Your MoveAll Im saying, she frowned, uncrossing and recrossing her legs under the table, is that he shouldve been a man about it. I dont see why he couldnt say it to my face. You just dont do that sort of thing over the phone. Not after eight months! Rook to C8.
He nodded, readjusting his glasses as shed found that he was apt to do when shed made a move he didnt expect. That does seem really cheap, he admitted, peering down at the board like an old man. Did he give you a reason at all? Rook to C1.
She let out a huffy breath and tossed one of her long braids over her shoulder, immediately drawing it back to run her hands over while she thought. Yes. Her hand fluttered over her rook for a moment before she drew it back, eyes darting around the board as she guessed at the succession of moves that would follow that choice. He said she trailed off, tightening her lips and gra
lie to me.Ilie to me.6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
am the way a child knows without being told that her father will never return home. (I am the reason why the fatal moment strikes hershe is too young to understand what the hurt means but old enough to feel it.)
am the way a husband's heart stops when his wife takes her last breath. (I am the reason why their hearts beat in tandem, why his arrests along with hers.)
am the way you felt when your brother died, in a cold hospital bed too many miles away from you. (I am the reason why your heart broke when you realized that your bones and marrow and prayer did not save him.)
am nothing like death. Death wants nothing to do with you, is concerned only with his own work, is only a silent whirlwind, uncaring. Death walks in the dark and leads your loves away, and does not once look back.
but I look back.
I am the one who lingers after death comes to call, who stays to whisper and to mourn. I am the one who understands you. I have tasted your sorrow, I have known your ways; I am
Yours and MineWe never got those towels his and hers. Those matching pajamas. Our pillows didnt even match, which I know irked you. Sometimes I wonder if you woke up every morning and immediately felt cross because of my pillow, and yours. Yours and mine.Yours and Mine6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
But if you did, you never showed it. You woke me with a kiss and a smile more radiant than the sunrise that we never saw, nestled deeply as we were in the jungle of apartment buildings. Perhaps, then, you were cross about many things. The way I never put away my shoes, so you always were tripping over them; the way I didnt replace the toilet paper when we ran out; the way I wouldnt write mustard on the grocery list when I used the last of it. If it bothered you, you never said it. I had my flaws, and you had yours. Yours and mine.
I suppose its best we didnt get those towels, those pajamas, matching pillows. Even now little things remind me of you, things that didnt used to have any
several confessions.i.several confessions.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I admit that sometimes I want you.
I admit that sometimes I watch you from the corner of my eye, watch you to make sure you are watching me as I smile at someone else. I laugh effortlessly, stretch, sweep back my hair, and hope that to you it looks real.
On days like this, every movement I make is calculated, designed to taunt you. On days like this I am weak, worthless, easily conqueredone touch, one glance would ruin me. And then I look at you again and want to be conquered.
I admit that you make me breathe faster. My lungs respond to your nearness with panic because to me you are a threat. You are a predator, you are dangerous, you are a reason for adrenaline. Human bodies perform better when they are afraid and I am afraid (of what you do to me) of you.
I admit that I believe we are a possibility, because you are beautiful and I am beautiful and together we would be explosive. Once I heard someone say that we should be together, and secretly my b
inchworm.I have a riddle for you, you said, and I smiled,inchworm.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
twisting my hair in my fingers.
good. I like riddles.
if theres a worm, you said, stuck at the bottom of a thirty-foot well,
and every day he climbs two feet up and
every night he slides one foot down
he gets out of the well on the twenty-ninth day, I said.
I know that one.
I have one for you.
you sat back a little and your lips twitched.
okay, you said, hesitantly.
if theres this relationship, I said,
stuck in a huge rut,
and every day it takes one step forward and
three steps back,
when does it reach the point that I can trust you again?
fairytales"Mira, if you don't open this door this instant, I'm going to break through your window."fairytales4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Peter, I'm reading."
"Tell me something I don't know. I'm serious. Open the door. We're going out. As in outside. As in into the real world."
"I can't. I'm just getting"
"To the good part. I know. And I don't really care right now. For the last time, open the door."
