MercThe orange rays of the dying sun filtered down through the canopy of the thick Angolan jungle, illuminating the scattered array of tents and outlining the silhouetted soldier who stood at one large, grimy open flap. It was a familiar sight that he saw as he gazed out over the mercenary camp, one that had haunted him like a suffocating shadow in the years since he'd first arrived on this godforsaken continent. He'd tried to get out once, almost three years ago now, back in '83. He'd gone legit, gotten a real job, but the jungle had proved too strong a lure and hardly four months had passed before he was back, employed by so-and-so with the money to fight for the something-or-other cause.
The merc swiped a hand through his matted brown hair, fingers digging through a week's worth of sweat and humidity as a shout rang out to his left and the dull thuds of flesh on flesh echoed through the temporary settlement. He didn't have to look to recognise another one of those deadly games that alwa
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
Something like fate, they saidI never did like the way you would swing your car around those curves by my house when you drove me home in the middle of the night. I was never one to be cautious, but with you I felt like the world was rushing away and we were just speeding to keep up.Something like fate, they said4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I don't like to say "we", you know, I don't like to say "us". But most times, I don't know what to say; that boy and I, that thief and I, that breaker of promises, that killer of dreams, that boy outside my window when I'm trying to stay sane.
(I hate you, I think, I really do.)
You were all stubble and long legs and hands like the moon, and my bruises fit your finger prints like a glove. I was too young for you then, I'm too young now, and you were too raw and worn and burned beyond recognition, a dragon I was never meant to see. But as your odometer pushed eighty and your fingers pushed through my spine, you said rules didn't apply to you, you were the dark clouds that watched the sun pass, you were what god wished he was. You put th
AddictionAnna,Addiction4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It's surprising, how many different kinds of addiction exist. It would be simple if it was just drugs and cigarettes. The hardest part of overcoming a habit is wanting to overcome it. Usually things that start out as just a normal part of life eventually cross the line to becoming obsessive and out of control. It's the high I chase, the high that makes everything else fade. The thing about addiction is, it never ends on a good note, because eventually, whatever it is that was getting us high, stops feeling good, and starts to strike a minor chord. No matter how badly a thing is hurting, letting it go hurts even more.
My high my addiction is loving you.
I've become obsessed by an intense, overpowering sense of sadness. I cannot sleep, I cannot work, and I spend my time wandering aimlessly through life. I have scars in all sorts of places; diagrams of all my old wounds. Some wounds I carry with me and even though the cut's long gone, the pain still lingers.
Spirit and ScienceDespite Audrey's youth, she had already faced a lifetime of disappointment. Amid the thunderstorm, the chorus of her all her nightmares chanted through the trees. Those trees... when in sunlight, they seemed beautiful and graceful, yet when the rain came, their true characters shone through, becoming restless and unassuming in their emotional violence.Spirit and Science4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Much like Audrey herself.
She wasn't sure if she was doing the right thing. She knew her feelings were genuine, but what she didn't know was that she was worrying about the wrong thing. The new sensation, the source of her affection, was like a foreign language to her, and she knew just enough of the words to realise how little she actually understood.
The most beautiful and most profound experience is the sensation of the mystical. It is the sewer of all true science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead. To know that what is impenetrable to us really ex
Just so you knowAnd I feel like my jaw is going to float right up through my brain. The night sky is going to drift through my lungs. My hair is going to spillJust so you know5 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
and my heart is going to vibrate right out of my chest.
..all the wrong moves 2 :F+G:Rain is cold in October...all the wrong moves 2 :F+G:4 years ago in Drama More Like This
He exclaimed my name as he found me standing in the parking lot. The parking lot outside his apartment block, to be precise.
"Gerard! What the hell are you doing?" He let the door slam shut as he ran to me, obviously not caring of the fact that he was only wearing a half-closed hoodie and got soaked from head to toe as soon as he stepped outside. "Why are you standing here in the rain? Why didn't you come in?"
The expression on his face was telling about genuine worry, as was the way his hands came to grip my upper arms. I only then realized I was trembling.
"Didn't want to make a habit out of it." My voice was terribly hoarse too.
"What?" He frowned in confusion.
