HateI really hate the way she lies. She says she’ll listen, but she won’t. She promises she’ll be there, but she isn’t. She tells me it wasn’t her, but it was. I don’t hate her you know. I just hate everything she is, everything she does. Her smug smile. Her mud brown hair. Her green eyes with a drop of evil. The way she knows how to hurt me. The way she can make me cry. The way she likes it. She knows me too well. She knows how to hurt me. Knowledge is power and power corrupts. She’s the most corrupt person I know.Hate1 year ago in Emotional More Like This
But I can’t hate her; not entirely. After all, hating yourself isn’t healthy.
Why I hate Justin Bieber Quite a few people have asked me why I hate the insufferable wretch that is Justin Bieber as much as I do. Well, it’s not just his horrible music that makes me burn with an extreme hatred every time I even hear about him. There’s a rather sad story behind this.Why I hate Justin Bieber3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
About two or three years ago, when he was in his major prime, (which was about the time I first got into anime, and this will come into the story later.) I had a friend. I shall only refer to her as “Marlene”* for now. I knew Marlene for many years, and we rode the bus together. Marlene was a tomboy at the time. She was one of the best soccer players I knew, and she was amazing at drumming. And then, that fateful day arrived. She was using her phone on the bus, and I couldn’t help but glance over at her wallpaper. To my utter disbelief, it was a picture of Justin Bieber. I asked her, “Hey, did your little sister mess with your phone or something? You may want to check your wallpaper.
Conversation With A GodShe calls herself Poseidon. I call her “she”, but the statement is debatable, I suspect she is not truly anything, however for the time being, and to my eye, she appears female. Her hair is long and very dark blue, except at the tips where it is lit with flecks of seafoam green. Her skin shines like the polished face of a seashell, with as many colors swimming across it.Conversation With A God2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She walks beside me with her face raised to the sun, and as I glance back I see that her footsteps in the sand are filled with water.
‘Aren’t you afraid you’ll dry out?’ I as,k because it is the first thing that comes to my mind, and instantly I know I sound foolish.
‘I can not,’ she replies and her voice sounds like water running over stones. ‘I may walk a thousand years in the desert, and when I am done, it will be an ocean.’
She does not look at me as she speaks, she keeps her face to the sun which shines meekly through the wisps of clouds, still low over t
Six Word Story - Philosophy'What's life?' she asked, too eagerly.Six Word Story - Philosophy5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
From Your Fingertips (You Let It Go)She dreams of frost at night. It seeps from her skin, spreading out to daintily touch the floor, the windows, the wall, the ceiling, completely encircling her in the room, until its been wound so tight she can’t even hear anything aside from her own breathing, just in and out, in and out. An odd comfort, to say the least, but she can’t help but find that in that confinement of her own making - such a blatant, unchangeable prison of her subconscious - she’s never felt more free.From Your Fingertips (You Let It Go)2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
(it spreads out with a single touch, spreading and flowing, crystallizing, a cover, a thin yet absolute cover with a presence soft as air itself, gently sinking into the surface itself with such security one couldn’t even doubt its importance to be there)
She dreams of snow at night. Falling and littering the ground in a slow cadence, landing on her tongue, face, gloveless hands, settling over her like a hood, numbing her ears so that all she can hears is her own heartbeat, steadil
End RemembranceEnd Remembrance3 years ago in Historical More Like This
Remembrance Day originates at the end of World War I. The idea is to honor those who died in the line of duty, defending their country from enemies. For all its pompous words and fancy granite memorials littered with colorful flower bouquets, Remembrance Day and others like it have failed miserably in achieving this goal.
I've often been criticized as having no respect, and that can be an impediment when discussing certain topics. However, I am often in luck – hypocrisy deserves no respect. What changed as a result of the enormous sacrifice of those who died in WW1? As the first bombs of WW2 fell just two decades later, millions once again obediently lined up under various pieces of colored cloths to slaughter and be slaughtered. It became obvious that absolutely nothing had changed, and that the millions of WW1 had died in vain.
