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Peaches Breath deeply. Aim. Steady. Follow the sight.Peaches4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The explosive crack of Celine's rifle shattered the air. Outside among the horde, Mrs. Venna, Celine's English teacher from high school, fell back with a hole in her forehead. Around her, the swarm didn't notice. It just continued to lumber around mindlessly.
"Try to fail me, huh, bitch?" She muttered, rising from the walnut stock of the gun. Standing before the window of her apartment living room window, Celine looked out at the scene below.
On the ground, bodies writhed together like a single entity. Men and women, children too. They crowded together, their flesh decaying in the summer heat. The streets were scattered with them as they moved about in disorganized packs. The strongest congregation of them was three stories below her window.
Zombies. That was the final agreement among government and public opinions. That was the name they were given over the television, the
Stuck Chapter 1I'm sure your wondering how I came to know I was stuck between worlds as opposed to enjoying death at its fullest. Well, it wasn't like I woke up knowing I had business to attend to. No one met me a the pearly gates and told me to get my ass back down there and find my ticket in. It was strange how it happened, actually. One minute I was in bed, the next I was above it. Freaky, right? Tell me about it, I was there!Stuck Chapter 14 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The first few hours of being dead were the worst. I watched hte paramedics check me out, pronounce me as dead, carry me away, I tried and tried and tried to repossess my body, to be alive again. But I failed at every sttempt. They bagged me and took me away, simple as that. I don't even want to tell you about the autopsy...
My mother knew first, then my father. Matt, Brian, Zacky, Johnny. I watched them all recive the news with disbelief, watched them cry, punch walls, scream, throw things, the whole nine yards. I tired to talk to them, plead with them
Stuck: PrologueOne of the perks of being dead is that you can go anywhere you want.Stuck: Prologue4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Your probably thinking, perks? It's ture! I can pretty much go wherever I want, as long as it's within the confines of the atmosphere. I had always wanted to go to Africa and see the savannah, so I did.
I mean don't get me wrong, I liked living. I loved it. My family, my friends, my brothers. I miss them all on a physical level. But being dead means I can see them whenever I want, and I do so every day. The only downside is they can't see me back. But I'm pretty sure they know I'm there.
But the absolute worst part of being dead is that I'm not aloud to communicate with the people I left behind. I mean, some of us do it anyway, I'm sure you've seen those paranormal television shows. But only the ones that have been stuck here for so long even dare to try. And it's usually just a whisper or a bang, sometimes a shadow in the corner of your eye. Other than that though, being dead isn't all that bad.
The only major p
Investigation entry 1This is a story from a friend's friend who does not wish to be known. All things said here may or may not be taken seriously, but take heed that this may be true. I leave it to the viewer to decide.Investigation entry 15 years ago in Letters More Like This
Thursday, March 18th
I had been in my apartment for days. I don't know what was keeping me there. I couldn't handle the thought of leaving, and I don't know why. Something about the sunlight. I had all blinds closed, but it did no good. On the 12th, about a week earlier, I had seen something go across my second story apartment window, and I don't know what it was. In the street light's glare on the shades, I saw an incredibly thin, incredibly tall figure walk by. What's more, this figure appeared to look in. I was in bed trying to go to sleep at the time, so I figured it was the product of a tired mind. But even after I blinked, it stayed there, just standing. After I realized it was entirely real, I was paralyzed. It seemed to be calling me, but there was no noise. After a few more minutes
God Bless the DamnedUnderneath an overpass,God Bless the Damned4 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
In downtown Atlanta,
Lives an old man,
With his clothes, but no shelter
You'd think that with his strife,
And not enough to eat,
That this old man,
Couldn't get up off of his knees...
And you'd be so wrong!
If you want to know,
The secret to this life,
Then just bend down your head,
And look into his eyes
There is a sparkle in them,
I swear, I think they gleam,
It connects me to his mind,
And all the things he's seen...
And it blows me away!
He has this little smile,
That now, I understand,
Life is so much different,
Living as one of the damned...
God bless the damned!
They are the ones,
Who really stand!
God bless the damned!
They are the ones,
Who would give you a helping hand!
God bless the damned!
They all know that it's what's inside,
That makes and shapes a man...!
Truly, I say to you...