"Coming to cry against your shoulder", I defined.
He merely stared at me for a moment, unreadable look in his greenish brown eyes. Then he seemed to wake up to realize that we were still standing in the parking lot, it was still pouring on us, and I was still shaking in his arms.
The Neverending MonologuesThey bicker, shouting at impregnable walls.The Neverending Monologues4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Missing Puzzle Pieces: IntroMissing Puzzle Pieces: Intro7 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
The banging on his door and persistent buzzing were sounds he was trained to respond to, even from amidst the deepest of dreams. He was halfway out of bed before he even realized he was awake. Jamming the door release, the door slid open, tumbling the rouser forward into his arms. Still half awake, his brain didn't know what to make of the opposing signals it was receiving--the alarm was familiar, but it was Karina who had fallen into the room.
"Sam, please, let me in," she urged, pressing him backwards into his quarters and hurriedly slapping at the door release button, the frightened body language not abating until the door was shut, and even then, only slightly.
By this point he was aware that there was no alarm sounding, he was not being roused from sleep for a sudden duty, but by his close friend. "Kari! Kari... what's going on?" He had to grab her shoulders to make her look at him instead of furtively around the room; there was fear written in her face he'd never seen before.
Elegy Of A Lost SeasonI am the fall.Elegy Of A Lost Season4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Broken in June, buried in August -
haunting September from the boughs of hazel,
where not even the rain could reach me.
How my limbs ached to feel its soothing caress;
but my limbs felt nothing, and I felt nothing.
And the season moved on, without me.
Once, long ago, I was spring,
delicate and pure; fragile as willow seedlings,
believing themselves strong, as they stretch toward the sun -
before the wind breaks their stalks, and they fall
defeated, drained, limp upon the ground;
crushed and forgotten as tears.
But no, I was summer -
when I looked into your eyes for the first time
and forgot to curse the sun.
Tiny beads running down my neck;
hateful, so hateful - ignored, as you ensnared my senses.
You were summer, too
cradled in the branches of oak,
bright enough to burn my eyes and scorch my skin,
but never close enough to touch.
Until in your arms, I became summer,
and the sun could not outshine us.
But now I am winter -
numb and cold, faded, stripped and desolate;
Un-super: Intro I was eight when it first started to happen.Un-super: Intro4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
My Mom was and is one of those people you see in health and natural food stores. Everything was organic in our house; everything was good for you. She railed against many types of foods, but her worst enemy was microwave popcorn and whatever they put in it.
I was at my friend's slumber party when I had the dreaded enemy for the first time, and it fascinated me. The way you could put that little rectangle in the microwave, press a few buttons, and it would somehow fill with popcorn. Popcorn that was so light, fluffy, and buttery...but the bag would always be littered with hard little...things.
My friend's mom told me that those hard things were called 'k
LilacsStage four lung cancer, they said. Six months, at best. You held on for so long, chemotherapy jovially turning you from a white haired lady in to a wig topped moppet. Vitamin C treatments, pills, sleep. Doctors, hospitals, tears and upset stomachs. To make you feel better, we announced that I was pregnant with your eleventh grandchild, and we hoped to God in Heaven that you would meet her. And you did. You clutched her to you with the fierce passion of somebody who has created a life inside of them and spooned her cake on her first birthday...and a month later you faded away.Lilacs4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
When the call came, I was sitting on my living room floor. It was my birthday, quietly I turned another year older while you hummed along on machines in a hospital room, far from me. Far from anywhere I needed you to be, and the last place I wanted. It was just before midnight, everything was peaceful, I was content. Contemplative.
We had been in to see you earlier, I stopped by, chatted for just a while. You coul
Your happy ever after :FrerardWhen I decided to announce everyone that we would get married, the room was immediately filled with cheers and congratulations. Ray patted my back in an almost proud manner, and Mikey surely enough broke a couple of my ribs in a tight hug. Bob and Brian and Jerry looked a little more surprised, but positively surprised, that is. They wouldn't have expected me to be the second one of us getting married after Mikey and Alicia. Amongst the bustle, I tried to spot Frank and got a glimpse of his back as he disappeared out of the bus door.Your happy ever after :Frerard4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"I'm getting married", I said, stated really, put everything that had been going on lately into one short sentence. And everyone got this huge grin plastered on their faces and they were happy for me. I knew they would be, they liked Lindsay and knew that I loved her. More than anything.
