ClockThe grandfather clock's face turned down, sad. There must have been a bad moon. Time is an unhappy business, abstract, misunderstood. The clock had stood in the same spot for 200 turns around the Sun. And it never became more fun, than it had ever been. Clock remembered the families, the parents, the children, and also the childless, the unmarried, the loveless singles. He was good at remembering; it's what he was for. Happy times and sad times. Times. Time. What a sad business.Clock2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Lancelot Price 2014 July 26
The Little PrinceOnce upon a time there was a beautiful Prince, and he loved. That was his blessing and his curse. He felt everything, so deeply, good and bad, and it pierced his soul. It hurt the Prince to love so deeply, and he saw that no one else did. So he forgot that his curse was also a blessing and he hated himself because of it. He felt the pain deeper and deeper and forgot the love. He couldn't make the pain go away, but the devil sent whispers to him telling him he could, but the love and the beauty had to go first. So he tried to kill the beauty inside of him. Tried to convince himself it didn't exist. And he felt the pain deeper and deeper and the love and the beauty less and less.The Little Prince5 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Finally he went to the devil, intent on trading his beauty for a life with no pain. He begged the devil to take away his pain.
"But first little Prince, I want your love, and your beauty." the devil said. So the little Prince reached inside of himself and pulled out a shimmering, pulsing, glowing orb of beauty a
The Boy and the SailorThe little boy stopped in front of the elder sailor, admiring the man’s stagnant position along with his strong posture. The sailor continued to smoke his decrepit pipe, unaware of the boy staring at him. The boy contemplated what he should do- whether to tap the man before asking him questions or just to start asking them aloud. As the boy pondered over what he should do, the old sailor finally took notice of the well-dressed school boy in front of him.The Boy and the Sailor4 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
“What do ya want, sonny?” the sailor asked.
“I don’t rightly know, sir,” the nervous boy replied.
“Ain’t ya or ain’t ya not goin’ ask me something?”
“I’m not sure what to ask you.”
“Well, ya better ask me quick cause I’m liable to drop dead any second.”
“Lemme think, sir. Why do you wear your anchor tattoo on your leg instead of your arm?”
“Keeps me grounded this way I don’t fly away like them balloons.”
My FuneralThey’re crying again.My Funeral6 days 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.
Old Thoughts from New PeopleThere's sunlight on the empty road, but he supposes there isn't much to it, really: photons generated in the explosion of nuclear fusion, suddenly flying, an accident of fate to land here, at this moment, where his eyes had evolved to pick it up as visible light. It isn't fake, exactly, but that didn't mean it was real. He didn't think it meant much of anything.Old Thoughts from New People2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He walked along the solid yellow line on the highway, occasionally putting his arms out as if he were balancing on something precarious, embracing a childlike desire to pretend that the world around him was more than it appeared to be.
He wore a jacket despite the summer air, and his poorly cut, short black hair stuck up in an unmanicured parody of the magazines that stuck out of the bag that hung off his shoulders. He seemed at peace with things, with the silence, with the sun. The road stretched on ahead and it stretched back, but for him, it may as well have not been there. He could have been walking into the ocean. It didn'
To Bruges You know, my mother always told me that I should learn how to play their game, how to just fit in. Not one of my strong suits, I always preferred to stand out. But in this I desired isolation, of sorts; I wanted to exist on the top of a staggered rock formation looming from the seething sea, I wanted to stand there and watch the sky swirl and devour the sun, I wanted to exist in an eye of a storm. It didn’t matter what storm, just a storm, so that, if I am bothered enough, I could eject myself from my momentary haven and out into the insanity of life. I snapped my head back into focus, the stairs, right.To Bruges2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
With heavy feet and uneven gate, I managed my way up the spiraling steps, the pulsing red hue of crisis lights swallowing my face in crimson. My hair matted against the pounding rain, lungs aching from the trek, finally I found myself face to face with my door, a little slit of darkness from the peep-hole, the fading 315 hung s
Sermon"Tell me about why God's real, and I'll tell you why you're wrong."Sermon5 days 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 at 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
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.5 days 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
dubio in litteris (epistemologica)everything written was, is, wrongly classified.dubio in litteris (epistemologica)3 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The butterflyThe 7:15 alarm.The butterfly19 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Don't you just hate the 7:15 alarm? Of course you do. Everyone does.
