The Man in the Coffee ShopThe man who works at the coffee shop looks like you. I noticed this some time ago and have since frequented the place. He recognizes me now. He smiles at me when I come in. His smile even looks like yours. He doesn't say hey though- you always said hey.The Man in the Coffee Shop3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I still work at the library even though you're not there.
Sometimes I look over to your desk and expect to see you typing at your computer, but someone else is there now. It's not you.
Sometimes someone will come in who looks like you. Maybe he will have the same hair, same stature, same profile, same laugh, same voice. It's never been you.
Sometimes I drive myself crazy. I pull at my hair and scream 'till my lungs burst. I scream for and at you. I ask how you could have left me here.
Sometimes I allow myself to believe that I will see you again. By chance we will run into each other in a Wal-Mart far away.
I go to the coffee shop on Tuesday afternoons. I order a small chai tea with milk.
Sometimes the man is working at th
High School Idiots1. ConflictingHigh School Idiots1 year ago in Humor More Like This
"So Leaf," the spiky haired male said, leaning next to her locker. "Wanna help me study some math?"
Said girl slammed her locker door shut, giving him a blank face. "Nope. The girls and I are having a sleepover, tonight and I need to fix up the place." She gripped her bag on her shoulder, grunting a bit when she placed her textbook in it.
He frowned a bit. "But I really need help with math," he whined, poking her.
"Well go ask the teachers or go to tutoring, Green," she deadpanned. Giggling, she started to walk away from Green.
Green growled, gripping her wrist, preventing her from escaping. "I'll be at your house whether you like it or not."
Leaf giggled even more. "That is, if Red lets you stay."
The boy sweatdropped at the mentioning of her brother's name. He had heard rumors about the sibling. Very interesting, psychotic rumors. If they were true, he sure as hell didn't want to provoke Red— "Er... I remembered I was gonna go with Ethan to the arcade o
SilenceIt is thereSilence2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When I ask if he still loves me
And the rebounding quiet screams
His unspoken response.
And the occasional reluctant verbal translations:
"I don't want to talk about this"
"We are not having this conversation"
Codify this as the official language of our domestic domain.
"Only silence is spoken here."
It is there
When I ask my child:
"Why have you done this thing?
Endangered yourself, hurt me, hurt others,"
And her reply consists only of a murderous glare.
How dare I break the house rule and speak the forbidden tongue?
And I'm left to wonder if she even cares.
Do my words even matter?
Am I even here at all?
It is there
When my best ideas are offered aloud.
Did I misinterpret the fact that I was elected to this position?
Was it a perception of reticence that was my sole qualification?
My words echo off the walls in the absence of noise that follows,
Meriting nary even an acknowledgment,
Just the deafening roar of soundlessness
Admonishing me for
Breaking this hallowed silence
on excusesthe floor creaked with a pressing toneon excuses1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and my toes crept sadly toward you.
i heard the sounds
deep inside of your throat-
before they could come out,
before you could think them,
before you could stutter an
i was up all night and
the thought that, you,
were sleeping somewhere
naked, with your fingers
stretching and your dreams
retching up what you couldn't
admit to awake- was too much for me.
maybe if i
was next to you while you
were dreaming, your body
would admit to me that you
loved me. and you wanted to make
me cum. it had been so long.
you blinked hard, fast
your eyes shaking, dying fish.
i pulled you apart
like the ribbons on
an awfully wrapped
birthday present- slow, and
sad, and then fast. i wanted you
to see how bad my skin felt
when you weren't loving
our feet tangled together,
roots of a forgotten
pine tree with a heart
and four initials carved
in it- and i was never superstitious
but if you make a tree a liar
something bad happens to you, right?
if you make me
Lucky Chance: SpainXReaderNoise pollution. Who coined the term again?Lucky Chance: SpainXReader2 years ago in Romance More Like This
Rhythms blasted in discord and words paraded all over the room. Chaos. Chaos everywhere. The lights were out and only the glow from the TV screen allowed you to see.
You couldn't figure out whether you should be happy about letting your friends decide on how to celebrate your day. Arthur instantly won their support by suggesting to go singing in a karaoke bar. They were sick of swallowing grease from Alfred's food preferences and so were you and besides, you were always up for an adventure.
You could only smile at your unbelievable friends. It was a good thing that they decided to rent a sound-proof compartment that only had two microphones, or else you wouldn't have a face to show from your embarrassment.
"Happy birthday, _____________!"
They cheered and sang you the most popular song in the world.
"Thank you, guys!" You said, giving them a tearful look, astonished that your sense of hearing still wasn't distorted.
Alfred and Arthur sn
NewbornI.Newborn2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
There was a girl who was crooked in all the wrong places. Her knees were knobbly and pale, scabbed and thin in the morning sun; her heart misshapen, her brain foggy. Everything about her was defective, a time bomb. She was rotten on the inside. Erratic breathing would disappear into the thick mist of a hot shower as she tried to wash away her imperfections, and when that didn't work, she tried to snip them away.
December 15th, 2009 was the first time. She just couldn't help herself and neither could anyone else so she hurt herself instead. Pain was suddenly the most amazing sensation she'd ever experienced, or maybe just the only sensation she could experience. Red was suddenly her favorite color. She didn't think she would ever look back. It was wonderful.
This is when it began: the secret that now defined her life. She wrote poetry, so much poetry - the words were practically leaking out of her ears, clouding up her vision. She wanted to believe that no