Ray hollered something about throwing a party, but one was missing. Frank had walked out of the door as soon as the words left my mouth. That wasn't right. I needed him
famous last words.His fingers lightly traced her skin as he clasped the shining diamonds behind her neck. The cool stones, cut to perfection, kissed her overheated skin, causing her to shiver in his arms.famous last words.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"A beautiful necklace deserves a beautiful creature," he whispered, pressing his lips against the place where the fragile necklace met the back of her neck. "and you, my love, are the most exquisite of them all."
She fingered the stone that pressed gently against her chest, trying desperately to breathe. She turned around to face him, lifting her hand to cup his cheek, stroking the rough skin. Her voice was shallow and hoarse and she hid her face in his chest when she spoke. "Thank you," the first tear fell from her tightly shut eyes. "Thank you."
That night, the dim light of the room choked her as she removed her clothing, all but the dangling necklace. She stood before the mirror, the most hated object in the room, and observed herself with a nasty disdain not bothered to be hidden on her face. She s
this ain't a movie.I stare through the window atthis ain't a movie.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
weak tree branches
being whipped by rain and
trying to 'understand' the
This TearThis tear reminds everyone you existed.This Tear4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Forever and a Day"If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?"Forever and a Day4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
His dark eyes flicker from the summer sky to your rosy lips before he answers.
Your mouth drops slightly. There had been no hesitation in his reply, and before you get the chance to string together some sarcastic remark, he caresses your cheek. Warmth trickles from his soft palm into your body, forcing you to close your eyes as you experience a sweet light-headedness, unlike any other.
He leans in and his breath tickles your ear as he mumbles, "I want everything from you."
Everything ? You shiver at the word.
Could someone like you give someone like him everything?
Despite the midsummer sun's best attempts, the thought causes your smooth skin to burst into goose bumps.
He watches you intently as you bite into your sticky, chocolate donut. You avoid his gaze, putting more focus into your bites than you normally would, in hopes that he'll eventually look away due to boredom. Even after five minutes, (to your
Across No Man's Land0900 hours, December 25Across No Man's Land4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Her name was Anna," the English soldier said, "our wedding would have been today, if I hadn't been drafted. She was always religious, said her childhood dream was to get married on Christmas."
"I had a wife," the German soldier replied in barely accented English. "Broke her heart when the conscription letter came."
It was an odd scene, this was, two people who had previously been trying to kill each other, talking now like old mates.
1200 hours, December 25
"I get letters from my mother every few weeks, she just can't seem to stop worrying."
"Me too, and my son as well. Always warning his daddy not to get hurt."
Odd indeed, but today it was a scene that was being replicated all along the Western Front, enemies brought together by the day of our Lord.
1500 hours, December 25
"Could I join you for lunch? Our next shipment of rations hasn't come in yet."
Men who had been fighting so brutally the day before, laying down their wea
ReificationsI.Reifications4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Moves the dance eternal,
Frozen in slowest still (e)motions
Grieves the dance eternal
She - tragedian,
Poetess of murmure eternal and infinite hisses
Myope in shade
She - actress of sorrow,
Display of her weeping (he)art
Tither of those silhouettes carved
And I am tithable of rime:
My only refresh
It covers my whole
I am the Void(er)
I am a decayable fragment
Of this whole - nevermore
This stream will flow - nevermore
The flux will (g)row
Mea pectora requiescat
The Dream-Makers The clouds are beautiful today.The Dream-Makers7 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
I watch them from behind someones eyelids as she sleeps beneath a tree with a book in her lap. For a while I imagine the way the trees must feel as the breeze sways them; I have not felt a true breeze in so long. And then I turn back to the depths of the girls mind and carry on with my work. After all, dreams do not create themselves.
I don my black shawl and turn to the little dream form of the girl. Falling into my character, I cluck my tongue and point at the forest that materializes in her subconscious. Beware the monsters that live within the woods, my dear.
