Live Forever If you only had a week to live, what would you do before you died?
For most people, that question is theoretical.
Not for me.
One morning I woke up and realized, "I have seven days to live. Starting now."
So I started living.
I threw on my ripped black skinny jeans that I'd never dared to wear before, and my worn-out boots and my favorite t-shirt, the one with the wings on the back. Then I packed my suitcase and hopped on a plane to God knows where.
I had my lips, ears, nose, and eyebrows pierced. I had words of ink preserved under my skin, gritting my teeth through every single plunge of the needle.
It was worth it.
I kissed a stranger on the stroke of midnight, signaling the first day melting away into the next. I danc
StandardsAccording to the world I'm not a girl. I don't fit the tendencies a girl should have. I've never heard of this rule book before, but I suppose a lot of people have. I mean, there must be certain standards a girl should have that I am expected to live up to.Standards4 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
According to the world girls my age should wear their hair long, girls should gossip, girls should be neat and like shopping and giggling. Girls should talk about boys all the time, and what they did on the weekend. Looking pretty should always be a girls main concern, never mind things like sports or running around, that's what boys do.
According to the world girls my age shouldn't be angry, girls shouldn't swear or curse or, god-forbid get dirty. Girls should never be aggressive towards others, they can never be rowdy or reckless or untidy.
I am a girl but I am like a boy. According to the world that is not right, their stereotypes make me an outcast.
Maybe, just ma
Bones.We are made of smoke tonight.Bones.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
We are made of deep pits of longing in our stomachs
and years of waiting dancing across our eyelids.
The earth does not exist tonight,
and there is no rust beneath my finger nails,
no glass between your teeth.
There is only you and I on the edges of town,
where the dandelions fell and the fire swallowers hid.
Our footsteps in the grass creak like breaking bones
until the drill bit stars are sobbing our names.
"You'll live forever," you whisper, breath hot on my cheek,
but my heart beat fast until my chest caved in.
Forever can't exist if we haven't lived at all.
We fall from the ferris wheels sunk into your eyes
and lay amongst the broken bones,
sucking down an atmosphere hung from thin metal wires.
You are silent and I am screaming, and we are two different galaxies
brought together by a love of gasoline and retractable razor blades.
But tonight, you taste of iron and there's blood in my hair
and I'm getting drunk off the feeling of eyelashes on skin
i'm never careful enoughThe roads here wind in ways that I don't expect.i'm never careful enough4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sometimes, I think that dashed yellow line is the only thing that keeps me moving the right way. That keeps me going. Because one wrong move could send me barreling off the highway and the freefall feeling that would come next is not something I'm unfamiliar with. It's the same thing that happens every time I think of you. I can't get over how much this place reminds me of you. I can't get over how little room there is between full-fledged fear and being in love.
Sometimes, I think maybe they're the same thing.
I don't know what keeps bringing me back here. But I find myself coming here more and more when I can't sleep. When I can't stop thinking about you. I drive the same familiar routes. Thinking the same familiar thoughts. Going to the same familiar places. I keep retracing the paths we used to take, thinking that if I follow them back far enough, I'll figure out where we went wrong. The absence of you is familiar. Almost comforting.
SheLast night, I lay in bed picking the snake-like, silvery memories of you from my mind with small tweezers. Every word exchanged, every lesson learned, every heartbeat felt, all came floating away.She4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I say I, and I mean she. Like when I say you, I mean he. But I am she, and you are he, so they/we fit these characters adequately.
I wondered how I would react to your face, once it had been cut from my recollection. I felt excitement at the prospect of passing you on the street, in blissful oblivion, as you became just another he.
But you were the one flaw in my plan. I was still wrapped around every membrane of yours, even as I cut you out of me, snake by snake. I would stay I, even as you became he.
How long would it take you to realise? Would you take advantage of it? Would you rebuild every memory for me? Would I do any better a second time round, with a complete absence of hindsight?
I kept wondering this until every snake had been cut out, and I didn't know what I was wondering anymore
Song for SiennaHe watched her dancing to his song, her small, slender form no longer the graceful child-ballerina he had fallen in love with in their college years, when he aspired to philharmonic fame, and she to the world's brightest stages. It was this woman-child he had envisioned while writing the joyful piece, so many years ago, when the very air surrounding them had tasted of spring and innocence, when there had been no patches of needle-scars to mar her skin, no brokenness to halt her movements. When her lips had still held their secret kiss and her smile lacked the sad knowing that leaked from her eyes every now and again when he held her.Song for Sienna4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
She danced slowly, but without the now-familiar hesitation and fear in her movements, and he knew that this was as much for her as it was for him, one last final ballet in memory of what she had had, and what they had had together. It broke his heart to acknowledge it, but he had to give her that understanding. He supposed he was lucky that their love had
this is half-hearted living.i know i'm going to have to say goodbye soon. and i can't stand it. i won't even think of it outside the confines of this sentence and the sinking feeling I get anytime i'm driving too fast just to get away from this place. these four walls have left me feeling more alone than i ever expected. mostly because this house feels empty. even when everyone is here and even when i can't think because of all the yelling pulsating down the hallways, it's unspeakably hollow. i know it's because this place isn't home anymore. since home is a person and i lost that. i'm not where i'm supposed to be. i'm not with who i'm supposed to be. and i'm not who i'm supposed to be.this is half-hearted living.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
but most of all, i don't know where i belong.
