One More Drink"You want to get a drink?"
Six words. Six little words casually spoken by an innocent man without any idea of their implications.
"You want to get a drink?"
It was only a reunion with an old friend; it was not supposed to become a battlefield. One moment I'm strolling down the street chatting light-heartedly with a mate from school, the next my world is threatening to crash down around me.
"You want to get a drink?"
To him it may mean nothing but a simple boy's night out, but to me it means much, much more.
"You want to get a drink?"
Anxiety, depression, obsession, not caring what I did, who I hurt, how much I lost as long it got me a pint. Bystanders attacked and robbed when cash ran low, barmen beaten and stabbed after refusing to give any more, and every last cent, possession, and shred of dignity sacrificed.
"You want to get a drink?"
Often I woke in pain, sometimes in strange places with no memory of how I got there, sometimes in
Second Street El stands under muted chrome lights, legs splayed apart and left hip cocked out like the jagged end of a lipstick smear. The soft undercurrent of voices drifts from the club crowd up to the stage, quiet murmured conversations below the chink of glasses and clicks of the mike stand slotting into place. If she listens close enough she can almost hear the bare echoes of a young man's laugh, a woman's soft tinkling sigh, the swell of a family's conversation.Second Street3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"All ready," the man before her grunts around the toothpick hanging out the corner of his sun-cracked mouth. El reaches a hand over to tug at the length of color-faded silk knotted around her left wrist, stepping forward to take the place he vacates. The same hand rises to wrap around the cold silver shaft, glossed lips parting as she ghosts them towards the microphone.
The crowd has dropped in volume, calm falling over the haphazardly arranged three-legged stools and half-rickety tables. It's a quiet she's felt
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 Pianist5 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
UsEvery face has an eye, every eye has a sight,Us3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
To seek and know, what is wrong and right.
Every sight has a vision, every vision has a dream.
And every dream has a future, to find, to fight.
Every face has an ear, every ear hears a tale,
Of good and bad, success or fail.
Every tale has an end, every end has a hope,
And every hope can live no matter fire or hail.
Every face has a heart, every heart has a soul,
To lead the world to that one last goal.
Every soul has a voice, to speak and to trust,
And every voice, is one of us.
Dystopia Only 23 years from Then, and life is completely different. Today, human characteristics are highly sought, collected and sold like antiques at an auction. The number of Wildstock- those of us unlucky enough not to be genetically engineered- is dwindling. With the onset of cloning and affordable genetic engineering, few people see a benefit in natural selection. Unfortunately, due to the inherent risks of genetic homogeny, Wildstock have become an invaluable resource in the Empire. We are sought out and captured by bounty hunters, ripped from all we have ever known, and taken to the infamous Empire Markets. The lucky ones among us are sold to collectors, who value our raw emotions and unique genetics. The less fortunate are sold to medical facilities, used for the repair of aging Seamless.Dystopia5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I was captured a little over a week ago by the best Hunter in the Empire. Since then, I have been resigned to pouting behind the stall of Ba
Makeshift SymphonyHe tied piano strings to his heart,Makeshift Symphony6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
so that every time it beat
it didn't sound so empty inside.
But the music in his heart
couldnt permeate the hollow air
as the metronome kept time for the clock.
One, two. One, two.
Reedy notes plummeted from his lips as
he made me pluck out Tchaikovsky and Bach
when all I wanted to play was twinkletwinklelittlestar.
"I'm just a little girl."
My fingers tripped and stumbled
and I know that I could never play
as well as he needed me to;
I could never keep his notes
from slipping off the page.
White and black sideswiped my fingers,
as I struck one chord too many.
"I've always wanted to make you proud, papa.
But the past is flightless swans and sometimes
we only get a glimpse of what was there."
He shouldve left the past where it belongs,
because everything was far too black-and-white
in his eyes, and I was never good enough
to replace everything that was missing
in his hollow heart.
I am not...I am not...I am not...5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
an angel of any kind
depressed and lonely
putting up a facade
I wear a mask
Just like the rest of us
Going through my days
Just like everyone else
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.
You KnowYou know that feeling of waiting for a bus in the rain, trying to stay dry? Then a bus comes, and the sign says "Not in Service" but you walk out from under the shelter, just in case that changes. No one else moves, but you had to, because it would be so much worse to miss the bus than to risk getting a little bit wet.You Know5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You know the point in a night where everyone begins to leave, the music dies down, and the buzz starts to wear off? But you're not quite ready to leave, so you turn your own music back up, create your own buzz, because to let the party die down so soon would mean to admit defeat, and you could never do that.
You know the girl who never stops trying, who smiles when she's broken, who refuses to stay down when she's lost? She's a girl who will always believe in a better day. She walks in the rain, sometimes for a reason, and sometimes just for the hell of it. She would stay out all night rather than be alone at home. She lives for the music, for the excitement, and for the
You Love MeYou love me without fail,You Love Me5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
asking neither why nor how
the spaces between our fingers seem to collide perfectly,
just accepting that they do.
You love me without reason
beyond all ideas of logic and reality,
you love me like the sun loves the moon
and the ocean loves the stars.
You love me without question
and without pretense;
you want nothing from me save my heart
to beat in tandem with yours.