"No, Peter! I'm sick of you telling me what to do."
"You're being unfair, and we both know it. There's only one thing I ever tell you to do and you ignore me anyways, so it's irrelevant."
"I reserve the right to make my own judgments. I'm an adult."
"No, you're not. You're like some starry-eyed kindergartener. Stuck inin a fairytale world!"
"Then my fairytale world suits me just fine."
"Mira. Please. The rest of the world is moving on without you. Grow up."
"You know what's unfair, Peter Killinger? You telling me to 'grow up' all the time when you only treat me like a little kid!"
"Don't slam things around. What are
I try to hold on . . . Another scream tears through the air. I run toward it. Ansel, AnselI try to hold on . . .4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He's on the ground, not moving, moaning to himself. He lost his gun somewhere. What happened?
"Ansel!" I shout, collapsing on the ground next to him. His black hair sticks to his perspiring forehead, his grimy face twisted in pain. Blood trickles down the corner of his lip.
He starts shaking, cracking open his blue eyes. "Ri Riley. Go on. With the others."
"I'm not leaving you," I say. I set down my gun and scan the rest of his body. The blood is pooling around his torso, but I can't see the wound. Breathing through my mouth and looking at anything but the growing red puddle, I start to yank off his battered old jacket.
Ansel winces and grits his teeth. "Riley don't" He gags, then turns his head and throws up more red.
I start hyperventilating. "Danielle!" I scream, taking out my knife and cutting away Ansel's shirt. My hands shake so m
Genre Meme - Part ThreeDystopianGenre Meme - Part Three4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Kit put her hood up against the harsh cold winds coming up behind her, and the light drizzle that was starting. She muttered a cuss word under her breath. It was picking up, beating down on her and flooding her battered boots. Another storm was all they needed when they'd only just fixed the camp after the last one. Picking up her pace and breaking into a sprint, she ducked under a corrugated iron canopy and stood panting a little to wait out the shower. It wouldn't last long they came in fits and bursts for a while and she could make a break for the camp soon after.
She shouldn't have gone out so far into the city, but she always did. It was the Academy she went to see everyone knew that. "Stupid waste of time Kit," they'd tell her. "What'd you wanna look at those Learners for anyway? Think they spend their spare time looking out for us?" Probably not, she thought as she stared out at the dismal, ruined landscape around her. But fo
Seven YearsWheres Daddy going?Seven Years8 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Quiet. Mommys busy. The harsh rake of a metal zipper closing. The girl carefully lays her bear on the bed covers, then picks him up again.
When will he be back?
When hes finished.
Finished doing what hes doing.
What is he doing? Her mother pulls the curtains, shutting out the dull, feeble light of the muted sun.
So many damn questions. The squeak of the springs as she lifts the heavy suitcase off of the sagging mattress.
Will he be back for my birthday? The timid voice questions.
No? But he said he would get me a bike, a blue one, we saw it in the window and he said I could have it for my birthd-
No. He wont be back for your birthday.
Im getting old, arent I mommy? she asks proudly.
Old? Hell, youre only six. A raspy laugh, a smoker
Rain BootJon? she called down the stairs, without looking away from the mirror she leaned towards, carefully applying mascara to neatly curled lashes. She had one stocking on, and a pair of sensible black pumps were tossed haphazardly on the counter, dangerously close to the curling iron. Jon, is it still raining? There was the comfortable sound of sock-footed footfalls from downstairs and the creak of the heavy front door being pulled open. A muffled pattering of rain was answer enough.Rain Boot6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Yeah, Jon called up the stairs. Its really coming down. You sure you dont want me to drive you?
Yeah, she called back down, trying to cap the mascara and succeeding only in putting a heavy line of black down the palm of her hand. She cursed quietly to herself and scrabbled for her makeup remover in the medicine cabinet. Ill be fine, the sedans four-wheel drive.
She heard the clink of a spoon against a ceramic mug and
Death's BalladShatter the air, my love;Death's Ballad4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
breathe into it
tendrils that bend
to the will of the moon;
a confessional tide,
silent from a distance;
rushing, crashing on
the sands of transgression.
