She'd heard the word from Theodore Rhodes first.
Age eleven at the time, he'd been deeply engrossed in one of his more barbaric videogames when something odd happened: an object, not one of any obvious importance or appeal, had somehow wound up in the middle of his digital path. The brawny thug under his control had inspected the object, jumped on it, punched it, and finally shot at it several times before Theodore decided that the object was just an error, a mistake. A glitch.
And Glitch fancied herself just that.
But even now, as the approximate seventeen-year-old sat at the end of the table two years later, it was clear to her still that something was indeed wrong. For although the girl should have been obvious with her brightly-colored clothing and her friendly demeanor, the people with whom she sat seemed hardly aware of her presence.
There was an odd quiet that hung over the family of five as they a
No Turning Back "You're sure you know what you're doing, young lady?"No Turning Back3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"And you're certain you want to go through with this?"
". . . Yes."
A sly grin. "Right this way."
The tall, wiry man steps out from behind his desk and motions me to the back of his dark, dusty shop. I'm only slightly hesitant in following, wondering suddenly if this isn't the kind of situation in which a girl might be taken advantage of. But amidst the shelves and shelves of ancient objects, I catch a glimpse of a thin-bladed samurai sword to my right, and reassure myself that, were Mr. Beanpole here to try anything funny, I could lunge for the sword and wield it for all its worth. I nod, pleased with if not proud of my plan of attack.
"Come along, come along! You haven't much time!" As we near the back of the shop, he flattens himself against a shelf, motions me to pass. I hold my breath, doing my best to avoid contact wit
Asking PermissionFire is a strange thing.Asking Permission3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I felt it twist inside of me
and pull the strings of a
I never thought I would end
up starving once more. Perhaps
it's a strange pyromania, the air
that composes my soul makes
your fire spring to life.
I am on the concrete
Another chance at London rain.
A chance at the fire I once thought
UnknownUnknown3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She admires the damage in others
Her twisted form of jealousy.
The breaking of a heart
And the touch of a razor blade
The only true pain she has ever known.
Her heart reaches for broken souls
Taking them into her cold embrace
To amend for her sick envy...
Her guilt for being ordinary
Knows no bounds.
As she clings to injured hands
Wishing to heal them
Wanting to be like them.
Her reason for which
Is still Unknown.
We AreWe Are the generation who never learned how to speak.We Are5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
We Are the offspring of the decade
20 years hence.
Post 60s love, 70s drugs, 80s hair.
We don't know where we fit. Not yet.
We were the last to grow up on Sesame Street before it was unsuitable for children.
We are. Statistics.
Lost in a world that doesn't recognize us. We let our different colored ipods define us.
We are. Plugged in. To every one else.
Caffeine-addicted alcoholic cyber-socialites.
We are. 3-am internet junkies.
Learned our 1s and 0s before our yes's and no's
We are. Complacent uncaring electorates.
We think joining a Facebook group is an act of protest
We are. Godless. And Godful. Indifferent and morally pretentious
We are. Affixed to our LCD screens.
The Network manifest, Viral Video machine.
We are. The self-destructive invincible
We are. The philosophic insomniacs
Unread blogs of misplaced ideals, deified.
We are. A cavalcade of unwavering conformity
The will of the collective unconscious.
Ideas''Terrible!''Ideas4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
''Let's do it.''
Cadaver ExquisitoCadáver ExquisitoCadaver Exquisito3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tema: La Libertad
El precio de la libertad es la eterna vigilancia.
El sexo es la mejor forma de expresar mi libertad encarcelada.
Cuando mis hombros no sienten el peso del mundo.
Buscamos la libertad, pero ella siempre está. Lo difícil es descubrirla e ir a su encuentro.
Los límites de mi libertad están más allá del espacio, recorriendo hasta los lugares imaginarios.
Pero la libertad en la que vivimos es una encadenada, resulta que estamos atados de tobillos y muñecas, ¿cómo se puede caminar y, al fin volar, de esta manera? La libertad es un valor inalcanzable, a menos de convertirnos en una anarquía y cuando pienso eso, creo que me gusta estar entre cadenas.
