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,
::Devoted Daughter::::Devoted Daughter::5 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
+ 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
::Complications::::Complications::5 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+5 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.
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 Doll5 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
::Where'd You Go?::::Where'd You Go?::5 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 Crane WifeThe Crane Wife5 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 Fox5 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
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 Falsehood5 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 Epiphany5 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
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.
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
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 me5 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
Europe, Twenty-SixAnd there, to the west,Europe, Twenty-Six6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
was a skeleton
that wasnt made of bones
and carried no flesh,
stretched taut across the skyline
and motionless, as if taken surprise
by the sudden black of night.
We gazed across the city,
electrified, two small eyes
peering out from the bright skull.
You lifted your arm,
fingers splayed like dark eyelashes
to catch the bright orbs
of streetlights on the horizon
and cupped them in your hand,
like small candles burning,
flickering luminescent in the midnight pupil.
I'll meet her again...Its Samhain. The line between the spiritI'll meet her again...6 years ago in Sestina-ween More Like This
world and our own is a ray of moonlight.
Its the night when the reluctant soul sticks
to our plane, hovering - a withered rose
whose beauty is the figment of a dream;
a gleam gilding the surface of the lake.
For long hours of idyll would the Lake
poets revel in letting their spirit
soar free on the nightingales wings, and dream
of glimpsing their Muse clad in pure moonlight
but tonight magics afoot: clouds just rose
to blur the moon like fumes from incense sticks.
The Romantics habit of rambling sticks
to mind tonight, as I stroll to the lake
and sit down to recall the violent rows
wed have every night, before her spirit
gave itself over to the bland moonlight
and chose to rest and die, not live and dream.
But perhaps tis I thats strayed in a dream?
For in that small nest, fashioned out of sticks,
I see her visage, painted in moonlight.
I glimpse a lady traversing the
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
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 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
Ademir ReturnsAdemir ReturnsAdemir Returns5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A Brazilian bricklayer reportedly killed in a car crash
shocked his mourning family by showing up alive at his funeral.
The Associated Press
This is how we will speak of that day
We will say his legs walked him
out of death. We will say his steps
kicked their dust from the road
into the sky, and the sky touches everything
the road cannot. We will say we must
sometimes go forward to get back,
taking the hearts from these things
as we speak. We will say we believe
all we know that his is only one way
for a man to become a stranger among
his own that we see now how he was
unknown to us, but that his eyes
have shown us how to look
at his return. We will say Ademir
is back; he lives like us, still
and again. We will say we understand
that looking is among the hardest of things.
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.daughter5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I have to sift
PallorI cried myself sane and thenPallor5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
moved on. How strange, that a man
can split open like a rotten peach and find,
at last, nothingness. How strange to realize:
only then can sunlight enter his veins.
Death dissolves us. Nothing has changed
but everything is different. I spend an hour
pressing my fingers against a wall, the skin
whitening as blood retreats.
There is no regret, no fear. Only a man
who whitens against his final four walls,
the empty chair, the selfish and wandering grief.
Only a man whose face slowly unravels and the way
I wash my face, make dinner, let myself forget.
Dear MeDear Little Rachel,Dear Me5 years ago in Letters More Like This
Yes, darling, you. You standing in the queue to get out of the airport, wrapped up as though it was minus 20 degrees Celsius outside when it was just 16 degrees. You there, aged eleven years old, your skin used to humidity and now cracking up like aging plaster in the blast of dry August air.
I know who you are. You brought me to life by your dreams, your bitter recollections of better days as you tried to defog the future, only to realise it was as misty as ever. I am who you are then, and you are who I am now. Call me a time traveller, talking to you and breaking a hundred physical laws but trust me, I'm just here to give you something.
Yeah, really, I hear you scoff. What have you learnt in the last five and a half years that you can tell me about? I mean, you're only about to turn seventeen. You're not even an adult. You're only an angst-ridden, bitchy, moody, internet-addicted teenager without one shred of philosophical decency. A teen advising
Roses III: Blood RedA word. Face turned away to the silent distance,Roses III: Blood Red5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
A mirror of pain within eyes too young for this dance.
Terraced landscape down her graceful teenage spine,
Chin to knees, arms arched in a perfect synchrony of limbs.
She closed her stinging eyes and wished, as she inhaled the starchy air of the studio, that it was that easy to forget the ruins she had just postponed from her mind. With the abandon of despair, she chased one joint with another, her body a perfect arch of visual melody. Hers was the ballet of discordant precision, as she ravaged onto her body the same cacophony that her emotions drummed out onto her heart.
Within the darkness behind her eyelids, she aligned breath with heartbeat, following the disastrous staccato within her chest, reminding herself that the gallop of contained thunder therein was normal.
All was normal. It was natural to shatter continuously. She was all sinewy muscle, able to handle storm after storm.