'The female Sherlock Holmes'"'The female Sherlock Holmes?'" She read, "What the HELL did you say that for?"'The female Sherlock Holmes'2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
"I thought you'd be flattered!" I said, taken aback, "How is that anything but a compliment?"
"Well, firstly, I don't do drugs and secondly - well just look for yourself!" She threw a brown paper envelope at me, which I caught none too gracefully. The envelope had clearly been opened before but re-sealed. I slid my finger under the flap and pulled the letter out from inside.
"Dear 'Miss Holmes'," The letter opened with a smug greeting, " I am under the impression that you require a nemisis. I would be happy to oblige. Yours, 'Moriarty' "
I raised my eyes from the note to see my friend fuming in the corner. "Okay, so I see the problem here," I began, "but I know you. This letter was written by some pompous idiot, and you're more than a match for him."
My friend groaned in irritation. "You don't see do you? You've attracted the attention of a psychopath, and he, and it is a he, i
Half heartedYou tell me "Be more confident,Half hearted1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
More brave, more strong, more loud,"
You tell me to believe in myself,
You tell me to be proud,
If only I was beautiful,
If only I was smart,
If only I could do those things
With more than half my heart
MusicSince time began, we turn to music,Music2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It stirs something deep within;
The song that zips like a hummingbird,
Filling your heart with ecstasy,
The low sorrowful tune
That with every slow note feels your pain,
Energy you don't have.
They say silence is beautiful though that must be a lie
If silence were truely golden
We wouldn't turn to music to block it out
SpoilersPlease don't tell me what happensSpoilers2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
After this life
Don't spoil the book for me,
I haven't got to the ending yet
And I'd much rather work it out for myself
Gertrude is not like the CullensYou have no idea how long it takes me to get ready in the mornings. It's a good thing I have all night.Gertrude is not like the Cullens2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"So you're like the Cullens?" he asked uncertainly
"No. Not in the least." I answered, "Frankly I find that question quite offensive."
"Er, sorry it's just, you know... wierd..."
"I know that." My voice had morphed into some sort of monotonal deadpan, although, in all fairness, that was the least of my worries
"Soooo... if you're not like the Cullens does that mean..." he shuffled, embarassed, "does that mean you've er..."
"Well that's not really my style." I smirked, "I don't need to kill people, do I?"
"What about... blood and stuff?"
"It's complicated." I saw that he opened his mouth to speak and anticipated his comment,"Not animal blood." I sighed.
To be honest I'm not sure what's worse - the traditional vampire stereotypes or the shiny (quite litterally in fact) new models. The shiny guys are certainly more pleasant, and it's actually quite funny to see
Had enoughI've had enough of your man made problemsHad enough1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Just tell me it's not real
I've had enough of these half baked solutions
I already know how to feel
If this was a song I'd know the tune by heart
But get a few notes wrong on principle
Because making mistakes is human, to start
And I won't be called a robot by you
Ticking ClocksI don't quite remember exactly how I got up there. On the clock face. I know I saw him up there and suddenly it all went blank. I was fighting for a hold on the hands of the clock. Everything was... everything was blurry... and weird. That's right, weird. No better word for it than what it was. People must have seen us. You don't just miss that sort of thing. Not that there was anything they could do. The wind blew. Stronger than before, you know? It caught my dress and my hair and I was sliding. Sliding down the... well I suppose it was the arm of the clock, wasn't it? If they have hands, stands to reason they have arms. I saw the utter horror on his face. Realised the gravity of the situation. Almost. It was just too unbelievable. I felt detached. Probably a good thing. But the sight of his terror filled face made my stomach lurch. It was the sort of short panic you get when you trip over. The pressure in your chest. Kind of feels like a spike in your back. I scrambled. Wrapped my leTicking Clocks2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
My FriendYou, my friend, knaw at my soulMy Friend1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
As if there is something to gain
You, my friend, make me feel cold
And I know you feel my pain
But, you, my friend, spit on my heart
And plant bitter thoughts in my mind
For you, my friend, are my greatest foe
And you shall never be kind
Shut upJust shut up and leave me alone,Shut up1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Don't tell me what to do,
This is no fairytale, no comic book fantasy,
And the last thing I need here is you.
The MusicTHE MUSICThe Music2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The first note was a raindrop,
A tear shed from heaven,
Resolving to a broken chord
The pianist breathed.
The angel dropped another tear
Which blossomed, as a rose would do.
The cellist sighed,
And from the cavern of the cello
There came a mourning cry.
It drifted up, lit up the night
And hovered there.
For a while their lights entwined
And danced together,
Red and green.
Blue descended; gold appeared;
Angels took flight
And joined them in the starry sky.
The night became a crimson, swirling cape
With sapphire, emerald, gold,
And petals rained in floods now from the clouds.
The melody a light display,
The bass a solid ground,
The harmony a breeze of drifting midnight, winter air.
In the end, the final note was not entirely there.
Expectantly, the angels paused,
But nothing came.
The lights went down,
But once they touched the ground
The night was over and the sun emerged
To scatter all of heaven's crowd.
The WriterThe Writer is the voice in your headThe Writer2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The one that narrates, but never is said
The Writer is the flutter of the heart
At middle and end and often the start
The Writer is the rush of the clattering keys
As you strive to get down exactly what you mean
The Writer is day and the writer is night
The Writer is the compliments' delight