In a Little Girl's MindThere sits the girl with the things in her eyes
Monsters, destruction, and sweet butterflies
Hopscotch and daisies, surrounded by screams
Beautiful dresses now torn at the seams
Crayons and paintbrushes, villains and grins
Young, gladsome innocence, hatred and sins
Little red houses on roads left to fade
Gorgeous moonlight shining off of the blade
Blood pouring out as she cries her own name
Knowing she's forced to take each bit of blame
She could have stopped it and left it behind
All of these things in her troubled young mind
She could have saved them if she dared to try
Rather, though, she left herself there to die.
Now, others watch as she sits on the ground
Keeping their distance and letting her drown
In her own worries and things she won't tell
Waiting for her mind to kill her as well…
First Day of School."Miss, miss!"First Day of School.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Sit down Gerald. Waving your hand and jumping around will not make me choose you quicker. Everybody will get a turn. Now, Natalie."
"Stand at the front then. There. Nice big voice."
"whatididonmyholidays by Natalie Marsh. What I did on my holidays we went to the beach it was nice and su....sunny. I had ice cream and I went on a boat. The boat was nice. The sea splashed up and we all got wet. Then there was a shark and it ated us and we all got dead TheEnd."
"Very good Natalie. Well done. And you spoke nice and clearly too, but try to be a bit louder next time. Now who's next? No, Gerald, I will not tell you again. Sit down. Now, Kyle. Your turn."
"What I did on my holidays by Kyle age six. What I did, I went to the zoo. I went... no, wait, I know,
InsomniaNow, now, all of you. It’s late.Insomnia2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Mind, stop wandering all over creation; you can only juggle so many things at once.
Neck, stop whining; sometimes, life puts us in uncomfortable positions and you just have to accept that.
Nose, I’m worried about you. You’ve been stuffed up and shut off from everything all evening… In the morning, I want you to open up more.
And, you, heart, would do well to be quiet every once in a while; especially at this late hour. No one wants to hear about your newest anime crush at 1:00 am.
Extremities, calm yourselves. Stop all your nervous fidgeting; it’s very distracting. That goes double for you, fingers and legs.
…Are you even listening?
Ugh. Of course not. You can’t be all ears, I suppose…
But honestly... No, stop that! Settle down!
I implore you; no, I’m begging you.
I'm SickAs I sit in darkness I feel its cold breath within me, burning my insides with its icy fire.I'm Sick2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
It’s not warm like a flame should be. It’s a contradiction. It’s unnatural. It makes me
nervous. It hurts. I trail shaky fingers over my bruised skin—it wants out again.
Unnatural. But really, what is natural? What is the definition of something one might
consider normal? It most certainly cannot be this beast within me. I cannot decipher now
between it and I. We are one yet we are two. Two that sometimes is one and one that
sometimes is two. One. Two. Two. One.
Rage. It’s always there but now it burns cold in the front of my mind as well as the
back. My subconscious is diseased with inhuman instinct and my consciousness is
becoming sick. It’s a plague.
I’ve opened the doors to famine.
Bad HabitsS.Bad Habits2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She always rubs her mouth,
like there’s a secret she can’t say out loud.
Tracing her own lips to prevent a smile, a frown, or a tear.
Sometimes her real smile peeks through, but you can only see it in her squinted almond eyes; dark amber, and soft, just like that bashful grin.
Sometimes a frown shows when no one is looking, followed by a wistful sigh and a simple wipe of the palm across that silent mouth, trying to push the bad feelings and words away.
Sometimes tears roll past her knuckles; she fails to catch them at the source because she’s scared to wipe her eyes raw, so she brushes them away after they’ve fallen in the crook of her pink lips.
She always hides her mouth,
as if she’s afraid to speak.
She never faces you completely,
like you’re not worth her full attention.
Averting her cold gaze, she walks with a haughty, empty stride.
