Let us Say GoodbyeLet us Say GoodbyeLet us Say Goodbye2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I wish to say something, this is to all of you selected ones. To the sad masses I see before these old and strange eyes of mine. I wish to tell you thank you, thank you for allowing me to see the monsters of the world. The rapists, the pedophiles, the thieves, and the betrayers, are only but a few that I could foresee; thank you all so much. But like the double edged sword we both suffer for it.
But please disregard that last statement, as this should be a happy occasion. To each and every one of you; to you who are those rapists, pedophiles, thieves, and betrayers who are bound by the blood of our elders and ancestors. I say goodbye. I wish to say goodbye to you as you are the monsters I see. I cringed as I once called you my family, my friends, my gods, but thank you for showing the path I must now thread. For you can no longer exist within my world. I must take you away in order for my survival, as the damaged is far beyond the ability to heal. I have not done the
Evening at The RoomHe wasn't one to leave Life waiting. Immune as he wasn't to adversity, the man dealt with it swiftly and moved on. Never did his friends see him sad. Looking back on his personal tragedies would stop his flow, and he valued time enough not to kill any of it. As a result, any thought that could lure him into grief was stored on the back of his mind. A cheerful attitude was all the world spotted; a stance he prided himself in actually feeling.Evening at The Room2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The technique could only be effective for so long. The gloomy thoughts piled up, eventually becoming so many as to opaque the rest of his mind, threatening to take over his mood. Wasting days submerged in sorrow terrified the man. He realized the only way to move forward with Life was to stop entirely. It was time to return to The Room.
The man told his friends he’d be unable to attend that evening’s party, arguing that he was going “on a quest to find himself”; an explanation everyone, the man included, rightfully mocke
.I beat my head into the glass shop windows – as if that would knock you out of me – clutching at my heart to assure this aching chest that I still live. Perhaps, in a way, it was the motivation I needed to keep punching pulses into my wrist. (I ache more acutely than any time before, or for any person before.).2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I know this is a cheesy love-thing (one I thought I’d never write, and therefore can’t find it in me to name), but I can’t help but fill you into every single word and page - and therefore need to ink you out. I need to breathe you, need to tell you… tell you that sometimes, just sometimes, I can’t help but hate you – and love you – for ripping me open to bleed him out; and I’ve tried to grip at the scars that see him differently. But he will never be you, and I’m starting to doubt that I’ll ever feel whole, while I marvel over not why I still breathe, but how, when sometimes all
Specter ISpecter ISpecter I1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i feel the weight divot as the bed shifts behind me. my legs drawn out in front of me, blankets resting against my torso as my fingers clasp the edge of the bed, feeling the warmth nestle against my bare back. i then feel her cold palms dig into my abdomen before she pulls my body towards her, but i don't flinch.
it’s like ice against fire, but i’m the one melting against her touch as her lips rests near the top of my shoulder. her warm breath ghosts around the base of my neck as her hands float skims me as if i’m the oncoming tide; but o’m the one drowning in her touch. she visits every night, but I don’t know her name. nor do i believe she knows mine.
we just sleep. and in the morning, she’s gone. then i return back to me, once she arrives again, for another night.
Love-hate relationshipLove and hateLove-hate relationship1 year ago in Philosophical More Like This
Different but equal
I only exist in the past.Once upon a time, I filled novels with my thoughts, cementing myself into the binding of books, the spiral bound pages beneath my bed. But time passes, my hair has grown, my handwriting has changed, and I've lost a piece of myself.I only exist in the past.2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
The moon eyed boy tells me that he loves me, but I've fallen out of love with life, and some skills, you can't relearn. I don't recognize the sound of my own voice anymore and my old words catch in my throat like a beautiful lie from centuries past.
For the first time, I am the girl I always wanted to be, apathetic and unafraid. But girls like me don't hide at night, stitching their souls into patches of their skin while the moon makes it's way across the sky. It's hard to be fearless when you let fear take you, grab you by the hand and whisper through the darkness.
But late at night, when the summer sky is swallowing us and we are more than happy to be consumed, allowing the dark silence to wipe our slates clean, I find myself missing the girl with the sun
Albeit I'm polite"If you have questions, don't ask!"Albeit I'm polite1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
symphony iv: requiem of a dream.I.symphony iv: requiem of a dream.1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
For a long while I stumbled through the darkness, groping out along the corridor. Through the gaps in the blindfold I could see the stars up above, twinkling uncertainly; distorted by the narrow vein between the fabric and my forehead.
No one had tended to the house for many years. It had become a tradition to visit and camp out in the reading room, where the most sky was visible. For in every book was at least one sky, and there must have been nearly a thousand books stacked neatly on the shelves there.
