Silencio"¡Pero no dije nada!"Silencio2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Tin SoldierShe wishes she was a violin so she could sing of tragedy and of sweetness and of wild beauty – so she could sing of giving and of grieving and of loss; of the crumbling of men; of the wandering; of the weeping; of her heart breaking anew at the rawness of this world. Her skin is too soft, her eyes are too wide. She is a fragile and hollow vessel. She thinks her bones are too light for these things she carries. She hates to sound precocious.Tin Soldier2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
She wishes she was a violin so the world could draw its fingers over her and she would weep so sweetly that I could not swallow my sadness any longer but would let it burst forth from underneath my skin. A fountain, a pomegranate in a fist. A violin. She wishes the world would listen to it. She wishes the fountain of my song and the weeping notes were enough to empty my heart, because she swears she could fill it again.
We could be violins together, she thinks, and sing of our sadness and of our sweetness and of our grief. We could serenade the love
This Is Why We Can't Be In LoveThe day we first met, she was naked. The empty gallery had turned the A/C off and she said, "it's hot, too hot for clothes," and she stripped down to skin. She was pink and raw from sunburn, shiny plasma peeking out of translucent cracks in her epidermis.This Is Why We Can't Be In Love2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"How many times have you done this today?" I asked her. "Also, hello."
I know I flushed pinker than her, fully clothed in my capris and navy fingerless gloves even though it was already July-- burning for her, because she didn't seem to notice her own skin.
She smiled, asked, "Am I beautiful?"
"I don't even know you."
"Okay," she said.
"I have to go," I said.
* * *
She was still naked, our second encounter. I was eating a blizzard in the Dairy Queen and she was sitting at the counter with the tall stools. I tried to avert my eyes, to focus on whatever was outside the window in the parking lot, but she caught my gaze in hers and trapped me. As I watched her, she grinned and twirled, bare feet on the linoleum floor,
Gnome Noir "I did it for the money and I did it for the girl.Gnome Noir2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Well, I didn't get the money and I didn't get the girl."
:: Walter Neff - Double Indemnity
So I point the flintlock at the guy and that's no easy thing, big musket like that on a little gnome like me and I peer down the sight. Not many people know what it's like to stare at a man through a glass. But in those sacred moments, the whole world takes a breath and it's just you and him. I line up the shot, and I think about the girl, and--
What? That is the start. What do you want, Sheriff, my life story?
Alright, well, I'm Gniles Brody the Third that's GNILES, silent 'g'. G-N-I-L-E-S. Your boys over there in the robes got that? I'm a Risk management clerk. You've heard of Royal Gnomic Treasury, right? Well, that's me and the guys. You got a risk, we cover your back for a modest sum. We're like alchemists - 'cept we turn gold into more gold.
What? This IS the interesting bit! You have any
Burning Out, and Falling FastYou're sitting in your parents' old corvette (if you had bothered to check, you'd know it was older than you), flicking your eyes between a lighter in one hand, and a box of matches in the other. You forget when fire became such a need, a distraction.Burning Out, and Falling Fast3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Spencer is right beside you in the car, his fingers stroking idly at your forearm, watching you with hooded green eyes.
"If you want to die," he says, "then just kill yourself, but do it with style."
You met The Boy Under the Sycamore Tree when you were four. Your mom encouraged you to go see the lonely boy, and when you first went over to him, he ignored you. The Boy Under the Tree, that's what you called him for the first day you knew him, was a little older than you with dark hair and smoky green eyes.
With encouraging looks from your folks, you walked right next to him and sat down, pressing your back against the tree's rough trunk.
Ghazal for the AmericanI live on an island, eighteen hours into your future and upside-down.Ghazal for the American5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This gives me special powers. Ie., I can drink vodka upside-down.
Warning: heavy drinking may cause phantoms. Cinematic ones.
In bold American sports cars, burning on highways upside-down.
That's how the dead roll. Like dice, or green numbers. Like cats.
Their logic is internal, peculiar. It only appears to be upside-down.
Like a cat, I observe phantoms. I am, at times, caught staring.
In ceiling-corners, the ghosts of spiders dandle upside-down.
But that's how I roll. Like cars on highways. Empty bottles. Cats.
Eighteen shots makes you a ghost. It turns me upside-down.
I am oft-capsized. Eighteen hours into your future, I am also drunk.
The cat, observing, finds that I no longer have an upside nor a down.
