Can anyone hear me?Can Anyone Hear Me?Can anyone hear me?5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
As a child, the Grown Ups tell us that God is watching us, waiting for us to break the rules waiting for a reason to punish us. So to us Children, God is the Punisher, someone we are bred to fear.
Those same Grown Ups then tell us when we are Older that God is Love, and that when we die, if we have been good, we will go to heaven. They transform God from Punisher to Judge, and Life itself into a trial for goodness. If this is so, how can you know if you have been good? Sometimes, Life is punishment enough, and the idea of ending it so tempting.
I put a cigarette between my lips and raise a numb hand to shield the pail blue and yellow flame. As the end glows against the patterns of my fingerless gloves, I am one step closer to the end of my life. One suck at a time, like the slow pull of the tide that each time takes another grain of sand with it, I am wearing my life away.
I blow smoke through my nose. Let the end come, what do I have to lose?
All night I
For someone I don't knowTo someone I don't know:For someone I don't know5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I don't know exactly how I saw you, but you screamed a cry for help from a page that could not make a sound. I heard you. You said your life was unlived, pointless, and you were searching for its end. Would if there were someone, anyone, out there that knew how to make it stop. To make the voices silent, to take the weight off your chest so you could breathe again. If only the little hands would stop taking that knife and making you bleed.
You wish you could sleep. Not just close your eyes, and fall into darkness. No, the real thing. The kind that stupid romantic novels talk about or those babies have before they can see what kind of world they have been born into. You feel so tired, so hollowed out of anything real that you think about the Final Sleep like some kind of paradise.
There are those voices, telling you that you have no point in life, that there is no reason. There is nothing that makes the world go round, nothing to love, no one who loves you, no o
He was Only HumanHe was only humanHe was Only Human5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I watched through the muddy haze of rain as man fell to his knees, his breath misting the air in whips of white fog.
Even heroes could drown, they could be cut, and they could bleed.
But he was so much more than just a hero, perhaps he had forgotten how truly fragile life was. How fragile WE were, all of us, no matter how long we had survived. One day our time would run out, and we had to pay the fiddler.
When we die, what happens to the ones left behind? How do they cope?
We had come so far, how could it end like this?
From the day I had met him, the day he had saved me; my life had been about him. He could not be cut, though many had tried, and it was impossible for him to lose. Brave, strong men followed him. Brave men died.
He lived, no one could say how, he just did.
Was his invincibility a gift? He often saw it as a curse. I took it for granted, and after a time, I saw him begin to as well. When you cannot die, life loses most of its worth. A man who walks into
The CurseThe CurseThe Curse4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
By Amie White
Few people will understand why I am this way. It's not something you can really describe. To them I must just seem odd, undetectable, invisible even. But it is all very real to me.
When I look at people right in the eye, they shrink and quickly pretend they were going in the opposite direction. They see something in my eyes, something that's broken and doesn't quite tick the same as they do. It scares them. It would scare me too. It used to at first, but now I've just stopped trying to fight it.
It is my gift, my curse. They won't ever understand. I haven't always been this way, but I've never been what you would call "normal" either. Maybe that is why it found me.
When I was a child my brother used to drop books on my head when I hid in the library, tucked away with my favourites. He called me an alien, and perhaps he was right. What normal eight year old reads "exorcising Hitler" in her spare time or draws diagrams of tanks and biplanes for school art projects
equinox.her name was october, butequinox.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
she was born in november
and painted sweet like summer.
she said someday she would become a masochistic poet or maybe an offstage actress, because she wasn't good for much else.
she said someday she would stop dreaming of breaking her promises to the dead, because if they gave up on her, she'd have nothing left.
she said someday she'd wake up to a nightmare instead of falling asleep to one; she figured maybe that would be easier, because you can't scream and cry with your eyes open wide.
(honey, they'll think you're crazy.)
she said someday she would figure out if she was a libra or a scorpio or a goddamn sagittarius; it didn't really matter, but she just wanted to know the stars as well as they knew her.
she said someday she would become Satan's asylum, and demons would dwell in the deepest crevices
Are You Ashamed?Envy: The prettiest girl in high school stands surrounded by her friends, they worship her, envy her, wish they were her. She knows Danny Cooper, her newest crush, will ask her to Home Coming, and she wishes he'd hurry up and do it. He's so cute, there's no way someone like him would go for anyone but her. Sure, he has a girlfriend, some ditzy, ugly thing named Trisha with glasses and black nail polish, but she's easily taken care of. Just yesterday she stole his cell phone and took some pictures of her that were obviously personal off of it; today she posted them all over the school. After such embarrassment he would dump her and fall right into her trap, where he belonged. She tosses her hair and her lips perk cruelly around the edges as she sees the very same ditz at the end of the hall, surrounded by a group of jeering boys, making kissy faces and pointing to the print outs of her on the wall. Stupid, pathetic girl, she looks like she's about to start crying..Are You Ashamed?5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
PerfectionPerfection5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm not your kind of pretty,
But you are my kind of perfect.
Perfection in imperfection.
I like that.
She is your kind of pretty.
And at first glance, perfect.
You seem to think so
And I can't help but think so too-
From what I can see, from a facebook pout spree,
And what others tell me,
She's got it all, that girl's on fire.
There's a lot that separates the two of us.
A handful of months,
And a whole scale, beauty to plain.
Her character "nice", mine "weird"
She's got her style
I've got my odd quirks.
Contest? Not likely. Not bloody likely.
For all I know, on the inside,
She could be just like me.
She could wonder at the world, the beauty and pain.
She could hear the heartbeat in a song
Or see the beauty in something small most people
I wish he could do that.
But few do. Who would
Notice a pebble in the dirt when it lies next to diamonds?
I used to be bitter.
Raw and hurting.
Loathing myself- in all my weakness.
It took me a wh
Come on, you know you want to.Come on, You Know You Want to.Come on, you know you want to.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
This was horrible. It was completely inhumane.
That was, of course, the entire reason behind doing it. The pull towards something so cruel, it was like a drug. The more you gave in, the more your body demanded it.
The beauty that was only seen in the minutes after death drew him like a moth to the flame. Skin that paled to an ashen white, set against the striking contrast of crimson pooling across their clothes and the LOVE!
There had always been something magical about couples.
His inner self longed to see such beauty, and his morals had long since been silenced by that hunger. Today was just another snack for the monster inside of him.
From where he sat, the rain making the tinted windows of his car fog up, he could clearly see the two figures. Love was only as beautiful as it was strong. Young love, now THAT was the strongest, most entrancing of them all.
These two were very young, barely more than children. The girl was seventeen, the boy five mo
Rakastaa"Flowers, please."Rakastaa6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The childish voice was accompanied by the rattle of coins as a small hand reached up to drop a pile of change on the counter of the small kiosk.
The flower vendor looked around for the source of the voice for a moment before leaning over slightly to see twin pairs of blue eyes peering at him from under shocks of pale blonde hair; the twin boys couldn't have been more than three, perhaps four, but they stood there alone, not even tall enough to easily see over the counter.
"Where are your parents?" the vendor asked gently.
One of the twins frowned slightly, and looked up at the questioning adult.
"They're not here," he repeated. "Flowers, please."
The man hid a small smile as he looked down on the boys; they were polite enough, young as they were.
"What kind of flowers?"
"Just any kind of flowers?"
The man looked at the small pile of bronze and gold tinted coins glinting on the c