AncientThe Ancient One watched. From the very beginning of All, he watched. He observed as the Universe of universes arrived, as the stars came to be, as the galaxies formed, as the worlds arrived. All made of Universal stuff transformed. Seemingly endless changes from things to other things proceded unimpeded. The great game was beautiful. Entertaining. Fun. And then came the holes, the black, the always empty. Worlds were hurled to Darkness, places without places, without event. Where nothing happened. Not ever. Where Ever was Not. Slowly, oh, so slowly, the Universe of universes faded and disappeared. And was gone. The Ancient One had nothing more to watch and cried timeless and empty tears.Ancient2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Lancelot Price 2014 June 21
Masquerade II: Nomen.Se había acercado lo suficiente a la mesa de bocadillos más cercana lo suficiente para poder tomar entre sus manos uno de los tan anhelados aperitivos que se encontraban acomodados de maneras halagadoras a la vista, en bandejas de plata que relucían como el resto del castillo.Masquerade II: Nomen.3 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Para su desgracia, aquellos manjares tendrían que esperar, puesto que en el momento que estaba dispuesta a estirar la mano para tocar la mesa –y de alguna manera, reclamarla como suya- un delicado toque en su hombro le hizo voltearse, para encontrar que alguien le pedía una pieza.
Usualmente habría declinado la invitación para poder comer, pero recordó que estaba disfrazada y su usual comportamiento podría delatarla si era alguien que conocía.
Así pues sonrió suavemente, antes de asentir y seguir al joven a la pista de baile.
Los movimientos suaves y coordinados, así como la danza de colores por todos lados no le recordaban más que se enc
2 heads are better than one.Two heads are better than one: Short stories about people with two heads, so virtuous with one head, don’t lose theirs.2 heads are better than one.3 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
1. The 2 headed monster metaphor.
2. The Siamese twins that did not want to sell to everybody.
3. The Siamese twins who do not care for what they published on Internet.
The beauty of writing / drawing lies in perfecting our skills as a samurai learn to make perfect cuts with his katana or in the same way a basketball player learn to dunk.
If you are part of the artistic community of DeviantArt what I write today may interest you, or if you're on DeviantArt to appreciate their art, you may find seeds of knowledge among my letters.
I can’t hide it, I love writing, but what I like the most is to philosophize about positive aspects that help me be a better person. What you are about to read is a compil
My FuneralThey’re crying again.My Funeral13 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Rigor mortis has me at its mercy so I can do nothing to quell their suffering. So I lie and watch through slits of almost closed eyes at the small glimpses I can catch of the living.
It’s an odd sensation being dead for in essence it is absence. An absolute absence of everything. You don’t really notice it when alive, but the sheer lack of sound hits you like a brick wall. The sounds of your breath or the thump of your heart or the thrum of the blood through your veins are gone – sounds you never truly hear when still living. In death all you are met with is silence within yourself and thundering in to take its place are the roaring sounds of the world around your still corpse.
In my constricted vision I can see the broad petals of roses around my head. They are white as paper which is nice. I always imagined myself buried wreathed in roses so at least someone realised. I wonder if it was my sister?
I can hear a choked voice saying my name.
Masquerade I: NovissimeHabía mirado la carta por enésima vez aquella mañana, estaba bastante alegre por ir, por supuesto, en parte de ella había sido la idea de planear aquél evento.Masquerade I: Novissime3 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Pero, pese a todo, había algo que le había molestado bastante.
“Deberías invitar a alguien tú también.” Eso es lo que Sans le había dicho, borrándole un segundo la sonrisa de la boca. ¿Invitar a alguien? ¿A quién, exactamente?
Y ante aquello todo había parecido ponerse en su contra.
“Eres el rey, tú más que nadie debería llevar acompañante.” Y claro, no podía invitar a ninguno de los soldados porque eso era “hacer trampa”.
Descartados todos los soldados su primera e inevitable idea había sido llevar consigo al joven Arcuci, que era lo más cercano a un amigo que tenía… para desgracia del pobre muchacho.
