Zombie Story Chapter 1Chapter 1Zombie Story Chapter 17 years ago in Horror More Like This
Depression sets in right away. It usually is like that with disasters, especially those on such a grand scale as this one. This one, though, isnt like anything anyones ever seen before. No, this one is much larger. This one this is the one that will determine the fate of what this tiny, once blue and peaceful planet will be. Green pastures have long given way to brown decay that envelopes this world. Death looms everywhere. Its not just the things that are dead that are bothersome. Its the ones that are dead, but continue on. Its the ones that are banging profusely against the tatters of the house in which a certain group of people have holed themselves in.
Aryk sat on a wooden crate, listening to the consistent pounding of bodies being slammed against the doors and windows of the heavily fortified house he had been living in for the last couple of weeks now. He had stumbled upon it after narrowly escaping his last place of refuge. There wer
In Need Of Love DarylxOc Ch. 14That day, Lucia had made up her mind. While everyone was inside eating lunch, she had taken down her tent and taken it in pieces over to Daryl's little camp. She set it up, not directly beside but close enough, to his own. When lunch was finished, Daryl seemed slightly shocked at the sight of her pitching her tent. "What are you doing?"In Need Of Love DarylxOc Ch. 142 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"If you wont come to us, I'll come to you." She said simply and stepped inside. He stood there, confused, but a bit smug. Rolling his eyes, he went inside his own. It wasn't ten minutes later that Lucia heard a knock on the top of her tent. "Come in." She said, rolling over into a sitting position. In walked Daryl. Surprise danced in her eyes as she watched him take a seat beside her.
"Look," He said slowly, staring at the ground. "I aint no preacher, so don't really know how to explain these things." He heaved in a deep sigh and looked over at her. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you the other night."
There was silence, as Lucia looked at him. A smile
I like you too muchI like you too muchI like you too much1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
To be with you
To talk to you
To let my body need you
To let my head want you
To let my heart open up to you
I like you too much
To make you deal with me
To put you in the pit with my demons
To make you suffer my possessiveness
To let myself be hurt by you
To unwittingly hurt you in kind
I like you too much
To tell you the truth
To lie to you
To hold you
To push you away
To like you
Remind Me Why6-14-13Remind Me Why1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I make the truth of my sorrow subtle to all,
Contemplating the midnight's call.
Bruises and scrapes I keep hidden from sight,
As another day I slip into the night.
Remind me why I put up with every beating?
Since my happiness with you became so fleeting.
Remind me why I let you break my heart everyday?
I watch you shatter it in every way.
Remind me why I bother with your existence?
Your cruelty reeks of consistence.
Remind me why I let you bring me down to the level of a dog?
And now my judgement of myself has become a fog.
There are many things in this life I could be,
Only until from you I must set myself free.
Yet these words I know I'll defy,
Because a world without you is a lie.
A Shoe TaleA Shoe Tale1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Mister Lacey and miss Ribbon were a pair of red shiny shoes living in a boxful of dreams, on cloud-coated linens. One May day, a little girl found them sleeping next to each other, and she loved them so much that she took them out for an afternoon walk, sometimes tituppy, sometimes gingerly, on the sundressed alleys. Mister Lacey and miss Ribbon were cheerful, as they had never breathed such a crisp air before, and the chill of those spring days, after a good sturdy rain, was daintly tickling their soles, growing goosebumps on their skin.
The little girl was bursting with fidgetness. When she stopped to bathe in a tiny oasis, she briskly took off her shoes and left them on the dewy grass. Mister Lacey and miss Ribbon were slightly afraid, as gloomy spiders and frowning mosquitoes were tamelessly rumbling around them. They cuddled tightly, to make the fear go away, like salt in a desert storm. The fear started to vanish itself, as the two realized that they were not alone. They were a p
The Girl That Painted the EarthThere was a girlThe Girl That Painted the Earth2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That painted the earth.
She tried to capture
Its vast beauty
With a mere thought
The girl drew rolling hills
To be colored with
Her brilliant paints.
A stroke could call
Forests to her canvas
With leaves and footprints
Filled with life
Waiting to be created.
She would paint the greens
Of a forgotten meadow.
She thought of blossoms
Brought back with
And royal purples.
She painted snowy mountains
And deep plateaus.
