It all started down on the grounds behind the churchyard.
12-year-old David Summersley had slipped away from the church and walked out into the yard. The sky was an unnatural orange color and there appeared to be a huge planet-like shadow hovering just above him.
He was hoping that no one noticed him, as someone was always dispatched to find him and drag him back to the Groningen family, who would then whip him and lock him in his small room without any supper.
Such things like this happen every Sunday, and David was refusing to pray to a god who would take his parents away from him and place him with an abusive family. He needed to leave this town immediately or risk going completely insane.
But where would he go? He had no money or friends or relatives that he could stay with, and he certainly wasn't about to go seeking the orphanage that Cuthbert Groningen was always threatening to send him to. The orphanage, with its dreary atmosphere and the harsh headmistress who ran the place, w
Group Info
Group
Founded 16 Years ago
2,015 Members
75,591 Pageviews1,513 Watchers
2,015 Members75,591 Pageviews1,513 Watchers
Featured
Literature
The Verdant Stars
Chrissiannie Chrissiannie
6
1
Literature
Passed Through the Hour Glass
It's New Years Eve again,
A time recognized for cheer,
It symbolizes another year gone by,
Another grain of sand,
Passed through the hour glass.
Many of us make resolution,
And I'd be lying if I said,
That I didn't.
Unlike many years past though,
I'm not planning to do anything,
Really life changing.
Instead this New Year,
My resolution is simply,
Be happy without a hint of true sorrow,
Love with out looking back,
And to live for me.
Because I'm positively done,
With looking over my shoulder,
And desperately thinking,
'What if'...
A time recognized for cheer,
It symbolizes another year gone by,
Another grain of sand,
Passed through the hour glass.
Many of us make resolution,
And I'd be lying if I said,
That I didn't.
Unlike many years past though,
I'm not planning to do anything,
Really life changing.
Instead this New Year,
My resolution is simply,
Be happy without a hint of true sorrow,
Love with out looking back,
And to live for me.
Because I'm positively done,
With looking over my shoulder,
And desperately thinking,
'What if'...
sam1314 sam1314
8
8
Literature
A Blank Slate
A blank slate.
Wiped clean of any and all familiar shapes,
reset to nothing. A world rocked,
then plunged into the dark.
Non-traversable landscapes expanding into the distance,
untouched by recent thought, uncluttered by memories
which so often strangle any freedom
under vine-like masses.
They'll never grow here. There's no nourishment,
nothing to feed the tangle, so it simply doesn't live,
then in turn it never gets the chance to die.
A single blink of an eye,
mechanically aided.
The human side of her cannot exist without machines.
The wires stretch across her,
every coil prolongs her breathing, every inch extends her life.
Every twist transmits an artificial means for her survival.
All it took was a fleeting collision, that she didn't even see,
and now she can never create.
Never think, never dream.
From now her only output is a stream of beeps,
that match the rhythm of her heart.
Wiped clean of any and all familiar shapes,
reset to nothing. A world rocked,
then plunged into the dark.
Non-traversable landscapes expanding into the distance,
untouched by recent thought, uncluttered by memories
which so often strangle any freedom
under vine-like masses.
They'll never grow here. There's no nourishment,
nothing to feed the tangle, so it simply doesn't live,
then in turn it never gets the chance to die.
A single blink of an eye,
mechanically aided.
The human side of her cannot exist without machines.
The wires stretch across her,
every coil prolongs her breathing, every inch extends her life.
Every twist transmits an artificial means for her survival.
All it took was a fleeting collision, that she didn't even see,
and now she can never create.
Never think, never dream.
From now her only output is a stream of beeps,
that match the rhythm of her heart.
Dis-Finite Dis-Finite
10
3
Literature
Star Stained Hands
She asked me how my hands got that way
And I told her of the 3 am horizon
Lit only by reflections
Where I chased falling stars
Caught them
And pried them open with my bare hands
So I could see what a wish looked like.
