PrecipitationPrecipitation12 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
The man on the news said it was going to rain today. Whenever they say that I always think of how they know it's going to rain that day. I think sometimes they guess because sometimes it doesn't rain when they say it will. My grandpa used to say his trick knee hurt when it was about to rain. Maybe the man on the TV has a knee that does tricks too.
Some of the other kids who live where I live hate it when it rains. But I love it. I think its because their rules might be different from my rules. I'm not allowed to go out when it's nice outside, Because everybody is out there, and momma doesn't want the whole neighborhood knowing our business. I can only go play in the rain. And sometimes right after it rains. Those are my rules. When I used to go out with the other kids their mommas used to come out with them to play. And they asked me all kindsa questions about what had happened to my face, or my arms, or why I was such a scrawny little thing. The people from school too. Ms. Hannigan us
The Longest ShowerThe Longest Shower12 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
The water was hot.
God, it was hot. Probably the hottest water I'd ever felt. I wasn't gonna say jack shit about it though. I wasn't gonna move out of it neither. As far as showers go this was my first real one in two weeks that felt more like 2 eons.
One boy. One bar of soap. Hot water.
No guards. No fights. I was happy that the only blood running down the drain was old. From ancient souvenirs of the 39 days prior. 1 day passed out in an empty lot at the intersection Broome and Hester with a 6-inch knife through my thigh. 1 day in the hospital, and 37 days in the hands of people deemed caretakers. Minus the care, earned me 4 minor stab wounds, a broken clavicle, and a face that looked like frozen hammered shit.
I needed things to be different.
God the water was hot. But I wasn't gonna say shit. I wasn't gonna move and I wasn't gonna touch the little delicate knob with the small cursive C in cerulean blue. I washed away blood, scabs and the faint smell of stale despair. I got out, and
Talmor's StoryTalmor's Story11 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
"The scene is: you're hanging out at the arcade, when all of a sudden, a human walks in. Gallant and Tal, go!"
Delamar Gallant, tall, dark, brooding, and liable to kill anyone who used his first name, leaned against the brick wall with his arms folded high on his chest, attempting to affect a 'casual tough-guy' pose, and doing fairly well at it thanks to massive size. Talmor Dearth sauntered casually across the street a few paces away, acting the part of the cocky mortal, and failing miserably, having yet again forgotten to put his sketchbook down before entering a scene. Gallant strode boldly over to Tal, giving him the once-over.
"A human, here at the arcade, eh? You're asking to be meat."
"Oh?" replied Tal jauntily, "We'll see about that."
"Ding!" Arconin Wry called out gleefully, to be answered by a scowling Tal.
"Oh?" Tal repeated, "I just come for the entertainment." He tossed a glare at Arconin, as if askin
in betweens -set of four-in betweens -set of four-10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
somewhere between the intake,
of calorie eight hundred and forty seven,
and nine hundred twenty two,
i had this un-categorized, salty thought.
but by the time i found a low carb pen,
i digested it.
in the midst of drags,
of cancer's pen,
and stained brown thought,
lie the tales of merry organs.
and with a warning i cough,
stories lost in smoky air.
winter gives me time to think,
with periods of waiting
for my auto to heat,
before i can be assimilated
on rounded rubber feet.
in between shots
of caramel friends,
stumble jokes that rip
through monotony and
it was during this time ,
a slurred slip
cost me her affections.
A Day Less OrdinaryA Day Less Ordinary11 years ago in Humor More Like This
It was a day just like any other day, insofar as it was not actually any other day than that one, but was probably closely related to most of the others. On this day quite like many other days but not actually another day, James Francis walked down the street with his friend Sally.
The day to him seemed to be like most others. The sky was blue, as it usually was, the grass as always looked green and he found that he could breathe the air and live. As he walked he was going to remark to Sally how nice this day quite like any other day actually was when, to the ordinary day's surprise, something changed.