sometimes, when it's late and i can't sleep, i replay the things i miss the most behind my closed eyelids. everything is about you or someone else who is just as gone. these are the things i do to myself when i'm too tired to fight anymore. too tired to even move. too tired to not thin
Silly ScarecrowLike silly scarecrows, we decided that maybe hearts weren't such bad things, after all, and perhaps, we might try to have one. Some weeks, years, texts, or phone calls later, we have decided that hearts were a bad idea, and put our particles into Swiss vaults for safe-keeping, because they are exactly the sort of things that people love to steal.Silly Scarecrow4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
For a time afterward, it's always the smells that catch you off-guard. You can look away from their face, you can walk out of range of their voice, you can block them online, only think of the bad times, and delete their number from your phone to keep you from anything desperate, but you can't stop the scents that you associate with the goodness of them, the happiness you felt in their arms, the smell rising from the skin you brushed your lips over. Maybe it was a certain cologne, a specific brand of cigarettes, a particular soap, even something from their house or their job, but whenever you catch just the barest hint of it, it makes y
winter always reminds me of you.It never snowed last December, but it was always there on the horizon. Like a bad dream on the periphery of my vision, a relentless reminder that I don't ever have control over things the way I think I do. The way I want to. Recently, I realized that I feel everything a bit too sharply. The cold. The pain. The nothingness.winter always reminds me of you.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's heart wrenching. It's stomach twisting.
The minute you were gone, the air in my lungs left too. It's amazing how long you can live without breathing. It's much longer than anyone tends to claim. Truthfully, it's not even the thing I miss anymore. I only miss you. I miss the feelings. I miss anything that isn't the slow crack and settle of this old building. Or the familiar beating of my heart. The sun rising and falling from the sky each and every day.
I don't remember what it's like to not wake up to a pattern, but I do remember that it was so much better than this.
I used to never know what to expect. Now I have no expectations at all. It didn't take me long t
This TimeThis TimeThis Time6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
In this version, we are victims.
The hospital defines death. It smells like iodine and powder, stale hope and blue steel. Just because it's clean now doesn't mean the blood was never here, scalpels poised above bruised and swollen skin. It's here where people die, here where they learn to fear what they cannot control. The air in the hospital is empty; how can you possibly breathe? No wonder they run tubes up your nose and down your throat.
I hate the wires taped to you, inside you. I don't want you to be monitored like this, don't want them staring at you, at us. They see you as a patient, mark you down as just another irresponsible teenage boy. And I'm no one; just a 'friend.' They look at me odd and I know what they're thinking, but I can't say any more. They wouldn't accept it; you never did.
Somewhere far along the hall, people are being b
Dysfunctional Works Besti.Dysfunctional Works Best5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It wasn't meant to end like this.
Yeah, but it did.
You left me at a bus station with 10 cents short of a ticket to the hell away from you and my shoes tied together because I just didn't know how to walk without you. My fingers are crossed and my tongue twisted in knots and my eyes have rolled into the back of my head because I still believe crossing your fingers brings good luck and I have nothing left to say and I would rather imagine than see what's actually in front of me.
It's been 3 months you know.
But it seems like forever.
