Private Detective -Part 3- The EndPrivate Detective -Part 3- The End3 years ago in Profiles More Like This
Pravite Detective!EnglandxReader part 3: the end
It wasn't hard for (name) to figure out who did it. He was there all along, or so she thought. Backing out
of the bathroom, Arthur noticed the fear in her eyes.
"What is it, love? Do you know who could have done it?" Arthur asked. 'It all makes since now! The way
he acted, the flirty attitude, the tea leaf, and he had just taken off muddy shoes! Oh no! I-it was Arthur!'
(name) screamed in her head as she took off down the hallway with Arthur close behind.
"Wait (name) why are you running?!" Arthur asked confused.
"You killed him!"
"Wh-what?!" Arthur grabbed (name)'s hand and pulled her to him abruptly stopping her.
"What in the
bloody hell makes you think I did it?!"
"Just think about it! I'm stupid! You knew I would come to you for help! You knew that I would trust you
and never think you would do it! Why Arthur?! Why did you kill him?!"
"I didn't! I would never want to hurt you! I-I I bloody well love you!" Arthur gripped her arms
The Envious MoonThe moon's envious glow,The Envious Moon3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is nothing more, than the suns bright rays
shinning back from a gray face.
The loneliest person in the world,
she can only reflect what others disperse
and never show her own light.
Sometimes though, she gets her desires
to change the light she reflects
and becomes orange or red.
It never lasts though.
She finds solace in her reflection
to know that she is actually there,
and to feed what little pride she has.
And the moon sits alone
never to have company.
Only her mournful shriek her only sound.
She can never be the one
who provides light and comfort.
The most she can do
is give off a little reflected light,
that isn't even her own.
Everyone loves the sun,
that warm, life birthing parent.
And everyone ignores,
the pale envious moon.
Who wants nothing more
than to be loved.
Tears (FranceXReader)It was two weeks ago now. That day, the one that made your world fall apart.Tears (FranceXReader)3 years ago in Romance More Like This
You were still in the hospital, not really for the physical injuries you'd obtained in the crash, but more the mental trauma.
The images still replayed themselves over and over again in your mind. Like a broken record, doomed to repeat itself to the damnation of time. Broken. Just like yourself.
You shuddered, wrapping your thin, bandaged arms around your cold body. You started rocking yourself, tears threatening to fall.
"Ma chérie, how are yo-" a familiar voice started to say, but it cut itself off quickly. Immediately, you felt yourself being cradled in Francis' warm arms. You buried your face in your knees, trying and failing to hide your sobs from him. Your lank (h/c) hair fell forward, obscuring your face from his vision.
Your brother's grinning face appeared in your mind, generating more tears from the sobbing wreck you'd become.
Your tears chocked you and you didn't want the Frenchmen t
Drip. Drip. Drip.DRIP. DRIP. DRIP.Drip. Drip. Drip.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I lean back into the white bathtub with a content sigh. The bath is filled halfway, covering the majority of my body. The rush of adrenaline that comes with the sense of control and power, that comes whenever I grab hold of my razor and cut myself, appears, but it is slightly different, stronger than before. Nonetheless of its differences, I like it.
DRIP. DRIP. DRIP.
The sound of my blood hitting the bath water leaves me strangely satisfied, and it makes a both haunting and thrilling melody to my sick ears. 'Why haven't I cut this deep before?' I think to myself. The water in the tub is quickly turning red.
DRIP. DRIP. DRIP.
My sense of hearing goes first, turning anything and everything to sound distant and faint. My body is growing weaker, and I feel like I'm a balloon, slowly deflating. That's probably because of the two deep cuts that wrap around my wrists like a rubber band, oozing out my blood, draining away my sense of the living. Pooring out of my body, leavi
...But....The next day, she walked into......But....3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
... School... Her home... The Office...
And sat down next to her...
....Classmate.... Husband.... Colleague....
Without a word.
She put her hands on her knees, and stared into her lap. Outside the weather was....
...Nice.... Horrid.... Unimportant....
She didn't care. Everything was hurting now but, for a few hours, her life had been....
....Perfect.... Unblemished.... Hers...
Tears began to well in her eyes. Scalding her cheeks, they spilled sluggishly down her face. Embarrassing. Pathetic. Unneeded.
....Classmate.... Husband.... Colleague....
Looked at her with concern and, when he spoke, his words tattooed themselves across her lungs and heart.