God blessed the damned
Up in New York City,
In a hospital called St. Jude's,
There is a little girl,
Whose whole body is a bruise
You'd think that she'd be crying,
an argument about g. harrisonwhat did you think would happen?an argument about g. harrison4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
we taught the computers to fall for god when things go wrong
and nothing but February in exile without a moon
and you trying to describe the experience of blacking out
the numbers on a bill from cities you're not ready to go back to
we could end ourselves here in a fit of coughing
uninstalled by molecule into an anagram of northern lights
that would preclude trying to describe the experience of space travel
if only they'd forgotten the photographs at home
and what if the beatles had met in a chat room?
what did you think would happen
if reading history was all about reverse engineering the problem
and not the short stories of music that still existed on briefs
from outside the country and remarked at narcotics anonymous that everything
is the lack of light
and all the dead you've left are following
and following and following.
Oh california, i swear to god
i will fucking leave you
Alive Like Dirt-Alive Like Dirt3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Winter vanished, a dream
Minutes after having woken;
The imprint and the lines
Still crisscrossing the edges
Of thought, retreating at my
Touch. It was important.
Though, I've lost it now.
Am reeling now.
I reached out, five distinct
Points forming a living symbol.
Catching the last flakes of snow
Between my forefinger
Like an angel thread seed.
I looked at my hands once,
At the neolithic lay lines
Carved in the clay
Senryu Series 111.Senryu Series 114 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
choosing the devil
her parents question
the kids unpack
another old knot
I add more spice
to the ramen
available on Itunes
job well done
from the boss...
from the army
the poor section
we let the youngest
FuneralFuneralFuneral4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
A funeral was no place to have an epiphany. Epiphanies galvanise people into action and the only action you could get away with in a church pew was discreet fidgeting. Even that was considered unseemly when a heart-felt eulogy was being delivered by the deceased's mother, as Mary was finding out to her discomfort. The priest was beginning to shoot her dirty looks.
But really, as epiphanies went, it was a brilliant one. She couldn't believe she had taken this long to realise it. She was fat. Plain and simple. Mary was much too fat. It explained everything. Her husband had left her for a skinny bitch because she was fat, the university she'd wasted half a decade on refused to give her tenure because she was fat and her dog had knee problems because, much like Mary, Spot was fat.
Everything Mary came into contact with miraculously gained weight, became squishy and stopped trying. Except for her ex-husband who had gained weight, gone all squishy, and then tried so hard he had lande
The Last DetentionI've spent too many years sittingThe Last Detention3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the back of a classroom.
We see thousands of chalkboard faces
in the evening haze of rush hour traffic.
The nicest days of the year always happen
when our Teachers give us detention.
We can't be trusted to punish ourselves.
Grab a stick of chalk and begin.
100 times- I will not cheat on my husband.
100 times- I will not miss my nephew's soccer game so I can drink alone.
100 times- I will not leave smaller tips for the older, less attractive waitresses.
100 times- I will finally get the courage to kiss her tonight.
100 times- I will tell him it is over if he hits me again.
100 times- I will not be weak.
100 times- I will notice the sky today.
100 times- I will invite the widow in 5A to Christmas Dinner.
100 times- I will call my sister.
100 times- I will learn the difference between what is worth fighting for and what isn't.
100 times- I will ask my co worker how he is doing and actually care.
100 times- I will do more than just get by.
What if there
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
I speak to myself."So that's what you want?"I speak to myself.3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
"What? To die?"
"Yes, to die."
"It's been a while since I've contemplated suicide."
"There are other ways to die, you know."
"I know. I want to live."
"Yes. That's probably the hardest way."
A deep breath, a pause for thought. Small smiles and closed eyes.
I know that if I open them, I'll only see myself and there's nothing I hate more.
"Do you ever think about her?"
"What do you think?"
"I think that I wish I'd never kissed her back."
"But I did, didn't I?"
"It was a great kiss, though." I'm smiling; it really was a great kiss.
"Yeah. I still feel the edge of the sink digging into my back."
I open my eyes. Other-me is smiling too. The bruise was there a few days and
she'd kissed it over and over and over again. I think we're both remembering that.
It was the first time I'd ever felt treasured.
"I just wish"
"that I could have saved her."
Another shared look and some heavy regret, the
WastelandThree tours in Iraq and a bullet to the leg didn't stop him. They tell me what changed him was coming through U.S. customs. The metal detectors and apathetic stares. The donut kiosk. Now he is standing on the porch and avoiding everyone that came to his party. I've only met the guy once at another Fourth of July barbeque and that was a long time ago. Welcome home.Wasteland3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I notice an application for Arby's on the kitchen table. Someone was using it as a coaster and the paper is still soggy in the middle. Scotch sweats more in the summer time. I need to smoke.
