'What if?'"You like him, don't you?"'What if?'8 years ago in Teen More Like This
"Woah, where the heck did you come from?"
"You'd think that you'd be used to that by now."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Yeah, I was planning on distracting you to avoid it, and now I forgot what you said."
"Liar. But I'm repeating it anyways. You like him, don't you?"
"You know who."
"I don't like him, he's more like a brother."
"What if pigs flew?"
"What do pigs have to do with my feelings?"
"I don't know. What if he were the last man on Earth?"
"Are we playing the what if game?"
"What if we were?"
"Ok, that's a yes. If he were the last man on Earth, I wouldn't have much of a choice now, would I? But then again, man normally refers to human, and..."
"What if he loved you?"
"...Well, it wouldn't really matter, would it?"
"What if it did?"
"Are you implying something?"
"No, you're infering something."
"Stop using words, you're hurting my brain."
"Brain? What brain?"
"Don't push it."
"If he did,
WeirdYou cant call me shyWeird7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Cause I have many friends
And you cant call me social
Cause I dont talk to everyone
You cant call me pretty
Cause no one knows what that means anymore
And you cant call me ugly
Cause theres no such thing
You cant call me smart
Cause Im terrible in school
And you cant call me stupid
Cause I know enough to survive
You cant call me religious
Cause I hardly go to church on Sundays
And you cant call me an atheist
Cause I know theres a God
You cant call me normal
Cause no one is,
But you can call me weird
Cause Im nothing like you.
Spectre for November.Im missing you, I heard myself say. I was sure she wouldnt hear me. I was invisible to her and I felt myself fade in and out of her reality.Spectre for November.7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
She shivered with the morning cold. Had I physical hands, I would have covered her with fallen and cast aside sheets.
She lazily rose from bed, the pale gloom of Autumn flooding through open blinds and making her skin shine radiantly, beautifully, vividly with a curious opalescence. Her face set in an immediate frown as she took a crystallized moment to look at a bedside photo. Us.
I grew sad, also. Spectres arent supposed to feel such things so genuinely, but I did. Remorse, heavy and breathtaking, has a taste. Its something you cant describe, but you just know it.
She went into the kitchen of her apartment and got out a bowl, a spoon, milk, and cereal. Weighted steps brought her shapely form to the window, where a chair was drawn. Her eyes, unfocused and distant, fixated themselves upon a spot in the hor
Loveless- Goodnight ButterflyLoveless- Goodnight Butterfly8 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
The butterfly, so delicate in his hand, was starting to crumble. Slowly, but surely, the tiny legs that were curled up against its body were coming off, and the wings had a rumpled look. The poor, dead, defenseless butterfly, curled and dried, trapped and helpless. Bound not by a Name, but by a frail body so easily destroyed.
Soubi. Seimeis voice caught him by surprise, and he dropped the dead creature onto the bedspread. He quickly scooped it back up and cradled it in his palm. He could feel the bed shift as Seimeis weight moved closer to him, spilling papers and art supplies onto the floor. Soubi could feel a change in the very air as Seimei grew nearer to him, something desperate he had never be able to keep from washing over him. Ever since the two had met, he had felt this way. A completely unchangeable need for Seimei, for every part of him, for every word that he gave him, harsh or not. Seimei stopped close to him, shifting into a comfo
punctualAt night she rested her forehead between his collarbones and refused to put her ear to his chest cavity. She said she was afraid to hear his heartbeat.punctual7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I am broken inside and I do not want to envy other clockwork organs. Dont let me hear the tick-tock of all that I am missing.
He wrapped his arms around her and whispered into her hair that he would fix her; his skin was punctured with metal and his bones had snapped before, but if he could be whole then so could she. She shook her head and tried to dream. She fell asleep to the words,
Ill collect your pieces, sunshine, and put them back together.
When she fell asleep he pulled back the moonlit sheets and covered her in butterfly-kiss gazes. Her hipbones and ribs were all angles and geometric structures protruding from a flat plane. He tried to will them to life with nervous grazes and stuttering words, but they refused to arch to meet his touch; they did not thrum with racing heartbeats. He pulled hi
dont write under the influenceDr. Asclepius called me;dont write under the influence6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he told me i'm bipolar
(i still say it's luxuria)
Take two pills:
(as if anyone actually
obeys those, anyway)
Take another pill.
