The TypewriterThe TypewriterThe Typewriter2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It began and ended with a word.
Not a particularly strong or powerful word, but a word that changed everything. It wasn't too long or difficult to spell. It wasn't uncommon either. In fact, it was a perfectly ordinary word, but, I suppose, its commonplace origin is what made it so special.
I loved that word.
But the word doesn't mean much without the story along with it and I was always one for telling good stories.
I ignored the call from the other room and remained seated. That tone wasn't unfamiliar. Taking a bite from my toast, I waited for him to call again. It wouldn't be more than ten—
"Sammy! Come quickly! I've gone an' done it!" he shouted. I turned just as he poked his head into the room with a bright smile across his face.
"What did you do?" I asked as I walked towards his study. Chris had said those same words nearly twelve times this week. Every other day he had called me in for some discovery.
I pushed open the door t
You were cold insideYour lips tasted ofYou were cold inside2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
summer, of warm days and
relaxing by the
pool side and
smiling against the sun.
You should have been too hot,
too sticky, too humid.
You should have
overheated, should have
melted into your bones until
they turned to ashes, but
it never happened.
I suppose I should have
seen it coming, but
I was so moonstruck over
the way you said my name, so
in love with the idea
of love, that I
didn't notice the way
your eyes bled
Kyed's confession**** PLEASE READ THE COMMENT FIRST ****Kyed's confession2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Ria let herself being overcame by curiosity. A tiara-shaped tattoo behind his shoulders? She looked at Kyed's back. It was like she thought. In the center of his back, stretching out to the shoulder blades in a tangle of lines and soft curves, Kyed had a big black tattoo. She reclined her head slightly to the side.
"But that... It 's the Innayrin's Mark."
"Yes." he nodded, finishing to wear boots. He looked up at her and smiled. But something terribly sad and disarming was hidden in that smile.
"What is the Innayrin's Mark?" Kisha asked with her usual curious habit.
"Don't you really know who Innayrin is?" Kyed asked astonished.
"Of course I do! She's Goddess of Hope, who do you take me for?" Snorted the fairy. "It's just that I've never seen this mark before."
"You really do not know anything!" Quipped Kyed, raising an eyebrow. Kisha was ready to get back on the warpath, but this time Ri
LA:Ballad of the Windfish SongBallad of the Windfish: Link's VersionLA:Ballad of the Windfish Song7 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
I could see,
The storm then,
As it came near me.
I was struck,
By the sea,
And I fell.
I sailed up,
On the shore,
And you came to me.
You saved me,
So that I,
Could go on.
But there is one thing,
Which so pains me that I must now say,
I won't forget,
Literal Futurist FeministEvery so often, humans make an innovation which changes their world forever. Fire, steel and computers are obvious examples of technological innovations. Equally important to technology are ideas which innovate people socially. Galileo's idea that the earth revolved around the sun or the American Founding Fathers' ideas about how government should be run are among numerous other examples. These ideas, often controversial and even revolutionary for their time, tended to require groups of people or movements to keep such ideas from being destroyed before they could be shared. The feminist movement has been both praised and scorned for their efforts to preserve and share numerous ideas to varying degrees. In particular, in her "Feminist Manifesto," Mina Loy helped to share the idea that gender roles were highly constrictive on both sexes with a rather remarkable insight for how things ultimately turned out.Literal Futurist Feminist3 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
According to Loy, traditional gender roles are no longer valid in modern society.
The Stick PeopleIn a town called Rushing Water, there lived a woodcarver with no face.The Stick People2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
When we were small, my brothers and I, Daddy would sometimes take us to visit her. We would sit there at her kitchen table, amazed, as this woman with no eyes – and indeed no nose or mouth – would pour out our tea without spilling a drop.
I was frightened of her because she looked so strange, so grotesque. All the other days of my life, I encountered people with faces – square faces, oval faces, faces round and smiling like the moon with slanted eyes or big dark ones or little beady bird eyes. Snub noses, Romans or long, thin, birdlike ones like mine. Yet here was a woman with none of that or any of the faculties that come with those organs.
