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
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 Sandwich6 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
HollowIn the darkening twilight, I often find myself... lost. Memory disintegrates, personality withers, and the touch of plastic feels strange on my skin. The dark sucks in my soul, reels it in like a drifting trout, and hangs it up to dry next to hundreds of others like it. We dry, slowly, blowing in the false breeze, absorbing the taste of smoke and salt. How long we hang, I don't know. But, when I'm abruptly cut down and thrown back into the water, the sensation is like a gasp. Moisture soaks into my skin, and I'm within myself again, though shrunken and empty from the change.Hollow4 years ago in Horror More Like This
We are not human. Oh, yes, on the outside we appear so. But look at us sideways, and there's a glimmer, a sheen that's not natural. It clings to our skin, as if we've been left so long in the cold that the essence touches us still, revealing us as "different". It's a mark of pride, a mark of shame, yet we wear it with a diffidence that would make a movie star burn with envy. Each step, each touch, comes away cold &
ThiefLies, he told me as I sipped a tart, Apple Burst tea. Apple Burst, they called it, and I thought it appropriate.Thief5 years ago in Erotic More Like This
His hand slipped.
It Burst to the floor, abandoning the liquid in Apple-blood flames.
I wont tolerate all of this flavor, he claimed, a slender, coarse finger circling the rim. My hand remained still, in a death grip, to an invisible frame.
I reached out for him, an apologetic reply hanging on my tongue.
No, he turned to me, his hand grazing my throat, veins swelling from his skin. You were never sorry, he griped, thrashing out a menacing look.
My heart hung from a wire.
And he was weaving it through.
I swallowed halfway. Halfway, it was, like he held a notch in my throat; this light-switch life, at his leisure to disengage.
Hurt? Sarcastic pity glossed over his eyes. I looked at him, my night in shining armor, once strong enough to hold his own sword. What weighed on him now? The poison resentment, serve
the dish didn't run awayi think, if i had to choose between porcelain eyes and plastic teeth, i'd curl up in the silverware drawer and listen to the sound of the dishwasher screaming. i'd try to pay attention to what the forks were picking apart, or what the spoons were dishing out, or what the knives were viciously ripping apart, and i'd try to see if any of their petty rumors and shit-talking were about me and my fragile state.the dish didn't run away5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
i'd listen to see if the plates in the cupboard were talking about the bedside lamp upstairs, or if the chandelier in the dining room was talking about the fish swimming lethargically in the bowl on the counter, and how the orange one had gotten so fat, and the white one looked like it needed to eat a fucking sandwich, you could see her ribs. i'd try not to think about my bony hips against yours.
i'd hear the pillows on the couch in the living room talking about how the front door is having an affair with the window, even though the window is supposed to be dating the dishwasher. wou
Taboo: In Each Other's Arms"You're too old", she said, crying.Taboo: In Each Other's Arms2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Stuck in the MomentTheres no laughter anymore.Stuck in the Moment5 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Not in this house. Not in 4 years.
Faded squares line the walls and there are no dirty soccer shoes by the back door.
Instead theyre in a box in the shed though she gave the bike and [most of] his clothes to the city mission.
His picture sits alone atop the piano he whined about playing.
His room is now the craft room though on the east wall hangs a shelf.
Momma calls it her memory shelf but whenever I dare to look that way I swear its a shrine.
He would have been 17 this year but tragedy keeps him forever 13.
She clutches the tattered blanket he hadnt used in years and weeps when Kenny Chesney comes on the radio.
I moved out 14 months ago.
I miss him too, Momma, but I cant do this anymore.
I cant live here.
I cant be here anymore.
Especially when I can still feel him in the halls because you won't let him go.
if i.if i were a bird, i think i'd be a pigeon. i can't remember why i think that, but i just remember i do. maybe it's because they are dirty, and when they talk, no one understands them. i know you don't understand me.if i.5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
if i told you i cried a lot at stupid things, like when i see an empty mailbox with the flag up, or a turned over tea mug, you'd laugh and say that it would pass in time. with you, everything passes in time. gall stones, the flu, and me.
if i were brave, i'd tell you i dream about you, but you're a coyote, and you lead me to the desert, where you're always on the horizon between cacti and the joshua trees. and then you flop over, scream, and die. i always wake up crying.
if i could breathe, i'd inhale like you do, sucking in the world, and exhaling a better one. you lie with a seashell heart between broken ribs, and you sing lullabies about finding a child's grave. i secretly find you beautiful.
if i weren't me, i'd be better. i'd sit in black candle trees and whisper secre
Six word storySix word story5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Hoping this road leads you home
make me blue foreverwe had sex between empty boxes on the floormake me blue forever2 years ago in Letters More Like This
and the scent of vanilla and dragon's blood incense
made everything seem more vacant than it had to be.
the room was cool but too warm beneath his skin,
between his and mine. the ashtray was half-full,
i noticed, as we moved across the floor,
and the smell of summer dying
was coasting through an open window. i became
infatuated with the knowledge that fall was coming.
soon it would be cold. i could smoke,stare at the sky
and maybe i'd stop purging. maybe
i'd commit to health, stop cutting and anxiety.
maybe i would change.
or maybe i'd keep promising myself that until next fall.
all the while, i am changing, just not in ways i want.
i corrode internally. i turn so blue that i begin to
fade into the sky.
he grabs my hips and moves me, tipping me up
and steadying me to ride him, the phosphorescence
of the quiet bright room seemingly ingested by me.
