I'm Still Awake."You're still alive?"
The amusement in his voice makes me stiffen. I do not look up from the book my eyes scan over, but cannot comprehend. I flip a page as he looms over me, intimidating me, a goofy grin on his face. His bony fingers settle on my shoulders, and it startles me, but I only blink in response, turning another page of my book.
"I know you aren't reading that," he whispers into my right ear, hoarsely chuckling and then leaving my presence altogether. I snap the piece of literature shut, throwing it onto the coffee table that sits in front of me and I cross my arms over my chest. He appears again, beside me. Without any warning, he yanks the edge of my dress up. I make a noise of protest, but do not move to stop him.
He carefully counts the blooming scars against my pale skin as I fidget, looking away. He's laughing under his breath, smirking as he counts the lines that once oozed blood all over my hands. My thighs shake
addressed to the screams from the radiolast night i got highaddressed to the screams from the radio2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
(just like you used to)
and i tattooed the letters of your name across
my chest where my heart
and my lungs
i was reminded of the whites of your
i drug quaters across the skin like i was
gambling away all my veins
from a scratchcard.
(i think someone tried to tell me last
night that i was clasping
my hands together--
like a fucking prayer--
eight-thirteenths of a heart"So, what was her name again? Jenny?"eight-thirteenths of a heart2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Ah yes. So we haven't forgotten about Jenny yet, I suppose. You know, this isn't—"
"Jah-nay. Her name is Jahnay. She's twenty-three."
"—Right. I said that."
they were seventeen when they met. it was a long night full of snogging on couches, loud, hair-raising music, and german beer. lots of german beer. he was drunk out of his mind, stumbling up the stairs to take a leak. but so was she, and he found he leaned over the toilet puking up fruity drinks and water (that was supposed to have kept her sober, she laughed later. i tried to drink one margarita and then one bottle of water, but the margaritas just kept calling my name.) they met when they were seventeen, and he held her hair back with sweaty fingers, trying not to vomit himself as her guts communicated with the porcelain.
and he helped her off the floor, flus
my hair is growing longthank god for x-acto knives andmy hair is growing long2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
marking pins and heroine
addicts and you.
thank god for good music.
and thanksgiving meals and
grandmas and spanish teachers that
actually care about you.
thank god for
quizbowl teams and gay sponsors and
that give you strength even while
thank god for sandwiches and mothers and
thank god for blue gatorade and
little girls’ dreams and
leather ballet shoes.
thank god for hair bows and tutus and
a stage made up of glass.
thank god for hamstrings and
thank god for dazy
and little lion manes.
thank god for big paws and
wasp stings and
thank god for sally.
thank god for self-destruction.
and thank god for signs.
thank god for twin sisters and
best friends and
conjoined hips and most of all:
thank god for support.
thank god for love and
care and tragedy
and train tracks lit up in the dark
we are actions, not words,relevéwe are actions, not words,2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you pull your boots on and
lace them to your ankles like a
used-to ballerina taught you years ago.
all you can remember about a
girl from a small-town is the fact that
her lashes were gossamer against
your cheeks and her eyes
were always tepid, like she was waiting
for more than a plane ticket home.
once upon a time
you wished on 11:11 for a girl
to change your ways of
sweaty leather jackets,
and bands that would probably never happen.
you used to kiss one girl's cheek,
turn around and find another
under your arm,
and for once in your life you wanted
someone to rip that cigarette out from
between your fingers
and crush it underneath
for once in your life you wanted to
kiss a girl and be winded because
your lungs were sucky and
your life was growing old like your
when you first laid eyes
on her, you had an asthma
attack and she helped you up.
4 things about a boy who called himself man1.4 things about a boy who called himself man2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he would reply,
"well, you asked for a man, didn't you?"
and i would have to press my
whole-lotta-honey colored lips together
"and i got one, didn't i?"
his words were always cold when he was with me.
the thing i loved most
about him was the fact that he wanted
to teach me.
about the things he loved,
about music, about appreciation,
and i think at some point he wanted to teach me
(he just didn't go about it
the right way, i don't think.)
"i want you to have these experiences,
even if we don't
end up together."
and i guess that should've been
my warning sign.
that we weren't going to end up together.
it's not easy to remember the little
stuff about me.
it's not easy to remember
all my little dates and the fact that
i'm sick or need medicine.