So I was bad today. I've been good so many days in a row now that I deserve it. I snoozed until half past and grabbed my coffee from the starbucks at Michigan and 11th instead.
Thankfully I was able to find a spot, downtown Chicago traffic isn't a spacious place, least of all in the morning rush.
The Hyundai ran great, getting it was a good idea.
The roads cleared up a bit as I approached the office, and I was able to pick up some speed across the Williamsburg bridge.
At the red light at State and Adams there was a butterfly. A pretty one, with lemon wings, flapping idly in the wind.
At the next light I killed a woman.
She was crossing the road when I hit her, swerving away, but still hitting her at her left temple with my headlamp, dragging her along, killing her.
She had blond hair.
"Are you drunk, sir?" They are asking me now. The police. I insist I am not.
"Are you drunk, sir?"
The 7:15 alar
Mr. Foxworth and The Raven Haired LadyA hungry Mr. Foxworth wandered around town in hopes to find some food. However, with the lack of money in his pockets, no grocery store or restaurant would even let him inside. So, his search continued until he stumbled upon a raven haired lady with a basket of fruit.Mr. Foxworth and The Raven Haired Lady1 day ago in Short Stories More Like This
He went up to her with a sly smile and charmingly said, "Oh my, you are beautiful. Why, if your voice is even half as beautiful as your face, you must be destined for fame and fortune. Let me hear you sing."
She smiled at this flattery. And accepted the challenge eagerly. She set the basket on the ground walked over to pick up a wine glass from a table at the nearby café. The raven haired lady waled a high pitch note until the glass broke into small pieces. She stood there triumphantly with the broken glass in her hand.
However, by the time she looked up, Mr. Foxworth had already run more than a block away along with her basket of fruit. She pouted and looked down at her feet, where she found a note.
MomentsSometimes there are moments when the world should stop.Moments2 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Moments, made for the sole purpose to shock. To yell silently and falling down unconscious on the spot. To inflict suffering.
There are very many of these moments, thousands, even trillions, even more sad moments than happy moments, but I think that would not surprise anyone, right? At least not the ones who go through life without hiding their eyes behind the palms of their neighbours.
Sometimes there are moments clinging to the duration of one breath. Moments which only contain the blink of an eye.
And if one of those moments is suddenly over and the pulse starts to pound again, the blood rushes back into the ears and the throat feels sore and rough, one wonders why the world has not stood still then. Why not all people sit stunned on their knees while their hands cover up their heads and cry cry CRY.
Why the water does not freeze and the fire is immutably burning.
Why the tears don’t stick on their che
Lap Dances"Look, don't touch."Lap Dances2 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Words went unheeded.
The SensationI would love to imagine what the sensation would be like. Hot and explosive? Chilly and needle-like? Bleeding and burning? How intense will it be? Or better: how bearable would it be?The Sensation4 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
In a minute I will know that I shouldn’t waste my time. I will see my sister lying on the ground with a humongous black hole in her stomach, my mother will be wailing next to me, she will run to my sister’s side and I will be so shocked I ask myself what kind of sensation would my sister feel in that particular moment.
My mother will cry for my sister not to die, she will cling on to her, being careful not to hurt her daughter, she will say soothing words until I tell her our sister is dead for almost 20 minutes.
I will feel numbness in my entire body but I will find the strength to grab my mother gently at her shoulders and to lead her away from the corpse.
I would feel my cheeks getting wet, my eyes burning and my throat extremely soar. My chest wouldn’t be able to beat any agonizing b
STAMP Chapter 5 Part 2XXXXContains explicit and violent sexual content, so if you aren't into that I wouldn't read STAMP.XXXXSTAMP Chapter 5 Part 21 day ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
They heard the door knock and Tralion sat up, “Come in.” Maron chimed.
