Kiss From A RoseYesterday, I was walking down a crowded street until I found this girl standing on the corner with dark red hair. She told me her name was Rose and one day she wanted to be on Broadway. I told her I was a writer and had a dream of being published but my words weren't nearly pretty enough. They were nothing compared to her bright blue eyes that were striking enough to burn out all the stars in the sky. I had a tendency to fall short of breath but she knocked the wind out of me for an entirely different reason.Kiss From A Rose3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Later that week, we went on our first date to this small Italian restaurant where everyone had thick accents and we felt a little out of place. It didn't really matter at that point though because I was only trying to understand the strings of words she was projecting from her speaker box. I learned that she was adopted from an orphanage when she was 8 and graduated from high school when she was 16 where she finished at the top of her class. She went to a college for the performin
Story: Part 9She screamed as the knife pierced her hip. The pain spread as she felt the warmth of her blood running over her skin. There was laughter from the man by her side. He was wearing a sadistic smile as he stood over her.Story: Part 94 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He ran a finger over the wound and she gritted her teeth against the pain. He brought his hand away, his fingers tipped with the red of her blood. Running the fingers over his mouth, he smiled down at her and she could feel her stomach retching.
He ran his hand over her shoulder, pausing to finger older wounds from previous times.
"You know," he said, "It would be so much easier for you if you just behaved."
Smiling, he ran a finger around her neck and then over her collar bone. She twisted and struggled to no avail. Her mouth was gagged but she still hurled muffled insults at him. He just smiled, running his fingers over her chest, then stomach, continuing lower as she struggled. He disappeared from her vision for a second and she paused her struggle.
He reappeared down b
Untitled -Untitled -3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I opened my eyes slowly, feeling the heavy burden on my weary eyelids, saw him standing by the window and taking sips of coffee.. I found myself so feeble that I couldn't even speak. Hardly moving my trembling hand I grasped his pillow towards me slowly and placed my head on it.. felt a wave of pain cutting my head into half, I closed my eyes again. All I could hear was ticking of clock but soon it faded away in my heart beats I felt him coming towards me, he leaned over, touched the lock of hair at my forehead and . Left the room!! I wanted to scream and tell him that I'm awake, I want him to stay with me but I felt snowflakes falling slowly on my senses .. the room became empty, cold and dark .. I was freezing and was not even able to feel the blood running in my veins.. everything in front of my closed eyes was covered with snow. I tried to breathe.. tried to listen to my heartbeat but there was nothing . I wa
Dear 'Help',Dear 'Help',Dear 'Help',7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I've become frighteningly absent-minded and introspective, even more so than my regular neurotic self. I have led myself to believe I am immersed in the daunting task of transcendent universal understanding, and also comprehension of the self; and until I can understand, I will not move forward. But, in the back of my mind, I somehow feel this isn't exactly the case.
When one is allowed ample time to think, their mind becomes murky and their morals questionable. As I am contemplating philosophy alone, I permit myself to rationalize every possible concept, belief, or interest, if only briefly. I choose carefully to either accept or reject each idea. My choices are always biased, but I tend to favour things that don't involve wanton killing, hypocrisy, or bestiality.
Every day I think deeply about consciousness, my half-hearted disbe
prologue - elegyShe rests beside old weathered stone, bronzedprologue - elegy8 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
by waning day.
In the lane slow footsteps sound,
veiled by hedge and tree; echo of another tread
that will not come again.
Lazy leaves fall
soft as summer rain about her,
blurred by bitter warmth.
There are many worlds, I said, and every way that a world could possibly be is a way that some world is. And she said this world, ours, the least likely, is possible; so much I can believe, but we cannot cross over.
Can't we? I asked, for nothing impossible can be said, and these dark smudges march at my command.
Above the steeple, now in shade,
in fields beneath the miner's shale,
a distant farmer feeds his flock.
And still she sits where she once sat
with me, and we would chat of this
and that, of dreams and oceans, mist and cave;
the borders of the absent fey,
the nymphs of neverland.
Don't mock, she said, the virtual is an illusion and the meaning of my dreams eludes me. You can't catch a shadow.
Perhaps, said I, a dream is better shared?
God Is DeadGod Is Dead9 years ago in Humor More Like This
God's robes flapped around him as he looked over the edge and onto the street below.
"Don't do it! Don't do it!" cried the security guard behind him.
God said nothing, climbing onto the raised edge of the building. Five storeys below, people were beginning to take notice.
"Jesus Christ! Look!
"Oh my god!"
"Where's my camera?"
He turned and faced the security guard, who stopped walking and gazed upon the face of God. He'd been crying.
"But... why? You've got so much to live for..."
God gave a wan smile. "So have all of you."
He spread his arms wide, closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh, falling back and off the building.
* * *
A crowd was gathering around the black, sticky mess that remained of What-Once-Was Our Lord.
"Is he dead?"
"Who is it?"
"Where's my camera?"
