i should have never loved you.in that one moment, i wanted to stand up and hit him: i wanted to make him hurt, make him bleed, make him feel what he did to me. make him feel his lies and deceit, push it into his skin like a knife and letting the scarlet lies pour out for everyone to see.i should have never loved you.4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
every little lie, every "mia bella" came back to haunt me. every word that idly dripped out of his mouth that caressed and cared for me turned black and shriveled like a dead flower.
because every time he kissed me, he lied.
i can't believe i just let him string me along like that. he just turned me into some sort of flesh-and-blood puppet, tossed me around and stepped on me like garbage put on the curb for tuesday night pickup. he put me in a plastic bag with old coffee grounds and used condoms from a night when i wasn't there.
i should have never loved him.
Latvia's weight gainLatvia had always been the smallest of the Baltic's. He had always been the shortest, the over looked, the most nervous, the most ignored.Latvia's weight gain6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Except in Russia's eyes. In Russia's eyes, Latvia was the perfect toy to play with. Latvia would always come when he called, always ask "how high" when Russia said "jump" and he would always eat when Russia told him to eat.
Just like a good little puppy.
And when the Soviet Union fell, and America's influence started to spread its poison around Russia's home, Ivan grew angry. As with any strong emotion the comfort came from food.
Burgers, fries, milkshakes, even food from Latvia's native home, Ivan forced the little nation to eat it all. He loved seeing the tiny blond cry with his cheeks puffed with the flavorless slop, loved the way the buttons grew strained against his ever expanding belly, loved the way he was still in control.
"I-I've eaten too much " Latvia sobbed, spreading his legs apart for some relief. "no-no more please "
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,3 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.
FFVII ChildSummary: My name is Zack Sephiroth Cloud Reno Crescent .and I was unfortunately born to FFVII fanatical parents. This is my story.FFVII Child6 years ago in Humor More Like This
My mom no, Mother, as she would only allow me to address her, was always the more strict (and by that I mean insane) of my parents, but my dad wasn't exactly normal either. By any means, no
When I was really little, just a baby, I remember my baths. They were nice and calm, yes, but I wasn't washed in normal water or even a bubble baths. Instead, I distinctly remember the water being greenish blue. I still have the rubber chocobo that I played with. And when it came time for bed, I remember being dressed in dark blue pajamas. They weren't your average fleece or flannel with a cartoon teddy bear's face on it, no. My pajamas was the SOLDIER uniform, complete with soft cloth pauldrons. Every night, I would fall asleep with my moogle plush doll next to me and One Winged Angel playing in the background. A normal baby would have
we're all made of stories.We're all either made of cells or stories, but in your case, it's both. You're somehow bigger than what one body can contain. And I know that all of this all these words and breaths and spaces aren't enough to explain you. You're better than any fiction will ever be.we're all made of stories.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I remember sitting in the passenger seat of your car, watching the familiar city streets flick by, fast like a picture book. It felt like there was something I was missing between the pages and second story houses, but I couldn't place it. I had my arms wrapped tight around my middle, holding my insides in since I was afraid with every passing moment I would let their contents spill. You wouldn't look at me, but you kept talking. For the first time ever, I wished you would stop. You were telling me that you could never love me and I was completely aware that I had already foolishly followed you in too deep and now you were letting me know that you had been drowning for years. You were promising to take me und
HubrisThe world is not a skeleton. It does not ache bone-deep with our atrocities, nor is it fragile and ready for the breaking. It knows nothing so human, except perhaps to forgive our pride. Let me explain:Hubris4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Young, I am a bright star with small, pudgy hands for guiltless flower-crushing. Before even that, I am a wispy squall for food, unused to knowing anything but myself, and warmth, and hunger.
The concept of a hero is a natural progression from understanding speech. I am Me. I am the one all the stories talk about, born special, to whom both innocence and wisdom are possible. I am so great a part of my own self that I do not know it can be detached.
I am eleven, narrow-boned and alone in the red earth, when I first feel it.
A seagull slews out of the bright sky and pegs its beak to the stones, draws it up wriggling. I watch its gullet bob. My hand floats up to mirror the lines of its head against the air. There is a cry, and its eye is a pond of yellow fire staring at me, the air a storm
The Taste Tester - SSBBW WG When I graduated from college, the economy was just starting to get bad. I desperately wanted to keep my apartment in the city, but I couldn't find a job for the life of me. I guess being a creative writing major wasn't the best idea. I dreaded the thought of moving back home, living with my parents whom I never got along with. So I watched my savings dwindle, exacerbated by the student loan payments I had to make every month. I was down to my last month's rent, envisioning myself returning to my parent's home in shame, when a job listing on Monster caught my eye.The Taste Tester - SSBBW WG7 years ago in Erotic More Like This
For Hire: Taste Tester, Entry-level. Will train. No prerequisites. Competitive salary, excellent benefits, and 401k. Good opportunities for advancement at prestigious firm. Email resume and cover letter by 4/30.