As a little girl, I dreaded our visits to the faceless woodcarver. But now that I've grown up I miss most all the memories of my childhood, even the somewhat unpleasant ones, so I sometimes let them wander through my mind even when they aren't invited. So I remember the woodcarv
Hell Can Take YouWhere will you take me?Hell Can Take You2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Where I cannot cry.
where we do no die.
I ache to see your face,
To say one last thing.
I live with everyday.
At my still beating heart.
Like the bottom of the ocean
I'd always get lost
Searching for the words to say
My goodbyes to you
I didn't expect this to end suddenly
You went away that day
And I wish I did too
No matter what you do
Try to remember something
We won't meet again
I am positive of that
Don't get the wrong idea
I never loved your ass
You were there
You always were
A itch that could not be scratched
So enjoy your time
This is the day
I bid your memories
A slow, final farewell
bachHe had piano keys hidden under his porcelain skin. Ringing out bright notes as my fingers trailed along each, taking my time to discover their potential as individual entities before i worked them in a way to make him sing melodies for me... Thick ridges along his torso, sharp spires along his hips...proof of the beauty of human design. There were ivory keys every where my fingers could reach, every inch of skin held a new set of notes, a higher pitch or a lower purr... Yes. He had piano keys under his skin, tucked away from prying eyes and headstrong amateurs who would only disgrace the beautiful sounds /I/ knew they could make. They were there for me to play upon, they were there for me to tell him a story of love and lust and romance. They were only mine... Each stretch of muscle, each heavy lidded eye and every gasp filled night, he would show me those keys, baring his very soul laid down in heavy white.bach3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Don't Give me a Reason to Sell My SoulDon't give me a reason to sell my soul, she should have said.Don't Give me a Reason to Sell My Soul4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Instead, she just stared at the man on the screen in front of her, the man with his long, drooping skin, tired eyes, haggard face and balding head. He was hardly the admiral we had once known. She said "I don't have any desire to do it," and then quickly, "but I'll follow my orders, if you give them to me."
There was fright in her eyes. She gripped the edges of the captain's chair and bit her cheek, fighting off inevitable tears. But not here. She couldn't cry now. People relied on her to be strong. What people she wasn’t sure, but someone, somewhere, surely. She had to believe that.
"Those are your orders," the man said, sinking heavily into his chair. "I trust you'll carry them out."
She snapped off communications with ill-hid despair. Her blonde hair, thin and almost colorless, hung around her face like a fallen halo, fading with every sin. Her lips were tight, her cheeks drawn, and her eyes stared out of bru
Book recommendation 03: Muhammad by Martin LingsBook recommendation 03: Muhammad by Martin Lings2 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
Muhammad: His Life Based on The Earliest Sources
By Martin Lings
Amidst numerous exemplary scholarly works depicting the life of our noble Prophet (peace be upon him), Martin Lings' Muhammad: His Life Based on the Earliest Sources stands out as an exemplary source, providing a whole new account of the life of the Prophet, perhaps new details that haven't been elaborated in other accounts.
Lings provides a wealth of detail on the life of Muhammad, the time and place of many Quranic revelations, and the foundation of Islam, all based exclusively on 8th- and 9th-century Arabic biographical sources and collections of the sayings attributed to Muhammad. General readers will find a well-written, straightforward chronological narrative; Muslim readers will appreciate the favorable treatment of Muhammad; while specialists will find a faithful and convenient rendering of source material.
However, his definitive vivid account of the life of Prophet Muhammad -peace be upon him-,
AttentionMisha found America agreeable, for the most part there was the Boston traffic, but it wasn't as bad as Moscow's, and the food was overly rich and too abundant. But the people of the city were positively warm compared to the Spartan attitudes he knew, he hadn't had a single dollar stolen from him, and the university kids couldn't keep their eyes off of him. Not even the boys. He'd heard catcalls walking by a gathering of young men, the kind he'd learned to call "bros." It was his hair, maybe, or the way stubble refused to show on his face: in America, you could be anything other people wanted you to be, it seemed.Attention4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He told Sasha about it on the phone, who laughed at him. "You're getting a big head. The Americans are gawking at you because you don't look like them."
