'ocean hunger''ocean hunger'11 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The inky mass opened its many mouths; they gaped and retreated. The water always looked like a trained dolphin pulling itself through its daily routine, wanting only to be fed.
Camille wanted to sacrifice herself every day, that desire never left her. Beside that wide oceanic arm, she was less than a microbe, a speck. The water owned her. She was its possession. She owed it to the river, to feed it. And often the fall looked more inviting than a chocolate cake or a feather bed.
But she wouldn't jump, because then what would Harold do? He was not self-sufficient. His existence depended on her.
The river just kept shimmying along, through the track it had worn deep. No seagulls circled the water here. It was a no man's land of beaches that stunk like an collection of fish markets. Down below were stretches of salt and pepper sand with rubbish buried beneath like ostrich eggs. Some houses and buildings that replaced trees were fastened on the vast hills on either side of the river, attach
Draw me as I amDraw me as I am10 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
When I was younger I thought death was an end, but now I think it is a process. I see this in the conversion of mourner's black to a trite fashion statement, in wisdom replaced by progress. It is a searching in the sand for words that might save you, while stones fall and understanding departs. It is knowing that most of my grandchildren's generation will not recognise the reference to which I allude, let alone its significance.
The gas heater flickers; orange light beneath plastic coals provides a comforting illusion. No more cinders, no more black dust coating every surface. I suppose I should be grateful.
On the television a man grins inanely. His wife competently organises around his bumbling ineptness. His children sigh and look embarrassed, or resigned.
"That's what it's like now, see?" I say to the ghost in the chair by the fireplace.
"What's that, Dad?" my daughter Alison asks from the kitchen, where no doubt she is planning my week very efficiently. The effective career mum, a
Sgt. DivineSgt. Divine11 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
A few of the men say this used to be a church, but it's hard to tell anything in this storm. We are pinned under a black and violent sky that has held us inside this crumbling room since we arrived yesterday morning. The water slides along the cracked ceiling and bombards us from different spots.
Captain tells us to keep our weapons dry, but he knows it's impossible. The floor clutches our boots with three inches of sucking wet mud. If the wind ever dies down we'll have a better look around this old place, but for now we just listen as it batters the trees into the stone.
None of us know how long we have to wait here. Captain says we are to protect this structure so our side can launch rockets from it if the war ever begins. Barnes says there isn't going to be a war. He says neither side is willing to start it; but here we are, drenched and freezing, just in case.
In the brief moments when the wind and rain pause we can hear the water trickling down through
Love Conquers All.Love Conquers All.4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Applejack bucked her back legs against the tree trunk. She backed up a little, allowing the apples to fall neatly into her saddle baskets. The orange pony trotted away from the tree, heading instead, towards a small cart. She got herself into position, just in front of the cart. She then reared up, so she was now standing on her back legs. The apples fell in an orderly fashion, without any of them going astray. Applejack gave the orchard a quick scan, once the apples were piled into the cart. Upon seeing that there was bit a single apple left, she let out a little 'yeehaw' to show she was done. Her celebratory hollering caught the attention of Big Macintosh. Who had been taking a sly nap in the barn, when he should have been apple bucking like his sister. He rose from his slumber and exited the barn.
"What's all the commotion about?!"
"Ah did it! Ah finished mah half of the apple buckin'!"
Big Macintosh was visibly surprised.
"What!? We've only been at this for an hour!"
I'm your donorIf you're getting this letter, I'm already dead. Either that, or that good for nothing Dr. Maynard just cheated me a bag of gummy worms to satisfy that sweet tooth of his. But I'm getting away from the point. So here it is: you're the lucky bastard who's getting my heart. Excuse the language, I'm not usually this rash, but hey, what's a dying girl to say? Which brings me to my next question: why do you need a new heart anyways? Were you a murderer in your past life? Do you have a bad soul or something that makes it so that your own heart won't work properly? I sure hope not, because if you are a bad person, and you end up getting my heart, I'll haunt you forever. No joke.I'm your donor5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
But, from the looks of your photo, you don't seem evil. They won't let me meet you because they think we'll get too attached. "They" as in the doctors, which is ironic, because
Claphe clapped and the whole world stopped.Clap6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
he clapped and the girl at the checkout till stared at him and said, "what the hell are you doing?" but she didn't really say it because it was in her head.
last week, she'd smiled at a different boy but it turned out that he was not so different after all. she had been disappointed.
she'd decided to become different like she wanted, but it wasn't turning out so well. she liked her clothes and makeup and shoes and hair and music, so it seemed she could do nothing about anything.
it didn't even cross her mind that this boy could be different when stepped up to the till. he was buying shaving foam, a box of brand cornflakes and a toothbrush, for god's sake. what could be more indifferent than that?
"it's a metaphor," he said.
"look, I don't care if it's left or right or up or down, you can stop clapping now." exasperated was the word. confused at the phrases pulling themselves out of her mouth, too; they were words also.
