Feeding The PigeonsThe new pills were in my pocket, probably getting all linty. Or should I say the new-new-new pills: after all, this was the third try at finding a medication I'm not allergic to. After throwing my guts up on two different meds, I'm not about to swallow another one, only to find it's coming back up too.
Why do I even have medication? It's not like I'm in horrible pain when I don't take it.
My arms are stuck straight out, and they waver as I try to balance on one metal track. If my foot touches the ground, it's "burned" by lava. Lava is pretty good incentive not to touch the middle of the train tracks: even if in real life, its not lava. Its just rocks.
I stuff my hands in my pockets and feel the oblong pills big enough for a horse to have trouble swallowing. I wrap them in my hands, and as I walk, they "accidentally" fall to the rails below.
"What are you doing?" A voice says behind me. I near jump outta my skin and whip around.
A cop. Great. More specifically, my cop, if you wan
Writer's BlockThe numbers on my desk calendar started to blend together as my eyes began to close and I dozed off. I regained consciousness with a start, and I involuntarily slammed my hand down to what should have been my desk.Writer's Block4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Wh-where am I?"
"Oh my dear! We certainly weren't expecting you today; we would have cleaned up a bit. Heh, you see, we're having a bit of a well technical difficulty." Said a round, rather pleasant woman wearing a polka-dot dress with a nametag simply saying "Dot."
I looked around; I was in a large, disorganized office with people and papers scrambling with bundles of copy paper. I grabbed a paper from the desk beside and read:
Boy with schizophrenia and his life with his imaginary
The ink faded out and I couldn't read the rest.
I picked up the paper and held it out to the woman demanding an answer.
"What is this? Who are you and what sort of place is this?"
"Well dear, that is an idea, yours actually, we've been having a problem with our machine, we see
A Life Lesson on How to Livei.A Life Lesson on How to Live4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Learn how to hear when there is no sound. Listen to the last heartbeats of a dead man, for they will tell you how to hold on, and how to let go, but you are the only one that can choose between the two. Hear the sorrow of a silent criminal at a confessional, because it can tell you where the line is and how to cross, but it's up to you to decide if you want to or not. Listen to the chemistry between two lovers and you will learn how to appreciate the love in everything people do.
Uncover how to see in the darkness, because it's a whole lot more important than anyone ever expects. Look at the hues of red in the night sky and the neon colors beneath the snow and they will show you that what you see is what you get, but not everything is what it seems. See the emptiness that shines from fake smiles and you will realize that everybody lies. Look at the world with your eyes closed and determine that this is the only way you will ever be able to see. Now decide if you want to or not.
Tangential AsymptotesI think about falling in math class.Tangential Asymptotes4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The boy in front of me is writing diligently, noting each and every word as though he forgot it was all in the textbook. He has dark hair all tangled up in the back like a bramble of thornbushes and his green hoodie looks like it could use a good washing.
The professor is rattling on about asymptotes, about two lines that go on forever, getting closer and closer but never touching. He tells us about the Greek roots of the word; asymptotos, that it means "not falling together," and he scribbles nonsense equations on the board and hopes that we understand them better than he does because tenure is the only reason he's teaching this class.
As much as I hate math, I have to admit there's something beautiful about the concept. Something romantic and longing, something I can relate to in a sea of cold precision and dispassionate numbers.
I think about falling in math class. I think about fractals and their intricate patterns, turning equations into art. T
And the stars shattered...You are nothing till you cease to exist.And the stars shattered...4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The wave keeps on rising till it seems the Mayans made an error;
We are swept away in a rain of tears.
Trapped in the darkness of eternal sunshine and driven by despair
We leap from the rooftops into the seething emptiness.
This, in the hope that we shall return to the memory
Of russet and terracotta leaves falling from the grey autumn sky,
When we didn't know we were dying.
Your fingertips brush my lips as you implore quietness
But the truth cannot be stifled
Or left in a dusty cardboard box to mould in the silence.
Bite down till you taste blood, so that you might suffer too
And understand the plight of the broken-winged bird,
Who can't see the sky any more.
We could pretend to smile and distort our faces into the mimicry
Till the lie dissolves to truth and there is complacent joy.
Where can we go?
As the blistering suns collide and shatter, we watch the bleeding stars
And liken them to fireworks.
The raging angels fade and we are left
And So Ii.And So I4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I wrote our love story on the Internet for the world to read. The bored teenagers with their witty usernames commented on every sappy blog post, wishing me luck and cuddles through a combination of punctuation marks and letters that was supposed to resemble a face.
And it was glorious.
I reveled in you like my dog reveled in the snow that sometimes fell at the beginning of January excited, but too small. And so I sank.
