JarsMy childhood home, a gray, old farm house, sat nestled near the small town of McKean Pennsylvania. My father moved us there from Pittsburgh in 1954 when I was no taller than a limp potato sack. I was their only child at the time. He said the city was no place to raise a family. We needed room to run and explore and my mother needed a quiet place to work on her writing. However, in three years of living there she gave birth to four of my brothers. So much for peace and quiet. There must have been something in the water.Jars4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Folks in town liked to whisper about that house like it was some kind of architectural Jezebel. By the time I could spell my own name I had heard dozens of rumors and stories surrounding our home. There were certainly enough to keep my young mind racing through many sleepless nights. Some of the more elaborate stories suggest a mass murder of the previous occupants by their deranged
The Gentle WolfSera's searched the cooridors of the mansion, trying to find any information on Raven. The archives just repeated what she already knew. No, she had to confront him and meet him in person. Grabbing her coat and tieing her hair behind her head in the pony tail that was forced on her to wear for formal events, she put her hand on the door knob when Cynthia's hand touched her shoulder.The Gentle Wolf6 years ago in Teen More Like This
"Were are you going Sera's?" she asked.
"Did i disturb your slumber, sorry Ma'am, i was uhm going to feed." Sera's quickily thought up at the last second. Cynthia bought into the lie and smiled.
"So young and innocent. It is truely a crime to make someone as young as yourself a true vampire." Cynthia said walking up the stairwell and disappearing around a corner. Letting out a sigh of pressure release, Sera's closed the door and walked out into the cold night, in search of Raven.
The empty buildings was the first place she searched but to no aveil, Raven did not seem to be anywhere she looked. The back alle
Prince!England X Reader: The Royal BloodlinePrince!England X Reader: The Royal Bloodline3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Arthur escaped from the castle again for the who knows my many times with his horse. According to him, life inside the castle sucks as hell, everything gets on your way, not letting you do whatever you please. No matter what you do, you were always get dictated.
He got out from the castle by disguising as a carriage man, thankfully it worked unbelievably, the security inside was so tight. Arthur went out to town to see what his people doing.
'Lively as always...' he thought to himself as he tied his white horse at the fences.
He always loved this town, the smell of the foods and the kind and cheerful people. He walked and walked until he got satisfied, and then, he saw a terribly familiar looking girl with a (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes. He approached to her and talked to her without a second thought.
"Hey there, can I ask what's your name, miss?" he said with a calm voice. He didn't care what she'll think of him.
"_-_____..." you replied shyly, surprised at the unusual question.
introductionAlex has come to terms with the fact that his father is going to die soon. It hurts, but what can he do? Things like this happen. Alex believes that it won't be a natural death. He honestly believes his father will kill himself sooner or later. He can see it in his eyes, in the muffled sobs he hears when he calls.introduction6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Sometimes Alex wishes he could ask his dad why he left. He was always told it was so he could get over his drinking problem, but as far as Alex can see, it's just made it worse. His father told him once that it was because he couldn't handle the cold of Melbourne winter, but he had done it for the past thirty seven years, why was it so much of a problem now? Sometimes he sits in his room and goes over all of the excuses he's heard. He wonders how his mother believes he cant swallow that bullshit.
His father doesn't usually call often; it depends on how he's feeling. The more often he calls, the more reassurance he needs that he still exists and that the world isn't
incendiaryit was the city -- you know, a self-contained organism, a microcosm of reality in which we all take part. it's like a play, with our very orchestrated roles rehearsed perfectly until we can pull them off as smooth as ice.incendiary4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
it doesn't matter which city, because really, they're all the same -- paris, milan, barcelona...lawrence, pittsburgh, atlanta.
what matters is only that we were in the city. i was myself, playing the role of a love-struck jeweler, praying i could find just the right gem to put on my lover's finger someday, and she was herself, playing the role of sara.
sara, my love; sara, my heart; sara, the snow beneath my feet, the ice begging for me to slip
but still, we were here. glimpses of this city swallow my hunger -- i might never eat again if this were my home, the way it filled me up. but the moment i broke eye contact with this entity, this city with its glittering skyline, i felt the hollows in me ache again.
it felt rig
the fall of winterthere is a full moon, haunted, hanging just above the clouds. kind of the like the pictures we used to draw when we were young; back when we all thought we were artists. at this time of night, i can't help but wonder if its the same face of the moon that watched you left.the fall of winter3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
but fuck, we're not artists any more are we?
and this full moon - it hangs over us.
