The Stepmother's TaleI found a man in my garden bed,
Picking herbs for his wife, he said,
For she was hungry and heavy with child.
"For greens, your daughter is mine," I smiled.
So after the birth, I took her away
To a tall, doorless tower where she would stay.
I was her mother, she my one care--
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your fair hair!"
But then a prince came and stole her young heart,
So I cut her long locks and let her depart.
I took her tresses for my own
And saw how beautiful I had grown.
Then I wondered: could I, too,
Find a prince so valiant and true?
I married a king, to my delight,
With one daughter named Snow White.
Though his age was quite obscene,
I was his happily cherished queen.
Until -- "Mirror, on the wall,
Who is the fairest of them all?"
Was my stepdaughter fairer than I?
Jealousy declared that she must die!
I followed her deep into the forest
To where dwarves mined; "Hi ho," they chorused.
Disguised, I fed her an apple so red
That after one bite she was thoroughly dead.
8: Mias Finds ElleElle rose slowly from the spot where she had been sitting for the past hour. She wasn't usually one to feel sorry for herself, but Elias' spiteful words, rough hands, and unwanted kisses had taken their toll on her. Yet in spite of his constant cruelty, Elle was amazed at how she had handled things thus far, drawing on an inner strength that she didn't know that she possessed.More Like This
Drawing on that strength once more, Elle took in her surroundings in the hope that she would find something that could help her escape. After all, if what Elias had said about Mias was true, then she was in fact on her own. As she looked around the surprisingly large space of the cabin, hoping that she would spot something to aid in her escape plan, Elle held on to the hope that Elias had been lying. That seemed highly likely, given his behavior, but she wasn't going to pin her hopes on a possibility. As far as she was concerned, she was going to have to figure a way out of this situation herself.
Elle inched her
7: Elle at SeaElias strode down the passageway, eager to see the look on Elle's face when she realized just how dire her situation had become. Something about seeing the look of helplessness on her face excited him, and he knew that it would work in his favor. After all, how could she continue to defy him if she had no choice but to obey him?More Like This
Elias climbed the companionway and stepped into the bright morning sun. The familiar roar of the ocean filled his ears, and he sucked in a lungful of salty sea air. He smoothed the front of his dark shirt, tugging the sleeves at his wrists before adjusting his collar. He was never one to appear on deck unkempt, evident by the gleam of his boots and the seamless press of his black breeches. And he had to admit, he wanted to look presentable for his bride to be, for if he appeared to her in muddy boots and dusty clothes as he had the night before, what would she think of him?
Elias glanced around the deck, and spotted Elle easily. She was leaning against the rail
5: Elias Finds ElleElle woke with a start. She opened her eyes slowly, unable to make out anything but blackness beyond the flicker of the candle which burned low on the table beside her. She could hear the creaking of floorboards near the window to her left, and she turned onto her side and stared wide eyed into the darkness.More Like This
She tried to scream when she saw a form coming towards her out of the shadows, but only managed a small squeak. She shot up in bed and scooted back until she was pressed against the headboard, bringing her knees to her chest.
When the figure became clearer thanks to the candlelight, Elle let out a shaky breath when she saw that it was only Mias.
"You scared the hell out of me," Elle breathed, pressing her hand against her chest.
Mias tilted his head as he watched her, a sly smile spreading across his lips. His eyes dragged over her face and down her neck to where she had the blanket tugged up over her knees, before his gaze met hers once more.
Elle shivered. He was looking at her a
4: Mias, Elle, and...Abernos??"Stupid bloody magic!" Elle growled. She slammed the book on the table closed, dust floating up to her nose from the movement. She sneezed several times before leaning forward to rest her forehead against her palms, her frustration building.More Like This
For the past three days she had tried, to no avail, to find a way to break through the protection spell that was keeping her trapped. On the first day she had sprinted towards the open front door, hoping that she could break through with brute force and determination. Mias had been leaning over the banister, looking down at her with amusement. The instant she made contact with the open doorway she felt the empty space contract outwards as it gave under the force of her weight, before she was launched backwards into the manor where she landed without grace on her backside. Mias had roared with laughter, which she responded to with a finger that she hoped was universally known.
The second day was a day for experimenting. Elle decided to see if she co
2: Elle's EscapeMias stared at Elle's sleeping form beside him. She hadn't moved all nighthe knew because he hadn't moved all night either. He was still lying back against the headboard, watching her steady breathing and enjoying the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her lacy white bra. He had stripped her out of the gown she had been wearing, wanting her to be comfortable as she slept, confused as to why he cared about her comfort at all. His grin widened as her chest rose, deciding that caring about whether or not Elle was comfortable had to be the best damn idea he ever had.More Like This
Sunlight poured through the open window, a slant of light cutting across the bed and Elle's creamy white legs. Mias adjusted himself on the bed, and Elle shifted slightly before going still once more.
She would be awake soon, and Mias was suddenly aware that he had been lying on the bed in his clothes. He tried to smooth the wrinkles in his slacks and shirt, sighing with frustration when he realized not only was he a w
3: Mias and Elle Share a KissIt took every bit of strength Elle had to keep herself from trembling. Mias still had his strong hands on her shoulders, his eyes furious. She felt so vulnerable, not because of Mias' firm hold on her, but because of the way his eyes looked deeply into hers, unblinking.More Like This
The silence seemed to stretch on forever, and Elle wasn't sure how much longer she could stand it.
"Whatever you're planning to do to me, I wish you would get on with it already. This drawn out silence is killing me." She was so proud of herself in that moment, because despite the fear that pooled in her belly her voice didn't show an ounce of what she felt.
Mias' lip twitched as if he was going to smile before his face returned to an unreadable mask.
"Unreadable, but so unbelievably handsome." She couldn't help but think.
"I don't think you fully appreciate the gravity of your situation," he said darkly.
His usually mischievous tone was cold and distant, and she didn't like it at all. It sent an icy chill through her,
1: Mias and Elle Meet AgainElle glanced around the wide expanse of the ballroom, suppressing a yawn with the back of her hand. It was just after eleven o'clock and she was eager for the night to end so she could go home and crawl into bed. She wasn't normally one for these types of parties, but she had promised her friends that she would attend this illustrious costume ball that they had been planning for the past several weeks.More Like This
She shifted from side to side, grateful that the long crimson skirt of her ball gown was long enough that she was at least able to wear her favorite pair of comfortable flats. Her friends had all opted for sexy high heels, but Elle knew that after an hour of that her feet would begin to feel like they were being twisted in a vice. The bodice of the gown, however, gave her nothing but trouble. It was so tight she could hardly breathe, with a neckline so low that she felt completely exposed. Her friends had assured her that she looked ravishing, but she felt ridiculous and more than a litt
HaikusIt's the cause ofMore Like This
A lot of problems
And bees stings
Which hurts more?
untitled 2I feel the cage doorMore Like This
For the first time
That I can remember
How long has it been?
What is the year?
Millions of questions
Flood my mind
I can let my
For my soul
Is finally free
From the bondage of
flip of the coinFace half obscuredMore Like This
By fallen hair
Eyes a misty grey,
Or are they blue?
Or are they restless?
She sits still
Or is she pacing?
She is beautiful
Or is she a wreck?
A pretty smile covers
Or is it a grimace?
Some see or believe
The attractive side
But is there more?
