Colours of warColours of war4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Day in and day out we train. It's on a schedule, 'lamest thing ever made' the schedule. Some days we just have to stand still. Like, literally perfectly still for the ENTIRE day in our armour. 'It builds both character and muscular endurance' we're told. There's typical training things like lifting heavy stuff, speed courses, pulling things, basic defence. There's no such thing as friends here either, they've done everything they can to ensure that, making looking at one another's faces completely useless, we've been told so many times that after we're full fledged knights, Be it of wind, fire, or earth, we're gonna be scattered. Most of us have no parents, or a family that we care enough about to throw away our old lives for their benefit. They're sent the squire's weight in coins every week. Jeez though, today isn't an endurance day, so why have they kept us standing here for at least a solid hour without the morning address? To unnerve us, make us mentally weak. They'd already tosse
Gargan and Humon Gargan and Humon were giants. In fact, they were bigger than giants. They were titans. They were so big that, when they stood up, they blotted out the sunlight beneath them and made it as dark as night for miles around. In fact, so big were they that people who saw them often mistook them for mountains. This was understandable, as neither of them washed that frequently and they often ended up with trees growing from the dirt in the deep crevices in their skin that on us would be mere lines or pores.Gargan and Humon2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Gargan and Humon were the last of the titans to walk the earth’s surface. All the others had been destroyed in the war with the gods, or had fled to dwell in the dark places beneath the world, but the gods had long since given up trying to kill the last two. Lightning bolts barely caused itches on such massive creatures. Plagues just passed their immune systems by without even causing a sniffle. The gods once sent a mighty dragon, plucked from the surface of the moon, to devour th
He's Wearing EyeshadowHe's Wearing Eye ShadowHe's Wearing Eyeshadow4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He's got a pretty face, it's staring off into space
With his make up on, he can show the world who he is
But out on the street, the fear that he keeps
If anyone knew, he was a man
He's wearing eyeshadow, and it brightens his face
It gives him confidence, but takes it away
the PassingThe Passingthe Passing3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
(Please see Artist's Comments for warnings and disclaimers)
Bumblebee sat in silence by the bedside, on the cold linoleum floor, looking to his hands, clasped on his lap. He prayed to Primus. He prayed that his friend wouldn't suffer when... when the time came.
'Bee?' An aged, tired voice called him. 'You there?'
'I'm here!' Bumblebee jumped to his feet and clasped his friend's hand when the other reached out, looking for him. 'How're you feeling?'
'Tired.' Spike replied, opening his eyes. 'How long have I been out?'
'Its almost... eleven in the day.' Bumblebee checked his internal chronometers and converted the time for Spike to understand. 'Do you want anything-'
'Where's Carly?' Spike asked.
'She's gone out.' Bumblebee replied, 'she should be back soon.'
It hurt to Bumblebee's very spark to lie to his friend, but he didn't want to hurt him with the truth. Carly had passed on five years ago. The entire Autobot team had been present at her funeral, just as they
What Am I? Lingering in that photo...What Am I?3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In that simple shot
I look, and I see a woman.
I am not a woman.
I have never worked for a lifestyle,
given birth for an allowance
I have never truly loved a man.
I am not a woman.
I do not have the means to
to wake, feel the calling..(oh, it calls, but I do not answer)
and move, move, move
until I reach a place of
I am not a woman.
Sometimes, I still take the
of my childhood and
place it on shoulders of
Sometimes, I remember the way
lifting builds me up.
But I am not a woman.
Lingering in that photo...
A wisdom of some sort
has trickled into my features
I see glimpses of it now.
In that momentary shot,
I look, and see memories there
In the darkness of my eyes.
In the taming of my smile.
In the strain stretched over my brow.
I am not a child.
And I am not a woman.
Silencio"¡Pero no dije nada!"Silencio3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Gus Number FiveGus Number FiveGus Number Five2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Jenna and Cindy filled their mouths with watermelon seeds, spitting them fast and hard until the air swarmed with seeds like shiny black dive-bombing gnats. “My seeds are winning,” twelve year old Cin yelled, her thin body tense and urgent with victory.
Jenna just kept spitting seeds. Eight years old, she already knew the seeds that flew the farthest would be Cin's no matter what.
Jenna puckered her mouth preparing for another losing bombardment. Suddenly she paused, lips plump and pouting as the mouth of a painted candy box cupid. Spitting the seeds into her palm, she stared at them for a moment, chewing the end of her pigtail. Then anxious with inspiration, she trotted into the house and minutes later reappeared hugging a fishbowl.
