SanctuaryThrough the thickly-wooded forest walked a young man. He was dressed in the plain garb of his city’s poorest inhabitants, but there was something different about this boy. He was finally going to be something more than a farmer, like his father.
For in his hands he carried a large stone. He could get so much money from it; it was a crystalline sapphire color and shone like the wings of an iridescent Morpho butterfly. It weighed at least ten pounds; the boy with the dirty brown hair was now struggling to carry it as he had already been walking for at least two miles. He couldn’t have ridden his horse out here at such a late hour, even in the dark. There was too great a risk of being followed.
He brought his light eyes down on the stone, which he smiled at gingerly. “This will solve all of our problems,” he whispered happily, cherishing the words that would change his unfortunate life. With a burst of adrenaline, he took s
A Good StormIt started as snow, little white flakes swirling in the sky. Covering the earth in a pale, cool blanket. Then the wind picked up, the sky turned black and the pretty balls of frost warmed to the touch, turned to rain. Ruining my pretty snow blanket.A Good Storm2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I stared out the window, listening as the wind howled, scowling as the lights flickered.
The storm robbed me of power, flooded my basement and caused uncharted mayhem.
For three days it was dark. For three days I ate dinner by candlelight. At first, I pouted incessantly but then something strange happened... The lack of electricity unplugged my brain, forced me to seek out other entertainment, like...*gasp* talking. Interacting with other humans by...speaking to them.
I never realized how anti-social I was until that storm, and now when storms come I smile into the whipping wind. I scream to the heavens for more. I ask God to cry, to sob, to soak me in rainwater and take my power for days on end
MusicMusic -Music2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Boundless understanding -
Distant TravelAbsent.Distant Travel2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
KonjukuYou think you are a pebble.Konjuku2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
That's not the most romantic thing to say to someone, so you'll have to forgive my clumsiness. You think you are a pebble. That you have been worn down and eroded to the point where all corners have been smoothed out. That you have allowed the awkward elbows and ankle bones, the stutter and the scars, to be rubbed out. That you've let them wear you down until you are no longer abrasive when you come into direct contact with what they expect you to be.
You are not a pebble.
You are not small or part of a greater pattern. You are not disposable, at the mercy of Poisedon's temperate shifts. You are not the sum of the parts around you. You are not a pebble.
You are soil; and some may say that that's not the most kind thing to say to someone. People will walk all over you. By that, I mean that you will rise to new heights and be the beginning of something beyond what we have now. Like a sharp cliff you will become the platform that others have to build from
Nothing you could do"There is nothing you could do about it". That was something that always made me cry when I recalled it for the last few years.Nothing you could do3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I had heard it since I was a little boy wearing shorts running around in school. One day during our dodge ball practice my friends accidentally hit a girl sitting alone on a bench. It bruised her arm.While the other boys continued playing with no concern, I approached her, sitting nervously at the other end of the bench.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
She rubbed her arm a few times where the ball had hit her and then withholding tears she gave a weak smile "Its ok, the pain cannot be lessened. There is nothing you can do about it"
I handed her my lunch.
Since then we sat together and ate our lunch. She was a sweet girl, always optimistic and had a keen interest in the philosophy of reasoning. Being a small child I noticed this, years later.
Years later when it was raining and we both ran, covering our heads with the heavy medical books our college had
The child in ragged shorts: the special dayThe child in ragged shorts sat down scrapping the sandy remains of cement from his wall. He hoarded it up and sat down in a corner of his derelict abode. Under the wavering shades of light that barely seeped through the dense clouds, the excited child started working on the small hoard he had managed to amass.The child in ragged shorts: the special day3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
A woman, clothed in worn out attire covered by her loose shawl, pulled away the hanging shades that fell over the front door; protection only from prying eyes. She approached the boy in ragged shorts and placing the small plastic bag she was carrying on a creaking overhead shelf, sat down behind him.
"What are you doing dear" she whispered softly in his ear not wanting to startle the little child.
He quickly bent over not wanting the women to see whatever he was interested in.
"One moment mama" he said and the women giggled slightly, planting a kiss on his rough unkempt hair and sat back on the floor lighting a candle placed on a small table by her side. She sighed wondering how
To the InferiorTo the inferior,To the Inferior8 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
I know how you feel. The thought of being "less." The notion that you have little to gain. The idea that you don't quite meet the world's standards. It's like you're stuck. Forever dreaming for something better. Forever wishing upon a star. At night, you sit up and wonder when the pieces of your puzzle-like life will fall into place. But isn't that just so cliche? All we do is wait...then wait some more. Yet, we're not far from the mountaintop. Someday, it will be our turn. Someday, we will see our long-awaited desires floating before our eyes, like satellites. And those who've never left cloud nine will finally understand. It just takes a bit of time, and a smidge of faith. Though it's easy to become vulnerable. Remember, even the "lowest of the low" have found their way. Some have even taken on the role as king or queen. And just know, that I am for you. Totally and completely for you. You never have to question your significance again.
