Chapter 2: NightmaresChapter 2: Nightmares4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Chapter 2: Nightmares
"Lena, will you marry me?" Liam's normally steady voice was shaking a bit as he knelt on the ground. He looked up into her sparkling blue eyes, and was relieved with what he saw: happiness. Her beautiful smile lit up her face as she replied.
"Of course. Liam, I love you." Lena grabbed Liam's face and kissed him, soft and passionate. He still remembered the taste of her lips: strawberries.
The bride took a deep breath. She wiped her sweaty palms on her white gown, her nerves finally getting to her. 'Why am I anxious? ' she thought, gaze darting around the dressing tent. 'We've been engaged for a year, been planning for months, and I've never gotten the jitters. What's wrong with me? ' She took another deep breath as her bridesmaid pushed the tent flap aside, striding in with a huge smile on her face.
"Oh, darling, you look absolutely beautiful!" The bridesmaid said, before crinkling her brow. "I know that face. What's on you
Chapter 1: UngiftedChapter 1: Ungifted4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Chapter 1: Ungifted
The cottage was in the middle of a dark forest, where timber wolves could be heard howling in the distance. Inside the cottage, mice scurried across the wooden floor and the glow of a single candle lit up the tiny room.
Screams rent the night; the screams of a mother giving birth. Lena gripped her husband's hand tight as the mid-wife crooned encouragement: "You're almost done, just push a little harder. That's right, just hold on. You're almost there."
Lena panted, her chest heaving with the effort of child-birth. 'Almost there, yeah right.' She thought. 'She said that three hours ago, and look where that's got us.' She screamed again, and squeezed Liam's hand harder, making him grimace with pain.
"It's okay, honey," he said with teeth clenched. "I know you can do this." Lena nodded, and pushed again. She screwed her eyes shut with the attempt, and bit her tongue so she wouldn't scream again.
"Look," the mid-wife whispered. "She's a girl." The mid-wife
Schwarze RosenEs blüht eine schwarze Rose alleinSchwarze Rosen5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Zwischen vielen Bunten Tulpen
Die Tulpen, sie sind alle gleich
Überzeugt jedoch, ganz anders zu sein
Als alle anderen Tulpen
Doch am Ende sind sie gleich
Die schwarze Rose wiegt sich im Wind
Ein Riff des Todes mit Dornen gespickt
Einsam ragt sie aus allen hervor
Bis sich eine zweite zu ihr gesinnt
Beide schwarz, mit Dornen gespickt
Aus dem Meer von Tulpen sie ragen hervor
So Blühen sie scheinbar eine Endlosigkeit
Der Winter macht frostig die Blüten, so weiß
Keine wollt vergehen
Da kam ein junges Paar voll Heiterkeit
Durch das verschneite Feld, so weiß
Ihre Liebe sollt nicht vergehen
Die Frau, sie Trug ein schwarzes Gewand
Wie die Rosen selber
Drum Pflückte der Mann eine Rose ihr
Und gab sie der schönen Frau in die Hand
Die Rose so schön wie sie selber
Der Mann sprach lüsterne Worte ihr
Es blühten zwei schwarze Rosen einst
Sie hatten einander gefunden
Entzweit wurden sie durch vergängliche Lie
APH Strefa Trzynasta - PrologDziewczyna zeskoczyła z konia i lekko wylądowała na ziemi.APH Strefa Trzynasta - Prolog4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
-Udało się wyszeptała z nieukrywanym zadowoleniem. Poklepała swoja wierną klacz, a ta mimo zmęczenia, parsknęła radośnie. Dziewczyna uśmiechnęła lekko i odczepiła od swojego paska mały, niepozorny woreczek. Wysypała jego zawartość na dłoń i jej oczom ukazał się średniej wielkości bursztyn.
- I o to tyle zamieszania? - spytała samą siebie, obracając kamyk w palcach. Był nieoszlifowany i chropowaty. Zaczęła go oglądać pod słońcem mając nadzieję, na ujrzenie jakiegoś owada czy kawałka liścia, rosnącego setki tysięcy lat temu, ale dostrzegła jedynie coś, ciemnego, raczej kwadratowego. Mimo że oglądała bursztyn z każdej strony, nic więcej nie mogła zobaczyć, toteż w
Chapter 3: FireChapter 3: Fire4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Chapter 3: Fire
"And inhaling these three herbs twice a day will make the headaches disappear." The surgeon placed three bags of dried herbs into Lena's hand, grinning all the while.
Why is he grinning? Does he find joy in other people's pain? He shouldn't be a doctor, even if he is the best one in the village. Lena took a deep breath, faking a smile in the surgeon's direction before turning around and rolling her eyes. Placing the dried herbs into her satchel with everything else that the healer prescribed, she turned on her heel and walked right out the front door. She hurried down the street, avoiding the glances of passerby. She could feel their stares on her; hear their whispers as she walked past them. She tried to ignore them, and was failing miserably. The words that she imagined them saying pierced her act, crumbled her fragilely built wall.
