True SilenceNature is a name enshrouded in mystery. Some say it possesses a unique mind of its own and devises plans humans would be incapable of doing. It has secrets that are beyond comprehension of mortals. Yet at times, nature allows such secrets to be unveiled by a select few humans. One of such secrets is True Silence.
It was a still night too still in fact. The overgrown pine trees lining the driveway rustled not the slightest, looming over, resembling silent guardians. The eerie northern winds along with its wailing notes had settled as dust in perforated holes behind door frames remained untouched. The wilderness too hushed as bats fled the area and grasshoppers and crickets bounded off, reclining from the aura that surrounded that house. If preciseness be employed then; that house on that very night.
While nature prepared its festivities for the next few moments, a girl lay under covers of a comfortable double bed, slowly noticing all familiar sounds around her dimi
I wanted to make friendsI wanted to make friends3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The psychiatrist held the door as a hesitant child of age eight walked in and sat on the small stool. The psychiatrist sat opposite to him.
"Hello George, I am Dr. Majid. How are you doing?"
"I am sad Doctor No one plays with me and I am always alone at school."
"I am sure it will be fine after some days. So George, do you know why I have called you here?"
"No I don't know"
"Well then George you know about Shelly? You know what happened to her?"
"Yes Doctor I know. Why?"
"I want to know what happened when you last saw Shelly. Everything okay George? This is very important"
"Okay Dr "
"Can you please tell me what happened?"
"Well Shelly never talked to me Doctor No boy or girl talked to me."
"I am sorry to hear that George. It is very tough to go to school like that. Now what happened at school?"
"A few days after school started again, I took some thing from Shelly. I took Shelly's Barbie pencil case."
"Did you ask her first?"
"No I didn't"
"That is stealing George; whe
e.e.cummingsThe day you left, I skipped school to see you off.e.e.cummings3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I said, "There are more important things than school."
You said, "I never said there weren't."
Now, I mostly miss you, and usually on Sundays, I make my way to the place where we used to sit out Sunday School. There's still a Bible on the rock where I think you might have left it, and I pick it up and read it. I've never gotten past the gospel of Matthew, because every time I read it I see you staring at the sky and asking if Heaven's hypothetical.
There were stars in the sky that night, and you said you used to think they were god shining through a curtain.
Once we talked about Our Father who Art in Heaven and you told me that if you were a believer, you'd say both your fathers art in heaven, and hallowed be their names.
I remember the day I skipped fourth block, and we sat on the rocks and smoked. You told me it wasn't good to abandon my education, so you taught me e.e.cummings-
"I like my body when it is with your
I learned t
the clockwork liari. we dusted dreams off people like the first snowflakes of the season. you'd take one and rest it on the center of your tongue because you hated the taste of ice cream and wanted to reset what cold tasted like to you.the clockwork liar3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
you taught me that the cold could be bitter, and so could people's dreams.
you drank out of out-of-order wells because you believed they still worked and that the government was keeping it all to itself.
i never realized how insane you made me before i wrote this all down.
ii. i wished on the sun because i ran out of shooting stars.
and just to spite me, you began wishing on raindrops because you believed that they were so many, one of them was bound to remember you.
but we both ended up laughing hysterically with protruding knives on a bloodstained floor, didn't we?
iii. i talked to clockwork towers and told them to lie because if they stopped for just a while, all the time in the world would seize.
one human, two human
you never knew.Every summer in Munich the rain used to fall in buckets tepid, luminescent rain, like crystal slices, sluicing through the green trees leaves and loosening the earth around the mountains so much that the smaller towns had to evacuate. It slicked the city streets and made the sky as gray as them. I went out every day while the adults sat indoors around fireplaces to complain about the wet weather, and lied and said it was only because I liked to watch. My mother would shake her finger every time I dripped warm rainwater into the house and my brother would warn me in whisper that if I stayed out too long, I could drown.you never knew.3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I only half-lied. I loved to watch, watch from under the loose flooring of the porch as the rain came down. But Sam loved the rain more, and that was part of why I loved to watch. Loved to watch him watch. As we got older, more and more he would venture out, and sit in the grass as the rain fell around him, his face turned to the white sky. Sam liked the peace and
alienationYou woke up one morning and felt completely different. That is okay, because we both know that the only thing certain is that nothing ever is. I just wish you would have told me then, so I could have tried to wake up feeling different too. I'd rather hear your voice tell me these things than endlessly trying to listen close enough to hear your eyes tell me to stop kissing you. Because regardless of how pretty they are, they aren't always very clear.alienation3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
So now I lay awake in bed during the days and remember what it felt like to be wrapped up in your skin rather than my blankets. And during the weekends I fall asleep in another boys' embrace and we discuss how odd it is that when he touches me I feel at ease, but when you touch me you set my entire skin on fire. And how odd it is that he once loved me and I once loved him, but now we can't seem to remember how to love each other, and we both find ourselves wishing for other hands when we entangle our fingers. But it's so much better than sp
OverwroughtI am traveling with ghosts in empty-headed rooms, I am swimming twenty-five years into the future of absent-minded hurt. I am making no sense out of this, no sense out of the words that are tripping into my ears and snapping against my skin, I am stumbling through the hallways of the empty, empty antiseptic rooms. I am asking and hoping and wishing too much; I am trying to find myself in the midst of chaos. I am, simply said, falling. I'm not grounded anymore, I'm not secure anymore, I'm not who I used to be.Overwrought3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
And, for once, I want to be my old self.
