A Love Story in Four Actsi.
I loved a blacksmith once, back when the sand still clogged up my soul. It was only far after that I began to love the desert too.
Underneath the casual noise--glass on wood, heat-smothered conversation, worn cards slapped down in careful triumph--there was this low, thrumming quiet that wouldn't be broken. He spoke in sepia undertones. "We're getting out."
Hot iron smells like hot blood, like blood that's been poured out under the white Arizona sun. It's something you don't forget easy, like the taste of whiskey or the plasma patterns left on your eyelids after watching fire all night. It sticks.
My childhood was fed on medical books, and I've got this pain right behind my eyes and I wonder if this is what it feels like being lobotomized. Of course the brain has no nerve endings, but the hurt has to manifest itself somewhere.
Moon Eye Fire Eye SitMoon Eye Fire Eye1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
he says to me, and I sit and feel very small.
Let me tell you,
he says to me,
how it happened.
The creek dried up that summer and
the crops gave their last shiver
and bent down to the earth. And at night
you could hear the leaves crawling down the creekbed
like goddamn spiders along the rocks.
His face is half winter
pale and sparked with a milky eye like a moon
and half raw summer, twisted
PilkunnussijaHere's what I think:Pilkunnussija9 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
There's a certain joy in not doing this face-to-face. For one, I don't have to leave my apartment and I have the quiet company of my goldfish and my goldfish alone. (I don't like people, which is why I love books. You can understand that.) For another, I don't have to see your presumably crestfallen and injured attitude when I tear apart the prose you cried and bled and sweated over for weary nights on end. But really the best parts are those uninterrupted hours alone with your manuscript and the shred of you that lies inside. It's a small shred, but an important one. It's the one that tells me who you are and what you think and how you feel and I never have to look at you and be disappointed when the real thing doesn't come up to scratch. As I sit there, un-tensing and re-tensing and tense-shifting and shift-entering (and damn it, wishing English were like German so I could get rid of those clunky space-wasting n-dashes--oh, damn there they are again) I feel li
The Space BetweenShe had seen him looking at her, his brown eyes tracking her movements as their bodies rattled inside of the train.The Space Between2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Each day he seemed to move closer, becoming more daring. At first she was only flattered, catching his eyes in thanks as they left the train and went off to their separate worlds. Soon, it seemed she knew him. Knew him in the swaying of his body as he gripping the rail, and in the lifting, flick of his wrist to look at the watch with the brown, leather strap, and how her hair would stand on end as the gaze of his eyes left tiny pin pricks at the back of her neck.
His actions were silent love letters that touched her
summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you?summergirl5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are crowthroated and tumbling
through the aspen grove
hair on fire with sunrise, lungs
full of sky.
eyelashes like wildflowers
and every morning brings
a new spray of freckles
and a sharper curve to your collarbones.
the cornfields hold no shadows
for your lighthouse eyes
and there are no endings in that
ii. you have grown
autumn finds you with broken ankles
leaning on an oak branch
and watching the skies.
crow to sparrow--you are quiet.
summergirl, there is peace in silence,
fallen antlers in your hands.
you will come to mourn your deer.
keep them close.
iii. by winter you have paled,
and like the streams
your eyes have frosted over.
you feel the chill--
there is no need for sight.
noise(this place is packed.)noise1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
we were the kings of soulless
played to soothe their tattered nerves
untaped so many larynxes
we were snakecharmers
we broke their ribs to
pieces and stitched them tenderly
with kisses and apologies
whispered promises that everything
would heal and the scars
would never show
and did it again every night.
all left now
nomads to the core
StringsNatalia was, blatantly, a pianist. It was impossible for her to have been anything else. She had this liquid grace about her that whispered sonatas and nocturnes and moody Beethoven. She'd sit at the piano in the college music room, rocking slowly back and forth and making a waltz rumble deep within its wooden body. Her fingers were long but her nails were always cut short so they wouldn't click against the keys, and her hair, long and smooth, was always pulled back into a big, soft braid.Strings2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
"Daddy wanted me to be a concert pianist since the day I was born," she'd say in that gentle Eastern European accent of hers. I believed her. She could pl
my howls are silentI, too, see the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness. We are decomposing too early, our souls dying before our bodies can catch up. We are silently ravenous, a quiet craze in our hearts, not quite the same as your generation, Ginsberg. We do not shriek "Holy! Holy! Holy!" as we burn. We drown soundlessly.my howls are silent7 months ago in Letters More Like This
The overeducated, proud products of postmodernism dissolve in a lukewarm soup of ennui, bored balloons filled with hubris rather than helium. Fragile dolls with flaking bones and hair and skin like flowers wilting, weighed down by indomitable wills and insecurities... these plastic girls starve to death and diabetes in the car b
LateSammy paced.Late1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
This had never happened before. And tonight, of all nights! He glanced at the clock, grimaced, and paced some more. Where was he?
Behind the curtain, he heard the chatter of the crowd, the beat of the music.
Marv the Magnificent, the "compere extraordinaire", strode up to Sammy and gave him a questioning look. Sammy answered with a shrug. Marv looked at his watch, wiped his brow, sipped from a tin hip-flask.
"It's now or never, Sam. Do or die. I believe you can do this on your own - but he'll be here yet."
Seeing the fear in his star attraction's eyes, Marv put a hand on Sammy's shoulder. "He'll be here yet", he repeated.