My palm raced along the rough, splintered surface of the wooden wall panels, reading the uneven pattern of the half-eroded varnish. Somewhere beyond the dark, she was waiting, and I knew this with certainty. She’d be waiting, standing perfect and luminous and shining so brightly that I’d surely see her like a lightning storm of beauty and brilliance even through the blindfold. Or maybe she’d run from me, just as I ran to her. She’d trail her fingertips around
West of the SunShe quietly touched the reverberating cymbals and sparrows descended on the drums.West of the Sun1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Memories lay hidden inside pressed sleeves, the chilly wind brought the scent of snow.
Their dreams were pale blue against the deep greys, secrets sealed inside envelopes.
They climbed up the hill to watch the valley where the earth and sky come together.
He placed his hand on her hair, to calm down its restless flow from the past to the present.
But no matter how many snowflakes were caught in her eyelashes, all he could remember was her warmth.
She was to him a white rabbit running through the brightly lit office, a reflection of twin souls on a blue window.
With his eyes closed, he learned to predict the rain with his sixth sense.
They walked quietly while the seagulls were rushing through the breaking clouds, their white wings like sails.
The glittering blades of grass were heavy from the dew and a big oak stood in the heart of the rippling meadow.
Looking at each other by the ocean, their tear
holding hands into the nightThe starships align in a billowing constellation of gravity and shimmer down on the firefly-studded cities below.holding hands into the night1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
the rain brings sweet whispers of hushed voices in the night, when the tires squeal against oil and someone realizes that they love someone, too.
There's a day when the cacophony of chitchat is cloaked in chocolate and lined in velvet, and nights are reserved for twilight-soaked kisses and blooming roses.
little girls wash their faces of innocence and swipe on glittery lipgloss, while the older sit in their car, swabbing mascara over their eyelashes and praying to someone that they'll be picked. something waiting in their locker. doe-eyed as if someone plucked the stars from the sky and stuck them in their pupils.
Puppy love fires its tinted arrow at unsuspecting teens, and does away with stereotypes in favor of scarlet and magenta wishes. Smoke and mirrors pirouette around the world, as one person after another come down with a case of heavy crushes.
but it's not like ther
UntitledI like to lift others up because I know how awful it feels to be downUntitled2 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
For JDBA lot of people talk about when life begins. Some say it begins at conception. Love, however, can begin a long time before that. You can love the idea of a child, the notion, the plans for a future. You can love the dreams and the hopes. Similarly, although a life has a definitive ending, love does not.For JDB2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Even when a child is taken from us far too early the love remains, the traces that they were there remain in our hearts and minds, because love is not tied to a finite space of time. It doesn't know days, weeks, hours. All love knows is the beauty of another being and the pain of the loss of them.
The only comfort we can take from all of this is that if our love for a child is not linked with how long they are alive for, it makes sense that neither is their love for us. That is how love endures, and surrounds us all everyday, and helps us survive the difficult business of living on without them. So today is a day for tears and healing and remembering the spaces in our hearts where those
7,209,035,426.Earth. It is not made up of seven billion, two hundred and nine million, thirty five thousand, four hundred and twenty six different, individual humanoid fragments.7,209,035,426.1 year ago in Philosophical More Like This
We, as a race, have very little, in fact, to do with the Earth. Our troubles and our triumphs, our loves and our losses – these do not represent the world, do not cause trees to grow, nor tides to flow, nor the aurora to wander like frozen breath across the Arctic Circle. We look at our world, and we see something pure, singular. A blue-green-white sphere, running its elliptical race around a fire-breathing star. But us? We are experience, feeling and life. We are living and dying. We are temporary.
It is our existence, our life, that is a mixed bag. We create good and bad, but we also destroy them both. Wind, however, is neither created nor destroyed: only changed or reused. The same can be said of the waves, of dandelions. Our mission on this planet, then – for we must have a purpose – is not to dwell on
Requiem. Outside rain plummets to the ground with all the grace of a falling leaf, Nature’s own symphony. The sound of each crystal drop diving into puddles creates music as pure and as beautiful as the notes wafting from the other room, each song competing for my full, undivided attention.Requiem.1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I can see him from where I sit, the glass door slid to the left just enough for my sight to reach between rooms. He’s sitting up straight, his head bent to the ivory keys his fragile fingers danced across. He isn't in this world; he is somewhere far, far away. I have always wondered where his thoughts take him, somewhere where he’s happy, I hope.
The songs are always so sad, the music of his broken mind. I want to console him, but I never have been able to fully pull him from the ocean he drowns in.
I extinguish the lamp by my side and push myself to my feet. With the stealth of a cat I creep across the hall
Puzzles W1, D1I bought my sister a tangle of metallic rings in Leonardo Da Vinci’s castle because I wanted to prove her wrong. She had always underestimated me, saw me as a self-obsessed aspiring artist who is so wrapped up in her own ambitions that she can’t see the hurt around her. True, I don’t see the milk in the fridge when it’s in front of my eyes, and I forget my parents’ birthdays, but I do notice things.Puzzles W1, D11 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I notice my sister.
