exhalation.Sixteen. Sixteen years since she was the size of a deflated lung beneath her mothers ribcage- now she has her own mass beneath her ribcage. Thumping sometimes to the outside, treating the skin of Laylla's stomach like a door. It will open in 3 months, it will be sliced open because her flesh is meat and they'll bring Sophie to air and she'll swallow until all she tastes is that dull white of the hospital. And then she'll cry and the music will drone in Laylla's ears until she tastes vomit and she is numb in all the aching places.exhalation. in Short Stories More Like This
She doesn't know the father. She thinks Michael but she tells herself it is Louis. She repeats his name over and over in her head until it simply can't be anyone else's. But baby Sophie will have Michael's milk skin and his amber eyes and then she'll feel her heart sink all over again.
They fucked in a Garden. Wire fencing ripped open her calve like it was a gift and left a scar souvenir. He lifted her dress -sun yellow- and brought her underwear to meet her k
asthmashe smokes marlboro cigarettes with the bedroom door locked. i taste it on her breath, lips and skin everyday after school. her bed is a mattress on the floor. sometimes we make love on it and i wonder if she'd rather have her mouth around a cigarette than me right then. she has asthma too.asthma in Short Stories More Like This
she is my second cousin. i didn't know this until two years after we began fucking and three years after i fell for her. i don't think it really matters. emily says if i ever made her pregnant she'd make me punch her in the stomach, heavy and hard. but i never would you know, i love her.
the smoking is killing her. i hid the cigarettes beneath the sink, but she just bought new ones and hid them better. she had her head down in the pillow, coughing, coughing until she coughed up sticky blood. i cried for her and she told me to stop being such a pussy. i told her i loved her and she drew another cigarette. kissing it ways she'd never kiss me.
some nights i sleep over hers. her father doesn't mind, he
vacant.Look at her; shes a porcelain doll with never-ending milk legs all stapled to the bed, thirteen years young with forty-eight years suffocating her figure. Hes right up to her baby lips, offering cigarette breath and grinding his stubble on her cheeks, it reminds her of gravel and she closes her eyelids as it falls across her neck, inhaling the cloud of dust.vacant. in Short Stories More Like This
The curtains are draped across the sky, dried blood red casting shadows she cant tell the ends of. A dim flicker of a light and maybe a filter of moonshine illuminate the crevasses of his eyelids, forehead and awry mouth. His skin tastes of sweat and earth.
She was with her father in the afternoon, sharing his eyes and wearing the yellow dress he bought her. He was a quaint man who studied birds and told her she looked like a canary; he bought a voluminous cage (from the very same balding man he sold her to) and kept her in there at nighttime.
And now, three oh clock in the morn, the balding man has her; hes
Colorguard is Easy? No wayWe work in the freezing cold and blistering heatColorguard is Easy? No way in Free Verse More Like This
We practice our asses off
We sit through every football game, even ones we don't perform in
Even when we could be out with our boyfriends
We get injured by our own flags
Or other elements
Yet we still march
Through the pain
We wear ridiculous uniforms
(at least in some cases)
And smile genuinely
Even when we don't want to
We memorize marching
AND Our places in songs
We don't complain
We give up part of our summer
To go to school every day for a week
For about 8 hours every day
We have heard the statement
"Colorguard is easy"
And we grit our teeth
Because if you think colorguard is easy
Try it sometime
It's excruciating, and takes up time
But we love it
You know You're In Guard IfYou can catch anything thrown at you.You know You're In Guard If in General Non-Fiction More Like This
You know how to wrap your own bandages.
You have a flag callus on your right palm under your small finger.
You have permanent rifle bruises.
You can smiles genuinely on command.
You have an excuse for everything.
You know that "one more time" never means one more time.
You have more inside jokes than any of your other friends.
You catch yourself spinning your pencil in Algebra class.
Everyone knows that you are in guard by the t-shirts you wear.
You show up for everything at least 15 minutes early.
You know the perfect spot for a toss in your favorite songs.
When you wake up in the morning and put your dot book on without thinking.
Vending machine food becomes gourmet.
When you in your teacher yells, "Attention" and you look forward and sit up straight and don't make eye contact with anyone.
Finals are a positive thing.
All your teachers and classmates have seen your guard videos at least twice.
Not only do you have names for your equipment but you
Hold the Lineriiiing.Hold the Line in Free Verse More Like This
This is an automated service:
Please be patient while we process
your personal details,
and place your call on
-- Hold on to a
final call for the faithless,
as fingers twitch a tuneless tattoo
upon graffiti casings; stacatto codecs
broadcast in desperation to
"Your continued custom
is our conscious concern.
One of our representatives
shall take the time to
-- Speak in riddles,
subtle stranglehold puzzles
that tie in tangled, intricate knots
around this line against my throat.
