Fable: Lion and HyenasA lion had a deep hatred of hyenas, and he would roam the savannah and ruthlessly hunt down and slaughter any that he saw. For a while, the hyenas feared him, until one brave individual rallied them all together and proclaimed that they should fight back.
The next time the lion began to maul one of the hapless animals, the others emerged from the long grass and tore at the lion's flanks. He tried to defend himself, but there were so many hyenas harrying him from all sides that he was at last forced to retreat. Covered in bites and scratches, he wandered through the plains shouting, "Help me! Those hyenas have always had it in for me!"
Men claim persecution often when they are no longer allowed to persecute.
The Rat and the DollSome time ago there lived a Rat of fine whiskers and a finer tail who stumbled across a small porcelain Doll in a farmer's rubbish heap. Entranced by the Doll's beauty, he carried her home with him and, to the amusement of his fellow rats, instated her as his wife. Finding that she was of little assistance in his daily rambles for food, the Rat placed her upon a slight ledge of the barn in which he lived and brought her an offering of sustenance each day, as well as flowers and other pretty objects with which to enhance her loveliness.The Rat and the Doll6 years ago in Fable Me This More Like This
One day the Rat returned from his foraging to find the other rats throwing pebbles at his Doll. "Stop!" he cried. "Why do you abuse my wife? What has she ever done to you?"
"She does nothing at all," said the other rats, "and that is the problem. How has she proven herself worthy of the attention you grant her, or the offerings you provide?"
"Her beauty proves her worth," claimed the Rat.
But at that moment, a gust of wind swept the Doll off her perch an
How Brush Wolf became CoyoteShe Wolf sat on a ridge overlooking the forest. She had recently given birth to a litter of cubs, but one of them fell prey to an eagle that morning, and She Wolf blamed herself for what happened. The wind blew through the grasses and made the pine trees rustle and the wild flowers shimmer, but above the soft rustling there was the sound of whimpering. She Wolf followed it until she came to a burrow, and in it lay a little pup. It looked like the young of a wolf, yet it was much smaller. It looked up at her with half-closed eyes, and began to whine.How Brush Wolf became Coyote5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Sorry, little one," said She Wolf. "You are not a wolf, so therefore I must kill you." But it looked so helpless, just like her own children, that She Wolf could not bring herself to kill it. Instead, she gently gathered it in her jaws and brought it back home.
"What is that?" The other wolves gathered round the tiny creature and sniffed it with their wet, black noses. "It looks rather runty to me."
But First Wolf - the leader of the pack
The Crane WifeThe Crane Wife6 years ago in Fable Me This More Like This
The Crane Wife
Does that bird
think of bygone times
as it flies singing...
- Princess Nukada
There on the poor man's doorstep,
an arrow biting into my wing,
I flew into the arms of decision
my cries calling clouds,
even to the brow of Moon:
I would not be this;
kindness come to me,
and songs of a different flesh,
irresistibly new. That was why,
sped to health, I fled only to return
to the poor man's doorstep
a bird no more, a woman of silk.
And how the bamboo blinds
quivered with the storms of Spring;
how Wind shook Moon in the p
The Black FoxThe Black Fox6 years ago in Fable Me This More Like This
Once upon a time, in a forest where three streams merged into a small, fast-flowing river, the locals say a shadow took life in the form of a black fox.
So shiny and thick and smooth was the coat of this black fox, it was said that hunters who caught sight of her were driven mad with the desire to own her pelt.
The best hunters for miles around chased after this elusive prey, but none succeeded. Indeed, many of them chased after the fox, deep into the darkness beneath the ancient pines, and never returned. Some believe they came across misfortune. Some believe they were taken by the fox into the fairy realm. Some have even more sinister theories to relate.
In a time when the autumn was crisping the leaves and turning the air cold, a young man went into the woods to gather firewood to sustain his family through the oncoming winter.
His bow was slung across his shoulders, and he carried an axe to cut wood, but he had no intention of killing any living creatures this day, and after many l
A Spiritual HaikuWhy yes, I am oneA Spiritual Haiku4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Of those Christian people.
Is that a problem?
Oh no, I am one
Of those atheist people.
Is that a problem?
Why yes, I do think
That's a problem because I
Think you have it wrong.
