Cause and Effect - A Writer's GuideCause and Effect - A Writer's Guide3 years ago in Profiles More Like This
Cause and Effect
~a guide to protagonists
Protagonist. That's a nice, official-sounding word, isn't it? You don't have the 'good guy'. You don't have the 'hero/heroine'. The protagonist is your main character, the one people love, and the term is usually considered interchangeable with the first two definitions.
That's not actually true. Protagonist does not mean 'good guy' and antagonist does not mean 'bad guy'. Heroes and villains get lumped into subjective categories, but protagonists and antagonists are completely different things.
Protagonists and antagonists are automatically related to one another, and often end up being opposing forces. No matter what, the protagonist must be capable of some form of conscious thought--otherwise they aren't capable of having a point of view, and you end up with nothing.
The antagonist, however, doesn't even need to be alive. Is a tornado an antagonist? It certainly can be. Any situation or being the prot
What he doesn't know Never hurt him-TG CaptionWhat he doesn't know Never hurt him-TG Caption2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Mary walked into the bedroom wearing a gorgeous dress. Stan looked over to her confused. “Hey hun I thought you were supposed to be going out?” He said his eyes darting from the T.V to his wife.
Mary walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “They all canceled,” She said. “There’s a lot of traffic on Courtney and Jenn’s end and they wouldn’t be able to make the party.”
“Oh well I’m sorry to hear about that honey I know you really wanted to go.” Stan picked up the remote and started channel surfing.
“Yeah…wish I could still go,” Mary said twirling her thumbs.
“But you need another person huh?” Stan asked.
“Yep,” Mary looked up at her husband whose eyes were glued to the television. Mary looked down at the beer in her husband’s hand.
“Hey Hun your beer’s empty do you want me to go grab you another one?”
Stan’s eyes drifted down to
septemberseptember was never a happy month for herseptember7 years ago in Other More Like This
because sometimes she got the feeling she was an apple
and they fell down. rain drops
scattered around her collar bone so that for a moment
she'd feel like someone was there
and she'd smile. it takes
forty-three muscles to frown but only
seventeen to smile. sometimes she thought
she needed the excercise.
she had been sitting there for a day, not moving
except for a sudden flinch every one hour and thirty-six minutes
when she'd scrape her knuckles in the gravel pit until
they would bleed over the bruises
she had gotten.
but, then again, october was never even a month.
bright eyes - collabtheres a girl whose lips taste like a half moon and her fingers like the sun, just two minutes and thirty three seconds before dawn. you know the way you feel, when youre standing outside in the near-dark with a cold chest and cold toes, waiting for the sun to appear from behind the horizon. when theres a whisper in the leaves and murmurs from the grass, and the mud; its filling the gaps between your toes and youre crying. it is just like her, you think. just like her fingers with cracked nails and calloused fingertips.bright eyes - collab6 years ago in Teen More Like This
theres a girl whose got bright eyes and makes you think about eating tea and biscuits in houses with whitewashed walls. she makes you think that maybe the clouds are dreams but then it rains and you want to disappear; sink into nothingness. shes oh so beautiful with her vicious thoughts and destructive tendencies, but the worst thing though, is the way she always smells of paint. of aerosol cans and pretty colours, and the way
17yearsFive years old, laughter in our cheeks..17years7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Young girls, trading shoes and necklaces.
I didn't think anything could destroy what we
Had, since our friendship survived High School
And all the stones being thrown.
But now I cannot say anything to you, because
I do not know you. Even though my heart has
Always said your name, for 17years.
But the thing that sickens me, is that after all
These years, we literally have nothing to
Show for it. But my tears and empty comments
On your facebook page. It really hurts.
How I can love you soo much, and try so hard,
And I feel like you don't even care to call me
When I give you my number.
It's been 3years since I spoke to you,
Since I even saw your face. And so, to call you
My friend, tastes like such a lie.
I tried so hard to keep this friendship from dieing,
But when one person tries so hard, and the other
Person doesn't try at all, things die even faster.
