Second Chances- Introduction"Isn't it a lovely thought?"Second Chances- Introduction5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
"Wouldn't you love to see more?"
I opened my eyes as I barely heard the whimper of a calm voice speaking out to me. All I could see in front of me was a figure of a girl. Her back was facing me and her light brown hair was shimmering in the wind. She wore a light baby green dress that had fallen to her lower thigh, and had her shimmering long hair was tide loosely by a light green bow into a ponytail. She had white flats on and light porcelain skin. She was standing in a field filled with grass and odd flowers. The wind was light and mild and I felt it pound softly on my face, ruffling my hair. I looked around me noticing I was on a field. I tried to look beyond the field, but that was all there was, just more of the field. The sky was light blue, and there were twinkling yellow lights only around us. The whole scenery, including the lights, was far too bright for me to handle. I noticed my green ushanka was gone and I was wearing a buttoned up T-shirt in t
Second Chances 1I head down the stairs after taking a shower and getting dress. I look ahead towards the living room and kitchen. No one seems to be there, my mother is probably on bed, refusing to make breakfast for her gay son. My father is at work, probably defending or persecuting someone in court this minute. My brother is still in England as an exchange student. He went just to get away from me, he even said so himself. I guess my sexuality preference bothers my family that much. At least my father isn't as dramatic as my little brother and controlling mother; still, he has been avoiding me ever since I came out. I was so afraid of telling anybody else, that I refrained from telling my friends, or anybody at school. Including my best friend Stan Marsh, whom I've been best friends with since even before preschool. He noticed that I have been hiding something from him, and after trying to pry it out of me, we got into a fight, he told me he never wanted to see me again. Worst of all Kenny seems toSecond Chances 15 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Best Friends? -STYLE-The cold whisked around my face and nipped at my nose. Though it was colder than it has ever been, I barely noticed. My mind thought of one person; one boy. His hair was dark, black as coal. Blue eyes pierced my heart leaving a wondrous sensation behind for me to have. That skin of his, almost porcelain. Deep within me the urge to brush my fingertips on his baby textured skin grew and festered inside of me. Some call it a monster.Best Friends? -STYLE-5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Gay. Is that what I am? I chewed the word inside my mouth but it sounded so wrong. Gay is tan, muscled, dyed, and fake. I am pale, lanky, red haired, and could care less about fashion. The more I try and think about me with someone else my mind races to him. My best friend. My soul mate?
Stan Marsh. He is nine years old. I am three-quarters of an inch taller than him, but he's a few months older. We've been friends since forever and this love feels so right. At least I think I should call it love. Yet day after day I fight it off. Never daring to whisper the
Liar***Liar5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The first time you realize he's lying is a Sunday. He coughs a couple times, maybe once or twice, and you find yourself reaching out, asking, "Are you okay?"
It's habitual, something you always do. It's just reflexive, years of politeness grilled into your head. He knows that, he knows that.
And yet he glares at you suspiciously. "I'm fine."
A small voice in the back of your head says, 'Liar' and you wonder just where that came from. Because you know he'd never lie to you, you've been best friends for far too long for that.
But that's the only logical explanation as to why he's staring at you as though he's trying to puzzle something out. Maybe he's just wondering how you could possibly know he's not telling the truth...
The second time you realize he's lying, he's at school. The professor approaches, asking for the essay he was supposed to write.
"I don't have it." His face is troubled, worried, and, as that tiny voice inside your head points
Sp-Style_ Belong with me Ch4Sp-Style-Belong with meSp-Style_ Belong with me Ch45 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Chapter 4- The message
I've avoided Stan through the past few days already. From Bus stops, school, and ignored him if he did called. I know how he feels about me and he knows how I feel about him. He probably doesn't care about me, only as much as friends. I mean, he wouldn't lie about his feelings . Would he?
A tap was felt on my shoulder and I looked into his eyes of the blond, "oh hey Kenny," I smiled weakly. I haven't spoken to him since the incident too. Not that I meant to though.
"Kyle, you okay? You've been down lately and all, from Stan right?" He's been watching me since then eh.
"Yeah I'm okay. Just, it kind of tore me down, from Stan's answer." I faked a laugh, as if I could pull it off.
"Kyle " Kenny had that serous look, the look where he was serious about the situation. He clamped his hands on my shoulders and bend to look at me. "I want you to that I'm here for you. And I'll do anything to help you, Kyle."
Dear You, Nee: MyselfDear You (Nee: Myself);Dear You, Nee: Myself5 years ago in Letters More Like This
Sometimes when I am hazy (See: Unconscious) and out of my mind I think back to those tumultuous days when barefoot was mandatory and dress pants were for old people - I'd laugh, but I wear shoes now to cover my feet, cracked from years of wandering down the same path, and dress pants to present a respectable front for society, that very same one which together we would shun from an alley while sipping cheap beer directly from the bottle, pretending it was wine in a silver goblet, keeping a lazy eye out for the police.