(and i guess
that since he was the first one to do it,
it just attracted me more,
and i suffered for hoping that he loved me,
it's not easy to remember me.
but i don't think he'll forget me.
i keep my hair like i keep my blue jeans: shortthe beginningi keep my hair like i keep my blue jeans: short2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she was all curls falling over shoulders and small hands and slender ankles, but she was also all crooked toes and cheek moles and half-baked smiles. she wore skinny jeans too long and too big on her and she always wore a jacket because she was always cold. and he thought that she was pretty beautiful the first time he saw her in a parade, sitting on top of a dodge truck and waving with both hands so that no one was left out. she was the kind of pretty beautiful that only came around when he said something stupid and she shook her head at him, trying to hide her teeth but failing miserably.
she wore glasses but only when she was doing work or when she had a headache because she thought that her eyes looked too wide in them and all she ever wanted in life was to be people magazine's definition of pretty—which she wasn't (but don't tell her that.) she drank tea on sleepless nights, sitting on her porch and stargazing; she thought that ma
this is me giving you upsomewhere in my heart you came in like a hurricanethis is me giving you up1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
shoving everything that stood in your path to the side and i let you because
maybe my friends were just clogging my arteries and
maybe the things i wanted were just going to badden my blood.
the fire that was within you burned holes into my skin
you were the heat atop the flames that made my vision lack tension and i was
blinded--your hands were so much bigger than mine
you embodied a giant and you crushed me like i was a weed
i should have been scared at the fact that you were over a foot taller than me but
someone told me that if you stare a tiger down
they will submit to you
unfortunately, you did not submit to me, but i gave way of my own control and threw caution to the wind
i think of you as analogies in my mind because when i see things
they remind me of you or the way you used to hold me
i see stones sitting in the creek behind my best friend's house and think of your eyes and
i sing songs that never applied to me as much as th
bedtime stories don't quite go this wayonce upon a time--bedtime stories don't quite go this way2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
no wait, that's wrong.
let's not start our story that way.
you find yourself in your bathtub,
the water scalding
and risen as high as the rim itself.
you find yourself submerged
and screaming out for somebody to help
you are being drowned.
monsters as black as the sky
are tearing at your ankles,
cackling and pulling you down and out of sight
and water splashes out of the
tub and you are seeing nothing
but old memories that stick to your throat
when you can do nothing but cry.
you find yourself in your shower,
curled up in a corner furthest
from the water because
you are afraid that cold water will wash
away your sins.
you are afraid that if that water touches
you in the slightest bit, you
will melt like the wicked witch, and
you haven't felt enough suffering to die
in such an easy way.
melting is far less painful than the ways
that cross your mind when
water falls over your eyes and stings and
you can do nothing but make
the ten word break-up.I only wish I had the heartthe ten word break-up.1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
to break yours.
Paranoia 'There's no kindness in your eyes,Paranoia2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
the way you look at me it's just not right'
- Hilary Duff.
As I look over at you across the table, I can’t help but feel doubt creeping in from all sides. From the outside, our relationship is wonderful. You tell me that you love me every single day, you buy me flowers every week and you look after me better than I can look after myself. You even brought me to my favourite restaurant this evening as a surprise treat. I couldn’t ask for any more. You are everything I could possibly hope for. But yet, something is not right. A dark voice in the back of my mind keeps whispering: ‘Don’t be so blind’. I can’t help but feel that the interior of our relationship is not as perfect as the polished exterior. Something rotten is fester
Speaking AloudI caught a mermaid in a net under the docks when no one else was looking.Speaking Aloud2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She was small, fragile, and her ribs gaped in gills that fluttered uselessly in the open air.
A small necklace made of shells and a skirt of woven seaweed told me she wasn’t a dumb fish. Long, curved, nails told me of her last dinner still snagged between her soft flesh and the protruding claw. A checkerboard scar on the arch of her fins told me my net wasn’t the first she’d swum into.
Her mouth, open and round like a goldfish, told me nothing.
Huge black eyes, blind in the sunlight, flirted meaninglessly around the underside of the pier.
I told her I loved her. I told her she was beautiful. I told her I would take care of her and never let anyone hurt her ever again.