The bystander effect was operating at maximum efficiency, causing everyone to just stand there and looked at the mangled remains. Presently, however, a fine upstan
Danu's Servant - The TaskEven with her eyelids closed the sunlight dazzled her sight. Her reluctance to wake was shadowed by the horrors of her journey. Wake up, wake up! The leaves rustled overhead, dancing their joy in the wind. She moved a hand to shelter her face before opening her eyes to the blinding sunlight. Wake up, Wake up! The voices were urgent and pressing. She needed to wake. There was still a river to cross and a Roman army to run from. Her eyes slowly opened to allow them to adjust to the light and she removed her hand, letting her gaze focus on the play of leaves above her. All to suddenly she was aware of the weariness that filled her leaden limbs. She felt weak and tired and hungry, but had not all her fasting to commune with her gods prepared her for this? Her mind strayed to her teacher and back to the grove. The robes, the oaks, the words of invocation, and suddenly his face as his mouth formed into an O and the light in his eyes guttered when his life source stained his robDanu's Servant - The Task3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
ObserversSarahs car failed on the 90 during morning rush hour. She had just enough juice left to wrestle the Toyota into the breakdown lane, where it died without drama. When the dash went dark and the A/C sighed off she knew shed be late for work. Again.Observers5 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
The Robot found her less than fifteen minutes later. She reclined on the hood of the traitorous Toyota, chain-smoking Camels and watching traffic scream by at 80 miles per hour. The damned car didnt even have enough power for a Northstar call, and of course, shed forgotten her cell phone in the rush to get ready for work. Nothing left to do but relax, smoke, and wait for help.
The Robot was not help. In fact, it was the last thing she wanted on this shitty Tuesday morning. Nevertheless it approached her, its tiny coffee-can body glowing that inscrutable blue glow.
Hi yourself, she jetted a stre
Stop.Stop, says a voice.Stop.8 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I stop and look around. I'm in-doors in what appears to be a basement. There is a single, dim light bulb that is suspended from the ceiling on a long wire. Nothing else is in the room except a door. My clothes feel wet and for a second I'm surprised that I'm wearing anything at all. I look down and see that I'm wearing a double breasted sports jacket that isn't buttoned, and a grey button up shirt underneath it with a bow-tie that is un-done. I'm also wearing black pinstriped suit pants and highly shined black shoes. Due to my confusion, I have forgotten the wetness I felt, so I examine further to see what seems to be bloodstains, still wet, pockmarked all over the belly of my shirt.
You have amnesia, I'm here to help you, says the voice. It's in my head.
"How did I—"
I don't know, I got here when you did, the voice cuts in.
"Big help you are," I say with contempt.
Try the door, Voice says, ignoring my
The SandwichMy sandwich is getting cold. It lies halfway to my mouth, dangling there between my hands as I stare at someone over the toasted white bread. It doesnt matter that its toasted, its soggy now with soaking up the mustard and peanut butter. Dont ask why I have a toasted mustard and peanut butter sandwich, I dont even like peanut butter. Ive thought for the past five minutes to just get up and give it to the man across from me, who sits on a bench staring at my sandwich.The Sandwich5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
His clothes are all brown with compacted dirt and mud; his dog, too. Perhaps they can share the sandwich. If I had been sitting with a friend, wed make a bet to see if hed share it or just eat it by himself. But if I had been sitting with a friend, had I any, Im sure I wouldnt be staring at a homeless man, or eating a mustard and peanut butter sandwich to begin with.
I begin to wonder what hed think
Out of ControlIt's 6:46 and thirty-one seconds when the doorbell rings. My mom runs to answer it.Out of Control7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"Hi, Michelle!" I hear my mom call. It's my sister. She left her college friends to have dinner with us tonight.
I have four minutes before I can go out and greet her. I can only walk through doors when the number of minutes is divisible by five. 6:46 and fifty-nine seconds. Not happening.
It's the killer of what could be an okay life. I'm late for class all the time when I'm at school. A teacher will let me out at 1:50 exactly. I walk through the hallways in a straight line, starting with my right foot, ending with my left. I reach the door, but it's too late: 1:56. I lurk outside for four minutes before I can walk in. Late again.
Or I'll have a doctor's appointment. Do you have any idea of how many doors there are in a doctor's office? It takes me tw
2669-B2669-B7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
In the early hours, when he is still asleep, she begins counting the tiny black and white tiles plastered to the ceiling of their flat. Some are chipped, some are covered by a layer of dust, and some are not tiles at all, but cockroaches in disguise. By 143 he has stretched his arms and kissed her neck, by 206 he has tied his shoes and lit a cigarette, and by 262 he's always gone. She knows that the smell of coffee will dissipate by 329 and that if she can bother getting out of bed to call her worried mom for once, or even just go to the damn bathroom, he will be back by 2338.
If she counts slowly.
Sometimes, late at night, when she has named all of the constellations she knows without the familiar sound of his second-hand car pulling into their garage, she likes to sit and ponder, with a bottle of Jack Daniels, where she went wrong. She wonders if by living here with him she's wasting away the best years of her life, years she could have spent at college in order to get a job and b