"I don't think that's it." Misha took a handful of almonds and threw them in his mouth. He knew Sasha would doubt him he always did, dwelling in what he called his "nativist cynicism." It didn't seem to involve m
Shh.Shh.Shh.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I don't want you to cry.
This is my mistake
I have died.
Forget about me
I am no bird.
No weightless beauty
I find so absurd
Your love for me is strange,
But I cannot deny how loved I felt
To embraced by you
Your love is what I felt
Our hearts in sync
Our breathing the same
You're so sweet
Just a little like poison
You were addictive
I was so gullible.
Now look where we are
All because of your perfection
Your eyes may cry
But I know you're just laughing
So hush my darling
I am not mad at you
This was my mistake
This came of Cat and Mouse
Has finally reached it's bitter end
Look who's left
The greedy mouse
Left empty handed
You took what you could get
And left a champion
The mouse has finally won
But you miss me don't be crazy
You're crying now aren't you?
break"Is....this..." his voice cried out in my ear, desperate whispers, "enough?" Ohhh he moved in that light like it was made for him. Slender arms and a slick torso, all of which were painted with our desires in those moments. Stark red against warm, pale skin. My voice was low as i comforted him, rocking against his hips and pulling him closer to me, my mouth greedily pressed against his collarbones. "Just purr for me..." He was passion turned liquid... every fiber of who he was coated my mouth like fire and slipped down my throat to remind me that i belonged there.break3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
My head spun so fast i couldnt keep myself upright and we fell down into the blankets, soft silk stained with cold blood. it moved against him and against me as we writhed, daring the lights to go out, to hide our shame as i took everything he could offer into my mouth....It was never enough... our limbs tangled like spider legs and our mouths never went without kissing or sucking s
Naughty Irish SpiritsPoor Molly Deegan was so very tired. She had done her nightly rituals in a stupor and when her fiery red head hit the pillow, she was gone into dreamland without a stray thought.Naughty Irish Spirits4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Her corgi's barks jolted Molly back to wakefulness and this, she couldn't ignore. With a muttered oath, she flung the blankets back and swung her feet over the side of the bed. She cringed at the cold air and grabbed a throw from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her self. A blue streak of curses trailed along behind her as she stomped into the kitchen to investigate.
She was momentarily shaken out of her foul mood when she saw that the kitchen was undisturbed. She stood in sleepy dumbness until she realized that there was a glow from the garage window.
Walking outside, Molly saw that the garage door was ajar and peering inside, she saw Aedan heaving the last of the broken shards of glass into the recycling bin, the partial logo on the shard revealing that it was one of her college bar glasses.
Against Nature"Mommy!" The call shatters the peace I fumble to carry like a bell in an abandoned cathedral. I can't stop myself from looking for the little girl whose voice pierces my heart.Against Nature2 years ago in Sketches More Like This
I can't find her. The park is full of children - too full. Shrieks bleed with laughter, buried under the heavy pounding near my temples. Children push against me, protesting as I rush by. Heads raise as nearby adults track me with wary eyes. They see a frantic parent seeking her child, but no amount of sympathy inspires them to do more. The sharp tang of fear burns; no matter how quick I am or how many times I search the colorful maze of jungle gyms, I can't find her.
It's faster to work around the crowd but now the trees block my path. Shadows peek from behind sprawling trees, giggling at my misfortune. It's hard to remember if the girl's voice was panicked when she called for me or if I had imagined it. Was I wrong?
