The Arrogant FoxThere once was a young fox, part of an infamous family within its woods. They were merciless, always going after the helpless animals around them. The young red fox thought greatly of itself. One day the young red fox saw a hunter walking within the woods. "Fight me hunter. I'll kill you and bring you back to my family." The young fox said to the tall man. The man chuckled, "Or perhaps I will take you to MY family." He threw a net over the young fox with ease and slung him over his back. The young fox started to panic. "Help me family!" it cried, but the other red foxes, who saw this happen just ran away, too concerned with their own lives. The young fox started to weep. A small rabbit came forth out of the woods. The rabbit jumped on the hunter, thinking it harmless he just chuckled. But the rabbit, clever and swift, climbed his leg to his arm, and his arm to his face. The rabbit scratched at the hunters face. "Stop it! Stop it!" The hunter cried, and dropped the young fox,
+ Just like Daddy +Sitting silently on the couch in her living room, Lilly sat with her legs crossed like a little lady, and her hands lightly laying in her lap. She was waiting for her parents to find the note she wrote and laid on the kitchen counter.+ Just like Daddy +5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
In an instant, she heard the back door open and slam. She closed her eyes and focused her energy into finding where her mother was in the kitchen. She could tell she picked up the note, and her father was right behind her.
"Three... Two..." Lilly pointed at the door to the kitchen as a loud scream of 'what' was heard from behind the door. Lilly opened her eyes and looked at the door just before it slammed open.
Bliss stood there with the note, looking royally pissed, "LILLIANA NATALIA WILSION! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"
Lilly felt it unnessicary to lie at this point, so she flatly said, "A note, mother. What does it look like?"
Bliss was not happy. "Lilliana, what is the nonsense written on this note?"
Lilly Tilted her head s
::Devoted Daughter::::Devoted Daughter::4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was nearly four in the morning. Lacey slipped into the house from the back door, still invisible. She smelled of sex and cologne, but hey, you do what you have to do to survive. She was just thankful for any way to pay the bills.
The big husky in the living room looked up, tail thumping. He trotted over to where he smelled Lacey and sat at her feet.
Lacey went visible and smiled brightly, whispering, "Hey, Thor. How's my baby?"
Thor wagged his tail more, barking loudly.
Lacey froze, then quickly tried hushing him, "Bad, no!"
The lights upstairs flicked on and a holler came down the stairs. "Lacey?! Lacey, is that you?!"
Lacey whimpered, but called back, "Yes, mama! It's me!" She hissed to Thor, "Go lay down." He obliged, hurrying out of the room.
There was a thump and then foot steps as Lacey's mother came down stairs. Her brown waves of hair hung around her face neatly, like she had been awake and waiting for her to get home. "Where have you been?"
Lacey looked away, "I got paid to
::Complications::::Complications::4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Well, this was awkward.
Ana sat in Matias' bed, covering her face in embarassment. She was naked, but had a blanket wrapped around her. 'Oh god, why now...?' She thought, remembering the look in Matias' eyes. HE had taken over.
Ana glanced down at the sheets again, her face almost as red as them. It had been her first time having sex, and she didn't realize that there would be blood. Then again, neither did Matias.
Finally, the closed door creaked back open. Ana's eyes shot up to it, wide and fearful of whoever it was.
There stood the man she loved, his anarchy necklace hanging loosely around his neck, and his arms slightly scratched up from their time of passion. When her eyes met his, she paled. They were dark, and the pupils were almost like a cat's; slits.
When she spoke, her voice was was shaking, with a slight edge to it, "M-Milo...?"
He smirked, walking towards her confidently. That was the first sign of the problem. Usually, he'd almost shuffle his feet sleepily. This man walke
+Love letter from the slums+Hi, baby~+Love letter from the slums+4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Hey, baby. I'm sorry I haven't emailed or called in a week. I've been swamped at work. My boss has been up my ass to get everything finished, my co-workers keep coming to me to help, and suddenly I'm the office translator. Ugh. Oh well. Milo says hi, and amazingly enough, so does Atty. I think he warmed up to you last time you were here. Which is AWESOME~ X3
Oh, there was one little thing I needed to talk to you about. The other reason I haven't really been in contact. Remember the last time you were here? Uh, when we were at my place, after we got dinner? I just thought you should know.
::Where'd You Go?::::Where'd You Go?::4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Where'd You go?
I miss you so
Seems like it's been forever
That you've been gone...
Bliss sat on the couch. Yes, that couch. She detested it. But she began going to therapy for her unborn daughter, Lilly. Black had suggested it, and now, here she was.
