Don't Mourn For MeShe was in my bed, where she had been for the past few days. Despite pleas from everyone, she refused to go anywhere else.
I watched her sob her heart away and I almost wished I hadn’t done it. Seeing her there with so much anguish carved into her lovely face, it almost made me regret my choice, almost.
In the end, it had been worth it. The pain and the sorrow were all gone.
“Stop mourning for me,” I begged as I sat beside her, bed remaining the same under my transcendental body. She had to let go and move on.
She sobbed violently and pressed my pillow into her face, no doubt trying to breath in what little of my scent remained.
“It hurts too much,” she said through choked breaths. “Sometimes it feels like you’re still here,” she quietly added as her sobs began to subside. It seemed like that thought brought her comfort.
“I know sweetie but you have to move on,” I told her in a gentle voice. “It’s not your f
I Once Dreamed...I once dreamed that I had you here beside me, in my arms. I could feel your warmth against my skin and I could smell your wonderful scent. It reminded me of spring time, right after the rain.I Once Dreamed...2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
But better than your warmth and better than your scent, was the amount of happiness it brought me to have you here, embracing you. You and you alone, had the ability to chase the loneliness away. It was a wonderful feeling and a feeling that disappears within an instant as I realize that you’re not real. You’re only a figment of my imagination. There is only coldness beside me and only my own scent that envelops me.
Yet, despite knowing this, it doesn’t stop me from dreaming of you. I don’t know who you are but in my dreams, you exist. Perhaps you are real, perhaps you are not but sometimes, I like to pretend that my unknown lover is real. I love to tell myself that you and I are meant to be, that we have known each other in previous lives and that our love was so strong, t
If We Meet AgainTo me, love was a lie, a fairy tale told to children. It was such a comforting lie that even adults choose to believe in it. I always scoffed at the idea, thinking how ridiculous people were to search for it so desperately. It simply didn't exist.If We Meet Again1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Then, I met you. I never meant to fall for you - didn't believe I could fall for someone as much as I did. You were a simple dreamer, looking forward to life and what it had to offer. You showed me the world through your eyes, an optimistic, beautiful and simple world.
"He/She's perfect" was a phrase that made me laugh more than anything else. No one is perfect. But after I met you, I understood. People still had flaws even if you loved them but it was okay, you could still be perfect to the person that loved you. It's not something easily explained and it's why I never understood. You have to be in love to understand.
It blinds you. Oh, how it blinds you. The feeling is something better than any high and just as addicting. You r
Tears You shouldn’t cry for the dead; they’ll be sad in the next world if you do.Tears2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Wynn remembered hearing that phrase from her grandmother. It hadn’t come to mind for years, truthfully - not since she’d first heard it at her uncle’s funeral as a small child. Those words had been meant for her cousin, but the little girl hadn’t been able to help overhearing them as she sat in the church pews, too young to fully comprehend the situation. She’d forgotten about them for so long, but now they came back to her with the force of a train, reverberating in her head.
It probably had something to do with the tears that were rolling down her face.
Sucking in a shuddering breath, Wynn buried her face against the blanket that she still clutched in her arms. His scent still clung to it, calming her slightly as she curled around it like a lifeline - Rhys. It was the only thing that she had le
BreakingOne day, you will open the cupboardBreaking4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to find a wine glass or some Tupperware
and the world will, without warning
or alarm, roll off the edge of the shelf
and coming crashing down.
The oceans will splash onto the linoleum,
onto the rug. All the dust in all the deserts
will rain down onto the couch and coffee table,
the hills will crumble, the mountains will break,
all the windows in all the cities will shatter
and fall, a thousand dangerous miles of glass
glittering on your kitchen floor.
Everything will hush.
Exhale the breath you are holding,
and go look for a dust pan, for a broom.
SadieThere was something exhilarating about the idea of going to the Square by myself. When I first told them, I think my parents thought I was crazy, or lonely, or depressed. I mean, who wants to see a movie alone? Not the Matt they knew. Enter my mom:Sadie2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
“Honey, are you sure you don’t want to go with Jake? Or Dave? Or Ryan?”
Truth is, people have this strange notion that they constantly need to be around people. They’re wrong. Being alone can be just as comforting as the presence of others. I’d never been to see a movie by myself; I figured it was something I had to try at least once in my life.
Besides, who knew who I would run into there? It could be anyone: the new guy with the tire tattoo on his palm (I’d always wanted to ask him about that), or a person I had never noticed before but that once I got to know him was really cool. Or it could be Alice.