Burst like a bubble, my love;
lie on the coast
like sea foam fading
from the wave that left it there.
Open your chest
until steam rises from it;
until parasitic life crawls out
and at last abandons its host.
Sink into the ript
Sleds, Snow, and Hot ChocolateProsper would have burst into laughter at the picture before him had he not been absolutely positive that said action would earn him a snowball to the face. Blaire was sitting on bright yellow sled , bundled up in at least fifty layers, wearing the expression of a five year old recently given an ice cream cone. The sled, in turn, was poised at the top of a large, rather daunting looking hill, and Blaire was attempting to convince him to go sledding with her.Sleds, Snow, and Hot Chocolate5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Pleeeeease!" She continued, adopting a pout onto her formerly excited face.
"I'm wearing sweatpants," He pointed out, "Cloth sweatpants."
"Oh, suck it up, you baby," Blaire countered, which impressed Prosper quite a bit, since it usually took a lot more for her to start insulting him.
"What, and walk two miles home in soaking wet britches?" He questioned, "I'll pass on that."
"Fine." She said, sulking, "then at least help me up." She held out a hand to him, which Prosper was a little reluctant to take, since Blaire relenting in so
Gutter- CaughtNemi crept into the room, keeping her eyes underneath the swaying cloth to check for any shadows that would signify a guard, or, worse, the captain. She reached the desk, finally, and looked down at it- the desk was made of a dark brown, almost black wood, with designs on the sides and fronts of the drawers set into the sides of the desk. Nemi could tell with one glance that this desk was expensive. The kind of desk that she doubted could be afforded when one was making a living transporting food to and from markets.Gutter- Caught4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Calm down, she told herself, so he inherited a nice desk or something. Don't be rash.
Because sneaking into a guarded ship in the middle of the night isn't rash. A rather sneaky voice in her head sarcastically noted.
Nemi ignored this revelation and her trepidation over the desk and began slowly opening the drawers in the sides of the desk, seeing as the top was bare save for a flickering candle and an ornate wax seal. The first drawer she tried opened
if we are to die tonight: Endgame quickwriteShe sleeps with the gun in the crook of her arm, clutched as close as a lover. She wants to leave it but can't bear to, because the only thing she dreams about now is an attack in the night.if we are to die tonight: Endgame quickwrite3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She can see it, almost taste it, with awful clarity. The way the night air feels on cold skin. The way the glow cubes have faded, casting shifting, obscuring shadows. The way his face looks when he hears their approach in the dark, too close and too fast for any escape.
She has memorized the sound of his voice as he shouts. "Get out," he says, leaping to his feet. "Go!" She sees him set his weapon to his shoulder as if time has slowed. The motion takes years.
She has exactly four seconds to stare at his back--the muscles under the jacket, the thick dark hair that curls just slightly at his neck, the way his knees bend and his arms tense as he braces himself for death.
She can name the moment she cries "No," like a fool, like a sentimental fool who has no place in this game. She can feel the twist o
tangere: to touchtangere: to touch6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Dance with me, he says, and offers his hand.
But I dont know this song, she says, looking doubtfully at him from her chair.
I do. And anyways the gentleman is supposed to lead. She laughs.
All right then. But are you sure?
You should be ashamed of yourself, he says severely. Dont you have any faith?
In you? No. But she takes his hand even as she speaks and lets him help her up. He grins like a boy.
Ah, quite the daredevil, to do such a terrifying thing as dancing, and with a man you dont even trust.
I was always a fool, she tells him, with a smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes.
Tightrope I decided now that I am a dare-devil, a risk-taker, someone who loves to look a challenge in the eye. There's a large chance that it is because of my pride that I cannot pass up any type of provocation, or it may just be a way for me to inject some excitement into a previously dull life.Tightrope5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I know now that the greatest challenge I ever took on was you. You were dangerous and extreme, throwing sparks off into a black, boring scene, and being with you was like foolishly walking over a tightrope with no past experience. Never knowing how much danger there truly is until, looking down, the world is so many feet below. With you, the adrenaline was always present- the sparks that you so easily threw off became fireworks when we were together.