Tired I am of reaching out to you, just to come
Back with empty hands and feeling like I did
Burning AliveTame these flames of agonyBurning Alive8 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Before I burn myself away
I do not want your sympathy
That will only fuel this flame
I do not expect your helping hand
Nor would I embrace it
this new me is who I am
and no one will replace it
Not to be stopped
Not to be tamed
Who could ever extinguish
Such a wild flame
Unmatched by any fury
This vengeance goes unstopped
Any fool who stands before me
will fill the victims slot
They say that I have turned on them
but when did we ever share a side
Who struck first is not the question
It's who's strong enough to survive
My actions spawn from anger
My anger based on truth
This assault has gone on long enough
You will not kill me in my youth
It's my turn to roll the die
and I hope god sheds his mercy
For soon one day you'll be Burned alive
and soon one day you'll see
(C) Robbie Bryant 2008
Shattered MirrorsShattered Mirrors (Fragment II) (english version) [scorrete giù per la versione italiana]Shattered Mirrors7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tears, only tears stream,
now, inside me;
and they drown me.
Those same tears corroding,
merciless, my limbs,
without stopping they consume
me; violent, they get out
until they crush against my eyes
and find, being reflected
in them, the truth.
A fragment of time.
And my tears dont stream anymore:
but now my heart is crying
and the sorrow originates again
from every tear vainly shed.
The heart is the greatest
suicide I've ever known.
Specchi Infranti (Frammento II) (original italian version)
Lacrime, solo lacrime scorrono
ormai dentro di me;
e mi affogano.
Quelle stesse lacrime che insensibili
corrodono le mie membra
senza fermarsi mi consumano;
prepotenti escono fuori
fino ad infrangersi nei miei occhi
e a ritrovar nel rispecchiarsi
con questi la verità.
Un frammento di tempo.
E le mie lacrime n
Face a faceEt la mort m'emportaFace a face5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Non, non, non, tu ne peux pas m'avoir aussi facilement ! Tu as déjà répandu ton odeur putride dans ma chambre, mon teint est déjà suffisamment blafard. Cela ne te suffit donc pas ? Je n'ai plus senti une brise sur mon visage depuis une semaine, 3 jours et 5 heures. Oui j'ai compté, car c'est comme me priver de vie que de me priver d'air. Ingrat.
Plus le temps passe et plus j'ai du mal à rester concentrer sur mes idées. Ma concentration se perd, mon esprit se trouble. Je vois, je sens, je touche, mais je n'analyse plus. Tout ce qui est autour de moi se ramollit Non, je me ramollis.
Il fait froid. Ma femme avait laissé plusieurs couettes sur moi. Elle doit dormir à l'heure qu'il est. Je ne sais même pas quelle heure il est. Mais elle ne viendra pas, pas maintenant. Personne ne viendra d'ailleurs. Je veux leur dire adieu. Non je ne peux pas, j'attendrais demain matin. Oui demain matin je serai toujours
We Were SoldiersYou'll never hear me say that there's glory in war.We Were Soldiers2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It is ugly, it is painful, it is frightening...
But I know, in my heart;
Deep within this soul born of freedom.
That what I do, at times, is a necessity.
It is nerve-wracking, most days,
Knowing that when you wake up you may not make it home.
But still I am proud,
Because of what I have managed to achieve.
And tonight; I hope that you're proud of me,
Because I'm sending a hundred of my boys home.
I just wish that I was joining them this time...
The Little SparrowHer name was Emma, and she wasn't afraid of falling. For as long as she could remember she had been jumping - always plummeting. She understood the laws of nature: no matter how high she climbed, gravity would always carry her back to the ground; gravity would always grant her momentum to fall and wind-resistance to float. She understood why birds had wings and humans didn't; it was because humans would just as soon leave, and they belonged on the ground.The Little Sparrow4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
They always called her a little sparrow, always trying to fly, but they never understood that she didn't want updrafts or wings, she only wanted to scale walls and scurry up trees, to test the limits.
