GrassYou wake up and it's spring again. The kids have all grown up and moved out. Your neighbor needs to mow her lawn but she is too seasoned for long exposure to the southern sun. It dawns on you one night when you're grilling steaks for your family. Your daughter calls you over to the table. She's on her third glass of wine. She met a man in graduate school. He doesn't drink. They clear their throats in unison and announce that they are engaged and plan to be married next January. You're happy for them but that is getting further and further from your mind. Your eyes shift over to the tall weeds growing only feet away from your wife's roses. You think about the fact that your neighbor never mentioned grandchildren. She never mentioned anyone. You think about the boy down the street who died in that car accident this winter. He always took care of her yard for a priGrass3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
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
A Civil War EssayThe Civil WarA Civil War Essay8 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
By: Nellie Melton
The war began when a bunch of people in the lower hemisphere of Americaland were ticked off at the ones above them because they ate all the pizza. What really used a straw to break a camel's back though was when Lincoln was voted to be the president. South Carolina was all "AW HELL NAW," and separated from the Union. Then, all the other states down there were all "Hey, let's jump on the bandwagon too!" And so they did. However, the Union was going "OH NO YOU DI'INT", so they started the war. This made people generally upset.
The first major battle of the war was when Lincoln was trying to open a jar of pickles. Then, the SECOND major battle of the war was called "The Battle of Bull" or something along the lines of that. This battle was important because a lot of people lost and it made the North and South realize that THIS IS A FREAKIN' WAR AND OF COURSE IT'S NOT GOING TO END RIGHT AWAY. THEY NEVER DO. Unless it's the Seven Day's War, in which Sadako fou
ghosts in a slideshowghosts in a slideshow6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
the skysick sun, fading woozy, throwing up.
dripping on the backs of conveying camels.
bodies of water, yes, every touch moves through.
grassland often. skinny belly atop the garden hill's slope.
train-track thap-thapping. smile, God's tap dancing on a saturday sundown.
you're watching the show frontrow. i'm watching you.
i say, "those mistakes on your arm look nice in this light." but i don't. not aloud.
instead i say, "do they hurt when it's cold?"
and you say, "it's not cold right now."
so i say, "i didn't notice." but we don't. not aloud. not allowed.
so i say, "you look hurt." no. i say,
"you look pretty."
yeah. i said that.
then you looked at me. then you cried. because i'm a liar. only to you.
i mean, to you only, i am a liar.
i mean you see me as a liar.
but you know what? everything's alright in my mind.
and that's good for me for now.
"hey, V?" that's what you said.
"yeah?" i said.
"where are we?"
"we're here, dear. we're right here."
tell me i'm lying. tell me there's a me a
I Found Your Lips In The DarkI Found Your Lips In The Dark12 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"Good things come to those that wait."
A night full of smiles.
I can't look at you without getting weak in the knees.
Grasping onto my hand.
Running your fingers slowly across my palm.
Deep conversations about nothing.
Making me giggle.
Being so completely comfortable after a few drinks.
Poking your belly.
My leg touching yours as we sat next to each other on the couch.
We're at the peak of our innocence and something's bound to happen.
I tell you I have no talent.
You share a story.
I share my praise.
Sharing a drink.
Lingering over the thought that your lips touched my straw.
Would those lips meet mine anytime soon?
The songs played on.
I wanted nothing more than to imitate a feline.
Pounce on my prey.
Devour it whole.
You gave me:
A kiss on the hand.
A kiss on the forehead.
A kiss on the cheek.
Nothing would suffice.
Staring into your eyes and seeing the way you look at me.
Like I'm something amazing.
"Kiss me you fool" would have been innap
David FirthThere was a little boy named Sheila. He didn't like the name very much, but it was what his parents gave him in pretty Hanukkah wrapping paper for his third birthday (in June), and he lost the receipt a while ago.David Firth5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sheila lived a few houses down from me, and you would often find us shooting at whatever living things we could find at the park till the sun got bored and fell down behind the ground-pimples.
One day, Sheila got very sick. He went to the hospital, and I visited as soon as I could and came into his room. There was a very old man in a dusty coat stroking Sheila's forehead, but Sheila didn't know him so he asked the man to leave. The man revealed that his name was Death, and he told Sheila it was time to go. Sheila couldn't prove the man wrong, so he got up and left with him.
