A walk in the ParkUnder the trees, and beneath the rainfall
the earth and air received it's cleansing.
Through the woods, a path, or a small clearing
among trees, narrow, accepting, and covered as a wound.
I walked along and redundantly thought
like a ticking clock: taunting my attempt of
resistance to break this ever-lasting cycle of
trepidation. Breathing in the rainy air I searched
and found findings of day, yesterday, and tomorrow
which further clouded and concealed the purpose of this walk.
A fallen tree, change of grass, and thick brush
which marked my destination and also hid the way,
were just as soaked and dripping as the leaves of
the willow trees which lay before me and clearly
have a long sympathy, continue to simply weep with me
like a bird whom is trapped in cage. My body was enveloped
in the feeling, my heart beat as a clock ticks backwards.
I bolted out of the house of willows.
But the helpless sprint wasn't out of weep,
it was of the grey clouds lifting, and the cease of rain.
Almost Perfect.Fifteen. Outgoing. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Spotless, perfect, slightly tanned skin. Straight A student. Only barely reaching 100 pounds on an off day.Almost Perfect.3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I'm so fat, she'd say to herself every morning in the mirror. Size 2 waistline. It wasn't good enough. She could do much better. She needed perfect.
"Oh, Brielle," her friends would say at lunch, disappointment clear on their faces. "Not eating again today?" School food was dripping with unhealthy grease and calories. The question would echo in the back of her head. Eat? I don't need to eat, look at me! Now, she barely heard it anymore. They were used to it.
Everyone was used to it. Her friends would joke about how she could probably get blown over by a big enough gust of wind, how she was too skinny. She laughed; her friends were too funny. One kid even said something about starving herself. Starve myself? Ridiculous! Can't they see how big I am? It's called a diet.
The Phases of BeautyPhase one starts with the basics. Wash off all that invisible grime off your face. Brush your hair out of its bed headedness. Normal stuff. Brush your teeth; yellow smiles aren't all that pretty. Phase one is simple, easy. But it's never enough. You're still too natural looking Naturally ugly.The Phases of Beauty3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Scramble through your closet, here's phase two; clothes. Being beautiful also means being fashionable, so all you have is overpriced designer labels to shift through. Find the jeans that make your butt look cute and the shirt that makes you look older and look! You've got an awesome outfit on your hands. Accessorize accordingly; the right jewelry could make or break this outfit. At least, that's what all the magazines say.
Phase three starts in a puff of smokewait, maybe that's foundation. Layer it on heavy; no one wants to see those freckles. Dash on some blush, it looks cuter. Break out the eyeliner and mascara, that way your boring eyes will pop. That's what makeups fo
Sooner or later.Once upon a time, I breathed in innocence and exhaled simplicity. I remember it fondly.Sooner or later.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I remember my favorite grass-stained overalls with the light blue butterfly embroidered on the pocket, my bare feet on the damp grass, the feeling of the wind, it tasted like sweet perfection, flying through every single strand of hair on my head as I chased the fireflies that danced in the evening air. I remember the old, rusty swing sets, and how if I got up in the air high enough I could touch the exact place in the cloudless sky where the earth itself curved, though no one ever believed it. Back then, I remember laughing every second just because there was once a time where optimism wasn't a challenge. Back when real friends weren't an endangered species, but a bubbling well, filled to the rim; when family was a single unit, not split into shards; when the biggest worry I had was people stealing my favorite scarlet-colored crayon after I dashed to the potty. Simple.