Lo había convencido –por no decir amenazado- para que le
HarbouringTrees shifted around him, the world bending under the strain of focus. Granules of soil moved under his fingertips and blades of grass brushed against his skin. Hues of colour spun around him; shaded of green and brown invading his senses through the Autumn mist. His breathing was slowed to the point of suffocation, but he held no regard for it. This practice would only yield results through complete anonymity. He had to be no one, and nothing. He gradually eased his muscles until they were completely relaxed, and slowly closed his eyes. He could feel the smooth breeze caressing his features. His smell extended beyond the clearing, weaving through the scent of ferns, burning wood in the distance, the sweat of farmers working their crops, and the soothing smell of brewing tea. He could hear the wind moving around leaves, the grinding of a blade against a sharpening stone, the expressive whispers of two lovers in a distant village. And suddenly they flooded through.Harbouring3 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was nauseating to
Twilite SnippetBetween us grew a topical understanding of wavering normalcy and it’s weight in our minds became a steady thread slipped through a shivering needle and shoved unceremoniously through an existence as soft as burlap. Those patterns so similar they turned polarized. Those minds so alike they reflected antitheses. Washed in a sameness full of discomfort as startling as a slightly too-warm pool grown green with algae.Twilite Snippet2 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“You’re farther from existing than ever you’ve been!” She pummeled the words like origami swans against a rain-slicked umbrella. I, less acrobatic and feeling jovial, numbed my tongue with dirty slush.
Claustrophobia encroached, ever so tenderly, leaving no space for air for the walls were vacuumed against us. Other patrons pressed frightened away, clawing to separate our molten bodies.
Shadow MomentsMy most vivid memory of Rose is that of her weeping in the dark next to me as we stood at the top of the hill and looked down upon the Gangrel gathered below. They were there holding a memorial for Arminius who had died in the fight in Tracy. The Gangrel had each other, but Rose and I stood alone atop the hill, with only each other to temper what grief we felt at the loss.Shadow Moments1 day ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She held my hand and wept her blood tears for her friend without shame or timidity. She was so honest in her grief that it made me feel an intruder even though her grip on my hand loudly vouchsafed my welcome and invitation to the private intimacy of her emotion.
As it was a funeral, my veil was down. Thus, I looked at her through a semi opaque haze of black and it made her tears appear as living shadows of grief that slithered and crawled down her cheeks instead of falling. I remember looking at the Gangrel below us and seeing their heads bowed in what they were calling respect, but looked from my angle to be the sa
AnhedoniaThe four hundred glass bowls designed to function primarily as salad bowls; to be taken out once a year at a dinner with your boss, shudder in back. Another five hundred ornamental wine glasses all stacked neatly on top of each other between the soft downy padding of plastic peanuts and bubble wrap tinkle as their “hand crafted” rims rub against each other.Anhedonia3 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
In tune to the massive orgy of reverberating IKEA designs Seth steers the truck around potholes in the highway. His headlights cast a pale glow on a few feet of the road in front of him, and the silver dollar flakes falling fast from the sky.
“Shit,” he says, more to himself than to her- the woman in his front seat.
There being no need to further address the situation, she simply crosses her stockings and taps her feet against the candy bar wrappers adorning the floor. Her mouth pouts in the direction of his wind-shield. He knows her question before she begins to say it. “How far is it from Regina
I'm Thaila Hey!I'm Thaila 1 day ago in Short Stories More Like This
I'm an optimist.
Not many things can drag me down.
.... Right? Right.
At least I think.....
Let me start over!
I'm an optimist!
Not many things can drag me down.
I'm surrounded by people I care about.
And surrounded by those who care about me.
I'm pretty sure....
I screwed up again! Once more!!
I'm an optimist!
Not many things can drag me down.
I'm surrounded by people I care about.
And surrounded by those who care about me.
But the world I live in doesn't exist.
It's something they created to shield me.
The world I live in is beautiful.
But the beauty is just a mask.
Beneath the plastic outing of joy and family lies the truth.
They say truth is important.
Then why do they hide it from us?
Are we not suppose to realize what is happening in our own backyard?
I am Thaila.
I am a neutralist.
Not much can surprise me.
I am surrounded by mask's, I am only shown the outside.
