Thorin's Heart ~ Chapter 1Thorin's Heart ~ Chapter 12 years ago in Romance More Like This
I would give all the gold and jewels under the sun to taste the sweetness of your kiss, hear the melody of your song, and feel the love that envelopes completely as you hold me in your arms.
~Thorin Durin Oakenshield
~ They watched their king stand on the cliff side until she was gone from his sight and then they watched him stand there some time longer. Their great King who had lost so much but seemed to keep fighting for what he wanted and what was rightfully his. The admiration for this dwarf was of the highest respect and dignity and no other would compare. He slowly turned and saw them all staring at him. He looked at each one and saw not pity, but veneration and hope in their eyes. They would fight with him, side by side, to get his kingdom back. To get him back to his love. ~
Chapter 1 ~ A Song in the Night
Kale was playing with Nightrunner who always seemed to find her at night. She ran with him through the soft glow of the moonlit forest that bord
Jesus SmokesI've decidedJesus Smokes6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that if Jesus came to Earth now,
he'd probably smoke cigarettes
and always fall in love
with the wrong person.
If we wake up at night
and can't get back to sleep,
I could teach him
how to un-love his neighbor
and he could tell me
what the salty water feels like
under his feet.
He might wear his hair in a ponytail
and his eyes would crinkle when he smiles,
and I would smile too,
and in a small voice ask him what hell was like,
and is there any way to get someone back
if they've already gone too far?
He would take a drag on his cigarette,
nod kindly at the two boys holding hands,
and say that hell is more a state of being
than an afterlife, and no amount of love
can rescue someone from their own mind.
I thought so, I would say, not mentioning
the nights I've cried myself to sleep
(the good kind of) purgingdear mom,(the good kind of) purging2 years ago in Letters More Like This
i know i've written you dozens of letters in my life and none of them have made their way to your hands, but just maybe this one will.
because this year, i will take this paper and plunge it into the earth where not a bit of your bones rest, but roses in your memory grow. on christmas, when the rest of the world is opening presents, i will drive too fast to the ocean where you sleep. i will run barefoot on the jetties you warned me never to step on until my feet string with salt and split open from shells. and this time, i will not be a self-fulfilling prophecy. i will not tumble myself heart-first into the sea where we laid you to rest, but stand at the edge and scream above the tumult of waves and your voice carrying in the wind. i will tell you i'm sorry, sorry for every time my hands misplaced themselves down my throat and found their ways inside my skin. sorry for lining myself with morse code, and never showing you a single message. sorry for swallowing sorr
Bastard Sons of GodThe bar is small with a huge mirror behind the front counter that reflects the sunlight pouring in through the windows. Cameron and Mikey sit next to each other on bar stools at the front counter, drinking Adios Motherfuckers. For a long moment no words are passed between them, but then Mikey breaks the silence. “Don’t worry, man,” he says, clapping Cameron on the back. “You’ll find someone else.”Bastard Sons of God2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
“I don’t want to,” Cameron replies.
“That’s what everyone says, and then it happens—you meet someone, you hit it off, the feelings come back, and then bam, you’re back to square one. Relationship status: taken. And everything’s cool.”
Cameron looks down into his half-gone Adios Motherfucker. “She was different.”
“They’re all different. Listen, when I lost Kim, I lost my goddamn mind. She was my whole world, man. I thought she was my soul mate. I didn’t know how the he
Five Seasons (Alternate) There was this moment, early last May, when I could have glanced up from the book I was reading at the breakfast table.Five Seasons (Alternate)2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I could look out my window and see you standing on my lawn, this waif in a windbreaker grinning at a daydream you're probably too old for. I could bring you an umbrella. I could invite you in for coffee, and we could lose the whole day debating questionable Scrabble plays. We could take to the streets after dark and try to find an all-night diner that will feed us both for less than fifteen dollars. I could fall in love with you.
But I don't.