it watches with wise eyes the fragility of your heart in my cupped hands, and it waits. and with weak shoulders, i watch too. time and time again in the dead of the night i watch the crashing of the white-tipped ocean over our naked bodies, clasped tightly together, and every night i wait.
but i know we do not resurface.
and, oh the moon. it waits, waits, waits.
while deep on the ocean's floor, light filtering through the near-black water down onto our faces, i watch you and you watch me. and we know that we failed.
but my dreams are not meaningful things to you, because my words have never moved you like music; never awed you like p
a spiritual agnosticismthe search for truth in the universe,a spiritual agnosticism4 years ago in Editorial More Like This
is not a denial, but an affirmation -
that there is a mysterious 'godliness'
in the way the cosmos proceeds in
its endless evolution:
- 'bending toward justice'.
- spiritual, not religious, pervading
every atom, therefore pervading us.
- common to everything.
- connecting everyone.
- a patient faint consciousness,
in touch with all sentient awareness.
- no 'one' answer; each of us connects
in our own way... or fails to.
not having a need to believe in 'a' God,
leaves one open to have common faith
with everyone, to think of all others
as brothers and sisters.
we are all 'of' the universe.
if, there comes a time when one feels
a connection to a special religion
or concept of a God, then one may,
without dogmatically condemning others,
'decide' to accept that as one's own form
it must be done voluntarily... and
with true humility, in that one keeps
in mind that faith is a personal choice,
that there is absolutely no honest way
one can 'kno
a story about a broken heartyou called the other day, just to talk.a story about a broken heart4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you were talking about your physics teacher, or something like that,
but all i could hear was 'i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry'
i'm sorry for hugging you so tightly when i last left,
and i'm sorry for taking your heart with me.
i'm sorry that my voice still sounds the same -
the same voice i would send you to sleep with at night.
i'm sorry i can't look away when you talk,
because i can't let go.
i am sorry for telling you lies,
even if i meant them at the time.
i am sorry that we have nothing in common anymore,
and that i can't make you laugh.
and you were talking about your physics teacher, or something like that,
and i was crying.
i don't think i can forgive you.
isn't it a bit sadliving within a sanctuary, my arteries grow widerisn't it a bit sad4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
bones thicker and eyes wider - yet i am weaker
wood beneath my fingers, cracked and grey feels
as though it is not there at all, memories fade
into dust that settles and everything that was
becomes what it wasn't, everything that wasn't
is what was -
i clean so i don't think, and i write so that i do
ghost of anxiety past creeps up, awoken - alive
fingers grip the bare skin of backs, vision blurred
and words slurred, together we embody that which
makes us sick -
but we are already sick; off passion and love and
i am sick of your glances and lack of words and
my need to just to hold you, or him, her or anyone;
it has been so long since i have been held in arms
that were not water or wine -
i date things in case i die and people decide to
love me because isn't that what happens - when you
die people realise how great you were but it's too
late because you're already gone, so they read you
but it's okay because i hate everyone an
strange peoplethere is man i see sometimes that tells me he loves me.strange people4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
he wears a dress and has bare feet, sparkly nails and paint in his hair. when he laughs and he smiles and looks me right in the eye, and i call him miss because that's what he wants, i know it is only because he is not right -
but sometimes it makes me think, if he loves the whole world and is happier than the rest of us, then what is wrong?
there's a old man with a white beard to his stomach, who can't speak right and buys pink children bikes from the op shop with his change.
he has his free cappuccino with eleven sugars and lots of chocolate, tells me every day that he has a pretty girlfriend. he doesn't have a house and his legs are thinner than my arms, but when he spins his coffee lid through the air he claps and jumps like a child and sometimes he gets so happy he cries.
and i wish sometimes that i could be happy that way -
to love the things that no one else does, in a way that other people don't understand.
and you kno
Dear DiaryDear Diary10 years ago in Humor More Like This
I ate a sandwich today. I realized for the first time that one does not use a spoon to eat them. I was at the deli and I ordered my usual, a turkey breast with salmon, bacon, and teriyaki sauce, sat down and began to eat, spoon in hand. The man next to me turned and said, "You know… You don't use a spoon to eat sandwichs…"
This blew me away. All that I had known: destroyed. My world became swirling mist of the unknown. Every fact I thought I knew suddenly came into question. The way of the universe died that day.
The man grew concerned about the glazed look I had while I was shaking uncontrollably in my chair. I snapped to, spoon still in my grasp. Then I stabbed him with it. A lot.
Thanks for ruining my day, asshole.