I notice when she stands in the middle of the room with a blank look in her eyes, or when she curls up on the couch for too many hours. I notice when she spends days locked in the bathroom playing games and solving puzzles on her phone in the bathtub.
I notice that she finishes them all, and that once she’s beaten the game, she starts over. And that’s how she looks at life: as a series of puzzles that must be solved, as a series of high scores to beat.
I’m one of her puzzles that she thinks she’s figured out. She look
Forgive me...I know it was my fault. I know I screwed everything up. I was madly in love with you, I was stupid and blind. I should have known we could never be together but I still tried really hard to make you like me. It was a big mistake. But I understand now. I never stood a chance. And now you hate me and you have every right to do so. But I still want to apologize. I don't love you anymore but I still care about you. Please don't hate me. It's been a long time and we've both changed. Possibly for better. Let's forget the past and start over, OK? Please?...Forgive me...1 year ago in Emotional More Like This
Valentine's DayMy pumpkin spice latte was too sweet, but my voice was too bitter. As I stared into the murky depths of my cardboard cup, I said, “We’re both single for Valentine’s Day this year.”Valentine's Day1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I didn’t know why I said it. Maybe I thought she would laugh. Maybe I thought she would show at least a little amusement, a smile that would reassure me that everything was Finally Okay and not depressed and sobbing and curled up on the futon. But she was silent.
I looked up. She, too, was staring into her plastic cup of bubble tea, avoiding my eyes. “Right?” I asked. “Mom?”
Her eyes still didn’t meet mine. She sipped through the excessively hot pink straw, intensely interested by the shop’s colourful decor instead of by me.
Propping my elbows on the table, I dropped my head in my hands. “Jesus, Mom.”
“What?” she asked finally.
“Is it him?” I tipped my head upward to look at her.
Him. That guy she used to da
Peer PressureThe germaphobe nervously became a biologist.Peer Pressure1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
happiness is a warm gunshe breathed out cold breath like liquid ice on the sunlight's rays and lethappiness is a warm gun1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
it be known to all mankind she was awake.
she was hard rock nightclubs and the melancholy bar stools that held up the drunks like puppets on strings;
her fingers held up a shot glass and she toasted the invisible man she saw in her daydreams;
this one's for you, you old and battered coward, you old and lonely fool.
Hard choicePain or numbness? The hardest choice...Hard choice2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Socially Acceptable LyingHi there.Socially Acceptable Lying2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
You don’t know me. That’s okay, I don’t really either, I’ve come to accept that along with everyone who knows me. It’s especially weird when someone meets me for the first time and I’m wearing a sweater vest and poring over that math textbook and then the next day they see me and I’m in that short ruffled black skirt with the pink fishnet gloves. I'm the queen of whiplash and indecision.
I’m here to audition. Again. Well, again, I say—it’s not really again, not for you, because I’ve never auditioned with you before. I’ve auditioned with other people. Thirteen of them.
The first twelve were voice-acting casters and I almost got a role in two of them but then they were canceled at the last minute because they lost their animator. Actually, the second one just plain got rid of the character, but the first reason is the one I tell people.
The last one was a director, a real live director, and I st
Winter Tries To RememberPerhaps it was the way her delicate crystals would soak and shudder as they touched the earth. The first few times the flakes fell they would wither and die, but they were laying a foundation for the ones to follow. Maybe it was her hushed movements that could bring the busiest streets to a standstill. Each snowflake formed piles of white petals on windshields as the storm carried on. Maybe it was how she would string subtle wreaths along windowsills by the break of dawn. Or it could have been how, even in a frosted rage, her beauty shone through to him.Winter Tries To Remember1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Winter shifts in his seat, causing a small blanket of cold air to sweep across part of the world. The people feel a sudden chill, but shrug it off. Winter takes his time as he thinks, recalling how she would bleach branches with her soft touch. He remembers how the moon would sing, jealous notes tinting her song, as snow fell. Assembling snowflakes high in the air, she would place each one with a careful hand to the ground below. She w
Elegon FairytaleThe water was lonely. It ran from river to river, ocean to ocean, alone. Many of the creatures that lived in the water paid it no mind, continuing on with their own life, unaware of the water's. The water decided one day to make itself some companions, someone to flow and keep company with. The water watched many humans at its rivers and oceans and created, what the water called, Ulas based off of the females. Some were made of water while others were made of scales and flesh. The Ulas made the rain and took care of the sea and river life during the day, while they played all night.Elegon Fairytale3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
One night, the air passed by the river and saw the Ulas playing and dancing along the water. The air suddenly felt lonely, just as the water had. It blew through the lands all alone and decided that it could use companions as well. The wind called them Auras. The air, like the water, designed them as female humans made of air and flowing dresses. The Auras traveled with the wind and their domain was the sky