I am stepping into the pitfalls of life with scary accuracy, I am kissing the sky with every breath I take, I am begging for freedom. I am the youthful old soul, I am the one that they say will die young, I'm the one who looks at you and forgets who you said you were and looks deeper. I'm the kind of person that you at once avoid and draw closer to because I will never take the truth for granted. I am closing my eyes on the highway and open
BleedTo bleed. To be human. That was all he ever asked for. A chance to show weakness. To be something imperfect. Something his father didn't need him to be. He wanted to be human and make mistakes. To do things the gods didn't do.Bleed3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
What was so wrong with that?
blanki'm on the opposite couch and we're watching this movie and i can mimic every word she is saying, and every word he is saying, because they're everything we've already said, and i should not be watching this movie, at all, but especially not with you, and i'm trying to keep myself together, but as soon as it ends, and it's black in this apartment, i quietly stand up and walk into the kitchen, my safe haven, moreso than my bedroom or the living room or the balcony or the bathroom, it is here, always here, where i can release the pent up tears, and so i reach for a paper towel and tuck myself into the furthest corner, and i wipe away the tears, ready to enter the living room again but you approach me and you catch me up into your arms, and i want to push away from you, i want to scream at you YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME IF YOU DON'T LOVE ME and the sick part, the sickest fucking part of this entire thing is that i honestly still do not believe you when you say you don't love me, and you're hblank3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
CharlieI had a stalker.Charlie3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I didn't know his name but I'm sure he knew mine.
I called him Charlie.
He always had a camera hanging from his twig thick neck and he cradled it in his hands; a wispy finger stroking the shutter release. His dark brown hair was a curly mess and his shirts wrinkly and thin. He had the most perfect eyebrows, sweeping and gentle. He must have the most captivating eyes, I thought every time he'd glance my way. We'd never made eye contact. Charlie preferred it that way.
He came into the bookstore once a week, not to watch me leaf through the used books or reach high to shelve the approved ones, but to actually browse them. He read the unknowns; the virgins with their unbroken spines. I imagine he liked the smell of them aromas preserved for him alone. Charlie appreciated the books wearing dusty coats and factory perfume a decade old.
The rest of the time he spent on the outside looking in. My co-workers were tickled pink. "What a geek." "Poor guy doesn't realize you
Writing FairytalesI told him, "I think I'll write a book."Writing Fairytales3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He said, "Do it right, November. Write a best-seller and send me a copy with your autograph on the inside cover."
"I can do better than that," I promised, our fingers intertwined for the last time, "I'll write the best damn book you've ever read. It'll tell the story of lost love and lost innocence, of found friends and staying out too late on a cold night, and the story of endings without closure. It'll be about boys and girls and break-ups and hook-ups and how everything happens in the backseat of cars."
"They'll interview you on television because everyone wants to know who inspired the story," he continued, "And you'll smirk like you always do because you know the answer but no one else has a clue."
I laughed, "Everyone will cry when they read my book, because it's the saddest story that's ever been told. Everyone will cry but you and I won't."
"We can't cry. It's your book, and I can't cry for you. You can't cry for yourself either, it's ba
Why I Am HappyThe boy sitting on the park bench had eyes like sandpaper melancholy.Why I Am Happy4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I think I noticed because I am a poet. I don't think anyone else but a poet could look at his eyes and think, "sandpaper melancholy." But they were that color. A fair brown. And grainy. I liked them in the way I like bitter baking chocolate -- because it has an interesting flavor, not because it is sweet. Unadulterated chocolate is almost unpalatable.
We like sugary chocolate because it has been changed. Adulterated. Oh.
Could tears clean out the roughness in his eyes?
That is why I am happy. I cry the Sorrow out, since poets are not afraid to do that sort of thing. The hunger of starving artists makes us sensitive.