So my fingers are stained with the echoes of a galaxy
The one that died a million years ago
That I watched go out yesterday.
I told her
It's hard to catch stars with burnt hands
She asked if it was worth it.
To have star stained
Fire scorched veins
With galaxy under my fingernails
And infinity under my skin;
If I could feel all it could be without me.
I smiled.
I told her of the oceans she keeps in her eyes
And the iridescence in her skin.
You hold sunlight in your hair,
Starlight in your fingernails,
The earth has soaked in to the calluses on your feet;
There are galaxies in the dead parts of you.
You hold a living spinning changing universe
With no beginning
And no end.
I can see wishes under the surface,
Pulsing through you.
Infinity is in your veins too,
And it's noth
And I told her of the 3 am horizon
Lit only by reflections
Where I chased falling stars
Caught them
And pried them open with my bare hands
So I could see what a wish looked like.
So my fingers are stained with the echoes of a galaxy
The one that died a million years ago
That I watched go out yesterday.
I told her
It's hard to catch stars with burnt hands
She asked if it was worth it.
To have star stained
Fire scorched veins
With galaxy under my fingernails
And infinity under my skin;
If I could feel all it could be without me.
I smiled.
I told her of the oceans she keeps in her eyes
And the iridescence in her skin.
You hold sunlight in your hair,
Starlight in your fingernails,
The earth has soaked in to the calluses on your feet;
There are galaxies in the dead parts of you.
You hold a living spinning changing universe
With no beginning
And no end.
I can see wishes under the surface,
Pulsing through you.
Infinity is in your veins too,
And it's noth
LingeringLullabys LingeringLullabys
10
28
Literature
Chapter 1
August 13, 2001
Dear Journal,
Every night it's the same nightmare. I've experienced other nightmares before, but one stands out among the rest, haunting me with no end in sight. For years I've dreaded falling asleep; I can't understand what the nightmares mean. Several times I've suffered from bruises on my arms, legs, and back. Some mornings I can't get out of bed.
If I remember anything in full detail, I try to write it down before going to school. Nightmares that are too difficult to follow, I often draw pictures and sketches of them in my notebook; this scares me the most 'cause drawings occur without any warning throughout the day. Once, I found myself doodling in class. I stopped, and couldn't remember any of my teacher's lectures. During the night, I check my bed and closet for anything unusual.
I do
Dear Journal,
Every night it's the same nightmare. I've experienced other nightmares before, but one stands out among the rest, haunting me with no end in sight. For years I've dreaded falling asleep; I can't understand what the nightmares mean. Several times I've suffered from bruises on my arms, legs, and back. Some mornings I can't get out of bed.
If I remember anything in full detail, I try to write it down before going to school. Nightmares that are too difficult to follow, I often draw pictures and sketches of them in my notebook; this scares me the most 'cause drawings occur without any warning throughout the day. Once, I found myself doodling in class. I stopped, and couldn't remember any of my teacher's lectures. During the night, I check my bed and closet for anything unusual.
I do
WDLady WDLady
14
18
Literature
Finire
The end of the world came, but that was all to be expected.
2012, a number so carefully seeded into our minds, a prophecy that signified the end of the world. How much I cared for it was equal to the time I spent worrying about it. It sprouted, but then again, fear had limits. The watering can filled with anxiety and concern soon emptied itself. The seed, having no source of nutrition, would eventually wilt.
Who ever would have guessed that it would grow to become something more than just a flower?
Not only did it turn into a tree, it continued to swarm every part of me, so much that it now encloses me, becoming part of me. Ironically, I embrace it welcomingly, knowing well that the inevitable is, well, inevitable.
The forty-second time went by, with no success. Even though I know that all is in vain, my stubborn nature retains itself. The next call went through the same pattern, failing to go through.