One for each time
you looked at me,
then two more if
i had looked back.
i'll take one more for that time you
branded fake <3's on my forehead
and another because your smile burns.
ten more for every mistake in my gums,
another six because i forgot dental floss,
four more because i still don't love you,
then twenty-six more because i just lied.
(another two just in case;
we can never be too safe)
add them up and our equation becomes:
eight empty bottles of antidepressants
seven dozen empty bottles of Bacardi
nine pints of Blood in my kitchen sink.
one hell of a talk with your neighbors.
Note to Self:
If our hipbones bump,
take a provocative pill.
If our ringtones crash,
take seven more pills.
If you understand this,
take an alluring dosage,
and call yourself in the
How to Write a StoryHow to Write a StoryHow to Write a Story10 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
For all you aspiring young authors, and even old pros, who are looking for a way to improve your skills, this is for you. In this manual I'm relying on my own experience as an author and as an avid reader. First I'll start with the five major problems faced by most authors.
1. Writing a Beginning. The most remembered part of a story is the beginning and the end. The beginning sets the mood for the rest of the story. If you start off on the wrong foot, readers might just put your story down and look for a different one.
2. Writing an Ending. For a reader, the ending of a good book is an action-packed tragedy. When was the last time you read a good novel and wanted it to end? A good long story can be an enjoyable thing, but as a writer, you want to be able to end it.
3. Descriptions. Long boring paragraphs filled with the descriptions of characters and places don't make for good reading. In small doses, a wel
Satan MacMurphy, Issue 1Never mind what the brochures tell you, ladies and gentlemen—Las Vegas is about the least glamorous place on the face of the planet. Sure, The Strip is all neon and glitz, but that's only a three-mile stretch of pretty for all the tourists—glamorous make-up to camouflage an old, wasted whore. I never did like the Strip, and any time I saw one of my cases heading that way, I knew to bring aspirin. We're not talking about that today.Satan MacMurphy, Issue 18 years ago in Humor More Like This
North-town was my turf, and all the little back-alleys down Industrial Ave—the dark little corners where the bad boys hid their dirty deeds. Cheap strip clubs with overweight dancers and nasty bars that smelled of old cigarette butts and spilled liquor. Sal's was one of the latter, and my home away from home. It smelled marginally better than the others, and it was only a block away from my office—you do the math.
This is where I met Ms. Betty Banton. I knew she was trouble from the moment she
Ode to Rip van WinkleOde to Rip van Winkle11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"Tick tock, tick tock"
The incessant howling of that little clock.
Samiel is coming.
Your warhead does not distinguish between riff-raff,
But you've been slain by your own sword.
They've set fire to your halo
Can you feel the flames
Searing through your skin?
You fell with tears in your eyes.
Who is your maker?
Who is your saviour?
O broken warrior,
How will you live with the shame?
Do you remember the daisies?
They are twisting, wilting, BURNING
O First Lieutenant,
You did not live up to your name.
"Tick tock, tick tock"
The merry laughter of that little clock.
Samiel is coming.
Would you run?
Would you flee?
Who will grieve for you
In this darkened hour?
What is honour?
What is knowlege?
When you feel
Samiel is coming?
O palid horror,
What will you do?
O guiltless Hunter,
What will you do?
O singing NIGHTMARE,
What will you do?
Samiel is coming.
The Red is coming.
Now who is the wielder of magic b
Glass KissesEveryone wants something,Glass Kisses7 years ago in Other More Like This
From the perfect job,
To a diamond ring
That shines oh so bright
And sparkles in the morning light.
Selfish desires plaugue one's mind,
Everything they want is expected on a silver platter,
Time after time.
Does it all really matter?
I guess it must,
Just simple lusts.
Then I must be the most selfish of them all,
I want Glass Kisses.
They go on forever,
As beautiful and perfect as the porcelain dolls.
The Kisses should always be sweet
Always filled with the truest of love.
Something you would want to repeat,
Never wanting to move
From the person's arms.
Do I deserve these Glass Kisses that go on for eternity?
I am not worthy of this Kiss,
Of this affectionate love.
Yet I still stare up
missing.i remember how you found me digging through boxes in my closet one day.missing.7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
'what're you looking for?' you asked.