"Did you hear? Her daughter doesn't have an element, the freak. "
"They shouldn't be allowed into the village, they might c
The Solipsist's LotThere's something about yourself that you don't know. You probably don't remember the circumstances very well, but I do. If you enjoy things the way they are, if you revel in even the smallest speck of ignorance, you need not read ahead. I won't force you. But from what I know of you, you don't like secrets. Especially not when they are about you.The Solipsist's Lot4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You see, when you were born, so at once was everyone else. Your mother, she sprang into existence, just like that, the instant your tiny infant brain achieved the smallest semblance of self-awareness. Woven out of the ether, she remembered everything that never happened, and she looked down at you, cradled and squirming in her loving arms.
"Oh," she said. "So here is life."
The doctor was there too, although a moment before if there ever was a moment before he was not. He just nodded, smiling assuredly, and said, "Here is the beginning."
WhitewashWhen you're five years old you set a promise in the dark, your sister's ice-queen eyes witness. Millie is sitting straight-backed against the headboard, face wide and earnest, and it seems as if the world has heaped itself on her shoulders, or maybe it's the strangeness of midnight.Whitewash5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"We can't make our wills or anything like that until we're eighteen," she says fiercely. "But I might forget this by then."
In later years you will find time to reflect that you're not as whimsical as Millie; young, you only think then that you could never forget something this important. But you can't argue with the three-years-older she holds above your head (the wisest bestest elder sister in the world.)
Your love for her borders on hero-worship, and looking back, you sometimes wonder if that's healthy.
The door bangs shut. "Jodie!"
How strange, the way it works: your hand is frozen to the table in the way it should have been on the phone, but that was minutes ago and maybe it was delayed-reaction, becau
7 Steps for Creating Your Story's Narrator7 Steps for Choosing Your Story's Narrator7 Steps for Creating Your Story's Narrator8 months ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Anybody Can Write a Novel
Chapter 3 “Characters” – Section 8 “The Narrator”
With Links to Supplementary Material
All stories are told by a character in your story—whether you know it or not. Now, it could be that your story is told through the eyes of some sort of god or spirit or unknown invisible force, but there is some sort of being that must be present in order to know and tell of the events that transpired. Today, I'm going to talk about choosing the right narrator for your story, writing style, and genre. Please note that these are not the standard distinctions that you will learn in school, but a far more complex and elemental series of distinctions that I have discerned as a student of writing.
Step 1: Choose what Point of View you wish to write in
There are three
fumesthe talkfumes3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
A puddle of skyA puddle of sky1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
A puddle of sky
a puddle of fire
and when you walk through it it sticks to your boots
you will leave a trail behind you
like bright fiery sky
it will spread all through you
and make you rosy and warm
and everywhere you go it will be a lovely day.
A Pocket Full of SkyWhen I was young, my father would take me to the highest tower of Notre Dame precisely once a year. It would be cold. Freezing. But we'd stand there, and take deep breaths of air, and peer down, towards the tiny ants of people below. Down, towards the sprawling city beneath us. It was always winter, when we'd go. Always cold. Freezing, freezing. But however cold it was, and however dull and bleary the weather, my father would ask one thing, and one thing only: that we adhered to tradition.A Pocket Full of Sky5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Lucie," he would say, with the fond smile and kind eyes I always remember. "Lucie, my peach. Whatever you become, and wherever your heart and mind leads you, you must always do for me one small, beautiful thing take a handful of the sky, and place it in your pocket. Take a handful of the sky, and remember, always, that your feet need not always be imprisoned to the ground. Anything you could ever wish for, Lucie, can be yours but only if you study hard, and always feel the freedom of t
a ribcage drenched in dusti have your ribcage, you said.a ribcage drenched in dust3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
what should i put in it?
i told you i'd always wanted a fire,
the kind that would fill my eyes with starlight
and pump my blood full of passion, but
you're made of wildflowers, you said.
a fire would burn you to ash.
you wanted to fill my chest with
the sound of a train, whistling
far away in the night;
with the sound of rain smacking leaves;
with the sound the wind makes
when it seems like it's trying to speak
and you wanted to throw in the
smell of midnight in august
and the feeling of sand being
sucked out from under your feet
when the ocean inhales,
and the strange little moment of
bittersweet joy you get when
someone else puts your soul into words
and you realize you're not as alone as you thought.
i told you that if i had all that inside me,
i'd ache all the time
and you smiled a sad little smile,
because you already knew that ache.
because you were a writer, and you ached all the time.
i've got it, i said.
SageSageSage4 months ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
In my youth, as all youths do, I sought knowledge, the Truth Universal. I was almost desperate for it. So I sought it here, I sought it there, I sought it everywhere, much as they sought the Scarlet Pimpernel. And like that famous brigand, it was very hard to find. I determined at last to ask The Great Sage, in his temple, on his mountaintop. There was no airport near the mountain among mountains, so the land journey was long. Foot after laborious foot I trudged up the mountain. After many stops to rest, at last I reached the peak, the summit of the Sage, of knowledge. Going through the required ceremonies of entry to the temple and presentation to the Sage, I grew very excited. Now I could ask my many questions and have the answers given. He was a most impressive presence, serene in his robes of ceremony and sitting cross-legged on his throne of red and gold in a great gold and red chamber. I kneeled on the floor as one often does in Asia and was about to speak my puzzles,