Behold, Sweet CharityBehold, Sweet Charity2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A thief with red hands,
In confessional with God overhead,
Sits in darkness and tears.
Alone is the sinner,
A wayward soul caught
In a balancing act that
would be wished on no other.
Hell awaits, just beyond
those wooden doors,
While the demons, sit just opposite
Where a priest should be.
The dwell cramped
in hallowed ground
By the will of their purpose.
One word after another,
Build up the lies for temptation,
Straight up from depths of Oblivion,
For lies to come for a heavy heart.
The weight becomes great,
Blotting out the speech of Hell,
Birthing deaf ears to temptation.
Apologies are for sinners in search,
Seeking for absolution, retribution
and revelation against obstacles.
Grace is for the
prideful turned beggar,
homeless in the home
of a world all over.
Imprisonment so temporary
is for the apologetic beggar, by charity
is given a warm fire by Omnipotence.
The Giver whose will
is by His own testament,
Shifting only to blend
In our lack of understanding.
The Curious and Peculiar Tale of the Simonov TwinsThe Curious and Peculiarly Tragic Tale of the Simonov TwinsThe Curious and Peculiar Tale of the Simonov Twins2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I have done most of my post-doctorate work alongside Dean Eroslide as he ran Harry Loaine School for Boys. It was a tiny little establishment, set up in a series of pathways and cottages that made up the dormitories and the 'holistic' and 'traditional', designed to accommodate Dean Eroslide's philosophy of natural living: 'clean and untouched life energy regulates all chakras and promotes a positive educational environment'. Needless to say, Harry Loaine School for Boys was a parent's last resort, when everything from Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to Interventions and to Involuntary Hospitalization was never enough. The Dean had no degree of any sort other than a few licenses for Chakra healing and Reiki, so the entirety of the upkeep of the facility remained on the shoulders of these desperate parents--and of course the government kickbacks the School received for keeping me as a full time Child Psychologist
Queen of GeeksUnexpected end to kidnapping caseQueen of Geeks4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
[Sunnyvale Tribune 23 Feb 2007]
In an unexpected development, police have closed the case against the kidnapper of twenty year old Nicole Cantrip. 'The circumstances surrounding Miss Cantrip's alleged disappearance have become clearer,' Inspector Frank Jones told the Tribune, 'and it's come to light that the case was filed in error. There is no evidence whatsoever that a kidnapping took place.' Since Cantrip is over eighteen, the applicable missing person legislation is almost non-existent, much to the dismay of her mother.
'Something has gone horribly wrong when a girl can be forced away from her family by people she's never met and it's called normal,' said a tearful May Cantrip. 'Nix wouldn't have abandoned us, dropped out of all her classes and left everything behind unless
somebody was forcing her.' Mrs. Cantrip claims that her home was invaded by several men who demanded that her daughter accompany them to what she describes as 'a k
Butterfly"Have you always been a bumblebee?"Butterfly5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Of course! Haven't you always been a butterfly?"
The butterfly snorted. "Of course not. How boring! Life is too short to stay the same all the time."
The bumblebee frowned, skeptical. "But that's ridiculous. How could you have ever been something else? What were you?"
"I used to be a caterpillar. You know, the world is much different when you're stuck that close to the ground." The butterfly's blue wings shimmered.
The bumblebee just stared, bug-eyed. "But how?" he demanded.
"Sorry, trade secret," the butterfly winked. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."
The frown of the bumblebee deepened, and he lifted off of the sunflower they had been sharing.
"Fine," he said. "If you're just going to be making up stories, I might as well leave."
The butterfly followed him through the air. "What's wrong with making up stories?" She asked. "Not that I am, because I wasn't, but really, what's so bad about it? Stories are magic."
Moving On“No.” It was all I could say, taking in the carnage of what had just last night been my pristine kitchen. I wanted to collapse onto a chair, but they – and our spacious table – were covered in miscellany. Cleaning supplies, random knick-knacks from the living room, a thermometer, a scale. It was all there, strewn about.Moving On2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
My legs were shaking, and I fought the urge to cry. So messy. So dirty. No, no, no. I collapsed onto the shoe bench in between the Franco Sarto and the Gucci. I don't know where Giesswein had gone. I wished I could blame it on burglars, but no.
“She's doing it again!” I called, and my husband came running into the kitchen. We watched his mother rearrange my cabinets, turning tea-cup handles to the left instead of the right. My hands twitched.
“Ma, stop it!” he said, exasperation coloring his voice. “Put these things back, they were fine where they were!”
"No," she said, her voice heavily-accented. "I will take
Game NightIris showed up at exactly the wrong time, as usual.Game Night5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
There was a rather large amount of screaming as a forrest worth of nymphs stampeded out of the room in surprise, leaving Zeus scrabbling to obscure himself from the giggling eyes of the rainbow goddess.