'i'm not sure,' i replied.
you looked at me, confused. 'you don't know what you're looking for?' you asked. i only shook my head.
because i never know what's missing or what i'm looking for; only that something is lost. misplaced.
but maybe the only thing misplaced is me.
'what do you think of yourself?' you asked me the next day.
'what do you mean?' i replied.
'i mean,' you paused for a moment. 'how do you see yourself?'
a telephone was ringing on the t.v. in the silence that dragged on. you turned away from me, and i could tell you didn't expect me to reply.
i didn't, either, but i surprised both of us.
'well,' i said. 'maybe... maybe i'm a fish born without gills. or maybe i'm a bird that refuses to fly. maybe i'm a treasure chest, locked and full of surprises - or maybe i'm just empty.
maybe i'm like fog, confusing and mindless and almost impossible to see through.
Things I Love: Random PoetryDown my spine,Things I Love: Random Poetry7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I feel the chill.
There is no more time,
Gone is the thrill.
What can I do?
They made me run,
This day they will rue,
Because they thought it was fun.
The crack of a whip.
The sound of a rip.
I make it.
The forest is behind me,
I'm at the end of my witts.
I jolt awake from the reverie,
A nightmare that haunts me.
How To WriteAbstract: an analytical approach to plotting and writing fiction upwards of 1,000 wordsHow To Write11 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
Acknowledgements: the potentially amazing Rachel (IfrozenspiritI) served as guinea pig to this; go and tell her to finish the product of that experiment, because you'll love it. Chris Widdison (tearstone) approached me indecently with the idea of writing a longer essay (which will still happen, and be a lot more purdy than this here thing), which would incorporate this essay in another form, amongst others. He doesn't need to read any of this, because he already knows it all.
Target audience: young, inexperienced writers, especially those that find themselves pulling off vignettes and other super-short forms with an ease, while chronically unable to produce anything with more than a handful of scenes and more than 1,000 words.
Part 1: The Premise takes a look at the basic idea behind a piece
Part 2: The Story fills in some of those blanks and gives u
blowing bubbles.last night weblowing bubbles.7 years ago in Other More Like This
watched the clouds
and you said:
you are beautiful.
and i am afraid
that i might one day
actually believe you
sometimes i feel like
i'm just this big bundle
of problems and i have
been searching and
i can't find the answers.
you told me that the answers
are in blowing bubbles and
tying shoe laces and chasing
dreams, but honestly i just
understand. i have tried
to chase my dreams but
they only run away.
you told me that you can't
stand how i sound when i
give up and the hope
is knocked out of me and
you can't stand me when
i am busy counting
the empty spaces in the
walls and in my heart
and you said you
can't stand me anymore,
love is not a game.
but then, how
did i end up
Once Called 'We'It's late at nightOnce Called 'We'6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And I find myself staring at the clock
Waiting for his phone call.
Once it hits midnight
I feel my heart fall.
I turn off the light
Because sleep is something
I shouldn't stall.
Though I'm half asleep
I keep my ears open
In case I hear my phone ring.
Nothing for days
And it begins to sting.
I try to put off what I know is true,
It's over for me
And it's over for you.
I guess there's nothing else I can do,
Just sit back and wait for you
To forget all about me
And what was once called "we"
Is now just me or you.
A Little RevolutionIt smells of candy dust in here. Gum wrappers shine bright blue and pink in a line of light that sneaks through the cardboard on the windows. Ira Stein puts a finger to his lips:A Little Revolution7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
shh. . . he says, tell no one.
There are alien wars frozen on the shelves under magazine titles made of laser-beams. But we ignore the comic-books, because Ira tells better stories.
shhhh. . . he says, because no-one will understand. Our little secret, yeah?
In the classroom there is Plexiglas in the windows instead of real glass. It gets scratched. We scratch our names in it. The yellow desks are bunched up next to each other in groups, their surfaces soft with pencil-lead scribbles that come off on our forearms and spread black to our faces from our hands. Sarah draws a heart on her desk and inside it says I+A. Nicky says that is gross and not the way to think abo
i'll let you in on a secret: You suffer.i'll let you in on a secret:7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I know you do; you know you do. I've always been here for you. I've seen you cry and I've seen you yell and mostly, I've seen you dream. I am the one pinching your lids closed, I am the one wrenching your lips open, and I am the one squeezing the tears from your drainpipe eyes.