'Are you okay?'
Inside, her organs strained against her ribcage. The tears continued to fall as she shook her head, 'No.'
He bit his lip, and leaned forward, placing a hand on her knee, 'What's the matter?'
Turning away from him, she said, 'I had a dream last night.'
Scar TissueI don’t know what I hated more: myself, or the fact that my crying woke him up. It couldn’t be later than two in the morning, I had woken up from another nightmare and I found myself huddled in the same spot I always went to in times like these: the bathtub.Scar Tissue11 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was a bad habit I got myself into since childhood, but the coldness of the tub gave me a comfort most things couldn’t. I had been good about keeping my pain hidden from the rest of the world, but by night it came crawling back to me in the form of dreams and flashes of guilt.
The tears would come before I could stop them and I always found myself in this tub. He never knew, and I never told him. What was the point? I’m a girl stuck in reverse who can’t seem to let go of yesterday and take in the joys of tomorrow. My whole life was like a damaged tape, repeating itself when it shouldn’t and having a hard time moving forward. I always could repress my sobs, and I wondered if I was louder than I
The Paper Ghost Throwing down her pen in frustration, the Author cried, 'What is it you want?!'The Paper Ghost3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The boy standing in the doorway wrung his hands in embarrassment, 'I want a story...'
Exhaling deeply, she studied him. Her gaze ran over his soft hair and the slight iridescence of his skin. She noted the odd way that the boy appeared to shimmer like a haze of heat. His eyes were deep and brown, and his lips played the tune of a nervous smile.
'I cannot give you a story,' She said brusquely, 'I am all out of stories! Look at me! I am hollow, I am gone, I am nothing! You want a story?' The Author paused whilst he nodded, 'Then go out and live! Breathe the air, god knows, I wish I had that sort of freedom. Draw pictures, play music, live your life! Drink the nacreous waters of freedom, break out of the words that chain your mind. I am a human, like you! I need time to myself too, and I cannot always be a source of your entertainment.'
Words of SilenceWords of Silence5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Words are not important,
for words can always lie.
But the silence speaks in volumes,
it screams and I know why!
The truth is in the space between,
our words and silence--unseen.
We do not say what we (really) mean,
but we mean what we (really) say;
just in another way.
And we tell ourselves it's ok well, maybe just for today.
The truth we can't admit, we think is better left unspoken.
Reality won't permit (while wrapped in our gaudy lie),
the thing we must deny,
yet still are sadly hoping.
The unspoken truth is the lie (this is where we begin to die).
But why do we deny,
What we know is real?
And what we feel?
The Words of Silence are cold-blooded killers.
They take you from the inside out.
And you shout,
and you shout,
and you shou
So I Wrote About It, and it's Not For YouThis isn't one for you.So I Wrote About It, and it's Not For You4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
This isn't one for me. This is a collection of clumsily sewn together sentences for everyone who isn't us. This is for anyone who has ever made a handprint on a condensation coated window. This is for the veins of this world the people who carry blood back into our hearts.
This is not for the arteries.
This is for the starlings, cart wheeling in the orange and purple paints of the dusky sky. It's for the old man reading his newspaper on the doorstep in a black and white photograph. It's for the strings struck by piano keys, it's for the ink feeding the typewriter. This is a piece for the demons in hell who give exalted angels their significance. It's for all the tears shed on hospital wards, evaporating from the pristine floor but never forgotten.
This isn't for the dreamers, this is for those afflicted by nightmares, both imaged and real.
This is for the corpses feeding poppies in the foreign fields of home. Those bodi
All the Souls Who Might've Lived'You know,' She said, walking slowly to the edge of the cliff, 'Some stories don't end.'All the Souls Who Might've Lived4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Startled, he looked up, 'Who are you?'
A small smile lifted the shy corners of the girl's lips, 'You might find out, if you listen.' Carefully, she sat down beside him. The wind knotted her coppery hair, waving it around her head like a flaming flag.
His eyebrows creased into a frown, 'I don't understand...'