Well yeah? I too think
That's a problem because I
Think you have it wrong.
You know what, when you
End up in Hell, don't blame me.
I tried to warn you.
You know what, when you
Die and nothing happens, then
You'll see how you're wrong.
No you're wrong, and on
Judgement Day God Himself
Will say 'you were wrong.'
I regret to inform you that the poem must end here because the conversation portrayed proceeded to go on for thirty pages and got absolutely nowhere. I apologize for any inconvenience caused.
Emotion The noise is unbearable. It runs through your body and cracks your soul; the sound of fear. It's high pitched, like a scream from a horror movie. Primal. We've evolved in such a way that such a sound sends terror pulsing through us. It's a chain reaction.Emotion5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Your muscles clench; that's the sound of your wife dying. All the worst thoughts pulse through your head; your mind serves only to exacerbate your horror. Eventually, you can't hear the screaming anymore, not over the sound of your heartbeat. The perfect engine in your chest pumps faster and faster; this is your death as well as hers.
Paralysis comes next. That's when you notice the blood. Again your mind races. Surely, it isn't natural to lose that much blood. The paralysis worsens. Before you were tense, now it feels as though your knees are going to give way. That's when you realise i
The WolvesI am the wolf - that cruel keen-eyed killer,The Wolves6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Who sniffs at the frail frame of the sheepfold.
I am the night howler, the freezing air
Echoing with my mad, mournful moaning.
I am the unknown shadow prowling and
Pacing around the home's trembling threshold,
And all who dwell within shudder softly
And draw nearer to the nurturing fire.
I am the bringer of dirge and disease,
My greedy jaws snapping shut on life's light.
I am the wolf - the swift and free spirit
Racing through the cool green forest, my eyes
Glowing with benevolence, not hatred.
I am the night howler, humbly singing
As if in prayer to a listening moon.
I am the one whom you root for in battle
With other monstrous, unlovable beasts
Who are not on the side of Good, like me.
I am the harmless innocent creature
Who never did anyone any wrong.
I am cruelty, gluttony, corruption.
I am innocence, bravery, beauty.
We are the figments of distant dreaming.
We are the wolves that men have created.
Truth and FalsehoodOne day, Truth and Falsehood met at an inn, both weary from their travels. "My old friend!" cried Truth, "Come, allow me to buy you a drink." So they drank and exchanged stories of their travels. As they talked, Envy walked into the inn. Upon seeing Truth and Falsehood, Envy grew jealous of their friendship. Envy decided to find a way to make them hate each other. Now, it so happened that Greed was staying at the same inn. Envy met with Greed to form a plan. "Look at those two," Envy hissed. "They can't be friends, they never agree on anything!" Greed was only half listening. Envy knew this, but was ready for it. "Of course," Envy said softly, "we need to stop it. It is unnatural, like a bird with no flight, or a fish that can't swim." At this, Envy pulled out a bag of gold coins. Greed's heart began to race, fingers itching to just grab the bag, to caress the gold with loving fingertips. Envy smirked triumphantly, the plan was working perfectly. "Now, this is what's going to happen,"Truth and Falsehood6 years ago in Fable Me This More Like This
The Worm and the EpiphanyAlas, the worm was blind. Making its way through fertile earth, never meeting a soul, not even its own. Not knowing kith or kin, it didn't seem to bother him as, day by day, he burrowed his tedious way through mulch and mire; heeding not the dark or the cold. Not needing to ask the question that never would tire because it never grew old. He was not simply "you" -- he was "it" who did not exist.The Worm and the Epiphany6 years ago in Fable Me This More Like This
So on and on, as often goes with a worm, it continued the clandestine tryst to turn the soil. It was what he had learned, or was born having known. Was he born -- and born to toil? -- flashed a thought in the dark. Had he not? He never thought to ask it before.
Then suddenly, the worm broke through the crust of ground! It squinted hard into a blinding light, and basked in the shade of a sunflower whose head bowed low with curiosity, and promptly doused the worm with a shower of dew. And
II collect herbs on the Hansel and Gretel path to make a potion to drink and find the Baba Yaga within.I8 years ago in Other More Like This
I jeep a million miles a week to celebrate one secret from one child that hints at the power they carry blithely.
I paint abstract road signs with the three colors plus dawn and twilight to find the night spot to dance the kundalini cha-cha.
