Hell is WaitingHell is Waiting in Short Stories More Like This
Once I had the strangest dream, truly it had an inconceivable scheme. Let me tell you of the haunting scene.
I was standing in a field, there was a gale that refused to yield. The ground below me fell and as I began to drop I did yell. Through the core I dove, through the fiery pits I drove.
Suddenly I was trapped in an eerie fog, as if I had landed in a bog. The smell of sulfur hung in the air, clinging onto my memories which I could not repair. The smell of death and decay fell fully on me without delay. So finally I opened my eyes and oh did they burn, and what I saw made my insides churn. Here I saw twisted mangled figures with so many distorted horrific features.
A sinister laugh echoed in the deathly silence, a testament to its evil nature lay before me as evidence. Mankind strewn about in so many charred remains, this was some sort of hellish domain. So here in this nightmare, my imagination began to dare. I pondered at the details of the picture before me, and my soul ripped ou
Deaf EarsDeaf Ears in Philosophical More Like This
What if I knock at heaven's door?
What if I scream and shout all my needs?
What if I do my best to pray earnestly?
What if I still I feel empty because no one answers?
What if there's no relief in my soul after sending up that heavenly flare?
What if I am just a fallen angel?
What if all my prayers fall on deaf ears?
ReflectionsReflections in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I look in the mirror reflection,
I hope my true self avoids detection.
I am not who they believe,
I find freedom when they leave.
I see myself with this refinement,
It's all traditional confinement.
Who is she?
That beauty staring at me.
Not who I was meant to be.
This personality and this face,
My family's disgrace.
Honor and poise,
Someone save me from this choice.
I hide behind this façade,
It's a delicate charade.
I see myself as a warrior,
Everyone around sees me as inferior.
Why can't I let my true self shine?
Why must I let this cage confine?
Behind this face I fade.
Who is that girl I see,
Staring straight back at me?
Turned to obscurity.
This sad shallow reflection.
The Avenging AngelThe Avenging Angel in Short Stories More Like This
The gates of heaven open, out walks a woman her hair blackest raven. Her slow stride is steady and resolute, her eyes passionate. Her lips part in deliberate progression, her eyes burn with aggression. Her body is clad in black, any vestige of virginal white to her back. She moves as a liquid dance, moving to an unheard cadence.
Her eyes rest on earth with a cruel yet somber stare, something so wicked from one so fair. Her hips sway, a swift bound without delay. Launching herself to the plane of humanity, her black wings extend beating in a steady beat leading her towards her intended calamity.
She hits the atmosphere taking it in stride, in her grace her strength belied. The sonic boom shatters glass, an eerie sound as the apocalypse comes to pass. With one hand pointed to the stars she draws a mighty blade, damning them for what God forbade.
The Avenging Angel vengeance was perfectly and beautifully made.
The Raven's RemedyThe Raven's Remedy in Short Stories More Like This
His Virginia beloved, only her he coveted; his night and day, hanging onto every word she did say. One day, the Raven came and took her away.
Poe clung to his memory of her, the lines of his reality began to blur. Into fitful rages he flew, his obsession and madness only grew.
A new muse! The idea he simply would refuse. His delirious obsession completely destroying any comprehension. His writings were fully demented, showing his reality had been fully distorted.
Here in his study he was isolated, and in the lonely darkness his heart was elated. For here visions of his gone Virginia would appear the apparition of the one he held so dear.
Just one more sip, the pain would slip, and in would walk his Virginia.
The Raven made another visit, his soul he had to submit. And as his convulsions vanished in walked his Virginia, the memory he would not banish. She saw him and wept, for his sanity he had not kept, for into a sea of opiates he had swept.
Now the question is which was his true o
The SkullThe Skull in Short Stories More Like This
I sat in an old dusty library. My thoughts in antiquity deeply buried. I pondered the ancient texts and tapestries lining the walls in their varying sun bleached burgundies. There, next to these old rugs and texts was a glass case. Within it, a skull, I could not ponder it's face. It looked completely ordinary, but its aura was rather extraordinary. I took no heed to the glass lid, I barely noticed the note that eloquently did my action forbid.