To this day, I haven't seen Sheila again.
But I have tea with Sheila's tortoise, sometimes. Her name is Thomas. It seems the apple fell closer to the tree than Sheila would have liked to know. Hehe. He.
your warmthyou stood in the doorway, damp orange light falling across your skin, black hoodie falling from your shoulders gently, hair a mess - and you were all but perfect. you stood, leaning against the door frame a little too drunk, and smiled at me. it was that kind of smile that i knew meant more than it should have, the one i have seen too many times since - the kind of smile that meant something. i'd like to tell myself it meant the world - that when, for the first time in a year, our eyes met and you told me something that wasn't a lie - the stars had aligned or the universe corrected itself - but i know that's not true.your warmth4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
we kissed that night, the alley way beside your house. you ran your hand along my legs, along my ripped tights, and i could feel your heartbeat under the sleeve of the shirt i had always loved. you stared at me, face relaxed, and told me that you had wanted that for a year.
sometimes, i think i have too.
my heart didn't explode though, and my knees didn't shudder undernea
wish upon a starthe air is always cold this time of year, you once told me as we lay in bed, warm, watching the last few seconds of christmas eve fall away. you whispered merry christmas in my ear, ran your hand along the the valley of my waist and told me that you had the best christmas present ever. i didn't need to ask what it was, because i already knew.wish upon a star4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
'this time of year, miracles come true,' i could tell you were murmuring through a smile into my shoulder 'if you just close your eyes and wish upon a star hard enough.'
giggling, i closed my eyes and wished that i would wake up next to you. when you asked me what i wished for, i turned to face you, and through a succession of small kisses i whispered that i couldn't tell you, or it wouldn't come true.
god, we always thought we were so young.
you know, i have closed my eyes every year since then, and wished for the same thing. this year though, i lay in my double bed alone, sheets littered with cigarette burns and little pieces of wrapping paper.
the greatest show on earthlast night, I glimpsed a great white egg,the greatest show on earth6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
in the dark behind my eyelids. it was being
broken open by a dull, green beer bottle. out
poked the snout of a drunk, under-age Tyrannosaurus
Rex. he spoke in a spray of tiny bubbles.
"I've decided that 'The Kensington Landlord' is
a hilarious title for a fake, black & white, British,
horror film. at first, I didn't know if it was hilarious
or if it was only funny to me. then, I realized they meant
exactly the same thing."
"back in the 1940s, Webby was a tough, bright yellow,
baby duckling who wore a faded brown cabbie hat. he
took no nonsense. he ruffled a lot of feathers
...things are different now."
"it is unusual for a panda and a lion to go out on
a blind date. however, it is more unusual for them
to hit it off over a few drinks - only to discover
they share a close family relation, make identical
flimsy excuses for sudden departure, and leave
the bar, awkward & ashamed."
"in a fight between a giant squid & an angry cow,
location is everyt
Done Because it was a dream, it didn't seem quite real. The dreamer slept lightly under an equally light quilt.Done4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When the dream was over, the dreamer woke *snap* wide awake, and sat up to think about that dream.
There wasn't much to it.
There was a hand holding a white rose.
There was another hand reaching for the rose.
There was a voice like a narrator.
The voice said this...
Consider this flower. No, not the half-bloom of the rose, though it is a single flower and is to be noted. No, consider the leaf on the stem of the flower. It is also single, just one deep green leaf. There is only one leaf. Why is that? Leaves are usually surrounded by others. It is the single leaf you must see, not the single rose.
The dreamer, awake
two weeksmadeline wants to paint a picture on a canvas.two weeks6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
she wants to build a tree house and wants her netball team to win the final.
meet someone new every day. she wants to realise pink's an ugly colour and throw out all of her clothes.
she wants to make her first phone call to a boy and hold his hand and go to his house. she wants to get butterflies and wants to share a hot chocolate with him. she wants to have her first kiss.
she wants to listen to music until its all she can hear. she wants to fail tests and say fuck studying, she wants to get a detention and wants to tell her parents that she handed in the excursion money, but keep it for herself.
madeline wants to get high and get a piercing and tell everyone she's fighting the power. she wants to try being vegetarian for a week. she wants to skip school and go to parties. she wants to stumble home in the early morning.