There was a wave of people trying to get through, and the overloaded systems only al
2012, a number so carefully seeded into our minds, a prophecy that signified the end of the world. How much I cared for it was equal to the time I spent worrying about it. It sprouted, but then again, fear had limits. The watering can filled with anxiety and concern soon emptied itself. The seed, having no source of nutrition, would eventually wilt.
Who ever would have guessed that it would grow to become something more than just a flower?
Not only did it turn into a tree, it continued to swarm every part of me, so much that it now encloses me, becoming part of me. Ironically, I embrace it welcomingly, knowing well that the inevitable is, well, inevitable.
The forty-second time went by, with no success. Even though I know that all is in vain, my stubborn nature retains itself. The next call went through the same pattern, failing to go through.
There was a wave of people trying to get through, and the overloaded systems only al
Cloudy-Darkness Cloudy-Darkness
5
10
Literature
Rusted Nails -_-2-_-
There was something to be said about a pain so intense it made one forget they were ever in pain in the first place. It seemed to knock him out of his own mind, letting him flow freely through a realm of nothingness. Despite the tranquil description, the feeling wasn't as calming as it sounded. It did little to relax him, instead filling him with a sense of urgency. As if he was at a great risk of some sort.
If he drifted too far, his mind told him, he would float away completely. There would be no going back. The most disturbing part was, for a few seconds, he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to return. What would be waiting for him when he opened his eyes? No matter how thoroughly he searched his clouded mind, the answer was nowhere to be found. He couldn't recall anything worthwhile in his life that would give him the incentive to cease his aimless drifting. The thought of his mind being filled with so much emptiness almost overwhelmed him. Why couldn't he remember something, anyth
If he drifted too far, his mind told him, he would float away completely. There would be no going back. The most disturbing part was, for a few seconds, he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to return. What would be waiting for him when he opened his eyes? No matter how thoroughly he searched his clouded mind, the answer was nowhere to be found. He couldn't recall anything worthwhile in his life that would give him the incentive to cease his aimless drifting. The thought of his mind being filled with so much emptiness almost overwhelmed him. Why couldn't he remember something, anyth
0-Red-0 0-Red-0
0
10
Literature
Time
In the wake of white lights,
And jade doctors and nurses,
We tearfully begin,
This tale.
In the shadows of willows,
On a bed without pillows,
Admidst tears and white roses,
We bid goodbye.
Yet all this existance,
Sins and repentance,
Mean nought,
When your bell has tolled.
Because this very second,
A lost drop of the present,
Has already departed,
The world we live in.
Time is a dreamer,
Of tycoons and schemers,
Time is the answer,
To all the questions unasked,
Time is a healer,
A swindling deciever,
Time is the only road,
We've ever walked on.
They say live for today,
Forget tomorrow,
And let go of what happened,
Yesterday.
But how can I do that?
When I'm on a blue yacht,
On the ocean of the past,
Bound for the shores of the future.
Life is a journey,
Of wedlocks and attorneys,
And they say it rains,
Just as much as it shines.
Yet I see life as a ticker,
Our heart's just a clicker,
Keeping pace with every minute,
Flying by.
Time is a planner,
Making strangers of brothers,
And lovers o
And jade doctors and nurses,
We tearfully begin,
This tale.
In the shadows of willows,
On a bed without pillows,
Admidst tears and white roses,
We bid goodbye.
Yet all this existance,
Sins and repentance,
Mean nought,
When your bell has tolled.
Because this very second,
A lost drop of the present,
Has already departed,
The world we live in.
Time is a dreamer,
Of tycoons and schemers,
Time is the answer,
To all the questions unasked,
Time is a healer,
A swindling deciever,
Time is the only road,
We've ever walked on.
They say live for today,
Forget tomorrow,
And let go of what happened,
Yesterday.
But how can I do that?
When I'm on a blue yacht,
On the ocean of the past,
Bound for the shores of the future.
Life is a journey,
Of wedlocks and attorneys,
And they say it rains,
Just as much as it shines.