I'm strung-out and up,
ready to hang
then they strike out
with that god-awful muzak;
recycled canned dissonance
that's designed to decay
and echoes hollow
with the incantation:
my name is (irrelevant).
How may I be of service?"
One voice of billions,
that drones incessantly 'neath
stoic, stone-hearted heavens,
Over and out
Child of the 90sI'm a child of the 90s,Child of the 90s in General Fiction More Like This
And you don't know what that means
But I've gotta make impression
Before I get into my teens
The music flowed out of the small radio/alarm clock Otera used most often, with the clicks and crinkles that would confuse her younger sister, the second one. Otera understood the song on a level her little sister never would be able to. Otera was a child of the 90s, but her younger sister wasn't. The thudding of little elephant steps on the stairs up to Otera's room warned Otera of her younger sister's oh-so-stealthy approach, so she hit the stop button on the clock-radio, turning off the music. Tigre, Otera's sister, came you with a small scowl because the computer wasn't working, one that almost made Otera laugh, as the computer was: a) turned off, b) unplugged, and c) disconnected from the internet. "Otera, the computer won't work! I can't play!" Tigre complained. Otera frowned, what
Do you likeDo you like the way I sleep in my jeans and name my fish after emotions, colours and pro wrestlers?Do you like in Free Verse More Like This
Originality seduces me
Do you like how I beg you to cut your hair even though I like it just the way it is?
You know too well change scares me
Do you like how I fish for your attention even though I've had it all along?
I enjoy praising you
Do you like how I waste it on selfish stories, like that time I set the house on fire?
Everyone needs to make stories from life, or they are boring
Do you like how I make you play me all my favorite love songs over and over again?
My love letters always melt in your ears
Do you like how I tore up your love letter, then pitifully taped the distressed pieces back together the same day?
The words wanted to speak, you gave them the cold shoulder
Do you like how I lied for the longest time about loving you?
I can't find your fake self
Do you like how I push you away when I need you the most? How I expect you to know what I'm thinking and feeling and needin
CrayonsLife is like a box of crayons.Crayons in Philosophical More Like This
At birth, you're given a great big box of them to share and add color to your life.
Some colors get used more than others.
Sometimes, a crayon gets broken. A Bright color gets snapped in half and tossed in the garbage can, never to be returned. Sometimes you keep coloring. Sometimes you can't. That color was important.
Sometimes a crayon is gained, shared between two people. That color might be just perfect, and works great! Other times it's a different shade, but it will make do.
But, there is always one color left in the box.
It's normally unused until death. It's used to frame the picture. To add the final border to the coloring board of life.
Some people use it. They color onto other's pictures with it. Sometimes their own.
They use it to scribble out portions of the picture. Sometimes the portion isn't that important.
Sometimes it is.
Sometimes there are multiple blacks in the box when you open it for the day.. Sometimes there's only one, or i
Colorguard: a Beautiful SPORTAll in a day's work,Colorguard: a Beautiful SPORT in Free Verse More Like This
We spin, toss, flip and twirl.
"Go ahead and try it, give it a whirl."
No one understands,
"Anyone can do that," they say.
But look me in the eye
You can't honestly say
that you pay attention to our defying gravity choreography
or the fact that we must, too,
march in step
toss a quad
fight the wind
present to the press box
avoid all mistakes
in 105 degree heat or even
10 degree chill, while
shunning injuries from
a 3 ˝ pound rifle
or even a 7 foot flag
while also never dodging a judge.
All even if we're running a fever.
And even if our heart is breaking into unimaginable, tiny
pieces during a performance, we still have to
then come back and tell me that colorguard doesn't take
If you don't see the glory on our faces after a performance,
then something is seriously missing.
Take a moment,
Then come back to me and say it.
Like you mean it.
Or is it impossibl
Colorguard"Right Shoulder!"Colorguard in General Non-Fiction More Like This
The flagpole feels cool and smooth as my right hand wraps around the tab and my left around the end cap. I press the flag to my front, fighting the wind, which is grabbing the fabric and toying with it, playful, annoying.
"100 dropspins into 25 peggy spins! Got that?"
"Mark time four! And one, two three, four!"
My wrists twist up and down, up and down. Don't furl the flag, Morgan; don't drop it, Morgan; fight the wind, stay in time! Up, down, up, down! Make sure your thumbs are pointing towards the end cap, Morgan! 98...99...
Aw, damn. Peggy spins. Do you understand how much they hurt when you're fighting the wind? 23, 24, 25, and close!
"Dog show spins!
Damn it! Up, jab, over, jab, and TWIST!
C-clang, clang, clang!
I stoop over to pick up my flag, which has fallen to the ground. My face is red when I draw back up.
"It's okay, Morgan; you'll get it if we practice."
Yeah, sure. Practice. For now, though, you can call me "The Clu