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 priGrass4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
A Civil War EssayThe Civil WarA Civil War Essay9 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
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
at a losshave you, like i,at a loss6 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
used up too many words?
has inspiration slipped away,
no verbal thrift
to gift that rainy day?
where look to find
a case to plead,
the field to harvest
this is not selfishness
our souls require release,
crave space to play.
llp - may'10 - dA
Mail-Order Childhood [Age: 5]Mail-Order Childhood6 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Everybody's talking, but the room is quiet.
The lights above glow with the warmth and luster of a dozen plump candles. Soft, yet radiant enough for me to see the nebulae in my father's eyes, even from so far away. There were neither props nor backgrounds, save for the children in costumes and the little STOP sign choking in my nervous grip. I had no choice. The show had begun.
My class sat in squealing tin chairs as we took turns prancing up to the mic to say our lines, just how we remembered them. The boy in the full-body milk carton had the most lines, the proud prick. But it was after his fifth when I was the next up. I squeezed hard and tried not to trip as I stood and made my way to my five seconds of fame. Mouth before mic, I held up the sign: STOP. The world seized spinning and the air was shot dead.
Freedom(Open-mindedness is not a power.)Freedom5 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Hold up your hand.
Straighten it and make a fist. That arm is a solid structure, a column of cells, a staff.
It's simply a cylinder, and that is all.
(Open mindedness is not a force.)
Go up to a trashcan, place your hands on its side, and shove as hard as you can.
Try it. Watch the trashcan fly, its lid clanging open and its guts spilling over the pavement.
You did that. Notice the veins bulging from your arms.
Do you feel at peace?
(Open-mindedness is not a form of knowledge.)
These I know to be true: the sky is blue, blood is red, and the Earth is round.
"Do you deny sunsets, then? Do you expect only oxygen, and disregard calculus?"
i dont want to be wrong, its embarrassing
Now go outside.
Imagine yourself immersed in sky, wrapped in the great blue blanket.
There are thousands of clouds above you, some heavy with rain and others bursting with sunshine, and seagulls dip and dive around yo
AliveI am a black canvasAlive7 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
Smeared with gold and red.
I've taken you for granted.Momma,I've taken you for granted.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I couldn't fall asleep last night. As my hands wandered aimlessly over the wrinkled topography of my bed sheets, my fingers drunkenly ambled their way into the crevice at the head of my bed, and I pretended that your dream spirit was there. I took your transparent glimmer of a hand, and I whispered to you. I said, "I miss you. Although I've fallen in love with the frozen wasteland surrounding me, the familiar memory of your warmth is fading, and my first goal upon getting home will be to throw my arms around your shoulders."
I talked about how I wish I could have known you as a teenager, young and spunky and beautiful as the butterflies that flit though our backyard, the butterflies you're so very fond of. I imagine you in tattered jean overalls, a "country girl" with hair as golden as the sun-soaked wheat you'd help your father harvest every summer. You'd have two brothers, but you'd have more balls than the two of them put together and then some, and you'd work just as hard as
HonestyHonesty5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Why can no one ever be completely honest with me?
Being too polite.
Not giving me straight answers.
Dancing around a subject.
I would rather have people blunt with me,
Than find out the hard way later on.
But no one ever tells me the full truth.
I hate words.
No, not words, the way people use them.
It's sad that you can't often express yourself as much as you'd like.
That you can't let your thoughts and emotions be free.
Because others would react badly.
And no one wants that.
I wish you could take risks without fearing the consequences,
Throw yourself out there and let the world do its worst.
But right now, that's not possible.
I understand the reason for being polite.
But sometimes, just sometimes,
I really wish we didn't have to be.
"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind." Dr. Seuss.
The Wing/Steel SeagullThe wing is solid, determined.The Wing/Steel Seagull5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It pulses with its own mechanical heartbeat, and I can practically hear it panting,
its metal underbelly clenching in anticipation.
Unnoticed on the surface, of course.
(wish the goddamn sun would shine a little brighter)
We back up like a wind-up racecar, and, predictably, we start to shoot forward into the brisk Cincinnati air. I stare at the wing, feel it grab hold of the winds beginning to kick like a frightened stallion, feel the steel rumble with feral intensity, unwavering, poker-faced. Yet, I can see that smile in the curve of the wing, that glint of adrenaline reflected as a diamond of sunshine in my eyes.
And as the steel crescent beside me grunts with ecstasy of the hunt, we
our roller-skate feet, leaping onto the back of the great Animal that the wing has so effortlessly tamed.
