Iraqi Pilot Returns - StoryBy U.S. Air Force Staff Sgt. Christopher Frost
KIRKUK, Iraq By age 15, his destiny was already set by Saddam Husseins regime he was to become a fighter pilot, a necessity in the bloody war with Iran. He took the controls of a Bravo, a single engine, propeller-driven training aircraft, and performed his first solo flight before most Americans could even drive.
Today, Iraqi Air Force Maj. Abbas, his name changed in this story for security reasons, serves once again in the Iraqi Air Force, but hes no longer asked to fly for the dictator but to fly for his country.
Abbas is an instructor pilot with the Iraqi Flying Training School in Kirkuk, Iraq, where he teaches initial pilot training to future Iraqi pilots. Like many instructor pilots who have returned to the school to teach, he was a fighter pilot under Husseins regime with a great deal of experience and training.
My education was only for flying, said Abbas, while he kept watch over a pitche
How to Write Villanelles Villanelles can be quite discouraging; they look simple but are actually quite difficult. However, when mastered, it becomes technically easy according to Conrad Geller. Just like riding a bike, right? The name Villanelle is derived from the Italian villa, or country house, which is where aristocrats went to refresh themselves. Strangely enough, the form is originally French and only appeared in the English language in the lat 1800s (19th century). Out of the 19 lines in a Villanelle, only two rhymes are used. Furthermore, two lines repeat throughout the poem; usually the first and last lines of the first stanza are repeated interchangeably throughout the second, third, fourth, and fifth stanzas (starting with the first line of the first stanza) until the last stanza where both are repeated in the same stanza.How to Write Villanelles7 years ago in Other More Like This
The GuideWhen we walk in the cityThe Guide7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we keep our eyes on the street
our feet jazz it down
dodging, diving, dividing to avoid
dont ask me what I dont wanna know
Force us to breathe like dogs
With tongues lolling out
Probing the air
Tasting for some freshness
Now breathe IN
This thieves market has a saints name
we call it
because its snazzier, more elegant
so snazzy we could be fucking English
with monocles, and shit
Keep your hands to yourself
Eyes darting side to side
Ignore the calls of
"at your service"
turn a corner,
"whatever you need"
quickly now T W I S T toavoidthatfatlady
Put on your snobbish
pick up, turn over, put down
ignore ignore the stall owner
do not move your hands
to your pocket
Guide to Advanced CritiquesTutorial IndexGuide to Advanced Critiques7 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
What a Critique is NOT
What Is Advanced Critique?
Guide To Advanced Critique
Writing the Advanced Critique
An Example of a Critique
Advanced critique is as much
MARY SUE COOKBOOK MARY SUE COOKBOOKMARY SUE COOKBOOK7 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
Small word of introduction: This little essay is based on my own experiences with OCs, Mary Sues and widely known fictional characters. The opinions expressed here are mine alone and I understand not everyone might agree with them. But that doesnt mean Im going to change my opinion just because someone thinks different. Im not anyones trained circus monkey.
If you are reading this, you probably know what a Mary Sue is. Just check Wikipedia or Encyclopedia Dramatica for various definitions. I personally think the most simple and accurate definition can be A Mary Sue is an overrated fictional character, that only her/his creator loves. Sues can be found in three basic places: fanfiction, original fiction and roleplays. Mary Sues are mostly created by 12-15 year old girls with a strong sense of insecurity. And here begins my story
Skin DeepShould we pity the poor young pelican?Skin Deep7 years ago in Other More Like This
Red in the face
a balding sequence of ambivalent metaphors
This is a strange fragility.
A comic evanescence
of stocking feet
all laughter and wonder
You hear this alot
no gleaming cup
for the non-technical among us
Its all narrative really.
A false swan wedged between
multi-millionaire pretty boys.
Im having second thoughts
They have declared war
on sexual ardor.
It is a very simple game.
Such violence is tribal
With so much ugliness,
when will you ever get a chance
to do something personal?
Were not going to the moon now.
I am a child again,
the roots of plain function
Gather me into the sunlit gyre of pelicans.
A Short, Endless Biography...A Short, Endless Biography of TushiA Short, Endless Biography...6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Tushi was a cat who could have been an ocean.
She could have been other things as well like a blanket that smelled of warmth, a puddle in your green yards, a broken wristwatch, a collage of photographs never taken together, a pair of socks or even, a grey, cloudy afternoon.
But she mustve been destined to be an ocean. Its unquestionable.
Tushi wasnt always a cat. Before becoming a cat, she had been a balloon. Red with yellow-freckles. Hydrogen filled. After the kid had left the string that connected the balloon in a childs hand with the eternal call of the ether, calling Tushi. After the kid had let go of that divine connection, like children always do. After the inflicted independence. Tushi had flown higher.
