Edward - Story of Snow Pt2Edward - Story of Snow Pt2 in Sketches More Like This
Edward stumbled backwards in shock and his hands, flailing wildly for balance, suddenly became embedded in the wooden beams on either side of the window.
Frantically he struggled to free himself, twisting and arching his thin and piteously strapped up torso forwards, and all but tearing his arms from their sockets. Try what he might, he remained helpless, the deadly scissor-tipped fingers stuck fast in the wood, his chalk-white face filled with pathetic fright.
He closed his eyes tight, like a child who's been caught in a game of hide-and-seek but thinks he will be invisible as long as he keeps his eyes screwed shut.
Anybody from the town below, anybody who had heard about the catastrophic events many years ago would have been able to tell you why Edward was so petrified now, at finding himself in such a helpless situation, pinned there in full view like some butterfly collector's prize specimen. It was because he was supposed to be dead, and a very long time ago at
Edward Scissorhands - Pt 9Edward Scissorhands - Pt 9 in Sketches More Like This
Nobody was looking at the dark and gabled silhouette on the hill overlooking the town at exactly twenty-two minutes to twelve that Saturday night. It was lucky that nobody had, or more than one of the townsfolk would have added a new chapter to the peculiar ghost story that had insidiously circulated throughout the town over the decades, permeating the life of each and every inhabitant. For one brief instant, every single light in the place had flared on, crowning the whole hill with a blaze of glory.
The man with the scissors for hands had indeed discovered the electricity junction box.
Edward was lying flat on his back, hair alight with blue sparks, eyes rolling back in his head under the pale eyelids, almost out of their sockets. A faint curl of smoke drifted lazily up from the scorched black leather rags that swathed the prone form, and a smell of burning plastic hung in the air. It wasn't the first time and it certain
Edward - Story of Snow Pt4Edward - Story of Snow Pt4 in Sketches More Like This
Moira ventured up to the old inventor's house to see the boy with the scissors for hands often after that.
After making sure nobody was watching her behind the net curtains of the pastel washed bungalows she passed, she would run along the street and straight up to the forlorn and twisted old gates. This was only the start of the journey. She would then slither through them - they were swinging drunkenly off their hinges - make her way up the steep and tree-lined hill, through the massive gatehouse with its leering demons and then on through the frost rimed garden until she abruptly came to a halt in front of the massive ironbound oak door.
It was never locked. She always half expected that today, maybe it would be, and that there was really nobody up here in the twisted old manor house but she also knew that the ghost who haunted it could never leave.
Moira would climb up the great silver and stone staircase, sending the dust clouds whirling, up and up a
Edward - Story of Snow Pt1Edward - Story of Snow Pt1 in Settings More Like This
Sepia shadows striated the dusty wooden floorboards of a long abandoned attic. The silence was as soft as the worm eaten rafters and yet was there a breath softer than silence? A spider's dark shadow in the far corner against the wall shifted ever so slightly. There ran the spider, away, skittering over the bare beams, but somehow the long and crooked shadow remained.
A figure drifted from the gloom, less purposeful than the spider, yet horribly alike. It was almost as if a designer, drawing up plans for a fantastically thin and looming spectre, had conceived this very figure on paper as the true spirit of a spider, all legs, and horrid black angularity and yet had compromised in the face of practical reality and was finally able only to produce a mere insect.
No spider in a child's worst nightmare could have matched this black and ragged apparition of dust and apparent decay. The creature appeared to be composed of scraps, spare parts and limbs bound tog
Edward - Story of Snow Pt3Edward - Story of Snow Pt3 in Sketches More Like This
Edward looked as if he were in a dazed and happy dream, his eyes did not once leave Kim's granddaughter's face, and he did not move, as if he was afraid that with one tiny movement she would vanish like a burst soap bubble.
Moira was now sitting comfortably cross legged on the floor, as though she had been accustomed to this strange empty manor house and its alarming occupant all her life.
She had spread her hoody beneath her for a cushion against the chilly floorboards and was now holding forth to an attentive Edward, who was sitting very carefully nearby.
Looking at him as she was speaking, Moira wasn't sure if Edward even believed she was real. He had been up here alone for such a long time, with his own thoughts and dreams, and he must have dreamed of Her so long and so often that perhaps he wasn't surprised that one day his dream had the power to become reality. What was reality like for him now, Moira wondered? She couldn't resist a tiny shiver the atti
Edward - Story of Snow Pt 5Edward - Story of Snow Pt 5 in Settings More Like This
When Moira came back home that evening, old Kevin Boggs was just walking out of the front door. Moira's mother was leaning out of the tiny portico that formed the porch, and as Moira came up the road she overheard the old man say, "Well, just don't let on that I lost it, d'ye hear? Alright, Wendy, I'll see you soon. And tell Ted I found us a new fishing spot. We're going catch us some big fish this time, I promise."
As he passed Moira coming up the neat white zigzag path that crossed the lawn, Kevin Boggs smiled at her and ruffled her hair.