He seemed like one of the people that can be Happy while Sorrow constantly nags on their heartstrings. Like, "Ha, ha, that film was funny!" but after the film is over there is nothing to distract you so tugtug! you remember being sad. They're always sad, but they can't always remember. He seemed ok
BeautyShe baked cookies every Saturday morning. The doorbell would ring, without fail, and always interrupt my favorite cartoon show. I dragged my young body down the stairs and opened the front door. The elderly woman, our neighbor, beamed at me. She held a large tray of freshly baked treats in her fragile arms. Always filling my head with rustic banter, I listened to her speak, nodding with false interest. Typically we chatted for half an hour, then, with an enormous smile, she turned away and shuffled back home. Welcoming her departure, I stuffed my mouth with a pecan sandy and raced back upstairs.Beauty3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Her husband passed away in his sleep one Friday night. She called my mother the next afternoon to let her know of the man's death and also to apologize for missing our Saturday morning ritual. Sunday evening, I heard a gentle tapping on the door. I peeked out the window and saw her standing
Snow-girlShe is ice-cold, my snow-girl. Ice-cold, and snow-white, as beautiful as the frost-rimed spiderswebs lacing our tree. Ice-cold.Snow-girl2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I wrapped her in my coat - see? - but still she holds the Winter in her heart, clings to the ice and the snow and the frost and the steel-surgical-blue of the sky, blue as her eyes (roll back her eyelids, see for yourself. As blue as betrayal, my snow-girl's eyes), and she will not warm herself, no, not for all my asking.
I wrapped her in my coat, and I wound my scarf around her neck three times (you see? Three. Three is lucky. Three threes is magic, but my scarf is not that long), but still she holds the ice and the snow and the frost at the heart of her and she will not warm herself, no, not for all my pleading.
I wrapped her in my coat, and I wound my scarf around her neck, and I covered her feet (you see? Such tiny feet, my snow-girl has. So small. Like doll's feet, china-white), but still she holds the Winter in the heart of her, and she will not wake and
CherishedI want you to worship this loveCherished3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I write poems about
I tore it out of a virgin womb
just for you,
and I bear it to you now, naked,
shivering in the nervousness of flesh
exposed to a cold world.
It will suck on the breasts
and kiss the lips of small-town drunks
with their whiskey-tipped breath
and hollow eyes,
and I will touch my fingers
to its precious little mouth
and feel the warm saliva
bathe my skin.
I want you to put your ear
to its unguarded chest and listen
to the murmur
of its shriveled heart,
pulsatingthe warm, lively core.
A tempest, the Red Sea succumbing to Moses.
The fall of the tower of Babel.
Watch the tidal waves thrash the sand
when it raises its fist.
God will crumble at your feet.
You will snatch up the pieces
and rebuild him
in your image, not his.
And you will be lost, crawling on your belly,
for my hand.
And I will reach for you.
I will reach for you.
Broken.Ah, mum. You do choose the most lovely moments to drop whatthefuckery bombshells. Huddled in a seat at London Euston, scoffing Motilium, and feeling like death, I hear her state simply:Broken.3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
"I don't think I love him any more."
Sure. I knew that. Didn't I? I knew. I know a lot of things about them. Sometimes I think I must see them more clearly than either of them see each other. But saying it out loud feels wrong. To make it more than a fleeting thought dismissed in passing... it's like dropping a heavy stone into a still lake and watching all the gunk and dirt rise to the rippling surface.
There's always been an unspoken belief for me. That even if we hated each other, raged and screamed and hurt each other, there was still love there underneath all the fire. I never had a doubt that if a gun was pointed at dad my mum would step in front of him without even thinking, and vise versa. Through all the painful bullshit they've always said they still love the other. Hate and love twist
Drought-Thunder-Drought3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There are no stars tonight. The sky is
alone and my skin waits
patiently for the rain.
Our roses withered and died that summer.
You blamed God, but He did not let
dust gather on the only tin watering can
The day you left me in a flower shop,
I decided to put what was left of my faith in an old
man spouting clichés to his granddaughter.
"If you don't like the weather here, wait a couple of minutes."
Half a year and I am still praying for a storm
to cool me down.
Browsing HistoryI really enjoy pornography, and that's nothing to be ashamed of. I think most people like porn, even the women (and sometimes men) who adamantly deny it. It's nature to want to see two (or more) other humans fornicating. Even chimpanzees like porn, according to a study I skimmed, but all I could really think about while I was reading is that some scientist had to film chimp porn to facilitate his experiment. That's pretty disgusting, but it does prove my point: pornography is objectively fantastic.Browsing History3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
No matter what kind of mood I'm in when I sit down to masturbate, I tend to go for obscene porn: interracial and threesomes and sadomasochism and gangbangs and twins and really any combination of consenting adult men one can imagine. I don't do any of that stuff in real life. I'm a caucasian cisgendered homosexual man living in a New York suburb with my caucasian husband and two adopted daughters who are sisters-by-blood. I go to work every day, and I have been told by my husband's friends t
The Hottest 30 DaysThe traffic never bothered him until he had nowhere to go.The Hottest 30 Days3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It took two hours to get across town and he forgot the applications.