Upon closer inspection, there was writing on the scrap of humanity that had avoided my earlier detection. It was a scrawl that distorted it quite wickedly. As I looked into its hollow eye sockets, something tore through me like a celebratory rocket. A voice, faint at first, into my mind burst. There was something so sad and lonely there, my body could not budge, not a single ounce. "Tell me," it said in a voice low with despair, "what do you know of me?"
I stared dumbly into that empty gaze, unable to look away from the thing. I was unsure wheth
RiseRise in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I stare at this confining wall,
Thinking about how I lost it all.
In this defining moment I feel myself fall.
Deshi, deshi , basara, basara.
Here I am sitting in this prison cell,
Wondering how it is I fell.
Fell from grace and straight to hell.
Deshi, deshi , basara, basara.
At these walls my angry soul batters,
As the chain on my hands and feet clatters,
As if this prison really matters.
Deshi, deshi , basara, basara.
Release is in my control,
No one dictates to me my soul.
As I fly from this hellish dream,
Freedom is my only scream.
Time to rise, time to succeed,
Justice and vindication my only need.
Deshi, deshi , basara, basara.
"What does that mean?"
WarehouseWarehouse in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
My mind is a complex,
A Warehouse of sorts.
So many rooms,
Nooks and crannies.
Some are for the dreams,
What I've wanted most.
Some are for the memories,
Of achievements I can boast.
Some are for the nightmares,
That give me no peace.
Some are for the fears,
That fade with ease.
Some are for the desires,
For what my heart yearns.
And some are for the knowledge,
That every day it learns.
If our interests are the same kind,
We'll take a tour,
Through this Warehouse.
The Warehouse that is my mind.
Love's ThemeLove's Theme in Short Stories More Like This
Warm engulfing embrace, caressing as if it were lace My body though the heat does effuse, my heart still doth refuse. Burn me up to a crisp with the blaze; let my eyes with death be a glaze. Flames swallow me until my body is burnt and hollow, for I will not live to see tomorrow.
The chill I cannot tolerate, your glance once passionate now holds hate. Where is the fire? Oh that lustful desire! Now all I see is the bitter glare; please bring back the ardor in that stare! Instead of love you are ice, full of malice and vice.
The way you made me feel, my soul into the air began to reel! I miss the weightless sensation that used to bring about extreme intoxication. Like a bird taking flight, my heart thudded with all its might. You set my heart alight.
But here I am on the street, with my tear drops pattering at my feet. I look into your lit windowpane, and I feel my heart begin to wane. Oh losing you was the worst pain, but loving you was my bane. So I'm sitting in this urban scene,
Blank Character Bio SheetBASIC INFORMATIONBlank Character Bio Sheet in Fantasy More Like This
Nickname(s) or Alias:
City or town of birth:
Preferred style of clothing:
Frequently worn jewellery/accessories:
Recreational Drug User? Which?
Any physical ailments/illnesses/disabilities:
Any medication regularly taken:
Such Sweet SorrowSuch Sweet Sorrow in Emotional More Like This
Tell me about something that made you sad.
Uh. Okay. Let me think. [Pause] I was sad when I sent you to the airport in San Antonio. That made me sad You leaving again made me sad.
Yeah. That made me sad, too. Parting is always sad, but you know what's worse? It always gets better. The first couple times, you're likeshe's leaving, I'm so sad I'm going to cry. And then, after a long time, you get used to it. That is sad.
Yeah. I understand.
Mm. Let's sleep now.
She fell into a slumber quickly. I soon heard her gentle and rhythmic breathing next to me. But I stayed awake to ponder her words. Did parting really get easier as time went by?
I don't think so. If else, I feel that it gets harder. More painful each time to see her turn her back on me and walk away. It's just that I've gotten stronger, and I've learned to smile when I wave goodbye. And cry l
The Beautiful BeastThe Beautiful BeastThe Beautiful Beast in Free Verse More Like This
"In the deepest night of the full moon,
the lone wolf sits solitary upon the icy rock,
staring silently at the winter's eerie glow.
With it's glinting sharp teeth and it's depressed yellow eyes,
the wolf sits like a gray statue,
rock solid and frozen in it's haunting presence,
in the moon's dim light.
Specks of white dash out of the clouds,
covering the sad young wolf and making it disappear behind the speedy,
colorless dots that cover the forests and skies in it's big, tight, cold blanket.
The gray outline of the wolf raises it's head,
it's fur ruffling in the wind--
singing it's magnificent,
in the middle of the deepest,