Lying in bed. The sheets kicked off. The darkness broken suddenly by the vivid strobe of light. It fills the room with the charged energy of anticipation. The fan whirs its hypnotic rhythm. Counting; "one-one hundred, two-one hundred, three-one hundred " waiting. Waiting for that sound to slice open the entire fabric of the sky. Thunder approaches with smells of memories drenched in childhood, forgotten tears, silent squeals of innocent excitement. Senses saturated as the rain begins to fall. Eyelids heavy. A lullaby of rain on a tin roof. A sleep of all that heaven must be.
the air i breathei never thought it would be you, but more and more i want to tangle you up in my brain like swirls of smoke from an exotic pipe. you're the drug i'm not addicted to, but keep going back to for more, more, more. okay, i lied. i am addicted to you. you're my gateway drug to love, and you'll linger in the bottom of my lungs forever.the air i breathe5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
it all started when we were children. we didn't know back then that putting up with each other because we had to would turn into slipping off alone together. we didn't know that arguing heatedly in our shrill kid's voices would become whispers in the dark. we didn't know back when we were young, like brilliant stars in the sky, that one day we would collapse into supermassive black holes and nearly collide, nearly devour each other, nearly fuse into one.
we didn't know that we'd nearly destroy each other.
when i realized that i wanted you, it hit me like a hammer between the eyes. i desperately started looking for signs that you wanted me, too. maybe you moved
003its easier to say0032 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"i'm fine, just tired"
than explain the water rising
when really they just asked out of politeness
and don't -actually- care.
Close, yet so far...II.Close, yet so far...4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Call me Ben," you said. "Can I buy you a coffee?"
At first I think it's branches on a window, but then I recognize the sound as fingernails on wood. I stand up and run a hand through my wet hair, the only effort I make to make myself presentable.
Walking over to the door, I first check the cameras you installed. You know, just to be sure. I can't help hoping that it'll be you, sopping wet and ready to eat the dinner I made.
It's a policeman.
I was already in my second year of college. My major was forensic criminology.
I'd seen you around the shop before, so I recognized you, but I didn't know who you were.
You were twenty years old, a tall young man with dark brown hair that was always short, yet permanently messy.
You came up to me and held out a hand.
You said that I was different, and not just because examining dead bodies didn't gross me out at all.
You were quite different as well. Serious, reserved, and a lot more mature than other guys your age.
And when I became
OCD - wash, rinse, repeatI.OCD - wash, rinse, repeat4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
This year, the month of July has five Fridays, five Saturdays and five Sundays.
Five is my favourite number. When learning my times-tables in primary school, I preferred the structured regularity of the five-times-table; the way that the number five and multiples of five fit together so perfectly and predictably, like building blocks. I guess that was the beginning of my infatuation with the number five. Fives have several good qualities in comparison to other numbers - fives seem strong (like triangles) and dependable. In my mind they also take on physical properties fives are red, glowing, and attractive altogether the perfect number.
When I used to go to gym, I would always choose a locker with a number of a multiple of five, often searching through several locker rooms in order to find one. No other number would do. Often the compulsion to include the number five in my life would affect my beliefs a kind of quirky red-letter-day superstition that deemed some
An Atheist's prayerAn atheist isn't supposed to pray.An Atheist's prayer4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Is supposed to find hope in some other way.
But then I look down on myself,
realizing I'm kneeling in this house.
Calling out to You for some kind of protection.
Never for myself,
But for others.
I know not to whom I'm confiding in.