Intruder, Part IISarahs heart almost stopped. That guy intended to kidnap her! No that couldnt be happening to her! This just had to be a dream a nightmare!Intruder, Part II6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
No need to be so scared, sweetheart. At least as long as you behave! In her shock Sarah hadnt realized yet that the burglar was already standing behind her. Im gonna be the one driving the car, so theres no need for you to see where were going. All over a sudden he put a piece cloth over her eyes and knotted it tightly behind her head. Sarah moaned as he pulled the knot painfully tight. Sarah wasnt able to see anything through this blindfold. Her captor then cut the piece of tape that was connecting the girls wrists to her ankles. Without any warning she was picked up and according to what she was feeling, the guy hung her over his shoulder. She struggled and screamed to be let down again, only resulting in a slap on her butt, commented with the words Behave!
Cras - RedefinitionLet me re-write the history books with my fists, then, and the encyclopedias with my fingernails, and tell it right:Cras - Redefinition10 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
This then is the height of humanity: a boy in a trench in the Somme, laughter hard as a bayonet, blood in his teeth, because war's the most beautiful thing in the world and he can't wait to die.
And this is the lowest point, then: a child who should've died is given a second chance, is told he is loved, and wanted, and has a home, but all of those he realizes are lies, wrapped like bandages tighter and tighter around him over the years, until he suffocates on their pity, and wonders: where is mercy?
And what of mercy? Mercy is three feet of large intestine spilled out on the snow, steaming, and a numb, dumb kind of surprise at the lack of blood, and the smell of pine sap on fingertips he can no longer feel, and yet he smiles, knowing at last what it means to have control over one's death.
And this is beauty, then: the crack in the clouded mirror, the only th
Mermaid Sigh"I feel like drowning," the mermaid sighs.Mermaid Sigh11 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Seth looks over, but says nothing. She blinks back from where she is lying on top of the bedsheets, but he can't tell if she's looking at him, her eyes are so black. Her hair is a dark pool lapping at her pale cheeks and throat.
"I feel so heavy," Cera goes on. "How do you live like this?"
"Didn't you say you've been living in the city for several years now-?" Seth puts down his pen, turns around and sets his arms across the back of his chair.
Cera smiles, shakes her head.
"I'm older than you think, half-blood." Her smile turns to a frown.
"I don't... remember a lot of things, though. We fullbloods don't always think so linearly, and... things are fragmented, in here." She taps her forehead with a fingertip. "But I remember the ocean. Back when I was me--back when I was a child, I think.
"I forgot about it for a long time, got used to... this-" (her hand turns on her w
The Lady of Chains (Part Two of Five)The Lady of Chains (Part Two of Five)2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
When she finally returned to her bedroom that night, Viola found that she wasn't in the mood to explore the tower. She hadn't even bothered to look at the light orb outside her door, which she was still curious about. She was tired and miserable and missing home far too much. But what she did discover was that Mrs Casket had returned at some point. The old woman had left her a book, The Wicked Player's Handbook and a rather nasty letter. Apparently it was Viola's fault that she had been dismissed so abruptly earlier on and whether Viola succeeded in killing the Lady of Chains or not, Mrs Casket was going to give her a 'right good clout across the head'.
Mark my words, girl, the letter said. You've got something awful coming for you and it is going to damn well knock you off your feet.
"Oh sod off, you old trout," Viola said, ripping the note up into a dozen pieces. She went across to the desk and pulled out the knife, weighing it in her hands again. She shea
AD - RiseIt's in the oncoming dusk that the angels begin to show.AD - Rise2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Ian watches them, the trails they carve through the sky, slick as quicksilver, erratic as skipping stones with ripples more felt than seen. Nothing but light and that static song, beautiful even as casual calamities, slashing through the sky in every direction. If only they weren't so bright.
A thousand shooting stars, but all anyone wishes is that they'll never be struck by one.
Ian closes his eyes, lets the afterimage map itself onto the backs of his eyelids, searches the lines for some kind of pattern or route, but he's never had a sense of direction, only the vaguest inkling of up, not North.
He rubs the battery acid on his hands, feels the skin of his fingertips peel and roll into slivers. He feels grit and rust crumbled inbetween, from an afternoon of digging through another scrap heap. He dusts his hands off on his jeans and shifts the backpack strap on his shoulder.