Mientras recorro calles siento mis pesadas ataduras y aquella chica camina sin ellas, me gustaría por un tiempo cambiar con ella y sentir si en verdad mi visión es correcta.
Y en esos momentos es cuando pienso que mi libertad está en mis pensamientos, porque mis ideas están libres; si la gente las
MasksWith big smiles she greeted her friends,Masks3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Drowning in the crowd of people.
How many claimed to be her loved ones?
Hundreds? Thousands? She lost count long ago.
They welcomed her with jokes and laughter,
and she replied with hugs and kisses,
Pretending not to see the cracks in their masks
Or the lies in their voices.
She knew they were hiding something,
She heard the whispers behind her back,
Saw the greed behind their smiles,
And sensed their hatred long ago.
And every day she felt another part
Of her soul breaking away.
At night she tried to fix it,
Trying to reattach the broken pieces,
But as the time went by she realized
That the harder she tried, the faster she broke.
And so she continued what she had once started,
Acting cheerful, while breaking apart,
slowly creating her own mask
To hide her true self.
Until one day she met you,
The girl who refused to wear a disguise,
A big grin in your face,
And true kindness in your words.
Your left hand you had outstretched,
In your right you
delayeddescend into imaginary time-travel, and unravel the maybesdelayed3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in a jungle of pathways,
the road ahead is unclear, so don't
walk any further.
we hold hands, but in a moment
you might let go or pull me closer.
honestly, i don't
know what to expect, but
every second will have
you said you wanted to die like icarus,
forget the future, only to
stumble in beauty.
(even if it drags you down in the end).
Southern Hospitality"No mom, I'm fine, really." I insisted, balancing the phone between my cheek and my shoulder as I lifted another cardboard box.Southern Hospitality3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Nicole, I'm feeling very uneasy about this. I mean, a young girl, alone in a big house out in the country. Why couldn't Dexter be there tonight?"
I sighed, setting the box on the floor by my feet. "He's got one more meeting tomorrow morning, and then he's on the first flight to Georgia. I'm okay for one night, I promise. All I have to do is get my last two boxes in from the car, and I'm in for the night. Okay?"
"Well, okay. But just promise me to lock all the doors, and all the windows. It's a big house. I'd feel better if I knew you were completely safe."
I nodded, immediately feeling stupid when I realized she couldn't see me.
It was a pretty big house.
Dexter had insisted that when we were finally married, we would live in a big house in the country. This was all fine and dandy, minus the fact he was gone four out of seven days on
SWS - Awkward...-Hello.SWS - Awkward...4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
DreamsHello, I'm here, on the shelf!Dreams4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Can't you see me? Can't you just open me and flip through my pages? A little attention would be nice. I don't ask much, I only want you to enjoy my sentences, words, letters. You don't have to rub my back. You don't have to read my entire story. You can draw in me, rip my pages and burn them. You will probably think I'm boring, you will probably shake your head disapprovingly. You will probably hate me, and put me back on the shelf after a few minutes. We can forget it all, like it never happened. You'll just get the book next to me and I'll be dusty and lonely.
As I was
Here, on this shelf, whenever you need me.
Palliation"She looked hot, when she wore skirts, but the thing is, she never really knew that she looked hot... which made it so much sexier."Palliation3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He took a long drag at his cigarette and squished out the butt as the paper burned into the filter.
"So what happened?" I asked.
"Oh, she got married. I came to know about it from a friend of hers. Her friend's name was Richa, but I called her Bitcha... God, I hated her!"
He chuckled and took another swig of his beer.
"She called and told me that Swarna won't be returning, with much relish. She knew that it would leave me heartbroken. Ugh, she was such a bitch... her friend. Funny thing is, heartbroken doesn't even begin to explain it. She never even told me that she was going away to get married."
He paused and pursed his lips, as if lost in thought, gazing into the depths of the shimmering golden liquid in his hands as if trying to pour his memories into words.