Moira and her parents had always treated old Mr Boggs as a close part of the family, and she'd called him Uncle Kevin as far back as she could remember. Uncle Kevin was her grandma's brother but Moira was also related through her father too. Moira's mum, Wendy, had married one of the Boggs family, a very distant cousin many times removed.
Kevin, always the jokester, often teased Moira's mother about the fact that she could n
Edward - Story of Snow Pt 6Edward - Story of Snow Pt 6 in Settings More Like This
Chapter Twenty One
Soft purple clouds hung like smoke in a dusky twilight sky. The rosy spring evening light flooded through the pointed windows of the dark Gothic pile on the hill above the town, and painted the walls inside with broad swathes of glowing pink
The effect was peaceful and serene. The scene would have made a beautiful watercolour study, if it hadn't been for the horribly jarring note introduced by the black figure at one of the attic windows.
The figure was swathed in trailing strips of ragged bandages, like an inky black Egyptian mummy. The mismatched rags were pinned together with glinting pins, studs, wires and great oval buckles, as if the body of the creature had been hastily assembled with whatever came to hand in a sadist's back parlour.
The thing's face had the likeness of a young boy who had been dead for some time, and then horribly mutilated. The funereal complexion was shadowed with blue and purple along the sunken cheekbones, with dark unhealthy purpl
Edward - Story of Snow Part 8Edward - Story of Snow Part 8 in Sketches More Like This
The boy with the scissors for hands had been walking along the length of the metal conveyor belt in the great inventing room, poking and prodding at the ominous metal machines that spanned it.
At this precise moment Edward had eased himself onto his back, and was lying on the belt itself, peering upwards while fiddling with one of the spindly, pastry-cutting robots. He looked a little like a garage mechanic right now except for the fact that this mechanic's fearsome tools were riveted permanently to the ends of his arms with great rods and bolts, and very few mechanics wear shining black skin-tight leather, sewn and bound up with innumerable buckles, straps and studs. Any further pretence to ordinary humanity ended with the strange boy's face however.
Technically it could have been a beautiful face, and perhaps it may even have been so once, long, long ago. There was an underlying regular
Scalpel AddictIt started when I was eleven, my war against 'natural beauty'. Yeah right, as if natural beauty could compare over what man creates. We have mastered the natural world and twisted it into our own shape, forming cities of beautiful concrete. So why can't we seize our natural form and mould it into plastic perfection. This was not the thought going through my head when I was eleven applying the make up I got for Christmas as careful and precise as possible. To be honest I was pretty good at applying it, my first real talent and I liked how the foundation made me look more tanned and the eye make up defined my eyes making then stand out on my face. I selected lip gloss over lipstick, it was shinier and I wanted candy lips. My new face was almost complete and perfect but I would also need a body to match if I'm going to be successful.Scalpel Addict in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When I hit my teens I spent a lot of money perfecting my image. Make up became my face, a strict diet and ritual tanning improved my body. It cost a lot of m
Battle of the SwansThe White Swan, elegant and good. Fragile and kind, gracefully glides across the stage. Soft, gentle movements. So much control, so much concentration, oh so trapped. Her sweet serenade relaxes the audience. They stare in awe at her sorrowful but beautiful flight. She bids them farewell as the Black Swan begins to stir.Battle of the Swans in Short Stories More Like This
The Black Swan, beastly and evil. Bold and cruel, dominates the stage. Passionate, wild movements with no hint of control, no strain of concentration, oh so free. Her seductive dance heightens the arousal of the audience. They stare with lust at her frightening but manipulative performance. She is dragged away as the White Swan begins to stir.
The White Swan and Black Swan, embodied as one but forever contrasting. The fight for power tears and strangles the body. The Black Swan's strength and the White Swan's weakness causes them both to fall to their metaphorical but literal death.
By Cíara Morgan
Leshi: The Eco Warrior."Stupid trees" I cried out. Grabbing a rock I threw it at the nearest wooden stem. I've been wandering around in this forest for two hours now trying to find my way back to the path. Thorny bushes scratched my uncovered calves (stupid shorts!). It was a sunny day and there was a light breeze in the air but huge moss covered trees blocked out the blue sky. Normally one would lose themselves in the repetitive greenery but I was far too tired and hungry to bother with 'becoming one with nature'. In frustration I started to stomp a patch of mushrooms nearby.Leshi: The Eco Warrior. in Short Stories More Like This
"ARG! Stupid mushrooms! Stupid bushes! Stu-"
"Hey!" Boomed a deep voice.
Startled I turned round to see a man approaching me. His angry green eyes were hard as emeralds. I was amazed and frightened at how they popped out of his ghostly pale skin. He was rather hairy, with a thick beard and black hair growing on his arms. The hair on his head was long and decorated with leaves and sticks. He looked rather crazy and
Summer time, student rhyme.Watching the sunrise.Summer time, student rhyme. in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Diet Cola with ice.
Lazy, mellow afternoons,
Saying you will start homework soon.
People going from lily pale to tan
Whilst you buy tickets to see a band.