In the Ocean of your TearsYou cry, you weep... Your despair is transformed into a tide of torments. Your tears roll on your hollow cheeks and wet your wan face. Furrows were formed by their constant passage, deteriorating your soft skin into forged stone. You cannot stop anymore, whatsoever you don't desire it. It is said that crying is liberating, but it is only another lie among the multitude which set up your world. Time passes, and you engulf yourself in an ocean of disillusion. You only start to understand the consequences of your denied acts. Soon, you must struggle to keep your head out of the aqueous extent. Your forces abandon you quickly, deserting your ungrateful carnal envelope. Your vitality was consumed in your infinite sorrow. Water infiltrates your mouth, your eyes, your nose, but you are unable to fight against this liquid spectrum. And slowly your lungs are gorged with the fruit of your sadness. Your puffy eyelids close for the last time on a universe that you created yourself and you suavelyIn the Ocean of your Tears3 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Messenger and Shadow"Do you know what existed before the universe?" The Priest announced to his pupil from across the room, his voice echoed across the church like the voice of a God. The shadows created by the dim light expanded over both of their figures. "Darkness, Master, and only darkness." His pupil responded. The Priest grunted in response, signaling the truth of his pupil. The priest took an uneasy breath. "It is finally time you know the truth of what we perceive of this truth, and your role in it." He told his pupil, which nodded his readiness. "You see, before the universe there was darkness. That darkness had no ruler or king inside of it, it was the pure nothingness we perceive as the void. Once energy started to clump though, and clump even further, this created a pocket that the darkness did not entirely control. The darkness waited to see what would come of this energy, until it finally became glorious light for all of creation to become in. This was the birth of the universe."Messenger and Shadow2 days ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
RecorderThere are millions of ways to die- some heroic, some heart-wrenching, and some that are just straight up stupid. My name is Kilo and I am one of the Lords of Death. Our job is to track every death in the world and respond to it.Recorder2 days ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
There's Mavin- the Seer- who knows when a person (very big difference between death of soul and person) is about to die, Kaisor- the Reaper- who collects the soul when it is dead, and Tim- the Gatekeeper- who catches the souls that try and escape death.
Then there's me. I'm the Recorder. The glorified book keeper of death. I record how a person dies. Train wrecks, cancer, shot in the temple, drowned in jello. I've seen it all. (and I have quite a few entries worthy of the Darwin Awards). Well, I've written it all anyways. You see, I'm kind of the odd one out.
The other Lords all get to roam the world, chase evil souls, see the House of Judgement, etc. etc. I get to write until my hand cramps, then switch hands and write some more. People are always dying, you s
Sermon"Tell me about why God's real, and I'll tell you why you're wrong."Sermon2 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When I heard that, I winced, not sure how to respond. I'm devout about my faith, if not vocal - I won't talk about it unless asked, but this was a question I felt needed to be answered - and yes, it was a question.
I wasn't sure a t first how to respond, but after a while, I came up with this to say:
"Alright, so let me tell you a parable about you. Things in your life go south after we talk - maybe right away, maybe it takes time, but one thing leads to another, and when you wake up one morning, you can't pay your credit bill. You go into debt, so on, and a few months later, you're out of a house, which means you're also out of a job. Things get worse - you get desperate. You need cash, so you try to boost a car. The owner walks out, and you never meant for anyone to get hurt, but sometimes these things just happen: now you're a murderer. Grand Theft Auto, charged as an adult; let's be frank - you're going to jail for
Ambiguity in Paper WritingIn a lot of colleges there are situations that are borderline inappropriate. Not anything to contact your adviser or student counseling or anybody’s boss about, but things you’re just not sure about.Ambiguity in Paper Writing2 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Like, take one professor. Let’s say he’s a man in his forties, married, to another professor, and let’s say he teaches literature. Let’s say that he has a queer lit class. Since this class is focusing very specifically on queer subjects, there has to be a baseline of comfort in discussing sexuality—of authors, of characters, of story, and because no reading is complete without what we ourselves bring to it, our own sexuality.
And let’s take a student. Let’s say he’s a twenty-one year old homosexual, an English major, and constantly hyper-aware of the concept that out of all the people he might be attracted to, roughly ten percent might have capacity to be attracted to him.
Take the frame of a class, that at some point students hav
Cage'sPrison's exist to understand freedom.Cage's7 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Writers like usI Have a small vocabulary.Writers like us18 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I show a lack of intelligence.
I curs, Yes, I do.
You may know how to say it better.
But I, strike at the heart.
If you pulled the trigger.
On the gun.
with the bullet facing my heart.
I wont die.
Writers like us, don't die.
We live on through our stories.
Our stories, as legends.
