The KrakenThe Kraken2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Your life is a boat
Wandering the desolate seas.
But then nothing.
Until the heavens open.
The seas waves grow and grow
Hitting your mast,
What guides you
pulling you on your right path.
In the dark deep waters
Lurks a demon.
A demon so big
It will swallow you whole.
until your last dying breath.
Your worst enemy.
It will wrap its deadly tentacles around you.
Squeeze away your pleading scream.
It's your life's worst enemy.
Hospital Collection: JellybeanWhy Jellybeans Are Better Than People.Hospital Collection: Jellybean5 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
- Jellybeans come in all shapes, sizes and colours.
- Some are twisted and deformed, some are broken, some are shrunken and half-formed. But jellybeans dont whisper, persecute of discriminate against other jellybeans.
- Jellybeans have simple needs. And they dont ask for much.
- Jellybeans are bright and smooth to touch.
- With jellybeans, what you see is what you get.
- Jellybeans dont hate or love or feel guilt and regret.
- Jellybeans dont get jealous if you eat another jellybean first.
- Jellybeans are there for you, for better or for worse.
- Jellybeans taste better than human flesh.
- Jellybeans dont require gravestones after death.
Scales Of Life01010010 01001001 01010011 01000101 - We begin our quest on the scales of lifeScales Of Life1 year ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
I- The newborn wolf cub: The first emotion reflected in his tired eyes is that of mystery; a
curious devotion to the enigma of the moonbeams that cut through the trees, reflecting in
his inexperienced gaze. He calls out to the blinding light, beckons for its shadowed silence,
and eventually finds comfort in the embrace of mother's love. In that moment, he hears no
cruel sound his purity can't contest. He shuts
out the light as he slowly drifts away to rest. // Perfection was a value whose worth /
//was queried due to Perfection's birth./
Ice FeverThe sky was frozen. There were no clouds and nothing moved. The world was stilled by cold. Ice crunched underneath Clarissa's feet as she stepped out onto the frozen lake. Tiny cracks crisscrossed away from where she touched the surface. The ice was blue, but she could not tell whether it was the reflection of the sky above or the water below.Ice Fever2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
In the center of the lake, snow spiraled up into the air; carried by a wind without source and without direction. The white snowflakes glittered like silver in the bright light of the sun that brought no warmth any longer. Clarissa smiled. She knew that twirl of flying snow. It had always been there, in every single winter she remembered. An old friend. A secret love.
The North Wind.
It had called her for the first time when she was only five years old. Her parents had taken her on Christmas vacation to this remote place out in snowed-in nowhere. Her father had taught her how to ice-skate on the lake. He told her not to venture out too far, and n
mercyThere is no mercy in thismercy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
this space that we don't share and the
distance. You are the water
that I'm drowning in and it isn't
the good kind of not-breathing. I'm wishing
that summer wasn't so long and
I had ways to forget you.
But I don't
have anything but thunder and storybooks,
tears and memories of nothing worth recalling.
And there you are going on living and
I am sorry that I can't
be the sky or the sea for you.
I'm sorry that I don't have what it takes
to make you smile at me.
Hospital Collection: GentleG asks my name.Hospital Collection: Gentle5 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
He says I look so gentle;
that I move in soft waves.
We dont speak of the policeman I fought
or the security guard I punched in the face.
We dont speak of the four doctors
and the psychiatrist and nurse
that had to restrain me during an episode.
We dont talk about being in the acutes ward.
We dont speak of the twisted scars,
or my raw, bleeding hands.
You look gentle he said.
EvieIt started with the falling flowers. Evie sat on the small balcony's balustrade and watched the red petals drift down to the street. They were the only color on the gray asphalt, surrounded by lighter gray walls under a cloudy sky.Evie7 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Like diamonds, Evie thought, or drops of blood.
Her feet dangled in the air, five stories above the ground. Her parents always told her not to sit on the balustrade like that – you'll break your neck one of these days – but when she was alone, Evie did it nonetheless. Hour after hour, day after day.
Only the old man living in the flat above would accompany her, though he probably didn't even know that she was there. Humming, he would water his flowers, pluck off dead leaves, put them from the shade into the sun and back again. Every day, until now.