'They never do,' Sighed the girl, her bare legs swinging over the edge. Her sandal clad ankles scraped the cliff's face, 'Everyone has a little something to live for, or, at least, most people do. You can tell which people need to jump and which don't. You can see it in their faces, I call them the blank ones. They feel no evil, and they feel no love. Their eyes are empty, their bodies rigid, and their mouth is nothing but a grim slash painted onto their face. For these people, the story has ended. You can't stop them from jumping... I try though.' Pausing, she rearrange
Beauty as a Butcher's KnifeThe sound of a dull knifeBeauty as a Butcher's Knife3 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
hacking, hacking, hacking
through a daughter's vertebrae,
her face pressed firmly against the cutting board,
her screams escaping as only yellow butterflies
somebody told her lies
An infant died playing Russian roulet
Ten bottles on the table
five of milk,
four of water
and one of poison
somebody let the noise in
A fisherman's child found my only lover
in a garbage bag cradle, muddy mouth gaping,
vines embracing her moldy wrists
mother nature is an artist
she'll paint your corpse deep black
somebody held me back
somebody held me back.
Why I Did ItThe first time I did itWhy I Did It4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
was to see if the rumors
if it took away the pain
like it was suppose to
and just for a moment
I felt free
and at ease
sure there was stinging
but I got off on it
I controlled it
but I don't want to go back
I was a coward
to every sin
every single emotion
I felt within
It destroyed me
and left me with scars
marks that will never fade
of who I was once was...
surface tensionshe strides like a sea walker,surface tension4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
each step rippling outwards
in search of a kindred being.
this echolocation finds nothing-
angry waves crash her delicate signals
now as confused as her footsteps
balanced upon the water's skin.
she falters and begins to sink-
a dangerous game to play Jesus
and not know how to swim.
soft hands slap against the cold hard surface
as she flounders for a grasp on reality.
her belief keeps her afloat
the water stings her face,
evidence of struggle and suffering.
her figure frames a distorted self portrait
as she crawls back to her feet-
on the other side of sane.
to write for youi wanted to write a poem for you.to write for you3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
so i sat down,
quietly - pen in hand -
and wept. because i cannot
contain the ocean in a paragraph,
i can't shape your eyes
in a stanza. and even
if all the world's birds were singing,
it still would not compare
to the symphonies of your kiss;
and this makes me sad!
through wild and happy fields
i've ran, only to discover:
tears can be captured,
but love is always free.
Retrograde Scents from inside the suit intertwined their intentions with the sights of tangled and tessellated hair illumed by firefly LED's, spiking my circulation with memories and murmurs of dopamine.Retrograde4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I took her by the gaze; she steered her sight away from mine. I led her through a glance that involved no scuffling of hands.
She was one of two wayward strangers passing in the cosmos; two separate glances met as objects in motion tending to motion. People aren't the same however.
Drifter was the term we were known as, people cast off of vessels and ships, mostly by accident, condemned to trudge about the universe until starvation kicked in or their oxygen-starved filters were finally incapable of operating. My unplanned departure from the mysteriously flaming
The Hidden Truth of Metaphors The little girl pointed to a tramp slumped in the unseen depths of the bustling high street, and tugged on her mother's raincoat, 'Mummy,' asked the girl, 'What is that man?'The Hidden Truth of Metaphors4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Pulling her daughter along, the mother said, 'He is a metaphor for all that matters in the world, my child, he is an inspiration both to you and me. His life is harsh, and his clothes are caked in mud and mould, but still he carries on. Quivering through existence like the way a candle flame burns on the 24th of December. That man is the key to human endurance.'
This answer satisfied the girl, and she did not speak again until she saw an arguing couple, fighting upon the pavement. Once more she tugged on her mother's coat, 'Mummy, why do they fight?'
Not allowing her daughter to stand and stare, the mother walked briskly past them, 'Another metaphor, my darling. They are the cat's teeth, never happy unless snarling and spitting, never content unless crunching down up
Paper Lungs She stood before me, her chest wide open, 'What do you think?'Paper Lungs4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I could not help but to stare. Her heart was beating - literally in front of my eyes - between two paper lungs stained with ink. Blinking, I asked, 'Why are you showing me this?'
The girl did not answer. Reaching into her chest, she pulled out a lung, and held it out to me, 'I breathe words,' she whispered, 'This lung is the lung I exhale with. These are the words I breathe.'
Taking it, I unfolded the paper lung, and felt millions of alveoli rippling under my fingertips. But there was something wrong.
I met her eyes, 'This lung is blank!'
'I know,' she said sorrowfully, 'It is not a worthy present to give to you. I'm sorry. I've run out of words...'
Screwing up the exhaling lung, the empty lung, I tossed it over my shoulder, 'Have you anything else to give me?'