But why? Her dream self looks puzzled and calm as only dream people canthey have no real danger to fear.
I shake my head, following whose directions I will never know, and merely say, Beware the monsters, my dear, especially the ones with pretty faces.
LoverHe couldn't care less about her adoration for philosophy;Lover4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the way the word 'existentialism' rolled off her tongue
and gave her nostalgia, how solipsism infuriated her,
the way she became fascinated with hail that broke glass.
In fact, he despised how she remembered every bone
in the human body and how she compared them
to other things: "The pelvic girdle is just misshapen wings
and the carpals are like tiny stones you find on beaches."
What he loved was the way her eyes stole his essence,
how his skin would be gnawed on by shivers and tingling,
how she'd masticate potassium and roll her tongue when
she ingested vitamin c.
Quite frankly, she gave him a hard-on.
A Writer's VocabularyA Writer's Vocabulary:A Writer's Vocabulary5 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
-a major unit of action in a play
-each act may contain several scenes, and each scene may have a different setting
-the repetition of consonant sounds at the beginnings of words
-found in prose, peotry, drama, and everyday speech
Exampes: pen pal, silver spoon, shining sea, last laugh
-a reference to another work of literature or to a familiar person, place, or event outside of literature
-a brief story told to entertain or to make a point
-the technique of presenting stirking contrasts to emphasize an idea
-a brief statement, often of a general truth
Example: The course of true love never did run smooth.
-the story of a person's life, written by that person
-may focus on the entire life or one part
-Autobiographies are nontiction, but they many contain many of the elements found in a fiction including setting, character, and conflict
-the story of a person's life, writte
The Ghosts of WordsWords are for menThe Ghosts of Words4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and women's minds will twist them.
They may speak, permission granted,
but the pen in all its might
is for men alone.
She knew better. All around
were women writing letters, books, lives.
Her brothers learned, and she listened.
One or two took pity, taught a, b, c
and she remembered.
And she read in cramped dusty rooms
where father never went.
Writing was next, with some practice.
Page after page of letters until her marks
looked like theirs. Until she truly wrote.
From then on it was all hers,
friends and family, towns and journeys,
words and worlds.
Love and denial and despair mixed in
carefully cramped pages
as she treasured each sheet of clean paper.
She started with herself but why stop?
All around were stories, and she made her own.
Women met their fates, raised their daughters
sighed their last and reached for lovers.
She kept it all to her heart,
all the forbidden signs on pages,
locked in old trunks in old places
But he found them in the end.
What I WishDear Mr. Genie,What I Wish4 years ago in Letters More Like This
Friedrich Nietzsche once said, "Sleeping is no mean art: for its sake one must stay awake all day."
I've been pondering over this granted (and hopefully the guarantee still stands) wish all day, and after considering all aspects of my life very carefully with tremendous thought, I have come to an enlightening conclusion of what I wish for. However, before I inform you of my wish Mr. Genie, I think there are a few things about my life that I owe to share with you.
I recently read about the science of sleep, and I wonder if you'll find it as interesting as I did. We spend one third of our lives doing it, and yet, some people never seem to be able to get enough. There are people from all over the world who don't receive enough sleep, whether it's from a medical condition like narcolepsy, or simply not having enough time in a day. It can be compared to quicksand; ignore it and you'll find yourself trapped. It will take over your body and if you try to fight it, t
Reach BackYou reach back for it, that timeReach Back3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he sat there, blank, as you repeated yourself.
There was a crack in the kitchen floor
(It's still there. He isn't.)
And the sun was setting
which should be a metaphor
but all that happened was a dark room
with you two in it.
If you could go back and see
would it still look that way?
Gray with pointless murmurs
and the broken sink giving commas
to the things that you had said before?
If he didn't listen, neither did you.
(You're still there, someone fixed the sink.)
Don't wish you could change it
It's just a moment, like any other.
You went to sleep and woke up
determined and went to sleep again
(Nothing's still there, just like everything is.)
And you know, you could be yourself
or him, or whoever built that floor
and you'd still struggle for words
and make your change and make it wrong.
We all did this, reached and fell
but only some of us told.
And that's the only secret.