Her sketches showed
And closed caverns.
But sitting back to watch
Her paintings come to life
She realized something
Now obviously clear.
The girl was lonely.
So she began to draw beings
Living and breathing things
To fill the empty gaps
Of her paintings.
MuffinsMuffins10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
O my mighty and wondrous muffin!
Thy crenulated sides do me beckon-
Thy delectably succulent stuffin'
Creates a most tasty treat I reckon.
Thy top so brown and so spectacular
And thy chocolate that's so very sweet
Have created my lapse to vernacular-
With irresistable charm thou'rt replete.
The English have perverted thy goodness
With the English muffin as it is called
I think that I shall demand some redress-
Their mad shamelessness has left me appalled.
And now that I have sung thy temptations
I cave and give in to sweet sensations.
Trade: Perfectly ImperfectIt wasn’t perfect.Trade: Perfectly Imperfect2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Spencer stared out the faded glass window onto the skyline of New York. She liked this, being up high, above the rest of the world. Cities weren’t among her favorite places, but she loved New York. And Toby had found a decent apartment, for a very reasonable price. But, again, it wasn’t perfect.
It didn’t smell the best. The wallpaper was peeling back, revealing the cracked plaster beneath. The rusty pipes that snaked across the kitchen walls had a bad habit of leaking. The sink liked to shudder and convulse before giving up water. The electricity was temperamental. The air conditioner worked fine, but it made a horrible noise, one that made you wake up feeling like you just had a heart attack when it turned on in the middle of the night. The neighbors were nice enough. Mostly they kept to themselves and the music that was so loud it shook the walls was off at midnight, religiously, which she wasn’t complaining about. At le
The Art of EscapismThe Art of Escapism2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Thump ka-thunk thump- the sound of bare feet rhymatically running on old wood planks sounds in the otherwise empty forest. The rushing wind that echoes in her ears tries in vain to wipe the tears from her face- salty paths that end in a drip off her chin.
The soles of her young feet cross the last of the splintered wooden bridge, still yet strong enough to ignore the dull slap of pain. Just a flash, a gray silhouette of a girl- the crystal-blue water with the faded leaves hardly notes her passing.
She's needed this for so long- sweet serenity from the city's endless roars and rumbles.
The rum-a-tum-tum of her fleet feet match the rumbling sound of drums, a nice change from the constant roar of the unresting city she had grown so used to. The city, with its grey walls- prison walls, always keeping you locked inside (she shivered, but she wouldn't have you know that.)
Colored leaves imitating the tones of the sun crunch in her wake as she imagines floating through the forest, leaving all
About Honour"Ever worried about what the world thought of you?"About Honour2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Nope. I only worry about what I think of me."
"What do you think about you?"
"That I am a broken-eyed, converse-reject-wearing wise ass."
"Really? And what do you call yourself?"
"I call me proud."
"What do you call yourself?"
"I am the grade school version of the heartbroken girl, who can't play the guitar so she strums a ukulele instead, who can't paint so she draws terrible pictures in graphite that keeps giving way."
"I see you doing it again. Put the fucking pen down right now and stop it."
"What? I was just writin-"
"You're cutting yourself to pieces with shark-toothed words again. Just because a sword is a beautiful, glittering object of honour doesn't mean it always has an honorable purpose."
"Do you really think I am a sword?"
"Nope. I think you're beautiful, glittering object of honour. And the thing with honour is, it makes the world turn to stare in awe."
Love Me DoProsper was feeling mildly awkward. He knew that it was expected, routine even, to meet his girlfriend's parents and family, but it didn't make the situation any less nerve-wracking. He had endured the interrogation from Blaire's father about his life/plans/job/future, her brothers attempting to intimidate him, and her little sister giggling over his accent, and was now convinced that he never wanted to go through anything of the sort again.Love Me Do4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Blaire and Prosper were now sitting cross-legged on her old bed with the door wide open, because, as Blaire had put it, both of them behind closed doors would make her father, Tim, "uncomfortable". Prosper was quite sure that he didn't want to make her dad, a large, well-muscled fire-fighter, any form of nervous at all. Especially since her father and brothers seemed to think he needed to be glared at routinely- despite the inevitable warning he had received from them about being with Blaire.
