The PianistA warm, lilting melody wafted through the nightclub, nimble fingers dancing over crisp black and white keys as the song of the grand piano drifted down from the stage, filtering between the irregularly spaced tables to fill every niche and recess of the dimly lit room. The lone figure in the spotlight moved gently with the music, her long chestnut hair billowing down her back in loose waves and her wine red dress fanning out around her knees as she sat on the worn leather stool. It was not a complex song she played, with no difficult notes or intricate rhythms, but there was something about it that was so enthralling, so entrancing, as if each sound touched you, clung to you, whispered to you.The Pianist4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
As the tune swelled, as the notes danced, and as music came alive beneath her fingers, the pianist began to remember.
She met him at a cheap, backwater club on a cool autumn evening while playing yet another of those low paid unambitious jobs that she hated but needed to make ends meet. While
with a whisperthis is how we rule the world,with a whisper2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the forgotten, lobotom-ised,
of a long lost dystopast.
not with a SHOUT,
we do not argue.
we do not even unsheath
we whisper in your children's ears
the memories of what should have been.
the life we all crave.
the death we all crave.
WE do not discriminate
our opinions onto others
pressing the side of the blade
down onto the flesh
all are bitten
with the fever of our belief.
this is how we rule the world,
we tell stories,
we incite a generation
with their own scar/r/ed lungs
with a whisper.
Professional EulogistThe only dry eyeProfessional Eulogist2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Belongs to the perennial pallbearer.
His countenance cold, even in Kelvin.
Pine forests falling,
Fields somewhere filling with his friends,
They're carving out quarries
And ghostwriting eulogies.
People wonder aloud what's wrong with him.
He knows Dionysus drowns more men,
Venus takes more lives than Mars,
Walking on traintracks,
Eyes crossed like stars.
There's no ghosts left in this town.
In a real city of angels,
In a time called black suit season,
Death is a dial tone.
Revised Strike Witches TLSlightly revised Strike Witches Timeline.Revised Strike Witches TL2 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
a conversationi welcome sleep as it is - a long lost friend returning home from battle, arms draped over my shoulders, weeping. i held it close and whispered - as if it were my only friend, being the prince of the sky, asking of why i cling to my possessions like a dog to its territory, why i harbor insane notions about silly things -a conversation2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"we are all barren, stripping the land, looking for love in white-capped waves of our own destruction."
i asked why mother nature was pulling me by the roots of my hair, and being as i am, a girl who speaks vague classroom french and stands at the waterside passing small thoughts
like stones as the brine and tangling seaweed washes over my broad and open feet, i condescendingly believed he would give me straight answers-
"all languages we speak are diligent and binding, we bite our tongues against society, and she is just trying to say hello."
silence like a trainwreck passes on four feet and i wait, breathing, for the hour to come and announce itself to me in a rain-l
Avengers: In MemoriamIn MemoriamAvengers: In Memoriam2 years ago in Drama More Like This
in memoriam, a Latin phrase that translates directly as 'in memory of'"Did you mourn?"
"We all did."They all mourn. Just in different ways.
There is a bloodstain on the wall.
None of them ever mention it or show any sign of letting it dwell in their thoughts, but Fury has noticedwith his 'good eye' as Stark likes to refer to it asthat there are a few rare moments just before a mission when they can be found gathered around the mark they refuse to let anyone clean away, and one or two of them at a time can be found giving it more than just a passing glance as they wander by it, fingers outstretched and tips barely brushing the surface.
The stain marks more than another casualty of battleit is a moment of triumph, of death; it is where, separate as they were, they became a team, where they found something (no, someone) to avenge. It is where they go on their own to collect their thoughts, looking into the empty void before them (th
Soak My Feet In WineWhen the sun and the earth were in love, ever youngSoak My Feet In Wine4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I was born on a full moon with silver clarity
I'm that woman who sleeps on olive groves
Who makes angels fall in love with men's daughters
And lets herself be tricked by your sweet spells
Who obeys the very impulse of her heart
Do you know who I am, where I came from ?