"he smiled," he said.
the tides.atlantic.the tides.5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
you smell like cigarettes and musk, and when i close my eyes, i imagine your waters are not quite so cold, and that the gun-metal gray clouds above your head do not reflect your thoughts. your fingers rush towards my ankles, trying to pull me in, and then you are shoving me away, running back to your sea bed, which, i don't believe, will ever completely hold you.
you are turqouise waters, with simple, colorful thoughts swimming in your head like tropical fish. the clear blue sky above is a backdrop to the birds flitting above your soft waves like your eyes over my face. your waters do not toss and turn like the sleepless bereaved; instead, they are comforting, cradling like a young mother.
you bash against everything; the ships, the docks, throwing yourself into the buildings with their windows shut against your furies. i am still standing at your shores, awaiting the day you will stop trying to tear me from the face of the earth. i am
Don't shave my assLlamas lynch ageing mule; ass shaved.Don't shave my ass5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
reasons for dying - twotwo.reasons for dying - two6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
to look me in the eye is to understand that there is nothing to fear, nothing to remember, nothing to forget. i will carry you beyond emotion, beyond help; these notions are only important to the living. i am waiting for you. i am a friend, a lover, a child. i am everything you have lost. i am your history, your hunger, your hopes and dreams. i am the flightless bird you nursed when you were five. i am the undeserved blow against your wifes cheek. i am your playground swing, your stepwise curb, your barreling car. i am your blood, your brain, your blinking reluctance. i am everything except what i inspire; fear.
and i am as alive as you are.
Un-ForgettableThere's a dab of green and blue along her cheeks; she forgot. She tends to forget. It's a pretty painting of the ocean that she shows you, except there's nothing in it. "Where's the horizon?" You'd ask her.Un-Forgettable5 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
"I forgot about endings." She'd reply.
She'd forget about lunch, too. She'd forget what time it was. She'd forget your birthday. She'd come knock on your door in the dead of winter wearing a teeshirt and flip-flops, holding a cake with out-candles and a smile. "It's not my birthday." You'd tell her.
"I forgot about happy." She'd reply.
She'd forget about safety and seat belts. She'd forget about boundaries. She'd forget a lot. She'd kiss you in the middle of a conversation just because. "Why'd you do that?" You'd inquire.
"I forgot about no." She'd reply.
In the end, all she spelled was No. Happy. Endings. And it's backwards, because she forgot about order, as well. She tends to forget, and that's why she'll never remember.
The ObjectThe shape was incomprehensible,The Object4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Swiftly shifting, flattening, drawing fine edges and sharp points;
The combinations seemed as infinite as are these words.
It shimmered, melted, reformed, burned and scattered as dust,
Yet it returned;
Motionless and shining in the darkness.
Invisible in the day,
Light passing through it unchallenged in every way;
It was unforgettable.
But with every day, it was forgotten, as would be an old memory lost in haze.
And they would day-dream of it;
Until the next night when it would return.
It's iridescent glow injected memories of an ancient time,
It taught them, it spoke to them;
It showed them things which none could know and none could repeat.
Speaking in words formed with pulses of light,
The object collected images and emotions;
Burning hope into their very souls.
It comforted them,
It consoled them;
It never moved.
And they returned as it did, each time,
To be warmed and spirits replenished;
And those who gazed upon the stone knew nothing m
After a hard day's workSaved the world.After a hard day's work5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
...Now for tea.
A Right One A Right OneA Right One5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Born into a world of beauty
Created for us all
You blameless spirits of mankind
Answering voices we can't hear
Responding to a different call
Souls unfettered from the norm
Of what we call society
Needs that we can't cater for
Visions we will never know,
Life that only you can see.
The sorrow that I feel
Wrenching cruel my heart
Is that I cannot share your thoughts
Or hear the beating drum
To which your footsteps march.
Know, my friends, your value
In the scheme of man
Maybe the shadow that you cast
Long across my sight
Is the yardstick that I need
To measure wrong from right.
Sacrifice of An Odd FluidJust a quick note to thank you for extinguishing the mules. Although I'm not exactly sure what a Smeangy is I can appreciate that it must have taken you a long time to milk, or squeeze, or otherwise coax-out all that fluid only to sacrifice it on a fire.Sacrifice of An Odd Fluid5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It was our first year shellacking the mules; in hindsight, we probably should have put a little more distance between the baby juggler, the 'flaming-pointy-stick' juggler, and the town's shiniest (and regretfully flammable) asses. But thanks to your quick thinking and sacrifice, the juggler was able to keep most of the babies in the air, and relatively flame free and non porous.
Good news: our surgeon general, an expert in burning mules (he studied at Harvard), assures us that the burning sensation in your lungs is not from mule smoke. Apparently the ingredients commonly used to make the festival's candy were inadvertently mixed with ingredients that should never ever be used to make candy. He recommends that you don't take any food or
Objects in SpaceThe general gazed pensively at the viewscreen. He was tall and slender, clean-shaven, his hair greying at the temples. His bearing was rigid, yet his posture betrayed some unease.Objects in Space6 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
"How far away is it?"
"It's just passing Pluto," said the science officer, a short, bald, bespectacled man. "At its current velocity, it will reach our position in approximately seven hours."
"And it's alien."