Prologue-preface to my novelThe OfferPrologue-preface to my novel5 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Omaron sighed as he stared at the place where the wall of his little rented room met the ceiling. He was sunk, and that was all there was to it.
The apartment at the top of the White Tower wasn't at all like the plush surroundings he'd become accustomed to at his adopted parents' house; it wasn't cozy like the little orphanage he'd lived in before that either. All it had were two cramped rooms, both of which had the bland sterile sort of atmosphere usually found in hotels. The living area had very few things in it to look at: a round table with two matching chairs, the beige couch where he was sitting, the door to his bedroom, and the larger one leading onto the landing. A few discarded attempts at speeches lay crumpled at his feet. As he looked at them, he ran a bony hand through his already mussed blonde hair. Maybe another swig of wine would drown his shame... nope, didn't work.
How could he
we won't bury you The last time we saw Taylor alive, it was behind Melrose Diner on Snyder Avenue at two in the morning. It was a little bit after the rain had stopped; the clouds had disappeared and the moon was already covered by the quiet buildings that lined up on Main Street. There were still puddles on the tarmac, and the streetlights still had some raindrops trailing down their sides. The smell of wet rust and burnt florescence still lingered in the air - the normal fragrance of a night in Philadelphia, after a night of too much to drink and too few fucks to give.we won't bury you2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
We had all of our band gear already packed up in the back of Dave's shitty van, except for Taylor's old Ibanez guitar, which he kept in the gig bag that was strapped around his back. He liked to keep it with him after a particularly good show; it was a good-luck charm to him, and we needed all the luck we could get.
On the Unsuitability of Fairytales for ChildrenThe following essay will appear as an Appendix to the sequel of my fantasy novel, Her Unwelcome Inheritance, which is internationally available in paperback and digital formats from all major online booksellers.On the Unsuitability of Fairytales for Children2 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
On the Supposed Unsuitability of Fairytales for Children
Shortly after supporting a local library event promoting fairytale literature, the folklore department at Lightfoot College received an animated communication from a very concerned mother regarding, in short, the "unsuitability of fairytales for children."
As this seems to be a rather widespread idea (I might mention the Daily Telegraph article of February 12, 2012) as well as an oddly long-lived one, I take the liberty of public response.
The Price of Dying“I want to be interred after I die,” Mr. Peters said. He made that clear to his family while he was still lucid, before old age and illness rendered him unintelligible. Seventy wasn’t that old, but he recognized the symptoms that were creeping up on his ailing body – the aches, the fatigue, the feeling of helplessness and despair. Despite his daughter’s attempts to assuage his concerns, he sensed his own mortality.The Price of Dying2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The worst part about dying, Mr. Peters thought, was what happened afterwards. Even since he was a small boy, he had been afraid of fire. He could never forget the scorching heat of the orange flames searing his skin, the dark billowing smoke entering his nostrils. The time that his house burned down, the fire almost took him with it. How ironic then, to escape the fire only to be fed into it after death.
So one day, he sat his son and daughter down after dinner. “I want to be buried whole,” he said, emphasizing the
BraveryOn Saturday the twenty-first of January, Elliot took a gun, pressed it to the strip of bone between his eyes, and shot himself. The bullet shattered the frontal bone of his skull, warping his features past recognition, and burrowed through his pre-frontal cortex into the midbrain. He died before the sound stopped echoing through his empty apartment.Bravery4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
This story isn't about that.
I worked with Elliot for only a little while—less than six months. Most of what I knew about him came from his desk. Unlike the smaller ones the secretaries and other reporters had, it was a stately, imposing thing. It would've been terrifying, especially to a mousy little girl like me, but it was covered in paperweights and spare pens and pictures of people hunting ducks. Anyway, Elliot himself denied fear: he was middle-aged, poised on the cusp between forty and fifty. His hair had already turned grey, but he didn't dye it, like he hadn't noticed he was getting older or just didn't care. He smiled more t
The Homeless Shelter The morgue was colder than Douglas expected. He jammed his good hand into his pocket, but the fingers trapped in his cast were exposed. The cold bit into them, and he prayed they would go numb soon.The Homeless Shelter3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
“Detective,” the coroner said as he came out of his office. “How nice to see you again. But to be honest, you weren’t the detective I was expecting. Where is McKenzie?”
“Probably hiding under his desk. I got roped into coming down here to talk to you.”