Nothing to See (Being Revised)I wouldn't have taken any notice if it hadn't been for the laughter. It wasn't merry or even cruel. It was the barbarous laughter of evil and vicious darkness and it chilled the marrow of my bones. Turning my head to look down the dim alley, I saw them: a semi-circle of four men focusing on their entertainment for the evening—namely, a fifth fellow and what I assumed was merely a cheap piece, some drugged up doxy earning a wage for her next fix.Nothing to See (Being Revised)3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Oh God, how I wish she had been a whore. Some pathetic moll who let herself be roughed up and down for a few bucks, but this was no whore. I wasn't innocent; I'd seen plenty of cocottes and the looks in their eyes that craved money or men or both and I'd witnessed the haunting desperation for something better, along with a resignation to what they had. This woman—so very young—this wasn't a two-bit cyprian, down on her luck, trying to make a dollar and feed a habit.
Bruises marred her
Decaying MattersThe arm made a squishy noise when it hit the groundDecaying Matters4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Like dropping a boot in mud
And it had lain forlorn until
Noticing the curious lack of weight there,
Its owner had looked down
Picking it up
The student sighed
"That's the second time this week."
Carefully, the blood was cleaned up
Not that there was much
It had ceased to flow many ages ago
Then, raising their good hand,
The student asked to be excused
With a sigh
The teacher asked what was so pressing
That lecture needed to be interrupted?
"Well, sir, an appendage of mine has fallen off."
Rolling his eyes and
In a tone that said
If you must interrupt for such a trivial thing
The teacher dismissed the student
And turned back to the class
Dutifully copying down notes from the board
Walking to the nurse
Arm in hand
The student passed few others
Most who were out
Were safely hidden,
Sucking at each others' faces like leeches on skin
Knocking at the nurse's door
The student entered cautiously
"Can you come back? I'm busy."
Said the nurse
The Death of LanguageThey say that every fourteen days, a language dies. The statistic isn't alarming, after all there are supposedly seven thousand languages in the world. That a language dies every two weeks, is just a statistic. The concern comes with the knowledge that a language dies because it has been forgotten. Thus it dies without recognition, without farewell and without acknowledgment. It was merely there before, a communication bridge once upon a literary dream - now a nothing. This fascinating tool that we use to interact with our fellow human beings is lost. And we don't care. The Eskimos, they say, had a hundred words for snow.The Death of Language2 years ago in Editorial More Like This
That favourite pair of shoes that you love all the holes and splits into because they are so perfect and fit you so well - gets a better send off than a language. That coat that's become too small or too big, or too much last years fashion and too little of this years craze gets more of a farewell than a languag
Golden Ink and Going BackI thought I was in love with that four-year old red-haired boyGolden Ink and Going Back2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Shining in a silver knight costume with a black dragon sewn on
Because I was in the pink Sleeping Beauty Dress
I was a good Belle, too
(Back when I hadn't picked up a book
Except for the blue one with the golden pages
Brimming with witches and fairies and magic)
I wanted to be a princess, back then
They were the ones who always found love, at the end
I wanted to be Wendy, too
Because she wore a blue nightgown and learned to fly
Now, I'd rather be Peter Pan, honestly
Because he managed to swerve this whole ordeal of growing up
(And maybe a little because of the flying)
Now, I just want to go back
Back when the only kissing I thought about
Was in The Princess and the Frog
And the only houses I had to be weary of
Were houses made of candy
Back when the only disappointment
Was when my parents were too tired to read me a bedtime story
Or when I found out that the real Little Mermaid
Dies by Hans Christian Andersen's hand
Voices from Saginaw, MI: 1952-1974 Dad would ask so many questions I hated interpretingVoices from Saginaw, MI: 1952-19742 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
for him hands stuck on refrain it wasn’t that my parents were deaf
but that other parents could hear I found that strange we had to move
Corpse Bride - SnowflakeShe remembers too well.Corpse Bride - Snowflake2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Whatever that darkness was, it's gone now, and it hurts. What she sees on the other end of the forest, beyond the veil of fog in her eyes, is pure sunrise; glistening ice welcomes it gladly, from the spots where the snow is still untouched.
When the sun is up, its beams feel like daggers in her already aching soul. This light proves it — how death is not the blissful oblivion she used to dream of in her youth, but a nightmare you can't ever wake up from.
There can't be liberating tears to seal it shut; there will be no rays of morning to cut through the curtains, no warm embraces to reassure her that it's over, that reality is much brighter and full of love.
This landscape is too cold to be reborn; no living hand is there to hold her icy fingers now. She already hears them, muffled and distant — the desperate wails of her mother, the dead silence of her father, when they walk through the dry branches and find her body.
If they ever will.
She swallows a mouthful
Our DutyWe swallowed the path homeOur Duty1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Because we were hungry,
Though starving is an ongoing
Story, an empty bag
Dancing in the streets,
Full of an unfastened voice
Walking through the house,
Wind unchained, heart admonished.
Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,
That sleeping boat content to follow
The vacant waves, intervals
Of dying that we dare not interrupt,
And we watch the kind ear shrinking
From our charcoal docks; heaven
With a full stomach crawls away.
This is what we were put here for.
Combat ZonesHe wakes up in Vietnam every night,Combat Zones2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
boot-clad feet trudging over mined ground,
trigger finger numb, back sore,
fatigue drenched from the monsoons,
and he prays to go home to her.
He finds himself next to her every morning,
dark bags under her eyes telling him
his twitching kept her awake again.
At breakfast she throws the dishes
and cries as the china shatters against the wall—
cries that she’s living in a combat zone
with a man who’s battling himself.
"Is there anything more destructive
than war?" she asks, and he looks at her
and says, “Love."
Hallwaythis candle is notHallway1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the same kind
the muted presence
of an empty home
The Big PictureI have been a puzzle piece;The Big Picture10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I have been a puzzle missing pieces.
But never in my life
have I been arrogant (or full) enough
to call myself whole.
knees and toeshere is a short list of things i know:knees and toes1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Cody says he hates David, but he really doesn’t,
i will never wear a coat until the first of November,
i hate myself in the spring,
the sun is 92, 960, 000 miles from earth and i’m pretty sure
that number is rounded to look pretty
or god must be ocd.
it’s a miracle, i’m learning to look you in the eye.
make a wish, make a wish, any wish
i’m plucking out my eyelashes, i’m learning
to give up beauty for a shot at happiness.
i say too much too quickly without getting out
all of the consonants and my speech is craggy
and rocky like an abandoned trail in the Appalachians,
overgrown and the road not taken.
my fingernails are ragged and bitten to the shortest
stub i could stand. i don’t want to hurt you,
i don’t want to hurt myself, my fingernails cannot
hurt you but i can still hurt myself. one day i’ll
be brave enough to leave scratch marks on your skin
in angry red lines, one day i’ll be some
shhhwe are lurking too close to jesus,shhh2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the empty edge of a lightless stage,
curved nails digging into the skin of our pale palms.
he asks as an afterthought
do you believe in something holy? and i think yes,
i think this is what i believe in.
Metroid AnalysisThere are many science fiction games that lurk within the gaming world today. But there will always be one that will have a special place in our hearts. Metroid has sold millions of copies worldwide and made bestselling lists time and again. Yet as popular as these games are, there are still many mysteries and unsolved theories and questions revolving around the series. However, there has been speculation as to the symbolism and depth that lays the groundwork and very basis of the game.Metroid Analysis5 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
At the beginning of the game, we notice Samus is dropped off alone on an alien world to fend for herself. She is the only human for miles around in an area grossly inhabited by many forms of vicious foreign life. However, despite this absence of life, most prominently human, we still manage to catch glimpses of various statues and ruins of old temples that litter the godforsaken rock of a planet. Often accompanying these ruins and statues are ancient depictions of some sort of religious context on the w
Full ResolveThe weirdest thing happened to me yesterday.Full Resolve1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
So I decided to kill myself, right? At the train tracks. Just throw myself headfirst into a fucking train, fully resolved and ready to meet my maker. Well that was the plan, anyway. And it seemed like a pretty good one since I'd deemed myself insignificant to this apathetic world. But then on the way there I saw this old homeless guy sitting on the side of the street in shaggy clothes, leaning against the side of a pawnshop, and I asked him his name. "Mike," he said. He looked at me like I was crazy. I get why. Who in their right mind talks to homeless folks? I asked him if he liked cheeseburgers and he said yes, so I went inside this fast food restaurant across the street and bought a cheeseburger with the money I stole from my mom and was going to buy my last meal with. I brought it out to him and he started thanking me over and over again like I was some Catholic saint or Jesus himself and I just said “you’re welcome” an
Bitlets 75Just when I thoughtBitlets 751 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
playing with girls was safe,
horseplay became foreplay.
WheretheWildThingsAre AnalysisMany of you may be familiar with the tale of Where the wild Things Are. You probably read it at some point during your childhood or you most likely saw the 2009 film. To be sure, it's one of the most popular and beloved children's books to date and is still widely read in many households with young people. This popularity has led to many speculations about the book's nature. Some say there's a deeper meaning that belies the playful adventures of a young boy in a wolf suit. Others say it's nothing more than an entertaining and fanciful tale for youth. However, why would an adult write something as seemingly nonsensical as this? Very rarely is it for "entertainment's sake." Why a wolf suit? Why monsters? Why an island?WheretheWildThingsAre Analysis5 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
In the following text a deeper content of the work itself will be given an in-depth analysis and have some of the more esoteric themes.
The book itself opens up with a small boy by the name of Max who has a liking for causing mischief and wreaking havoc around the h