"What?" he snapped, humiliation lending his tone a tempestuous edge.
Iris, in an uncharacteristic display of self-control managed to scale back the giggling and say "It's Wednesday. You know what that means."
Zeus groaned with that peculiar whine native to all those facing down the business end of an evening in with the Spanish Inquisition's most eager new employee, and said "Must I?"
"She insists" said Iris, turning on her heel and exploding out of the hotel room in a burst of colors that would've made a bird of paradise cry.
Snapping his fingers and materializing a fresh suit of clothes from essentially nowhere in impertinent disregard of physics or logic, he groaned and resigned himself to his fate. Why? Why did it have to be tonigh
Castle at the World's End 1The Hawk and the Castle at the World's EndCastle at the World's End 15 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Chapter One: Of Meat Pies and Story Telling
"My mother used to tell me when I was a small boy that fairs were the most amazing, wondrous, messy things," the redheaded mercenary said as he stared out of the pavilion, watching the sea of tents and people pass in front of him.
"Your mother was a wise woman, Hawk," said a voice behind him.
"Sometimes, Master Emrys" Hawk said.
He turned to smile at the speaker, who was sitting on a chair like it was a throne. Portly, and dressed in a dignified garment of gray trimmed in red, Emrys looked every bit the merchant, with a well-groomed beard that tapered into a vee, and observant, clear green eyes. Surrounded by a display of fine fabrics still yet unsold, his arm was draped across a length of blue silk. Emrys caressed it with a gloved hand absentmindedly, as if it were a cat.
Hawk crossed mail-clad arms. The metal
BlackIt began in the quietest hours of the night. Granny was snoring up a storm, her bed creaking with each breath and twitch of her bigness. That's always the first thing I remember, thinking back. She always snored in the same way Pappy revved up the engines of his prized Cadillac. Loud, proud, and never ending.Black3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I s'pose I should start with what happened before hand. Nothing will make sense if I don't. It don't make no sense anyhow, but the story won't be right if I don't start before everything got bad.
So we were in the market, Granny and I. We go every Sunday while my parents and siblings are at praise and worship with most of the rest of the town. We get all the best stuff that way without havin to elbow our way through the hordes of people doin their last minute shoppin for Sunday dinner. Granny always said that the best book couldn't keep her from making Sunday dinner, and no man in the sky gonna keep her from her shoppin.
"Jerry, you got them apples for me?" Grann
DragonneDragonne4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The stableboy was nowhere to be found. Probably catching frogs somewhere. If his father wasn't so much of a drunkard, I would have fired him years ago. I almost slammed the door of the inn and went back inside, but I could hear what sounded like an angry customer at the counter. I decided to leave that mess for the barmaid and feed the horses myself.
I resolved to do this more often, as I went from stall to stall, patting noses and listening to the grinding of teeth against hay. I liked the smell of the stable too. How long had it been since I had been out here?
My reverie was cut short when a flash of metallic scales revealed that the fifth horse wasn't a horse at all, but a dragon! Or rather, a dragonne, as I believe the smaller, horse-sized breeds are called. It was beautiful! Its scales looked to be made from pure gold, and it had a tufted tail like a lion's. I wondered why its master hadn't requested some sort of meat instead of hay. Did dragonnes even eat hay? From
Anodyne Vao - Dark Child of Tython Chapter 1Anodyne Vao - Dark Child of Tython Chapter 13 years ago in Settings More Like This
Two Weeks Ago: Hoth
Despite the best cold weather gear the Empire could afford, Lord Anodyne Vao was losing the battle to make her teeth stop chattering. Hoth on a nice day was one of the most inhospitable planets in the known galaxy, and this was not one of those days. It had been a hour since the engines of their speeders had seized, frozen solid from the cold. Even with the help of the force the cold and wind blown ice pellets had slowed their pace to that of a infants crawl. An hour, it had taken them to hike the half kilometer to their current location, of which was the shattered edge of a crater, overlooking the mostly intact wreckage of the Republic cruiser once known as “Utopia”.
The “Utopia” along with hundreds of over vessels had been lost in a battle between Sith and Republic forces some thirty years prior during what was now being called the Great Galactic War. Since that time, it had been a three way race between the Sith, Republic and pirates to sa
Disturbing the PeaceWomen in corsetsDisturbing the Peace3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
disturb the peace.
Trevas/DarknessEu tenho sombras, mas nenhum solTrevas/Darkness2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I have shadows, but no sun
Death of a Noodle (Everybody Tells Me What to Do)I click through web pages on my computer. I’m having a little Internet Time. I spot something that catches my interest. I smile. I click it. The title reads How to Be a Writer. Beneath it there’s a list of instructions. How fascinating. I read on.Death of a Noodle (Everybody Tells Me What to Do)2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
1. Go to the beach
2. Lick your friend’s eyelashes
3. Make pee-pee in a pot plant
I scowl and close the tab. Surely these things won’t make me a writer? Sighing, I begin a search for something more practical. I type away.