“Hmm. I wonder what I could have done to make him avoid me. Well, no matter. I’ll be with you as soon as I finish signing these release forms. It’s always bittersweet, letting the corpses go to their loved ones. I feel like a bond has formed during our time together.”
SouvenirsWhen her mom went to check the mail at breakfast, she returned with a thin box in her arms.Souvenirs3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It was a package from her father.
Her dad was sort of like a traveler... at least, that was what she assumed he was. His job always had him jumping from city to city, country to country. He'd been to almost everywhere around the world, and every few weeks, he would send her a letter with a little souvenir from his stay. This time, it was a miniature Eiffel Tower.
So he's in France again, she mused, studying the two-foot tall replica. A small chuckle escaped her lips. It was about time he remembered to get it for her! He really should've thought of buying it six visits ago. She opened the small envelope attached to package and read the letter inside with a fond smile. When she finished reading, she stood up and excused herself from the table. Her mom answered with a sad smile as she nodded.
She raced up the stairs and headed for the Gift Room. It was a special place in the house just for h
epitaphin the endepitaph7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when i'm almost gone
and all i've left
is a red lamp
and a ragged song
to pave my way
into the thunderstorm
let every raindrop murmur
i loved you and lost
nothing but emptiness
and the company
"NightSide""NightSide"6 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Deep within the heart of London
Theres a secret train
To a secret place meant for pleasure
That usually ends in pain
Where sins comes gift wrapped
And the demons lie
Where choices are many
If youre choosing to die
Where bar dwelling vampires
Chug down bloody marys
But beware the bar snacks
Chocolate covered faries
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Theres no end to the insanity
That is NightSide
A place where dreams
And nightmares come to collide
Whether you live or die
Youll enjoy the ride
Welcome to NightSide
I hope you survive
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Where in Uptown,
Even the devils wear ties
Evil companies are hidden
From the naked eye
But look under the surface
Youll see souls to buy
Where youll find T-rex dung
For when any old shit wont do
Or sniff the hissing flower
If youve got nothing to hide
Where you can enter Club Dead
If youre a life challenged ghoul
Or maybe pagans place
Where barbarians rule
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
JokerLondon, February 9th, 1889 Stop.Joker5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
10:22 o' clock in the evening Stop.
Terrible fire destroys Noel's Arch Circus Stop.
There was only one survivor Stop.
The woman suddenly sat upright as she screamed, her dark raven eyes flying wide open. Everything was white, horribly white. It hurt her eyes, blinding her as her open mouth got a taste of the air in the room. It was sterile, terribly sterile. It made her want to vomit.
"Miss?! Please lay down miss! Your wounds just only healed up!"
Someone wearing blinding white pushes her down onto the bed as she gazes down at herself in bewilderment. Bandages, all over her body stained red. She's been bleeding? Her eyes drift to the person pushing her back down onto the white bed, hurt confusion in her eyes. But she will not lay back down.
"Where's Joker?! Where are the others?!"
The nurse smiled calmly at her, continuing to press her down. It hurts It hurts
InnocenceInnocenceInnocence5 years ago in General More Like This
DateMe entry for September
Kakashi had a system, of sorts, when dealing with young school girls and their exasperating school teacher crushes.
You dont love meyou love the idea of a handsome older man loving you.
Youre young, Im old. This will never work.
Youre living in a fantasy world with a fantasy crush. Im sorry, but this isnt a fantasy.
School girls had a silly notion that falling in love with a handsome male teacher was part of a normal high school love life. Kakashi really wanted to strangle the person that had come up with that particular idea.
Didnt they have any idea how society viewed the teachers in those kind of relationships? As sick, perverted men who just wanted to fulfill their kinky sexual fantasies.
A hormonal girl just out of puberty stuck in a short skirt with knee-high socks wasnt Kakashis idea of appealing.
Kakashi stared at the blu
Va'eiraThis was a lesson in just how quiet it can beVa'eira3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when you don't make enough noise.
Me, holding a toy gun to a stranger's head
"Remember when things stopped being ridiculous?"
You, eating dandelions in a midnight field
"About the same time things stopped making sense."
A boy in church camp carved a small crucifix
for his arts and crafts project. He won the blue
ribbon and a brand new Bible. The next morning
I found it hanging over our cabin door.
A toad was nailed to the cross.
Sometimes we wake up early enough to hide the evil from our world.