There wasn't snow on the ground, so he pulled over
and parked in a tow away zone. He walked around
the center of that city and thought about his father standing in line
with him at the Hartford shopping mall twenty seven years earlier
in the town where he grew up.
It's Christmas time and all of the other children are
pissing themselves with anticipation.
Over the scent of plastic evergreens and candy canes,
his father still smells like motor oil and top shelf bourbon.
The closer he gets to the obese man in the red coat,
the more he shakes with fear. Tears well up in his eyes.
Right before it's his turn, his dad pulls him out of line and
they walk quietly back to the car.
His dad doesn't turn the heat on or bother looking in the rearview mirror;
"Don't make me leave w
Man of ScienceOne day, brilliant men and women, with full minds and gray hearts, will redefine the meaning of life.Man of Science3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A Tibetan monk will rise from tending his garden to meet the mail courier. After six decades of daily meditation he will learn that humanity has reassigned the roles of abstract thought.
I picture myself being asked to adorn an unbecoming lab coat. I don't own a shirt that isn't black, so I'll put up a fight. But, when my fist hits the sterility of refrigerated logic my knees may bend.
I have one more chance to kiss the hand of Professor Petri Dish. I remember lips tasting like strawberries. Now, as I bite my own, they taste like bleach.
The Possible Future-
They calculated how long it would take to hunt down the refugees. All of the abstract thoughts fled into the countryside. God and Love committed suicide under the last cobblestone bridge in Jacksonville, Florida. Dream was black bagged and thrown onto a train. They keep her in a maximum security facility and every time she tries to
i can't feel my fingers"are you okay?"i can't feel my fingers5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
"no, you're not."
"what makes you say that?"
"there's water running down your cheeks."
"i know. it's running from what i always look at and it's coming from my hair, out of it it's like my hair is crying, i can feel it. it's like a strange explosion inside my veins, a nuclear explosion that makes my blood rush and before i know it there's this pretty little piece of paper covered in all these disgusting words and my heart's pounding so hard i swear he's about to fall out. oh my god look at my hair, it's falling out or maybe i'm pulling it i don't know. and wow my mouth is like frozen it's like nobody can kiss it anymore because i won't have the control to move it's like i'm just shapeless cells or like he can shape me to be whatever he wants but either way i'm still just cells."
"wow. you're a wreck."
"yeah i am but so is he it's like i lost the map to where he wanted me to be it's like he's just a carcass and the real him is dead and a pile of dried-
Empty HymnsHow cold the skyEmpty Hymns3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that strikes me blind--
I look into the grey
and it devours me.
If I could wrench heaven
from behind that concrete palisade,
would it fall too fast
and crush me?
I prayed for rain;
imagining they're pieces of grace,
torn from the hem of God.
I'd give my soul to drown in them,
to open my lungs and drown in them.
O Lord, flood me!
Where is my faith,
that I call to God for such an end?
My hope is washed away,
leaves on a river,
bleached of color.
Tear from my throat
this wordless despair,
cast it down from me,
wrest it from my chest--
it throttles my conviction.
For all the dreams I've had,
they rend my waking mind.
And for all my aspirations,
I am nothing.
Tears Crimson tears were all she cried. They fell to stain the dirty carpet of her room. It was all she could do to forget--or was she simply fighting the comfort of feeling? Her brother was dead. Her sister also; she died in her arms--the poor fragile thing. She had tried to stop them but in the end the only gain had been more scars, and blood which was not her own. And then they had raped her there in her sister's blood. Her father was beating her mother when he wasn't drunk, and beating her when he was. Her mother blamed her, continually reminding her that she had ruined this family and caused the death of her siblings--nobody would even say 'murder'. But she couldn't leave, and that's what no one understood; she just couldn't.Tears3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I don't want to die--
I want to feel alive.
Her eyes were dry and she wept all the more, the dirty-yellow streetlamp outside the window casting an ugly yellow glow onto the floor in front of her. Oh
The First Thunder of JuneI could tell from the wayThe First Thunder of June3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the truck barreled down the road,
how its motor revved and caught on the air,
that a storm was coming.
The dog shook,
his twelve-year hips aching with the effort
of tucking his tail between his legs
in the hope that such displays of submission
would appease the weather.
They did not.
The sky turned feral and spat on the house.
While my old-hound panted
with his panic-wide eyes,
mine filled with awe and lightning.