You go home with nothing but a story about how springtime leaves you feeling lonely. Your roommate blows off a dinner date to take you out for drinks. You send a Chardonnay up to the stage between sets and the singer takes you home.
The new girl at work works up the nerve to ask me out.
I don't have a reason to say no.
Feelings with no namesi.Feelings with no names2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The feeling you get the day after sending a letter, and you know there is no possible way that the recipient has received your message yet, let alone formulated time to write a reply, but you still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by and rush out to the postbox a little too quickly and are disappointed by the pile of free coupons, bills, charity flyers, and a late Christmas card from Grandma Moses.
The noise of a faraway car driving late at night, or perhaps early in the morning, in that sleepy place somewhere between consciousness and dreaming where everything is warm and vaguely fuzzy. The remote sound of tires on asphalt speaks to a sense of curiosity – where are they going? Why so early? – but the blankets are so heavy, your eyes are so heavy, and before you can wonder anymore, the car is long gone and you are long gone, carving out a hollow place to rest in just a few hours more.
A sudden awareness that occurs during funerals that y
Scars and SoapHe has such soft skin, Ebony thought to herself.Scars and Soap3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She was sitting on a twist of metal embedded in the ground, the dingy red of its form reflecting on the crystalline surface of nearby water. Her metallic fingers twiddled in the flowers, gently caressing the pale petals that would soon decorate the entire expanse of the area.
They were modest little flowers. Fresh from the ground and eager to bathe the barren world in color. In fact, everything around the little pond Ebony and Male had decided to rest at was beginning to show signs of life. Little sprouts could be seen tentatively peaking from under scraps of metal and concrete. Green moss and vines were tenaciously climbing up the sides of the crumbling buildings. Cool, clean water was gently lapping at Ebony’s shoes. It was so serene it was almost surreal.
A small smile graced Ebony’s glossy lips. It was good that she and Male had decided to rest here. It was unusual to come across a place this untouched by the horro
For A FriendYou wandered into my life,For A Friend9 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
And walked straight into my heart.
A single smile was all that was needed,
For our amazing friendship to start.
You gave me new hope,
When I though that all was lost.
You always held my hand,
During all the roads we've crossed.
You're my protector, my blood sister,
The one who reads my mind.
Who laughs at my lame jokes,
And helps me escape the daily grind.
So confident and loving,
A free spirit so pure.
Who shares my love of music,
Her one and only Cure.
I hope you'll always remember,
That you'll forever have a friend in me.
And I know if I asked the same of you,
You would always agree.
It's hard to imagine my life,
If it was without you,
We've always stuck together,
No matter what stupid shit we do.
I fear now that your leaving,
A fear I'm not willing to face.
Coz I know that if you left,
My world would be a duller place.
I know life can confuse you sometimes,
But I now you'll figure it all out in the end.
Because that's how ama
Mono.One morning a black pillar appeared in the center of town, within the boundaries of the park and right outside of the library. It stood at least thirteen feet tall and was as wide as a mature oak. They deduced it was made out of some kind of polished stone. Some guessed it was obsidian; others argued it was too strong to be such a fragile stone. It could have been granite, but when was the last time you saw black granite in that quantity, and in that shape?Mono.3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"We should knock it down and drag it away!" someone shouted.
But they were too afraid to touch it.
"Why not just leave it here?" another suggested.
But they wondered what would happen if they didn't do anything at all.
Whoever put it there didn't do it alone. They'd need a truck to transport the thing, and they'd need some way to get it off the flatbed and stand it up straight. But why go to all of that trouble for a pillar of rock? Or was it part of someth
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.
Metastasis98.00Metastasis3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Autumn is the season when everything dies.
The leaves shrivel up and your lungs go with them, tiny dejected organs drying out inside your sternum, crinkling under our footsteps. The doctors pronounce their diagnosis as the leaves fall, listing medical terms and percentages and something about medication options.