Summer hits set the rave
And the sun glistens on the pave-
Ment-hol addictions cease.
Cinema releases magical beasts.
Water is suddenly fun again
And exam stress symptoms start to mend.
By Cíara Morgan
It tastes like love.I could speak of her in riddles,It tastes like love. in Free Verse More Like This
in aged, anatomy textbook terminology-
but, I wont.
You see, I cuffed this angel to my bedpost.
I sank my teeth into feathers she wore like a cage
and asked if I was dreaming, because Love,
you're not holding me. If you only knew the you in my head,
every night--tearing with these heavenly fingers
at the cracks in my sanity- you would allow me this!
Her tongue tastes my tears; nails clawing, clawing, clawing-
she takes away my pain,
but she doesn't belong to me either.
"We are but wolves.
Tell me, what does my blood taste like?"
Dear Poetry,I am trying to cover my sadness with words.Dear Poetry, in Free Verse More Like This
Tape them against my scars
& wear them like worthy paper cuts.
My tears are alcohol swabs, burning & cleansing
wounds of my own making. Sometimes,
I wish I could hide behind them forever.
But not even this journeyed flesh can stand
castle strong against speechless ink stains.
I know the code. This body does not deserve
a warriors death. & poetry, you're a monster
a creative monster, but evil nonetheless.
I wish to string you into knots, force feed you
down the throats of others. De-format you
& leave you empty; freeversed-
to hang loosely along the heartstrings
of strangers, & past lovers.
We are the perfect poster children for
battered homes, aren't we poetry?
The dysfunctional couple
black-eyed and angry love.
You can't protect me from myself forever.
Don't Cry, I'm Still AliveDon't Cry, I'm Still Alive in Free Verse More Like This
Don't cry, I'm still alive
My body just died, I'm still alive
My spirit has moved on, to the skies
My body died, but I'm still alive
Tell dad, he was the best he could be
Tell mom, that I loved her more than I could see
Tell my siblings, that I will miss their laughs
Don't cry, I'm still alive
I just needed, one more cut
But that was more, than enough
I cut to deep in my wrist, now my body is drained
Please, Don't cry, I'm still alive
What I did, I left them behind
Now I'm with god, and his angels alike
But when I look down, I regret
I see all the pain, I have spread
Don't cry, I'm still alive
Don't cry, my funeral is just a goodbye
But it's not forever, for you will see
In heaven we will be joined, and that is a joy for me
Goth and the Jock -Ch.2 p.2:2 As he walked toward the locker room when he saw David.Goth and the Jock -Ch.2 p.2:2 in Teen More Like This
David was sweaty from lifting weights. Jack stared at him, as if caught in a trance. Jack stared at the beads of sweat that shone like thousands of small diamonds. He followed the path of one bead as it made its way from his forehead, down his cheek, following his neck only to disappear beneath his shirt. Jack blushed instantly as realized he was staring. He quickly caught himself as he turned away. He hoped that the blonde didnt notice.
David didnt see him looking at him, nor did he see the blush. All he did notice was Jack was soaking wet.
I KNOW you didnt run THAT much. He said as he pointed to Jack.
IntetarAlguien dijo sin prisaIntetar in Free Verse More Like This
que los hombres no lloran
yo no se quien lo dijo
pero quiero advertir
que le que siente en su pecho
que las penas afloran
tiene todo el derecho
de llorar y sufrir
El que calla su llanto
callara su alegria
el simetrico opuesto de reir es llorar
como el sol y la luna
es la noche y el dia
cuando mas has sufrido
mas aprendes a amar
Si contara los golpes
que me ha dado la vida
y las puertas que nunca
me quisieron abrir
seria enorme la suma
de la inmensa medida
de castigos y engaños
que aprendi a resistir
Cada "NO" que escuchaba
se crecio en mi memoria
y jamas el orgullo
me dejo claudicar
si al final del camino
encontre la victoria
se lo devo a una cosa
ENTRE PIEDRASSucedió que estando yo en mi vida sin tiempo en mi forma de lobo, mi mundo fue alterado, mis garras cayeron, mi pelaje desapareció, y mis colmillos dejaron pequeños dientes en su lugar.ENTRE PIEDRAS in Philosophical More Like This
En mi nueva forma de hombre vague por un mundo extraño tratando de olfatear algo conocido. En una ciudad desierta, hecha de piedra y metal, no encontré seres vivos, sino rocas, estatuas en las casas, los parques y escuelas, solo estatuas.
en el pecho de las estatuas había inscripciones; "mírame pero no me observes", "óyeme, no me escuches". Seguí buscando y encontré diferentes mensajes en cada estatua, "no me toques", "no me quieras", "no pienses en mi". Seguí buscando y desempolvando piedras, "no me hagas pensar", encontré en una.
"Ni siquiera lo intentes" decía otra, "NO. No lo hagas, no quiero vivir". Entre mas buscaba mas desesperantes y tristes eran las palabras que encontraba. "No quiero salir", "No quiero ver l