Come to think of it, I never particularly liked snow. It makes the world cold and is only pretty until people mess it up. Plus, the snow that we get around here is never more than slush, and the only reason to cancel school is the black ice on the roads.
And, come to think of it, I never really needed you.
Who are you? I suppose I'll never know. I do not even think that I want to. I never even knew you back then you were a fantasy, something my disillusioned teenage mind conjured up from a tangle of hormones and a misplaced compliment.
All I knew was
Fallen StarYou're small, Nova. You're smaller than most. Your insignificance is an insult to life.Fallen Star4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The voice spoke to Nova in clear tones through the howl of northern winds and the crash of waves. The voice was not her own. It spoke inside her with words cruel and true.
You're not unique. You're not special. You're not loved.
She trusted the new voice more than her own. The old pleaded in stuttering whispers that it was not time to die. The sky stormed above her. The sea thrashed.
Not brave enough to see the waves smash her body, Nova turned and fell backwards. She watched light divide the clouds, as she plummeted to her death.
Panic swam up from her gut to her throat, smothering her as she fell. Soon it would be over. Soon.
When the force of the fall reached its height the sky split. And broke. And went dark.
It was quick, but here is what happened. Look up and watch the sky in slowed time.
The clouds divided not by light but by
Across the OceanI stood outside in the rain today. I know it sounds cliché, but the steady drumming of raindrops drowned out the beat of my heart and I swear I could hear you crying.Across the Ocean4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I've never felt as complete as I did then.
Let's just pretend that you didn't break my heart. I'll bandage my bleeding knuckles and go find that fake smile you left behind.
I won't be lonely. We'll pretend I'm happy standing outside in the wet; these are raindrops, not tears. I'll give you every excuse I have to offer, and someday when the rain clouds disappear I'll realize that I'm just talking to the sky.
I've run out of words, you know. I can feel it.
When it started raining last night I burned all of my poetry books. Page by page. I can only remember one line:
I know just how it feels
to think of the right thing to say too late.When I think of the right words, I'll write them down. And leave them for the next broken-hearted boy to set on fire.
The Man in the Coffee ShopThe man who works at the coffee shop looks like you. I noticed this some time ago and have since frequented the place. He recognizes me now. He smiles at me when I come in. His smile even looks like yours. He doesn't say hey though- you always said hey.The Man in the Coffee Shop4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I still work at the library even though you're not there.
Sometimes I look over to your desk and expect to see you typing at your computer, but someone else is there now. It's not you.
Sometimes someone will come in who looks like you. Maybe he will have the same hair, same stature, same profile, same laugh, same voice. It's never been you.
Sometimes I drive myself crazy. I pull at my hair and scream 'till my lungs burst. I scream for and at you. I ask how you could have left me here.
Sometimes I allow myself to believe that I will see you again. By chance we will run into each other in a Wal-Mart far away.
I go to the coffee shop on Tuesday afternoons. I order a small chai tea with milk.
Sometimes the man is working at th
seven soulfulonce upon a time, fairy tales breathed.seven soulful4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we walked through the peppermint forests,
found gumdrop castles and gingerbread
houses. we sat in the easter grass and
The Love Story You Don't TellThis is an insufferably stupid story, recounting the tale of normal boy and a weird girl, and how they did not fall in love. As is the case with all romance, it is fundamentally, innately, absurd.The Love Story You Don't Tell4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It opens with a girl, sixteen years old, caramel hair and green eyes, standing in the hallway of a small private school, holding her books for her Algebra Two class that she detests. One of her best friends, a freshman, says that her class will be getting a new kid. He is from England.
Our heroine cannot contain her boundless exuberance. Since time immemorial, she has been enamored with English accents, and, by extension, the people that possess them. She is very, very jealous of her friend.
This occurs on Friday. All through the weekend, she cannot stop thinking of him. She has always known that she will marry a British gentleman - or at least fall in love and have hot sex with one, not necessarily in that order.
And so, when Monday arrives, she despairs when she does not see him in the morn
One Last TimeThere once was a boy that fell in love with a girl. One day, he gathered enough courage to ask her out, and she agreed. After going out on two dates, they were happy to say that they were in a relationship together.One Last Time4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Ever since then, they did almost everything together. They put their brains together to help each other in their studies, they ate lunch together, they went on walks together, just about everything in a normal day they did together. The only thing they didn't do together was agree on a favorite color. The boy liked blue and the girl liked yellow. Despite that, the boy was very in love with his girlfriend, and the girl was very in love with her boyfriend.