mapping the ache.She learned anatomy when he broke her heart. She liked how she could track the stinging, burning pain as it delved deeper into her. Starting in her throat, a heavy lump that wouldn't move anymore than a cm a day. it would travel through her veins, like back lanes, leaving behind big clouds of exhaust fumes that make her skin tarnish, and her blood thicken. the pain, gets a little stronger. moves a little further. with her bones structure mapped and blown up on the wall across from her bed, she woke up each morning, and closed her eyes. she sat quiet and still with breath held, trying to pinpoint the pain. she'd trace the wall and place a small gold star where is had reached that day. it was quite beautiful really. this skeletal system, scattered with little stars. her own constellation.mapping the ache.4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
it was a realisation that everything can be traced back to her heart. it beats and bleeds and aches and yearns and everything it feels is shot through your synapses and
Peter Panxx - o1 - xxxxPeter Pan9 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
He's dirty. Filthy clothes, filthy habits, filthy manners. I can see the grime beneath his fingernails when he walks, when he speaks; it's all I see. Dirt beneath his fingernails. I wonder who he really is.
There is nothing nice about him. Nothing to like about him. His voice is rough, his hair is matted. He never takes care of himself because no one tells him he's worth it. Everyone is worth it. But no one tells him. No one.
xx - o2 - xxxx
A ribbon is braided into his hair. Blue, like his eyes, like mine. I don't ask about it, I won't. Still no one tells him he is better than he thinks. Better than they think. Better than I think.
There's still dirt beneath his fingernails.
xx - o3 - xxxx
I realize he likes trees. This will continue to prove problematic for some time.
xx - o4 - xxxx
He seems to be clever. Completely uneducated, but intelligent. I can't reason with him, I can't philosophize with him, but I can feel for him. I can reach him. I read the pain in his eyes be
winter always reminds me of you.It never snowed last December, but it was always there on the horizon. Like a bad dream on the periphery of my vision, a relentless reminder that I don't ever have control over things the way I think I do. The way I want to. Recently, I realized that I feel everything a bit too sharply. The cold. The pain. The nothingness.winter always reminds me of you.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's heart wrenching. It's stomach twisting.
The minute you were gone, the air in my lungs left too. It's amazing how long you can live without breathing. It's much longer than anyone tends to claim. Truthfully, it's not even the thing I miss anymore. I only miss you. I miss the feelings. I miss anything that isn't the slow crack and settle of this old building. Or the familiar beating of my heart. The sun rising and falling from the sky each and every day.
I don't remember what it's like to not wake up to a pattern, but I do remember that it was so much better than this.
I used to never know what to expect. Now I have no expectations at all. It didn't take me long t
i am an ocean nothing floats on.i am an ocean that nothing floats on.i am an ocean nothing floats on.4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
her mother always told her that each part of her body was capable of becoming something hard and cold, something that a military man could arm himself with and leave a trail of destruction. There was an anchor in the pit of her stomach, resting on the bottom of a black and white ocean, carelessly tossed in by a reckless boy with matching eyes. it leads her to somewhere she has never been. It sinks her to ocean floor and leaves her waiting for the waves to stir her back to the surface.she learned about space, and the gaps that leave people feeling empty and lonely, and throughout the years of her youth, everything related back to the ocean residing inside her chest cavity which on the coldest and emptiest nights she could feel thrash and peak and cause her to choke and spit it up in violent convulsions. she learned that her stomach acids were responsible for the curve of her bones and the shapes of the shadows they made in sunlight. as her years tic
Skinny Wordslook:Skinny Words4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
he was winterish blue eyes and an autumn scarf dressed in an stupid pink summer sweater that made no sense on a spring day. His shoes were converse, the kind of the skinny intellectual who had just enough money to buy one pair of decent shoes. she never really liked skinny intellectuals, yet did find herself considering them sometimes, in the way she considered coffee that was tongue scalding (horribly and without excuse).
it is odd then, that she still doesn't regret his monsoon flavoured kiss, the kind that made your tongue bleed with its passion, its heat.
he drew in uneasy catches of breath as he snored in the heat of the summer night, nights when she would stay up and listen to cars that passed by, pretending they were a waterfall instead of the cold harsh truth of metal against concrete, just so she could sleep as soundly as him.
she took his breathing for granted.
he spent hours lost in the dry unending silence of his typewriter, of h
this isn't progress, because you're irreversible.You were never meant for me.this isn't progress, because you're irreversible.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I knew it in the most obvious manner. It was in the way you had a subtle sort of comfort in your own skin a quiet and humble confidence while I struggled to make sense of the prints on my fingertips and the way one of my eyes crinkled in the corner more than the other when I smiled. You felt safe with yourself while I was always warring with my own reflection. Half the time, I didn't know who I was. A quarter of the time, I still don't. You would call this progress if you were here to see, but I just call it sad.