He Looks Like a Jack to Me I saw a stray dog the other day by the bus stop. He looked like he was probably a terrier mix. The stray life was not treating him well. I could see his ribs poking out, his fur was dirty, and his nails were too long.He Looks Like a Jack to Me1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
The next day I bought some dog food at the local pet store. I had no idea how much dog food cost. I think I got ripped off.
An old Tupperware thing that used to hold deli turkey became his food bowl. I tucked it under the bushes with food inside it in the morning. I didn’t see the dog, but I hoped he was alright.
When I got back later that night I saw him eating out of the bowl.
The day after that I put food in the bowl again, and there he was. He growled when he saw me, but as soon as I poured a cup of food in the bowl, he cocked his head to the side. Something happened inside of me when he did that. We were meant for each other. I got on the bus and watched him out the window.
Some Pig"How would you say your face is feeling post-operation, X? Do you feel any swelling or discomfort?" Doctor Lane droned on as he scribbled on his discolored clipboard. X hadn't ever remembered seeing it in a newer state before but knowing the doc it was probably brand new and brand name where ever he bought it.Some Pig1 year ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
"No pain or discomfort," X began as his rough hands traced over his scoured face. After ten sessions of three hour peels, X could say he successfully eradicated his face. Several acid peels and a very extensive surgery to remove his nose and sand down his once well-defined chin and jawline left the young man with an empty block of valuable facial real estate. The surgeries were very expensive but after consulting the government, he could claim this surgery as "work-related expenses". He was but eyes and holes where a nose once resided and a cavern that used to be surrounded by lips. His pale skin speckled in interlaced hyperpigmentation was the least of his concern.
Rotting WithinMy hand reaches my lips as they part, salivating at the rotting taste that is to meet my taste buds. My scarred and chipped teeth dig into the soggy surface, the swollen gums straining under the light pressure as I take a desperate bite out of the revolting flesh.Rotting Within2 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
As I pull my hand away and chew away at the poisonous fruit, I see blood marking the indentation made by my teeth. Alas my gums had started rotting alongside my whole being.
I licked the blood, tasting a familiar tang as I turned the rotting apple sideways to clean it of the crimson marking.
It was a strange satiation; it was addiction that forced me to go after this rancid and disgusting thing. Knowing well enough the sickness that was slowly strengthening its roots within my veins and the origin of this condition, I was unable to pull away from it.
What a funny dilemma? Who knows, there might be crawling worms exploring the decaying fruit and fungus would be a necessary part as well. But I am not one to care. All that matte
Of Birds and Wings.Mr. Chuges was a man that didn't like going astray--he had never strayed from the normality of life and would never plan to, that's for sure. He was a man who would rather expect what would follow to having to deal with surprises and turbulances. Mundane prosaism was enough for him to be satisfied. His appearance gave out that much; mahogany, dull eyes which reflected no light, no life, looked through a pair of perfectly-squared, thick glasses. His lips were usually set on a hard line, their corners never lifting up to even fake a smile. A short, pointed beard covered the tip of his chin, giving him an austere look that made his students flinch in fear. Being wrinkled, his face was the proof he had completed at least fifty years of his life, even though none of them had been eventful. Whenever he spoke, his voice indicated no feeling, no emotion. To one, it sounded like it was emanating from a deep, hollow cell as he narrated today's Latin Lesson. He was lifeless. Moving automaticallyOf Birds and Wings.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sweet SomethingsHe whispered promises into her ears that he knew he could keep.Sweet Somethings1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
There is a 10% chance the queues will be too busyStart high school in mute excitement as the oily bus trundles you away. It will never be replaced. In third year, it will be replaced. Lose your phone a day before the bus change. Phones do not like you. One will jump into thieving hands/ the North Sea on the Belgium trip. You must go to that. It is brilliant. Do not, DO NOT, ask anyone out on it.There is a 10% chance the queues will be too busy1 year ago in Emotional More Like This
You will get and love your Nokia brick. It is unbreakable. It will get a crack in its screen and you will be surprised; it will be one of the few times in which everyone is surprised at something you are surprised at too. Joining any clubs will make you uncool. Mingling awkwardly by the canal or the pitch is how you gain respect. Be scared to go out of the school building until boredom drives you to three parks and eventually Sainsbury's. The first park you will leave because someone will try to bludgeon you. The second one you will leave because there are neds at it. Everyone you are scared of is a ned. The third park you will leave when the
Citation A GERNAKA force de blanchir mon blé, je suis fauchée.Citation A GERNAK2 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Tous droits réservés@
Glamour WorkCollecting tearsGlamour Work11 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
like diamonds -
La substantifique moelle (warphorisme XXXIV)C'est quand on les bâillonne que les gens bons se libèrent.La substantifique moelle (warphorisme XXXIV)1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Before the Black Throne There was a rattle of chains as the rusty iron cage dropped from the ceiling. It was accompanied by the rattling laugh of the Dungeon Lord himself. The same mechanism that had dropped the cage over the great stone altar had also revealed his terrible black throne.Before the Black Throne8 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“You may have found my gems of power, thief, but I don’t think they—or you—will be going far.”