Scaly body smacked desperately against pebble laced sand.
And I told her I was sorry.
Bastard Sons of GodThe bar is small with a huge mirror behind the front counter that reflects the sunlight pouring in through the windows. Cameron and Mikey sit next to each other on bar stools at the front counter, drinking Adios Motherfuckers. For a long moment no words are passed between them, but then Mikey breaks the silence. “Don’t worry, man,” he says, clapping Cameron on the back. “You’ll find someone else.”Bastard Sons of God2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
“I don’t want to,” Cameron replies.
“That’s what everyone says, and then it happens—you meet someone, you hit it off, the feelings come back, and then bam, you’re back to square one. Relationship status: taken. And everything’s cool.”
Cameron looks down into his half-gone Adios Motherfucker. “She was different.”
“They’re all different. Listen, when I lost Kim, I lost my goddamn mind. She was my whole world, man. I thought she was my soul mate. I didn’t know how the he
The Writer and His MuseThe Writer lay quietly in his bed. Rest was hard to come by. Vivid images filled his mind, ideas which blinked and twirled in the darkness before fading away, never to be seen again. As always, in the beginning he could control them, but they spiraled out of his grasp and took on lives of their own. He no longer had any say. They simply went where they intended and created their own paths. Slowly he drifted off amidst the stories being told around him. The images slowed, sleep was coming. Soon he was unconscious.The Writer and His Muse2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
A sharp kick to the stomach woke him up. He grunted and clutched his gut.
“Come on, come on, get up. It is time.”
The Writer looked up to see Muse standing over him. “Don’t make me kick you again! I said it’s time to write.”
“What? I don’t want to write now! Its 3 in the morning!”
“As if you have any say. You know how this works slave. I won’t let you sleep until you obey me. Now get up!” Muse raised his f
despotismshe is a bird sitting, teetering ondespotism1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
a power line because
one way or another, she figures
the best way to end
is a big bang.
He is a fish swimming, traversing along,
Against the crashing tide because
He figures he can defy the law one or way or another,
And the best way to begin
Is to finish the end
Before he's stuck in her talons.
though she is made of feathers
and bones and she is still weightless enough
to take to the currents of air,
she is powerless
against the waves his actions
make, and she is so easily swept away that
she thinks her body might as well
be made of stones.
He could tell she was astounded by his ocean,
By the place he calls home to.
He welcomed her to the lowest depths of it,
She couldn't resist the deepest blue of the marine,
Nor the glitter of his fishscale,
And the place he called heaven,
Eventually became this bird's hell.
her eyes were always the
size of jupiter when he was around
because she was fascinated with
the way he moved so gracefully from
Giving up on UgoviniaThe moon lifted its heavy head over the flumes of dust and smoke that wrapped themselves around the spike of Saint Augustine’s bell tower and, as per the Treaty, at precisely eight o’clock silence struck Ugovinia. Both sides of this unholy war claimed to have the True God in mind; the two hour daily ceasefire had originally been instated so that everyone could still offer Him due service. Later, however, that time became known as the Hushed Hours: when the angry noise of warfare would shrink to a simper. When we would wipe grease and sand from our faces and change shelters. When we would bury our dead.Giving up on Ugovinia1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
In the quiet, shouts for help filled the spaces where the bombs’ screaming had been, then it was the safest to move. Four days ago my daughter Anja and I buried her mother in a children’s playground. I had dug, choking. A playground. Buildings had collapsed outwardly all throughout our borough and not many homes maintained their
Time's ThiefI was going for a walk in the neighborhood park when I saw him. It was late, I admit, but I wasn't about to go home: family issues and such.Time's Thief1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
He was sitting on one of the swings, his light hair reflecting the moonlight. He looked younger than me, but not by much. He seemed to be holding something; whatever it was, he was talking to it.
I don't know what possessed me to walk over to him; I don't know why I even said, "Hello." I had never seen him before and I was taught not to talk to strangers. I guess at that time I didn't think of kids as strangers.
So after I said my greeting, the boy looked up at me with milky-blue eyes. My first thought was that he was blind and got lost, but for some reason that explanation didn't sit right with me. I guess what led me to believe otherwise was what he whispered to his hand.