Biting her lip, her hands trailed over her remaining lung, 'I have this... but it
Moving On“No.” It was all I could say, taking in the carnage of what had just last night been my pristine kitchen. I wanted to collapse onto a chair, but they – and our spacious table – were covered in miscellany. Cleaning supplies, random knick-knacks from the living room, a thermometer, a scale. It was all there, strewn about.Moving On2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
My legs were shaking, and I fought the urge to cry. So messy. So dirty. No, no, no. I collapsed onto the shoe bench in between the Franco Sarto and the Gucci. I don't know where Giesswein had gone. I wished I could blame it on burglars, but no.
“She's doing it again!” I called, and my husband came running into the kitchen. We watched his mother rearrange my cabinets, turning tea-cup handles to the left instead of the right. My hands twitched.
“Ma, stop it!” he said, exasperation coloring his voice. “Put these things back, they were fine where they were!”
"No," she said, her voice heavily-accented. "I will take
Renfield's ClockThe package had no label or return address. It was just left on my front porch, wrapped in layers and layers of packing tape and cardboard, square and slim, about a foot and half in length. It was heavy as I picked it up and rather than open it there on the front porch, I brought it inside, and sealed my doom.Renfield's Clock1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Inside, I found a clock. It was clearly old, the rim ornately decorated with motifs of vines, and while I was no expert the material was suspiciously reminiscent of gold. It had to be valuable. I was bewildered as to why I'd find such a thing left on my front porch. I turned it over, inspecting each side of it, and that was when the note that had been tacked to the back slipped off.
'To the person who receives this,' the note read, 'I don't know you and I'm really sorry, but I had to get rid of this. It's killed both my husband and children and now it wants me. I'm sorry.'
For a long moment, I just sat there, the note in my hands, s
The Boy And The Butterfly (Alt)Once upon,The Boy And The Butterfly (Alt)5 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
so back in time,
When creature, beast and bird and;
could all be shaped like human,
there was a little butterfly,
And as every buttefly
she would live for just one day;
and then die...
She met a boy,
the boy loved her,
He didn't know
and he asked her
"Is it true?
You'll die today?
So I was told,
So they say!"
He scared the little butterfly...
She found the owl, the wise owl,
To ask if true, to ask why
"You are just a butterfly,
It is true, by moon you die."
And it was true, so sad she'll die.
But gods were watching
from up, high,
A butterfly shouldn't cry
A butterfly should just live her life in joy,
A butterfly should just live her day in joy.
So the little was reborn,
As human now
would live and die,
A girl was born,
It was a present from the gods,
as I was told from teachers old.
She lived again,
life was joy,
One day again
met the boy
The boy felt,
He didn't speak,
in darkness cried
Loved her again,
Now was a girl,
As If Nothing Could Be Stranger 'I have killed the one I love, as surely as if I'd placed a gun to her head and pulled the trigger.'As If Nothing Could Be Stranger4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The girl passing by stopped walking, and looked back to face the speaker, 'What did you say?'
'I have hurt the one I love, I betrayed her,' The speaker sighed, before turning to sit down on a nearby bench in the Church Yard, 'But you cannot begin to understand that.'
Her eyebrows raised, 'Try me.'
She found the boy's mournful words arrogant. After all, she too had broken a fair few hearts in her time. No human being is innocent of that crime.
'Okay then,' He said, a crooked grin creeping onto his lips, 'I'll try you.'
Quickly, the boy sprung to his feet, and grabbed the girl firmly by the hands. Her soul gasped, and against her will fear gripped her stomach. Of two things she was certain. One, she had never met this person before in her life, he was a perfect stranger. Secondly, this boy this man was much stronger than she could ever hop
immolatethe first stepimmolate4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to sadness is to
punctuates the bruised
shorelines with broken hearts and
shore creeps up, kisses
my feet. sometimes he rips through
the distance between
the air here
vibrates to a fire,
sparrow's heart humming in c
major. it does scare
how i might love you
more than ibuprofen, or
the way the light might
through an ether storm.
the person i am now is
with who i
was before you. but
how do i scrape myself out
from under my own
we caught the
moon between our feet,
heads falling behind us.
things i will
you: how you can't stop wearing
lemongrass and how
the smell hides
away under your
collarbone; the way you wear
saturn on your ring
keep neptune's rings as
keepsakes when you come back from
the sky [to remind
my favorite colour