"I know what we can do tonight," Blaire said
SteadfastSteadfast3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He stands straight and tall
Shoulders at right angles
Cast from strongest,
in his hand-painted face
His acrylic uniform
is crisp, clean
fresh from the box
He's ready to serve
protect and defend
who thinks the soldier's just one
(which he is)
and not only that,
that the courageous toy
is damaged goods
(which he is)
Where there's supposed to be two
there is only one
his missing leg
fuels him to try harder
to prove he's not so damaged
as everyone thinks,
to prove he's better than
all of those millions
of whole soldiers.
But to the pretty girl
in the paper dress
and point shoes
he already is.
Three"I have to kiss her?!" An eleven-year-old Prosper exclaimed, staring at his best friend Owen. They were crouched behind the large slide in the playground, the bright red plastic affording them enough cover to constitute their very own hide out. Or so they figured, after chasing away a couple of girls who had been playing there previously.Three4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Yep." Owen replied, his blue eyes serious as he spoke.
"Bu- c'mon, I mean, why would I-," Prosper couldn't seem to get the words out, but it was bad enough that they were even discussing kissing a girl in the first place.
"Chicken!" Owen accused, a grin lighting up his face, "You took the dare, so you gotta do it! You can't back out without being a right wuss!"
"I'll do somethin' else." Prosper said, desperately trying to dig himself out of the rather large hole he had fallen in.
"Nope, that's your dare," Owen said, "If you wanna be leader of this group with me you gotta go through with it, and show you're not a wimp."
-Smile-Why won't you smile?-Smile-10 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
At least every once in a while.
If not at anyone else, then at least at me.
I try to be happy and upbeat for you,
so why can't you be the same for me too?
I don't know what to think anymore
Sometimes I feel like a small phantom beside you.
I just follow you around,
and carry your bags.
It doesn't seem that you know that I'm even here.
Even when you do talk to me,
or acknowledge that I'm there,
It doesn't really feel like you care
It would make all the difference to me,
in my uncertainty,
If you would just once look at me,
Another Quirk"C'mon, Blaire," said Prosper. "Just one more time, I promise."Another Quirk5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Blaire crossed her arms and shook her head stubbornly at him. She'd been humiliated enough by this stupid "lesson" that he'd insisted on having.
"Fine. How about a deal? You try again, and I'll tell you where I got this scar." Prosper said, pointing to his eyebrow and holding out the soccer ball with his other hand. Blaire bit her lip. She was sick of looking like an idiot...but she really wanted to know where that scar came from. She had asked him a million times already, but he would just grin at her and change the subject. She huffed irritably and blew her bangs out of her face.
"You'll really tell me?" She asked finally.
"No... but I'll give you a clue." He said, smirking at her in that infuriating way of his.
"Should've known." She muttered to herself. She sighed when she saw him still smirking at her, but they both knew she would give in, just as they both knew that Prosper's "clue" would proba
TwoProsper grumpily banged his feet against the solid wood of the examination table he was sitting atop. He knew his mother was ignoring him, and, even worse, not even bothering to hide it, sitting across the room reading one of the many magazines that where piled on the small tables. He hated going to the doctor. Dr. Knowles always ruffled his hair too hard and talked too loud. If he told Prosper that he had to get a shot he was going to run for it. Stubbornly continuing to glare at his oblivious mother, he clenched his fingers around the edges of the table and waited for the stupid doctor to come in.Two4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
However, when the door finally did open, instead of seeing the large, obnoxious, slightly balding old man that he had come to expect, he was faced with- unexpectedly- the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with long brown hair and a pretty face.
"Hey there, Prosper," she said with a smile that lit up her face, "I'm Jane. Dr. Knowles is on vacation right now, so I'm going to be helping y
your armsyour arms9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When your arms surround me,
Everything feels right.
The emptiness inside me,
Slips into the night.
I can feel my heart race
When you bring me to your chest.
And with this happy feeling
I could never stay depressed.
Not when you are holding me
And singing in my ear.
Not when I have this feeling
That's as strong as it's sincere.
When you make me laugh
There's no way that I can cry.
There's no way that I could want
To ever tell you good bye.
When I feel this love
Why would I throw it away?
Why would I ever leave
When it feels this good to stay?
When you're the one who lit the fire
With warm flames of love.