Yet I see life as a ticker,
Our heart's just a clicker,
Keeping pace with every minute,
Flying by.
Time is a planner,
Making strangers of brothers,
And lovers o
Zark123 Zark123
9
9
Literature
Carl
Gather round, gather round everybody! Because another tall tale shall be told, that is not too young nor to old. A tale about a cat called Carl.
Carl was born on a sunny July day, under a cardboard box that got lost on the side of a dusty country road, together with his two brothers and four sisters.
From the minute he was born his mother knew that he was special.
While all of his brothers and sisters were sleeping, he just sat there gazing into the horizon while twitching his ears.
As if he was listening to the world and understood what it said. While he could understand the whole world, he didn't understand his own language.
So after one month he went to the horizon to find those who he could understand.
On his way he saw a lot of new things that he had never seen before: rocky things as big as at least fifteen cats, noisy moving things that stink,…
He ate what he found on the road: yummy meat between weird white not tasty things, more yummy meat and sometimes meat in cylindrica
Carl was born on a sunny July day, under a cardboard box that got lost on the side of a dusty country road, together with his two brothers and four sisters.
From the minute he was born his mother knew that he was special.
While all of his brothers and sisters were sleeping, he just sat there gazing into the horizon while twitching his ears.
As if he was listening to the world and understood what it said. While he could understand the whole world, he didn't understand his own language.
So after one month he went to the horizon to find those who he could understand.
On his way he saw a lot of new things that he had never seen before: rocky things as big as at least fifteen cats, noisy moving things that stink,…
He ate what he found on the road: yummy meat between weird white not tasty things, more yummy meat and sometimes meat in cylindrica
Applepoi Applepoi
2
13
Literature
Growing Up Angry
It was so easy to criticize her. The fact that she could smile when everything around her was shit proved to me she wasn't trying hard enough. She had silk hair and clean, shiny nails and god damn, I hated her for that. We were twins, but the way I saw it I got the short end of the stick in every way. I was young, and didn't know any better.
She knew I felt that way, and she just took every cruel word I dished out. It was, I guess, her price for freedom. She'd come home after a date with her boyfriend, and I'd be helping little Connor with his homework on the floor, and I'd see her happy face and the anger that was always, always there would turn my vision red. I'd call her a whore, ask her why she bothered to come back when all she did was take up space. I'd scream and bitch, but she always just stood there and took it until our little brothers started crying, begging me to stop. I hated being angry all the time, so I blamed her for that too
I hit her once. Just once, but I've never f
She knew I felt that way, and she just took every cruel word I dished out. It was, I guess, her price for freedom. She'd come home after a date with her boyfriend, and I'd be helping little Connor with his homework on the floor, and I'd see her happy face and the anger that was always, always there would turn my vision red. I'd call her a whore, ask her why she bothered to come back when all she did was take up space. I'd scream and bitch, but she always just stood there and took it until our little brothers started crying, begging me to stop. I hated being angry all the time, so I blamed her for that too
I hit her once. Just once, but I've never f
Seinn Seinn
19
10
Literature
Agent Crimson, 1 - 1
The Dreams are always the same.
An explosion.
Pain. The smell of Blood.
A part of him felt these were memories. He was not sure.
The dream would black out after that.
Then the sound of Machine Gun Fire.
A man speaking in German. A shadow of a Nazi general.
Darkness again.
More gun fire. Another mans voice.
"What's your name kid?" What's your name? the sound echoed.
He told the voice he couldn't remember.
He woke up. Cold sweat. Like it was a nightmare. But he was not sure if he would call it that. He shook it off. It was dark. No windows in his room. He didn't need the lights on. He heard a ringing sound. A digital ringing sound. He took out a small white hearing aid like device from on top of his drawer next to his bedside. Choosing not to turn the lamp on. He placed it in his ear and pushed on the outer rubber nub on the hearing peace which was a button to the device underneath. " Yeah?" he said aloud speaking to the small microphone.
