APH - They Were Once HisRoderich's house was in chaos.APH - They Were Once His5 years ago in Drama More Like This
Not that it had never been an absolute mess before, especially after two great wars. But he had just barely managed to set things right after he was finally left alone again when the crisis struck. Now it seemed as if he had not made any progress at all.
People were everywhere. His once carefully kept gardens were filled with haphazardly set tents that ruined the manicured lawn. The hallways of his once seemingly empty house were filled to the brim with arms and limbs trying to find heat and comfort from the November cold. He was hardly able to play his piano anymore, as the music room was crowded. Even his own bedroom offered him no solace.
His original tenants were beginning to complain. Yet despite the fact that he was no longer capable of supporting any more people, still they flocked into his home seeking freedom and comfort. And he was not in any position to deny them what they sought.
After all, he had made a promise.
Just a little over a yea
PrussiaxReader - Reporter 7PrussiaxReader - Reporter 73 years ago in Settings More Like This
You just stared up at the ceiling as you sat in the hospital, your camera in your lap and a jacket over your arms for once. You weren't going to let the cold get you again. You realized just how late it was in the year now, watching as a few nurses decorated a nearby Christmas tree. How could it have the past few holidays passed without your knowing?
Impatiently, you tapped your nails against your camera. Your boss had given you at least a week and a half and now you had just around four days left. Antonio had been M.I.A. for the past few days, not answering any calls, any emails, not a thing. Gilbert had gotten fed up and he dragged you to the hospital after two or three days of doing nothing. But it was a nice break, if only you had something to do during those days.
You had basically turned into a hermit and the German had to drag you out of bed this morning. You yawned and smiled as one of the nurses brought you a coffee over. Thanking her quietly,
Window of OpportunityI am dying. I am dying and there's nothing I can do about it. I know this, but I refuse to believe that I will just fade away quietly: that when I'm gone and when those that knew me are gone, that there will be nothing more of me in existence. I want to be remembered; I want to make a mark. Is it not the human condition to desire this?Window of Opportunity2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I feel that no matter what good thing I attempt to pursue, it takes me somewhere that I had never intended to be, and that much further from my goal. Every consequent step taking me further down a tangential path I never consciously made. I have two hands and a voice and the knowledge of how to use them, but I feel less and less that I am competent enough even to do that.
I don't desire fortune or fame, but at least profundity. I do desire to be a good person. I strive to be the best person that I can be, and I am not blind to the fact that I am clearly not achieving this goal. As each day passes, I feel myself sitting idly by as my potential slips and m
The Gods Are Fishingi.The Gods Are Fishing4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Stray satellites catch
hearts in nets designed for souls;
the gods are fishing.
is life's purpose,
She says. We are damned.
of the children? I muse,
They giggle - full with purpose.
are most lost of all, toys
of the gods. Toys, She insists.
grow from grins
to smiles constrained
with dreams into futures
of lists and week-to-weeks.
grope in the dark
for meaning; sustenance
found only in others --
adults play pretend:
donning shirts and ties.
They keep the keys.
Meaning is found in
musings of gods; promise in
The Ink Will Write Their StoryI'll bring them to lifeThe Ink Will Write Their Story4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Let them breathe on my page
They can't stay confined in my mind
The ink will write their story
No one understands them as I
So I have to write them
They want to be known
Their stories must be told
It's not just words on a page
I's memories, meaningful moments
Every letter, every word
Draws the pictures of their life
When they cry, I feel their pain
When they laugh, I smile
When the times seem most dark
My heart wrenches for them
The ink will write their story
And I control the pen
Three MinutesI HAVE NO REAL CONCEPT OF HUNGER.Three Minutes4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When my stomach starts to growl,
In three minutes I can walk to the freezer,
Select a meal and pop it in the microwave.
I HAVE NO TRUE SENSE OF HORROR.
When I am scared,
In three minutes I can find the remote control
And turn the channel and my fear dissipates.
I HAVE NEVER FELT REAL THIRST.
In three minutes, I can walk to the cupboard,
Select the size of cup I want,
And fill it with water from a sink.
I HAVE NEVER FELT COMPLETELY HELPLESS.
I have a roof over my head and a lock on the door,
And if I am in danger in three minutes I can
Grab my cell phone, dial 911, and have help on the way.
I HAVE NEVER KNOWN POOR HEALTH.
In three minutes I can call the doctor,
Schedule an appointment, and be on my way
To feeling better in no time.
I HAVE NEVER KNOWN ABSOLUTE POVERTY.
In three minutes I can dig around the couch cushions,
Find a few coins and be on my way
For a delicious package of Chicken Ramen Noodles.
I HAVE NEVER FELT COMPLETELY ALONE.