Pity no one sees
YanHe sees her leaveMore Like This
With a child
One eye his
That of a beast
He longs to
As he recalls
That caused his
Life to end
He had seen it!
He couldn't believe
What his eyes showed him
Was it a trick?
Some work of the
Was the same
Shade of color
As his beloved
A deep golden brown
He fled toward
He knew she
But that's what
He loved about her
To run under
The full moon
He thought her
To be a nymph
In a human
But not this
And killed sheep
He made a grave mistake
His brother, Zam
Who turned his
Trust into betrayal
Once Yan's head
Had never hurt
That she never
Lied to him
He always knew
She kept something back
He had noticed her getting
Restless as of late
But he blamed it
On her staying
In a town
IsabelI want to runMore Like This
For that matter
What is my reason?
My paws yearn
For the freedom
But my heart
Tells me to stay
But I can
Take him with
Will he want to?
Run like a wolf?
Be a gypsy by
I don't know
I run in a circle
Howling my confused
Tell me Yan,
What would you
Have me do?
Well you go?
You died that
The day I went
To tell you the truth
The truth about me
And my people
I sigh and
Say a simple blessing
As I lead our little
From the spot where
Your spirit lies
In the heart of the
Get over your damn selfI used to cryMore Like This
but now I smile
I used to scream
now I laugh
I used to hate
now I love
I used to be trapped
now I'm free
I used to feel dull
Now I shine
I used to be blinded
now I see
I used to be
so many things
now I'm so much
and its all
you let me
Last wordsI was trickedMore Like This
how could i be betrayed
in such a manner?
I trusted you
when others said kill you
I choose to spare you
only to be repayed
may you rot in hell
for all enterty
I grew to love you
thus, my down fall
As the army runs rampit
through the grounds
I lay dieing
from a broken hurt
not from the poison
shoved in my chest
A different type of addictionMy body shutters constantlyMore Like This
I never feel warm
as the toxin leaves my body
my mood is stuck between
to consent sadness and hopelessness
I gotta have it
I wanna have it
but that is only the poison
tricking my body back
into believing that
one more taste
well be okay
not going to fall for
I've been so close to relapsing
but I mustn't
for fear of getting hurt again
curse the addiction
One Phone callI hear the tearsMore Like This
as the splash the key bored
I feel weak
I feel as though
I'm losing you
is it wrong?
is it the
reason he left?
I pause as
the phone rings
you've heard my
I smile as
you tell me that
miles , seas
and many other things
can separate us
but "I will always
come back to you"
I hang up the phone
and fall into a slumber
hand and hand
If i walked into the woodsIf I walked one dayMore Like This
into the woods
and never came back
would you notice?
Would you notice
the dishes weren't done
the laundry pile continued to
The food went un cooked
the house was in disarray
well of course you
But would you wondered
what happened to me?
why I left
would you even care?
If I got eaten by a bear
bitten by a snake
ate a deadly plant
or drowned in the river
I'd like to say yes
but recently I don't know
least not anymore
So perhaps I should give it a try
and see if you notice
and perhaps if you do
you'll follow me
Because you remember
I'm more than just a person
who tidies the house
I am the one you love
bulimia nervosa, in d minoryou're very pretty, in a heart-wrenching kind of way.More Like This
your scrawny arms, usually sporting silver or gold bracelets which look more alive than you sometimes, your skin is so frighteningly pale.
he loves you, you know.
yes. you know.
your arms lead up to your shoulder blades, like branches on a delicate tree. a willow.
a weeping willow.
shoulder blades. razor sharp, those, sticking out of your back as if they had been wrenched apart and away
he wonders whether you want to fly. one day you told him,
sometimes, i'd like to fade away. have you ever thought of that? just close my eyes and disappear.
i wouldn't die, no, not exactly. i would still feel the wind blowing through my hair, i would still see the grass rustling, maybe i could even stand up and feel
it beneath my feet. i love the feel of dew, you know. it's such a gentle complement to the scratchy blades.
you always go off on tangents such as these. other roads. other ways. other trains
of thought. you aren't very
kissing a ghostbend.More Like This
once upon a
inhaled a shooting
it was a falling
like kissing a ghost
in the parking
lot in the
you said darling i
won't be here
just long enough
to make you love
sunrise dim on
the horizon, blur
ring the li(n)es -
there is the present
and there is the
future but the
past is merely
and the sun
it is strong it
is bright it is
scorching my moon-
my lungs burning
like kissing a ghost
blazing fire blazing
soul, suspended in
m i d a i r
and you whisper
darling, i won't be
just long enough
to make you
The Swan WifeWhen he asks her name, she does not know how to answer.More Like This
There is no way to vocalize the name the air gave her, not with this human throat and mouth; she is unpracticed in the ways of humanity, and certainly she is reluctant to give her name to someone who is not like her, is not a swan.
So instead she runs, bare human feet pounding on the sand, snatches up her feathers from where they lay next to her sisters', and flies away. Her sisters don't take long to follow, but they ask her why she was in such a hurry to go.
She does not tell them of the human boy who waited for her in the trees, hunger on his face and a name that she doesn't want to know on his lips.
They return the next week, on a different day. She prays he will not be there.
The hour is late; the clouds' lifeblood leaks out into the sky. The sun is almost set, and to the east the sky is the dusky blue of her own eyes.
She and her sisters land on the white sand of the sound; they shed their feathers, and toss them into the gr
Believing in PerfectYou called me perfect last night, and IMore Like This
froze like I had never heard a word like
that in my life. Of course, you couldn't have
seen how my eyes got big, and how she
turned to look at me like I had lost a little bit
more of my mind probably true, since my lips
had stopped moving in the middle of some sentence
that should have meant a lot, and should have
been much more important than a few black
words spilled across the tiny screen of a cell phone,
like coffee rinds dumped onto the counter-tops that
only got installed yesterday, or the glass of paint-water
that I kicked over onto my carpet this morning.
What the hell is perfect, and since when did I
do a single thing that could ever put me into a
category that would even begin to cover
perfect? When have my words ever shined or
glimmered, or reached out like those little air-touches
I swear run along my shoulders? When has my scarred
hand ever sat on your shoulder like a smile trailing
behind stitched shoes, threatenin
Before the DawnThe darkness looms and the emptiness swallows me wholeMore Like This
And I lie weary and broken, nursing my defeated soul.
I know not what balm can soothe me or fill this empty hole
For now my heart is barren---I am furthest from my goals.
I trudge on despite my tired and bleeding feet
I will myself onward for I've my fate to meet.
(Though long spent I still march to a listless tune
Ever walking in sun, moon, snow or dune...
Chasing doggedly those elusive dreams of home
I brave myself the toil and hardship, I urge myself to roam.)
Clutching vainly to the crying winds I cling to comforting love
As heartless Heaven taunts and jeers my plight from high above.
Though I fight a losing battle I will myself to rally on---
For I know the night is only darkest before the breaking of the dawn!
I and Eddy PoePerhaps 't is true, what they say---that I was not born to live in dayMore Like This
For since childhood's hour I been from shadows weaned
From the depths of lonely darkness all knowing did I glean
That upon my full blossoming, I appeared a wilted flower
That grew from the cracks of a moonlit tower
Within whose veins flow morbidity
And within whose mind melancholy is the only stock and store.
Or perhaps I am simply deluding myself
Too enamoured perhaps of my fantasies of yore?