James fell unconscious to the floor. This could have been an ordinary happening, if not a regular one. However, the circumstances of it were not ordinary. A bowl of petunias had miraculously popped into existence some 40 feet above where they landed on James's head. No one but the Petunias noticed the sudden appearance until five seconds later as they crashed into James's head, with what
AfterlifeAfterlife10 years ago in Scripts & Screenplays More Like This
A desert road.
A body lies on the road. SAM is sitting on it. It is his corpse. He gets up. Looks at the body, and looks at himself. He feels himself for fat. He goes stage LEFT. As he reaches the end, he stops. He then goes stage RIGHT. He stops. He looks out toward the audience. He goes upstage. He goes downstage. Finally, he glumly takes a seat on his body again and sighs heavily with his chin in both hands, elbows on his knees. He stares at the ground and takes no notice of his surroundings.
Enter CHARON, stage RIGHT. He is wearing simple brown robes and a walking staff. Middle-aged and balding. He drags his feet, hunched over and head down, like someone who has been on his feet for a long time. Noticing SAM, he straightens himself. He takes a scrol
Nothing v1.5NothingNothing v1.58 years ago in Scripts & Screenplays More Like This
A short play by David Couture
A bare stage. GUY 1 is standing CENTRE stage.
GUY 2 [entering]. Hey.
GUY 1. Hello.
GUY 2. What are you doing?
GUY 1. I'm watching the burning house.
GUY 2. What burning house?
GUY 1. The one that's offstage.
GUY 2. It's offstage?
GUY 1. What do you see onstage?
GUY 2. Nothing.
GUY 1. That's because it's offstage.
GUY 2. Then what's the point?
GUY 1. It's a plot device.
GUY 2. A what?
GUY 1. A plot device. Something introduced to the narrative in order to advance it. In this case, a burning house.
GUY 2. Is it working?
GUY 1. You're here now.
GUY 2. Is it a symbol?
GUY 1. Everything is a symbol.
GUY 2. I don't get it.
I don't think I like this plot device.
GUY 1. Give it time. Have
Tom Fox and the House LoyalFour years priorTom Fox and the House Loyal9 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
There was a spider in the bathtub.
It was a sign of some sort, the scuttling spiny thing. Mr Cross frowned at it for a moment, long enough to wash his hands and dry them, and then left the washroom to meet the boy, whose name was Tom Fox.
Mr Cross could see him from the balcony, before he descended the stairs. He was blond and small and was dressed quite commonly. The only thing at all remarkable about him was that he wore gloves. It was summer and a hot one at that, and it was a curious little detail about the otherwise unexceptional urchin, which admittedly distressed Mr Cross somewhat.
No matter. "Well then," Mr Cross said, coming into the sitting room. "It's been a day for you, hasn't it? Quite a day for you."
"Yes," said Tom Fox. "I guess."
"And you've come into quite a fortune," Mr Cross went on. "It must widen your eyes to saucers."
The boy's eyes were of a normal size and an unsettling gray color. He blinked, once. "Yes," he said again. "Saucers."
Fever at KingsdayLoyal hadn't noticed it earlier, but Tom Fox was paler than usual, and a spot of color had risen high on each cheek, an effect that made his face look even more like a mask than ever. It seemed pointless to worry over the health and well-being of Tom Fox, but by late evening his eyes were bright and the signs were unmistakable—he had a fever. It was almost ridiculous, Loyal thought as he kicked off his boots; the boy had always given the appearance of being inhuman and therefore invulnerable, but that, of course, was a foolish mistake. What else was he, if not a human being—even if he didn't know entirely how to act like one.Fever at Kingsday9 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
"You look sick," Loyal told him frankly, once he saw Tom Fox still intended to change for that evening's festivities. "I know you won't listen to me, but I don't think you should go tonight."