I don't know where we went wrong, where we separated and flew in opposite directions like birds scattered . My fingers lay unmoving on this keyboard as I try to come up with words to express my greatest sympathies for killing you, nothing seems to be acceptable. Nothing seems quite right. What do you say to somebody who's life you took - I am sorry, I am remorseful, I would do it a
vertigothe light's dizzyvertigo4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or maybe that's just me
because i haven't been able
to see in straight lines these days,
i see stars spinning
around the night sky
like i can see the world
i am so still
i can hardly breathe.
when bleeding doesn't work.
until its lips fall over the
edge of your skin,
because you are infection,
you are atrophy and misery
all under one band-aid.
it's scary to see things moving
when you're too afraid
to do the same.
it's scary to be stagnant,
a warm swamp in july,
thick with mud and lack of envy,
coagulation around the ankles.
but it's scarier to move
when your eyes dance out of focus,
when fire is blurs of acrylic paint,
dioxazine purple, alizarin crimson,
it's scarier to move
when you can't
see what's in front of you,
and you know
it could be
Different SolutionsJuly 8, 2006, 9:13 AMDifferent Solutions6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Grandpa died today. I just found out by a neighbor of his who called me up. Just thought I'd write this down before I went down there to claim myself as his grandson. My counselor said this kind of thing [Journal Writing] is good for release without injuring anything. So this should definitely be something worth writing about, but I guess I better go down before someone else claims him before I do.
July 8, 2006, 12:28 PM
Got down here no problems at all. Stopped for food, but that's about it. Found out how Grandpa died. Heart attack. Went through some of his stuff. Most of it is for everyone else. Have to call them up and let them know, since they are all far away. Found Grandpa's journal. Skimming through it, I found many entries about a girl who went by his house everyday.
Drowning Out the SilenceSilence resoundsDrowning Out the Silence5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Almost deafening in our classroom
But they're not silent
For the reasons that I am
They are silent because
There's not talking during a test.
I'm silent because
I want to end the silence
But, now that I think about it, isn't saying nothing sort of saying nothing? I feel a little stirring in my chest, like I've just figured out something uncomfortable. I stare down at the numerous questions that await my solving on the white test paper before me. Furrowing my brows, I run a hand through my hair.
There is a scuffling sound to my right, followed by an eruption of hushed giggles. Of course, this is all followed closely by the whispered venom, "faggot". A deep-rooted anger for such ignorant degradation boils in my stomach. I whip around to see four lanky boys with cocky smiles. I glare daggers and open my mouth to tell them off (with something of rapier wit, I assure you) but my lips only tug at the silver adhesive stuck to them.
.vesta..vesta5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It is time. We feel the pull of summer along our spines
as we head into hibernation. Bed is short respite for our leaden limbs,
our singed hair. The air aches with the wait of it, where the embers
click and sing like crickets. Snippets of sound from the underground.
"This," someone says, wide-eyed with awe, "is what the insides
of the earth look like" - the world beneath, struck through with
dragons' teeth, pocked with open sores. The slit smile of the crater
in a slack jaw. Our scarred skies are littered with lights, many
mechanical suns spun into the ceiling, glinting like electric sequins.
And in the middle of it all, where our tracks meet, lies Vesta,
incomplete. The heat seeps from her as she speaks neat,
untranslatable lines of words, tapped out as if on a bell.
She's a shell and she knows it, tied heart to hearth. She hears
the earth and extracts, repeats an exact echo. Sometimes
she's nearly crushed by the rush of words, spilling into the air
like prayers, but by now we know
Existential CrisesThere was an odd feeling that washed over her on Saturday mornings. She sat dazed between unfinished paintings, white canvases with specks of reality, and piles of unorganized papers; they seemed to magically grow and multiply as if by an imaginary stroke of the hand. Some were bills she always forgot to pay, or letters from Dylan that always ended up, with the envelope still tightly shut, in the trash. You can read a person's personality, right to its gritty core, simply by examning their trash. She had Ding-Dong wrappers, ice-cream containers, sketches of people and people that were no-longer, and a rotting carton of orange juice with a long-past expiry date, sitting solemnly with only each other for company. The letters that occasionally found their way to the heap of undesired items would recite their lyrics in a monotonous tone, while the decaying remains of food would "ooh" and "ahh", absorbing each syllable, decomposing the crumpled paper.Existential Crises8 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She moved out of her childhood home two
Sp-Style_ Belong with me Ch5Sp-Style-Belong with meSp-Style_ Belong with me Ch55 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Chapter 5- Truths and lies?