I understand now why we could never be happy together. A person can never truly trust that they are not going to fall off the tightrope, and in the same way, I could not trust you. You blazed through my life, spout
EPIC: in which they are short a bed"Oh, for heaven's!"EPIC: in which they are short a bed3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Robin, straining with her shoulder to the massive wooden door, managed finally to shove it closed and wedge the rusted latch into place before turning to see what had prompted Matthew's exasperated outburst.
"They only gave us one bed," he explained with a helpless gesture. "Again."
Robin shut her eyes briefly and tried to breathe slowly. "Why," she said, "do they always assume we're together?"
Matthew scowled and kicked a bedpost. "Given how often we try to kill each other, you'd think they'd get the hint. Alright, fine, I'll sleep on the floor."
Robin let out a most unattractive snort that she tried, belatedly, to pass off as a cough. Matthew, not taken in, thumped her on the back with unnecessary gusto, making her actually cough. "You're just going to wake up in the morning whining about how cold you were and how sore your back is and how you couldn't possibly walk for another whole day after huddling miserably on the floorboards all night," she said, with
The Biased Help Wanted SignOnce again, the Help Wanted sign had been set up in the shop window. It sat between a teddy bear with short brown fur and a doll with Snow White's hair and green glass eyes, looking out at the street and the people passing by Leo's Toyshop.The Biased Help Wanted Sign5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The shop was very old; the name on it's signboard was fading slowly, and it's owner's face showed some new wrinkles every day. Supported by his wooden walking stick Leo stood behind the window display and looked out with a worried expression. Nine years the last boy had stayed with him, until he had to leave town to live with his new wife. It would be difficult to replace him.
"What about this one? She looks nice," said the doll one afternoon.
"She looks a bit like you," grumbled the bear.
"And she is useless," replied the sign.
A middle-aged woman stopped in front of the shop window to look at them. She had dark black hair and green eyes edged with lines of sorrow and short nights. "That doll looks acceptable. I think I will buy her for my niece's
yours and mineyours and mine5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
At first she hadn't minded how empty the house felt when he was gone. While she stayed up, waiting for him, she would imagine the colors they'd use to paint the blank walls, the pictures they would put on the bare shelves. We will make this a home, she had thought, smiling to herself, and when he came in at last she would put her arms around him and smile for him too.
As the months wore on, the walls were painted one by one, and the frames were gradually filled, and she began to believe that they would be alright. But still he worked late, and still she waited for him, staring at the rows of pictures while her coffee grew cold in her hands. She began to notice the silence, and to be uncomfortable in it. It was harder to smile when he opened the door.
And painfully the first few months in their new house stretched into the first few years, and he left work later and later until she started eating dinner without him, washing her plate with only the television for compan
50 Words1. Comfort50 Words4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Prosper knew nothing would ever be as comfortable as having Blaire wrapped up in his arms.
Prosper leaned in again because just one kiss was never enough.
When Blaire kept gushing over how soft Marshmallow's fur was Prosper made a note to buy a new conditioner.
Prosper had always prided himself on being strong and that why he would never admit, even to himself, how seeing Blaire in pain made him turn into a puddle of goo.
It was all fun and games until they had to wash the mashed potatoes out of their hair.
Prosper couldn't help but laugh out loud when Blaire fell onto the soaked grass with a squeal.
Chocolate was always best when mixed with milk and topped with marshmallows.
Looking down at the girl curled up in his lap, Prosper knew what true happiness was like.
"So, what are you wearing?" Prosper asked, not being able to hide the smile when he heard Blaire snort on the other end.
fairgroundsfairgrounds4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
We make our farewells at the fairground, and the ferriswheel spin of our days and nights grinds to a cold and silent halt. But, you promise, we will have one last ride. One last day to ourselves. One last day to remember.
And in the crushing golden haze of summer's dying days, we leave our regrets with the sullen ticket sellers, the sullen customers, the sullen children squirming in the heat. We laugh past them like the summer breeze and pretend to be happier than they could ever be.