SmokeYou smoked, and everyone hated that. The cigarette would hang loose between your knuckles, tendrils of smoke mimicking the tracery of veins and tendons that stood out along the back of your hand. You could do the most graceful French inhales, and sometimes you'd lean in close and grab me and kiss me, blowing warm smoke into my mouth. The scent would always cling to meI'd drag it back home with me and there would always be a fight over it.Smoke1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You were sparrowlike, all taut pale skin and prominent bones. Your hipbones jutted slightlysharp elbows, sharp knees, a sharp jaw softened by cornsilk hair. When I ran my fingers down your back
confessionalthey say sad girls change their hair colorconfessional4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and forgive their monsters.
i change my morals
and become one.
WakefulnessStanding in the pitch blackness of the chilled night and with my sandals sinking ever deeper into the mud beneath my feet, I listened as the putter of motor drove steadily further away. Apparently, the rain earlier that day had reached further south than we had expected, and after several skids and spills, my companion and his driver decided the road was too dangerous to continue. And thus, after several murmured words between our drivers and my friend and the passing of several leaves of US dollars, we were unceremoniously dumped at the side of the road. The road, being nothing more than a narrow path between the unhindered growth of tall grWakefulness8 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Gnome Noir "I did it for the money and I did it for the girl.Gnome Noir10 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Well, I didn't get the money and I didn't get the girl."
:: Walter Neff - Double Indemnity
So I point the flintlock at the guy and that's no easy thing, big musket like that on a little gnome like me and I peer down the sight. Not many people know what it's like to stare at a man through a glass. But in those sacred moments, the whole world takes a breath and it's just you and him. I line up the shot, and I think about the girl, and--
What? That is the start. What do you want, Sheriff, my life story?
Alright, well, I'm Gniles Brody the Third that's
Goodnight Enigmatic SongShe was the song you hear and, at first blush, don't like.Goodnight Enigmatic Song1 month ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Well, you don't know how you feel about it so you keep listening in an attempt to discover how exactly you feel and then you reach the end of the song and you realize, you don't like it; you love it.
That was Grace.
She was my coworker and she was my friend.
We carpooled together, I drove and she slept most of the way.
"Don't get much sleep at night, do you?" I asked her, catching those drooping lids mid-descent.
She looked out the window streaked with rain; it spoke in percussive touches filling the car with quiet overcast conversation.
I felt the warmth of her smile in the corner of my eye. The blur of her hand reached at the window to feel the cold of the droplets.
"When I was a girl, I used to race these. I thought it was funny the fat ones always won," she giggled and I imagined her as a little girl in the passenger seat then, legs too short to reach so kicking, and hair messed in the bac
let's start a fire“Can I get you anything?”let's start a fire1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She shifts, splaying herself along his couch that is quietly becoming hers.
the empty glass on the back of his hand. “A drink?”
“Yes, please.” A luxuriant stretch. She watches his pupils drag all the way down the curve of her hip before continuing.
“I’d like a glass of Kafka—distilled, mixed with
dark rum and a splash of Dostoyevsky—poured
so sweetly down my throat and
chased with a lungful of smoky Fitzgerald.
“I wasn’t aware this was a book club.” He pours a soda before joining her, taking
a biting sip in the half light.
“There are too many book clubs,” she says, hooking her legs over his.
“Too many streetcorner ladies and their lace-veiled
threats over coffee and New York Times bestsellers.”
She harbors a
derision for New York Times bestsel
blue velvet"i think it's better to be crazy and free."blue velvet7 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
she's sitting on the balcony of my apartment. her blue dress is dark against the edge of the sky and against the paleness of her thigh, against the glittering outline of the eiffel tower just outside my window. the weather is getting colder now, late autumn fading into early winter, and the wind dances through her choppy, curled hair.
i want her to close the door, for her to come inside. i want to say something to her, to say something back, but the words aren't forming in my mouth, are lodged somewhere between my tongue and my throat.
the light from my bedroom is soft gold against the edges of h
Golden TicketThe candy factory? But I'm diabetic.Golden Ticket9 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
001 -- IntroductionThere are times I wish I could start at the end. Endings are what people cling to; what we remember when the book has been shut. It's the ending we talk about with our friends and stay up until the early hours of morning pondering about. Perhaps that's why endings are so beautifulit is only then that we know the truth of all which came prior.001 -- Introduction1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
If only our beginnings could be as simple. What are we when we start but a blank sheet, ready for anything to be written. Some of us will be etched with beautiful design, calligraphic texts of love letters sent and responded to; others hastily scribbled upon and then crinkled up and tossed into t
transientthe gods fell, and the world with them,transient8 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
and to dust returned, all--
metallic warbles of radio static proclaiming
this is the end
this is the end
and long before it all ceased to exist
the slate had been wiped clean
and the end of it all
woolly sweaters in may and the meaning of life.what seems like a million years ago i promised myself that i would discover the meaning of life for you. that way you'd have to stay alive. no more dismissing your existence as pointless, i would find that goddamn reason for you to live.woolly sweaters in may and the meaning of life.6 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
i went to the library and looked up lots of things. where to start? i wondered. the obvious choice lay in the natural world. i started to read the origin of species. a few chapters in, i switched my focus to the human mind. i started reading psychology books, class tutorials, study guides, the basics. introductions to mental illness. people, nature. no luck. i searched through pages of print out
always half finishedalways half finished7 months ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
i can tell you how much i loathe anyone or anything that lingers, even when they're beautiful. My anxiety disorder can't handle any of that. Yet it's been 1 year and 1 month and i'm still stuck in reverse.
nauseated is the prettiest emotion i've felt so far cause for once, i can see an actual physical rejection, rather than these invisible strings snapping on the inside, but never showing even a blemish on the outside.
my screams have begun to ferment as they remain bottled up in what i imagine to be gruesome-colored vials within the shelves of my intestines. each vial must be carrying individual, heart-straining yelps, yelling and sobs f