The disease is metastatic: it has bored its way out of your lungs and into your bones. Dissatisfied, it's going for your organs, your liver, your heart. The prognosis says Christmas is a pipe dream, likely as the sun ceasing to set.
You promise it anyway.
November comes and I am a fish, breathing through makeshift gills carved into my hips, lopsided and crude.
I make fresh ones twice a day, slice myself open once in the morning and once at night in hopes the air will come a little easier each time. I make three and count them off:
and hope my heart stops.
The leaves have been carted away, pummeled into dust, and blown away in the wind.
Va'eiraThis was a lesson in just how quiet it can beVa'eira4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when you don't make enough noise.
Me, holding a toy gun to a stranger's head
"Remember when things stopped being ridiculous?"
You, eating dandelions in a midnight field
"About the same time things stopped making sense."
A boy in church camp carved a small crucifix
for his arts and crafts project. He won the blue
ribbon and a brand new Bible. The next morning
I found it hanging over our cabin door.
A toad was nailed to the cross.
Sometimes we wake up early enough to hide the evil from our world.
Chasing Thoughtsmy mind is a labyrinth of memoriesChasing Thoughts2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
voices and exclamations
overhanging darkened paths
through which I chase my thoughts.
Tangled vines creep afoot,
the likes of which have never
taken root in the forests of Brazil
nor the woods of Petalburg
They find purchase betwixt and
between my scrabbling toes
behind my overwrought heart,
in each nook and cranny of
my breathless ribs
and beleaguered soul
and the yarn of words -stilted, halting-
that I have strung behind me
is not nearly long enough
to lead me, stumbling, blind,
back into the sun-dappled summer garden
I set off from.
In short, I am lost.
Escape VelocityF = G(m1m2)/r2Escape Velocity2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Black – true black – is the absence of light. Darkness is defined by what it is not, by the lack of something else. When we say a black hole, we truly mean that; black. Blacker than black. An absence of not only light, but of time, distance, anything.
The night was scary when I was little. I hated the dark, but couldn’t bear to sleep so long as the light was on, any light, burning on the other side of my eyelids. I used to have nightmares about dark things in dark corners, shadowy figures with shadowy fingers trailing along my spine. I always woke up cold and fumbling frantically for the lamp, but the aura of light just made the shadows deeper and I turned it off quickly.
Black holes are dead stars. Graves. Tombs that bury light, bury it so deep, swallow entire suns, planets, galaxies. Dead stars take all the light with them like rich men spending fortunes on alabaster monuments and marble headstones.
There are four unmarked graves
PencilPencil, Pencil in your standPencil4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Smoothest ebony in my hand
Tell my dreams, create my myths
A graphite diamond in my grip
Hexagonal beauty tall and fine
Carve my vision from just one line
Blankest page of purest white
Stands no chance against your might
When my mind is clouded and blue
The only thing I need is you
You soothe my pain and heal my wounds
Fascinated my hand moves
Deepest trance and sweetest bliss
As I watch the sharp'ner twist
And once again you are renewed
Till I need you again to lift my mood
ShorebreakHer words dawn on meShorebreak2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like morning surf breaks on the sleep-ridden rocks,
and like them I grow weary
They smooth away crags and wash over me
dislodging bits of my battered heart
that dash themselves against stony indifference.
And because I am each shard of shattered heart
and each fallen tear,
I am left as the briny ocean is
washed up and drained
on miles of gleaming white fields.
And still I cannot escape this labyrinth of steel.
She has woven it about me, as I stand
here again, motionless, still.
AnnieThere was this old woman who used to live under the bridge across the street from my building. She smoked like a chimney, and spent all of the money she got on cigarettes, so we'd all take turns bringing her coffee and bagels, or a sandwich, or spaghetti or something. She never talked to anyone. I think she was mute. I think she had Tourette's, too, because she had this funny little twitchy thing going on all the time, and she would make weird noises that weren't actually words.Annie4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And she was an artist. She made these fun sculptures out of clothes hangers and things she found in the dumpster. She would build them overnight, then after a couple of days they'd disappear. I don't know whether the city came and picked them up, or she took them somewhere or what.