A familiar sound stops me. The giggles I hear belong to a wild blonde who waves to me
Day 3: Protection- SignificanceWake up… Dress up… Eat… Rehearse… Practice… Performance… Sleep…Day 3: Protection- Significance2 years ago in Romance More Like This
Wake up… Dress up… Eat… Rehearse… Practice… Performance… Sleep…
Wake up… Dress up… Eat… Rehearse… Practice… Performance… Sleep…
What was the meaning of life when events occurred in a habitual manner? It had been exciting to discover that I had inherited the family talent, yes, it was a wonderful discovery for me, but I never noticed that twinkle of anxiety in their ruby eyes, nor the sigh of relief when they watched me pick at random notes off the bank of black and white keys with interest and excitement. Back then, I had expected a life of happiness with a blessed family who is known for their musical heritage... It took a decade to finally grasp that life wasn’t as black and white as it seemed.
I lived to please my parents, to make them crac
CinderellaI'm tired of being Cinderella looking for my RomeoCinderella5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Pleading to stars and roses while I scrub the floors
Forced to clean up the mess you left
There is no ball gown, no carriage to carry me home
I've broken my glass slipper but for what?
Looking for what I thought was true?
Seems I'm looking in the wrong fairytale
There is no prince, no frogs to kiss
No amount of fairy dust can change my mind
This Cinderella will dance these halls
Draw her sword and cut down these walls
Romeo you can keep you charm and your roses
I'll rescue my self from distress
This Cinderella is a self-rescuing princess!
his name was GabrielHe was oh so warm that night as he wrapped his arms around me and i buried myself in his chest. He was twice my size and twice as thin but those spidery arms always knew how to hold me close. I smelled like stale cologne in stark contrast to his lovely faint and flowery fragrance.. he was always a step ahead of me... always a tad bit more... But it didnt matter then. I was wrapped in his velvet arms and the whole world was crashing down around us. No proof of his existence, no proof of the love we shared... only swollen purple bruises and smudged black blotches. He was my safe place within those torn down walls. He was the only one who never saw all of the ugliness i hid under my mask. But he wasnt there to keep me safe or to make me happy... he was there to prove his point to the world... and so he did, for the cost of my broken heart in his hands...his name was Gabriel3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I never forgot that night in the cemetery or those days spent curled up on the couch. I never forgot all the stars falling down around u
ButterBreakfast was real oatmealButter2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Every morning in Taos,
Served at the kitchen table
By the window. Ravens
In the courtyard.
You always put a dab of butter
In my bowl, covered it
So it would melt completely.
Lukewarm GeneticsBRASS SECTION, GOLukewarm Genetics2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Out of her trumpet flies a tiny whale, and the trumpeteer stealthily stuffs him into her pocket. She runs away to a dark alley, and carefully places the little whale in a dumpster where hundreds of other miniscule whales reside, swimming in a pool of water.
The mother whale swoops down from the sky and opens her mouth, letting the little whales in. SHRinks and goes through a portal in the blacktop.
In this parallel universe, the sky is the ocean and the ocean is the sky. Little birds swim through the watery sky.
One of the birds lets out the sound of a goat. The sound of a man screaming in horror. He holds the key.
The long legged goats gallop and try to buck the goat-screeching birds.
The bird lets out a screech that turns into a super sonic BOOM.
then the oceansky and skyocean fuse together.
It is now all one: The oceanosphere.
The whales and birds drift in the watery air together.
The whales attack the
Editing your writingSo, there are a lot of tutorials for writing; tutorials for character's names, personalities, storylines, and everything else under the sun. Don't get me wrong, some of those tutorials are pure gold. But, and keep in mind I'm no avid tutorial-reader and I haven't read all of them, I have yet to find one about editing. And it's about as important as the actual writing, because what's the writing if you can't read it? So, here I am, making one. If you've already read this far into the introduction, do me and you a favour, and read the rest of it, you might find some of it useful and I won't just be talking in a void. Please?Editing your writing2 years ago in Settings More Like This
View of an Editor
So! You have your piece you're going to edit, haven't you? What's the first step, before you start editing? You have to get in the right frame of mind. Repeat after me! My writing is not perfect. Yeah, that's right. It's not. It won't be even after editing it. Writing can be wonderful, amazing, beautiful, emotional, and brilliant, yes,