she wants to detox and spend all sunday sleeping. she wants to apologise to her parents and try so very hard to
Top 10: World War IITop 10 Indicators That World War II Isn't Going So WellTop 10: World War II7 years ago in Humor More Like This
10. Instead of "Heil, Hitler!" minions now greet you with "Hi, Shitler!"
9. Eva keeps talking about that handome and distinguished Churchill fellow.
8. All correspondence from Wernher Von Braun now has a return address of "White Sands, New Mexico, USA".
7. Door-to-door salesmen at bunker entrance dressed suspiciously like US Marines.
6. Disneyland, Paris.
5. Taunting emails from MacArthur hurt more than before.
4. Staff looks uncomfortable when you ask what they'll be doing over the holidays.
3. All these time-travellers from 2069 asking you to sign their copies of "The Last Days of Hitler".
2. American armor batallions rudely ignore Berlin in-city speed limits.
1. Your discovery that cyanide tastes a little like blueberries.
love lettersit's the day of our anniversary andlove letters6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i'm reading old love letters and i suddenly miss the sweet scent of daisy perfume curling under my nostrils. i suddenly began waking up every summer morning because you always left for work and you wouldn't ever leave without kissing me goodbye. i'm reading every sentence over and over again while wondering why God sent the only person i loved towards a different direction.
harlequinade smilehe has a harlequinade smile and sometimes we fuck under the stars. in the backyard; a mess of drunken, tired limbs shaking in the breeze and shaking under one another, we disregard everything we care about for as long as we want and everything is perfect as long as we keep it that way.harlequinade smile6 years ago in Teen More Like This
we collapse into each other; our heartbeats slowing and our breaths becoming deeper as we lay next to each other and watch what we can see of the stars from our suburban backyard. he tells me they're beautiful, and all i can remember is the real stars; the real night sky without the purple haze of pollution clouding the sky. i want to show him the real night sky one day.
he tells me he wishes moments like these could last forever, as we lie side by side watching as the purple-black sky fades into blue and the stars cease to exist for another day. his dark, tired eyes stare through me and i haven't slept but it doesn't matter, because his smile is warm and his hands gentle, resting in the curve of my back
Izaya meets a fangirlIzaya meets a fangirl3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
A fangirl asked a Izaya if he thought she was pretty and
he said no.
She asked him if he would want to be with her forever and
he said no. She then asked him if she were to leave would he cry, and once
again he replied with a no.
She had heard enough. As she walked away, tears streaming down her face Izaya grabbed her arm and said....
"You're not pretty, you're ugly as $h1t. I don't want to be with you forever, I don't want you to exist. And I wouldn't cry if you walked away...I'd laugh my @$$ off."
♥♥ ~~THE END~~ ♥♥
VisionsThere's a saying among my people. It was something about how you have nothing to fear from a pond full of leeches, how it's not the pond's fault. I used to remember it a lot more clearly, but that was before the loss of cohesion.Visions4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The elders say I was sent as a warning of things to come. The medicine man never said much of anything. He waved his bones and feathers and trinkets around, he lit his grasses and fanned his smokes, and after singing his songs he just stared at me with a deep pity shining out from under his skeleton make up.
I am subject to visions. They are sudden and striking and painful to the point of debilitation. When they come, my senses stagger and die off. There is always a great sound like a huge zipper being pulled, and as it unzips, all other noises fade into nothingness. Gray static envelopes the edges of my visual field and creeps slowly and deliberately in, turning my surroundings to an indistinct slate.
I discovered this gift when I was fourteen. A robber had b
Don't Be Nervous ::Frerard::Don't Be Nervous ::Frerard::8 years ago in Teen More Like This
Hair danced into the wind, wishing desperately to be free but unable to free itself from its bondage. Blinding emerald eyes rose, merely gems cut into the cool porcelain face. He was like a doll, a tiny, frail doll: black hair framing his face, the deathly white skin, the overall perfection of his layout. It made his knees go weak with desire, just thinking about him. And he hated it.
Frank, the doll whispered, a hand trailing forward into the air. Please dont be angry with me.
A shudder wracked his body as he held tightly onto his sweat jacket. Im not angry with you, he murmured softly, looking down at his shoes. They were the canvas style, in which he had painted all over them; designs were laced onto them, things he had thought of off the top of his head. Lyrics from songs he enjoyed or he had made up, but they were there, beauty and all.