Even when her striking blue eyes are pointed at you, her chin is always tilted up and shoulder
Six Word Storymy mother kept smiles in bottlesSix Word Story3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
InnocenceIt was a time of love, a time of hate, the era of justice and immorality, the season of both insanity and clarity of mind. Sound familiar, don't it? Me wife used to love Dickens. Read him to me all the time, she did. That Jane what's-her-face woman, too: it is a truth universally acknowledged that a criminal who committed a crime is in want of a good hanging. Ring a bell?Innocence3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Yes, I like me literary allusions. I do, you know. Remind me of sweet Elaine. She was a messy death, but worth it. Oh boy, was she worth it. Crying and begging right up to the end. She had it coming to her, bet your arse she did, mate.
Why am I here anyway? I've already confessed. I'm a doomed son of a gun. Don't I get any last whatchamacallits? Can't I have a coldie, before I go up there and have me neck snapped back? Any beer will do I drink 'em all, so long as it's not that light crap.
Answer me, goddammit! What the bloody hell am I doing here? Kill me already. Inject me with the needle or string me up like
Six Word StoryMemories are for books, not heartsSix Word Story2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Mirror, MirrorI can't stand the sight of my reflection.Mirror, Mirror2 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Every time I see her, I cringe. Look at her - the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the slumped shoulders, the half-empty gaze that stares back at me. She's disgusting. She's a monster.
But is she real? Am I real?
I don't know.
Maybe she's the real one and the reason she looks the way she does is because she always sees me and is terrified that something horrible will happen. Maybe I'm the real one and I'm terrified that she's going to let that something occur.
Or maybe we're just the same person and I'm letting my thoughts become too unraveled. There's no such thing as another side to a mirror. It's just a piece of glass that reflects that which is in front of its surface. But then again, what do I know? Not much, if I'm being completely honest.
There are times where I'll pass my reflection and stop, stare at her, and the urge to do nothing more but take her hand and say I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I've said t
Burger QueenShe ate her French fries as if she were high society. She cut each one into small pieces with her plastic fork and knife, then pierced one with her fork and dipped it into her side of ketchup. Then she raised it to her mouth and nibbled it. When she went to take a drink from her small Coke, she did so with her pinky raised and only drank in small sips. She set her drink down gently, as if it were a delicate china cup she was afraid of breaking.Burger Queen2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I looked around and sighed. The burger joint reeked of humanity. Grease hung in the air like humidity, and there was tension between everyone, as if all the customers were negative magnets repelling each other. No one looked into each other's eyes, not even the cashier's. People said their orders to the menu above the counter. And it was so loud. There were too many noises—children screaming, cash registers clanging, and fries sizzling as they were dipped into vats of boiling oil. My muscles were tense and my hair bristled. Why d
Dear Poetry,You will find out that I am not a strong person. Dragons do not make a home beneath my skin to hoard their treasured princesses. I am not that lucky. For I have misplaced collarbones just as quickly as I’ve misplaced hearts, a pulse still rhythmic against my fingertips. I am a monster of words, devouring Cummings and Plath with no ounce of self control left in my body. I promised myself this weight would not fall for the sharp edges of stars ground into your knuckles. But, write air into my lungs, poetry. Give this wild thing a reason to learn the definition of tamed.Dear Poetry,2 years ago in Letters More Like This
Write me a poem, and I will promise to fall in love with you, slowly and then…all at once.
Smile, DarlingHey there.Smile, Darling2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Yes, you over there.
Has anyone told you lately that you look great?
Yes, with your morning hair. Your “chopstick” limbs. Those things you call fat. Your skin with all the blemishes which make you shine brighter. Your eyes which shine like the stars.
I want to say that you look beautiful, and that you shouldn’t worry about what you look like.
What do you mean you’re a terrible person?
Oh, is it because of the intense jealousy for those who have things you don’t have?
Or maybe because you feel immensely insecure of your wonderful self? Or maybe because you take out that anger and sadness on something? Or is it because you’ve only been getting negative feedback from others? Is it because you can’t fulfill your own duties?