For since I could read I had cherished the deed
It was second to breathing...
I was a comfort and a need.
Once, long ago, before I grew
I found an old tattered book and opened the covers
To read something by Edgar Allan Poe.
From that my passion for antiquated and rich and
Dark things grew
When I was little I scoffed at childish shows
And my hours I did occupy with poring over
Yellowed pages---until my thoughts were all
But moulded by tales of knights and dragons---
But most of all of darkness
CelebrityI walk alone down a lonely road. Trees become my only friends as I run from the beautiful life I've had. No one knows the pains of growth, the way fame kills. No one understands how the looks change when everyone you once knew suddenly realizes that you have something they want. The gleaming eyes that hold admiration for the 'life' you show in public, but don't realize the problems that go along with it. No more early morning runs through the neighborhood you grew up in, no more movie theaters, no more grocery stores.More Like This
"I want to be like you." They all say, all because you're an artist, writer, actor, singer, dancer. They see the money, the glam and glitz. They don't understand long nights spent sleeplessly in a studio painting, writing, rehearsing, and singing a song over and over.
They don't know how fame kills.
I think perhaps it might be easier to be a tree, growing new leaves when the old one dies, photosynthesizing.
No one is ever remembered until they die. The tree nourishes and
Lightening the MoodI shot you with a bullet but I didn'tMore Like This
forget how much I loved you. So I took
it and rimmed it in perfect red roses thorns
pointing in, so that they would not hurt you,
and so that you could watch them fly at
you in awe and amazement, not fear.
I tripped you with the steel-toed shoes I
learned to wear after all of the times you
stepped on me. Before you fell I remembered
to paint you a picture on the sidewalk in
little kid chalk so that maybe you'd smile like
I would be.
You shot me in the foot with a cyanide bullet
made only to make me last longer, and when I
started to jump, you shot me in the other. When
you tripped me you made sure that you had a glass
bottle in your hand to throw down just before I
smashed into the ground, so that not only would
I be cut too, but as I fell, I could watch the glass rise
up to meet me.
I'm so much like you, in the way your head turns
and the things you smile at, and the way you laugh,
but I'll never be the same as you. Because even after
In the Glow of a Porch-LightSoon, the relentless bugs of the summer season will have eaten us to our core, but for these few moments we are free, able to let all responsibilities go, all worries slide off, and all forced façades of fabricated maturity drop away as the faux rain falls down from the deep night sky. Eerie gold illumination floods our deserted side street, our haven, our teenage playground.More Like This
Icy cold pressure slams into my back, water from a garden hose, frigid against the early August air. My lips part into a smile as I jump out of the way, muscles tense, my bare feet slapping the rough pavement as I circle around your sister. I choke the hose with my sunburnt hands before easing it out of her sweaty palms. My wrist flicks in a slight arc upwards, causing the water to rain down on us, shimmering like priceless diamonds in the glow of a porch light in a different world.
Tonight we are in our own world where touch is a pool of
Candy at a FuneralIn the face of bitternessMore Like This
I have mastered sweetness.
By the end of this day I will have calculated
exact measurements of cream
to wipe clean the face of gravestones.
I will have learned to soothe the aching
of windswept hearts,
to break open on my part
like a shell of chocolate
quivering open, full of cream.
I will have learned to love grief
as dearly as my own dream.
At the end of my childhood -my dream-
of owning a candy store:
a sweet shop, a bakery….
specializing in the art of the glazed.
The wedding cakes, the brick tarts,
memory of a birthday, of candles, happy catering
for happy occasions of all kinds…
will grow up with time,
and like the end of the day, seeing the look o
Spilled Milk 2.0The milk in the backseatMore Like This
is getting warm, condensation
pearling on the plastic jug
and dripping onto the bread.
His glass doll eyes do not see
this now, slumped against the
steering wheel, windshield
scattered across his lap like
candy from a pinata. His face
is stretched in a caricature of
surprise, saying, But I was
only going for milk.
She is impatient, pacing their
living room in her high heels,
smoothing her dress with her
trembling hands, casting acidic
looks at the green numbers on
the stove that insist on marching
onwards though he should have
been back fifteen minutes ago.
He only went for milk, down the
street, and they are going to be
late for their own party, and she
is furious, but that fury is tinged
with an icy vein of panic that is
threatening to choke her, and
she checks the clock again, the
scream of sirens in the distance
pressing against unhearing ears
as the floor mats soak up the last
warm and living parts of him,
and the milk warms in the backseat.
Death of the ArtistRoland Barthes said, "Death of the Author," and society said, "Hey, why not?"More Like This
They didn't actually kill them, and it wasn't just the authors, either, though there isn't much written about the artists in those early days. The theory was to pretend that there was no author, to better separate the text from the experiences of the writer. Of course, that's impossible to enforce. So society went the other way. If they couldn't separate the author's experience from the text, they'd separate the author from experience.
It worked well, at first. What author or artist wouldn't leap at the chance to live in a commune full of no one but other artists and authors? They lived a kept life, with nothing to do but further their art. Everyone chosen to go for those first test runs was ecstatic. So they say.
Non-fiction authors don't go, of course. I've always wondered if they resent that.
I like to think that my parents are glad that I never showed the artistic talent to get myself shut away in one of
the speed addictthe speed addict knows if he stops moving,More Like This
he will die. so when inertia takes hold
his heart falters and his head slams against
a future, lit by the dashboard. he hears
his veins stuttering like gears grinding out
a staccato refrain, while the wheel spins and
goes numb. as his breath twists away from his grip,
rasps a hol
memories, making glorious mudhis memories are making a glorious mudMore Like This
it is a lumberjack's wife whose veins are budding twigs,
arms feeble as every dried branch to soak a shining star.
it is her who bares such troubled wrists for oven mitts,
so ardently delivers her hoggish assembly some hulking bird
whose body cavity is crammed tight to the sphincter
with a spiced bread. instinctively, she goes for the knife.
there is some raucous applause as she serrates
its oiled, peppered and flightless skin and on
into its succulent chest meat as every spectator
dreams of flying. her blade burrows farther in
and under enough to dredge up a pinkish marrow,
where she stops, lets the carver out
to start again from the beginning...
no lumberjack lives here,
no whiskered axe-man wakes to the rooster.
a daring cedar deadened him flat as toads who nap
beneath some winter stones. his brain was stapled to earth
with a mighty red branch and there have spread rumors.
the truth? his memories are making a glorious mud.
distinctionThis is what I cannot understand.More Like This
There is an understanding that nothing is ever black and white. Good can be achieved through bad means, what's wrong can sometimes be right, and if you turn right for long enough, you eventually go left. Boys can be girls who fall in love with girls who sometimes think they are boys and the lines between everything end up irreversibly blurred.
Or so I've always thought.
But this is a line that cannot be blurred. This is the only remaining clear-cut line that separates black from white as perfectly as a color wheel. And that is the fact that everything is until it isn't. We are until we aren't. We breathe until we don't. We live until we die. There is no gray area, no matter what the talk of doctors and comas and life support and brain death might say. Your heart beats until it doesn't.