In three minut
philosophewords tumbled out of yourphilosophe3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
mouth. urgent, thin lipped
maiden. the king has lost his
heart to the weeping of his
he drags them to bed with
crocodile tears and false
you cried from the tower,
regicide. the king is murdered
and his heart is displayed for
all to see. torn through by the
greedy fingers of his lovers, he
could not sputter a complaint to
their bodies sank into the
mattresses and blood stained the
floorboards. we knew this would
become of them all. such unfavorable
faces, the gods could not
my hands cannot move fast
enough to save your story, i
can only watch you tremble.
eyes thick like fog, you repeat.
the king has lost his heart.
The Only Thing Missing Is You7:55 PMThe Only Thing Missing Is You9 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
you would have liked today. we went upstate like we used to, to the woods. i know it's been a while since you've seen the trees but they're as pretty as ever. they're just starting to fall. i wish you could have been there.
i always wait for a reply from you, haha. then i remember
anyway, we took a walk down to this lake too. there were rope swings hanging from a tree nearby and we froze our asses off swinging for nearly twenty minutes. i swear it felt like we were floating.
hell, it was everything you used to love
it's funny, on the ride home i was practically falling asleep, but now i can't even shut my eyes
it's just... it's not fair
whenever i skipped a rock i remembered the first time i taught you how, and how excited you got. every time i said i was cold i remembered the way you would call me a baby, but give me your hat anyway. we even walked on the same paths we used to take, and everything is the same. the trees are st
On Seeing without SightPATIENT 1 - a young boy of ten-twelve years; was discharged from hospital one week after operation. He is in his bedroom, surrounded by wooden objects and shapes on paper.On Seeing without Sight1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
BOY: Depth? What is depth?
DOCTOR: Depth is the third dimension, other than length and width. (motions with hands)
BOY (bemused): Dimension?
DOCTOR (holds drawing of square and a wooden cube): This drawing has two dimensions: length and width. This wooden cube has three, including height.
BOY (struggles to reach wooden sphere): This is depth? (holds sphere with both hands, ogling)
DOCTOR: No, that is roundness. The sphere has depth, though.
BOY: I don't understand.
PATIENT 2 - a young male slightly older than Patient 1. He is in a hospital bed, preoperative.
DOCTOR (presses wooden cube and sphere into patient's hands): Can you tell what these shapes are?
TourniquetI stand crying over the kitchen sinkTourniquet4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
reeling back and forth so hard
that I hit the tap
and watch as my broken dreams
spill out of a fresh gash.
I spend my free time searching through spare fantasies
for a tourniquet; anything
to stop the flow of thought.
Its funny how I fight to forget us,
and struggle to remember you.
Every so often I cant recall
the way you drug your feet as you walked
or exactly how much I loved your voice.
Im losing you again...
Just another dropped call
on the worlds most reliable network
because all I am is a number;
a few digits
not worth remembering
So as I run mine through my hair
and let out a sigh in the absence of sleep
I close the cemetery gates that have come to be my eyes
and rest uneasy.
no, pleaseI think, despite all the objections against love that I so boastfully proclaim, what I crave most is for someone to steal away my gaze, hold me softly by the shoulders, silence me, and tell me quite seriously that they love me.no, please3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
david and goliath.He passes underdavid and goliath.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the dying streetlamps'
darkening splashes on his face,
against the rooftops.
The tarmac, painted with his footsteps,
white lines of vertebrae
tickle along its back.
Lovely glass, shattered fragments
ruffle the curb of the pavement,
strands of rainwater
whisper along the gutter
in hymnal honesty; and sunlight seems swallowed
by the swollen beast of night.
prickle at the back of his memory,
a nervous pattern of speech,
syllables of iambic chattering
teeth against the cold:
the hotel window, shining with
the gaze of a thousand tourists' wonderment,
is where his own eyes rest,
as if the world is born anew
and love-songs spike the evening air
his life-tousled hair. He
walks on, passes on,
a stranger in a foreign land;
the moonlight seems
to turn about him, embrace his form,
a lonely touch, not quite animate in its caress,
but his love was the colour
of seawater on gravel,
and he would not take the taste of her brea
tutorialtake an evening -tutorial2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
reclassify emotions as chemical compounds.
remove one atom,
see what changes.
take your field notes, transcribe them
back to front.
add line breaks.
be scientific. be too scientific.
replace the word 'entropy'
with the word 'god'.
be so full of want that you can feel it
scraping its numb jaws against your insides.
write about flowers instead.
make your first line provocative.
follow it, let it unfurl -
inauthentic, try again.
who the fuck
read, find inspiration.
find new ways to plagiarize old ideas.
hash and rehash,
slash and burn.
look at the mess you've made.
spend an hour flicking back and forth -
write about family. if it hurts too little,
write about flowers instead.
use a word bank.
write in the dark.
write from within your own skull.
write your litanies.
write your lines.
haikuwrimo 2015vii.haikuwrimo 20156 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
we type-caste strangers
into mere stereotypes.
jury of the world.
thoughts are graffiti
plastered inside my brain; i
am a misnomer.
silk leaves caress
peach fuzz cheeks
whilst mountains slumber.
and wine skylines -
l'appel du vide.
dreams call from the void,
beckon-eager to devour
such lost minds as ours.
twig bones keep my skin
propped up as my tired eyes droop
toward dirt soft ground.