"Is she it? Is she the o
CaliginosityCaliginosityCaliginosity1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I tried to write for you again,
Titled the piece “Pour The Ink,”
Playing with metaphor of a broken pen
And the cliché of a broken heart.
I wrote again.
The other dubbed, “Tornado,”
Scribbled on it blindly,
All of my blinding emotions and pain,
But of course,
I threw that one away,
Because I’m indecisive,
But more than that?
It’s truly poetic
And fit to form
‘Cause I liked that piece--
No, I loved it.
But it was too painful to read,
I’m still not where I need to be,
Because you’re not here with me.
You’re not here with me,
And that stings,
Stabs, jabs, cuts, slices,
Chokes, squeezes, and strikes.
It’s striking me,
Right in between my ears,
And all in the cracks of my smile.
Your absence drying my tongue,
(Which explains the lack of words)
The corners of my mouth sore,
And my lips are breaking, chapping.
And the middle of me,
Right in my thoracic
Watch your step - Part Four - Loki x Blind!OCWatch your step - Part Four - Loki x Blind!OC1 year ago in General Fiction More Like This
Watch your step - Part Four - Loki x Blind!OC
Summary: Loki has an unexpected reaction to what happens to Alana. Afterwards, things take a sweet turn.
"Wait, please. You might hurt yourself!" he tried to get her to come back, seeing as she was headed towards the street...But it was a tad bit too late...
Her running had gotten a bit faster and due to her disability, she ran off the pavement and onto the grass. Less than fifteen feet from the heavily circulated street, she tripped when her feet hit pavement again and she fell on in, hurting herself. In less that a second, Loki was at her side, turning her around and gathering her in his arms, trying to analyze the damage.
"Don't touch me!" she cried, trying to escape his grip when he sat down on a nearby bench, with her on his lap. With a loud sigh, he caught her tiny hands that were blindly trying to push him away and held them to his chest.
"Alana. Please. You had already hurt yourself enough. Let me take care
RealityShe’s got terrible handwriting. You can’t even read it by the time you get to the end of the paper. She starts off real good but the longer she goes, boom, can’t read a thing. And she whistles in the shower. No one I know whistles in the shower. Singing in the shower, yeah, but no one whistles, and it’s only ever two damn songs: the Mario theme and “The Chinese Dance” from The Nutcracker Suite. For the record, I only know that last one because she’s told me a million times what it is.Reality2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"I figured as much."
Did you know she can go a whole week without changing her pjs? God forbid you were to ask her to wear a pair of socks for more than six hours and you can forget about it. I swear, there’s dirty socks and mail everywhere. It’s not that she doesn’t read her mail but instead of throwing it out when she’s done with it, she just puts it on the dresser and lets it stay there. I’m not saying I’m the clean
'Till Death Do Us PartWhen you died, you killed me.'Till Death Do Us Part2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
This Is Not A Love Story The smell of stale coffee always brings me back to that day.This Is Not A Love Story1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
I was in a small café, an unknown little place only the locals knew about. That didn’t mean the coffee was perfect, as I soon discovered. Nobody cared because people in that town talked until their coffee was too cold to drink.
I was only there because I mistakenly believed people in town knew that ear buds and a notebook signaled “Writer at Work: Do Not Disturb.” Apparently silence and personal space was a few decades away from being developed there.
It was close to the lunching hour and I was getting fed up with hands on my shoulders as I pretended not to notice someone trying to start a conversation with me, or the
Rescue TeamShe called me because I lived right downstairs. She called me because she knew I wouldn’t call her parents. She called me because she hadn’t called in three months, and she knew that if she called me, crying, blubbering, watering the receiver with her tears and blood, I would come running anyway.Rescue Team2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She was hunched up on the kitchen floor, her arms wrapped around her legs, her eyelashes wrapped around her bloodshot eyes. She looked up at me as I dropped the key I had never given back into my pocket. Her feet and hands were bloodied and full of cuts.
She said nothing as I crunched my way over the broken glass to her and hunched down, balancing on the balls of my feet. She looked down.
“What did you do?” I asked, looking around the messy kitchen, filled with shards of glass and broken plates. I noticed she was holding the phone in one hand and a champagne glass in the other. The only intact one left, I observed from my place facing the open cupboards and empty sh