Now, the red petals were falling, and Evie knew that he was gone.
RainOnce upon a time,Rain1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
(Because isn’t that how all stories begin?),
The earth was a barren and dry wasteland.
With nothing more to grow on it than sand and rocks.
The folks who lived here liked this just fine.
Plenty of room to walk until you were so tired all you could do was lay on the ground and sunbath.
And once upon this time,
There lived a very small girl.
Not because she was particularly young, in fact she was as old as the sand dunes,
She was just small.
Her name was Blue.
This was because she loved to stare into the sky and marvel at its color.
She decided she liked it so much, it would be her color too.
Everyone mocked her for this.
They found her navy skin and aqua hair silly.
And so they said so.
Blue never thought much of this, but her brothers did.
They thought constantly about her strangeness.
And worried that her strangeness might rub off onto them.
Their friends had told them it would after all.
Their parents had told them that was silly afte
The Bus Stop DialoguesI.The Bus Stop Dialogues5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A young man at the bus stop
turns to me and softly asks
"Why aren't you wearing shoes?"
He taps the faded leather
of his suedo-skin
and his eyes smile in a gentle lilt
before his mouth does.
I tell him that I like
to feel the earth breathe.
That textures keep my mind alive
and ticking like a clock.
I tell him that I'm trying to grow roots
so my pale limbs can twist into a tree
(the way L and I talked about it in therapy).
I tell him that my soul is lonely
and the ground is the only thing that's always there.
I tell him that bare skin is sensitive
and stroking it with every (twelfth) step
is a soothing form of self-care.
I tell him that I walk on water
and if I had shoes; I'd drown.
I tell him that my soles bruise
until they match my soul.
I tell him that my bones are soft
and the soil sews them back into reality
when I'm losing grip on sanity.
I tell him that I'm praying
one day I'll step on a syringe.
I shrug my shoulders,
open my mouth and say
"I just didn't feel like weari
CadenceMy wrist, the soft hollow of a violinCadence5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and the cold blade, the bow
each stroke a sweet, soft note in my skull
every touch a chord
from the gentle echoes of my soul.
I slide diminuendos on a silver stave
every scale turning sorrow into song
each smooth scar becomes a symphony
toneless harmonies played lifelong.
Every bruise is a crescendo
turning my breath to hymns
it reverberates into shadow
a vibrato etched into the skin
and I, the quiet maestro,
waiting for the voices of the crowd
to whisper against my ribs, my chest
staring through the silk bones to my heart.
Der KupferdrahtjungeEr wurde geschaffen, um einen verlorenen Sohn zu ersetzen. Er hatte Gefühle, Träume, einen Namen, doch sein Körper war nicht menschlich. Gebrannter Ton formte sein Rückgrat, die Rippen und den Kopf; sein Gesicht war eine Maske aus weißem Porzellan. Gewundenes Kupferdraht bildete sein Fleisch, biegsam und stark, aber kalt.Der Kupferdrahtjunge2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Die Frau, deren Sohn er hatte sein sollen, traute sich nicht, ihn anzusehen. Wenn er den Raum betrat, schloss sie die Augen. Nur in dieser Dunkelheit sprach sie mit ihm. Sie ließ zu, dass eine Illusion die Realität ersetzte und nach sechs Jahren wurde die Illusion für sie zur Wirklichkeit. Bis zum Tag ihres Todes erlaubte sie ihrem künstlichen Sohn, sich um sie zu kümmern. Danach war er allein.
Tag für Tag blickte Felix vom Küchenfenster in den Park hinaus. Das Haus um ihn herum war still, dunkel und leer, und er fühlte sich genauso. Er konnte die Leere in seinem Inneren sehen; durch die Lü
Writer's Workshop: Fleshing out CharactersDecember 14th, 2011.Writer's Workshop: Fleshing out Characters3 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
Fleshing Out Your Characters.
Some people are good at writing people. They have no difficulties conceiving of them and don't balk at doing the legwork involved in writing interesting, well-developed characters. They know what is believable and what isn't, and have some idea of how readers may react to their cast.