The crystal-like eyes sparkled with tears that were too frightened to be released from their
Nano Day 011.Nano Day 015 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
His birth was one of the first things that Anwen remembered. The beginning of her life in memory began with the beginning of his. Idwal was her anchor.
Truth be told, she did not remember his actual birth. She had no real memory of him slipping into the world, inevitable and streaked with blood. She recalled the long, slow months of her mother's pregnancy. She remembered the growing, physical thing that held her separate from her mother, that pushed her away, an anthill growing day by day beneath her mother's clothes. As ominous as an anthill. As unwanted.
She remembered the careful explanations, the clearing out of the small room at the back of the house, the re-construction of the cot and the re-painting of each cylindrical dowel that made up the bars in white, gloss paint. She remembered thinking, what kind of creature has to be kept in a wooden cage?
And then that day That day when her mother became preoccupied, and poured out tea onto the breakfast cereal. A
Queen of GeeksUnexpected end to kidnapping caseQueen of Geeks4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
[Sunnyvale Tribune 23 Feb 2007]
In an unexpected development, police have closed the case against the kidnapper of twenty year old Nicole Cantrip. 'The circumstances surrounding Miss Cantrip's alleged disappearance have become clearer,' Inspector Frank Jones told the Tribune, 'and it's come to light that the case was filed in error. There is no evidence whatsoever that a kidnapping took place.' Since Cantrip is over eighteen, the applicable missing person legislation is almost non-existent, much to the dismay of her mother.
'Something has gone horribly wrong when a girl can be forced away from her family by people she's never met and it's called normal,' said a tearful May Cantrip. 'Nix wouldn't have abandoned us, dropped out of all her classes and left everything behind unless
somebody was forcing her.' Mrs. Cantrip claims that her home was invaded by several men who demanded that her daughter accompany them to what she describes as 'a k
boy who belongs to the sunhe asked me once, 'are you afraid to die?' and i didn't know how to answer. i'd like to say that i am; that it scares me more than anything else, but i can't help but think that the world becomes a better place when you die. i told him i wasn't and he stared out the window at the dark street. resting his head against the slightly-frosted window pane, he breathed 'neither am i'boy who belongs to the sun6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
we're all just dying, though, don't you think? we're not living, we're dying. every day is another day we won't ever get back and another day that we won't ever remember. at least we're dying together, though. at least we can say that we've spent time watching our lives pass us by and not doing anything about it. i think that's the best thing we can do, really.
i realised the other day that there's nothing to be afraid of. that even if we are dying, that even if we are lost, thats the point. that maybe we're supposed to get lost and find our way out. that maybe if we spend long enough dying when the time real
brobdingnagian.planets on top of covers on top of atoms,brobdingnagian.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
with rings like sheared tutus around them with
vibrant colors. off kilter and running wild, your
sayings are all just so generic. watching the
screen for hours on end causes vertigo, so
you stick to the telly.
picking back up regular, every day to day life
is so strange after a significant event. even
watching the leaves drift with the wind and
the branches shake at their loss doesn't
hold your attention anymore. only numbers
in orderly rows on crisp cream paper,
preferably bold type, make you happy. we
all know why. they assure you that this isn't
a dream, that your reality isn't out of your
grasp just yet.
strung up lights around shop fronts and
trees are the picture book image of town.
i show the shots to you, giving you a
magnifying glass so you can go people
watching. i don't care if you stay in here
all day, all year, or all your life; just please
don't ever stop creating your reality. the
numbers keep us both sane.
learn to smiletheres this man whose eyes bleed this beautiful, sad blue. he hides it though, behind dark crops of hair and thick eyelashes. sometimes i find myself wanting to count the folds and wrinkles that hide his cheekbones and teach him how to smile. theres times i pass him and hell be pressing a cup of coffee gently to his lips and it makes me happy. i dont know why but i think it shows me hes alive. hes hearts beating and hes feeling something, anything.learn to smile6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
he writes postcards to himself from his capital city to make sure he never forgets where he is. he posts them to himself and wonders why he does it. he cant really remember, but he buys new postcards every wednesday on his way home from work. he tells himself who he is and who he wants to be tomorrow. hes never who he wants to be, though. hes always who he wishes he wasnt.
on friday nights i walk my dog past the pier. sometimes ill walk down to the end, watchin