This goes beyond just life and death. Emotions are until they aren't. As are moments, definitions, seasons. Two people falling in love, well, some of them inevitably cra
SFC01 - Sahta, First ChildOnce there was a girl named Sahta. She was courageous and strong of heart and could not bear to see anyone in pain; but what decided the course of her life was only that she was the first.More Like This
She was born when the first dragon flew overhead; and the Princess herself stopped by to see her, when she came; and when her mother found that she could name the little girl, she was as happy as a mother can be. And her father was happy too, and the midwife, and everyone who lived in their street - and in the next street, and in the entire city. Sahta had a name, and that name was Sahta, and she was the first child the city had had since the plague passed. And because she had a name, because she was Sahta, they no longer hoped that the plague was over and that the Princess had saved them, but they knew it; and so all the city rejoiced, and the dead and the living alike danced in the street and laughed and called her name: "Sahta! Sahta! Sahta, first child!"
She knew nothing of this, of course. She w
The Waste WorldShe said create the world, so I did. I made it dark and dusty, coughed up from my own black lungs. I gave the trees an ashen hue and the ground a color to match the starless sky. The creatures were murmuring oozes, globs of drying acrylic that inked across the orb of my bubbling imagination.More Like This
Repulsing, it was in fact the product of an industrial mind. I was born from man's smog goddess and, if memory serves me, her breath was laced in exhaust which I inhaled nightly with her songs. She was soothing and complacent, her voice smokey like a hazy bar. No one could deny her features were hideous beyond belief. Her skin dripped pollution like morphine into veins, into deep red rivers to turn them ebony and clogged. Her eyes glistened obsidian, sharp and cold if you didn't know her at all. I knew she was lost and ashamed, as her mother, my grandmother, would often remind her of the destruction her presence caused. I loved her like grandmother nature never could.
Grandmother was ,indeed, a gra
Andra and the Plague DoctorThe air was wet and heavy and it stuck in her throat; she thought of the smell of rotting gardens and coughed until scarlet blood hung from her lips and stained the moss beneath her cheek. She couldn't groan, couldn't even voice the pain. And her body was too dry for crying. All Andra could do was lay crumpled, her very self fighting her with the sickness that tore through her insides like a lash, the last vestiges of her strength being fed to her twitching limbs for shaking and spasming.More Like This
There were ants crawling over her fingertips. Flies at her mouth, the corners of her eyes. She shifted her head, weakly, desperate to drive them off while she still had life in her, but the creatures were impatient. They swarmed back again. It wouldn't be long, now.
Andra thought of her mother, who wept as she pushed her out the door. Her father, gray and still on the bed and set to be burned. Master Thomas was dead in his home. Father Calton, huddled in his church and praying for mercy. The bells wer
Better Off DeadBetter Off DeadMore Like This
It was a normal Tuesday that I woke up dead. I could just tell when I opened my eyes that it was a different day. The doctors always gave people the warning signs for when they would die, so that there would be no mistake. A lack of warmth in your body, skin became pale, senses weakened and a distinct lack of breathing.
Rubbing the sand out of my eyes felt surreal. Every joint popped and cracked on their journey, which was rare to me. Naturally, I just figured it was a rough night's sleep and nothing more, but as I pushed the covers off of myself, I saw how white my body turned overnight. Again, death wasn't the first thought to pop into my head, just that I needed to get out more, maybe take a day off work and go to the park.
As I slowly creeped over to my bathroom, my body was still fighting me, making my apartment sound like a thunder storm. By the time I got the por
One ChanceElliot is four. He watches his grandfather breathe out cigarette smoke in his creaking armchair. The living room is small enough to be heated by the portable radiator near his grandfather's slippers. When the old man realises his grandson waits for him, he begins.More Like This
"This is a ruined world, son. Diseased with hatred and war before you were born." He takes a drag on his cigarette and Elliot breathes in the coming smoke. "This world is dead, but I know there's another. We could go to it if we only knew the way." Elliot's grandfather smiles at his thoughts. "There's another place put aside for us. I'll find the door one day."
The radiator splutters to its death and the old man curses his misfortune.
Elliot is ten. His hair is in a ponytail because that's how his brother wears it and his big brother's the best. Nick Ward and his friends from the year above don't think so.
They grab Elliot as soon as he leaves the cubicle in the little boy's room and pushes him face first into a wall, holding
a little perspectivei sit up,More Like This
face the sunlight,
and yawn a little
i comb the dreams
from my hair,
letting the world
seep through my skin,
and slip into
buttons to my
with bobbing heads-
thick as bones
fall into themselves
like little houses
only there are no
queens or kings,
only days, only
lovers split and lovers
sob and lovers stop
loving and shatter
like mirrors and
go poor and some
the streets stink
of death and lies
and cheats and love,
and memories, fleeting
and fragile, slipping
through the asphalt
cracks and i am
brushing my teeth
and skipping down the stairs,
but some girls are skipping
meals, some families are
skipping meals and some
people have forgotten
what a meal even is,
they only know
mugs and the chime of coins,
and here i slump
beneath the weight of
books and papers
and red A's and
B's smearing like
True LoveI love these cold nights alone;More Like This
By the golden orange fire,
'Neath the forest overgrown.
We talked as stars rose higher,
While gazing at the bright moon;
Far from humanity's sight,
In our own world a boon.
The feeling of you 'gainst me,
A wing draped over my chest;
Your eyes the red of cherry,
Your undying love expressed.
Soon we fall into deep dreams:
A peaceful romantics' sleep -
Emotions are what they seem.
I recall when we first met:
Our souls in purity,
Dawn of a nameless duet;
Friends are an obscurity.
I helped you out of your shell,
Fed you and gave you a home,
I made sure you remained well.
Now your wisdom outshines mine,
Inherited in your blood;
Now your strength begins to shine,
Your wings risen from the bud.
Now your grand body dwarfs me,
You carry me through the skies;
We ride the vast airborne sea.
Your black scales shimmer in light:
Despite your noble kalon,
You must be kept out of sight.
For people fear your talon,
Your unused flame and sharp tooth,
They wonder why I come
DAU Original-Lit Drabble 1"You're up early, the sun's not even set," Alastair said groggily as he walked into the living room and made a beeline for the sofa. He was still trying to get used to keeping vampire hours. He only had himself to blame for that. It had been his choice after all.More Like This
"Hmm?" Raeshion asked, sounding as if he were lost in thought.
"Is something wrong? You look like you haven't slept," Alastair said in concern as he sat down beside Raeshion. He'd been living with Raeshion for a few months but he'd never seen him like this.
"It's nothing, I just couldn't sleep," Raeshion said in a melancholy tone.
"I didn't know vampires could get insomnia," Alastair said with an awkward smile, trying to lighten the mood.
"Only those of us with a conscience," Raeshion sighed.
Alastair reached over and put a hand on Raeshion's arm; he was sure now that there was something more to it than not sleeping. It was up to Raeshion if he wanted to share, but Alastair hoped his offer of comfort would help in some way.
Cops Arrest Death for GraffitiToday, two members of the NYPD have arrested a black-cloaked offender for vandalizing the wall of a Midtown Manhattan skyscraper. Upon dragging them to the police station, they discovered that the person was genderless and used the hood of the cloak to conceal a rather troubling lack of skin, meat, eyes or nose on an otherwise lively skull.More Like This
"We realized," officer Jobson says, "that this was not your ordinary criminal - I mean, most of the people we bring over have some identifying features and while I suppose that having a skull for a head is identifying, it's just... Troubling. What do you write in the 'skin colour' or 'eye colour' boxes, you know?" Upon being asked how he fared with this discovery, he answered after some consideration, "I've never seen a real skull before. It was odd."
