RunThe sun shines through my eyes at the small apartment complex inside my mind. Another calm day in paradise. Theyre not awake yet, the bastards. They get to sleep in whenever they want and I cant do a damn thing about it. Youd think I would, since theyre my characters, but no, theyve developed a mind of their own now, after all these years.Run6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
The curtains flick softly in the breeze, casting smooth shadows across the boring cream-coloured carpet. Its not my fault that I cant furnish the apartment in a more interesting way. I have too much on my mind anyway.
Oh the irony.
Im not sure when the contract was signed that my mind was to become a one-roomed apartment (open-plan, with large windows on either side to catch the sunrise and sunset), but nonetheless, my characters now run full pelt inside my head; running into walls and slamming doors. Every so often demanding new coffee tables or tea sets.
Its a bit crowded I think of new ch
The All'n'Nothing DaysI know this place.The All'n'Nothing Days4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The dark green-painted gates with the heads of lions on each side, jaws wide and protective, that lead towards a steep drive all the way to the netball courts that have targets painted on the hall walls for throwing practice.
God, I remember them so much bigger...
The playground on the left of them still has the strange-shaped communicators that I used to love. They look like huge plastic showers... you'd stand under one and talk into it, and on the other side of the playground your voice would ring out loud and clear through the mirroring contraption. The slide's there too... still covered in crayon-graffiti and muddy handprints.
But I'm not going down there today.
The hall is the first building you see when you walk in. It's as though you have no choice but to enter it. Everything from sports to assembly was held in that hall... God, I remember how much I wanted to grow up to be a "senior kid" just so I could sit on the back wooden benches instead of the floor for
Hurricane Drunk"stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you."Hurricane Drunk4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
It's not schizophrenia really. I'm perfectly aware of when I'm writing and when I'm in reality.
For one, in writing my life's not like this.
In writing, I am a successful self-made woman of twenty, running through Stirling University with books in one hand and a coffee in the other, sunglasses placed carefully on my nose as I make my way to class in the early autumn afternoon.
In reality, I down my third V for the night and put another tape into the deck.
In writing, the career path I want is available to study, and I have been doing it for the last 2 years.
In reality, I don't think my career path actually exists as a set subject.
In writing, I have laugh lines.
In reality, I have insomnia.
For another, I feel so much freer in writing than I do in reality.
In writing, I can make myself look like anyone I want to. I can make my hair always perfectly styled, my face always perfectly made up, my figure stunning, my f
Two You, From MeTo You,Two You, From Me4 years ago in Letters More Like This
I dreamt you kissed me today. I could feel it. Your lips soft against mine. They weren't familiar, you've never kissed me before. But they were soft and warm. Every brush of your lips against mine sent shivers down and up my back. I could feel the soft puffs of air on my chin as you closed your eyes and pulled back just for a minute, then kissed me again. It was nice. Like it was meant to keep happening.
You tasted like you. There was a slight hint of mint chocolate but everything else was just you. Your mouth was colder than mine, different, foreign and so very, very welcome. I think I stopped breathing for a while. I could feel you breath around me. Feel your shoulders rise slightly as you moved a little closer, your chest rising and falling gently, breathing for the both of us. I was dizzy with the taste and feel of you, just you.
You pulled back and smiled. Your emerald eyes sparkling with an unspoken question that I was more than willing to answer. I let my eyes take in
Not meant to be... -1-I spread my wings and I soar. High above the world, high above reality. The sunset hits my wings and dyes them a permanent orange-gold; the sky is completely empty, devoid of planes or other birds… I'm free!Not meant to be... -1-7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I fly past never-ending glass windows, streaming down the enormous building like rippling water. The sunset is reflected in them and I marvel at the colours the glass reflects. I fly higher, looking around me. Down, down below the thin layer of cloud I see the lake. It sparkles like a diamond in the midst of green velvet which is the forest…
Suddenly I can't move. I turn slowly in midair and I begin to fall. I fall like Icarus, I fall back to the earth which will never let me go.