A link appears before me. It’s a little thing sitting on the left side of the page. I hold my cursor near it indecisively. How to Be a Poet. I click.
1. Drench yourself in anxiety
2. Seriously, drench yourself
3. You’ve gotta do some sports-drink-advertisement worthy drenching right here
4. Also bathe yourself in woe
I scroll through the list, getting more and more desperate. Where is the part about writing actual poetry? My heart is racing. I feel the
River and the DoctorIt took a lot of pushing and shoving to load that blue box into the cargo bay: even with the mule and the ATV, Mal couldn't blame his latest customer for circling the crate nervously every time it wobbled on its setting. He himself was in a right high-spirited mood, as the patron in question had paid up front and quite generously.River and the Doctor2 years ago in Sci-Fi More Like This
"Caaareful," the eccentric man protested as his prized possession trembled for the umpteenth time. He held out his hands as if hoping to catch it, but in reality it could probably crush him. The skinny stranger moved as if he hadn't quite grown into his limbs, waltzing about in a tweed jacket, navy trousers and a bright bow-tie. And to hinder his physical talents even further, his unruly brown hair dangled completely in front of his eyes in one fell swoop.
"No need to beat yourself up over a couple scratches, stranger," Mal called to him while he and Jayne worked. He particularly eyed the nicks and scuffs in the bright cobalt paint. "This thing looks like it'
All the Scraps of HappinessAll the Scraps of HappinessAll the Scraps of Happiness5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Once upon a time there was a girl who went by largely unnoticed by the eyes of mortals. She slipped through the cracks of time and spirit through long forgotten passageways, and in this manner she sought to add to her collection. For hers was a collection of happinesses that had once lived and burned in the hearts of mortals, but slipped by the wayside once the joyous event had passed.
She never knew where she might find another used happiness, on the floor of a cottage or near the roots of an old cherry tree. They were like very bright puzzle pieces to her, never a single hint of black or grey, but always radiant and bold. There were crimsons and greens and blues and golds and oranges, and never a dull color in the mix - for such is not the nature of happiness.
The girl at first was naked and bare but soon had collected so many scraps of happiness that her whole body was covered in patches, the vibrant hues becoming a second skin. But soon that wasn’t
DiagnosisYou were diagnosed on the fifth of June. We were at the clinic, reading month-old magazines while melodies from the elevator music station drifted from the overhead speakers. You had a frown on your face, I was lost in thought, and when they called you in I didn't even notice. That is, until, I realized the atmosphere had gotten considerably lighter in the past few minutes since you had left.Diagnosis3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
So I sat in content silence reading yard tips for the garden we didn't have until you returned. Your face was ashen, and you were quiet, but still you managed to don a superior smirk. This composure you maintained until we got in the car, but as soon as the engine started, you exploded.
"They said I was infected," you began, without warning, "that I had a serious case and it was terminal. Terminal. Can you believe it? Who the hell do they think they are? I know for certain that I am perfectly healthy. I'd know if something was wrong. You know I would know, right?"
I nodded, an
NoirIt was a dark and stormy Night-Mare that galloped down the forbidden paths of the faithless slaves of the Dreaded Sire. On its back, young Werther was in a frantic agitation, barely hanging on in the Hellish Horse's saddle as it jumped over the occasional fleeing spirit escaped from the Sire's service. The pale glow of the ethereal slaves darting between dark and twisted trees didn't distract him from his dire quest. Barbarossa had taken yet another wife, who would undoubtedly end up in the Broken Tower. That wife was Werther's beloved Little Christie.Noir5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
One of the ghoulish, triffid-like Huorn-trees nearly grabbed Werther's plumed hat, but he punched the branch away before it could get close. The swing was too long and it nearly caused him to lose balance and break his neck, especially since one of the Dreaded Sire's Headless Horsemen darted right before him, making his Night-Mare rise on two legs. The young man did not have the time to pity whatever unfortunate slaves the He
Cops Arrest Death for GraffitiToday, two members of the NYPD have arrested a black-cloaked offender for vandalizing the wall of a Midtown Manhattan skyscraper. Upon dragging them to the police station, they discovered that the person was genderless and used the hood of the cloak to conceal a rather troubling lack of skin, meat, eyes or nose on an otherwise lively skull.Cops Arrest Death for Graffiti4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"We realized," officer Jobson says, "that this was not your ordinary criminal - I mean, most of the people we bring over have some identifying features and while I suppose that having a skull for a head is identifying, it's just... Troubling. What do you write in the 'skin colour' or 'eye colour' boxes, you know?" Upon being asked how he fared with this discovery, he answered after some consideration, "I've never seen a real skull before. It was odd."