His colleague, John Daffodil, says about his near-Death experience, "My old mum got quite a fright when she called me and I said I'd met Death. She thought I'd been shot or something. Anyway, a policem
The Magician's Rabbit Delaine's hands were blackened by the fire's burning licks, bleeding a crimson fluid as she tried without success to clean her hands up with the little rainwater that she had. Her hands remained charred as the frigid water stung the already painful blisters. As she whimpered, the winds cried for her, rustling the leaves and frightening the animals back to their nests for the night. Only the waning moon could be her company, just watching her every move from above. It made her nervous, to think someone was always seeing her, and always knew where she was. It was her worst fear for someone to find her and take her away. Not again. Not like this. She thanked God He had made the moon silent.More Like This
She tore off some fabric from the hem of her dress and wrapped the strip of cloth around her bloodied hands. She knew she would soon bleed through the fabric, but s
Leaving WonderlandThis lovely bonescapeMore Like This
is no place for children,
our grins too big,
screwed to the skyline
as if looking
I no longer feel
beneath my feet.
It has been replaced
red and white damsels
dope-eyed with distress
who cannot make a sound.
Their hands are lilies
and I bear a mirror
on my back
will call you fair.
You will not remember this
when you awaken -
not the man with the cat
and hungry in the hallway
or the hat
I once wore to dinner
or the wine we drank
from the brown jug
only the smell
squirming in a jar.
launching chainsbeforeMore Like This
when your christening failed
we found another bottle, heaved it
against the side of the sea, watched the champagne
sizzle in the foam, and heard the rope snap.
crew scattered. the prince raised his hand, he said
something; I do not remember, but frowning
under his black hat he turned and later that day
rushed to his car. you denied princes the first time we
let you; or at least,
I tasted the wasted champagne in the back of my throat.
We did not move fast enough
to accommodate you, and so you shied
at the gate, protesting the locks and walls
made for smaller ships. Looking up, I wondered
how many in the crowd were betting on you sinking beneath
the weight of the iron heart in your breast: silver coins passed
from hand to hand as it was all maps for me: New York waiting
on white paper far across the servant tides of seas strong-fettered;
you would do this and many more. We simply had to learn you first.
We had to stretch out along the gaps and connect the count
Impossible ExistenceMine is an impossible existence.More Like This
Every day, I do the impossible. I get up, eat Cornflakes, go to work. I work in an office. It is quiet. I like that.
I walk through the park on my way home. The birds are singing. The boys are playing football between the trees. Brown, crackling leaves are thick underfoot.
When I get home, I kiss my warm, flustered wife as she hurries past me out the door. She is heading to her shift over at the hospital. She works the evening shift on Wednesdays. She does impossible things there.
The kids - Annie and Michael - are playing in and out of the hall, chasing each other. The TV is on in the front room. Tom is chasing Jerry round and round the screen, much like Annie and Michael.
Annie is seven and wants to be a nurse. She wants to do impossible things, like her mother. She is small and bright and blonde and has her mother's radiant smile.
Michael is three. He is my impossible child. He has freckles and dimples and mousy brown hair. He is giggling
Is It Love?If I hugged you,More Like This
would you never let go?
If I kissed you,
would you cherish that moment?
If I reached for your hand,
would you take mine gently?
If I needed a shoulder,
would you let me cry on yours?
If I needed to talk,
would you really listen?
If I needed to scream,
would you do it with me?
If I needed to go,
would you come with me?
If I fell for you,
would you catch me?
or just let me hit the pavement?
The bravery of Raki StuContest entry for Auikimaya's DRUKEN-SPARTANS-FTW challenge.More Like This
Subject: Raki, main character from Claymore.
This is my entry to the challenge. If you don't know claymore, you might not get a lot out of reading this.
Raki was beyond upset. He was flabbergasted, terrified, filled with deplorable regret that he received such horrible, undeserved treatment- for all of sixty-six godsdamned chapters, he had been separated from his beloved Claire, whom he had attached himself too in a fit of childish emotion some (in-canon, that is) seven years ago.
Considering Clare's stoic nature, an emotional, useless angst-bag had been perfect for her image; without him she would have seemed in the eyes of the readers little more than the emotionless killing machine she really was. Her exact words had been "You could be the Rin to my Sesshomaru."
If only. He thought bitterly. If only he could have been cute and helpless, but NO. He just HAD to be big, strong and manly, and look
everyone is a sociopath with a vitamin deficiencymy parents never beat meMore Like This
and look how I turned out: cracked ribs
blood in my urine
finally lost my baby teeth
but there's no love without blood and you
do not dream in hourglasses
rusty wind and
ferris wheel cages
to watch the gauze fall untaped
on the kitchen floor and
I am itchingscratchingbleeding time
profusely and it falls off me like sawdust with every
I still stand still with knees dovetailed and
head cocked down
to watch the wood shavings
pile at my shins like suitcases
you always want more
so when I felt the fault lines in your wrists
start to tremble
I took that revolver in your chest
spun the cylinders and heard
the familiar empty click
echo through your ribcage
and now I find you
underground like rainwater
and I tried
She Wasn't Born This WayShe Wasn't Born This WayMore Like This
You never mention the word "disorder" in certain company.
That's a defense mechanism, rewriting song lyrics in my head as the uncomfortable silence drags on. Not that it's really silent, ever, in a hospital. Machines whir in the background like insect hives, nurses flit (or stomp, depending on inclination) from bed to bed, and some janitor or orderly inevitably rattles by the room with a bucket of vomit or cart of soiled bedding.
So not quiet, then, but certainly uncomfortable. She avoids my eyes, fingering the roses on her lap. Everything in hospitals is blue-and-white, a sick, sterile periwinkle that I suppose is supposed to be cheery. The sheets leach the red from the roses. I'm blue, anorex-da-ba-di.
Naked, she is a lesson in skeletal anatomy, shrunken skin pulled tight on bones ungirt by flesh. In this half-recline bed, I can see only her beautiful face floating above the covers, a corpse-
Sweetheart in A-Sharp"You're the knife."More Like This
Words. Clumsy words. Taught to me by my father, and his before, and worn into my skeleton like a bad habit. This was a bad habit, and still is.
"Be the knife."
A hoarse whisper in the dark against the swinging, hanging light. Ten competitors, thirty spectators; all losers. Two in the middle. All my life I've practiced and trained and pained for something so much greater than this. Means does indeed, unfortunately, make the man.
As I grip the soft leather of the knife handle, circa 1909, I hope these letters find you well. I hope they find me well, too, and I'm sorry for the three of us that it's come to this, cher. I'm sorry that every night for the last eight months I've promised I would come home, but haven't. I can't. Every penny here is ten dollars at home, and ten dollars we need. Every scar over my cheek a simple victory. Every meal is a regret. Every night is goodbye. I miss you. I've never said it, and I can barely think it. Now it's time to set these heavy,
A Flowerwould I, I wouldMore Like This
walk in Hiroshima, a flower
cannot say much
underneath cypress trees
we can believe
pyramid builders used stars
to map something there
sand in my hand, sand
back to where I gathered it
the cypress branches at
night canvas us like a pyramid
as it should be, with light
coming down in shafts
I'd have a flower for every
thing we ever did that needs one
that is an uncountable amount
of flowers and we
cannot count the stars
in a universe we do not understand
anemic, broken, and growing up anywaywhen my sister was five, she dictated a letter to me in her strong little voiceMore Like This
while dust drifted in the sunshine
of our creaky old room.
dear me [she said],
barney is the best. i will wear blue all the time even though i'm a girl. my heart beats without me telling it to and that's pretty cool. i think people always feel better if you tell them you love them. i will always smile because i have dimples when i smile.