However, the following year, the boy and the girl chose different classes to take and could no longer adequately study together. It turns out that the boy's classes required a lot more study time, and the girl's classes were much easier than she thought and thus didn't need to study as much. Now that she had a lot more time
Newspaper NotationThere was a newspaper sky that day, glued across the breakers. "REVOLUTION," said the sea. In a personal or global sense?Newspaper Notation4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I'm a composer, he had said once to Leanne, when she teased him for sketching sonatas on coffee-shop napkins I've been trained to hear music everywhere. She had laughed and asked him to write a piece for her, the syllables of her name bubbling like wind chimes. He couldn't explain how to change for to of. Music was never a choice not his as a teenager, and not Leanne's when her laughter begged for translation.
He still had it, tucked away under the piano stool. It was more a dedication than a labour of love. A Letter To . Leanne had flitted in from the kitchen as he finished writing it. She'd leaned over his shoulder with her hair bread-scented and asked, a letter to whom?
Some things aren't meant to have a recipient, he'd told her. She had looked at him oddly. Perhaps it was the first time that (s)he realised who (s)he was,
Oh Dear.He is an Oscar Wilde inspired man-poetOh Dear.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Whose subjects are as real as glass.
He is a silly chorus boy
Spending far too much time in the music room.
He is a reader,
Who hums to himself while his eyes float across the page.
He is real-
But I don't even know his name.
And I am already infatuated.
Grandfather's BirdGrandfather had a pet bird. Just a small, yellow and white parakeet; he named it Georgie, after Grandmother. Every morning, he would wake up at 6 o'clock, make a pot of coffee, grab the newspaper, and feed the small bird a small pile of birdseed. And he would gently carry the birdcage, and place it on the table and talk to her as he drank his coffee and read the newspaper.Grandfather's Bird4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
"Gas prices are up again Georgie, geez, remember when we could pay 20¢ to fill up our car?"
And sometimes the bird almost chirped in response. Years and years went by, and Grandfather grew older, and he could no longer carry the bird off the shelf, but he would still feed and talk to her at 6 o'clock.
One morning, Grandfather found himself barely able to make it out of bed. He still made his way into the kitchen to feed his dear bird. His hand shook and some birdseed fell to the floor as he carefully moved into the tray into the cage. He slowly made his way to the table so that he could sit down.
How to Miss the CountryThe Westcountry settled around Ig's shoulders as the train pulled in. After steely, bustling London, it was a relief to see the familiar hills bulge up through the rain. He gripped the window, as if it might pucker.How to Miss the Country4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Welcome home!" was the first thing Mick shouted at the station, over the steam and the crowd and the downpour. Ig blinked, and was hugged. Mick never hugged him.
He pulled away, feeling sharp with strangeness. "How a how's Mum?"
Mick shrugged. "Okay you know as well as you'd expect." He sounded tired, but Ig was too busy breathing in the rain to care. He let himself be steered towards the car and listened to the engine cough, tipped his head back and drank in the country as it scampered past, green, blurry it felt good, being absolved of responsibility. He'd left the bag on the train.
"Ig," his mother smiled. She was propped against the headboard like a doll someone had forgotten about; a tray on her duvet, two empty mugs on the table.
Everyone Wants To Knowi.Everyone Wants To Know4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
One block away from Blue Ridge High School, an ugly, gnarled tree had once grown right next to the sidewalk. Nowadays, it was even more of an eyesore just an old stump that no one sat on for fear of termites. Tina passed this stump every day on her walk to school, and, despite her artist's eye, never paid it any mind.
On the sixteenth of September, there was a man sitting on the stump. Tina had not eaten breakfast and stayed awake all night, fearful of dreaming. The man looked at her as if she were something to be studied.
"Hello," he said to her as she passed. Her pace quickened this man looked suspicious and she did not make a point of talking to strange men. "I'm terribly sorry about your boyfriend."
That was enough to make Tina stop and turn around. She judged the distance between them and reminded herself that her cousin had taught her a few karate moves. If needed, she could defend herself. "What about my boyfriend?"
She paled. He either knew something
GuiltyThe room was small and cold. Everything in the room was white. Sterile. There were two people in the room: a man and a woman. The man was tall, middle-aged, with short brown hair and rimless glasses. He wore a long white jacket and stood behind a tall white table. The woman was young, in her early twenties, with long mousy brown hair and a small nose. She looked frightened and small, standing next to the comparatively giant man.Guilty4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She turned to face the man. "Yes, sir?"
"You are not permitted to speak."
"You are hereby charged guilty of crimes against this woman," he said. He gestured to the frightened woman beside him.