She wanted to throw herself from rooftops and swan dive from balancing bars, challenging inertia and gravity and the laws of motion. She wanted to cannonball into puddles and see if the ocean caught her, or if she merely fell through the earth to the steaming, bubbling core. She wanted to lift up her arms in triumph, her hair
The Stellar Void"Can you kill me, please?"The Stellar Void6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I must have looked startled because her expectant gaze saddened a bit.
"I'm sorry. What?"
"Can you kill me?" Her face brightened as she repeated the morbid probe.
Confused, I couldn't help but notice her rather familiar clothes. Faded pink jeans, knock-off Converse shoes. Little black hoodie with a torn right sleeve.
"You just looked a bit angry and I figured you'd be the best person to ask."
I stood next to the bench. My backpack dug into my shoulder and I shrugged it off. It'd be awhile before the next bus came anyway.
She looked down the street. The dim lights barely revealed the closed shops and leaf strewn sidewalks. A short breeze caused the dead landscaping out front to rustle gently but now, it seemed slightly ominous.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked." Her voice was hollow and even though she was turned away, I could sense the hint of disappointment.
Sighing, I sat on the other side of the bench. Pausing for a minute, I glanced up at the mos
durere, singuratate si dragostSi doare.. si doare si as vrea sa admit ca nu mai doare, dar doare atat de tare incat durerea insasi imi atrage atentia ca ma doare.durere, singuratate si dragost6 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Ea...m-a parasit. Ne-am despartit. De fapt, asa s-a intamplat in majoritatea relatiilor mele. Totul incepea 'odata ca niciodata', cand eram tarat nu intr-o lume cu zmei, ci intr-o lume in care stiam ca nu am loc decat eu si ea. Totul parea...perfect, ca si cum un basm ar fi luat viata si s-ar fi transformat in lumea noastra. Apoi vine furtuna; ea imi spune ca nu mai putem continua, ca nu e ceea ce si-a dorit si ca sunt baiat bun, si nu vrea sa sufar, dar e mai bine asa pentru amandoi.
Eu.. acum sunt singur. Si doare. M-am saturat sa ies pe strada sa privesc oamenii, cand stiu ca bratele mele s-au racit si buzele mi s-au uscat. Si dupa ce ea m-a parasit am continuat sa sper ca intr-o zi se va intoarce, spunandu-mi ca a gresit si ca nicaieri nu a gasit unul care sa o iubeasca la fel de copilareste ca si mine, iar eu ca un fraier as fi iertat-o. Dar lemnul u
Revised Strike Witches TLSlightly revised Strike Witches Timeline.Revised Strike Witches TL4 years ago in Settings More Like This
753 BC: Rome was founded.
550 BC: Achaemenid Empire was founded in Persia.
525 BC: Darius the Great unifies the Orient.
509 BC: The Roman Republic was founded.
500 BC to 449 BC: The Persian Wars with the Greek states.
431 BC to 404 BC: The Peloponesian War occurs.
334 BC: Alexander conducts his Eastern Campaign against Persia.
323 BC: Alexander survives malaria to conduct his campaign against India.
306 BC: Alexander unites the the Middle East and South Asia to his rule. However, he dies shortly thereafter and his heir [who did not survive the civil war] and his generals fight for the control of his empire. The Alexandrine Empire collapsed soon thereafter.
272 BC: unification of the Italian peninsula by Rome.
264 to 241 BC: First Punic War.
218 to 201 BC: the Second Punic War. Rome defeats Carthage in Zama in 202 BC.
168 BC: The Battle of Pydna occurs.
149 BC: The Third Punic War sees Carthage destroyed by Rome.
60 BC: First Triumvirate rules i
RealWhen they met it was on accident.Real5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Her heel caught in a crack on the old sidewalk that was full of them, and her books fell out of her hands and hit the ground almost rhythmically. He thinks that it's the perfect way to meet someone, cliche and nothing embarrassing.
She's had enough cliches to last her a lifetime, and she thinks little of it.