Rather than turn an impeccable cold shoulder, as Loyal had expected, Tom Fox paused in the task of buttoning up his collar and sat down on the edge of his bed. "I am aware of
The RoomThe room was small, built in the shape of a sphere. The walls, floor and ceiling were all painted a bright, blinding white, creating a cold and unfeeling setting. There was no visible discrepancy to the sphere's shape. There was nothing else in the room, and it was kept lit by an unidentifiable source of light. There were no windows, and the only door that led outside blended in seamlessly with the walls. There was no way to tell left from right, front from back. And in the middle of the sphere sat a man.The Room10 years ago in Horror More Like This
His raven black hair was long, dirty and fell to his shoulders in matted locks. He wore a plain white shirt, or at least a shirt that had once been white. Now it had been stained a dull brown-red by blood. He wore a pair of khaki trousers, torn and ripped almost to shreds, and his feet were bare. His nails were long, untrimmed and sharp. His arms were cuffed firmly behind his back, and no matter what he tried they would not come free. His eyes fixed themselves on the section of the sp
The Chronicles of BOB Pt. 1THE CHRONICLES OF BOB, PT. 1The Chronicles of BOB Pt. 110 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
12:06.45 P.M EST, (Earth Standard Time) July 15, 2005 ESD (Earth Standard Date)-- Somewhere in the Quelinozzle 9 System
It was a normal looking corridor on a normal looking spaceship, with normal looking passengers aboard. Well, normal based upon which galactic sector you were born in. About then something strange happened on the "normal" looking freighter, with "normal" looking passengers (they happened to be Blobulons, gray shapeless blobs with eyes and mouths, from the planet Sludgedrulon) in the "normal" looking corridor; Bob was born.
I know what you may be thinking, birth, lots of screaming, kicking, crying, doctors, mothers, and incompetent fathers. This birth, however, was not a birth in that sense. It was more of a fiery explosion, birth of the cosmos kind of birth; if you know what I mean. Let's call it the Sort-of-noticeable-fiery-explosion-with-lots-of-light-and-noise-bang-birth-of-Bob.
FeelingsAm I unique?Feelings10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Am I different?
I asked the question yet you don't hear
Surface ripples, grasp deeper into cool waters
Feel it there? Touch it now?
Beyond the cracked mask of my smile
Behind the crumbling front of battle worn walls
Can you see it? Can you sense it?
There! Undeniable depression,
The force of the waves pounding my heart
Taking a toll that will forever last
Come and share your pain – together make it whole again
Carry on young fledgling of the nest!
The sweep of wind shall lift your wings
Mine lay broken so here I shall stay
You will meet others along your path
Those just like me – you're never alone
But what of I? The one left in ruins?
Another empty face with eyes of dead glass
The spark diminished after the onslaught of tears
Never fear, never fear,
More withered flowers in a shell of bloom
Shall underlie your steps
Others like me,
We share the same fragile petals
We are the pillars that hold your temple
But, pray forgive us all! For when our foundations
05.04.2905.04.2910 years ago in Typographical More Like This
If I told you
you—anymore — Maybe
I never did
I wonder if you would survey
me with those
yet have I been unpromising:
ParaisoParaiso11 years ago in General More Like This
O que é o Paraíso?
Algo que todos corremos atrás.
Mas não, o Paraiso é somente o futuro.
Numa longa rua para seguir.
Estando lá, ir amanhã.
Sem dizer adeus para o ontem.
Tem memorias que eu espero serem válidas?
Ou as feridas deluiram elas?
Talvez neste tempo, amanhã,
A chuva pare, para mim poder seguir.
Algo em algum lugar não para de me chamar
Eu estou indo para casa?
sinto a gravidade disto tudo.
Perdido, estou indo ao paraiso.
ARTISTS MEMORIALARTIST'S AND INTELLECTUALS MEMORIALARTISTS MEMORIAL9 years ago in Historical More Like This
'One crowded hour of glorious life, is worth an age without a name.'
Neil Davis, Australian combat cameraman, after Thomas Osbert Mordaunt.
'...If such things really do happen on this earth, you have to witness them with your own eyes because no one will believe it otherwise or they will prefer, out of laziness or a desire not to get involved, to respond with indifference. And yet, in the end, knowledge of the deepest abysses of the human psyche is an absolute, vital necessity, for the path out of the lowest depths can only lead upwards...'