The breeze playing with her artificial, rubbery skin. Carrying her hither and thither. Over many fields, cities and their adjacent court-houses. And one endless blue sky that encompasses it all with snowfla
How to Attract Attention on dAHow to Attract Attention on dA7 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Are you thinking of joining deviantART, but are not sure what to do? Have you come to this guide after meeting your first dilemna: What to call yourself?
Well here’s the answer: Who cares?! If you’re female, it should be ‘pink’ + your name + a few random numbers. If you’re male, it should be ‘gamer’ + your name + ‘666’ [or if that’s already taken, a few random numbers]. Or perhaps you’re going to be boring, and actually think about what you call yourself. Whatever happens, within half an hour, you’ll be joined up to deviantART.
30 minutes up? Keep reading!
So you’ve joined the largest online art community on the internet, but where to go from here? Well, the first thing that must be clarified is that you DON’T need to get popular. That comes later. What you need first is devious friends, because – from the moment you join – you’re officially classified as a complete and utter lo
Beat I met one of those Beat poets once. He said his name was Erik and I told him that my name was Eva, and after that, names didn't really seem to matter anymore. We became the type of people who were together whenever we needed each other.Beat5 years ago in Historical More Like This
Magic can happen at any time of day, week, month, year, but our type of magic always seemed to occur by night. Dancing on a bridge, under the spotlight of a street lamp, in the middle of the highway. We would sort of just groove on those neatly painted white lines on the asphalt. We'd weave in and out of them, spinning, leaping, rocking. True artists, great artists, we'd tell each other, never colored inside the lines.
One night, there was me and him in my room. The bed was unmade, the lights were off, and the blinds in my huge window were open. He was propped up against the headboard of my bed and I was leaning on my elbow at the foot of it. We were staring out the window at the city. The bridge lig
HopeHopeHope8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Hope is something we all have
The small seed inside our hearts
That creates two flowers, one white, the other black.
Possibly for good and maybe for evil
All of us possess this force that compels,
The force that drives every last living one of us.
I do not know which way your flower of hope will bloom
But the third way hope can bloom is for peace and love
And not for fighting against good or for defeating evil
But by cherishing everyone you hold dear in your heart.
Watering the seed of hope to bloom with love
Can be difficult, many love the blossom and come to take;
Guard your flower with everything you have
For many will love you for this treasure you hold
Inside your heart for anyone who needs to be helped.
For those who make war with their flowers,
You may spread some of your love from your bloom
For the flower of love is the purest of all
Golden in hue, but different for everyone.
Some who cause wars need to be loved
For true peace to be fully attained by humanity.
HopeThere are times when one loses hope. When one just stands there, for a single moment, and stares. Just stares out into the horizon, looking and looking, almost as if waiting for something to come. But it never comes. They stand there, they watch, and they wait, and they are disappointed. No one is exactly sure what keeps giving them hope, or enough courage to stand there another time, but something does. Something, deep down, reaches up into their mind and says, wait again, it will come. So they wait because that's what the voice told them to do, that's what their feelings say, and they keep waiting. Some wait all of their life, without ever getting what they want. Others, the voice just stops trying, stops telling them to go back and look, they just stop. And some, never get there at all.Hope10 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Is it wrong for them to have that hope? To dream that dream that one day, whatever they are looking for will finally come? Maybe it is wrong, maybe they have been misled, and misjudged, and they don'
Tinkering On the GrandI walk through these halls, undbidden,Tinkering On the Grand10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And glance through the weaning light into that corner.
I see that beautiful grand in all its glory,
A sight to make me wonder...
I sit upon this leather bench,
And tinker away my melody.
My melody of these pasts unfolding,
In all, but a graceful parody.
The beautiful chords first played upon,
Now seem so far, past yonder.
That beautiful piece, that was once my life,
Now tends to make me wander.
Chords so strong, as I play upon,
This wonderful old grand treasure.
I hope to make this music last,
For each magnificent, note-filled measure.
The little passages, so wonderfully dear,
Keep me entranced in life's song.
I am now wondering if this beautiful grand,
Will teach me all life long.
For each passing page, for each passing note,
I know that each piece makes me stronger.
For each passing century has its own way,
Of leaving and bringing back so much slaughter.
The hearts of our children,
So pious and innocent,
That wait in the coming liv
Narcissus[This is anything but fiction]Narcissus8 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
Narcissus was born inside a mirror. Many people who came to see the baby were disturbed on not being able to take it in their arms. They didn't have access to the other side of the glass and so was the case with Narcissus. What, however, frightened them even more was their own absence inside the mirror. As if the mirror was a barrier between them and the baby. They realized later that the mirror itself was Narcissus' mother and like all mothers it protected the child from the big, bad world.