The man looked at Bliss, flipping through his notes, "So. Bliss. It seems most of your problems are aimed at your... husband?"
"Boyfriend. We didn't get married."
He nodded, "Alright. We're going to try an exercise. I'm going to pretend to be Wade. You can say whatever you need to." He offered her a smile, something she hadn't seen very often. "It's a stress reliever.:
My ass it is.
"Okay, Doc. Whatever you say."
He pulled his chair closer to her, and looked her in the eye. "Alright, Bliss. Just imagine me as Wade."
Like you could ever be him.
She nodded, and looked at him, thinking of her beloved. His strong arms, his warm eyes, his soft hair...
She was looking at him. His goofy grin and his red shirt. The one
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 Doll4 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
The Black FoxThe Black Fox4 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
The Crane WifeThe Crane Wife4 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
HopelessMy palms lay flat against the splintered blackened door. They sting me sharply as velvet red seeps from underneath them, shining brightly as it trails down the dark wood. My knees dig into the jagged, gray gravel that cuts into the wounds I have no memory of taking. I do not blink. I do not breathe at the barrier I face. Everything is too clear, too obvious. No emotions take over me, none at all. A deep cut runs across my right check, and I feel a single drop of blood burn as it taunts me. Slipping down my face like a mock tear. It teases me, taking time and dribbling down my neck, staining my once white shirt, now ripped, and dark with pain that isn't just mine. As if it is not burned into my vision that I have lost everything down to my flesh, and still have not escaped.Hopeless4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The new rubble around me stands silent and still; haunted by the scene that just occurred. I make no effort to stand. Determination lost, why should I fight? Why cry? Why even question when I already know
ScarsWounds cover my heartScars4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Scars cover her wrists
I'll draw into my words
But she'll let herself bleed
Clutching onto her broken memories
With jagged edges they pierce her thoughts
Stabbing her hopes
Watching them shatter
They all tell her to look up
They all continue to let her down
So she'll hide her tears that come
Sharing them with no one but herself
My own wounds I refuse to let heal
Taking each hit as they come
So they'll only cut deeper
I've given up on hiding behind
The common false smiles
And worn out excuses
I let myself expect the worst
Hoping it'll make things easier
The impact softer
When they all fail to help
The blade presses her skin
My wound's start to break again
Her eyes are dry
Content with what she's doing
My chest aches
Dug deep with pain
My blood falls with hers
Laced into my wounds
Are her scars
It comes down to strength
If we can take this together
If she can't make it
Neither can I
EscapeThe same empty, fallen, pale face blinks at meEscape4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The girls' faded green eyes are so hurt
So far away
But you would never guess from first glance
She has thin eyebrows that make no distinction
Her cheeks are thin but not structured
Her lips are a soft, untouched, pink
Her long hair a disobedient wave of deep brown
Deep enough to be dark black
Dark like the shadows under her eyes
That never seem to leave
This girl's beauty is haunted
Taking away from it
Leaving her looking washed out
Like a battered photograph
I turn away harshly from her
Who's been living in my mirror
I push my hair to one side
It falls finding different directions to follow at the ends
Of each strand
It takes no effort to listen to me
A cold reaction I always expect
I walk out the door and miss steps as I go
I feel like a playing piece
My chest is not heavy from depression
It's empty from lack of feeling
Lack of my own life
I feel controlled
I ponder this as I open the cars cold door
It's as if I
Self-Pity(You Attention Whores)Self-Pity4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You're so open
Why are your problems
such star kissed gossip?
Why are you telling me
these things i know too well?
You don't know me
No, not at all
You never have
You never will
See, I'm all secrets
But so are you
So is that wrong?
I know these problems
are brand new to you
And you don't really realize
everything you have
But these issues are old friends to me
I hold them close like enemies
I know them all too well
You're a desperate cry
You want sympathy
the things you tell me
are all emphasized
not really there
I have worse
I have so much worse
I could be you and your little friends combined
All of your "problems"
stirred into one
Just a big fuck up
that's what my life is
But that's one of the things
I'll never tell you
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 Falsehood4 years ago in Fable Me This More Like This
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.Emotion4 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
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 me4 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
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 Epiphany4 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.I7 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.
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 Process4 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
A River Measured in TimeAlberto Banks had been saving all his life. He wanted to buy a river.A River Measured in Time8 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
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 Girl4 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
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 Rose4 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
Numbers"You try, Byron. What's five plus seven?"Numbers4 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!"
On Being a WriterThis is a world that is not and never was. But it should be-On Being a Writer4 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