I swear to you, there's a lake in the sky. There's a great white iceberg that traps his reflection beneath an infinite sheet of waterglass, and when y
Super Parent My daddy is stupid. That's what mommy says. He would work all day and when he came home, he watched TV with me for one show, then went to bed. On days off, he either worked on his computer or on his car. I tried to help, but that ended quick when I spilled coffee on his pants and accidentally dropped a wrench on his foot. I only wanted to be with him more.Super Parent7 years ago in Children and Teen More Like This
One day I even got up real early to see him before he left for work. He read the newspaper while I told him about a gamma ray burst that I learned from the science channel.
When I said, "It looks like there is two suns in the sky."
He said, "That's a shame," and flipped a page in the paper.
After he drank his coffee and told me to get his
RussiaxOC- A Little Sunshine- RequestRussiaxOC- A Little Sunshine- Request4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
RussiaxOC- A Little Sunshine- Request
Hitara sighed. Her brother Alfred was asking her to join him in a world meeting.
A world meeting where she barely ever gets noticed.
The same meeting every single time where nothing happens.
"Come on little sis! It'll be fun!" America pleaded.
And because she loved her brother so much, she decided to go, just this once.
Nothing could be heard in that crowded room.
America was loudly explaining how heroes were important, England and France were trying to strangle each other, Italy was waving and yelling "PAASTAA~!", Germany was trying to get everyone's attention, Greece was lying on the table trying to sleep, Romano was swearing at Spain, who was poking him, Austria was showing his frustrated emotions by playing the piano in the corner of the room, China was making a China Town in the meeting room, Japan was taking pi
the lonliness of everythingthe fallen leaves were decaying in the gutter as autumn fell away into winter. it was a saturday night, and she was wearing a black jacket that made her legs look skinny and beautiful, and her ashen hair was shrouding her face. she had these deep scarlet lips and her eyes were hidden beneath dark eyeliner. i sat under the acid orange light at the train station as she bit her lips, and i stared at her. i did this every weekend, watched in awe of the girl i couldn't have. this one, though. she was something different.the lonliness of everything6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
then she turned around and smiled at me. my heart froze and my fingers contracted into balls on my palms. she walked towards me, slowly, seductivley, her black heels tapping on the concrete, and she sat down on the bench beside me. she said hey.
she's got a tattoo of a bird on her ribcage. she tells me that its so she remembers that one day she'll be free. i ask her what free is and she tells me it's being alive.
'you're alive now' i tell her.
'no, im not. you're not. no
The Greatest Fic EverOne day, the Roarschack was walking randomly down the street when this random stranger jumped out in front of him and said, "Walter, i am a mysterious girl from your past who has now grown up into a beautiful young woman and i am secretly a vigilante and we need to be together because we're both vigilantes and we're both liek rlly messed up and we complete each other in our mutual messed-uppedness."The Greatest Fic Ever6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Rrrraaaarlllll," said the Roarschack.
Hideously rejected, the mysterious and bootiful young woman then went to hogwhutz.
"Pruffesser Snope," she said, "I am Voldermort's secret daughter that no one knew about and also Harry Potter's dark twin cousin. I can speak parsell tung and potions is my favorite class, we are compatible so won't you love me because I had an abused childhood where Voldemort killed my mom and because I'm technically not a legal adult and long flowing hair and green eyes which is mysteriously like someone else you knew and oh hey this is hogwhutz, a magical place
gypsy princesgypsy princesgypsy princes5 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
A pair of gypsy princes. That's how I see us. Wandering through the forests of the world. Avoiding the civilised. The cities, the towns, the villages, the congregations. Us against them, that's how I see it. We the noble different. The ones who really live. No rules, no rulers. Artists? Are we artists? Yes, certainly we are. Our life is art, flowing, poetry, vivid colour, rushing blood within us. Princes of ourselves, but without a tribe. We sing and play our instruments, nothing too big to carry anything but a tune. Mobility, that's the key to unlocking yourself. Agility in what you believe, what you live. Adapt to changing circumstance, to knowledge new. Wildness without hating. Smelling every flower, climbing every tree, loving every one. We princes keep our company, our feeling of how it's done. When they organise against us, we tell ourselves we're right. For us, we are. Let the others live their own way, but not make us live ours like theirs to reassur
bird wings.theres a girl who has irses the colour of running ink. she covers canvasses with blood-red paint and covers note books in everything she wishes she could be. hanging red canvasses on the blue walls in her room sometimes make her feel as though she's burning. when she comes home from school she lays on her bed and she cries, burning from the inside out.bird wings.6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
theres a girl who spends her nights curled in a ball, in the park behind her house. her cheeks are decorated in purple-blue-black bruises and her tights are ripped. i want to hold her to my chest and run my fingers through her sienna hair; hold her hands and kiss her fingers. i want to protect her, keep her in a cage and make sure that no one can get in.