Change of PerspectiveImagine a chain. That necklace you’re wearing? Common. You bought it from a local mall; it was on sale. Tens of millions of people just life you own that same necklace. You’re going out to eat with a group of friends, so you put it on, and take a seat in the restaurant. It’s so small and you really don’t think of it unless someone compliments how the silver chain matches your expensive shiny stilettos. As conversation goes on, the mention of the necklace fades away. It was really only there to fill the empty spot of your chest.Change of Perspective18 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Imagine a junkyard. You’re the head of the place. Every day, you’re faced with the smell of rotten gym socks and two-week old pizza. It’s not a very decent career, but hey, money is money. You have a dog that guards the entrance, making sure no one bad comes in. He’s hooked up to a chain though, because you definitely don’t want him running around, chewing on some half-eaten ribs, ignoring his job. The chain
LoveShift Page 5Martin sighed as he closed the door to muffle out Kyle’s laughter. Looking over the rest of the club with a sigh he slowly talked over them “Please tell me somebody has some decent ideas, and make it a really good one so we can get back at Kyle for making the club look so bad.” Martin sat down at the nearest desk and began watching over the presentations waiting for a good idea to show up until a voice spoke up from one of the members. “Sir, why don’t you just kick Kyle out of the club if he isn’t going to do anything?”LoveShift Page 51 day ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Martin smiled and turned towards the freshman. “Kyle’s my best friend, so I know he’s a good person. Sometimes he just really gets under my skin with how lazy and arrogant he acts. Don’t worry though, whatever task we give him for the festival he will make it as nice as possible.”
Kyle sneezed while looking at the vending machine. “I don’t have a cold. . .” Kyle frowned as he pushe
adelphiawe are all disoriented in the beginning; angiogenesis builds roads and vessels in our brains and fingertips and lungs and our synapses stitch themselves together to form a dendrite map, each highway marked by an influx of potassium and an action potential.adelphia1 day ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
we are all just children in the beginning; we watch history through a sea of legs and as we find our own we creep up until we can’t tear our eyes from the face of all the faces--the sea of legs dried up and is now a clean-shaven desiccated mojave
we burn a variety of bridges. and then we find ourselves drafting new ones, reading from our dendrite maps all comprised in a neat pocket-sized travel-friendly nerve atlas; we touch the other side and an undefined instantaneous velocity takes hold and still drops us in a foreign maze.
we float as adolescent cells in a broth of primal stew; this environment breeds competition.
we are all informed wrong in the beginning when we stumble intoxicated into a roadside ditch and the one who gr
Varying Philisophical Positions on DawnIVarying Philisophical Positions on Dawn1 day ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Dawn breaks with a soft fierceness. No pastel inks seeping shapely as a primer into canvas for bottleglass blue of morning, no gradation spreading seamless in the manner of warm buttercream; it breaks, a sudden shattering rift; night-shards propelled by the impact tear into the pomegranate flesh backlighting and the gashes bleed torturous magentas and yellows the shade of screams and twistingwrithingclawing pus pale foams frothing out from between jaws gnashing misaligned teeth stained too deeply with tobacco-coffee-semen.
It is a vicious, visceral spectacle--it is lamb-like demure, a disquieting comfort: mother fishercat purrs to its whelps.
There is no thought, merely the afterbirth of a thought unborn. Or stillborn.
Blink. Blink again. Blink harder. Brownian motion was taught in twelfth grade, and that is a thought, almost. Blink. Blink again. Watery, unstaring eyes glaze fishlike in opening and shutting; dirt crust
Sing The Body Electric, BabyPROLOGUE: WILD NIGHT OUTSing The Body Electric, Baby2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
There’s a place in the dark where the animals go
You can take off your skin in the cannibal glow
Juliet loves the beat and the lust it commands
Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo
- My Chemical Romance, "The Sharpest Lives"
Neon strobe lights cut, horror-movie style, through the black, each moment of darkness overlaid by the afterimage of fractured movement: an idea, like a dream, a fantasy of surrealism and escapism. Girls dance, and whether they’re beautiful or not, they present the epitome of sexiness in this setting: their bodies sway hypnotically, hardly-clad in clothes you’d never see them wear by day. It’s the escapist fantasy that gave them the courage for it: you aren’t you, here.
There are two kinds of people who come here. The first are the ones who really love it, the people who believe in it and are able to fully lose themselves. The second are the weary, bored type, who show up once
LoveShift Page 4Kyle ran into the class room dropping his backpack on the floor and collapsed into the chair. He threw his head backwards and started panting with a grin across his face. “Whooooo. Had to run my butt off but looks like I made it to the meeting just in time. Now hopefully I’ll get to rest a bit and not have to” Kyle was interrupted by and older student standing over his desk.LoveShift Page 42 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“ya, ya, what cha want?”
“You were the last one to the meeting, that means you have to go first for the presentations about options to do for the school’s festival.”
“Kyle, I knew you’d forget. Why do you even bother coming to the club meetings if you aren’t going to follow any of the tasks that you are asked to perform. Everyone else has their ideas planned out and ready to present to everyone, but you don’t seem prepared for anything.”
“Aww come on dude, I was just joking around