I live where stars grow bigger on a light breeze
Where butterflies were once flowers
Where God blessed my garden in Eden with peace
There, where I lay on a cloud softer than foam
When the day splits into two halves, you see me
My steps are as light as those of a chamois
My hair running wild; wings of an evil crow
My mouth has the roundness of a precious ring
Cheeks, two fields of roses blooming again
Under my feet grow trees, and remain ever green
You need my palms, you seek my blood and fear
Before you crave for more, grant me what I wish for
Kiss the ground before me, show me your loyalty
Borrow the devil's wings, bring me bouquets of stars
I want that purp
Introduction: CharacterFirst lesson about writing: Characters are what makes the story.Introduction: Character4 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
Think about your favorite story. Ever.
Well, I can't think about mine, so I'll go for "Which French anti-hero do I feel like fangirling for today?" Narrowly beating out the story about the tragic relationship between the bohemian sociopath with the amazing set of pipes and unfortunate skin condition (unless he's being played by Gerard Butler) and a Scandinavian soprano is The Count of Monte Cristo. That novel is, in its unabridged printing, thick enough to bludgeon a walrus with. It starts off pretty fast, but gets slow just as quickly. It's not a book for the short of attention span.
So why do I love that novel? For the titular Count. For the cast of cool main characters. For the One True Pairing of Maximilian Morrel and Valentine de Villefort. For duels and revenge and intrigue and character driven plot and a main character who is (and I am using the technical terminology, borrowed from tvtropes.org) badass enoug
epitaphin the endepitaph7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when i'm almost gone
and all i've left
is a red lamp
and a ragged song
to pave my way
into the thunderstorm
let every raindrop murmur
i loved you and lost
nothing but emptiness
and the company
The Rumour of IcarusIcarusThe Rumour of Icarus3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there is a rumour that your father killed you, that
he bent your wings until they broke and then
told you, "Fly."
If this rumour is true, then it lives in the throats of
those fragile boys who wear your death like Cain's mark,
whose tender hands split like swollen tomatoes when
they pluck strangled seabirds, whose
arms slump beneath the weight of their father's genius.
And this rumour lives on
the under-skin of their eyelids so that when they die
or simply sleep
they dream of their fathers
or maybe just of Daedalus, standing with
his hands full of feathers and wax,
their blood-flecked down under his fingernails.
your face is gone, icarus, you are a warning & a tragedy &
the patron saint of boys who will not listen but also you are a god, icarus,
a god to these boys and still, when you fell
said Bruegel in oils, Auden and Williams in verse
no one gave a damn.
they also say that your father strained the sunlight into an amphora
and told you, "Dri
Germany x Criminal!Reader x Prussia .:Part 1:.Germany x Criminal!Reader x Prussia .:Part 1:.2 years ago in Romance More Like This
It was around 3 AM. The very early morning sky was pitch black with the occasional star dotting the horizon. The moon was hidden behind a wall of clouds, just barely giving you enough light to find your way to the house.
It was your first big raid. You had managed to live off of pick-pocketing for the past year or so, but this was it. This was where you were going to get the cash.
As you reached the house, you couldn't help but stare at the Beilshmidt residence in awe. It wasn't anything fancy, but it was quite large and simply beautiful.
You had heard rumors about the two amazingly handsome brothers that lived there, but you didn't care. You were here for the money. They were rich.
As quietly as possible, you slipped into the large home through the window you had 'casually' cracked open earlier. Thankfully no one noticed and closed it.
You took a deep breath and looked around. Glad you were in black slippers, as the floor was wooden, you sneaked into the kitchen. You noticed it seemed
Haruki MurakamiThe Elephant Vanishes by Haruki MurakamiHaruki Murakami8 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Published by Random House Pty (Ltd), Vintage in 2003
Quite often, my husband thrusts a book into my hands saying "Stop reading your fantasy rubbish and read something real."
This little gem is a quick-to-read collection of some "slice-of-life" tales set in the author's native Japan. Although translated from Japanese into English, they read well and are, in my mind, reminiscent of some of the Kafka that I ploughed through when I was younger.