Yes, it could be Alice.
That’s how I found myself standing in line alone at the Square on a Satur
Mom, What's a Vagina?At 9 years old, I rushed home late from my school's "Just Say No" assembly to catch a new episode of Oprah with Dr. Oz. My mom didn't know I watched it, but Oprah was my idol, and I hadn't missed a single episode that year. The doctor strutted on the stage, with all his years of medical training and mastery guiding his tall step and wrinkled smile. He stretched the blue gloves to his elbows, and dragged the tarp off of the organs he called "healthy". They were a dull pink, and I could almost feel my own fingers scraping against the spongy flesh when he held it up for all to see. I felt a chill in my spine as I raked my own hand over my shirt, and I tried to see what I can feel through my skin and ribs. Only a young beating heart, locked away and dancing to the commercial jingles.Mom, What's a Vagina?1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Soon, Oprah and Oz were back, and taking questions from the audience. I groaned when none of the grown-ups knew what to ask. Sure, heart blockage was all very interesting, but when would they ask the goo
Black Cat Amber EyeBlack coat with silken hair,Black Cat Amber Eye10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
The eyes bright and young in years.
But what this glance is saying
Is as old as the world.
The eyes almost closed,
Snuggled and silent dreaming,
She lies like spilled –
Inwards restless, exuberant.
Stretched out peaceful and easy –
Gentle soul, full of happiness.
I ask myself what she might intend
By her soft glance?
Often, she lies around sleeping
And after a while, she opens
The little mouth and bends the back.
But everything without haste.
Then, when she starts to rub gently
Around my legs, purring –
It is only up to her
When she moves my heart.
When I take her in my arms
And look into her amber eyes,
How my heart warms up
And help me to believe in the good.
Black coat with silken hair,
On velvety paws slightly –
We walk together year for year
Until our journey will have come to an end.
And when once you will leave me, my purring companion,
So, I cover you tenderly with love.
And I think of you fondly what enlightens my spirit:
Swallowed By The MonsterThe rain seeped into her clothes and drenched her in a layer of chills over her skin. She continued to walk without an umbrella through the mist that was steadily turning into a flood over the sidewalk. The rain no longer bothered her.Swallowed By The Monster1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
It soothed her stinging eyes from the hours of crying before…
Samantha sat in the office with Dr. R. They sat across from one another. Dr. Reggie sitting serenely in a plush blue chair while Samantha planted herself cross-legged on the beige sofa. She felt as though her heart my burst from the sheer anxiety. Avoiding contact with her therapist she reached for a pillow and cradled in her arms like a teddy bear.
“You seem really distressed,” her therapist spoke kindly, but with a shade of concern.
Samantha could feel the tears flood her vision. Distressed didn’t seem quite the adjective that covered her emotions clearly.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore,” she mumbled.
She couldn’t bring herse
The Rotting Man (Part 1) "This is how you get yourself dead, my friend," the shambling figure in front of me said, its figure barely visible in the bleak darkness of the night. I froze by the wall, too terrified to move or plan anything effectively. I stood there, sweat pouring down my face despite the damp coolness of the night, horrified and recalling how I ended up here in the first place.The Rotting Man (Part 1)2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It happened earlier today, when my friends and I swapped stories about local ghost stories and legends, with the usual trite stories about vampires, rumours about serial killers hiding inside people's cars, haunted houses, variations of Bloody Mary or some stupid school game where this guy had to chant some stupid verse and perform a certain task and hope they don't get chased by the ghost itself, or some stupid story about a guy hanging out by the graveyard for whatever reason and gets terrorized by restless spirits, stuff like that.
"You guys heard about The Rotting Man?"
To My RapistYou killed yourself the other dayTo My Rapist2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because you were finally going to jail
for what you did to me
and countless other kids
and let me tell you
how livid that makes me.
I hate the fact that you stole
my virginity from me.
I hate that you’re not getting what
I hate that you took
the coward’s way out.
