer the one thing I'm desperately searching for and dying to know.
It plagues me constantly. What am I? Should I even be on this planet? My parents are-what would be described as 'normal'. So then-why am I the only one that seems to be like this? Are they even my parents? Are my sisters my sisters and are my brothers my brothers? Because I can not answer the one question, these thoughts also come to me and pull me into a
Excerpt 1You scooted up against the side of the trailer, legs too weak to stand. You secretly wondered if you'll ever stand again. For a quiet moment, you observed the others. They didn't look like students in a class, like this Teacher said. They ranged from a twelve year old little girl to a muscular man who looked like he belonged on a Harley Davidson. Teacher himself was at least a little believable, with his sweater vest and round glasses.Excerpt 11 week ago in Short Stories More Like This
"We saw you drop like a fly just as the truck slowed down." Teacher said as he lowered to one knee in front of you. The brightness of the sunset behind him turned him into a silhouette. "You're lucky we drove by when we did, but that's how these things go. Perhaps our paths were destined to cross."
You didn't bother analyzing those words at the time. "Where are we going?"
"All kinds of places. We go where the driver takes us. We're just hitchhikers. None of us remain here forever- he doesn't support those who stay on board longer than they're welco
881 week ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I stepped into the next room with great hesitation. This customer called down for Ibuprofen and a glass of water.
The room itself was not extraordinary, which was perhaps it’s most defining characteristic. In fact, upon closer inspection, the entire room was empty, not even a person. A white spotlight shined down in the center of the room. It revealed nothing, not even a shadow.
Suddenly, a voice spoke out. “Hi, could you put that on the table over there?”
I looked around, but there was still nothing in the room. I don’t know whether I was surprised or not. “I’m sorry sir, I can’t see a table.”
“There it is, over there.” A second spotlight in the corner of the room turned on, revealing nothing.
“I um… don’t see.”
“Just put it over there.”
I walked toward the other end of the room and gently moved my arm into the beam of light. My fingers disappeared in the light. I pulled out my hand quickly
The Tawdry Tales of Albert Camus Duckwallow ......"The Tawdry Tales of Albert Camus Duckwallow and Other Sundries."The Tawdry Tales of Albert Camus Duckwallow ......5 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"You're no trail baby 'till somebody pays a banana to tell you hello." (Unknown.)
The words fell upon Albert's ears like coins falling through a broken vending machine. The quarters stayed, but for some damned reason the nickels kept coming back.
"Why, oh why does this twaddle of text vex me so?" Albert asked to his precocious pug Darwin who was momentarily distracted from fastidiously tending to his nether regions by the frustrated question thrown in his direction.
Alas, no answer was forthcoming for the gallant, yet four legged, Darwin understood his poor befuddled bipedal companion even less than the cacophonic collection of characters that currently confounded yon Albert.
But having no other adventure worth engaging in on this day, Albert bottled on in attempting to divine any meaning, however miniscule, in the odd arraignment of words that assaulted his ever diminishing reason.
"Perhaps it is a puckish puzzle" postu
final testament of a broken manMy world has fallen apart, just fragments of shattered memories , cutting myself on its sharp jagged edges, disfigurement of self and raw agony ,final testament of a broken man1 week ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
And as my lacerations fester, from the heat of the sun, deep set anguish remains, oozing from my wounds , running in my veins .
Drowning under the waves , crushed beneath the heat, burning from the freezing cold, and the rain will in time , dissolve me.
Unable to turn back the clock , each time it chimes I must scream, for the echoes inside my mind , are causing my eyes to bleed ,
The hollow husk ,that's me, remains
A maggot filled cavity , alive and still breathing, from the silence in ,years of numb waiting , my bleak existence is everlasting, each day merging into the next, each one that passes fills me with regret, and the corpse that remains of my can still bleed ,it can breathe , though my eyes have decomposed away deep channels carved into my face , from the tears that fall every day.
Broken KeyYou are: the broken key to the broken lock of the broken door. At some point in a distant past, you were sought. Kings and their kingdoms fought and declared war over your custody, but you tried too hard to be difficult. In a fit of anger and jealousy and folly, and above all, pride too great to give up, they broke you. They broke you, ravaged you, raped you. Now you’re just a broken key, lost your mystery, what is left, is only misery.Broken Key5 hours ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I've Heard This Story Before..."ORIGINAL" ROCK OPERAI've Heard This Story Before...22 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
FALLS SHORT OF CLAIM
-PIANOFORTE MUSIC REVIEWS-
BY: JON IAN
Last night I attended a performance
of the rock opera show entitled "Equal".
Advertising described the show as a
"Inventive masterpiece of music with
a unique message about our society".
