Damn KidsGraham Banyon was enjoying a television retrospective, "2012: The Mayans Were Right and Other Crackpot Beliefs", when a tremendous explosion rocked the house. "Damn kids," he muttered. With a weary sigh he rose from his chair and walked to the back door. He looked up at the moon hanging low in the sky. The last orange rays of the sun waned lazily in the west.
"What the hell are you kids doing out there," he half heartedly bellowed at a scarred and slightly smoking tool shed. The shed had a slightly guilty look he thought.
"Just a little experiment in cold fusion, Pop," said the shed amidst a flurry of childish giggles.
"Cold fusion does not go "BOOM". What are you kids up to?" Graham noticed that several shrubs and a small tree were also smouldering slightly. The tree did not appear to be happy about it's current state of thermal affairs.
"Nothing, Pop," the shed replied, as it shuddered from what appeared to be a smaller secondary explosion, "Um... would you get us some more uranium?
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
Yet Another Christmas CarolIt was Christmas, celebrated all around Earth - and in Heaven, of course. As for elsewhere...Yet Another Christmas Carol5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
If you believe for a single second that the devils don't celebrate Christmas, you are, well, right, actually. They keep very quiet about it. Not even a mouse would dare speak about it to the Almighty Fiend, Lucifer. The sole exception to this unspoken rule had happened a few years back on the occasion of a Satanically spiked MTV "Merry Christmas" video which had seemed like a good idea for a few hours. Until it became obvious that it had been a pointless endeavor those who watched MTV regularly had been mostly unaffected, those who didn't had had their opinions on the low quality of the station confirmed and, generally, it had been a fruitless fiasco.
You didn't talk to Lucifer on Christmas. It was the same as going to him on Easter, patting him on the back and saying "There, there, mate. Anybody would have thought that killing Jesus was a good idea. I mean,
Dear DadDear Dad3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Dear dad I love you.
Dear dad you were my world, but that world began to change.
Dear dad; why did you hit mom and make me watch?
Dear dad; why did you beat my brother?
Dear dad I will do anything you ask, just show me you can change for the better.
Dear dad; why did you corner me?
Dear dad; why can’t I stop shaking and crying?
Dear dad; why did I believe you could change?
Please someone help me!
The TimesI was printed on the evening of November 27th, 2008, just as the weather was turning from chilly to cold. I was tomorrow's news. At the moment I came off the press, I told the future. I knew things before the rest of the world; it was wonderful. I knew what my purpose was: to inform as many people as possible about the world's happenings.The Times3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
As I was put to bed, bound against my brothers and sisters, I dreamt of being passed around a construction site, making sure all the workers were aware of which sports team triumphed, and which celebrity was getting a divorce. I dreamt that corporate peons debated over politics, and the state of the economy and which policies would be most effective in fixing the existing problems. I slept contently, snuggled warm in the middle of a stack, ready to be shipped out the next day and sold to whoever wanted me.
The next morning was cold and blustery. I was so excited about being sold that I allowed the wind to ruffle my pages, since I couldn't move on my o
BlackIt began in the quietest hours of the night. Granny was snoring up a storm, her bed creaking with each breath and twitch of her bigness. That's always the first thing I remember, thinking back. She always snored in the same way Pappy revved up the engines of his prized Cadillac. Loud, proud, and never ending.Black3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I s'pose I should start with what happened before hand. Nothing will make sense if I don't. It don't make no sense anyhow, but the story won't be right if I don't start before everything got bad.
So we were in the market, Granny and I. We go every Sunday while my parents and siblings are at praise and worship with most of the rest of the town. We get all the best stuff that way without havin to elbow our way through the hordes of people doin their last minute shoppin for Sunday dinner. Granny always said that the best book couldn't keep her from making Sunday dinner, and no man in the sky gonna keep her from her shoppin.
"Jerry, you got them apples for me?" Grann
Resolution Diary2007Resolution Diary3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Make first million after starting own business.
Applied for a loan. Declined due to excessive account activity. Note: Constant purchasing of rare (albeit mint) wicker chairs is not conducive to bank balance. Wife insistent on selling wicker chairs to find money to start business.
Bought new donut recipe book. Learnt how to make category hard donut, 'Diamond Swizzler'. Delma loves them.
James offered to lend the money if he can become a business partner. Potential.
First million still a long way off. Wife still nagging.
Spent savings on replacing the roof of the conservatory when neighbor's tree uprooted in the November storm.
Update: Dogs should never be fed over two donuts a day. Next Year's Resolution likely…? Find enough money to take Delma to the vets. And make more realistic resolution idea.