You love me without fail
but I cannot help and wonder why.
remembering yesterday.i saw a girl, yesterday, sitting on the pavement. her back was against the molding brick, and the leaves were falling around her body like tears, her arms were scrunched up in front of her face, shielding her beauty from the town. there was a fresh scar on her wrist, still bright and burning with pain. i've been in that position many times. so i sat beside her.remembering yesterday.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
she moved her arms from her face, and looked at me with her muddy brown eyes, one eye covered with her black hair, and other with tears. her eyeliner had run down her face like a symphony, and no one even stopped long enough to notice-except for me; i understood.
we didn't speak. we just focused our eyes on each other. not even a blink came from her or me. it was like a photograph, two people frozen while everyone else around them moved freely. except we didn't smile, or show our tongues, we sat-blank and damaged.
she moved closer to me, putting her hand on mine, and her head on my broad, pale shoulder. she trusted me, even thou
Fragile--FFM Day 7Lindsey Stirling blared from my ear buds and I bobbed my head, furrowing my brow. My hand was shoved deep into my purse, searching for my keys. Instead, I found receipts from the Stone Age, a collection of seashells from last year's vacation, and enough pepper spray to blind at least twenty bears.Fragile--FFM Day 72 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Frustrated, I dumped my portable landfill on the welcome mat; lipstick tubes and loose change bounced across the wood and disappeared, lost beneath the porch. Spreading objects out with my hands, I sighed. No keys. "Damn it all to Hell and back ag--"
Glancing up, the box near my door caught my eye. Wrapped with neon-colored paper, a large skull-and-crossbones bow held a handwritten "FRAGILE" note in place. The colors were garish, clashing with the ivory siding.
Wrinkling my nose, I pulled the package toward me, keys forgotten. The paper was slick, slipping against the pads of my fingertips like silk. Examining the box, I flipped the "FRAGILE" note over--and gasped.
Yanking the ear
Mending A Heartgoodbye.Mending A Heart5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A word so simple,
Broke me to tears.
I never thought it'd come true:
My biggest fear.
I had put up a wall
To ward off love.
I didn't even feel it fall,
When it was too late to rebuild.
Your melody so sweet,
Had a tearful final verse.
I find myself walking streets,
Trying to find who I am
(Because I am lost.)
Now as I gather the shards,
To my crushed, glass heart,
I know the truth is,
I'll always try again.
I know risks seem unneeded,
But I take them every time.
Because you need to be willing to jump,
In order to fly.
Even a broken heart,
Can be mended once again,
I'll start over in my head,
Let someone more trustful in.
You KillerIt's amazing how one person can kill your self-confidenceYou Killer5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It wasn't so bad
Not until I met you
You built it up
So much so that it was too much to handle
It felt amazing,
It was the first time that had happened in a long time
It was so strong
I felt as though I could fly
You destroyed it
The very thing that had been unachievable for years
I finally had it
But you being yourself,
Took it back
It was like stealing candy from a baby
All you had to was grab for it and it would be yours
And that's exactly what you did
Taking full advantage of the fact that I was weak
If I can't have your friendship,
At least give me my confidence again
WhereWhere am I?Where5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I called you out a hundred times
And you never came.
Who are you?
I see you before me each day
But you're long gone.
What they say?
I ask myself if I should listen
To the talking deaf.
When was this?
You speak of matters past
I do not recall.
Why do you?
You seek from me answers
I really can't find.
How can we?
That is what I ask myself
When I look to you.
InchoateA billowing mouth, floweringInchoate2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like a fist;
crimson cheeked &
I keep your heart in my p(s)alms.
maybe i'll die for the truthwhen i was seven, i forgot how to be a kid, and i grew up, and once you grow up, you rarely grow down. when i was fourteen, you told me i made you sad to talk to, and that i should cheer up and look around at all the beautiful things in the world, but you can't see the beauty in things that sicken you. you can't pretend that the world is alright when people are dying and starving and crying and wars are being fought and the right people are losing and the wrong ones are winning-you can't see beauty in these types of things.maybe i'll die for the truth5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
when i was seventeen, you told me i was beautiful, but the wrong kind. and i thought, how can you be the wrong kind of beautiful, but you showed me how when you kissed my cheek and lied and i realized you meant the kind of beautiful thats broken. when i was nineteen, you laughed when i told you i was depressed and so i laughed too, because maybe it's all one big joke, but not really, because you can't joke about being sad all the time.
when i was leaving for new yor
Spaghetti SpinesI am weak today.Spaghetti Spines8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Cooked through and thrown,
I'd stick to the white-wash of the world
curled and curved in all the wrong places,
an unnatural spine.
Take me off the heat before I boil--
my heartbeats are too big for these
confined, claustrophobic spaces.
Take me out of the pot,
but please be kind--
don't shove me back into the box.
DiscoveryI didn't know thatDiscovery5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
I was on the Path to Hell
until I got there.
forgive and (almost) forget (retrospect on love)ohio players hitforgive and (almost) forget (retrospect on love)8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
by southern shooters
and i’m afraid my aim’s shaky,
and has been for these
last few months.
this blurry storyboard
fogs my eyeglass lenses
before i realized it went from
lingering on the avenue
to leaves falling
in love with a girl
i met in winter.
and i am content.
those old whispers
now caught up
in an inverse solstice
where your disappearance
made the nights so long
in the summer,
and the days far too short.
but i am content.
because as winter knocks
the days are much too long,
waiting patiently every night
for my winter girl to call.
wings curling in my stomach
as i see her,
the bashful wave
of happiness every time
hello begins again.
oh hello is my favorite.
(loops repeat like a gift
and there’s no time
like the present
to hear a sweet chorus
and i replay the beginning
in my head every time
goodbye and goodnight
return at the end.
the nights aren
once.the world was wider, once: strewn brightonce.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and willing to a fingertip's beckoning, riddled
with roads that spilled in breathless wanders
to otherlands of reverie. i remember
the promise i made a wild changeling child
before i bade her hush and say goodnight --
i've not woken her since: she sleeps and i steal
her spun-glass dreams for my garden
of wilt, ever longing to hold
the ghost-dance that spins by their dying light.