" The general wants you in the meeting room" A fe
An explosion.
Pain. The smell of Blood.
A part of him felt these were memories. He was not sure.
The dream would black out after that.
Then the sound of Machine Gun Fire.
A man speaking in German. A shadow of a Nazi general.
Darkness again.
More gun fire. Another mans voice.
"What's your name kid?" What's your name? the sound echoed.
He told the voice he couldn't remember.
He woke up. Cold sweat. Like it was a nightmare. But he was not sure if he would call it that. He shook it off. It was dark. No windows in his room. He didn't need the lights on. He heard a ringing sound. A digital ringing sound. He took out a small white hearing aid like device from on top of his drawer next to his bedside. Choosing not to turn the lamp on. He placed it in his ear and pushed on the outer rubber nub on the hearing peace which was a button to the device underneath. " Yeah?" he said aloud speaking to the small microphone.
" The general wants you in the meeting room" A fe
Michaelthevampire7 Michaelthevampire7
7
12
Literature
Waterfall Hope
Its inner and outer beauty are one,
and it wakes up my eyes to see,
for me and others, that so are ours.
Only I'm not yet strong enough to let that truth
completely enter in where it should and bloom from there,
yet it still makes me smile,
and so many things start with a smile.
I imagine it has stored up so many blown kisses;
I imagine the light of our love for it
gives it more light than the sun.
When it's going down
it's like a million diamonds
acting like children,
running frantically everywhere,
with an extra helping of innocence and joy on top.
For me
The lights have turned off,
as they often do,
but then comes that honest spark
giving me a helping hand,
touching so tenderly without trying,
and showing me that hand choking the life out me,
my hand;
it all is vividly clear,
and I put my hand down,
and start anew.
It's not on magazines;
it doesn't wear make-up,
but it's perfection,
and a gift to almost all the senses.
A waterfall proves there's beauty even when you fall.
Keep tr
and it wakes up my eyes to see,
for me and others, that so are ours.
Only I'm not yet strong enough to let that truth
completely enter in where it should and bloom from there,
yet it still makes me smile,
and so many things start with a smile.
I imagine it has stored up so many blown kisses;
I imagine the light of our love for it
gives it more light than the sun.
When it's going down
it's like a million diamonds
acting like children,
running frantically everywhere,
with an extra helping of innocence and joy on top.
For me
The lights have turned off,
as they often do,
but then comes that honest spark
giving me a helping hand,
touching so tenderly without trying,
and showing me that hand choking the life out me,
my hand;
it all is vividly clear,
and I put my hand down,
and start anew.
It's not on magazines;
it doesn't wear make-up,
but it's perfection,
and a gift to almost all the senses.
A waterfall proves there's beauty even when you fall.
Keep tr
AleciaMaria AleciaMaria
14
3
Literature
Looking for lost souls
I look for souls I cannot find,
Looking for faces I left behind,
Into time I dive,
looking for the lost souls,
looking for the truth amongst the lies,
Where to start
I know not
Looking for faces I left behind,
Into time I dive,
looking for the lost souls,
looking for the truth amongst the lies,
Where to start
I know not
stayin-spiffy stayin-spiffy
3
8
Literature
Contemporary Patriot
I have pondering while in bed late at night
Would we stand up for our nation and fight
If ever the call of war knocks on our door
Would every true Brit rush to the fore
It swells my heart, with pride it is filled.
For our Pride in our Country we'd fall as her shield
Stand shoulder to shoulder as one on the field.
With our blood if it bought just one more free day
Now that is a price we would willingly pay.
We're the contemporary Patriots, Churchills' legacy
We'd defend our our family, surrender? heresy!
We may not be in redcoats, or be in the armed forces.
But We'd lead the first charge, just give us the horses.
We'd never surrender We'd Never fall back
Never let fall the great Union Jack
We'll never spend Euros or be the 51st state
Cos Goddammit We're proud to be of the Britain thats Great.