His colleague, John Daffodil, says about his near-Death experience, "My old mum got quite a fright when she called me and I said I'd met Death. She thought I'd been shot or something. Anyway, a policem
Natalie Dormer Bodysuit TGNatalie Dormer Bodysuit TG7 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Natalie Dormer Bodysuit TG
As a huge Game of Thrones fan, Rodney was obsessed with Natalie Dormer. He didn't only like how she looked, which was of course smoking hot, but he actually wanted to look like her. It was one of his biggest dreams, if not the the biggest. But being a tall, thin guy who was wearing glasses and had short brown-ish hair, he couldn't be any further away from his wish.
But he did not let things like that discourage him and he never gave up hope and kept believing that somehow he could manage to basically become a clone of Natalie Dormer, as weird as that might sound.
The point where his life totally changed came in school. Rodney and one of his buddies had been binge watching a lot of Game of Thrones over the weekend and his friend certainly noticed that Rodney got quite excited everytime Margaery was on the screen. Rodney didn't know that he had taken notice of it.
That's why he was pretty surprised when his buddy, Josh, came up to him on monday before class and
How to disappear completelyFriday 5.30pm, and my face was pressed to the armpit of another man, with the leather strap almost cutting off the blood supply to my hand. The groin of a stranger was touching my back every time the carriage cornered. A girl breathed hot chocolate into my ear. It sounds erotic, now I think about it, but it wasn’t. The only way I can cope with that squeeze of people, the second-hand air of three hundred diseased strangers on the Jubilee Line, is by going into myself. I become utterly absorbed in the music on my ipod. Ray Davies is singing only to me. Sometimes I accidentally mouth the words and attract the disinterested but opprobrious glances of bystanders.How to disappear completely2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
There was a wasp in the carriage, battling frantic against the window to escape to the blurring black brick beyond. I watched it for five minutes by sidelong glances before it crossed into the radar of a fellow commuter. She screamed, dropped her briefcase and stood on som
Eden's AngelI knew the old stories. The first man and woman had disobeyed, and so they had been driven out of paradise. An angel had been placed in paradise to guard the tree.Eden's Angel2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I never heard any stories saying he left the garden.
I went to find the tree, to see if it really was worth getting kicked out of paradise. I’d seen the Fountain of Youth, Atlantis, and the Holy Grail. This was the next big thing. It was the edge of the Earth and beyond. It was further than Davy Jones’ Locker. It was paradise.
Some people told me the Holy Grail and the Fountain of Youth were the same thing. If you drank from the Holy Grail, you wouldn’t die. If you drank from the Fountain of Youth, you wouldn’t die. But I’ve seen them before. The Holy Grail is an ugly brown wooden cup. The Fountain of Youth isn’t more than a pool of stale water in the middle of a cave in South America. Atlantis was less of a disappointment, but it wanted to remain hidden. So I ventured out for the Garden o
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let Down Your Trust IssuesI. (Set the stage)Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let Down Your Trust Issues3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"The color of my bra is called Flirt," the girl says, popping a bubble in Amelia's face and winking. The sickly sweet scent of chemicals and sugar mixes with the chemicals and the sugar of the bar, hags low and heavy about their faces. The girl slides closer, beaming, her eyelids low. She's wearing too much mascara. Amelia grips her drink tighter and pulls her elbows in collapsing, she fills less space than she did before. Volume stays the same, the number of atoms composing her stays constant, but she appears to be smaller. Could this be expressed mathematically, or with a computer simulation, she wonders, and sips at her drink. She says nothing.
"See here." The girl tugs down her shirt sleeve and shows Amelia the thin bra strap pressing into the moon pale skin of her shoulder. The orange lighting makes her seem healthier than she is. "Flirt." She wiggles her eyebrows in a way that would be suggestive, if her makeup wasn't so dark that it made her look
GossamerOn Monday, he killed a spider. He scraped its guts off the bottom of his shoe before reluctantly putting it back on and shuddering. He knew it was just paranoia - he’d used the outside of the shoe after all - but he could still feel the tiny legs as if they were scampering over his foot. His cat Socrates distracted him from the ghostly sensation, meowing for the half open tin of food that was still sitting on the kitchen counter.Gossamer3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Reaching down with a smile, he pet Socrates and forgot about the spider.
He rolled out of bed on Tuesday, the sheets tossed around him in an attempt to cool down during the warm summer night. Half asleep, he trudged to the bathroom for a shower. But just moments before stepping into the tub, he looked down and jerked his foot back. Dozens of little, black, long legged bodies scurried across the white porcelain, fighting to scramble up the sides of the tub.
The phantom feeling of skittering spiders creeping up over his legs persisted even after he tur