"How do you describe that feeling of complete and utter hollowness? You can say
The Only Thing NecessaryPerched in a half-constructed nest high above the bitter plain, a solitary dove observed the milling throng. For miles around in every direction, people of every shape, size, colour and status moved endlessly, pressing relentlessly onward toward an invisible goal. The hot sun cracked the ground, and seared any skin left unprotected, but the crowd didn't seem to notice. The occasional whimper of an infant or muffled plea for help wafted over the drone of shuffling feet, but they never lasted long.The Only Thing Necessary4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Restless, the dove stirred from its slumber and took flight over the heads of the people. From the glossy black of an Asian woman clutching a child to her chest, to the cheerless yellow of the Swedish man in a business suit, the dove could distinguish no difference between the thousands of heads surrounding her. All of the eyes were empty and dazed, the gazes unfocused, and the feet moving endlessly forward.
Occasionally a child would collapse from hunger, too weak to keep pace with those arou
The RugThe Rug- A Short Story by GothKoala439The Rug3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
When I was six, the rug was brand-new.
I watch Papa roll it out on the wooden floor, and we all stand back, admiring its effect on the family room. It made everything bright, everything cozy and comfortable and homey. The wood seemed to glow like honey, the furniture stood out brightly.
It made home feel like home.
I giggled and jumped up and down, grabbing Papa's hand while Momma looked on. Papa gave me a gentle smile, and said: "This rug grows with you, so take care of it, won't you?"
I nodded and smiled, tugging his hand again and making him chuckle.
My dolls loved the rug.
So did I.
I spent afternoons playing and frolicking on it, while thick bands of sunlight filtered through the window slats. Tea-parties, dance-parties, any kind of party you can have during your childhood-the rug was a welcome host.
I used to eat on the rug, sitting cross-legged and gazing at the TV, chewing and spilling crumbs on the rug.
It never complained.
I would co
What Am I?I lurk in the corners of your mind,What Am I?3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Slithering through the undergrowth of ideas
Forsaken and tossed to the abyss,
Emerging from the shadowy depths
When you want me least.
You scowl at me and call me
For my tortuous forms of amusement.
I follow the law of thermodynamics:
I can neither create nor destroy.
How else can I entertain myself but
Inflict such pain on hapless
Beings such as yourself?
The best is letting little bits of
False hope is always cruelest.
As you lie there in agony
Unable to wrench yourself from my grip,
Remember who is the fickle one
And who always keeps their promises.
Hate she who has forsaken you, not me,
For I may cease taunting you for a while
Or simply take a nap.
But unlike the unreliable one
You pay tribute to,
I shall follow you even into the grave.
They left me one by oneOne day Confidence packed his bags and left. I caught him by the door just when he was about to leave. The moment I saw his bags, I realized what was happening. This was not the first time Confidence had walked out on me.They left me one by one4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Where are you going?" I asked, trying not to sound terrified.
"Away", he answered bluntly, and grabbed the door knob.
"Why?" I asked. "Have I done something to upset you?"
"You already know why," Confidence said and looked at me with his fierce eyes. "You never listen to me, no matter what I say."
"But I do!"
"No, you don't."
And that was it. I didn't get a chance to say anything else before Confidence slammed the door in my face. Trembling, I sank down on the doormat. He'll come back, I thought to myself, he always comes back.
But this time he didn't.
During the next few days, I shut myself in my bedroom and no one but Misery and Self-hatred were allowed in. Neither of them were any good at comforting me though. They just told me how worthless I was, and
CensorshipThe contents of this poemCensorship3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Have been omitted
Due to the following reason(s):
Contains unwanted information
May cause a disruption
[And we couldn't have that, could we?]
Short skirts and stardust.I like you.Short skirts and stardust.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I can't be more pleased when you look at us, and tell us that in each of us,
in our veins that we want to cut open,
in our bones that we have broken,
in the wounds that we have mended,
and that in our feet that are two sizes too big,
that we all have a little bit of stardust in us.