And taught my heart to fly again
In the skies up high above.
How could I ever leave you
When you hold the only key
That can unlock my heart
And also set me free.
Life is so confusing
And I don't know what to do.
But I know I want to spend my life
Proving that I love you.
I'm not saying we won't disagree
Or have a fight or two.
It's just that I would never mind
As long as it's with you.
The Sense Of Being IrishAsk any Irish citizen, anywhere in the world, if they're proud to be Irish, and the answer you'll probably get is a resounding yes, or - if you happen to be in Cork - an affirmative grunt. Ask why, and you'd get an evasive answer, or in the case of Cork, grievous bodily harm. The Irish have no idea why they're proud to be Irish.The Sense Of Being Irish6 years ago in Editorial More Like This
The Irish stereotype is partly to blame for this. We feel compelled to become alcoholic, whisky-swilling, pot-bellied, bearded lunatics with a flair for violence. Even within Ireland, there are stereotypes. As my previous jabs at Cork indicate, Corkonians are incomprehensible, brutal, and to be avoided. They're not, really. Or so I would hope. I could be wrong.
But I haven't even started on the question. "The Sense Of Being Irish". What a lovely, multi-faceted question.
What do you call a sense? Do the Irish have six? Sight, hearing, touch, smell, taste and Irish? I don't think so.
It's more to do with attachment to where you were raised, isn't it? A Cavan farm
dear alaina.dear alaina,dear alaina.2 years ago in Letters More Like This
i am not being passive-aggressive. i am not avoiding confrontation or arguments or sensitive subjects so that i won't get upset: i'm writing a letter that i can't imagine you'll see, explaining to you everything that i need you to know.
i'm sorry i'm not better. i'm sorry that i'm not trying. i'm sorry, but i can't, not now. i wish you could understand, without any fear or worry, that i need to destroy myself before i can get better. it's like i'm a phoenix, needing to catch fire and turn to ash before i can be reborn. i need to be the biggest source of pain and misery in my life; i can't let anyone else have the power to hurt me more than i have hurt myself already.
it's not enough to tear myself apart, in every sense that i can. it's not enough to pull strings of skin from the teeth of my razor and clutch toilet paper from the public bathroom to my arm like if i don't, i might die - in all hones
Eaglemonarch of the skyEagle2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
you are about to take flight
yellow cobbled feet
white mantle, cloaked august-brown
bouncing echo multiplied
make the mountains sing
dew-speckled fresh light of dawn
sudden seizing fear
morsel writhing powerless
sharp needle and fragile air
you are about to take flight
monarch of the sky
BookstoreHeaven smells like someone else's allergies.Bookstore3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Ages and pages and dust, packed high to the ceiling
History in a thousand books I'll take the time to read only after I'm done living
A place where I could go a million years and happily never see the sun.
The spines of the old books crack and groan under my fingers as I pry them apart
Pulling their covers open like they were clams
And I am looking for the pearls inside
The stories glittering brighter in black ink and yellow pages than some mere stone ever could.
Ladders reach from floor to ceiling
Stepstools litter the ground
Packed up haphazard against the shelves
By the last patron to reach upwards for the Science Fiction.
Feeling the weight of uncounted words settle a comfortable shawl around my shoulders
It covers my frame lightly and loosely
Warming me body and soul from the inside out
The most comfortable home I know.
I breathe deep without coughing
Turning reverent circles beneath the ceiling-floor shelves
Eyes closed but getting diz
you have a heavy heartAre we still on the two sisters idea?you have a heavy heart2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Okay. What else you got?
You have something, what is it?
I've never written an argument. I've got nothing.
You've had one though. You have you and your experiences and everything that defines you and its okay.
I know. I'm scared.
Does this help? Imagining someone to talk to?
You seem real.
And you're not there anymore. Okay. I can do this. Write for someone who looks down on everything I like. Write for someone who looks down on me.
Shall we go over the rules?
Don't write clichéd phrases.
Do you know what that entails?
No. I don't really like how writing has rules. Grammar I can understand, it helps the reader along. But everything else just kills the enjoyment and fun of writing. I'm too scared to write.
Describe me something.
There's a white Kleenex on the floor, with a wasp underneath it. We squashed it with a shoe earlier, but it was still twitching, so s