Find an appropriate business idea.
eHarmony.com"You know,... look, I didn't think anything of those computer dating sites. I thought they were just places to look to hook up." David squirmed. His hands were sweaty on the wheel. Oh my god, he thought. Did I put on too much cologne? Don't screw up. Don't screw up. "I mean, I want to start this on an honest basis and I sort of... well, I actually was looking for..."eHarmony.com3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"A booty call?" Stephanie laughed. "Come on, you spent three months getting up the courage to ask me out. Not that I hadn't dropped a few hints that I wanted you to ask."
"Yeah, I suppose the restaurant coupons you kept suggesting as a "friend" should have been a tip off." David felt his confidence growing. "Still, I mean, under hobbies I put Star Trek. What would make a woman like you even think..."
"You're cute," she said. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. This wasn't David's first date, but his date for the evening was, by any man's standards, HOT!
Fortunately it was Autumn and the sun had dropped.
Don't Give me a Reason to Sell My SoulDon't give me a reason to sell my soul, she should have said.Don't Give me a Reason to Sell My Soul4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Instead, she just stared at the man on the screen in front of her, the man with his long, drooping skin, tired eyes, haggard face and balding head. He was hardly the admiral we had once known. She said "I don't have any desire to do it," and then quickly, "but I'll follow my orders, if you give them to me."
There was fright in her eyes. She gripped the edges of the captain's chair and bit her cheek, fighting off inevitable tears. But not here. She couldn't cry now. People relied on her to be strong. What people she wasn’t sure, but someone, somewhere, surely. She had to believe that.
"Those are your orders," the man said, sinking heavily into his chair. "I trust you'll carry them out."
She snapped off communications with ill-hid despair. Her blonde hair, thin and almost colorless, hung around her face like a fallen halo, fading with every sin. Her lips were tight, her cheeks drawn, and her eyes stared out of bru
Imaginary"My imaginary father beat me again." Charlie my six year old son complained as he stared up at me from the doorway into his darkened room. He stepped in and carefully closed the door without turning on the light. The evening's setting sun sifted through the closed blinds, but anything brighter than that hurt Charlie's eyes.Imaginary6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"Then stop imagining. I can't stand to see the bruises." I answered. "Plus they'll hurt if I hug you."
The little boy nodded and screwed his eyes tightly shut as he strained himself to un-imagine the damage. The blue-black-grey-purple paste of bruises mottling his arms and legs slowly faded. "There, daddy. All better." He sniffled and smiled at me.
I stretched out my arms and allowed him to nestle up against my chest where I could hold him in safety. And I held him for the next twenty minutes while he sobbed his heart out. It wrenched at my
LavenderI guess I drank too muchLavender3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in purgatory, where they
send all the dead babies
I held one – the crook of my arm
numb and shaved close to the bone –
she cried as I cradled.
I’d be your replacement
if you’ll tell me you love me.
I’d be the shallow part of your life
that no one really notices anyways,
I can be your part time mommy.
Limbo is a lot like a limp,
a little Lolita spirit with those big
doe eyes and no real feel for
the ground. Baby Girl shrieked.
I shrieked. She was quiet.
More and more come each day
and they lay there with their pink
and blue caps, their tiny fists,
I guess I was too sober
to get into Hell.
I wear that spark. Mauve
and lavender. I’m no show,
I am a purgatory mother
taking care of what’s not mine.
Satan MacMurphy, Issue 1Never mind what the brochures tell you, ladies and gentlemen—Las Vegas is about the least glamorous place on the face of the planet. Sure, The Strip is all neon and glitz, but that's only a three-mile stretch of pretty for all the tourists—glamorous make-up to camouflage an old, wasted whore. I never did like the Strip, and any time I saw one of my cases heading that way, I knew to bring aspirin. We're not talking about that today.Satan MacMurphy, Issue 18 years ago in Humor More Like This
North-town was my turf, and all the little back-alleys down Industrial Ave—the dark little corners where the bad boys hid their dirty deeds. Cheap strip clubs with overweight dancers and nasty bars that smelled of old cigarette butts and spilled liquor. Sal's was one of the latter, and my home away from home. It smelled marginally better than the others, and it was only a block away from my office—you do the math.