Most would agree that all that lip service paid to the sacrifice between the two world wars wasn't good enough. To truly honor their sacrifice would be
Mollie's Ribbons I grew up in a small town just a few dozen miles from the closest water sourcea slowly shrinking aquifer that squatted underneath the seat of Thompson County, our neighborly border. Fortunately, we hadn't yet been quite as devastated by our annual droughts as those in Oklahoma and Texas. Rumors would occasionally drift in with a tumbleweed traveler about how bad the deep South had dried up into nothing but an old dusty lake bed, but these flashes of news were too few and too far between to be counted on as up to date or even true.Mollie's Ribbons5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Once, I heard one of my distant cousins, a boy by the name of Harold, was said to have been caught up in a barn somewhere in Oklahoma during a storm where only the dirt blowsthe dust and dirt block out the sun and the air until you get blown away with it. Apparently, poor old Harold had been caught up in that barn for so long (five days according to old Miss Harris) he eventually just smo
Smak kosciZapach palonych ziół zmienił się, wyostrzył. Ciężka nuta natarła na jej nos. Pokręciła nosem, kichnęła. Lis, ukryty za gęstym dymem roślin, szczekliwie zachichotał.Smak kosci1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Mocny zapach, mocna kobieta, co? syknął na telepatycznej więzi.
Staruszka otworzyła oczy, patrząc na niego ze znużeniem. Przeskoczył przez palenisko, zatańczył, jakby chciał złapać białą, puszystą końcówkę ogona.
Co jej wywróżysz? dopytywał, gdy ciężko wstała z gałgana koców oraz burych, przetartych materiałów. Kości ciężko zaskrzypiały w jej stawach. Co, co? Pieniądze? Sławę? Mężczyznę? Co widzisz w przyszłości, Raa?
Jego drobne łapy tańczyły, gdy skakał wokół kobiety, dreptał i umykał spod j
water-colour emotionsyou can't buy happiness, but you can buy tea, and thats kind of the same thing. i've been told that i have a knot inside my chest,water-colour emotions3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
like those of the inside of a tree truck, eternally circling and looping. thats kind of how it feels, heavy and unstoppable.
if i have a tree inside me, then maybe that could explain the shaking, its just the westerly winter winds blowing and
making my far too fragile limbs bend but never break. i soak the tea leaves into the roots that are deep within my
fleshy heart and hope the capillaries will carry to wherever the aches are most ingrained and unnatural.
mother told me three winters ago that she could read the leaves and tell me how my skin was going to grow
and how my head was going to think six summers from now. she told me that my precious head was ever tired
over nothing and my chests storm will ease after one final hurricane, that despite its best efforts will
not destroy me, simply leave my skin a little tougher and my m
toleranceIt is often said that tolerance is necessary in a free and democratic society, but there is considerable debate about what tolerance is. One standard is that tolerance means putting up with others and respecting their basic rights. Others regard this as insufficient, and consider almost any expression of negative attitudes on the basis of factors such as race or religion to be intolerant. The focus of this essay is religious tolerance. This is the form of tolerance that was most significant to the founders of the United States. It will become clear, however, that religious tolerance is not as special a case as it may at first seem.tolerance4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Religious tolerance cannot reasonably be rooted in a belief that all religions are equally correct, or that religious beliefs are somehow above criticism. In fact, it is impossible to offer meaningful commentary without suggesting that at least some religions are wrong on at least some things. Clearly, those who advocate for gay rights are not intolerant sim
Uncertainty of BetrayalUncertainty of BetrayalUncertainty of Betrayal2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Wandering alone in a world of nothingness, wishing for something to return to you. The dust of your wandering soul forever shattered, echoes the cruelty and teachings of people you thought you could love. Betrayal is a weapon that is used too horribly. The wounds that betrayal leaves behind don’t heal so easily. If you look really carefully you can see that agony it leaves behind within the tears of all it touches. Those tears beg for the pain to end, it wishes to end the torment brought on by the people they loved.