Would we stand up for our nation and fight
If ever the call of war knocks on our door
Would every true Brit rush to the fore
It swells my heart, with pride it is filled.
For our Pride in our Country we'd fall as her shield
Stand shoulder to shoulder as one on the field.
With our blood if it bought just one more free day
Now that is a price we would willingly pay.
We're the contemporary Patriots, Churchills' legacy
We'd defend our our family, surrender? heresy!
We may not be in redcoats, or be in the armed forces.
But We'd lead the first charge, just give us the horses.
We'd never surrender We'd Never fall back
Never let fall the great Union Jack
We'll never spend Euros or be the 51st state
Cos Goddammit We're proud to be of the Britain thats Great.
bincola bincola
11
3
Literature
Evil Beyond Recognition
I am the follower, of tyrants, of Hatred...
A killer, a liar, a cheat...
Yet to me these are but the ethics of survival.
I am but a pawn in the life's work of my great leader.
I am unaware that my purpose is to assail,
To assail all that my leader deems to be destitute.
My conscious pleads for me to return in innocence,
Yet my routine, so daily, is altered and mannered,
Controlled by Virile propaganda,
so apocryphal is the pledge by which I must abide.
But a Boy I once was, and a boy I still am,
a child stolen from under my feet,
is never stolen from my psyche.
Eventually I must abandon whatever
innocence I've left behind.
I am the boot prints and bullet holes along the spectral countryside.
the bloodshed unshaken by the endless sugarcoating.
I am the dedicated soldier, and my uniform is decorated with famine and genocide.
My leader's is of treason and Evil beyond recognition.
My face in History is deeply imprinted,
Among the shades of the Third Reich.
within the Borders of North Korea
A killer, a liar, a cheat...
Yet to me these are but the ethics of survival.
I am but a pawn in the life's work of my great leader.
I am unaware that my purpose is to assail,
To assail all that my leader deems to be destitute.
My conscious pleads for me to return in innocence,
Yet my routine, so daily, is altered and mannered,
Controlled by Virile propaganda,
so apocryphal is the pledge by which I must abide.
But a Boy I once was, and a boy I still am,
a child stolen from under my feet,
is never stolen from my psyche.
Eventually I must abandon whatever
innocence I've left behind.
I am the boot prints and bullet holes along the spectral countryside.
the bloodshed unshaken by the endless sugarcoating.
I am the dedicated soldier, and my uniform is decorated with famine and genocide.
My leader's is of treason and Evil beyond recognition.
My face in History is deeply imprinted,
Among the shades of the Third Reich.
within the Borders of North Korea
GrubbsWriting GrubbsWriting
4
2
Newest Members
Affiliates
PadmeAmidalaArts
AvatarArts
NarutoShippuudenArts
NewLiteratureGroup
Everyone Starts Somewhere
LineartsArts
thanks for stopping by :)
You're not here because you're not logged in
Admins
|
The fabulous people here to help you! Feel free to ask us any questions or talk to us about concerns. For more information who you should speak to reguarding who to contact- please visit our Team Roles Page |
It looks like this group is inactive. I'm trying to kickstart a few new writing groups. Check them out if you're interested.
Story-Specters
This is a writing critique group. It works off of a give-one get-one basis. Folders are routinely emptied to ensure critique requests are from active members.
Write-Fantasy
A Fantasy Literature showcase! Find fantasy writers or display your work. This group is organized by subgenre and offers dedicated folders for members' chaptered works.
Prompt-Write
New writing prompts every month!
***If this group is still active, sorry, and feel free to hide this comment
My price for one code is (by your choice):
Please note me if you want to trade!
i have werewolf stories, (sci fic) anthro stories and fanfictions about it
If im correct here can you make a sci fic folder or werewolf -anthro folder?
goinghigherstories.weebly.com/
Again please check it out and enjoy yourself as you submerge into my world.