Nile walked in and narrowed his eyes at Tralion, “Come on it’s time to do another show.” He ordered and Tralion took the blanket off his legs and dressed, “How was it Maron?” Nile asked.
“It was good Nile, don’t hurt him too badly.” Maron said standing up and putting her shirt on.
Nile put his arm around Tralion as they left, “Don’t worry, I’ll hurt him just enough.”
His arm was heavy but Tralion could still stand up straight as they walked down the hall to the radio room, by now Tralion knew what to expect and where to sit. Maron went to her room to put a pair of shorts on before sitting in the studio.
Reynald cleared his throat and flipped on their mics, “You both look satisfied. I’ll assume it went well.”
Tower: Powerless part twoIn a blinded state I felt myself being magnetically pulled into something. The force that ushered and carried me also sent waves of energy that could rip my body into pieces. It was frightening yet magnificent.I was being engulfed by the core of the force, inside I could hear her screaming. Apatheia's voice went from a sweet intoxication to a surging horror. Memories flashed before my eyes rapidly as burning photographs, each memory hurt more and more. The fire filled my head and remained trapped behind my eyes, attempts to restrain my own cries of suffering were futile. Her scream was so loud and piercing that I pressed my hands against either side of my head, feeling as if it would violently shatter like glass.Tower: Powerless part two2 days ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It was then that I came realize that I was not blind...I was in pure darkness. Slowly being guided into what would be a probable equivalent to a black hole. My body did not resist, my mind no longer wanted to resist, I had surrendered. Seconds afterwards the fire filled my who
Twilite SnippetBetween us grew a topical understanding of wavering normalcy and its 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 Snippet5 days 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.
Cage'sPrison's exist to understand freedom.Cage's5 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
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 week 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
And now she never willA young girl had taken to wandering on a road that went from her house.And now she never will9 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
The sky was a blend of yellow as if they fields were growing into it. Golden Fields. noting ever changed.
Suddenly there was a man on the road a man she'd never seen as she'd seen no one before on these roads at all. She stood and looked at him, he wore a top had, a coat too large that it draped the ground tailing behind him. white gloves and a mask.
He in a second was upon her folding her hands into his, his masked face next to hers as if he were about to whisper something to her that would change it all. she stood silent looking into his brilliant cold eyes something shining behind them as the light left her own.
The man kept walking as he left her there laying on the road He had more things to do and no time to do them. Her golden hair streaming like rivers of gold, a small bat flew from her coat, and I have not the time to mention where it came from. just that it was her only friend in the
Stand By - iThere was a great deal of inexplicable unhappiness in my life when I first began going to therapy in my third year of high school. It, the unhappiness that is, was no one’s doing, not even my own, and yet it lingered like smoke on my clothes, in my nostrils. My teacher, Ms. Alden, mentioned to my mom one week back toward the beginning of the year that I rarely smiled in class, and that I was mostly antisocial, and although she wasn’t wrong, I had felt betrayed by the leaked information. My mom’s solution, as is the solution of many parents who simply cannot be prepared to deal with the possible shortcomings of their children, found me a therapist, and because I have always been a generally submissive daughter, I dutifully agreed to go see her. What no one will ever tell you about therapy is that often your therapist also needs to talk about something with someone. Dr. Spade, for instance, had been raped in her twenties and shook uncontrollably in her hands as a resultStand By - i3 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
Poem/Series 2013 - The Exodus of MenThe Exodus of MenPoem/Series 2013 - The Exodus of Men4 days ago in Short Stories More Like This
by James C. Wyntehr
They came by boats, by ships not land. They came here seeking, he came, a man. A man and many, he led them here. The boats and ships, of all he steer. He stood there proud, retired from the journey. And out walked men, many to lie on gurney. The dead by sea, and the life of fortune. All they were, and not a surgeon. They hit, it hit, they died, and we died. The women, children, and old all cried. It was clear, this was the end. I was wrong but foresaw the trend. And each they dropped, plopped to rest. This surely was the beginning, just a test. A test they failed, failed to see the right. Many more would join the light. I was he, the man of we. The man of misfortune, underneath a tree.