I pull open the screen door and walk outside. He doesn't turn his head to look at me. He doesn't say hello or smile. I stand in front of him and try to make eye contact. He's about my age but so much older. When I strike my Zippo, his free hand clenches and his beer hand jumps to his mouth. &
Poetry Self-Edit ChecklistPoetry Self-Edit Checklist4 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Poetry Self-Edit Quick Start Guide and Checklist
The idea behind this is to give newer poets a way to better edit their poetry themselves, without having to rely as much on an external editor. It can be frustrating, especially for new poets to request feedback from a friend, or worse, to post a poem, and have all of the responses be about grammatical errors and other details. We write poetry to convey ideas and emotions, and when something is off technically about the poem it distracts the reader. When a reader is distracted enough to notice an error or other problem it means they might spend the time they might otherwise have spent glowing about your poem to post a comment correcting you instead.
After this introduction is over the checklist will be as brief as possible while retaining its utility. The idea is to serve as an organizational tool and a reminder rather than to educate on effective
syncopeyou are a circle, i am a square.syncope4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
let's disagree with reality and calculate letters only,
while our brains are set on imagination mode, we could do anything
let's sleep in trains and stare at agitated strangers,
while we laugh at their deformed faces, reflecting actual inner
those were mirrors.
PlyushkinLosing you-Plyushkin3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It wasn't the same as throwing away an old couch.
We didn't peek around the curtains every hour,
half expecting to see someone lifting it into their
truck bed secretly hoping it was still on the curb
Stillness was in the air because the house knew
something was missing. Something is always going
to be missing. We can manage buy more things. I know
we are lonely consumers. The more the merrier.
Make the walls happy. Spring for the surround sound.
Maybe I won't hear your permanent laughter
resonate from the kitchen. Haunting.
I want to know what the spider was thinking
as it crawled across my IPod.
How many electronics can a man fit into his soul?
There has always been a compulsive need to own.
Nobody reading this is free.
scintillating.It is August and I am alive.scintillating.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I am breathing but the sensation becomes invigorating. The air tastes lithe, cleanly - like light pouring into my lungs.
I find it rejuvenating; youth electro-charging my slackened flaccid muscles.
I feel you; an impossibility. It's high voltage, electric eels, hissing transformers.
It's a spark.
The Stroke and the Over DoseIThe Stroke and the Over Dose3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This is the second time that I have ever been in an ambulance.
It is sickeningly winter outside. This time the roads are too
icy to speed on and the siren is off. This time it is quiet.
The paramedics are noiselessly saving my grandmother's life.
I'm riding up front with my ear pressed to my cell phone. There is
no room for me in the back and the driver just laughs when
I ask him to turn on the radio.
"We're so proud of you. You did the right thing."
Nobody knows that she begged me not to call 911.
Nobody knows how slowly I dialed those numbers.
Your spirit materializes next to me and you take the steering wheel.
We drive through the snow storm and talk about our nights
spent on lake Erie. Your dad had a boat and I always got sick
in the water. I preferred throwing you down in the sand.
We took a bus to Presque Isle State Park in early September.
Fall was on the horizon and we had nature to ourselves for one day.
The sun pulled away fro
The Soldier's SestinaI have worn many hats in my time.The Soldier's Sestina4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Starting at my birth when I became a son.
Born to a wonderful mother and friend
and a worthless, unemployed father.
The times were hard but I had to soldier
on and start school as a student.
As I grew older I became a student
of life. I learned how to let my time
pass. Going through the motions like the soldier
ant. Dad thought I was a disappointing son,
and I thought him to be a despicable father.
Dreams of another life became my only friend.
It became apparent I wouldn't need a friend.
The military would make me their student.
They taught me to be a man, something my father
could never do. In just a year's time
I became everybody's favorite son.
The Marine. The Devil Dog. The soldier.
However, with age and injury being a soldier
forever isn't feasible. The only friend
left was love. My lover grew our son
in her womb. And I became a student
of parenthood. In a short time
I would be something I never had. A father.
But in the end
No Cream, No SugarBeing is like eternal patienceNo Cream, No Sugar2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Days slowly dripping into that coffee cup
You don’t remember where it came from
but, like most things, it’s always been there
When the filter gets changed three times
and the sun still won’t come out
Not to mention the brief realization
that everyone is just getting by
Not to mention the stillness of 2 a.m.