I fall past the windows of the 23rd century business sector in nowadays America… I close my eyes and spread my wings in hope of the wind pulling me up; hoping the friction will support me and slow me down…
I open my eyes to find my wings slowly losing feathers as I pick up speed and continue my plunge. The
Not meant to be... -5-I was running through the backstreets of modern-day America, tears flying from my eyes as I race anywhere… anywhere but near Myron Hamilton. Eventually I stop in a small alley and kick the wall. Once. Twice. Again and again. I scream, I cry… why did he do this to me? Why? Why why why? Eventually I break down completely and slide down the wall to the cold concrete.Not meant to be... -5-7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Hours pass. I can feel myself falling asleep, but I force myself to wake up. I have to stay awake. Time passes slowly as I sit in the alley, leaning against the cold wall thinking. After a while I'm aware of the pain in my chest. It rises and falls, like a cresting wave. But it's not the pain from my wound.
When the sun begins to rise over the tallest buildings in the business sector, I turn to go home. I don't know how I find my way back, but I do. Some of my bird instincts must have stayed… like my natural sense of direction. I stand in front of the door for a long time before I knock. Jenny comes to the door.
Take Me AwayShe arched.Take Me Away5 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
Supporting her weight on her shoulder blades and hips, she stretched her arms over her head and curled her legs under herself.
The motion made her old, favourite jumper ride up, revealing a naval piercing she had gotten on a whim a week after turning eighteen. Settling back onto the bed and into her pillows she stared at the ceiling.
It was far too late to be awake, but six months of insomnia had taught her the wonders of a quiet, dark room at three in the morning.
Why was everything going wrong in her life? She felt as though she was coming undone at the seams and was thoroughly regretting failing sewing class at school. There was nothing she could do.
February. Everything had been perfect then. She had felt loved for the first time in her life and the happiness seemed to never end, even though this particular brand of joy had an expiry date. For months after she couldnt think of anything else but him. And then one day, that stopped. He wasnt thinki
DaywatchWe are the warriors of NightDaywatch7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
We stand alone
We fight our own battles
But always hunted,
Running from the forces of the Light
We're not the heroes people see
We're always "dark"
And cloaked in lies
And cobwebbed evils
And soon, that's what we're going to be
But take a moment to think about
What our shadows really hide
Lift up the curtain
See our pain
When our own men are put to rout
And epic battles rage
And armies fall
And many souls escape this hell on earth
We die forgotten, a part of a list
On Hades' parchment page
So Light Ones fight for good and right
But is it good
When our men slashed
By two-edged Light swords
Fade, because they chose the path of Night?
We suffer pain
We bleed the same
And yet we go again
To face the "good", returning
Later with our slain
You worship them: the Light
You praise their heroism,
Power and strength
And yet you never ask yourselves
"Why did the Dark Ones end the fight?"
Is this our fate?
To battle on, antagonised
Worn, broken and torn
Not meant to be... -4-***Not meant to be... -4-7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Three weeks later.
I'm used to the house: to the smell coming from the kitchen every morning as Jenny cooks breakfast, to the warm feel of the steam as it envelopes me in the shower, to the quiet conversations Myron and I have in the library every night when he's not working. I am not really limited. I'm allowed to explore the house when Jenny goes out to shop for food, I'm allowed to read any book in the library (I have found that I can indeed read, and do so vigorously when Myron is busy). But there are a few things I am not allowed to do, and I do not know why. Myron does not allow me to leave the house. Not even for a moment. So the only fresh air I have had for the past three weeks has been through the windows of the apartment. I am also not allowed to read anything on Myron's table. I am not allowed to watch the television (which I am very angry about, as it takes up a whole wall in Myron's living room) and I am not allowed to answer the phone.
It confuses me why I am
Not meant to be... -3-***Not meant to be... -3-7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The next morning I wake up with a thumping headache, and a growling stomach. I sit up in bed and look at the closed curtains. Is it morning? Jenny backs into the room with a tray of food.
"Good morning, how are you feeling?"
"I am better, thank you." I smile. Jenny smiles back and puts the tray on the end of my bed. I look at it hungrily, but don't move. She opens the curtains and light bursts in, illuminating the whole room with a warm early-morning glow.
"Now, eat up. You must be starving! You haven't eaten anything since the Master found you, you poor soul."
"Thank you." I glance at the food. "What is there to eat?"
Jenny motions for me to put my legs flat so that she can place the tray on them. "Well, you have some bacon and eggs, a piece of toast and a cup of strong tea." I feel the pit of my stomach drop.
I look away from the tray. "I can't eat eggs…"
"Oh," Jenny looks slightly confused, and a bit offended.
"I am sorry, I did not mean to offend you… I just… ca