Lucie Adelsberger (1895-1971) 'Auschwitz A Doctor's Story' p 50 North-eastern University Press Boston 1995
First they came for the Communists,
and I didn't speak up,
because I wasn't a Communist.
Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn't speak up,
because I wasn't a Jew.
Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn't speak up,
because I was a Protes
The Littlest PresidentThe Littlest President11 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
The Littlest President
At the age of eleven I was elected the 50th president of the United States of America. My analysts put my win down to youth (I was the youngest ever to run) and to the unfortunate late-October acne breakout of my incumbent rival, an eighth grader from Massachusetts. I have a stronger faith in the New Rules than do my analysts, who are always looking at polls and running them through sacred formula. I ascribe my presidency to the good sense of America, my hard work at Security School, and the stunning leadership of my handlers.
Once my presidency was officially announced, my face was given another coat of foundation and I was ushered up to a podium in front of a large crowd of my supporters. There was a crashing sea of applause. Most of my supporters were dumpy women in their thirties – just barely old enough to remember a time before we had the New Rules – these were my core demographic, although my handlers dutifully i
Let GoHer life was a fairy taleLet Go3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A Fairy tale that came true
Only the ending wasn't happy
Not real life is a fairytale you see
It has complications and an ending so heart breaking
That it would melt the coldest of hearts
But the middle was worth living
He was a troubled one
But her love changed that
As time passed
The sound of her voice was only what soothed him
Her presence was what he craved for
In every breath, love for her was present
She loved him
She never did think it could be possible
She still thought it was a dream
How could he love her?
But it was real.
He loved her, she loved him.
The thought of living without him scared her.
Then one day
Betrayal was what she had to face
Not by him, but by her friend
Jealousy over ruling humanity
Ruining her entire life
She lost him
Her fairy tale came to a tragic end
But she couldn't let go
He isn't here anymore
But he still lives in her heart
She doesn't know if he cares or not
If he thinks about her
Three MinutesThree MinutesThree Minutes8 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
So what if I am.
She didn't like considering the possibilities of pregnancy. It was a surreal state of being reserved for women in their middle twenties to early thirties (she was twenty-three, but this didn't matter). It was for the adult world, which she was separate from and had always been separate from. It seemed like schools and television went out of their way to extend youth, so why couldn't biology as well?
I could get an abortion.
She sat on the side of the bathtub and stared at her fingertips while she waited. The test was balanced on the edge of the sink. Just a little piece of plastic with a damp, now yellow-tinged stub jutting out of one end, harmless-looking and generic. She'd never been afraid of anything else so much in her life, except for maybe talking to her parents. She was pretty scared of that too. The clock on the bathroom wall ticked methodically every secon
i am made of glasshold mei am made of glass10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
up to the light
and you will find her
smudged around my heart--
a tangled interstate of
with no exits.
dragdrag11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Of anathematized eggheads, dead poets, uprooted saddle-tramps -
an eclectic shangri-la that impales itself upon her sensibilities
like a beached whale on her shore
And this cold, small man-
call him Animus Annihilated-
"You wanna see Heaven baby?, Here's your chance." -
An open invitation to cool her heels in
the shadow of his soul.
Hoodwinked by her own loathsome ideal
she ogles the out-side,
staring through the cigarette that drips from her mouth,
into her love's eye
Working Without a NetWorking Without a Net12 years ago in Humor More Like This
I did what any of us would have done when learning that my Internet service had been shut down. I cried.
Actually, that's not completely true. The first thing I did was frantically dial up the campus tech people, who told me the problem would be resolved in an hour. Anyone who has ever dealt with Electronic Device Repairpersons should already know that "an hour" in their language translates into "sometime between an hour and the rapture."
So I waited an hour. Then I cried.
How could I possibly function without instant access to news, entertainment, and all that other stuff that's just sort of there? What could I do in place of checking my e-mail every 20 minutes and playing Slingo? This was a major problem.
But after a moment of despair, I dried my tears with the hanky of determination. I would not let this defeat me! I had lived happily before without the Internet and I could live the same way now! I only had to remember how.
I first tried reading an ancient text recording from when p