Just in caseI woke this morning with you on my mind.Just in case5 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
In case I forget,
I wanted to say thank you.
For listening to me rant.
For telling me your secrets.
For trusting me.
For sharing when you didnt have to.
For holding me when I didnt know I needed it.
For asking about me.
For saving me a seat.
For giving me the blunt truth.
For letting me be honest with you.
For being my friend.
For thinking of me first.
For believing in me.
For calling just to say hi.
For calling me when you needed me.
For letting me help.
For encouraging me to laugh.
For the happy dance when I got to 16 pages.
For bringing me Dew and Ice Cream.
For being excited with me.
For supporting me in my dark places.
For that gentle smile across the way.
In case I forget to say it,
I love you.
Together ForeverIsnt it beautiful, my darling?Together Forever5 years ago in Horror More Like This
Staring up at the window I cant help but smile.
In these last few beatings of our hearts,
you can see the rightness of it all. You can see what Ive seen for so long.
My only regret is that I wont be able to put both our hearts together in a box and save them.
Wouldnt that be the best?
Your heart snuggled with mine?
Well, well just have to settle for our bodies intertwined.
See? Its not so bad.
Id say something about how if you hadnt fought so hard it wouldnt have hurt so much,
but you made such a marvelous spray of your lifes blood, I cant scold you in the least.
Even now I couldnt tell whose hand print that is.
I could not ask for a better final act.
Each twitch of your body confirms your love for me.
Ill take that knowledge to the grave.
Thats it, my darling.
Were almost there...
crumbling,i have been awake for fifteen minutes.crumbling,2 years ago in Letters More Like This
your mouth in the crook of my neck feels
very much like sunlight, very much like i am
seeing things, schizophrenic and blue, hands shaking
like when i drive your car without looking at your body,
multicoloured and alive, listless in the front seat,
our music playing, breathing in the smell of leaves, of warmth.
your voice in my ear, you finding me in a crowd of people,
this is me remembering how lucky i am, how i am
more fortunate than i'd like to admit, knowing that
bleeding does not really hurt, exactly, because you cannot
comprehend the strength of the mind, a queen in feathers
and dark gowns, bird sitting in a bath of blood, surrounded
by fields of wire, broken teeth, smiling men who touch small windows
small windows closed by governments and purity and faith.
some days i was ripping out my vessels with nail scissors, i was
prescribed between swallows, the ebony crushing noises
of my throat making the same hacking choke
that comes throughthe s
Insert Title HereThe officer who told you was nice,Insert Title Here4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
he caught you when your knees buckled
sat you down across from him, and offered you
a feeble 'is there someone I can call for you?'
a mug of undetermined liquid in front of you
it could have been tea, coffee, you never tasted it.
He watched you for a while, shifting uncomfortably,
The silence then seemed to ache around you,
the clock's arms creaked with each second,
the faucet bled slowly into the sink,
each drop reverberated slowly through the air.
Your father's key in the lock scratched through
into the fog that had settled.
You father pushed the kitchen door open with his foot
and stumbled in, arms full of unimportance,
milk, bread, other things which no longer bothered you.
His complaints broke the aching silence,
although you didn't really hear him.
Something about how miserable the weather was,
or how busy the supermarket had been,
trivialities you know had been buried in the rubble
when I had brought your world crashing down around you.
bird wings.theres a girl who has irses the colour of running ink. she covers canvasses with blood-red paint and covers note books in everything she wishes she could be. hanging red canvasses on the blue walls in her room sometimes make her feel as though she's burning. when she comes home from school she lays on her bed and she cries, burning from the inside out.bird wings.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
theres a girl who spends her nights curled in a ball, in the park behind her house. her cheeks are decorated in purple-blue-black bruises and her tights are ripped. i want to hold her to my chest and run my fingers through her sienna hair; hold her hands and kiss her fingers. i want to protect her, keep her in a cage and make sure that no one can get in.
there's a girl who has sand through her hair, and dirt underneath her fingernails. she reminds me of long, crashing waves that you see at the ocean. the kind that you can't fight, the kind that looks so gentle and calm until they finally reach the shore; then they fall and break. vio
My Personal Prison"What do you remember?" The new voice whispered softly from across the way.My Personal Prison4 years ago in Horror More Like This
"Pain, mostly." The words seem to echo forever off the brick walls.