It was summer then and now it is fall and I hate fall because it reminds me of you because your eyes change colors like the leaves and Halloween is your favorite holiday even though we are too big to dress up now. When we were 10 I was a pirate and you were a princess and you still are but I hung up my saber and eye-patch once you decided to hang me up because now I just get seasick and I forgot how to read treasure maps a
Degrading ShieldThere is nothing more degrading to one's self esteem than realizing how afraid of falling in love one is. How cowardly and depressing is that? To look back and see all the options presented, all the chances I skipped over because I didn't want anything to change. You can't control other people, not if you want to enjoy them for them and all I want is control. Control is stability-control is what holds my life together, governs my days. The reason why I push so hard, why I lie so glibly about my feelings, why I refuse to admit I might be weak. What can I control in this world besides myself? I'm the only thing I can manage in this world and I need to stay strong on the outside. Inside I can crumble all I want- no one can see that. No one will know if I cry myself to sleep, curled up on my bed mere feet above my roommate. The silent shaking of my shoulders betrays me to only the cold quiet walls that have seen hundreds of students beDegrading Shield6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
bleeding miles, oceans thick_ci speak all these words in one breath. my mind drips- skin falls to pieces and lands in a pair of hands. the rain washes it away and it's gone, but it flickers like lightbulbs. flickers on and off in my stomach, in my head, in my heart. it's a thunderstorm, it's bleeding into waves. i walked down the hallway and kept my hands in my pockets the whole time. i dream inside my dreams. i have dreams in your bedroom that the forests cry. you kiss me until i cry. liquid sadness down my thighs. it's like breathing in space when you're not here.bleeding miles, oceans thick_c4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
(my heart is a drum and my hands cannot keep the beat. my heart is a bird that my bones cannot cage. you are here and you are not. you are breathing the curve of my throat and i am hungry. i walk the halls alone, i press palms to the walls and watch them fall to the ground. i can feel your heat and i am afraid. i am a coal in diamond's cloth; i am a mockingbird with the tongue of a beggar. you press love into my flesh and i recoil in fear. love is a
What Music Is"What is music?"What Music Is3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
A young boy asked me that today.
I bent down to his level, so our faces met eye to eye, and, grinning, I responded.
"Why do you care? Out of our world today, why is it you who cares?"
He looked thoughtfully back at me with his eyes, too full of wisdom for his age, and he said, "Because I want to make good music someday."
I liked his answer, so I told him I did. He smiled, seeming honestly pleased that I liked his opinion. He grabbed my hand as I stood up, pleading at me with his eyes, and when I looked into them, I knew he wanted to hear more.
"I will show you the things that proper music make." I said to him. And as I walked along down the street with this child's hand in mine, I thought of how trusting he was being. I didn't know what to make of it, but as he followed along the street with me, I began to point out the things with which proper music was made.
"Music," I said, pausing to think. He looked up at me, as he had noticed my pause because we had stopped walki
A Promise Wrapped In ThornsYou told me you'd bring me a rose on every one of our dates.A Promise Wrapped In Thorns5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I remember you vowing that, as you stood on my porch, in your rented tuxedo, and handed me my very first one. Just a simple red rose, but it was the most beautiful sight, held in your shaking hand. I remember smiling at you, a smile that must have lit up the night, because I had never felt more loved in my life. I set the rose in a vase, and took your hand in mine. Your hands were sweating, and I knew you were afraid, but I never wanted to let go. "What are you scared of?" I had asked, as you held the door of your car open for me, eyes wide in an intoxicating mix of eagerness, and fright. "Only of losing you." The words were shaky as they escaped your lips, nothing out of a romance novel, but they warmed my heart nonetheless. And as I stood on my tiptoes, that night, as you wished me a goodnight, and I let my lips whisper across yours, I knew you'd keep your promise. I set the rose on the windowsill by my bed, a
Like We Used ToI can feel her breath as she's sleeping next to me,Like We Used To4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Sharing pillows and cold feet.
She can feel my heart; fell asleep to its beat.
Under blankets and warm sheets.
I was never one for listening to slow songs and never one to listen to A Rocket to the Moon. But just about now, Nick Santino singing 'Like We Used To' summed up all of my thoughts and feelings.
The lyrics plunged me back into my memories. She'd lay her head on my chest and we'd stare blankly at the ceiling together. My fingers would work through her always tangled curls of hair. The way she fit into my arms perfectly made me believe they were carved to hold her there and that we'd be together forever.
If only I can be in that bed again.
If only it were me instead of him.
I guess I tested Fate without realizing it because she took the only girl I had ever loved away from me.
Does he watch your favorite movies?
Does he hold you when you cry?
Does he let you tell him all your favorite parts,
The Life Story of an ObjectThe first time he dies, you find him in the bathroom. His legs are splayed flat on the floor, his head fallen forward. Blood leaks along the off-white wall behind his head, and the gun lies loose in his limp hand. At least he had good aim. Your bare feet are cold on the slick linoleum; it's too fucking early in the morning for this. You step back into the bedroom, crawl back under the sheets. You tell yourself: tomorrow morning, you will wake up, and it will be different.The Life Story of an Object4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You tell yourself: tomorrow, it will be better.