Here’s one thing I should tell you, darling.
Put down that blade.
Throw those pills down the sink.
Drop that bottle of liquor you’ve got there.
Let those tears fall.
CharlieWe're all just kids playing a part. That's what it boils down to.Charlie2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I'm the kid who gets to play hitman today. The other kids, they're playing guard. Hands in their pockets, feeling up their guns. Makes them feel big. Calms them down. A security blanket in a holster.
That's what it boils down to. Dressing for the part, having the right props. If you're running around in your street clothes, you're a thug, a hood, a gangster. You put on a ninety-dollar suit you picked up at Ross, and all the sudden you're a mobster, a wiseguy, paisano.
You're still just playing Cops and Robbers, Cowboys and Indians, Thugs and Mafiosi.
Rule of three. Say it enough times, and you'll convince yourself of it.
Look at yourself in the mirror, jacket and tie and shoulder holster. Tell yourself, "I'm a badass." Wash, rinse, repeat until it sticks. Get into character and stand around, chest puffed out, one hand on your gun, one on your cock.
Repeat the lines you learned watching other people pretend t
it won't, i know that.Let me tell you a story. Let me paint you a picture.it won't, i know that.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It’s dark and I’m alone and the wind is howling and once upon a time, I might have made this sound poetic. I’m crying, but it’s not pretty. I’m crying and my nose is red and my hands are shaking and the cigarette is limp between my scarred, calloused fingers. I once might have made this sound pretty. I might have made it sound desirable. Did you want a high? All you had to do was touch my skin, to feel your way down my sweat-slicked hips. Did you want to get buzzed? You just had to soak in the passion like alcohol and let your mind go wild. I used to have nothing but chaos to offer. Now I just have memories – do you want to take them?
But you won’t. I know that. I paid the price and life paid me. Whatever I once had is gone and it’s been replaced with this shaking emptiness. I can no longer get drunk. I just get sad. I sit at broken pianos and think about the music they used to make, li
old and time-weathered soul.Emily liked to imagine that she was from a different time.old and time-weathered soul.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She’d sit on her bed and smooth out the covers, fold the sheets with crisp lines and perfect, symmetrical shapes. She’d place the chipped tea cup on the bookshelf and push back the linen curtains. But she would never open her eyes. No, you see, because if she did, she would have to see the traffic that buzzed like summer bees below her and the water stain dripping down the side of her window. She’d have to admit that outside, reality was not what she wished, and, frankly, she wasn’t ready to stop pretending.
So, instead, she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. She imagined that beyond the four walls she called home, there were open moors and grass that swept against ankle and calf and then inner knee. She imagined that trees draped over the sides of a porch and that her Labrador was free to run amongst the unfenced wild yonder. She imagined gentle whickering coming from the n
100 Writing Prompts1. The love that you give100 Writing Prompts3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
2. Life is a journey
3. Rustling leaves
4. The clank of glassware
7. When we began
9. Bad Times
10. Doing what has to be done.
12. The stars above
15. Large Shirt
19. Heart Strings
30. Snow Globe
31. Golden Microphone
34. "For as long as you live."
37. Leather Jackets
41. Solar Powered
42. Iron Maidens
43. Bought and Sold
54. Putting it to rest.
55. Look around you.
56. "Still My Guitar Gently Weeps." ~~George Harrison
58. Breaking Down
62. Dance in the rain
63. A Catch-22
66. Fit to be
zero.5. I think I'm afraid of sex.zero.3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
It's terrifying that two people can fit together perfectly, without even really liking each other at all.
4. I'm afraid of the day I start replacing myself with somebody else in all of our pictures; of the day I'll see my reflection and wish I didn't have to.
3. I'm afraid of doctors, and medicine.
The first time I took lithium, I couldn't hold it down. So I locked the bathroom door and flushed the entire bottle.