Carefully placing the bowl on the steps, she solemnly stared at the rattled goldfish who darted and wiggled his copper penny of a body. But when Jenna scattered her handful of watermelon seeds into the water, the goldfish paused
BryceHe always stands very close to people when he speaks to them, staring with those huge golden eyes and leaning in ever so slightly, as if he is craving their touch and the feel of their breath and their hands more than anything. This is the first thing you notice when you meet him, the closeness. You ache, for a reason you don't know, to bridge the gap. To touch him. Your fingers twitch towards him but you keep your hands beside you.Bryce2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And then you hear him speak, and everything else seems loud and bright and harsh compared to the gentleness of him. His lips are chapped and his big galaxy earrings glitter and his hair stands straight up and his freckles are like kisses, and you think he will sound like all the others and then he speaks; he speaks and something shifts inside you and a little storm begins to crackle and swell inside your chest and suddenly you love him more than anything.
And then he finishes asking you the time, and you tell him, and he walks on.
Bokeh.These days, Black Friday really lasts a weekBokeh.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but I haven't bothered to write out a list--
You cannot find the things I want in a store.
The sound of a rejected embrace
is the same as the shatter of a broken bulb
or a house burning down on Christmas morning.
There is a name for the way
strings of holiday lights blur out of focus
when you watch someone you love walk away.
At the Turn of the YearAt the Turn of the Year5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
sunda sora aoi mizuumi fukami keri
the blue lake.
hi kara hi e soutairon no toshi owaru
day after day about the theory of Relativity,
a year approaches its end.
basu tei ya dondon mawaｒu udedokei
the bus stop-
wrist watch whirls in a haste
ningyou no tsuya wo kabuseru hokori kana
covering the gloss on the doll-
obscuring the glory of a puppet-
soujiki de hokori mo neko mo kake ni keri
the vacuum cleaner-
chased away the dust
The PullWhen I was younger, someone showed me a video gametoo weird for me, but it made her laugh, and she was pretty. You played as this little guy with a squishy hammer for a head, and you rolled a sticky ball around in front of you. As you rolled it, things got stuck until the ball was gigantic. And then... I don't know. I don't remember the point of the game, nor do I remember the name.The Pull2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
But that image comes back to me every time I am anxious. I am that little person running around, pushing a ball, and things stick to it. Only they aren't cows or trees or parts of buildings: they are things that make me nervous. The attention of people. My sparse resume. The way I can never look someone in the eye when we first meet.
Oh. And I don't have a squishy hammer for a head.
Regardless, today is like that. I've talked to too many people and some weird man had told me he was my father and my mother was on the back of a book with a different name but the same damn face.
While I was walking home,
Old BoysOld Boys3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Riding down country roads
to local farms on a Saturday
with my granddad
to see equipment auctions
as the old boys cashed in
Standing there in bib overalls or Dickies
with their dark glasses on
smoking pipes and cigars
they'd talk politics or crops
their deep voices rumbling quietly
I was enthralled...listening to the auctioneer
rattle off prices at breakneck speed
for a Farmall tractor going once
Sold to the man in front...
Or grandpa would take me with him
to the local VFW Post 6464
on Thursday evenings
to play Euchre with his friends
I'd bring along a few dog-eared
Reader's Digest magazines to read
as they played
Every so often I would walk over and
say hi, see how grandpa was faring
Usually he was cleaning house
winning almost every hand he played in
The ladies would bring a cake
and we'd have that with coffee
It felt...comfortable in a way
I find hard to explain
Sitting there surrounded by veterans
men who still wore those black-rimmed glasses
and their hair was
FatherFatherFather3 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
That's one word
In one breath it can carry the world
With His hands in mine
I know God who is divine
will lead me to straight paths
Words of wisdom You carry through the birds in the morning
the breeze that cuddles me briefly as it waltzes by
O Father of Heaven my soul cries
Mighty the deeds of the Father
High above high all the earth
Sing songs of sweet justice to the Father
For nothing compares to His awesomeness
Skip by the sidewalk and watch the trees sway
If you press your ears close to the ground
You can hear them sing
a song of victory
How the Lord devoured hopelessness and brought light to the world
O how glorious Your name and Your deeds
The leaves which sprung from the trees they sway
from back to the front all day
Flowers bloom and bow their heads
worshiping You as the clouds above say
Mighty the deeds of the Father
High above high all the earth
sing songs of sweet justice to the Father
sing songs of sweet justice to Jesus
sing songs of sweet justice to the Holy Ghost
A ParenthesisYou were (a parenthesis, that pausedA Parenthesis2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the daily, mundane stuff
a bundled breath
of fresh joy,
and borne in the wonder
Gasping and grasping,
'til in quiet you laid
and I, my Child,
lie in quiet, still
And now, that is all you are,
and still so much more.