"Well sir," -- the science officer licked his lips -- "it doesn't fit the known trajectories of any comets or asteroids, nor does its composition match any of those. It's definitely man-made... except mankind has never made anything like that. Not to mention it's coming from the wrong direction."
"Seven hours, then. Initiate first contact proceedings."
Seven hours later, they assembled in the largest hangar on the space station: five men and two women. The general stood in the centre of the group, tall and proud, unmoving. Next to him stood the science officer, fidgeting nervously. The others were lin
Lament of Evil One on the edge of World DominationWell, I never!Lament of Evil One on the edge of World Domination4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Again I'm thwarted!
BADFIC II - Chapter IVBADFIC II - Chapter IV4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
"Who are you and what is this proposal you talking about?" ask Martha at the guy in the darkness.
"Patiens, patiens!" say the guy and smile at them with his teeth. "All in good time. Ah, lady Chel I see that you are going fine since the slast time we meet."
"You know her too?" ask Space core at the guy in a curiously.
"Oh course. We had a little understanding didn't we? Or did you forgot your quest so easily?"
"You on a duest?" ask Marfa at Chell who just loke down in a bit ashamed.
"Oh yes of course, she was supposed to help me and my boss g3et a certain something out of this place. And in rerun we would give her what she was always wanted in the world." he smile a little bit bigger and Martha and the Space Dore decide they don't olike the looks of this guy at all.
"Well what went wrong then? Why are you still here if you already got what you wanted?" ask Martha. The sarp-toothed man
Glazes Part 2Glaze Recipes Part 2Glazes Part 24 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Sharing a few formula's I use
all glazes are ^6 electric/oxidation
Floating Blue Revision 1
Nepheline Syenite 41
Gerstley Borate 17
Frit 3134 13
Red Iron Oxide 2
Cobalt Carbonate 1.5
The mute girl, and the psychotic oneThe sickest girl in the ward didn't speak, her somatic barrier was too great. She repeatedly touched her throat and her left arm. I had an obsession with my own heart attack arm.The mute girl, and the psychotic one3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When I first got there I experienced a great difference between the left and the right side of my body, which made total sense since there was an electric overcharge in the right part of my brain, which caused fever in just the left side of my body. I had a hard time convincing myself it wasn't fatal, every time someone touched my left arm my heart could explode. My conviction was so strong that I saw bruises grow and rapidly cover the whole arm while a nurse held it to take a blood sample. I screamed for what felt like half an hour until I was given a shot to knock me out.
I tried to communicate with the mute girl for hours every day. I felt like her problems was just the next step of my own.
I pulled out the most important pages from my notebook and gave them to her. Mostly equations of words, numbers and ma
OriginsStars burning,Origins5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Needs SayingIt's always the shy ones. Memories, that is. They hang back, letting bright moments of cartoons and Christmases hold your entire attention so they can creep away to a forgotten mental corner. They don't want your reverie; they want to be left alone.Needs Saying6 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
Some memories shouldn't be.
Some have something needs saying.
When I was eight, I thought I was a horrible child. I was greedy and selfish, wouldn't eat anything I was given, treated guest children like they were stupid, ran off three of my aunt's maids, ran out the hot bath water, could have gotten my cousin killed, and very nearly did the same for myself.
Perspective is funny that way. My aunt's ultrasounds, the ones that showed an empty womb, make so much terrible sense now. To be pregnant one day and then the next be told that you weren't, that you had never been...at least a miscarriage can be buried. How could she mourn an idea? And where was there time to? She had lambs to feed, farmhands to pay, and poachers to drive off or survive,
presenting..."these songs shouldn't make me feel so sad."presenting...7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
said to myself, in between puffs of smoke
blown to wasps in my window. still, ever since
you started harvesting silence, my day-to-day details
have progressed to punishment ala prometheus.
skin unscathed, cloaking heartbreak daily.
chained to this rock, but sealed with a twist.
I'm eatin' up space and overcompensatin'. I've got
that bug-eaten junkie lovescratch itch. I've got them
shakes what jived (and shook from the inside).
oh no, I can't undo the pain in you.
this chip with boy ashoulder.
doin' time at the hotel. sickening
smile, carrying luggage. roots grown
deep & worsening breath.
you've got your own concerns
and I've just one of them...
dear, I fear I'm forever one word away from winning you.
Wisdom XXXWhy is mankind more afraid of freedom than slavery?Wisdom XXX4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
We sure do love cages.
The Poets' Night1The Poets' Night5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The small room was full of warmth and camaraderie. There were no more than twenty people, but their presence filled it comfortably. At one end there was a small raised platform, on which stood a music stand. The remaining space was filled with chairs grouped around tables. A man, apparently in his middle years, stepped onto the platform, smiling broadly as he faced the gathering. In his appearance, dress and manner, he contrived to combine an air of fading gentility with a certain raffishness, expressed most obviously in the angle at which he wore his trilby hat.
"Welcome again, my friends to a night of art and intimacy, to our regular celebration of the word both spoken and sung. Performers are assembling among us of all ages, of both sexes and none, united none the less in one important particular, that being their skill and devotion to the arts of the word.
"We have so many eager contributors that there is no time to lose. Let's welcome our first contributor, who has the honour th