We enter the raw cacophony of it together. Our brightly pasted smiles belong instantly, wholly, to the savage relentless pursuit of amusement that ebbs around us. We are drawn inescapably into it, absorbed by the press of hot hungry bodies. In the crowd your hands find me as they always have, but a couple slides snakelike between us and you slip from my side. The people swallow you, accept you as only another booth in their endless milling quest for fulfillment, and in the glow of their shining faces, I lo
Suffer "Oh! Woe is me, that thy piggy friends did insult me with such fervor!" Milo declared dramatically, throwing a hand in the air, the other placed over his heart. The girl sitting on the bed in front of him did not look amused, however, her pretty face anxious instead.Suffer5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
As people went, these two were as different as could possibly be. Where Milo was ever the dramatic one with his erratic behavior, Ann preferred to blend into the crowd, letting only those who were close to her know how different she truly was from the norm. His friends thought she was boring- her friends thought he was childish and annoying. Ann thought Milo was unique, with a contagious and sweet personality- Milo thought Ann was mysterious and alluring, and altogether perfect.
"I'm so sorry about that," Ann said sincerely but softly, eyes on the floor and a guilty expression on her face, "My friends- they're terrible." Milo looked over at her, and, noticing the tears in her eyes, padded over
The DoctorThe doctor tutted, shaking his head and letting out an exasperated sigh.The Doctor3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Honestly, we have next to nothing to work with these days." He murmured, grasping the girl's chin and pulling it upwards so he could look more clearly into her face. "Brown eyes, brown hair... too commonplace. What I wouldn't give for a honest-to-God natural blonde or a redhead. Everyone's getting sick of all the dyed products we've had to make. Ugh. Well, give this one some blue eyes. Keep the freckles; maybe they'll add something more natural to her."
The young man, eighteen at most, who had brought the girl into the room, nodded. He gently lifted the slender figure off the ground- the girl's head lolling against his shoulder as he did so- and to her feet, wrapping an arm around her waist to support her.
"Jude, I have too many appointments today to watch you take your time with this. Drag it if you must, but hurry."
Jude nodded again, keeping his head down so the good Doctor wouldn't see th
Something Was Bound to Go Right"Do you believe in reincarnation?" Victor asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence in the car. His dark hair nearly blended into the dark sky behind him. Taylor hadn't even noticed he had rolled down the window.Something Was Bound to Go Right2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"I have the heat on, idiot," she muttered, rolling up the window from her side. Victor jerked his arm out of the way just before the window rolled up fully, and turned to regard her half-hearted glare with a grin.
"C'mon. Reincarnation. You. Sound legit?"
"No," Taylor said, rolling her eyes. "There's just no way it's possible. And I know you don't believe in reincarnation, either. You've told me that before, when you were taking Religious Studies."
"Well, yeah, that Hindu thing was nuts, but I would've liked to know who I was," Victor said cheerily, tapping his fingers on the car window, watching the cars zoom past him. His fingers twitched towards the window button, and Taylor pre-emptively put her finger on the button on her side, keeping one hand on the wheel.
The Reassurance of GreenIt was Ella's idea to hire a gardener for my mother's tulips.The Reassurance of Green2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"I've been doing fine with them," I had said, a little surprised at the sudden suggestion. My sister had looked pointedly at the small patch of tulips that had previously encompassed the whole side yard. They were already dying, and the bulbs would have to be planted again soon. I had been planning an intense Internet search for that.
"I'd like to see you do better," I had muttered, but agreed nonetheless. I left the actual hiring to my sister, though.
Which led me to this moment, staring at a stranger on my doorstep and hoping rather desperately that there had been a mistake and he was not, in fact, the gardener my sister had hired.
"Can you… wait here, for a moment?" I asked the man. He nodded, clasping his dirt-encrusted gloves in one hand, and tugging at his ponytail with the other. I scurried inside.
Ella was supremely unconcerned.
"Who cares if he's dirty?" she asked, looking torn between amusement and exasperation. "G