"did you write it?" she asked, and i told her i did, every word
with the chunky yellow pencil i'd fished out of my school bag.
i handed her the letter, and she folded it up carefully
and she smiled.
when my sister was fifteen, she was a little bit broken
anemic and pale, with unsure hair and shaky hands.
when i came home to visit she whispered to me that
she didn't understand
and when i asked her what she didn't understand, she said
she wrote another letter that night.
dear me [it said],
this isn't a suicide note. this isn't another angsty poem. this
ApparitionsI was nervous when I arrived. Had my information been right? Was she used to trans patients? Would she be supportive and helpful or weirded out? Would this be a waste of time or the freeing experience I hoped it would be?More Like This
I looked around the lobby. It was small and well furnished. A large coffee table occupied the center of the room, surrounded on two sides by a small sofa and an armchair, which for some reason made me think of my grandfather. On the opposite side of the room, there was a water cooler and several large unopened refill containers. On a table near the door was the item I was looking for.
"Matt 12:00, 6 pages," read a yellow sticky note affixed to some papers clipped onto a clipboard. Yellow seemed like a bad omen, sort of a boring choice of office supplies.
The name on the sticky didn't have the same pang of regret, didn't leave the bad taste in my mouth that it usually did. It felt more like a farewell to an old friend an
The DoctorWhen I was seven, I was diagnosed with emotions.More Like This
"Poor girl." I heard them say. "She'll never survive this one."
I laid with my face towards the ceiling on the cold examination table, listening to them discuss my fate. I felt something breaking in my chest and something burning inside my throat. A small tear slipped down my cheek.
"Doctor! Look at this!" Shrieked my mother, "Something is coming out of her eye."
The doctor rushed over to me and wiped the tear from my cheek. He touched the top of my head as he whispered, "I am so sorry." And then he turned to my mother. "It's a tear. It means that she is sad."
"Sad?" My mother asked inquisitively.
"It's one of her emotions. This doesn't attack the same way that normal diseases do, there are all sorts of different symptoms. Right now, she is sad and the only way that I know how to explain it is that she is feeling down."
"What do you mean by down?"
"Her emotions can best be described as ones that are upwhen she is feeling good, and
Three in the Morning Like a panther, I slink my two-hundred fifty pounds of taut, well-toned cellulose along the dark hallway. Even the slightest noise may rouse suspicion and lead to my untimely demise. My wife is, after all, a light sleeper. She was expecting me home from the bar hours ago, but I couldn't call her and tell her I'd be late; I left my cell phone at home. Of course, John's phone was dead, and the last time I saw a pay phone it was on display at a New York art museum. So all that's left for me is to spend 15 minutes creeping past dusty memories hanging on the wall towards my goal: the door.More Like This
BONG. BONG. BONG.
I nearly jump out of my skin as the tell-tale grandfather clock on the other end of the hallway lets the world know just how late I am getting home. A brief pause at the door gives me time to take a deep, silent breath and calm my nerves before turning the handle. I have to be patient, to take my time, perhaps even hours. A gentle push, hardly more than a n
how to move mountainsthe mountains came down to listenMore Like This
or was it
that I went up to tell them
of these winter snows
that hit early spring
as if they couldn't
those mountains, shake it off
themselves. ink on my quill is
a thought not yet written.
a simple stick in snow could
write the same questions
and the answer too, along with
the snow's fading presence.
for my mother, for whom i am never careful enoughi always thought if i kept still enough or grew twoMore Like This
dimensional enough i could tip myself over into space:
honest, bones, i could shrug at gravity & join with you
to fashion a rubber duck for the great & terrible zeus
a universe wide, tipping earth precisely in the right ways.
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
orchids, carefully, the way my mother often tried to,
she wouldn't die thinking i refuse to carry her face,
honest bones i could shrug at gravity & join with you.
i walk fast without breaking her back i can love, too:
oh, mother, your beloved & bitchy brace face, space case,
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
new toes, i wouldn't bother about the others being blue
with your poor circulation, or other bizarre malaise,
honest bones i could shrug at gravity & join with you.
but i won't go to space & i promise to wear rain boots.
don't worry if i get arrested at a protest by mistake.
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
enduring biopoiesis getting over itMore Like This
in quick gasps of rabbit fur
and valley tangles
we would have
had such darling
strung out on fake roses
floating on our sun-striped backs
but we're so
some world-children cutting
out, tuning in yet
The Eyes of the Painted HeiressOnce upon a time, in a country that was prosperous, and settled many miles away from the sea, an heiress to the throne was born. She was blessed in having soft hair of a deep brown colouring; tiny beauty marks that rarified her skin at intervals; and eyes the exact blue of the night sky, which had been bequeathed to her from her dear father, the King. She was both impressive and endearing, in the ways she moved and spoke as she grew older, so that the Queen esteemed her the prettiest rose of all the ages, no matter that she was still a long while away from blooming.More Like This
Years passed since her birth and the rejoicing that it caused, each following the one before it in rapid succession, until the Heiress had grown into a beautiful young lady of seventeen, and time seemed to slow down once more. The King and Queen were both unspeakably in love with their daughter, so that they wanted her life to be filled with only gifts and things to be grateful for, and the latter, one day noticing that she
love letter to the state of florida1.More Like This
i am not in love with you.
i left you when the leaves turned and i'm back for now,
but only 'til i muster the strength to hoist my bags & run away
believe me, it's not that you're not paradise,
because i've had my fair share of briny breezes & tequila sunrises
and i too have caught myself with my toes in the sand for a tad
blinding white is just too opaque for glass houses and you know
the way the sun shines at midday, that'll melt your face right off
if you stare long enough--
trust me, i know a guy.
last saturday i saw your face on the cover of a national geographic
at the doctor's office,
they caught you singing in the misty rain, voice sweet i remember
like honeysuckle & orange blossoms in the summertime,
there were strands of sargassum woven into your hair, it smelled of
fresh dew, it stole the sun in handfuls and waltzed with the wind
around your shoulder blades;
i found angels sleeping in the crook of your back, skin golden honey
opening to catch saltsp
daliin that second,More Like This
(when the sun beat so hard i could hear
every waving particle, see the color before it was
swallowed; i closed my eyes and felt the concrete
blaring, the refracting windows aching, and each
bird crackling in the parched trees, feathers rustling
and beaks clacking, blackness bleached orange and
my hands sought in the silence of my pockets,
imprisoned and pallid like a dog yapping in that hot car)
atomic tangerine (anthology)i.More Like This
the night contains his happiness
moon keeps him in 'hush hush'
beneath the space's stars
breathing life through old lens
while skipping the stones
across the rushing lake
with it's sandy tentacles
and seaweed veins
and bleeding seashell hearts
it tastes like marmalade
(so so sweet; too sweet)
a touch of stars, too
(oh please do add more)
a spoonful much of galaxy
(too much for an old soul)
and it could use more sugar
(if you don't mind)
& there's too many red dwarves
(well, just being honest)
my how it burns my tongue so–
drink with caution
(& our universe: bittersweet)
& it hits me
like a lightning storm
in the month of july
on bittersweet mars
never any umbrellas
to hide me
from the most blinding
while trying to take
pictures with emptiest
of polaroid film
& it leaves me
Yoai FactoryMore Like This
Now a fangirl's tale isn't quite as nice,
As the story we knew of sugar and spice,
Kyle looked at the door to Wurpess' bedroom, his eyes trained on the thin layer of smoke that was coming from beneath the door and rolling out into the hallway. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed onto the handle and turned, letting the door swing open slowly. A draft of steam hit Kyle's body as the contents of the room revealed itself… to be a long, suspended metal walkway.