This is where I met Ms. Betty Banton. I knew she was trouble from the moment she
Prose (may post later.)not all the way through.Prose (may post later.)2 years ago in Personal More Like This
i read once, "Adults often forget what it's like being young because they block out the memories."
right after that: "Similar to trauma victims."
last summer, when i told that man old enough to be my father that i had a boyfriend, he said "so?" when I told him i was a minor, he said, "and?"
there are no boundaries anymore, no barriers. and don't tell me "boys will be boys."
don't tell me I was asking for it because what I'm really asking for is for it to stop.
i wish i was a person and not numbers on a scale. i wish i was a human being and not the cleavage in my tank top.
i wish we would stop hating themselves. i wish girls were allowed to say no and eat every day and forget to shave their legs.
i wish boys were allowed to cry and be ballerinas and speak up when something hurts.
i wish we thought we deserved more.
and don't tell me none of this is supposed to bother me, because it does.
listen. i'm tired. tired of having to hear honks and whist
open letter to my first holy communion teacherdear miss bond,open letter to my first holy communion teacher3 years ago in Letters More Like This
you may or may not remember me. you taught me religion at my local church, we called it First Holy Communion but i always secretly thought it was brainwashing. you were so passionate about it, you seemed to make it palatable. it is only in later years, seeing what religion is, that i have recanted my faith. but you - when i think of you, i still feel my fingers twitching to bless the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost. i think of the lace squares that you would give us, your children; your flock, when we learnt a prayer. parrot this, child, and you shall be given pretty, clean edged doilies. white lace, it was rough on our fingertips. religion bought us and we shall have the steady thudding of Our Father in our minds from the rest of our lives. you made it a blessing to believe. the reality is; it is a curse. i hope you can never see that.
i have been thinking about the concept of sin. we are all born with original sin. i hear that purgatory is outdated, now? that's a sham
The Solipsist's LotThere's something about yourself that you don't know. You probably don't remember the circumstances very well, but I do. If you enjoy things the way they are, if you revel in even the smallest speck of ignorance, you need not read ahead. I won't force you. But from what I know of you, you don't like secrets. Especially not when they are about you.The Solipsist's Lot3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You see, when you were born, so at once was everyone else. Your mother, she sprang into existence, just like that, the instant your tiny infant brain achieved the smallest semblance of self-awareness. Woven out of the ether, she remembered everything that never happened, and she looked down at you, cradled and squirming in her loving arms.
"Oh," she said. "So here is life."
The doctor was there too, although a moment before if there ever was a moment before he was not. He just nodded, smiling assuredly, and said, "Here is the beginning."
A Name You Can Trust Indignant? Disgruntled? Need an attorney who won't back down (no matter how many mafia hit men are on your trail)? Need to sue the smirk off that jerk who dared to diagnose you with anger issues? Tired of “justice” getting in the way of the benefits that you deserve? If you want passionate, aggressive, and ruthlessly persistent legal representation, it’s time you called Winier Trust, an attorney who will stop at nothing (nothing!) to insure you win your case.A Name You Can Trust2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Winier Trust is more than just an attorney; he's your personal advocate. Trust works beside you not only as a legal representative, but as a close and caring friend.
"When I first called Mr. Trust to handle my divorce case, I was in such a state,” says teacher Margery Williams. “Mr. Trust was a bastion of sage wisdom and compassion. He put me at ease from the moment he arrived. Panicked, I once called Mr. Trust in the middle of the night and asked him for his guidance. No more
The Price of Dying“I want to be interred after I die,” Mr. Peters said. He made that clear to his family while he was still lucid, before old age and illness rendered him unintelligible. Seventy wasn’t that old, but he recognized the symptoms that were creeping up on his ailing body – the aches, the fatigue, the feeling of helplessness and despair. Despite his daughter’s attempts to assuage his concerns, he sensed his own mortality.The Price of Dying3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The worst part about dying, Mr. Peters thought, was what happened afterwards. Even since he was a small boy, he had been afraid of fire. He could never forget the scorching heat of the orange flames searing his skin, the dark billowing smoke entering his nostrils. The time that his house burned down, the fire almost took him with it. How ironic then, to escape the fire only to be fed into it after death.
So one day, he sat his son and daughter down after dinner. “I want to be buried whole,” he said, emphasizing the
The Soul Broker I am the buyer and seller of souls. I’ve bought them all and I sold you yours. For the world must run like the gears of a clock, and sometimes you tick or sometimes you tock, but everything given will be taken away and for every silence kept, a word must be said.The Soul Broker3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Naturally, you must assume there is cost. For everything gained, a penny is lost; of course this life can be no different--when the check arrives, you must pay the difference. But not all who ride on the sunday train pay the same price to get out of the rain: a king’s ransom might obtain far, far less than the pauper’s cheap pain.
Your father paid the price of sweat, a back bent under the yoke of the world; accrued worldly financial debt but was recompensed with the jokes of a girl. And he would say he walked away wealthy, with his empty bank account, for his daughter lives today quite healthy and loves him in equally large amounts.
