IntensityCoffee: two creams, one sugar, one Sweet 'n' low. Pancakes: short stack. Side of bacon. Every Tuesday and Thursday. 9am.Intensity3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The order never changed, though sometimes he would ask for extra syrup, but it was only on the mornings when he came in with unkempt hair and stubble on his high-boned, ruddy cheeks. Those were the rough mornings, the mornings when caloric intake was not on his mind. They weren't often: he was usually very meticulous. Only the occasional day would arise when you could tell the morning had not gone as it should have. My heart ached for him on these days.
He only ever came on Tuesday and Thursday: he didn't have to be in the office (he worked for a mortgage company) until 10am on those days, instead of the usual 9 o'clock. He took the extra hour to have a proper breakfast, even if there were days when he clearly could have spent more time on his morning hygiene practices rather than rushing to a diner. The vainer part of myself thought that he always showed up for me,
The Soul Broker I am the buyer and seller of souls. I’ve bought them all and I sold you yours. For the world must run like the gears of a clock, and sometimes you tick or sometimes you tock, but everything given will be taken away and for every silence kept, a word must be said.The Soul Broker4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Naturally, you must assume there is cost. For everything gained, a penny is lost; of course this life can be no different--when the check arrives, you must pay the difference. But not all who ride on the sunday train pay the same price to get out of the rain: a king’s ransom might obtain far, far less than the pauper’s cheap pain.
Your father paid the price of sweat, a back bent under the yoke of the world; accrued worldly financial debt but was recompensed with the jokes of a girl. And he would say he walked away wealthy, with his empty bank account, for his daughter lives today quite healthy and loves him in equally large amounts.
the science of usacceleration = gravitational pull / massthe science of us7 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You didnt send my heartbeat into a frenzy the first time I saw you. It was a month or two before I started feeling the little palpitations inside my chest and made sure that my hand accidentally brushed against yours every now and then.
(I wanted to make sure you got used to the feeling of my atoms colliding with yours.)
I told myself it was stupid and simply physical. You werent pulling my heart strings, you were toying with my belt buckle by smiling at me across the room and asking me to spend time with you on a Saturday afternoon. I was sold by the time you pulled into my driveway and my name slipped from between your lips.
(Sweaty palms and twisted vocal chords told me no one said it quite like you.)
I promised myself this was strictly a one-way thing. I feigned like I felt nothing, and in my nervousness I became the witty jackass. You laughed at my barbed-wire jokes and sped through a red light while I was watching
Izaya meets a fangirlIzaya meets a fangirl4 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~~ ♥♥
Steve's Adventures Number Two: No More PitySteve's Adventures Number Two: No More Pity4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
As I run, something hits me. I still have not located where I am, or why I am here. I focus, racking my brain for information, not caring about the throbbing. Not caring about anything else. But of course, thinking too hard always gets me in a trap, because next thing I know, my head is planted in a wall, and I fall back. I groan, and stand up. But then my mouth drops. Standing in front of me, is a tree, the same one as before, but a gap is missing. The rest of the tree floats as if the log is still there, but I have already picked the piece up. It's in my hand, yet the tree is there, just, hovering there. I throw a punch at the tree, my hand engulfs in pain, but another lump is gone. I grin, thinking hard. My head bangs about, but I don't care. Quickly, I kneel down on the ground. I put the wood down and ripped the bark off with my finger nails. It took a while, but after a while I had eight, fairly good sized planks. I snapped one of the planks in half, and got two sticks
The End Act 1: Episode 4: A Chance "We could try it you know," Zel glanced at Herobrine.The End Act 1: Episode 4: A Chance4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Indeed, we'd be the official rulers of this crazy world if we did."
"So, we're going to?"
"Ah, give me some time. Where is Steve?"
"Stop thinking about him, he isn't our biggest threat right now."
"He's Notch's knight." Herobrine mumbled.
Zel looked at the obsidian her feet sat on. Her pale, long legs lay crossed on the cold rock.
"So, how is Cragon doing?"
"Sitting there, smiling, he thinks he knows you. Such a miserable idiot."
"He'll figure out,"
"Good point," Zel scratched her head.
"I hate this world." Herobrine remarked, motioning his hand in the blue air around him.
"Why are we at the top of a hill, on a patch of obsidian, in the middle of no where?" Zel asked, noticing their surrounding.
"Because, of that--" Herobrine smiled as patches of n
DreamersShe reminds me that she's a dreamerDreamers3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Her right hand delicately grips a pencil
as she's working equations on a TI-89 with her left
She looks up at me and smiles,
and there are stars, meteors,
spanning across the cosmos of her expression
her countenance reminds me to look up at the chalkboard
that's attempting to teach me how
to make verses sing from pages in a plain 8 by 11 notebook
and I am only armed with
a .7 pencil and a purple pen,
stolen from my older sister's pencil pouch
My hands are inches away from hers
from the desks side by side
like cars parallel parked on a side road
her equations confuse me
until she flips the page
and shows me stories
filled with metaphors of the sky
reminding me that we are both here for the same thing:
I needed a reason to smile
She wanted a lesson in writing
She reminds me that I'm a dreamer
We exchange stories and poems like cigarettes
except the only price we pay is a small portion of our ego
when there are mistakes and flaws,
and we are gra
to icarusin the next life you were a phoenixto icarus2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
a fiery resurrection
songbird of ash & second chances
when you flew south for the winter,
you made it every time
see for you, the universe was an olympic mountain
jutting out of the ocean, a temple you would never set foot in
an elaborate maze you'd been lost in for too long;
the only love you'd ever known was from the coalfire
of your father's hands in the dark, they were the most angelic
monsters, they were beacons
his mind was the gears of a clock that never stopped spinning
but the light,
the light was a promise to be seen
the fire, a dancing enchanter that never leaves
the future was an echo on the labyrinth walls:
prince, dream of dove and swift and nebulae,
dream like the lone at night for the warmth of day
you were a golden child, waiting to be found in the darkness
the earth is too flat;
you said you'd go up,
thought you'd be a little closer to the gods
your downed shoulders caught wind of the whisper in the air
—the ground is no place
Steve's Adventures Number One: Burning The shallow water reached my feet, sending a cold shiver up my spine. I lift my head sulkily. 'Where am I?' I wonder to myself, as I am on a beach, with woods ahead. Peninsula. The word comes to me, water on three sides. My head throbs, and I groan in pain. Thinking, not my thing; I guess. I try and think of why I'm here or who I am. 'Steve' pops into my head with a burst of pain, but no memories of the past. I think harder, needing to know. Needing to know something. But there's blankness. I can't remember much, and it hurts to think. 'Don't think.' Easy enough.Steve's Adventures Number One: Burning4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I notice it's noon, saw the sunrise when I first woke up, nine hours, I presume. I'm on a mountain, enjoying a stream of water. Thirst quenches me quite easily, which may get a little annoying later. I decide to lay down on the grass, My last sleep wasn't really sleep, it seems like a coma or something. So, I'll be back, later, and also, not thinking is nearly impossible.
I wake up to a soun