Today was unusual. I went to the super market and the cashier winked at me. I mean, it's good to be winked at by such a beauty of a person, but I didn't think it was very appropriate. Flattered, I gave a small sign of rejection, whi
at intervals of twothe man with the backwards baseball capat intervals of two7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
visits the same grocery store
every thursday, buys exactly three items,
and then leaves quietly. he doesn't want
to cause any problems.
"always the same old thing", he says to
the undercover cop posing as the
lady at the check out counter - it's quite odd
for him to tell her this because he's been gone already
for over five hours and she doesn't speak
meanwhile, on the other side of aisle six,
a woman discovers something is very
"this won't be the last you hear from me." she
yells defiantly into the camera. the director
yells cut, but going through the motions
has become all too natural and unfortunately
the caterer has brought only egg salad sandwiches
for lunch. they wash this down with ink from a nearby
quill and, though the timing is perfect, no one seems too
happy about it.
I can't say I blame them. But secretly, I do and,
publicly, it's all their fault anyway. It was, of course,
the fourth and final time we ever heard
FFM 3: The Great ProcessSilence spun out on the grassy hill, and the boy analyzed his grandfather for some sign of a reaction. Cholas granted the boy a bemused half-smile, chewing on the mouthpiece of his pipe.FFM 3: The Great Process5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"It's horrible, isn't it?" Tian finally blurted. "You're not gonna tell my mom are you?"
Cholas chuckled softly. "Calm down, boy. Calm down. It's only horrible if you act upon it." He glanced down to see if it helped. It didn't. "Look, what you're feeling is perfectly natural for boys your age. Grown men get the same impulses, but we're used to it, we don't let it torture us."
"No, no. Listen for a second, child. It's just a part of nature. Like honey spiders gathering pollen in their great nets, or hawkflies snatching them away to feed their maggots. It's all a part of the great process: life, death, reproduction."
"But my own sister?"
Again, that throaty chuc
quest for the almighty dollardrug company ad:quest for the almighty dollar3 years ago in Editorial More Like This
take these little pills; you'll feel
better, stronger, sexier... whatever.
if they don't destroy your kidneys,
drive you flat out of your mind,
or just outright happen to kill you.
llp - aug2012 - dA
dear t, love m_cDear M, I used to wonder if the collision of our skin would be the ignition of rapidfire passions, the birth of brilliant starlight in the cold of loneliness, of suffocating space. I used to imagine that the heat of your breath would spill across my tongue, and reignite the cold ashes in my lungs. I used to hope that the sway of my skeleton and the clacking of my bones could be a rhythm you would stay around and dance to. I used to dream of us on moonlit beaches, sleeping on the waves and swimming through the sand. I used to do a lot of things, but your shiver-up-my-spine smile tends to drag my thoughts out to quieter seas.dear t, love m_c5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Dear T, I used to imagine my bones were fractured and chipped in all the wrong ways. I used to think my heart was a poison my body kept rejecting, leaving me on my hands and knees spitting up old relationships, lies and heartache all over my carpet late at night. I used to look at the sun and wish myself blind, stare at the ocean and wish myself ten thousand le
we are a sunrise.we are no more than a softly whispered if.we are a sunrise.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
we are smoke rings in the dark, soap bubbles on the lip of the water. we are bright eyes and shy fingers touching through the veil of introductions. we are racing side by side down separate book aisles, not calling out to one another but comforted in the echo of each others' pulse. we are strangers who aren't strange to one another at all, promises scrawled in folded pieces of paper, slipped under door cracks in the middle of the night.
possibilities are glowing iridescent between us, eyes overbright as we dance circles around one another. we're shoved into rooms filtered with sundust, lips praying as palms, fingers caught into oil-dark curls and tracing faintly dimpled cheeks. futures are unwound on the spin of a syllable, one second breaking everything we thought we knew about how our lives would go.
whole existences are leaping forward from the shadows with the power of a freight train, knocking out everything we've ever known to be
don't drag me into love.i keep choking on saltwater.don't drag me into love.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
with every breath, i'm dragging the seaweed and lies deeper into my lungs. every insecurity is swelling and dancing before me, every flaw magnifying until i can't see around it. i'm crawling on hands and knees up the beach and coughing up my mistakes, but i can't stop myself from making another one. i'm sitting with trembling hands, a spinning head and i can't stop, i just can't seem to fucking stop.
i'd like to say i'm beautiful, i'd like to say i'm strong, but we know it's a lie. i'd like to say my mistakes make me endearing, my idiosyncrasies make me charming, but it couldn't be further from the truth. in reality, i'm insecure and shaking, i'm crashing down the stairs and sobbing against the bloody carpet. i'm trembling and biting my lip, throwing fists against the wall, screaming at the stars as if they have some answer to offer me. i'm begging the moon for salvation as if it's hidden somewhere beneath the scarred surface.
can't you see? i'm lost, i'm c
our sleeping patterns collide.I wake up tired.our sleeping patterns collide.6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I wake up tired and it's afternoon again.