I sit on a throne of thorns and watch through the dispelling inner fog as my body torques into imitations of a rose blooming.
I pour a river of skin into the ocean of his morning and feel the tsunami swell through a worldwide heartbeat.
I suck the colors and light and darkness from my inner psychedelic mirror out through the lens of the seeing camera.
I listen from somewhere beyond pulses to the purring and screeching that spills from your full heart to my cavernous soul.
A River Measured in TimeAlberto Banks had been saving all his life. He wanted to buy a river.A River Measured in Time9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
As a child, he had been given a ribbon by his father. A blue ribbon. His father was always this strange man who would scrutinize his past much more spontaneously than he would do with his future. When he had brought the ribbon for his child, he would have seldom thought what the boy would do with a ribbon. The consequences of his actions were never quite as important as the precedence of the consequence itself. When he handed over the ribbon to little Alberto and noticed his confused expression, he wondered why he had bought it on the first place. He wondered whether he had done it subconsciously. He wondered what particular knack or interest had he noticed in little Alberto which could have prompted him into an action so decisive for the child.
"This is a magic ribbon", he said at last "if you spread it, it'd become as long as the river."
His father's words were just as unmindful or irrelevant as was his buying of t
you'll suffer unto meI was a four-year-old fatherless pageant baby when Mother found the listing for Challenger. For weeks she complained about the California public school system. Said I wasn't fit for it, wasn't right for it. "We live in a shithole. Public school systems rely on money and the income in this area sucks. They're all hoodlums here. You'll get raped, mugged, killed, murdered and then what? All the I'm sorries in the world won't bring you back. I'm not letting that happen to you. You're getting a better foundation than I did at your age."you'll suffer unto me6 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Mother always wanted the best for me, didn't care about the cost. She scoured the Yellow Pages for private schools, called them up, visited them with me in tow, dressed in pink and bouncing brown curls. Harker was the better, more expensive school, the rival to Challenger. Uppity kids wearing blouses, sweaters and in-fashion light-up shoes roamed both places. We settled on Challenger in the end. Mother didn't like the whole "boarding school" atmosphere at Ha
FFM 3: The Great ProcessSilence spun out on the grassy hill, and the boy analyzed his grandfather for some sign of a reaction. Cholas granted the boy a bemused half-smile, chewing on the mouthpiece of his pipe.FFM 3: The Great Process5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"It's horrible, isn't it?" Tian finally blurted. "You're not gonna tell my mom are you?"
Cholas chuckled softly. "Calm down, boy. Calm down. It's only horrible if you act upon it." He glanced down to see if it helped. It didn't. "Look, what you're feeling is perfectly natural for boys your age. Grown men get the same impulses, but we're used to it, we don't let it torture us."
"No, no. Listen for a second, child. It's just a part of nature. Like honey spiders gathering pollen in their great nets, or hawkflies snatching them away to feed their maggots. It's all a part of the great process: life, death, reproduction."
"But my own sister?"
Again, that throaty chuc
On Being a WriterThis is a world that is not and never was. But it should be-On Being a Writer6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
so I have created it. And now it is. I spun a city, a modern urban sprawling mess. There is crime and grime and skinny stray dogs, and prostitutes
I have created hoboes for my street corners and children for the schools, and I have even made superheroes and their villains to inhabit skyscrapers.
There are billionaires in penthouses and beautiful hotels.
I have made gardens.
And somewhere in my city of lost horizons and broken dreams a woman weeps
I created her to weep. I created a husband just to kill him on the wedding day.
It was more dramatic that way, and now she weeps and curses God. She was Catholic- her name was Suzane- and now her husband is dead and she has become an atheist.
Am I her god?