She thinks little of him, to be honest. He is kind and a gentleman, and, at their first meeting, utterly boring. However, boring has a new appeal for her, which is why they meet a second time.
She doesn't realize how much time she spends with him until she calls him one night to talk about nothing at all, simply for the purpose of hearing his voice. The realization scares her more than she wants to admit, and when he picks up after the first ring she tells him that she called the wrong number, apologizes, and hangs up.
Later, she recognizes the fact that he probably knew it was her calling, and finds herself unexpecte
ars est mortem1.ars est mortem5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The artist left his work unfinished and went to bed. He was soon asleep, and while asleep he died and went to hell. Contemplating the dark aesthetics of the river Styx, the artist boarded Charon's boat and crossed over into hell actual.
Brushing aside drifting ghosts, the artist trod the wide, smoothly paved road to Hades' palace. There were no guards at the door, and the artist entered immediately, attempting bravado.
Good evening, the doorman greeted him politely.
Hades is waiting for you.
The artist began to feel nervous. He had never been on friendly terms with Hades. He followed tremulously as the doorman guided him up three flights of black marble stairs. The walls were hung with paintings, mostly depicting the Olympians in chains. Mediocre, the artist decided.
He is in this room. The doorman left.
The artist vacillated on the doorstep, pretending to examine a statue of Cerberus. Low grade, he thought. The statue snarled. Th
The Importance of Being FrankThe Importance of Being Frank11 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The Importance Of Being Frank
At the end of this story, a Frenchman will be eaten by African driver ants.
* * *
Silvie closed the stall door behind her; she closed it timidly, with an empty expression on her face. Her hand shook. She paused for a moment, her mouth half open, her lip curled upward, and a frown on her forehead.
Then she walked over to the wash basins.
A fly buzzed between her and the mirror. She turned on the faucet, filled her cupped hands with water, and splashed it on her face. She looked at the stall's reflection in the mirror, closed her eyes, and slapped herself.
Let us slow down to take in the sights. At the exact moment Silvie's hand hits her cheek, everyth
Scrisoare catre Alex IIAlex, îţi scriu din nou, deşi m-ai rugat să nu o fac. Mi-ai spus că ai treabă. Ţi-ai întins regretele prin toată casa şi ai început să le numeri. Când ai ajuns la 14 te-am întrebat dacă ai încercat vreodată să trăieşti fără să clipeşti. Te-ai enervat pentru că ai pierdut numărătoarea din cauza mea. Nu mi-ai răspuns. Ai luat-o de la capăt. Şi aş fi vrut să te întreb ce rost are să-ţi numeri regretele, dar deja ajunsesei la 62 şi mi-era teamă că iar te voi încurca. Aşa că te întreb acum. Ce rost are? Tot atâtea or să fie, oricâte pături, oricâte preşuri sau oricâte cărţi ai pune peste ele. Şi oricâţi de saci de gunoi ai umple.Scrisoare catre Alex II5 years ago in Letters More Like This
Şi Alex, de ce iubim atât de mult cerul? De ce ne alegem stele, le dăm nume ş
a poem for terrible people.i want to write a poem about primrosesa poem for terrible people.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and how i am not a terrible person.
i am disordered but not disorderly. i am broken up.
i think nice thoughts like "streetlight" and "linens,"
and is there an instruction guide on happiness?
i could write one for you.
step one, paint your eyes cobalt blue.
step two, hang fireworks from coat hangers.
step three, turn into a dandelion. blow away.
my heart tries to escape from my throat.
okay, i am guilty in ways that you cannot tell anyone,
ever, not even imaginary best friends.
or real ones.
freud says i am an iceberg, but i don't know
if he means i am full of repressed thought
or just a frigid bitch who will cut you open.
step four, there is no step four.
if i am an iceberg, i desperately need someone
to warm me in the palms of their hands.
no one ever will though, because i sink ships
and tear people apart.
once there was a girl who told people
that she was not terrible, but the primroses
in her garden would never bloom
as if th