Betrayal’s blade makes learning to trust and love an uphill battle. Like a God that allows for no miracles to occur. Curing betrayal’s disease is nearly and certainly almost impossible. Forgiveness does not cure this, forgiveness does not take away the pain, the hurt, the decades of suffering. Forgiveness simply renounces the resentment of what they did. How can it be that we can forgive and heal anger, but not the pain? How can we
AftershineAftershineAftershine3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Sitting here in my room with nothing but some tea, I ponder the lives of so many others. Beyond the futile judgments and ideals of mainstream cursed people, I throw away the morals and values of the targeted individuals and I follow my right path. Using the light from the true friends of gold and silver, I achieve my inner harmony. I have seen through the lies of others and I have abandoned them long before they realized it. I rejected the reasoning of a large community, and I will never accept faith in humanity. I ask this with an imploring heart, trust in yourself and the miracles you create with your own hands. Trust in the people who you deem worthy of it and rip away the bonds of the detrimental. Bring out your true love and friendship slowly and steadily, and show it to ones who are valuable to your sweet and unwavering glow. Erect the walls against those who try to harm that light; defend it with everything you have. Break the illusions people have put into your head
There's A Woman In My Soup The world was spinning too fast, and Jim knew that he was going to be thrown off. A flock of porcupines flew by like the winged monkeys of Oz. Colors swirled until they mixed together and everything turned the color of mud. Trees laughed as they were uprooted, freed from their monotonous standing. Someone whispered in his ear… “You’re in the wild, wild west now, baby.” He awoke, breathing hard, behind the wheel of his ancient Pinto. Horns were honking at him as he pulled back into the proper lane. The narcoleptic episodes were becoming more frequent, and he was worried.There's A Woman In My Soup2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Janice popped a couple of painkillers without water. She was used to it, now, but she couldn’t get used to the pain in her back. It felt like knives twisting into her. The pills always made her sleepy, but there was nothing else she could do to ease the pain. She lay down on the bed and waited for them to kick in. A ‘Scrubs’ re-run was on TV. “Who put the silv
Friday NightA man walks out of the double doors, his chest a hole with a ring of fire around it. It is raining, pouring, but the fire still burns. Small dogs nip at his heels; he clutches the twelve-pack he just bought tighter and walks on. Tonight he will try to quench the fire, lay the ghosts to rest for a time, fall down the spiral. Tonight he will find Captain Hook and try to retrieve a measure of what was lost. Tonight he will go down the rabbit-hole, across the borderline, try one more time to break on through to the other side. Perform the ritual. Fight the dragon. No sleep until the sky is pinhole bright in his eyes and he's paid the price of the trip. Lips chapped and coughing up a lung, he'll stumble to his bed in the ocean, dreamless. One Saturday they'll find him staring sightlessly at the ceiling, and wonder who this man was who wore his soul on the outside.Friday Night2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I Will Die For YouI Will Die For YouI Will Die For You2 years ago in Editorial More Like This
I will die for you. I will stand by you for as long as my heart sings to you.
My life will forever be linked to yours as long as you love me.
Oh for so long I craved for your company again.
How much I wished to go back and live the life we shared.
Where you took my hand and shared your warmth.
And even if you left me now, I will never leave your side.
While your beautiful colors fade, I'll be here.
I will take any bullet from any enemy and protect you from any murderer.
Even when your chains pull me down I know you'll need me too.
With fears of you letting go of our precious broken past and forgetting my pleads.
I still reach my hands to you and wait.
Wait until the our last words are spoken and you finally see my blood spill.
And see that I was always there to hold you.
And one day we will embrace each other once more.
The Doppelganger 2The book still sings to me, and that's when I pull it from under my bed and stroke the cover. But I never open it, because I know what happens if I do it wrong. It's still blank; but only of ink. I know the secret, you see. It's how I understand the songs, and know the melodies it echoes up to me, through time. There are impressions hidden in the pages- spilled mead and raucous laughter, summer sunshine and frost on dead leaves. The last time I tried feeling them from start to finish, I passed out from the sheer weight of knowledge, and it left my brain scrambled for ages.The Doppelganger 23 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I found out things about my past and my family's past. I have Irish on my dad's side of the family, stretching back generations. I'd have said I was surprised when I found out, but that would have been a lie.