But most of all
that I didn’t get the chance
to forgive you
and for that
Halos are overratedFreedom rings. Freedom waves like a banner in the wind. It's old and tattered. So very frayed at the edges but all anyone can see is the big red letters, so bold they're on the verge of blinding. A mess of scarlet ink is all I could make out, the words blurred from a rush of adrenaline. Some make out a blessing, a soft flowing font spelling out a prayer, but me…I was a bull charging, daring those words to come into focus- challenging my conformity.Halos are overrated1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I was whiskey brave or was it wine? Oh yes, it was a nice Cabernet left to breathe between my lips then a Moscato so sweet I couldn't see past the taste. A glass half full of defiance that left me drunk and enraged, thrilled and almost out of my mind, but it's not what you think. You see, I used to be a coward. I was a being whose self-worth didn't exist and whose voice was never more than a whisper.
I was told I was loved but never felt like I was. I wanted to be beautiful but my flaws made mirrors run screaming
The Attic (Additions I)Lynn stood at the top of the stairs. Before her was the closet she and her older brother used to fight over. To her right was the door to her room; to her left was her brother’s. She took some keys out of her pocket and opened the door to her brother’s old room. She was sure Mom knew she had taken to locking it these days. As if anyone actually used it anymore…The Attic (Additions I)3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The door swung open, releasing a gust of air that struck her as too cool for an upstairs room on a summer day. It was the first time she had actually entered this room in over a year, but the first thing her eyes were drawn to was still the attic. The latch was still locked, and the boxes she had stacked in front of the door last spring were still there; even so, it hardened her resolve.
She was glad they were moving.
Lynn stood there for a long moment, noticing anew how barren the room looked now, its slanted walls devoid of posters, its floor absent of any meaningful furniture. In the year
Last WordThe little girl couldn't have been more than six years old when she ran through the old dusty house. It was no longer a home. It's owner deemed incompetent and placed with a relative. Following her mother, the little girl looked around at all the boxes and furniture. Where was it all going to go? Surely there wasn't enough room to move it all to their home. "Momma, where will all of Auntie's things go now?"Last Word2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
A soft smile and caressing hand reached out to stroke the little girl's round face. "I told you. We'll take some and grandma will take some, Anna."
"All of it?"
"No." The sadness was evident in her voice, but the child didn't understand the strain it held. For this wasn't just Auntie's belongings that needed to be packed, but Momma's memories. Memories of summers spent running through the house while being chased by Unca. Memories of card games at the dining table. Horrible stories her brother made u
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
There's Something in my Bed...There's something in my bed.There's Something in my Bed...1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Something that's not supposed to be there. I can feel it, the weight of it behind me. I'm lying on my side and I can't move, can't look over my shoulder. God forbid I should wish to, anyway. I woke up still. And I was stupid enough to close my eyes. My whole body is frozen, every muscle. I can't even blink. My eyes are watering and my vision's going fuzzy. They say you should try and move your fingers, your toes, so you can get mobility back into your limbs, but I daren't even do that. I don't want to touch it. I'm swallowing screams that I couldn't let out, even if I tried.
I can feel its breath now, inhaling and exhaling over my neck, sending shivers up my spine. It makes me want to vomit. It's an indication that it's impossibly close, and I can't get away. I don't know what it wants, don't even know what it is. Whether it's even real or not.
It's touching me. Running its cold, dead fingers up my arm and, God, it's making my skin crawl and tingle. It's fi
I Believe in Original CharactersI Believe in Original CharactersI Believe in Original Characters2 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Meghan - Charleston SC
I believe in original characters and the “admins” who made them. These are people who are created from purest of human imagination. The more they are interacted with the better they develop and grow, just as the people who made them do.
2 years ago I discovered art websites and joined one. A little less than a year later I saw OC’s popping up with personal accounts created by their administrator, or “Admin.” Later on I had an Idea, and it kept shifting from one thing to another to another, again and again. I realized I should probably write it down or something before it ruined itself. I wanted to become an ‘admin’ and see what people thought of my OC.
I met many OC’s created by other people, and they were so good, you could sense there character just as well as a cartoon on TV or in a book. These characters, these people, they were their own community. Each one had a life, a body, a
NightmareI had a dream last night.Nightmare2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
There was fear in that dream. I remember feeling weighed down by the terror. I remember feeling eyes watching me from everywhere; feeling that they - whoever they were - were just waiting for me to slip up and make a mistake, to chase after me and capture me. I don't know what I did. I don't know where I was. It was a world where things had gone terribly wrong, and the metallic smell of fear and oppression and blood filled the air. That much I knew, and I knew I was in danger.
But there was a woman, and though she was afraid she was kind to me. She sheltered me; said that I was kin, that I was part of her family. She said that to a group of uniformed men who had come knocking at her door - terrible, terrible men with cruel faces and sleek rifles by their sides. I was terrified, and I'm sure she was terrified as well, but the men took her for her word and left.