You don't need to tell me, because I know. I have you all figured out. You're sick, you know that, and you're nearly dead, always nearly deadbut you persevere, and you hold out, and you're so beautiful, and I'm just here to hold your hands, because you suffer, so much.
Yes, I know all about you.
I know why you are still alive.
I know about your love troubles. I know about all the people who have fucked you and I remember finding you coating the
clocks are so last season, hunyou tuck your heartclocks are so last season, hun6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
under your sleeve,
under a wristwatch
from World War I
the one passed down
you pretend love doesn't exist;
and even if it did, you're immune
to the power of emotion.
your impeccable knowledge says:
love is sundry chemicals in your brain,
it can't hurt you because it's imaginary
and you're so damn smart,
you didn't even need to look
sundry up in the dictionary&
you're so damn smart,
you didn't even need to look
at me to make me fall
(that's the sound of my liver falling down a flight of escalators)
you wear your watch over your heart,
so when people ask you the time,
you can tell them it doesn't work,
because communication f
cupboardand last night i felt like the weight of paper andcupboard7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
then i felt like i would sink into everything i touch.
and yesterday i thought that maybe a bottle of
red wine and 3am and then too many post it notes
and staring at the ceiling from the tiles in the
kitchen would make the tiger hiding in the cupboard
go away. and if you could line up miles of mountains,
that's how far away i felt from myself. even though,
i could see me in the mirror and i could hear me
saying stop it stop it stop it. you are not here any
more. you are not there any more, and suddenly
i was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living
room. watching the television but it was off. and i
did not exist. and my house did not exist and my button
collection did not exist and you and this and that did
not exist. rarely does the rabbit outrun the fox, but
i close my eyes and try anyway.
last night i felt like the weight of paper and then i
felt like i would sink into everything i touch. somehow
antennaes and rooftiles, fox
we are all strangers"if i were a stranger, i'd probably kill myself."we are all strangers6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"what the fuck are you on about?"
"if i were a nobody. a ghost. an unknown. like the man who goes to the market everyday to get a brown bag full of his groceries, smiles and says thank you to the cashiers, and wears the same black trenchcoat. i wonder if he's dead..."
"is that where you were?"
"...but everyday, the cashier at that same, damned market rings him up but never sees his face. she never hears him say thank you, she just tells him to have a nice day. and he smiles and says he will, and she should too. but she doesn't fucking know, she doesn't even see him."
"were you at the market, then?"
"his name is william, he's sixty-five years old. he has no wife, and his son is this asshole-broadcaster on channel four, cooing over the news like a fucking mourning dove."
"what does this have to do with being a stranger?"
"william knows nobody. or rather- nobody knows william."
"how do you mean?"
"you know those photographs, the ones with
Flash Fiction: Good Business We're finished, Madame. How do you feel?Flash Fiction: Good Business6 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
The sound of knuckles popping echoed through the dilapidated ballroom. The silver chamber set up in the center hissed loudly as it opened.
I feel.... ah... A woman breathed deeply, then sighed happily. I feel fantastic. Slowly she stepped from the blinding lights inside the chamber, dressed in a black smock.
Would you like to see your new body? A tall man in a grey uniform stepped forward, motioning towards one of the few mirrored walls that hadn't been smashed. Most of our clients don't care, but I knew you'd like to see. He pointed her towards the mirror that had been cleaned of all dust and grime.
How To Write A StoryHOW TO WRITEHow To Write A Story6 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT
The following contains "bad language" for emphasis. I do not endorse the use of such language, yet I use it anyway because that's how I roll and it can add good emphasis to the points I bring up. If you don't like it, I pity you.
Becoming an Author
If you're looking for a step-by-step "How to Write the Next Bestseller", you're barking up an imaginary tree, so if I were you I'd desist from that before people stop and point at the delirious little chihuahua. Thing about writing is...
There's no secret.
(dun dun DUUUUN)
That's right. Those of you worrying about finding the Fountain of Perfect Authoring are chasing mirages in the desert of reality. There isn't really any Rosetta Stone of how to write a great story. Don't walk away in dejection just yet, however. There's no secret temple with the Pen of Shakespeare, but there a