I wake up tired and I am alone.
It's like every night i fall asleep with you on my mind, and I quickly sort through my thoughts leaving the prettiest ones on top so I can try them on in the morning. So everyday, I wake up and try on being in love with you. Except every morning, it's three inches too big or a centimeter and a half too small or it's brushing my kneecaps like it's too long. But I wear it anyways, since I'm used to being a shade left of ordinary or two steps past crazy. I'm used to wearing love and I'm used to you.
I'm used to falling asleep next to you and waking up alone.
You call me.
You call me adorable and I like it.
You call me your own and it feels like a fairytale.
We spend the weekends curled up on iced lakes like mirrors, scratching our stories into their frozen surfaces, and you write about adventures you'll never have and places you'll never go with a girl I wish I could always be. And I write about
Swish-CthunkSwish-Cthunk9 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Today I went down to the Bureau of Words to trade in my autumn onomatopoeia. Usually I put it off until at least the end of November, but this year the squelch-thud of my boots in the mounds of soggy leaves brought me up sharp. I went home, gathered my dry snaps, crackles and swooshes, as well as the cheerful spthooshk of a water balloon left over from August and headed down to the department. The rain hurried down to meet my umbrella, an excellent winter sound for which I had no words. But that would soon change.
The stooped man at the front desk greeted me with a finger to his lips. "We're running the barnyard tests, so we've got to be very quiet. Get me?"
I nodded. Fortunately, the entire antechamber of the Bureau is soundproofed, so my rubber soled boots made no sound on the white carpeted floor despite leaving a great deal of mud.
"What do you have in mind for me today? I'm here for the seasonal trade-in deal."
"Well, we've got snow falling on cedars, rain dripping into a puddle o
My ConfessionI never really thought about my lack of sexual interest before society confronted me with it.My Confession10 months ago in Emotional More Like This
It took me quite a while to notice guys as anything more than "other people", and when I did, it was more a group pressure thing than real interest.
I even had a boyfriend then, but not because I particularly liked the guy. Having a boyfriend in your teens is a status symbol. Have one, you're cool, have none, you're not.
Of course, back then things weren't that clear to me. I went with the flow.
For a very long time, I wondered what is wrong with me that I don't enjoy sex, that It makes me feel awkward and that I have no desire to go out and date. Society made me believe it is wrong to be like that. I was ashamed of myself, of my flaws and my obvious failure of being a full-fledged human being.
You define yourself through others. You try to figure out who you are, and you look at others for guidance, for something you can identify with. But you only limit yourself with that, and not finding si
A Letter to MeDear Me,A Letter to Me4 years ago in Letters More Like This
I know sometimes the days seem long and the nights even longer. I know there are times you would hide from the world. You feel the weight on your shoulders, and see the accusing glares.
I'm here to tell you that it does get better. The sun does shine through the worst of our depression. It's there when you're ready to reach out and grab onto the ribbon of laughter.
Don't worry about those flashbacks, honey. There was a time when you had to deal with it alone, but that isn't the case anymore. No matter where it takes you, when you come back, you'll always have a strong person who loves you for who you are...imperfections and all. He doesn't care that you check out for chunks of time and can't always explain or even know it happened. He loves you and will watch over you while you're gone.
Don't fret about the past. Don't fret about the future. You can keep on living. Everything is going to be okay now. Not everyone may understand, and hell, some may look down on you for it, but
OrdinaryMost people fall in love with the extra-ordinary.Ordinary6 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
You are not most people; never for a moment try to believe you are. You stand out from the crowd, with your quiet ways and subtle humor, and, in the beginning, that's horrifying. But soon enough, you will learn to lift your eyes and set your jaw; you will learn the word no when it comes to fools; you will live emblazoned over the world like a fiery rainbow.
You will learn many, many things in the coming years.
You will learn to smile with all the vibrancy you have tucked away inside of you, and you will learn to be that other kind of beautiful. The kind that dreamers and thinkers are. You will grow your hair out - yes, down to your waist like you always dreamed - and it will tickle your elbows when you laugh. You will define your own fashion sense - not what's popular, but something entirely unknown and entirely you. And it will be more than ordinary.
You will learn to laugh and cry and love and talk. You w