But a fandom's easy once you get to know it,
With the help of the yoai that they keep at their sides.
He could hear the faint sound of laughing through the darkness, the sound filling Kyle with a sense of fear. Something was wrong, and it disturbed him greatly. Conjuring a flame, Kyle began to walk across the walkway, mindful of the creaking and groaning he heard coming from it.
Let's delve deeper into fangirl philosophy,
To see the origin of this erotic monstrosity,
It's easy to misjudge they're weird
Sky-Blue Days (Preview)"Face it, your death is absolute." Anti-Kyle stated calmly.More Like This
"Not yet. We're not done!" Kyle said through gritted teeth, gripping the controls of Sakusei Ihan tightly as he glared at his opponent. Suddenly, a screen appeared in front of him, causing his eyes to widen.
On the screen was every single one of his past OCs, from his Pony self, to Wipsen Chains, all showing determined smiles. "KYLE! Leave this to us!" The commanded, before a new mecha emerged from the stomach area of Sakusei Ihan, its body sleeker with a black finish.
Exploding in a break of speed, the mecha launched itself at Kanjō Bureikā. "Genjitsuihan OVERLOAD!" They screamed, producing a large drill made of pure green energy right at the Android's Mecha, to hit a purple wall of energy.
"What are you doing!?" Kyle screamed; his eyes wide as he looked at his creations battling his past body.
"Do not grieve for us, creator." Repony stated, smirking. "Our souls once forgotten, are once again awakened. If our
Metamorphosis'System Damage Critical. Reassembly is required.'More Like This
"Thanks for the update!" Kyle shouted out in frustration as he slowly dragged his mangled body to the reassembly machine, most of his body and limbs being torn apart. Stray wires stuck out from the wounds, causing the occasional spark to flash as electricity tried to run to his absent limbs. It was a miracle he still had his right arm semi-intact, considering how much the rest of his body had been broken apart. "That is the last time I play punchies with Rex, I swear it." He cursed, as he finally made it to the pod.
Dragging himself inside it, he put himself in the seat and began to start up protocol, soon being pulled into the world of Morpheus. As the machine began to activate, several sirens began to ring out.
'ERROR! ERROR! Spare Components not found, Organic stock to be used as substitute in 3 2 1 '
Whirls and groans from the machine then began to sound, as Kyle was slowly dismantled and re-built with biological co
Courtesy CallKyle looked at the entrance of the Deviant building, his eyes wide as he processed what had just happened. One minute he was lazily reading comic books and drinking on his whiskey and coke. The next he was thrown out of a tenth story window to the pavement below. To cut a long story short, he had been kicked out of the building because he had not paid his rent. Damn L.Fist and his art based currency system. Curse him to heck.More Like This
Slowly standing up, he brushed himself down, wincing as he had to pull a piece of glass from his leg. "Stupid simulated pain, I need to get a real body again." He cursed, gripping his fists in frustration of the problems that his robot body had caused. He couldn't grow nor feel anything real. It was a pain in the arse. And he wanted out.
Opening up a hologram interface that was produced from his arm, he began to search for a place to buy weapons. If L.Fist wanted to kick him out, he'd be left without a building. He let out an uncharacteristic laugh, very similar t
Patches (Feelpasta)When I was younger, about 3 or 4, my best friend in the whole world was my pet dog, Cookie. She was the best dog I could have hoped to have, and I loved her dearly. My first real memory is of me playing fetch in my garden with her. I still find myself reminiscing about her from time to time.More Like This
It was when I was 4 that Cookie, had gotten pregnant with a litter of pups. I was so excited, the process of having a child was shown to me by her. She had a very large amount of pups from what I can remember.
One of those pups, the smallest and the most timid, was called Patches, on account of the many patches that appeared in his fur. While all of the other pups would bite my ankles and rip into my shoes, Patches would curl into my lap often, and sleep. I'm sad to admit that until just a few hours ago, I had forgotten all about him.
Most would have called him the runt of the litter, being so small and all. Its not so much a surprise that I had walked downstairs one morning, my parents still aslee
What would I do with $10,000,000?André took a long deep breath, clumsily hitting in the general alarm to put it on snooze for the sixth time this morning. He smiled as he hit it and was about to fall back to sleep when he realised to himself...THAT WAS THE SIXTH TIME THIS MORNING! He shot up, ears raised and grabbed the nearest shirt, it was dirty but it would have to suffice. He ran out his room as he grabbed a pair of pants. He tried putting them on a he went down the stairs...Bad idea. As he went tumbling down the stairs a ticket left his pants pocket. He sat up, rubbing his head and groaning as the ticket drifted infront of him, for a moment he sat there wondering what it is was, he grabbed it out of the air and to his dismay it was just a stupid lottery ticket. Much slower now he began walking down the stairs while pulling his pants all the way up, He walked into the living room which was empty, he thought to himself as he checked the time. It was 8:40am and he still had another 20 minutes to kill. He facepMore Like This
Jacob: FluffyHey its Jacob, back again!More Like This
And I just found, a new friend.
His name is fluffy, he's really neat.
He always gets, enough to eat.
In the alley, I will wait.
While fluffy's there, he's the bait.
Soon comes a man, or some old lady.
They coo at fluffy, like a baby.
I get behind them, make a call.
Ask them why, they end it all.
As they turn, to me in shock.
I hit them, what a shot.
They drop down, like a sack of spuds.
Too bad for them, there's no mud.
Fluffy purs, drinking their juices.
I guess to him, he tastes gooses.
I drag their body, all down the way.
I'm so happy, merry and gay.
At the corner, I let them rest.
Fluffy's happy, its for the best.
So, if you see my newfound friend.
Say hello, we won't pretend.
You'll be his food, soon enough.
The things we do, for those we love.
Jacob: Winters HarvestMore Like This
Winter's harvest, come at last.
How long, when will it pass?
Take your dress, or your favourite suit.
The colour will soon equal moot.
Wade your way down through the marsh.
You'd think my methods awful harsh.
Slash across your ankle tendon
No more can you depend on
See you writhing there in pain
Screaming, now thats lame
Seems that I'm loosing intrest
Maybe I should just...
No, that would be too nice.
I still need to cut and slice.
Make you feel the pain I feel
In your skin, which I shall peel
Now your screams are getting loud.
You can do it, show me how.
You are doing oh so well
It hurts now, I can tell
Stradle you at the chest.
In my hand, your eyes now rest.