When you miss something for long enough, you start to forget the exact way that things happened. Or the exact way they happened to fall apart. For instance, I don't remember the first time you didn't call, but I do remember when you told me you loved me but not enough. It's never enough, is it? The point is you were gone before I could even say goodbye. You were gone before you were ever really here, but somehow I let myself bu
emalineshe was a quite sort of girl, he had observed. the kind of girl you wanted to say you knew because it meant you held a piece of the puzzle others could only wonder about. in knowing what was hidden to others, you became special. she was the sort of girl who ripped her favourite pages from books and tucked them carefully into her palm, then snugly into the worn pockets of her grandfathers cardigans, which she said were the only ones that fell just right on her small frame. she collected words in her perfect pout keeping secrets and promises and words that just roll of the tongue, but never rolled off hers just right- so she kept them hidden inside where she was perfect. her eyes spoke a million words a minute that he often found himself tripping over them if he looked too deeply; but just like looking into a flame he was completely consumed, he knew it- she didn't.emaline4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
she was an oblivious sort of girl, he had observed. but she was his sort-of girl.
Teaching Summer to BreatheSummer will always remind me of hot, sweltering nights spent drinking sangria, through the dripping fairy lights of your bedroom window. A sticky, starry sky looked back at us, the glow of the moon almost golden in the heat. Fourteen meant we weren't growing up fast enough and a liquor cabinet key seemed to hold the answer to that problem.Teaching Summer to Breathe3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
You taught me how to drink that night.
(You also showed me how beautiful it was to just hold your breath till your head spins and reality seems like it is going to fade further and further away.)
Six summers ago I met a boy who liked to tell me how much like summer I was. He was big boned and thin skinned and the first time I told him he wasn't mine to keep, he left handprints on my skin that reminded you of a canvas covered in autumn leaves that you saw in New York. Then you proceeded to break every single window in his house (Yes, even the one in the attic he loved so much.)
You taught me how to smile through heartbreak that night.
GullibleGullible3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Near nightfall, two people were driving home. They were both men of around twenty years of age, and were roommates in an apartment. Discussing random thoughts that came to their minds, they were both content.
“Anyway, I think I’ll go check it out tomorrow.” One of them said, he seemed a bit younger than the other. He had a normal body type and was a little on the short side, his hair was dark brown; same as his eyes. His name was Jonathan.
“I haven’t decided what to do tomorrow, well, besides work of course.” The other responded. He had blue eyes along with dirty blond hair, and was a bit more fit than Jonathan.
“Well maybe you could . . . hmm, let me think” Jonathan began to ponder what his friend could do, something besides sitting in front of the television or computer all day.
“I guess I could-” Ken paused; something outside the car caught his attention. He was lucky he wasn’t the one driving, because he stare
Marshall Lee/Prince Gumball Anniversary BlitzWith a rather long checklist in hand, Prince Gumball paced before the massive double doors of the palace's grand dining room. Trying to calm her majesty's fraught nerves, Peppermint Maid followed closely behind him, trying to assure him that everything would be alright. Gumball had been worrying himself into a tizzy for the past week, planning and scratching and re-planning the impending evening, but each time he thought he'd gotten things settled, he'd second guess himself and start over; the whole process was very demanding on not only the young prince, but also his waiting staff.Marshall Lee/Prince Gumball Anniversary Blitz4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
His original idea had been to turn the affair into a grand gala; a regal affair with beautiful gowns and clean-cut suits. The food would be exquisite, the wine rich, and the company cut from the highest tier of society. But as he was in the midst of organizing an extravagant feast, he stopped and rethought the entire event. Completely disregarding his o
love notes on paper lungs[dear boy-with-the-piano-fingers,love notes on paper lungs4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
just between you and me, your smile makes my lungs crinkle up like paper and for an instant i forget how to breathe.]
[dear my lovely you, sometimes my words come out jumbled when all i want to say is i love you.]
[you smell like the ocean or maybe like a jazz club at night when the air is blue and thick with smoke and everyone's together but alone at the same time and the music's so smooth you feel like you could touch it. it's a good smell.]
[i love it when i kiss your collarbones and your fingers brush my hip bones and we stay frozen in that moment so that we're nothing more than heartbeats and rustles and breath.]
[you make me shine.]