"But I didn't-"
"Do not speak. You have caused unnecessary pain, suffering, humiliation, discomfort, inconvenience, hardship, and undesired responsibility to fall upon this woman. The penalty for such crimes is death."
"But what did I-"
friendship cliniclooks like i'm falling back to being the therapist again, doesn't it?friendship clinic3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
unintentionally retracing my steps to the white tile floors which have been counted by patients far too many times.
to the desk where i hated sitting at for so long.
[minus the pay but especially minus the satisfaction]
i'm here for the moments you can't take it anymore
for the moments when you want me to piece together your mind until it's all 90 degree angles and straight lines.
for the moments you ask me to repair the damage those invading badgers did to your heart.
for the moments when using duct tape to stop your circulation doesn't seem like it's such a bad idea anymore.
yes, i know.
that's what friends are for.
but there has to be more to friendship than one-sided therapy sessions.
maybe not in this clinic--you've got someone else to deliver your words, your thoughts, your friendship to now.
you do have someone else.
someone else for everything except therapy.
that's my job.
so if there's no
ActuallyHeard that you were flying awayActually4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to a corner of the world
where the apartments were filled
with ghosts of people
who pretended they were dead
because they got more than what they wanted
and they were tired of people
who pretended they were alive,
but before you go,
I wanted to,
heard that you were allergic to words
and that numbers were more your thing
and I wondered
if you ever considered
the other things that could be your thing,
that time could be more
than asymptotes and facebook statuses,
and I wondered
if you could be more,
well, more than that,
because I just,
I wanted to,
let you know that I
heard what your grandfather said to you,
heard that he said
"I am sorry for being old,
I am sorry for leaving you;
when you're older, you will understand"
but did you hear that yourself,
did you listen at all
if only to the numbers
that you kept close
to keep the words at bay,
the numbers that spoke to you
more often than you spoke with him,
your grandfather, I mean,
There Was a Flower in the RoomThere was a flower in the room,There Was a Flower in the Room4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Never mind what sort.
Each day, a petal would fall off the flower.
I didn't notice at first,
One day, there were 5 petals left
(I was still oblivious to the flower at this point)
There was a note on the desk
And there was nothing I could do,
Except to watch the petals fall.
SaprophyticShe was a girl that knew how to photosynthesize. She was nothing to look at; unless hair the consistency of wet noodles and eyes that were reminiscent of faded denim were something.Saprophytic4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She always found it strange that there was nothing blue that could be considered repulsive, except her eyes.
It was January and cold, as expected of the season. The sky was gray and there was far too much snow on the ground. As she walked, she kicked it out of the way with the toe of her father's hunting boots. She was the first to wear them.
She toed slush out of her path until she reached the door of a pawnshop. By this time, she no longer needed to look up in order to find the alley and then the door. At least the heavy clouds made the grime innocuous.
"You do know that you can't pawn beer," he said before she had fully stepped across the threshold.
"So I've been told." She wiped her boots on the floor as he scowled at her. His eyebrows were only the slightest bit too thick, especially when he had such a
GrasshopperIn the sixth year of my life there was a neverending heat; mom told meGrasshopper4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that weather like this is what people call an Indian summer
I asked her if that meant that we need to move into a tipi
but she just laughed and ruffled my hair
That summer dad took off the training wheels in my bicycle, he told me
that I have to learn to ride without them before school starts
I cried endlessly after falling and getting a scratch on my knee
but he kissed it better and ruffled my hair
The last night of the vacation we all went to the lake together, they told me
to be quiet, like a mouse, so that the fireflies may dance in peace
that small clearing was lit by both glowing and twinkling lights
and my parents held me tight and ruffled my hair
Another thing I remember is the constant chirping of that heat, someone told me
that it was the singing of a bug that was looking for a partner to be with
the whole summer I tried to find one, but they always escaped me
and while I run across the fields, the
ChocolateI once had some chocolate barsChocolate4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And on a summer day,
Out on the grass behind my house,
I passed them around to my friends and we ate them,
Bit by bit, greedily,
Holding the smooth skins
And leaving smudges.
Each bar went around to all of us
And we all had our share
Some more than others.
We all left our teeth marks;
Little chips in the layers of chocolate
that told the next in line that we were done.
I gave away the bars freely;
There were always more
Different flavors in fact
And we were so eager to share,
And so eager to find our favorite,
That we tore through each bar with little thought,
Taking our fill before passing it on to the next.
Each was the best
Each was the sweetest
And each instilled within us a lust for more.
We always ate, because there was always more;
So much delicious chocolate, I wondered if I ever could've been satisfied
With just one chocolate bar.
When we were stuffed, we stopped.
Unable to eat another bite.
We left the remains unattended upon the grass,