there's a girl who has sand through her hair, and dirt underneath her fingernails. she reminds me of long, crashing waves that you see at the ocean. the kind that you can't fight, the kind that looks so gentle and calm until they finally reach the shore; then they fall and break. vio
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
i dont understandhave you ever woken up and not thought anything at all?i dont understand6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
somtimes i find myself thinking that 'it'd be fun to go and stand out in the rain' so i do. but once i'm out there i find myself thinking, 'wouldn't it be invigorating to take off my clothes' so i do. but once i've done that, i find myself thinking 'wouldn't it be beautiful to climb on the rooftop', so i do. and then once i'm standing there, i find myself thinking, 'wouldn't it be magical to fall in love' and so i try. i try and try and try but i can't. and so there i am, standing naked on my rooftop in the rain trying to fall in love.
sometimes i find myself imagining that all we are made of is the same thing that makes us always face the same way in the shower. i think sometimes we're made of the things that tell our brain to go outside, to run. i think we're made of the same thing that makes us left or right handed, and the same thing that allows some people to kick a ball and others to not be able to. but then i realise, w
Peeling a Potato-Shaped YouI picked you up from a gutter in radioactive Russia. Somehow, you had fallen out of the body-bag you were carried in, and I nearly kicked you further into the muck. I heard your pleas though, begging for my hands to pick you up. They ate a hole in the fabric and sent you rolling before my feet. In normal circumstances, that would never happen, but there is nothing normal about a world covered in grief.Peeling a Potato-Shaped You6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You were a real piece of work. It's got to be expected after all, in these parts, but you were still fascinating all the same. For instance, you were covered in that signature brown dirt. Most of the time, it was brushed neatly before you were zipped up. But you'd been out too long in the open and it showed. Reptilian shoots punched through your skin and waved like a many-armed grotesque plant. They looked like bleached coral that decided to grow out of your flesh rather than in the nutrient-rich sea. As I ran my fingers over your suppurating sores, I wondered why I picked up the sort of
Public Airplane ::Frerard::Frankie held his hands overtop his head for about two seconds before driving them into his lap with such force his hands slapped against his skin. Im bored, he moaned, light eyes rolling upward and looking pleadingly at the ceiling. Raising his tattooed hands once again, he angrily swiped at his eyes, rubbing away any essence of delusion. Dammit, now I remember why I hated planes so damn much.Public Airplane ::Frerard::8 years ago in Teen More Like This
Gerard, who sat beside him, smirked broadly and stretched as well. Headphones curled around his neck delicately, an iPod clutched in one pale hand. On his lap lay a novel, one Frank had never heard of. His eyes flickered to the title before dashing away, returning to the despairingly boring plane. Gerard rolled his eyes at his flying companion and nudged him in the side. Ya know, he said smugly, it was you who opted we go on this fucking plane, not me. You said you were sick of driving and Toro and Bryar agreed! Adding, quite com
Linkin park, now and foreverLinkin park, now and forever9 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
The first time I heard them . I think it was in 5th grade. I heard One step closer on MTV. Creeped me out royally. Mike's red hair, the wacked out blonde screaming "Shut up!" Very nice.
By then, I already had the makings of a LP lover, I could be very anti-social and had an interesting dark outlook on life. I was quiet when alone, and known to be very tough around the edges. I met Anima-bid in 5th. We were in the same class. We didnt talk that much, but enough to say we were friends. I got to know him better in 6th. The next time I heard them, it was early 7th grade. I heard Numb and really liked it. The voices intrigued me. Around that time I wasnt doing very well in school or at home, and I just was a breakdown waiting to happen. I didnt like school that much, I still dont . Probably never will.
I had begun writing a little, but not so much. I wrote to vent a little anger, and somehow it came out in poetry form. I liked to write, b
gravitational collapseI remember being seven years old, sitting at our scratched kitchen table and being able to see the moon through the reflective glass of the window over the sink. And I remember being terrified, because here I was sitting in same place and already the whole world had shifted and moved and rotated and spun and tilted and hurled through space at a rate so quick I could never comprehend it. To me, this was the sort of mystery you didn't try to solve.gravitational collapse5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I remember being curled up against the solid frame of your body with your right hand claimed in between both of mine. Our pale skin blending together as I traced constellations on your palms. You later told me that you thought it was because I loved the stars more than anything closer to home. But I tried to explain that an ever expanding universe scared me because I couldn't figure out where exactly it was spilling into, and how it most certainly seemed to be making a whole lot of something out of nothing, so instead I started making my own s