Break You Pt. 22 - Yaoi - ENDFelix awoke with the sunlight shining through his eyelids, blearily rolling onto his stomach and stretching an arm out to pull Donohue closer. His arm hit cold, empty bed, and the youth whined pathetically. Where had his lover gone? Why didn't he want to cuddle?Break You Pt. 22 - Yaoi - END4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
He rolled over to the other side of the bed and the scent of coffee made its way into his night-greased nostrils. He rubbed clammy hands against his eyes, sitting up with a groan and looking to the night stand. On it sat a steaming cup of coffee, topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. The boy beamed and grasped it slowly, careful that his clumsy morning hands didn't spill the delicacy.
He took in a large mouthful of whipped cream before sipping the coffee that hid beneath it, closing autumn eyes and humming softly. It was only after a few moments of basking in the glory of bedside coffee that Felix remembered what was happening today. Donohue was sending him away.
A pang of nostalgia gripped the boy as he gazed aroun
SacrificedThe doctor was dwarfed by his lab coat, a little bald man with a nervous twitch. He held the plastic model in one hand, gesticulating excitedly as he pointed out features. "See, it's made from special reinforced plastic and sports a power V12 motor. This heart will never stop beating."Sacrificed5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"What's its capacity for love?" I asked. I sat on the little check-up table, one hand over my own heart which had been broken days before. Instead of waiting for it to heal, I had opted for a transplant.
"What?" He asked.
"Capacity for love," I repeated.
"That is not one of its many features." He muttered, eyes darting down to the model.
"Oh .well ."
"But!" He continued, finding sudden inspiration somewhere in the spotless room. "It's got a lifetime warranty-not that you would need it! This baby is built to last. Not even bullets can penetrate its shell."
lattice bonesseafarer, you arelattice bones2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
vorticose & valeric;
you are an odyssey & i
am always sinking
i've found the gold
Las Vegas SyndromeLas Vegas Syndrome3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Las Vegas Syndrome
They named the pill Las Vegas, after the new city that never sleeps, despite originating from a Chinese replica developed in New Jersey. Aaron Knight’s grandfather, George Knight Senior, often spoke fondly of a time when LV’s were optional, when people would waste hours every day lying in bed doing nothing. Aaron considered him a Dozer, a pervert. We often excuse the elderly for their eccentricities but Aaron always found it difficult to understand and forgive his grandfather’s obsession with sleeping. George Knight Senior was the last of Aaron’s grandparents, only dying twelve years earlier, at the unusually old age of seventy-two. Aaron was born too late to meet the rest of his forebears, they were merely names rarely recounted in passing conversation however he retained fond memories of George Senior.
Aaron Knight lived in London, which was a drastically different city to the one George Senior recal
Break You EpilogueFelix stretched luxuriously against the sky blue, feather pillows of the white bed. Streams of warm yellow sunlight danced across his bare skin as though it were the only garb he needed, warming dark flesh as he flipped through the pages of his book. The youth lay calmly on his stomach, golden hair tucked behind his ears as honey eyes moved lazily across the page, not really taking in much of the text. The boy let out a soft sigh and reached across the bed, plucking a strawberry out of the small glass bowl that sat between himself and somebody larger. Tender lips formed into a wry smile as the hand of the larger person wrapped around his wrist, and he slowly dropped the strawberry. It fell against the ivory white sheets, and he was gently pulled atop the chest of the other. Shining blue eyes smiled hungrily up at him, like pools of crystal clear water, but much more terrifying. Felix smiled back at the blonde below him, their bare chests connecting as the other stroked his scaBreak You Epilogue4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
CelebrationThe night begins with bile-blocked throat and half-sandy eyes. Atop sheets that haven't been changed in forever, atop a bed that is sour with lakes of sweat, I roll over and retch. The floor is a million miles away. I seem to be clinging to a puffy white cliff. There is a metallic stench that shoves itself up my nose, my mouth, and with it, a drip-drop sound. There is someone else in my room.Celebration3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I sit up just as an insistent whisper starts. "Who's there?" I say loudly.
"Calm down, Quint. Be still, Emma. We're discovered, Veronica."
The voice mumbles and fumbles, but also somehow shines with a proud, dignified youthfulness. Though my stomach has not quite settled, I swing off the bed to investigate. My hands spread and swim as if through cobwebs. Icy fingertips tap my nape, and I stifle a scream. I turn. There's a girl, young, maybe eleven. Hair a dark and voluminous curtain, eyes rapid-blinking sirens.
"Hello there, friend," she says.
"Hello," I say, my heart slowing because I know