The second time, I couldn't walk more than ten steps without falling.
Honestly, I'm just wondering why they use poison to purify me.
2. I'm afraid of the ocean.
I'm afraid of looking down one day, and not seeing the edges. Of there being nothing there.
I'm afraid of falling and having nothing to catch me.
There's already nobody. The ground is really all I have.
1. I'm afraid of breaking things.
Like, once, I broke my dad's trust in me.
Once I broke somebody's heart.
Once I broke my kindergarten teacher's favorite
Simon SaysSimon says hop on one foot.Simon Says2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Simon says wave both hands above your head.
Touch your nose.
Oop, I didn't Simon says! Okay, let's try again.
Simon says take one step forward.
Simon says jump three times.
I didn't say Simon says!
Okay, Simon says to crouch down.
Simon says jump back up.
Simon says take a step to your right.
Simon says go "woo! woo! woo!
Simon says act like a chicken.
*sigh* Tsk tsk tsk. I didn't say Simon says!
Writing AdviceThe key to building suspense isWriting Advice2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Forgotten Past - Part 2 - PrologueForgotten Past - Part 2 - Prologue2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
~ Current time ~
Memories, they seem easy to hold on to, yet in reality, are fragile. Like delicate glass or china, memories are precious; yet, even something small could shatter them all. They are precious treasures that one keeps to oneself; although some may be burdens, others are beautiful moments that will always be in memory, long after the moment has passed.
And yet still, they seem like they would be forever, even though once they are gone, they seem like they were never even there.
* * *
The sun slowly went down the sky and hid behind the horizon, taking its light with it. Soon there was darkness, but the darkness was pierced by the shining light of the moon and the many stars surrounding it.
Night; it was a good time of day, a time for sleep, a time for peace, a time for silence, a time for ‘games.’
Kagekao sat atop a building’s roof and peered down at the city. People left the streets and reentered their homes, some had happy families; husband, wife,
Small piece of fictionI'm the mute man who learned to sing a song,Small piece of fiction2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
A blind man who's seen the horizon.
A walking contradiction,
A small piece of fiction.
I am the heartbroken who learned to love again,
A love struck dreamer.
A new believer.
I am not what those have called me,
And I have been called many things.
I am a dreamer who see's more that what is,
I don't believe in your reality.
So challenge me.
I've seen the sun and felt the warmth,
I have heard the heartbeat of another and fallen in time with the soft sound.
I've been beaten to the ground for what I believe,
Seen the blood from my veins pour out for those who sought it.
I am the downtrodden and the lonesome.
I am the man laying in the gutter bleeding his life away,
Singing the blues trying to wash away through another day.
You cannot see me,
But I am everywhere.
I am the start of new life,
The hope in the dreamers eye.
The tears in the devastated.
I am the walking contradiction,
A small piece of fiction.
Diaries of a boy named HateDiaries of a boy named Hate2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
They always say everyone wants love.
So how come they don't think that's not the case for me?
Why do they point their fingers at me?
Why do they walk away?
Look down at me?
Spit at me?
Why do they...
chromaWe were merely children when the stars came.chroma3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
They rained down from the sky in a burst of light, like shards of glass pouring down from the heavens. Supernovas blooming in the night sky, petals raining down onto the barren earth - angels, falling with their wings sheathed, glowing, as they glided down. We watched, starstruck, as the glow overtook us - we were mesmerized. We waited with bated breath as the meteors landed, the celestial light subsiding as dark forms started to pick themselves up from the dust.
They moved towards us with an otherworldly grace, their steps leaving no marks on the earth as they descended upon us. Frozen to our spots as they approached, our bodies simply unresponsive in their wake. We were paralyzed. They stretched out their wings, embracing us in a softness unimaginable - a polymerization of silky feathers made of pure light, like a soft touch of a rose petal - and suddenly, our eyes were opened. The world was the same, yet so new, as it was washed with a gl