Other people seem to have no idea what makes people tick, what makes characters interesting, and hope that piling on enough abilities or cool traits is a workable substitute for character development.
As you might have expected, this ramble is dedicated to not being the latter. Here are some tips and tricks for dealing with the most notorious and noticeable part of your story...the cast.
1. Writing well takes a lot of work. Characters are no exception to this.
Being lazy is the death of decent characterization. In order to write interesting and well-rounded characters, you must be prepared to develop them actively and do any research necessar
Die Geschichte zweier HerzenSo stellten sich vor langer langer Zeit zwei Herzen gegenseitig vor.Die Geschichte zweier Herzen11 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Das eine Herz war wunderschön. Es strahlte und prahlte schon von weitem pure Schönheit und Unversehrtheit aus. Ganz stolz kam es dem anderen Herzen entgegen.
Der andere Herz, ganz und gar nicht schön. Es war voller Narben, Risse und an manch einer Stelle war es geflickt mit einem fremden Stück Herz.
Es spiegelte nicht das Vollkommene wieder, in keinster Weise.
Die Herzen kannten sich noch von früher. Sie waren einst gute Freunde. Doch verloren sie sich nach und nach aus den Augen. Sie waren einst mit dem gleichen Antlitz und Wohlgestalt versehen.
Die Unversehrte traute ihren Augen nicht, erkannte nicht mal den einst guten Freund.
Was ist passiert? Was ist geschehen? Du hast an Glanz, du das hast an Pracht, du hast an Formvollendung verloren. Bist du auf Abwegen geraten?
Komm mir nicht zu nah, du machst mir Angst mit deinem Erscheinen. Willst du mir meine Schönheit, meine Edelmut, Kostbark
The Guardian of Wind and ForestThe machine loomed above her. Its left side had sunken deep into the ground even though it hadn't rained in days and small trees grew knee-high all around the vehicle. The plants had appeared over night, out of thin air it seemed.The Guardian of Wind and Forest2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Alea wound her way through the shrubbery to take a closer look at the wood harvesting machine. The door of the driver's cab stood open at an angle like a broken wing. Silvery scratches marred the yellow finish, bearing witness of the enormous momentum with which the machine had been attacked. Around the scratches, something darker glinted on the metal. The sight made Alea shudder, even though she could not tell why.
Just then, a gust of wind rustled through the surrounding forest and a single black feather glided to the ground. Alea picked it up. It was almost as long as her arm, much too large for any bird she knew, and the feather's tip was covered in the same dark substance she had noticed on the scratches.
Close up like this, there was no do
The Imbalance of Dreams (Deutsch)Sie liebte Zitronen; das Saure und Bittere, das sie schaudern und sich schütteln ließ. Sie liebte es, wenn der Wind in kalten Nächten unter ihre Kleidung fuhr und wenn die Wärme jenseits der Fenster Lichtjahre entfernt zu sein schien.The Imbalance of Dreams (Deutsch)3 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Es war eine solche Nacht, in der sie sich begegneten. Eiskristalle wuchsen an den Fensterscheiben empor und ein Geruch nach Weihnachten füllte sogar die Straßenbahn. Er saß hinter ihr und sie wusste, dass Dunkelheit in seinen Augen lag. Sie musste ihn nicht ansehen, sie fühlte es – fühlte, wie er seine Umgebung musterte und die Eindrücke in sich hineinsog. Dabei erfasste er auch sie.
Das nächste Mal sah sie ihn in einem kleinen Café. Sie befanden sich auf unterschiedlichen Seiten des Fensters, doch ihre Blicke kreuzten sich. Er hob eine Hand – farbverschmierte Handschuhe mit abgeschnittenen Enden, die Finger bedeckt von einem Netz aus dünnen Narben. Sie ging hinein und setzte sic
The FortunateShe created strangers' fortunes. Printed on white paper slips, what she wrote went into fortune cookies. Only in her own cookie, she found an empty piece of paper, waiting for her to write words for her own life.The Fortunate3 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
SchmetterlingsfaengerSie kniete mitten im hohen Gras, umgeben von schwankenden Halmen. Löwenzahnsamen verfingen sich in ihrem Haar. Der Blick des Mädchens war nach oben gerichtet, zum strahlenden Blau des Sommerhimmels. Sie schien auf irgendetwas zu warten.Schmetterlingsfaenger2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Zögernd machte Theo ein paar Schritte auf sie zu. Er hatte sie noch nie gesehen; wahrscheinlich war sie ein Feriengast oder gerade erst zugezogen. Sie hatte ihn noch nicht bemerkt.