I barely heard the third voice shushing quietly before all the voices thankfully stopped. It wasn't silent though. I could still hear ragged agonized breaths, water dripping in the distance, the scurrying and pausing of rats and the movement of pained flesh against rough stone.
We rarely spoke in the dungeon as the punishment was too severe. Not from the guards, though that happened often as well, but from the guilt within us. It was better not to know another's assumed crime and therefore better not to give precious sympathy. Sooner or later we would all die here though most down in this hell wish it had already come.
It was better to suffer in silence. The new voice would learn all too soon.
That's the joke isnt itCrazy mad.That's the joke isnt it5 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
Eating me alive,
Loving every minutes of it.
You made me like this.
Not you but your kind: Cold and callous,
not understanding the why but only what you see.
I despise you yet I can't get enough.
That's the joke isn't it? I just wonder
which of us will be the punch line?
Ghost of You.The funny thing about living is that you inescapably live to die. You live to experience, to feel, to love, to dream, to become and to accomplish and eventually to die. Everyone who lives will die. It is a goal everyone will reach, no matter if you set it or not.Ghost of You.6 years ago in Spiritual & Occult More Like This
I woke up that morning thinking it would be like every other morning. And it was for a while. I got up from bed and walked into the bathroom. It was 11:00 am. I didnt have to leave until 12:30 so I was good to go in the time department.
As I stepped out of the shower I realized that my back was killing me. Pain shot through me and I was helpless against it. I decided it must have been where I slept in a bad position and dismissed it without further complaining. But it hurt so badly. Where was the pain coming from?
I dried myself off and ignored the pain. A quick glance in the mirror made me freeze. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and wondered how I became this person I was staring at. I didnt treat my girl
Plagiary Poet:The Ginger MingeScents of passion, excess, and wanton-hearted greed filled the rooms; rooms upon rooms drowning themselves in purely non-vestal lust, yet lacking in sexual desire; a place, where the way to ones heart is only as deep and treacherous as the path to the bottom of your well-lined pockets. This place, this smoky, strobe-lit, glitter-dazzled place, was the home of my Nancy, my paramour, my love; the place where my love was birthed, the place where my love was murdered; murdered, by a scandalous tragedy behind a mask of green-glassed jealousy. This place, her place, was a cathedral to the tramps, a parody of chaos in a stapled-down, milk-toast society. This place was The Ginger Minge.Plagiary Poet:The Ginger Minge5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The greatest thing youll ever learn is to love and be loved in return.
The sounds of SpringYou came over this morning for coffee and conversation.The sounds of Spring5 years ago in Horror More Like This
We were sitting on the couch when you started to tell
of your current beau.
How sweet his love was.
How his honey was the best youd ever tasted.
How warm and safe his arms made you feel.
Outside a robin started to sing and you smiled as
the sound filtered into the house.
I smiled back and rose, heading for my bedroom.
I then went outside and, 38 in hand, blew the robin away.
It was about that time that you opted not to continue on with your
tale of endearing love and sappiness instead making a hasty exit.
As for me I need to post this quick.
The police should be here soon and I need to clean up the feathers strewn across my lawn.
a vigilanteShe lights her extra long, extra thin cigarette and it hangs between her blotchy lips that look like theyve been painted in watercolor. He looks at himself in her mirror lensed sunglasses, and smoke curls from her nostrils and drifts to the cloud forming above her head.a vigilante6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
You still pay by the hour, regardless of whether were doing anything, she tells him, and reaches over to grab another breadstick.
He orders more wine.
Was your mother present in your life as a little girl? he asks. Her lips frown around the cigarette. There were too many guys in this city with mommy issues, she had to tell too many of them to clean their rooms while she rode them.
What was your favorite hobby in grade school? she probably should say something sexy, but instead she says:
I used to play violin.
Why did you stop?
Why wouldnt I? People only play the violin to get paid. She even expects pay for something
i dont understandhave you ever woken up and not thought anything at all?i dont understand5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
somtimes i find myself thinking that 'it'd be fun to go and stand out in the rain' so i do. but once i'm out there i find myself thinking, 'wouldn't it be invigorating to take off my clothes' so i do. but once i've done that, i find myself thinking 'wouldn't it be beautiful to climb on the rooftop', so i do. and then once i'm standing there, i find myself thinking, 'wouldn't it be magical to fall in love' and so i try. i try and try and try but i can't. and so there i am, standing naked on my rooftop in the rain trying to fall in love.
sometimes i find myself imagining that all we are made of is the same thing that makes us always face the same way in the shower. i think sometimes we're made of the things that tell our brain to go outside, to run. i think we're made of the same thing that makes us left or right handed, and the same thing that allows some people to kick a ball and others to not be able to. but then i realise, w