In 1522 A.D., the expedition led by Ferdinand Magellan finally links the East and the West, rolls the flat map of the world into a loop. You wonder if a Möbius strip might not be more accurate: you'd have to cut out Antarctica and the Arctic Ocean to make it thin enough to twist around and connect, but this doesn't seem like an unreasonable proposal. No one travels
You know,"You know, there's somebody up there."You know,5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
We were in school then, and sometimes we'd just spend the summer nights lying on his roof and looking up at the planets and stars until we fell asleep in each other's arms. We'd lie there and sometimes he'd say, "You know, there's somebody up there." You mean aliens, I'd ask, you know, with the green skin and the U.F.O.s and the phasers and whatever else. He'd say no, silly, he didn't mean aliens, he meant God, and he'd laugh, you know, but it must have hurt him, me not knowing God and all that. He always went to church and he never swore and he never got drunk with the other guys and we didn't have sex. I asked him why, and he said it was because he loved God. Did he love God more than he loved me, I asked, and he didn't hesitate for long before he said "Yes." But you know, I liked him that way. I liked that he didn't try to touch me or ask if he could see me naked like the other guys would say to their girlfriends. I loved that he loved God more
This Isn't Serious It's not serious. It may come across as obsessive at times, but no, it's not serious.This Isn't Serious6 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
It's too much of a taboo for it to be serious. It's something they'll write about in all the fanfiction you read, and you'll smile, trying to relate it to your own situation, fantasising a bit, wondering what would happen if you made a move to actually make this serious. It seems so simple in the stories, some great secret love that neither of the protagonists think is reciprocated, but then one is forced to confess, maybe deliberately giving or getting themselves into a detention. It all kicks off from there; they make out on the desk, kiss against the classroom door, maybe even go further. But no. That just doesn't happen in real life, even if you wish it did.
There are complications. He's married, has a kid now. You can convince yourself that he was forced into marriage, not wanting his child to grow up a bastard, but that probably isn't the case. You can convinc
Choose. - No.What are you doing?Choose. - No.4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
- Exactly! Why?
- I love you.
- Is that supposed to answer my question? I know that. That's why I am asking why are you doing this.
- Just because I love you.
- That's very thoughtful.
- I love you above everything but since I can't be with you forever...
- Stop being ridiculous! There is no eternity.
- I know we would be together forever if it wasn't for her.
- Oh. Anyway, so you decided to leave now?
- Well but that's... That's pathetic, you know?
- Cut it out. I have to do this.
There isn't anything I could say to keep you here with me, is it?
- There is. You know that.
- I.. Yes but -
- Then say it. Say you want to stay with me! Not with her.
- Go on!
- I can SAY that without lying to you. But I can't DO it. I've chosen her. It has always been her.
- There. See? There is no point for us being together anymore.
- The last few mo
Thoughts on Life"The flaws you see in others are the ones you're most likely to find within yourself"Thoughts on Life6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"People need to know what they're fighting for before they can win"
"Why is it that people can only be truly honest when they're faced with something that they're powerless to stop?"
"If someone told you to save the world, would you? Why?"
"What's more deadly, a gun, or three words uttered with spiteful intent?"
"Tell me, which is worth more; a horde of cash, or a single friend?"
"Ask someone who they are, they give their name. Ask someone what they are, they give you their profession. It's funny that nobody ever gives the right answer to either question." Shane Matheson
"Schools don't 'help' with a student's problems. They do what they can to 'fix' them in the limited way they know how, and 'fixing' those means returning them to the mould. And if they can't fix the problems, they force them on someone else. An
there's no right way anymorei do not know why we do these things to each other.there's no right way anymore4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
our sentences lack all the proper meaning. we only say what we're feeling when we're feeling nothing at all and keep all the most important things we could ever think to say safe beneath guarded tongues. we are clever in all the wrong ways.
it's about how we do all the things we're expected to because to actually do what we want the mostthe things that scare uswould mean having to take a risk. we might need to deal with the possibility that we have something to lose by doing nothing at all.
there is a complete certainty that we've gotten content in our lonelinessin our misery. we're stuck standing still, not at all responsible for the way we function, because even our hearts just keep beating because it's committed to memorynot because we make them. not because we want them to. we are incomplete in exactly the way we want to be.
if the fact that tomorrow never arrives because it's always today means that nothin
Down That Road - RevampedIt started out like it always did; just another companion to share some time with. Fleeting, like the ripples on a pond; gone before even registered. My sickly green eyes had been enough to keep them arms length before.Down That Road - Revamped4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Eric Sato: I met him and his nerdy Asian smile the first day at yet another new school, my fifth in two years. Second semester, middle of the year, and everyone already had friends; everyone but him. We had art class together. He was a photographer. I liked to draw.
A week later we had a mutual understanding. We hung out. We ate lunch together. We never agreed to, it just happened. He was the weird Japanese boy, I the bitchy white girl. He was a loner and so was I. We were loners together.
It was late September of the next year and we were sitting under a red leafed tree; our lunch spot. I was listening to my ipod while munching on an apple. Suddenly a camera clicked. I looked over and saw him with a guilty face.
"Sorry, the lighting was perfect. I couldn't r