[pinky promise you'll always be mine.]
true lieshis eyes looked at me with disdain. i thought that once i had broken through his barriers his eyes would smile and his laughter would ring through every fibre of my body and that his cheeks would glow. instead all i felt was a greater coldness. except now it wasn't just a general feeling- it was directed very pointedly at me.true lies4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"you're not who i thought you were," he growled through clenched teeth. his words left me feeling that he wanted to say something angrier, something more malicious but he held back. even when his defences were down he was still calculated.
do you think that maybe you never knew me? that you built up an ideal image of someone unattainable yet appropriate for you? i pleaded with my eyes. but it was no use. he wouldn't even look at me. he knew, he finally knew, that he had built me up to that ideal because he felt it would be everything he deserved. now he saw, or rather didn't want to see, that he really didn't deserve it at all. ideal or not- he didn
C is for Confession.1.C is for Confession.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Listen closely, love (who could have been mine).
You held my heart so delicately with your strong, naked palms that it frightened me unbelievably so. For the warmth you showered me in was too warm, too gentle, and I born from winter's chill was terrified to melt, to undergo such a transformation.
Not even for you
Listen closely, love (who still holds me close).
I'm going to break your heart, but not while you're at home. I will break it somewhere far, far away. That way, at least the pieces can be left there, nowhere near here, so you won't cut your fingers in your attempts to pick them all up.
Listen closely, love ( who refuses to let me go).
C may be for confession, but I is not for I-love-you it's for impossible.
I hope it's worth it when I'm gone.I can't even pretend things are simple anymore.I hope it's worth it when I'm gone.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's raining again, and with every crash of thunder, I miss you more than I can bear. I know it's not worth saying, because really nothing much is anymore, but it doesn't make it any less true.
It's eleven ten on a Friday night, and I'm sitting in the middle of the grass, watching the downpour spill off the roof. My t-shirt is clinging to my ribcage, and my hair is sticking to my face. I can feel the water running down the ridges of my spine, the backs of my hands, clumping in my eyelashes, but still, I don't move. Sometimes, when I can't stand what the world is doing anymore, I allow myself a thunderstorm to wash everything away.
It's the meteorological equivalent to a clean break. Faster to heal -- or at least, that's what they say.
The lightning is tearing across the sky, cutting through the darkness like a crack in the atmospheric layers. I'm staring at this like I half expect all the air to disappear around me while the world disinte
the expirationthey put an expiration date on sadness last wednesday, and now the world is happy again.the expiration3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
the law says we only get six months to mourn tragedies, six months to howl at the moon and claw at our thighs until they look like road maps. six months, and then the pain will die away just like we wanted to.
i didn't think it could really happen, but i've seen it. my neighbor's husband left her two years ago, and they're taking retroactive sadness into account. now that her grief has expired, she can't stop smiling. she told me that she's free to pull the weeds from her garden and wear her red high heels again. she has a date with the UPS man, and i swear she's lost five pounds.
i ran into my friend jennifer in the produce section yesterday, and she hugged me so hard that i felt my back crack. jennifer had a miscarriage seven months ago, but when she mentioned that she's going to start trying for another baby, i was the only one tearing up over the zucchinis.
i've got two more days left 'til mine
Another Language called EnglishI took your adjectives for granted. There was something about the way you skipped over your 's'es and gleaned over your 'i's and 'e's, that never really made me want to kiss you. You'd sit there with your languid fingers clutching a book that was half finished, and read me words that were completely mispronounced. It would prickle me under my skin and I would grit my teeth, wondering when you would stop. I would never understand the english language you thought you spoke, and your confidence in your own words annoyed me.Another Language called English3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It was comical when you spoke in front of our friends. Your mistaken pronunciation of the word 'pronunciation' in particular made them giggle. I would stand in a corner, clutching a glass of rum and coke and cringe, flushing in second hand embarrassment. You would smile at me from across the room, and continue with your tangled tongue as though nothing was wrong.
I felt sorry for you. But not sorry enough when you took your favourite writing pen from my d
Seventeen (In Phases)1.Seventeen (In Phases)3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
It was because her parents had named her for the grandmother who had broken her mother’s heart. The grandmother whose heart was supposed to have melted from her birth and hadn’t.
That was why her mother barely looked at her. That was why she called her ‘girl’.
That was why she liked to pretend she was the quiet woman in the background of an old black and white movie. Because everything here was like an old black and white movie.
[And if she really looked back, her mother had never appreciated the elegance of the 1950s enough.]
It was because she hated surprises. The surprise she got on her sixth birthday when her father left taught her just how a single person had the ability of taking your soul, splitting it in two and wearing it on their breast pocket like a white carnation waiting to die.
That was why when she lifted a book, she looked at the last page first.
That was why her namelessness had become a comfort to her.
That was why sh