They left, and they brought the woman's son with them. The boy couldn't have been older than twelve.
Dwellers in the Dark III: Labyrinths of TangierThe ceiling was like a labyrinth of lines forming a geometrical maze of beauty to be lost in for years. One could have spend eternity only to overcome the paralysation of marvel given the artistic aspects of this canopy of curves, before beginning to read all kinds of stories into them.Dwellers in the Dark III: Labyrinths of Tangier2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Mystical creatures were crawling next to tragic heroes and clamouring clowns, while the plot changed with every bend and every bow as Sheva tried to follow as best as she could.
It was fascinating and capturing and whilst Kit engulfed himself into his work it was her only occupation and not a bad one.
At the end of the night Bilal would visit them with the “news” from outside, fully aware that nothing was ever new to them. Nevertheless the dialogue that followed was always refreshing.
It was nice to talk to someone who was young and compared to Kit and Sheva no one could be considered old, which in this context was an advantage.
However even with the conversations held in the breath and the
DecayThe smell of blood drifts thick over my face and I turn away, looking around for someone else who can help me. I have been destroyed by something so simple, torn apart until I am this creature that lives only to die. But still I shuffle onward, dragging my battle-scarred body out of this building into an open street. Birds look at me with their dull button eyes, and in desperation, I lunge at them. All but one fly, their silhouettes vanishing into the darkening sky. I stare at the silent animal, and quickly pick it up. The claws against my skin are nothing to me. However, I cannot look down at its perfection, do something to get rid of my endless desire. Something is blocking my jaw, cutting me, stabbi-Decay2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I stop trying to look at the creature and open my hand. The bird flies away, screaming out a desperate call of alarm. I, having learned that I cannot look down, bring my hand up to my face. Discolored blood streams from my palm, and I try to drink it. I have to, I can no longer wait for
Hospital RoomLooking around at the white walls, white tables, white people, I see the strangers surrounding me. I wonder about their stories, are they are anything like mine?Hospital Room2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The hat over there could have been bereaved a different child.
The moustache over there might have had cancer himself and is now supporting someone else.
I pinch myself on the arm and blink rapidly, feeling confused when I don’t wake up in bed with mum shouting at me to get up and dress my sister. I don’t think I’m even allowed to dress her now – I guess that is done by some nurse somewhere?
I try to organise this thought in my mind, deciding whether I'm pleased or not. She always used to squirm and wriggle around while I was trying to tug on some new cute dress mum had bought. We had tons of them, I still had bigger ones in storage for her; mum told me to save them for when she grew up. At the same time, I guess I’d rather have to dress her every day than have her spending her last few hours in a
Drift AwayDrift Away2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It's like we're swimming in a sea full of our worries: money, bills, life, our apartment, jobs, each other. We start to drown as the tides ripple in and push us away from the shore where we were safe, where we were happy.
There's nothing left to hold on to but each other. Hand in hand, we try to conquer the waves, worry sending trembles through our tired bodies. We hold on tighter to each other. "Don't let go," I say. "Never let go."
But we both know what's bound to happen. We can see it in one another's eyes, how nearly hopeless this is. I can tell by the terror concealing your face, the way you look at me like you're losing hope that we'll survive this. Water drips aimlessly down your flushed cheeks, and I know those are tears.
If we can't find our way out of this deep body of worried water, we're going to drown. The more tides that surround us and hit us from every direction, the further
Reflections of AnotherReflections of Another3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The dark. A cold, looming kind of dark that seeps into your bones, it infects and attacks like the worst of disease.
The cool ray of the flashlight, the one she grips in her hand as if her only ally. In this house, the one in which none ever dare enter, she warily explores with wide eyes.
Who says you're the only one?
A mirror leaning against an old, musty wall in an abandoned room from uncounted decades ago- a slight ringing, a beckoning sound. Brushing tender fingers against withering wood, she wanders through the decaying doorway to a room with a single shattered window. A hint, a tiny flash of sunlight illuminates the mirror in an otherwise dull room. Here, it smells of dust and age. She makes her way carefully, stepping lightly on barefoot feet on the cool tiles underneath- they told her not to come, but she's not the sort to listen.
There's a soft crackling in the bare walls as she makes her wall across the deserted floor, no man's land. She hesitates, and waits, then step after