Time passed and the town grew up with Narcissus. And Narcissus grew up with the townsfolk. Some claimed they cared for Narcissus much more deeply than they did for their own sons and daughters. They had watched him smile, weep and celebrate. Silently. Narcissus was deaf, for there was no sound on the other side of the glass. But all the same Narcissus was a beautiful baby right from the day he was born. The townsfolk could forget all their incompeten
The Fractal ManYou wake up and before reality sets in you plan how you would like your day to go.The Fractal Man8 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You do the whole bathroom thingyou lather, you rinse, you repeat.
You dress slowly under your own scrutiny and regardless of whether you are in overalls or a uniform or a silk linen suit, you hate the way you look. You will never look the way you did that other day, the day you were happy just being yourselfthough you cannot specifically remember when that day was.
Eventually you exit your humble little home and stumble into the concentrated centre of a mad, mad world. In this land skyscrapers dwarf the rising sun and the earth below them is forever in their shadow. The city streets are always an endless stream of chaos around you.
If you were like me, you wore a silk linen suit and the toast was always the same.
It was never a far step from the inside of any building to the inside of a
HopeI'm plauged in a worldHope10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
That never ends
Alone in this place
I am condemned
Cursed to this life
Which has no plan
The pain in my heart
can no more expand
Watching and waiting
Just wishing to die
My soul is aching
My dreams cannot fly
I'm a person with talent,
A future to uphold,
But those are just many
Lies I have been told
I feel like I'm walking,
But not going any where
There is plenty of time,
But not one second to spare
Why am I still living?
What do I expect?
That an angel will come down
And save me from this wreck!?
Yet...there must be a small
Hope hiding inside,
Because surely I would
Have already died
How will I find this
Hope I seek?
When everything I hold
is so dark and so bleak
This must be the treasure
I've been waiting to find.
I cannot wait until the day
I will claim it as mine!
Hopefully, it's truth
will not stand to wait,
Because too soon,
Will be too late.
Love poem homicidesi stutter when i'm nervous which is almost all the time. she used to say that it was cute and that i was cute, count my smattering of freckles and call each one an angel toothed nibble and whatever that meant it sounded un-hideous so i didn't ever disagree.Love poem homicides6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
i think it was that time in the sun drowned jungle where the children shoot each other with invisible guns that i realized she wasn't exactly normal. she kissed me under the gnarled roof where gold dusted fairy motes hang like clouds waiting anxiously for rain and i stuttered because her lips were my side of the pillowcase and pink corner store bubble gum.
she smiled like white linoleum and laughed.
what's the matter, she asked, are you frightened?
yes, i thought. but i said no, reached into the warm forever between us and took hold of her hands. their nails were painted up like tiny little apricots and i remember that to to this day.
that's good, she said. she kissed me again.
she tried to put her tongue into my mouth and i wasn't
Synchro-CityThey breathed in unison. All over the city, all over the planet, the bots were breathing together. They moved and walked and spoke as their individual programming dictated, but their breathing was synchronised, in and out with the constancy of a ticking clock. She was in her twenties when she first managed to make her own working robot and it breathed with inexorable regularity. In out. In out. In out.Synchro-City6 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
"Hello," it said. In out. "Are you my mother?"
"The female creator of my form," it insisted, "The instantiator of my existence. Are you my mother?"
She had to concede that she was, although the term made her uneasy.
In out. In out. It breathed just like all the other bots did.
Without access to the research databases, she had made a very basic effort at its programming, and that meant it needed to be taught.
"Do I have a name?" It asked her, as she was showing it how to clean the windows. It was standing very close. She could hear it breathing in out, in out.
"No. Would you
Coming...Coming...8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
no-one to talk to
nowhere to go
i carry my hurt
where it cannot show
as the light falls away
alone yet in company
aware but in pain
a mistake made in coming
realized too late
trouble then in coping
will i find a way?
For My Husband...In starry eyes, beneath starry skies, we sleep together in the fitful night. We are one, we are the same... once two separate people, now lovers, now with lives entwined and enmeshed one with the other, our strands, knotted, braided, entangled in ecstacy and muted divinity... not of our own, but the reflection of it... within our lives, like silken cords once flying free, now inevitably locked in their embrace... the cords still have the appearance of beauty, but were they to be untangled, unknotted, and separated from the other, they would be wrinkled, filthy, unlovely... they are not to be on their own any longer... We have become one, and one we shall stay... until forever turns her head and walks away.For My Husband...8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This