I was still staring at the piece of paper. I didn't know what to do
"Kenny, what are we supposed to do? I think it was a bad idea to come here in the first place "
"No. We're going in. Weather they like it or not!" Kenny walked up to the door, he was about to open the door when someone else on the other side did, music blaring and lights dimmed inside.
"What do you think your doing Kyle." And the last person I wanted to see was here. "Its like the note said; No Faggets allowed, Kyle!"
"So Stan wasn't the one that put the note up, it was you!" I should've known. "You rot so low Wendy, you're just an inconsiderate bastard," I hissed. Her eyes glazing back at mine.
Wendy chuckled lightly, "Silly Kyle. This way, Stan won't fall for your oblivious gayness of course," and smirked at that, fingering back some hair.
I squint my eyes as she continued to smirk, "Jesus Christ Wendy! We're not going to go through t
spoonfuls of alphabet soupmy thoughts have turned into an alphabet soup; all the letters, all the words, all the memories are still there, but the coherence is all gone.spoonfuls of alphabet soup5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i l i f i live in fantasy;
r i j a p reality is just a place
t r m f to rest my feet.
m h i i t c my head isn't in the clouds
b i f a &
why we never.on her fifth birthdaywhy we never.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
her mother gave her an electric belt and said
"there is no reason to live if you can't feel it" and
strapped it around her daughter's tiny waist. she told her
"every time you breathe, it stings" and that was how
she knew she was alive.
wednesdays were leap days and fridays were fall days
and tuesday was the day her brother cried because
he'd been told his daffodils would never bloom
again. he said "flowers die when no one
sees them" and she put her hands over his eyes.
"i'm a flower" she repeated over and over.
"hello, i think i know you" he had said.
"what do you want?"
"hello, i think i know you."
"hellos are overrated."
"hello, i think i know you."
she asked her father for porcelain dolls
to watch their frail limbs shatter as they fell.
legs fell. arms fell. heads fell. she fell.
and it didn't even sting.
on her sixth birthday, the belt was passed on.
Obsessive-CompulsiveLook at my room and it is a mess, a mess, a mess, a mess, a mess. Lock the door, make sure it is locked. 2 4 6, 4 6 8, 6 8 10, 8 10 12, 10 12 14. Must make sure it is locked, locked, locked, locked, locked. 2 4 6, 4 6 8, 6 8 10, 8 10 12, 10 12 14. It should be locked, [it is fine] (shouldn't it?).Obsessive-Compulsive5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Too many things and yet not enough time, not enough, not enough, not enough, not enough. Have to be quick. Arrange, order, align. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10. Arrange, order, align. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10. Arrange, order, align. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10. Arrange, order, align. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10. Arrange, order, align. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10. Push it back, must make it square, must hear the clunk of it meeting, must hear it, must hear it, must hear it, must hear it. Now to count, must make sure it stays, must make sure it is not out of place, not out of place, not out of place, not out of place, not out of place. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10. Move on to the next, must make it square, must hear the clunk of it mee
ix. Unspoken Gesturesi. He shuffles around, a husk of what he used to be.ix. Unspoken Gestures5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
ii. I can hear him scraping his aged comb over his bristly, patterned hair. It used to be like the black paint you see in darkrooms, but the paint's been peeling [cracking] into lifeless grey.
iii. He isn't much of a talker. He always thought that words were unnecessary in this day and age. Instead, you had to act to do something, be someone.
iv. I still remember the days where he put forth that notion of his. They were good times, I guess (we deserved them)
v. He never had a good life. I'm not sure if he ever will. He has had four brothers With five children all vying for the five most basic needs, he came last.
vi. Born after all of them, it was sufficient enough for them to act as bBrUoLtLhIeErSs. It was a vicious cycle where his brothers thrashed him, and he thrashed other people.
vii. When he was fifteen, he started working, not knowing he was
WineHelena tried white wine first: the liquid wasn't quite colourful enough to qualify as a daring drink, nor was it so transparent that one might mistake it for water. When her tongue stopped arching up into the sour stream to avoid the foreign edge and could sit quietly and behave as she swallowed, Helena thought it might be time to take another glass. She did so, and she wasn't sick, and so she decided the time was right to try rosé. She wasn't sick after that, either, and after congratulating herself on her constitution, she reached for the red.Wine5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
After she had thoroughly customised her velvet skirt with three bottles' worth of liquid and an artful rearrangement of dinner, Helena threw herself into a chair in the corner of the library and fervently promised Byron she'd never drink again. She remembered being told, somewhere, that glass could cut your hands if you weren't careful with it; she sucked her finger pre-emptively, to show that she was fully prepared for any injuries. Five
Forget their taste anytime...Forget their taste anytime soonForget their taste anytime...8 years ago in Spiritual & Occult More Like This
The angel enters the other angel's shrine bowing, its halo a faint autumn purple.