House of Dreams Out through the fields of tall weeds and wild grasses, past a decayed oak and rusted-out pickup truck; into the dense woods on the other side, where the ground is carpeted by multiple layers of dead leaves, built up over the past century. Deep in the heart of these woods is an old house, its boards gray and weather beaten. At night, flickering blue lights dance through the darkness, but there is no one there to see…House of Dreams2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
A steaming day in July, the air heavy and hard to breathe. Insects of two dozen varieties filled the thick air, thrown into a frenzy from the heat. The drone of their buzzing had become background noise. I was totally focused on the warped, weathered boards of the old house. Specks of white paint still clung stubbornly in places. A two-story, Southern Gothic masterpiece, it had been abandoned now for many years. Overgrown with weeds and briars, it fairly vibrated with memories of long ago days… Lives lived and lost, children’s laughter, the so
words to say to your reflectioni am a collection of dust and stars,words to say to your reflection1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
blue luster in a sea of inky void.
i am a tongue licking lips, clicking against teeth,
shaping sounds that matter.
i am the lightning that explodes in purple storm clouds,
four miles of haphazard beauty
on a lonely night.
i am the sea in autumn, still holding the warmth of a summer of sunlight,
though the air outside is cold
i am the snow at 6am.
i have not been touched, not stepped on. my surface is smooth as glass.
i am the snow at 6pm.
i am still beautiful.
i am the sound of rain just before sunrise
on a sunday morning.
i am the swirl of cream in a coffee,
blossoming and unfolding like a galaxy.
i am the smell of lavender
after a storm.
i am breathing.
Drive"You ready to go?"Drive3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's with sodden hands and soaked-through boots that he climbs into the back of the faded old pickup. Red paint's peeling off everywhere, but he barely cares. Bullet holes and scattershot clusters show every few feet, but he still loves his ride. Despite the shattered world and slightly shattered rear-view mirror, it still takes him places.
He's got a gruff voice; his baritone erupts from his throat like gunfire or gravel across a chipped highway. Torn rubber boots slosh in the highway's broken shoulder. A burning wind catches his hair, runs through his stubble and down his open shirt. Runoff from the road splashes his faded jeans.
His coat whips in the wind, green and patched more times than he can count on his fingers. At least he has all of them; staying intact is an odd bonus in his line of work. The tools of his trade click and shift in their holsters just above h
love people"We call everything a river here."love people2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there's a love parade
beautiful blue and white houses
spill children into the street
like beads of happy colored glass--
music all over.
the trees are spring,
fall, and summer,
green yellow maples
all love people
two moons to a face
I think of a quiet
pebbled stream in this moonlight
and a younger woman,
like a single brush of ink,
as the pebbled stream dips,
into winter, or untimed wild.
EPIC: Robin breaks a heartRobin's watch was over--she was turning to wake the next sentry when there was an ominous rustle, and she whirled with sword drawn.EPIC: Robin breaks a heart4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It was only Commander Rad coming to take her place. His massive sword was buckled over his shoulder, but he was otherwise unarmed and unarmored. "Hello," she said, relieved, and stood up to stretch. "Thanks for waking up on your ownI always feel bad kicking people awake for watch."
Rad's face creased into a smile, and Robin was surprised to find that he was almost handsome when he wasn't being hostile. His features held a boyish charm that had always been buried behind the eagle mask. He came to stand by her and stared out into the dark for a long moment. She waited for him to say something, but nothing seemed forthcoming.
"Is Andais always at war?" she found herself asking. "Do you always have to be the Commander?"
Rad turned slowly to face her. "Yes," he said after considering. "It is. I do. Andais is good. Others are evil. There is always a war be
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.Nine Times2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
enduring biopoiesis getting over itenduring biopoiesis2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in quick gasps of rabbit fur
and valley tangles
we would have
had such darling
strung out on fake roses
floating on our sun-striped backs
but we're so
some world-children cutting
out, tuning in yet
ParadiseParadiseParadise9 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
What is paradise?
But a place of imagination
It seems to be everybodies fancination
To seek and hold
This dream ... so old.
Some picture an old house
In the middle of the woods
Surronded by natures sounds
Other see an island
In the middle of the sea
Lying underneath a tropical tree
But what about now,
Or normal life
Sitting at home with family or wife
Is it not enough,
To simply live with what you have?
And I ask again,
What is paradise?
But a place of imagination
It seems to be everybodies fancination
To seek and hold
This dream ... so old.
Paradise is nothing more
Then a piece of your mind
Your imagination running free
Leaving your soul's flesh case,
Empty for the eye to see.