People say I've changed since last spring. My face is thinner, my eyes are brighter, I've been "brought out of myself." What they don't know is that I've actually met myself. I've taken to wearing rich, d
The Art of HealingThe Art of HealingThe Art of Healing3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Dear Irreplaceable You
Hello! I hope you’re doing well. I’m whole-heartily sorry for not writing this earlier, I don’t have any excuses. As I’m writing this I don’t know what to say to you. I wish I told you everything before you departed. I wanted to say thank you so much for all you have done for me. You don’t know how much you changed my life. You showed me that there was kindness in humanity. You are my eternal friend, a priceless treasure, and an angel from god.
I wish I told you everything, about the abuse, about how much I loved you, and how much of an inspiration you are. It’s not fair; it’s not fair where you are. Cancer is a real horrendous thing. It took you away and it’s not fair. Without you here with us, the world has become a little less bright. Even though I’m in college, I still pass by the art room that you occupied. When I do, I’m filled with the countless memories that make life wor
SanctuaryFirst, eyeliner, and lots of it.Sanctuary3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Then, of course, fake eyelashes.
I finish my face with crimson lipstick.
And I can’t forget the wig, blonde and curled to perfection.
I slip on a dress, caressing the soft fabric. A silver purse and matching stilettos find their way into my hands before I sneak out the window. As soon as the straps of the shoes are around my ankles, I take off; ready to dance and flirt with the boys.
That is, until the sun rises.
It tears me apart to have to wipe away my beauty as I prepare for school, but I know that cleaning my face is just a prelude to the torture that awaits me in that hellhole.
Walking through the gloomy halls, I cannot help but think of the way some people complain because they feel invisible. I wish I could be so lucky.
Whispers follow me wherever I go, murmurs formed by sneering lips just loud enough for me to hear. Just loud enough for them to hurt.
“Probably has herpes…&
Absurd ComplicationsAbsurd ComplicationsAbsurd Complications2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
What can I say in a time like this? The tastelessness of the air of the rotting corpse grips my stomach in the harshest of ways. This town, those people, these terrible instances; how dare they calm they changed. I can see the blood on their hands, the murder in their eyes. As I am forever branded the outcast, I ride on the precipice of the light and dark. I can see the many truths that the commoners of this town will not acknowledge. We see the corruption, and yet we are powerless to prevent it.
To the student who took the shotgun to his chest or to the one who hanged himself, they couldn’t escape the cruelty of their peers. Within that school, teachers, leaders, and officials allowed their abuse. In front of their eyes they look at the injustice and smirked. They lie through their teeth, calming they know nothing and one day they will relieve these helpless people of there sadness. So then tell me, how about the teacher hanged herself in her classroom becau
Plastic FlowersThe green haired boy sat on a chair in the corner of the diner, kicking his feet through the linoleum floor tiles. None of the patrons noisily taking advantage of the all-day breakfast at seven in the evening to noticed. The boy had no food in front of him, but the seat across the table had a half-finished stack of pancakes sitting in front of an empty chair.Plastic Flowers3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He blinked, green eyes skipping across his fellow diners but finding no immediate entertainment, apart from rattling the cutlery at table five, he turned his gaze towards the large plastic daisy that was in a vase by the condiments with its head pressed up against the window. A seam ran up the side of its stem before disappearing under the not-quite-white petals that were held together by a desperately yellow plug of plastic in the center. The boy rubbed a petal between his fingers and then patted the flower affectionately.
“Hullo,” he told the plant cheerfully, “I’m Kay, which is short for something I thi
Untitled story: ProloguePrologueUntitled story: Prologue2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Through the smoke and flames a tall proud figure loomed. I knew this figure well. He had his usual top hat and trench coat on. In his left hand, he held his flintlock pistol half cocked. In his right, his elegant saber was at the ready. Even if I possessed the strength to stand, I would not let him see me shaking from blood loss. Around us, the wreckage of the town was alive with screaming citizens. He now stood calmly in front of me, perhaps taking in this moment. He raised his left arm, and cocked his pistol fully. I closed my eyes, waiting for my brother to pull the trigger.