It reminds me, that I can in fact love someone for who they are, all their words, and all of ones grins and laughs, and French.
How you always say, there is a little bit of worm in you, and look at that in your brain, what used to be a fly is floating in there. You say that with enthusiasm, like there was something good in that.
In all of us.
And you always talk about your children in that reminiscing way, like they have died.
I hope you find what you are looking for in this place, because I believe you deserve it.
You are everything I would like in a friend, and I don’t understand why she would do that to you.
But then again, it’s nice to break a perfect person’s heart, ain't i
The Myth of the MoonOnce upon a time, there was a girl. This girl was not ordinary; she was the key to the future. Her people knew that she would be the key ever since she was born. She was always meant to be sacrificed to the sun God, Helios. Without a sacrifice, Helios would take the sun away from the people to make them suffer in darkness for the rest of eternity. Her people knew not what life was like without the sun, or without light. There was nothing other than the sun. The sun was all that her people had for all of the centuries since it was created.The Myth of the Moon4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The people of Solaria were generous people. The girl, Selene, was cherished like a queen to make up for the sacrifice. Anything that little Selene wanted, she would get, and at no cost or restraint. But this caused Selene to become a selfish child. Her demands left the rest of her people in poverty. The young, selfish girl threatened her people. Selene was blessed with the beauty of a queen, or even a goddess. From birth, she had colorless hair that l
Dear Abigail, I Love You. I went to see you today. I don't know if you noticed or not. You never seem to notice me, not really, like I'm something invisible and something you cannot feel. It hurts in my chest, in my heart, every time I see you and you see me but don't really see. I'm sorry I'm even writing you right now, but as a consolation, I'll probably never send it to you either. Because you seem happy how you are. Without me. I use to be though, you use to love me like I still love you and we use to be quite the pair. But you don't remember me, do you?Dear Abigail, I Love You.3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
No, of course not. It's alright though, I'm glad you don't, I'm the guilty party anyway. I was driving that day. That time we were hit, I wasn't paying enough attention, you know. I didn't swerve in time, I didn't make sure you were covered before we hit, I didn't protect you like I should have. And for that, I am sorry. Sorrier than you could ever imagine. I remember staying by your side when you wouldn't wake up,
Living a Lie.Living a Lie.Living a Lie.2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
You say things you don't mean when you're angry.
You call me a waste of space and that you can't stand me.
When the dust settles you say you don't mean it.
You say I should know better than to believe it.
As usual I foolishly upkeep your illusive hold on me.
I allow you to mute my thoughts and take control of me.
You promise and reassure me that it will never happen again.
That this is the last time and you will put it all to an end.
But I know promises only comfort fools,
Who readily allow others to pull the wool
Over our eyes because it is easier to swallow the lies.
Can it be a mistake if it happens more than twice?
Despite my preaching I can never take my own advice.
I've realised that this aggression is a part of you
And because I can never dare to part from you.
I have to believe the love you have for me is true.
Sometimes you have to take a lie not for what it is
But for the truth and reality it suspends.
Withdraw your vengeful tongue and revert it into a kiss.
A Thousand Needles"Don't you think you're taking this a bit too far?"A Thousand Needles3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The corner of Will's mouth curves into a contemptuous smirk. "No, doc, I don't," he says.
"See? He just won't stop!" Nina's face is flushed and sickly from sleepless nights and crying. She's a pitiful imagewasted, tired, desperate.
And Will laughs at her, unable to control himself.
Dr. Willoughby looks down at the piece of scratch notebook paper before him, once again observing the gruesome image of the mutilated infant doodled upon it with the words "mommy no love me" scrawled across the top. He leans back against his cushioned chair, removing his glasses and touching his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. Then he sighs, weary. It's easy to see he's on the verge of giving up. After six straight weeks of morbid artwork, obscene language, sardonic jokes, and nightmares, he's about ready to seek a doctor himself. "How you can laugh at this is beyond me," he finally says.
"How you can say I'm taking this 'a bit