“No,” the thief admitted. “This cage looks pretty secure. Very sturdy. Lots of spikes.”
“I claimed it from the Keep of Akragokh, where it once held prisoners of the Thousand Day Siege. Still, I don’t think it has witnessed such suffering as it shall see today.”
“Oh no,” said the thief. “What are you going to do to me?”
Standing, the Dungeon Lord approached an alcove near the throne and retrieved a
She Says..."Men are sexists" - You're judging us!She Says...11 months ago in Editorial More Like This
Dear Teen me17th November 2012Dear Teen me2 years ago in Adult More Like This
Dear Teen SMSK,
How are you… ah, but I know the answer already. "Fine, I guess" wasn't it? You never strayed from those three words as a retort and you taught me so as well. I know you don't have time to read a letter. You have important ventures to take care of and while I don't deny them being important, just take a moment to read through, since I know that later on, you shall have all the time and though, being who we are, you shall say "I don't regret it", I can guarantee this letter shall nudge your curiosity till eternity. You are young, you will have far more important ventures.
You probably weren't expecting me to write to you, but now that you have received this letter and realized who it is from, you must be brimming with anticipation over the eloquence you might witness. Old habits still force me into verbose literature but time forced it to settle on a borderline so don't expect much from me. You probably are still in that effusive stage.
You know, your t
Letters From Limbo FFM7Dear Roxanne,Letters From Limbo FFM78 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Dying wasn’t exactly a terrible experience, now that I think about it. A few moments of crippling and blinding pain, and then everything felt flowy and loose and serene. Like a pirate shirt. Dying was like a big, flowy pirate shirt.
To make things easier on the police, I died in a car accident. I was talking on the phone. You should make a commercial about me! Say something like, “My best friend died because she was talking on the phone and driving. Now I am very sad and my life is horrible. Don’t text and drive, kids.” Actually, I’m sure your life isn’t horrible. You don’t have to pick up my dirty clothes anymore! That’s a bonus, right? Sorry, this is too soon, isn’t it?
Heaven is not like you’d expect. For one, it is not on a giant cloud! Shocking, right?! And the angels are not like chubby babies playing the harp. They’re actually freaking ripped
SnowOlivia lost herself in the snow. Sitting on the porch, watching the snowflakes fall from the Missouri night sky, she she let her vision drift into their crystalline reflections. They were the only things that the weak porch light captured. The yard, the garage, and the now-silent hen houses were as dark and elusive as the storm-ridden sky.Snow2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
There had been so many hours, and so many patterns since her father had left. She had spent days on the side of barn. With flourish, she could tell anyone who would listen on how the barn had been built, and how towards the southeast corner they had run short on longer boards and the pattern of the wood began to change to incorporate the shorter cuts of plank. One summer afternoon, she had lolled in the grass outside and realized that the wooden farm house had been built in stages. The cedar shakes of the kitchen in back of the house, while painted with the same paint, were longer and toothier looking than t
In debtThe truth is, I never wanted for this to happen. It just did. It started years ago when my father died, and I guess it all just ended this morning when I walked by that girl at Starbucks. She was looking through her handbag for something. Her purse? Her phone? A note from someone special? I have no idea. I don't know her. She was wearing a light yellow dress that danced in the wind, almost as though it was celebrating the wind, life, the people walking by, and the rich smell of coffee from the coffee house. She was just standing there as I walked by. Then - she looked up. Just for a moment. And she smiled at me. It was a glowing, friendly smile. That was when I knew it was over, that was when I finally realized it; that I had to die. I had to die because I didn't smile back; because I can't smile anymore.In debt3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
A smile is such a simple thing. How could a smile possibly drive me to this? Standing on a rooftop, looking down at everybody, their heads some of them wearing hats like
a quoi ca sert l'amourShe remembered that night better than he did. The way he was dressed, how he talked, what he ate, where he was stayingthe ring on his finger, fresh from January, and it shined under the dim light, her warning sign to stay away; a warning sign she took seriously and knew well. She kept the thought vigilant in her mind with every fidgeted rub to her own naked ringfinger under the table, the ghost of the engagement then and the marriage that never was. Her boyfriend beside her should've been reason enough to resist the obvious magnetism and subsequent temptation, but she found herself captivated by this man of her French homeland, who listened to every word she said with a rapt attention her boyfriend would never match. He kept conversation going. He asked questions and listened to her babbling answers. He made her feel special in a way that the Hollywood gift baskets and showering of flashing lights and Al Pacino and Entertainment Tonight couldn't replicate. He was real. He made hea quoi ca sert l'amour3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This