WhitewashWhen you're five years old you set a promise in the dark, your sister's ice-queen eyes witness. Millie is sitting straight-backed against the headboard, face wide and earnest, and it seems as if the world has heaped itself on her shoulders, or maybe it's the strangeness of midnight.Whitewash5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"We can't make our wills or anything like that until we're eighteen," she says fiercely. "But I might forget this by then."
In later years you will find time to reflect that you're not as whimsical as Millie; young, you only think then that you could never forget something this important. But you can't argue with the three-years-older she holds above your head (the wisest bestest elder sister in the world.)
Your love for her borders on hero-worship, and looking back, you sometimes wonder if that's healthy.
The door bangs shut. "Jodie!"
How strange, the way it works: your hand is frozen to the table in the way it should have been on the phone, but that was minutes ago and maybe it was delayed-reaction, becau
What Soft DreamsWhat soft dreams we lay -What Soft Dreams3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
What soft dreams, like infants put to rest -
Frightfully bare, and compromised,
Our kisses on their breasts.
We close our eyes and trust them safe,
Kept 'til break of dawn -
Forgetting that the night is fickle,
And dutifully, as long -
It safeguards some,
Moved by neither coin nor threat
Nor anguished mother's cry.
The art of blacking outHow I wish I could say strangersThe art of blacking out3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
crept inward, night by night,
stealing my medication and
rearranging my furniture.
But I know it's not true.
There are holes inside
my head. Oxidation.
No one unlocks this door
but me. I am just
John at 3:16Dear Jesus Christ,John at 3:163 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I went to bed at 3:16 last night and started thinking about JohnJohn who pissed away every paycheck he ever made and only fucked virgins, John who beat up a woman's husband and spent a Christmas in jail, John who shot himself on the front porch of his mother's house. I don't think anyone shed a tear except her. I heard she shed many tears as she cleaned up the mess.
I thought about when I first met him. It was at church. He and I were both eight. He sat next to me and we stared at that stained glass image of you in your white robe with your outstretched, loving arms, and he leaned into me and asked, "Do you believe in Jesus?"
"Of course," I said. "Don't you?"
He didn't answer. But it was Communion that day and he ate your body and drank your blood just like everyone else, and I thought he had to believe in you because you were inside of him.
I asked him once, Jesus Christ, I asked him if he believed in you and he said, "I want to. But everyone says I have
Shattering LoveI can no longer bring myself to cry,Shattering Love3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A thousand hopeful thoughts crushed in an instant,
What a fool I am to believe this time for sure it'd work,
I do not know why I put myself through this,
Time and time again with you I fall in love,
And time and time again that love is shot down,
You say you wish to not hurt me,
Do you not see the pain you cause,
All that sorrow brought on by a few simple words,
Still I hold out and hope for one more chance,
I still believe despite this we can fix this broken love,
And return to how it once was long ago.
A New Mexico ChildhoodA New Mexico Childhood:A New Mexico Childhood6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A Eulogy for My Brother, Gone at 50
God came for my brother at 3 a.m. Not about 3 a.m. but
literally: Right then. It was exact, and I know because I was there.
Apparently, God and Cooper had a pre-arranged appointment to keep,
one we just couldn't find in his datebook. At first,
we were relieved that the merciless pain,
cruel beyond measure, was now in the past.
My mind drifted back and forth; my eyes sought his face, his
hands. I held his hands over and over: dead or alive, those hands
had something to tell me if I could just listen harder! His hands were
like our father's: strong, sure, with beautiful fingers
that belied the hurts inside. And, indeed,
my brother's y
The Measure of a ManCan you tell meThe Measure of a Man2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
What a mans' to do
When he finds himself looking down
Between his shoes
Trying to find a reason for his life
Atop the littered sidewalk
Will anyone sing your song
When at long last
You take your final bow?
Ushered into the wings
To rendezvous with the Reaper
Who will lament your fate?
Can you name anyone whose life
A heart you've warmed
A smile rescued from a frown
A child who has held your hand
On your daily rounds
In the hustle and bustle
Will the record show
That you stood for honor and integrity?
Not with mere words
Adhering to a higher standard?
Can you lay claim to the divine appointment
With an open door and open arms
To love without judgment or exclusion
To cherish and savor the ones in your care
Knowing that they are on loan to you
From our Heavenly Father above?
Was your wife the apple of your eye?
Did you encourage her?
Protect and love her?
In times of distress, when exasperation
Threatened to exceed yo