Murakami's protagonists appear mostly as individuals who exist within modern society and yet seem somehow apart from the general flow of things, acting as almost objective observers that don't appear to have any impact on their environment. I feel that they watch the world go past them and, although not unable to act in it, they are unwilling, realising that all actions are, inevitably futile. At least that was the general gist that I picked up from this collection. At once depressing, these tales are, in som
Hell Can Take YouWhere will you take me?Hell Can Take You2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Where I cannot cry.
where we do no die.
I ache to see your face,
To say one last thing.
I live with everyday.
At my still beating heart.
Like the bottom of the ocean
I'd always get lost
Searching for the words to say
My goodbyes to you
I didn't expect this to end suddenly
You went away that day
And I wish I did too
No matter what you do
Try to remember something
We won't meet again
I am positive of that
Don't get the wrong idea
I never loved your ass
You were there
You always were
A itch that could not be scratched
So enjoy your time
This is the day
I bid your memories
A slow, final farewell
A Rose by Any Other NameA Rose by Any Other Name5 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
In a white hospital bed, pale as the lifeless bones of a decaying skeleton, with my flesh exposed through the backless dress of my hospital gown, I listen to nurses discuss my mental health. I can taste the quiet tap of a pen on paper and their tiny smiles of contempt.
Shame comes in waves. Its not like a scalpel or the cold touch of a surgeons hand. They never tell you that it can eat away at your insides like a virus. (That it eats you alive). Shame is not a symptom of the mentally ill. Its just a side effect.
In my creased hospital dress, I wish for death. The sweetest sleep away from detached, gloved hands and dissociative expressions. The never-ending hostile questions and the silent blame and accusations lying unspoken on dry lips.
You did this. Youre not sick. Youre just a twisted, manipulative lunatic.
Under medication and the slow Novocain drip of sedation, I wish for another disease. I want a tumor in my head something t
christmasBaubles are redchristmas6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Presents are blue
but given the chance
I'd give them all up
but only for you
1. The beginningThe ordinary moon dispelled the darkness and the night fell into place. It was raining. She didnt like the rain, it gave her terrible hair and she couldnt pull off interesting-and-original-without-trying with bad hair, of course. The other girl looked at her. She was puzzled, unsure as usual as to what was really going on. She was a hard one to fathom, The promiscuous illusionist. It was almost as if she knew something none of the others did. Something. Somehow.1. The beginning6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Either way The other girls wonderings werent helping with the wet and the rain and the discomfort brought with it. She thought of how perfect it would be if it only rained on Tuesdays. Tuesdays and late at night when the world was blacked out and the most part of its occupants were occupied with little more than sleep and dreams, each one occupied with the busy events of their subconscious.
Maid For A DayMaid For A Day2 years ago in Settings More Like This
It was the week before summer began for Jerry and he was in a crisis. He needed to find a summer job. They were all taken but he needed one badly to be able to buy the stuff he wanted since his parents cut him off weeks before. So he decided to go through town again on another job search.
"Stupid parents, why did they have to cute me off?" Jerry angrily said, stressing out and frantically rubbing his hands threw his short black hair. "This sucks!" He said looking around again.
Jerry looked around town again and nearly came up with nothing. He was about give up until...
"Crap, nothing aga-..." At that moment he stumbled and bumped into an older woman. When he got up he opened his eyes to see a woman lying before him but she was in a black and white maids outfit. She looked to be in her early 20's and had flowing black hair and blue eyes. He helped her up to notice she was a little shorter than he was.
"Oh sorry bout that I wasn't looking where I was going." He explained.
"Oh no no, it's
Rainbow DustRainbow Dust2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Stars made of nightmares and skies made of fears
Hearts made of glass and a home built of tears
Cries made of silence and words made of knives
Dreams of the struggle to simply survive
Souls made of paper and minds made of flames
She is a piece of their loveliest game
No longer can she feel more than disgust
Even a rainbow does turn into dust