Ganz langsam hob das Mädchen etwas in die Höhe. Das Sonnenlicht brach sich darauf und helle Lichtpunkte tanzten über die Wiese – ein Glas. Es war ein großes Einmachglas, wie Theos Großmutter sie benutzte. Was wollte die Fremde damit? Sie benahm sich ohne Zweifel ziemlich seltsam, aber dennoch war sie im Moment die einzige gleichaltrige Gesellschaft, die ihm geblieben war. Seine Freunde waren gleich zu Beginn der großen Ferien in den Urlaub gefahren.
„Was machst du da?", fragte Theo. Er stand nun direkt hinter dem Mädchen, doch sie blieb einfach reglos sitzen und hielt ihr Gla
hurricanes"What are we thinking today?"hurricanes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm thinking about hurricanes,
the ones in our souls. These things that
I cannot forget.
We are nothing but rain,
so much rain and so
many breaths taken in the dark without
places to run too. And you say "You write poems"
You write them for her"
And I think,
What am I supposed to do. It's
freezing and these
are the things that remind me of her voice.
The WordsIt started softly at first. Little words and instances, and small betrayals that left questions sticking in her mind like needles. Words that hit her skin like stones, leaving bruises that spread and scarred and left fear in their wake, words that kept her up at night.The Words2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Who I am? What am I doing here? And who are you?
The words start tumbling faster now, and come with twisted expressions of anger, bitterness, resentment and blame. It's taking her back to her childhood; the memories of disquiet and fear and always, always the blame. It's taking her back to the fear of speaking, the fear of being touched, ever. The fear of meeting someone's eyes. There is only anger around her. An atmosphere weighed down by secrets and the blush of blood rising into skin. And inside, nothing but emptiness and the echoes of something deeper, something that will never be undone.
There is a stranger asleep beside me. Someone I no longer understand, who no longer understands me. I am afraid of their
The Nightmare QueenFind their nest. Wipe them out, once and for all.The Nightmare Queen2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
From her spot atop the huge machine, Millie stuck out her tongue at the factory owner's back. With all the steam that filled the air he wouldn't be able to see her face, anyway. Only a stooped woman working nearby glanced up at her quickly, shaking her head. But she couldn't hide a grin, either.
Millie pulled the gas mask over her mouth and nose, sorted her pigtails and stuffed her working equipment into her battered bag. She opened the hatch in front of her and slid down into the darkness inside the metal monster.
Find their nest.
Underneath the factory, there was a hidden palace. Only from far away, the huffing and puffing of steam engines sounded through the shadows. It was a different world, a world where everything was upside-down. The rounded parts of archways formed the floor while the ceiling was perfectly flat. Even the lamps that cast a blood red glow on the stone walls hung the wrong way.
It wasn't the first ti
The Imbalance of DreamsShe had always loved lemons; sour bitter things that made her shudder and cringe. She had always loved nights when the wind is so cold it bites your skin and the warmth on the other side of a window seems light years away.The Imbalance of Dreams8 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was a night like that when they first met: ice crystals forming on window panes, the smell of Christmas so strong it even took over the air in the tram. He was in the seat behind her and she knew that there was darkness in his eyes. She didn't even have to look, she felt it – felt him scanning his surroundings and her with them.
A week later, she saw him in a small cafe. They were on different sides of the window, but for a split second, their gazes met. He raised his hand in greeting – color-stained glove with the tips cut off, fingers covered with countless thin scars. And she walked inside and sat with him.
He could have gone to art school, he told her, but he didn't believe in it. His sketch pad was between them on the table; she flipped through th