Who he is.He started out the size of a pebble. He cannot rely on himself, so he relies on another source, who steadily supplies him with what he needs. As months pass, he gradually develops so he is able to thrive. Nine months later he is unleashed into the world. Through the years, he does as is expected and does so without a doubt. It is at the age of fourteen years that he began to think of himself. He reflected. He discovered the truth.Who he is.3 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
He realized he has to cease his charade of being the person others want him to be.
He cannot do so to the extent he would like. Still he must introduce himself by the name he was born. He cannot dress the way he desires to. Constantly people try to control who he believes he is.
But he knows who he is.
He is not the girl he was officially born as. He is a guy. And he struggles to try and prove it to a world that generally disapproves.
BaptismOn this plain I walk a little farther , though somehow my skin is half underwater. I dive into the ocean, but my mouth fills up with sand. The water was never really there… I have water in my hair, though there is none on the dying grass or in the air; It’s spilling out of my brain. It’s hurting...Baptism11 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Play me again, play the notes in my mind. Play the strings that run along my face. Hold me down under the ripples until the bubbles come up a different color. Sing to me the ocean waves and I’ll flow downstream into nothingness. It’s peaceful here; I lay myself down once more. It feels good to be alone again... This is my home.
Do we live only to die? Or maybe we’re only half alive? I’ll hold my breath for another few moments, to discover I’ve been holding it all my life. I can’t breathe... I want to breathe... Water falling from the sky, water falling from my eyes, water running down my thighs, cold as fate’s bleak lullaby…
The Pocket WatchThe pocket watchThe Pocket Watch7 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
The shop had few people inside, only an old couple with there dog and a middle age hippie were browsing. Margaret, the elderly women, was expecting strange statues with an erotic look to , before seeing something shiny.
"Jason, look at this," she showed it to her husband, It was a very old pocket watch with a symbol on the back of it that she couldn't make out because of the rust. They decided to get it. The hippie saw the watch, it reminded him of his father, he strangely had one that looked exactly the same. He had died early this year and left his only son alone in the world. Roger never really like his father personally, for he was a military man and always used to bark orders and tease him during his child life. Never the less, Roger loved and respected him deeply, only wanting to make him happy. He was still grieving and hoped the record selection would make him feel better,but it seems that every where he went something would remind him of his dad.
"How much?" R
Skipping StonesJason is walking out of a construction zone, he is just going in to pick up a check. He walks by the entrance, thinking about his twentieth birthday. He thinks, what’s the use celebrating? Days pile up, and what a load I have over the years. A pile of bricks have been are trashed in a small corner near the fencing. He thought they must have fallen and gotten damaged. My house isn’t as nice because we build with broken bricks. What are we building? All my effort is wasted, for what? Another company. They’re going through a frame and all they can see is what’s inside. I may be a builder of frames, but these aren’t my entrances. He looks at the fully formed city buildings as he says it.Skipping Stones10 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
The view made Jason feel constricted. He walked on, head spinning with angry thoughts. He heads for the park. There is calmness in the sound of shaking leaves and the duck quacking that echoes in his
Colores...los colores de esta brillante habitación desaparecen una ves más en la oscuridad, pero son solo colores falsos. Ilusiones creadas atraves de laColores...10 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
luz, no importa cuanto resplandor allá, los colores están destinados a fusionarse en la oscuridad. no importa que ilusión nos de la luz, los colores
verdaderos son aquellos que no se engañan con la luz. Y no importa cuantos colores falsos pongas a mezclar con los colores verdaderos, el
resultado siempre va a ser una intensa oscuridad. Al fin y al cabo, una replica nunca vence a su original, los verdaderos e intensos colores
profundos y oscuros son los auténticos, los que vemos son copias creadas con la gracia de la luz,
la oscuridad muestra los verdaderos colores, los colores perdidos, que se esconden en el lecho de sueño más ancestral... la ''yami''.