I was interested in seeing a show with
those elements, but what I got was not
what I expected. In a dystopian, 1984,
Brave New World, and Hunting the Most
Dangerous Game cocktail, I received a
highly pretentious message that can be
simply described as "Our world sucks"
Look who's talking, and I'm not saying
this to sound like a Thought Police prop
-agandist, I am honestly speaking my
mind amongst a mass of group thinkers
who honestly think that this musical phe-
nomena is worth praising and lauding. I'm
saying this as a guy who has heard Pink
Floyd's The Wall (which is depressing,but
at least has quality and talent behind it),
Quadrophenia by The Who,
How Depression Was BornHow Depression Was BornHow Depression Was Born1 day ago in Short Stories More Like This
Once upon a time, there was a thing called sadness. Sadness was a lonely, miniscule breath of life. He kept to himself, eyes twinkling with unfortunate thoughts. There was no one who ever cared for him..he was quiet, melancholy, and never knew anything but the dark rather than rays of sunshine that seemed to run from him.
Of course, one could only seethe with insanity from being alone for so long, guilty of nothing. Sadness knew nothing but his own self, so he decided one day to infect others. He would wait until the happiest point of someone’s life, then latch his claws into the depths of their heart. Sadness would infect their mind and soon even their friends and family. Many would ask- why did Sadness not become the name, Mad? Well, Sadness could never feel anything but despair from never feeling like he had completed his task of revenge against those who had left him alone for so long.
Sadness was never satisfied even when he had made sure to frequentl
MaestroHe wasn't the kind of man many wanted to be associated with. For all that he was a musical genius, this man never seemed to smile. His face was a hardened mask of sharp lines, a stern-set mouth and eyes that seemed made of ice. They called him cold, unfeeling. They said he pushed his musicians to their limits without remorse.Maestro3 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Of all the things said about this man, it was never to his face and it boiled down to one pure, distilled fact: This man was not happy unless his musicians were playing for him.
He wasn't happy unless they played.
Tonight, the concert hall was filled to capacity. Tonight, a concert was to play and it was expected of the Maestro to lead, producing only excellence.
The audience itself was a hard thing to judge: Men and women filed in fully dressed to the nines and by that alone, one might expect a formal affair, one fit for a symphony concerto. By the sound of various conversations, that is indeed what was expected. They sat down awaiting something refined, perhaps
UntitledWalking slowly through the forest, numerous beaded dew shimmer my winding path, I sense the shadows moving slowly nearby changing shapes every so often, stalking me as though primeval predators sense their prey, the evening sun creates crimson roses in the heavens above, yet darkness is approaching, menacingly seeking to dim my warm heart, memories of you drift into me, your gently glowing smile gives me strength no matter how distant we are, shining my way through the unknown,Untitled3 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
An Endless CycleIn my short years on this earth I have done so many things. Great things. Amazing, terrifying and life changing things... Terrible things. I have always been told to never regret the choices I make; they are not mistakes but unfortunate opportunities. And trust me, I've had a few of those.An Endless Cycle4 days ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Loving him was not a mistake.
It was invigorating; freeing. He opened the window to my soul and like a caged bird being released for the first time, I soared. Money was no object, time was no restraint. We made choices in the here and now - not with our heads stuck in the future like our parents demanded. He gave me memories that would stay with me forever - words of wisdom that would haunt me in the darkness of the night when I lie alone. He gave me freedom. Passion. Fireworks...
it wasn't leaving him that was my biggest mistake; it was letting myself do it over and over again. Falling into the same cycle of love, passion, fear and abandonment. I am my own worst enemy.
But to have the chance
Ailing from AlliterationIs it insanity? Is this dreary and debilitating dissipation driving me down into a dank, damp, desolate death of all the dreams I have held dearly in this damned darkness? Is my mind morphing into a mindless mush of madness by morphine, where my memories become miseries? Are all my convictions and connections careening, corroding, and crashing into my cranial confines, creating a chaos that is causing my hands to crack and crumble with cold? Are all alibis becoming antagonizing adversaries all assailing and attacking my atrophied apperception? Is anyone there, to listen to the sorrowful screams of my soul being slaughtered, stabbed, shattered, and sliced with swords of spite and spears of suffering? Is it valid that my vague vindications are veritably vast in variety, viciousness, and vain? The thing is that this twaddle is truth and it’s terrifying.Ailing from Alliteration5 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Eucalyptus RegnansEucalyptus Regnans3 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The spirit in the tree saw the young creatures on the ground. He invited them into his branches, where they would be protected from the animals on the ground and the harsh sunlight. The creatures climbed the tree, where they each had a branch to themselves.
The creatures had many children in the safety of the branches. These children ran around the branches of their parents, where there was the space and comfort of their home. They stayed away from children from the other branches, because they didn’t need any more than they had.
Then, after years, the tree had grown much bigger, and the children grew and had children. Things were quiet, until the spirit in the tree looked up and saw all his new branches. He wondered which of the many children would once again like to see above the trees, like their ancestors did. The children nearest the top argued that they had been at the top for so long, it only made sense to keep things the same. The children at the bottom argued that after