And then she died. I wasn't the one who found her. It was Shane From Upstairs who was taking her a plate of leftover barbecue and saw that fuck, she's not moving. And he put down the plate and rolled her over, and sure enough, she wa
drowning with himthere’s this boy i work with.drowning with him1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
he is five.
he wears long sleeves
and shorts with holes in them
that are only kept together with
small clothespins and thin threads.
his hair is always cut close
to his skin, though his bangs are left
just long enough so it covers his eyes
and i know no one can see them.
but i always watch him.
only sometimes i will allow myself
to watch over someone else, even though i know
this boy will only continue to follow me.
he asks me to play,
he asks me to speak,
and sometimes, he even asks me
to hold his hand.
they are always cold and strong,
with calluses and chipped nails
that dig rough into my skin,
and his voice is always hard ice,
roaring like pounding hail through a storm.
but most of the time, he fights.
he hurts the other boys. they are small
and they fight over pieces of chalk,
over shovels and pales and who gets to play
on the swings, but they throw punches
like i’ve seen adults do.
sometimes i look at them
and i see the ripple of muscle,
Weight of the WorldCan you imagine carrying the weight of the World on your shoulders?Weight of the World4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The agonizing screams.
The stinging cries.
The heart-wrenching pain.
I sit here, writing these words from the sole of my heart through the depths of my mind. Contemplating the choices I have made, the choices I have not. I endlessly wander through the thoughts that roam in my mind about the people I love and care about, more than life itself.
For, the slicing pain she feels, I feel deep within my left breast.
For, the tears she cries, I taste the bloodshot rust in my mouth.
For, the screams she releases from those parted lips, I hear a bullet shoot through my ears and penetrate my heart.
I can feel all parts of the unbearable ache that she has to encompass with her. I just want to strip away the world and shine away the darkness, clouding her with only love and the resonating light. I want to protect her and fight off any dangers that try to come between us. I take hold of her small, fragile hand, tangling our f
Colours I Never TastedIt is not worth escaping over.Colours I Never Tasted3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
No, sometimes the sun rises lopsided in the horizon and the
clink of glasses against teeth sets irate neurones off in your mind cavity
and fireflies extinguish on car windscreens in rain storms. Sometimes
August drops down into lake reflections and sometimes October never
sends a breeze to whisper into your ears. But they teach you that all of
that is okay, even when you're watching sunflowers writhe towards the
sun with grey blankets over humid-day hair.
There will always be a dawn. Stay awake for it.
You are not truly living until you have breathed.
And by that, I mean, take two feet and place them on the path
or the grass and inhale April. it doesn't matter if it is not April,
imagine the dandelions and the daffodils and the soft bleat of lambs
and that fresh scent rushing past your nose in long car journeys,
the one that tugs your legs onto the map and tells you 'this is home,
all forty thousand kilometres of it'.
The world is your oyster. Be the pear
Hetalia x Newbie!Reader-Part 1- USA,UK, FranceHetalia x Newbie! Reader -Part 1 - Newbie! Reader x England x America x France (Part 1)Hetalia x Newbie!Reader-Part 1- USA,UK, France2 years ago in Romance More Like This
OMG the Subtitles’ so complicated XD First x reader- no haters plz
Read description plz :3
You’d never thought it be the British Gentleman’s fault for all this… yet again… that’s actually a stereotype. You’d think it be the pervy Frenchman or the hyper burger-stuffing American. But nope it was the Englishman, but as you sat in the back of the car, you can’t help but try to recall how this all happened. Sure you just met them just today but who knew you’d get into this amount of trouble.
How did this start anyway?
You were born when your family/colonists had sailed all the way fro