Knife in hand, way up high
Bring it down, and say Goodbye
InfertilityInfertilityMore Like This
"When are you two going to start working on more kids?"
It was such a simple question. The thought behind it was innocent in design. A simple inquiry on why a thirty-one year old woman had only one child was one of the most dreadful conversations that I have ever had the pleasure of being part of.
While my daughter was the light in the darkness cast by my own body's failure, my happy little family was not the societal norm. A man and a woman were supposed to have two children, a dog, and a white picket fence. This was a sign of success for a stay at home woman.
We were never normal. My husband and I did not marry in the conventional church. Those aren't our beliefs. To replace us on this orbiting rock that we call earth, we have a little girl. She is too smart for her age, wanting to watch video games that are ahead of her time and writing a story of her own.
"We don't want any more," my husband sa
How to Sleep and Never Wake UpThe year they discovered my best friend, twenty years old and silent under the heap of her wrecked car, I learned one can sleep forever and never wake up.More Like This
That year, her sister, only seventeen, ate magic mushrooms and lost her mind and her brother, fourteen, started running and stopped eating and I didn't eat magic mushrooms but lost my mind anyway as everyone watched my skin, too white to be real, disintegrate before their eyes.
That year I flew to Colorado to see an urn surrounded by pointe shoes. It reminded me more of a wastebasket than the last I would see of the girl who shared my soul. Her sister ran naked through the street a few days later after ingesting a certain fungus at her school's homecoming dance. Most say it was the drugs. Maybe, I said. But I knew exactly what it was. Her brother started walking with his feet turned out, a remnant of his ballerina sister instilled in him. I ripped the flesh from my arms, hoping to find her somewhere underneath my fingernails until a
RemoverMore Like This
She decided a young woman like her had no business being imperfect. Impurities had to be expelled from her life, no matter the cost. An universal remover promised to be her savior. It lived up to its commercials, doing away with the stains that disgraced her floor and some of the walls.
Would domestic hygiene free her from being flawed? Doubtful. This product guaranteed to exterminate any kind of filth. Could it go beyond the material things? She rubbed the substance on her forehead, and conjured as many negative thoughts as possible. They were recalled, only to vanish from memory a second after.
Satisfied? Not quite. Even the good recollections had portions of impurity here and there. She wouldn't allow that, and began rubbing with furious abandon. There could not be a single mistake, not a lone wound, every hint of imperfection had to disappear ...
Her neighbor would make a visit later. No one answered the door.
Helicase Helio and I were always sitting on the stairs, chatting about the lamina and occasionally making snide remarks about ribosomes. There wasn't much for us to do. Our job was to simply be, and let the RNA polymerase scribble down the letters on our foreheads when they came around every once in a while. Helio was a G, I was a C. It wasn't exactly fulfilling, I suppose. There wasn't much to be filled. So to pass the time, we talked.More Like This
"You ever wonder?" Helio asked.
"About...well...what's out there." Helio and I were rooted to the stairs, quite happily, but it was awkward to move in. He kind of twisted in the general direction of the closest pore. "Out in the cytoplasm."
"I haven't," I admitted. "What's there to wonder about?"
"That's exactly the thing. I have no idea." Helio sighed, gazing into the distance. "Somehow it feels like we pl
Do you know the taste of the universe?One day, when you’re five years old and made out of fractured sunlight and mirror shards, you sit down on the bench of the MAX train. You’re dressed in your winter coat and boots that are too big and one of your parents has pulled your hat too close over your ears.More Like This
You’re sitting next to your mother, and on the other side is a man that smells like loneliness, something that you’ll later know as cigarettes and alcohol and homelessness. He’s crying quietly into the top of his jacket and you’re scared to look because you’ve never seen an adult cry.
The train ride goes on for five minutes, which is a long time to you, and eventually you sneak a look at the crying man who smells like Portland and loneliness, and he sees you. He leans down until you can see the red lines in his eyes and he whispers to you.
“Do you know the taste of the universe?”
And you look up at him with your little-girl eyes and shake your head because you can’t
Google's PrayerMore Like This
Our Google, which art in Wi-fi
Quick be thy search.
Thy results come, thy buffer be done,
On Bing as it is in Chrome.
Give us this day our daily updates
And forgive us our spelling
As we forgive those who butcher English grammar.
And lead us not into Apple,
But deliver us from Siri.
For thine is the Wi-fi, the processor, and the Android forever.
Love Letters On the TrainDear Stranger,More Like This
I'm leaving this post-it tucked in the side of the train-seat. If you're reading this, you've seen it. I've seen you sit here every few Monday mornings, sometimes tapping a bent, unlit cigarette against your thigh, sipping from your tea (who brings a tea cup onto a train anyway?); sometimes staring at the rain outside, or reading your well-worn, beaten copy of Jane Eyre (I hate that you fold the corners down - it's bibliophilic abuse. I wish the book would papercut you to defend itself a little, but I digress).
You seemed so sad this Monday morning past. Please smile again. I love it when your eyes catch the light of something I'm unaware of, something silently and intimately your own; a secret from the world that makes everything all the more meaningful to you.
- The Passenger
I'm not in the habit of reading post-its from strangers. I found a love-letter hidden in a newspaper once, that the author forgot or was too afraid to send. It made me sad to think
Goodnight Enigmatic SongShe was the song you hear and, at first blush, don't like.More Like This
Well, you don't know how you feel about it so you keep listening in an attempt to discover how exactly you feel and then you reach the end of the song and you realize, you don't like it; you love it.
That was Grace.
She was my coworker and she was my friend.
We carpooled together, I drove and she slept most of the way.
"Don't get much sleep at night, do you?" I asked her, catching those drooping lids mid-descent.
She looked out the window streaked with rain; it spoke in percussive touches filling the car with quiet overcast conversation.
I felt the warmth of her smile in the corner of my eye. The blur of her hand reached at the window to feel the cold of the droplets.
"When I was a girl, I used to race these. I thought it was funny the fat ones always won," she giggled and I imagined her as a little girl in the passenger seat then, legs too short to reach so kicking, and hair messed in the bac
petaled memories of a younger dreamerI miss the daysMore Like This
when I thought girls
felt like roses,
and the rain
was my worst enemy
I thought I'd never
understand a soliloquy
in all its purpose and
adulthood still loomed
a distant thundering possibility
the open road
was a hobby
flipping cassettes in a car
that's no longer made
on a longer mountain road
the time of life
when you believe finally
in what you never knew
you believed and friends
lived wide hung close
I miss those days
when getting older
felt new and when
I anticipated my first
touch of a rose
Loss and the Five Stages of GriefMore Like This
The five of us bought two pipes on University of Houston dime in likely the only hookah bar in St. Louis, Missouri on a Sunday afternoon. Something we do as a team to calm our nerves after a long weekend of competition in a cold, damp city. They were real fancy pipes too – tall, glassy and gold. Two flavors for each pipe - watermelon-mint and strawberry-mint. David says mint keeps the smoke cool and flavor level. He was a red headed Syrian who had his own pipe at home and has been our debate captain for three weeks. Only a little while ago he had mustered enough courage to admit to everyone he “was conservative, but only a little.” Smoking hookah is very popular in Syria, embedded in the culture. We figured he knew what he was talking about. The bar was empty except for the owner who was happy to have customers but not desperate enough to forget carding us for use of his pipes and liquor. He showed us a room off to the side full of lar