Am I a bad god, is this how this works? But I gave them gardens
daughterI find her in my kitchen, one ordinary morning with the harsh winter sun tipping full through the window. I haven't seen her for six months, and yet here she is, bruised knees pulled up under her chin, the light pouring through her hair like dull bronze. Despite the cold she is only wearing shorts and an old gray t-shirt, two sizes too big. Upon hearing my footsteps she looks up from picking at her nails, covered in chipped black polish, multicolored threads and silver rings slipping down her wrists. Her hair is tangled and long; longer than I can ever remember, and she tucks it behind an ear studded with piercings that glint in the dark strands. Her face is still in the shadows but a smile breaks through the silence and for the smallest moment I am stunned by the sheer momentum of life; the scent of baby powder, fireflies in the live oaks at night, the first time I felt her weight in my arms in a hospital bed, her tiny heart beating like a butterfly against my palm.daughter6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I have to sift
Numbers"You try, Byron. What's five plus seven?"Numbers5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Byron considered. Five and seven probably got along okay. Seven was a jerk, but five was a gutsy little fellow. He smiled. Five could handle seven just fine. Byron liked five. So together
"I am, Miss. It's . . ." Something pretty, but also quite complicated. ". . . twelve!"
Trinity RoseAs a teenager, he was the artist who painted sunsets just to see them bleed their light through acrylics, dandelions beheaded in the frost to prove that you don't need hands to come out of the world scathed. He created beautiful women with their hair over their eyes and their tummies sucked in and rose vine tattoos sneaking up their thighs only because he wanted to show how you become tainted.Trinity Rose5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
His theory: you look as helpless and fragile as possible and then you open all the windows and the doors and a violent man walks in, or a vengeful wind.
That came from a sixteen-year-old mind high on hormones and a lack of experience.
That came from a young boy who believed you had to feign tragedy to be a good artist.
The older he became, the blinder he let his paintings become, perhaps literally. The only places he'd ever looked were up to the sky and down to his canvas. No elderly couple, no schoolchildren ever stumbled out of the light he stroked excessively between shadows. Their eyes always
A Song for SorrowAway on the hilltop that surveys the shore,A Song for Sorrow6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The sunlight shines down on the dress that she tore.
For there stands my lady with tears in her eyes--
My ship soon is leaving for stormier skies.
The daylight is fading, with promise of night.
And I from below cannot fathom the height,
The distance from hilltop to shadowy shore,
The space of the years, of a lifetime or more.
She's lovely in sorrow, but pain and despair
Last only as long as the wind in her hair,
For memory fades with the coming of frost.
(There's no one as fair as the one who has lost.)
O Captain! My Captain! There's wind in the sail,
A flurry of hats torn away in the gale.
A tempest is coming, we must not delay!
Her face in my eyelids as we sail away.
The ocean is fickle, unending, and bleak;
She torments the mighty and swallows the weak.
So why do we love her, we rashest of men?
When all of our roads lead to her yet again.
The world is too small for our changeable hearts,
No time for the wisdom perdition imparts.
call timecall time8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
alone with night i want to call up a friend
and i remember you
Patchouli GirlOn her front porch she had one of those little wooden step stools covered in potted flowers and various ceramic animals a frog, a squirrel, a giant ladybug. It struck me as strange, something my dead grandmother would have had on her front porch. It was definitely not the porch I had pictured as belonging to my first one night stand.Patchouli Girl6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I was a step behind her as she fumbled with her keys. I had been drinking, too much. Probably. All evening I had chewed on my fingernails, hoping the Captain and coke would give me the courage to deliver the witty, flirty lines I had rehearsed in my mind all week. I'm fairly sure it didn't work.
The door was red, and I thought again of my dead grandmother the horrid crimson sweater she knitted for me one Christmas, the one I had felt obligated to wear every December until the funeral. I think everyone has a horrid crimson sweater from their grandmother.
It seemed forever to me that she fumbled with her bulky keys, laughing and shooting me fli
Five Silly Arguments to AvoidIf you are (a) someone who spends half their waking life on the Internet, (b) a user of YouTube or (c) a philosophy student or (c) all three, the chances are you've encountered or participated in your fair share of arguments. As someone who generally prefers reading debates on the Internet as opposed to actually taking part (although God knows I've had my share), here are five basic fallacies that one should try to avoid. As some of them do affect me on a personal level, expect cursing.Five Silly Arguments to Avoid4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
5. 'x' says it, so it must right.' - appeal to expert fallacy.
Ever had someone justify their point on the basis of '*insert name of famous clever-clogs here* has this view, and because he's a clever person, that means my point of view is right?' Now I'm not saying should not use quotes from experts, but one must not treat them as though they are God. By all means, use their wisdom and quote them, but explain why you agree with them. Experts are your allies, not magic wands that automatically make you r