"Do you have a name?" it asks the other one sitting beside a window. "I mean, right now."
"I don't. I don't need one right now. Do you?" the other one replies, not turning towards the door. Then it adds "You are welcome."
"Thank you. As for the name, yes I do have one. I was asked to pass it on to you, after making sure you don't have one already."
"I had quite a few recently. None now," nods the one still sitting. "Do speak it to me then."
The one in the door moves in, crossing the small, bright room. It casts shadows, and there's a loose feather trailing a circle slowly behind it in the air. It is a black feather, tinted purplish by the autumn halo. When the angel reaches the other one, it leans to it and whispers something in its left ear.
"No," the sitting one says, not a shadow crossing its pure face. "I cannot bear that name now. I am too light for the task it
His Name is JamesHis Name is James4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
His Name is James
I had a baby inside of me,
Of only ten weeks young.
It stole my heart and all my love,
But its time on earth was done.
Sacred and lonely in my room,
I bled and cramped and cried.
The next day's scan showed a still heart;
At ten weeks my baby died.
I cursed God for His hand in that,
For how can I mourn one without a name?
But God stuck by me throughout the hurt,
He says it was a boy I call him James.
And the Heavens Rained Down"What does the sky look like today?"And the Heavens Rained Down6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"It's... gray. And flat. Boring really, Grandpa."
Poor Annie. She sounded so awkward searching for the words. Somewhere in all those years, we had forgotten to teach her the poetry of the sky. Even through eyes that had long since darkened, I could see the clouds, clear and majestic, reaching to the heavens.
They were white. The purest white I had ever seen. Matched by the purest laugh I had ever heard, now echoed to me from the bottom of the well of time, the voice of Annie's grandmother. She beamed, holding her straw hat against the wind and urging me to go faster. At the top of the hill, we stood together and gazed upward, eternity stretching out before us and all things possible in our youth. Such white clouds, fluffy and free, skating in an ocean of blue and haloed by a hidden sun. I hoped that moment would never end and year
Through MeThrough Me4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Everyday I'm happy, I smile, I even laugh
But I know whats inside is taking its last breathe
I try and try to fight back but I can't help
No one sees the pain in my eyes
They see my crystal-clear blue eyes that say nothing
I look around to find nothing not even myself
I, myself, is nothing anymore it has vanished
Vanished where only spirits see what I lost
I close my doors so many times to my room
The feeling of shutting it, is relieving
Almost as if I have a secret hidden in here
I wish not to share with anyone
For it would ruin my last piece of hope
The last piece I've been holding onto
feels pointless to hold on longer
I have yelling coming from all directions
I close my eyes for a moment
I imagine me somewhere free
Free of everything I never had...
stop trying to write this,I won't say it.stop trying to write this,5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm a child again, but so are you.
I'll wrap my fingers tightly with yours, and with all the strength I pretend to possess, I'll push back. No matter how my bones threaten to crack and break, it's a small price to pay, scratching miles beneath my fingernails. Somewhere in the middle of this torturous playground game, I decided it would be easy. Distracting myself with the lyrics to Cat Stevens' Greatest Hits, counting cracks in the ceiling, studying snatches of the dictionary. Did you know nauseous actually means to make ill? The correct term for feeling ill is nauseated. The distraction feels like it's working, but just one imbalance, one push from you, is all that's needed to knock it down. 'How Can I Tell You?', the structure that encloses me, the insistently pedantic English language, all desert me, and I'm feeling every bone ache, every joint seize, every muscle tighten and burn.
But I'll kick out, with the half of myself that's not wounded. I'll kick ba
Rye - pt. 7 - YAOIRyeRye - pt. 7 - YAOI6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
It's the way that you blush when your nervous... - The Spill Canvas
* * *
Tap. Tap Tap.
Jared took a deep breath, staring at the dark black of his closed eyes. He was faintly aware of an aching pain in his side, but it wasn't that which had woken him up. He held his breath, waiting silently.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Rye started when the older boy sat up, the pencil he'd been drumming along the bedside table clattering to the floor in his haste to stand. Jared! I...I'm sorry, did I wake you up? Jared closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face, wiping away the dredges of sleep that still clung there. Somehow he'd ended up in bed, the white linen sheets tucked tightly around his body. If it weren't for that persistent pain in his side, it would have been perfect...
He lowered a hand to his shirt, lifting the hem just enough to expose the edges of the clean cotton strips that had been wound around his chest. A breath left his throat in a relieved sigh, his eyes imme