God's Gift"I'm disappointed in you two." he stuttered. He sat in a spinning stool behind a wood and worn desk. In front of him sat two girls on a blue sofa. One gazed into her own lap, the other stared down the man. The braver of the two scowled, oblivious to the fact that she was acting impolite to a priest.
"Why? It's not like we're sleeping with each-other." she spat, and the other girl covered her own mouth.
"Please be careful, I-I don't want to get in trouble..." she whispered, and the other girl turned to her with a look of concern.
"We've done nothing wrong. Don't worry." she rubbed the girl's back, dagger eyes focused on the man. He coughed forcefully, eyes just as sharp as her own. His hands closed together, and he tightened them as the girl kissed the other girl's cheek. The shy girl had tears rolling down her cheeks, and the robust one mumbled comforts to her.
"You're sinning." he informed, voice firm. The shy girl whimpered, and the other turned to the man, a look of disgust in her e
MemoriesShe watched him go, before he paused, and she wondered why. Why he was leaving, but mostly why she stood back to allow him to do so. But how could she stop him? Blocking his path would only delay him, and make her wait for recovery longer. Could she be patient enough for that? Maybe it'd be worth it, just to look at him one last time. After all was done, she wouldn't be able to face him again without being dragged back into this sick game.
"I don't understand..." she said, only managing to speak slightly above a whisper. He was still close enough to hear her. He flinched, as if to turn to face her, but did nothing. He couldn't face her, then. She shouldn't have expected more. He wasn't any better than her. She wished she had someone to blame other than herself.
"I don't either. But what can we do?" he answered. His voice was quiet, restraining anger. How could he afford to be angry now? And at who?
"Nothing." she replied blankly. Should she be empty? At the moment, she couldn't tell wh
JuliaDo you know? Of the nights I stay up with toast and root beer, listening to 'Death Cab For Cutie' just because their songs sound like you; soft, sad and rough at the edges. Would you care if I told you?
Sometimes I ponder which season is my favorite, and I can't choose because you're warm like summer, but you always wear the colors of fall. If I could only decide, then I'd know if I preferred your full and warm smile to your shy and coaxed one.
You're so unsure, it makes me wonder what you search for. If you'd just tell me, I'd give it to you. Are you afraid that I'd judge your wishes? I wouldn't, as long as they came from your heart. That's the best part of you, because you've made me work to stay inside it.
I wish you'd stop thinking about your future, you're forgetting to enjoy the present. Then again, I'm not much better. I daydream of you in black and white, the whole thought being like an Audrey Hepburn movie; always a klutz and a teacher. I've played each role, but you're genera
The Soldier's Wife Tao"I'll come back for you." He kissed her hand, before quickly turning away and leaving. No goodbyes this time. They couldn't risk 'goodbye' being their last words to each-other. Last words should be meaningful, and leave you longing. Not empty.
He had forgotten to promise, she noticed a year later. 'I'll come back for you'. That could be a lie. What if he forgot about her? No, she told herself. He loved her. He couldn't forget. He'd feel guilty if he did, right? She forced herself to believe that he would. She forced herself not to cry.
Another year rolled by, slowly dragging it's feet, as if to lengthen her waiting. It was so hard to be patient. She hadn't even received a letter in months. Had he forgotten? She forced herself to believe in him, to trust him. 'I'll come back for you'...
Her tears stained the yellowed paper, streaming the ink that declared her husband to be missing. He couldn't go missing. Not when he knew that she was waiting for him. He'd come back. He had to. For her.
Just WaitShe sat at her small wooden table, sipping bitter coffee from her small porcelain mug. Why even own a two-person table if it only had one person to serve? She had even bought the two chairs that came with it...then again, she had expected the other chair to be filled. That didn't work out.
She loved him. She really loved him. As in, it wasn't just a crush. He was beautiful, inside and out, and amazing, and gentle. Almost perfect. But nothing's perfect.
He had been honest, told her that he couldn't handle a relationship at the moment. That he loved her. If only he could make 'them' work.
She sighed, stirring her coffee with a spoon for no particular reason but to figit. She was always thinking about him at this hour in the morning, and she certainly didn't know why. It was probably the empty chair. If only her thoughts would stop pestering, it gave her a headache, one that sometimes stayed all day.
Did he even care? Maybe he had made that all up, to make her feel better. Or to get her o
Forgiveness, Pass It On"In time, you'll forgive me." he had said all those years ago. She had never believed him. He was a coward, and one who didn't deserve forgiveness on any level. She had given so much just to see him smile...and he had thrown all her work away, simply because he was confused.
"It's just, when I look at us, I can't see me. I know I sound selfish, but I'd break you too with time, if you gave me any." She shouldn't ponder his words, not now. 'They' had happened so long ago. He shouldn't matter now, should he? Sometimes she thought that he didn't, that alone he was completely different; that all that had mattered was them.
"Goodbye." At least he had remembered to say goodbye. That meant that he wouldn't forget them. She shivered, and she wondered why, seeing as she felt so warm. He had loved her, hadn't he? He just couldn't be himself for her. That made sense, didn't it?
But he had left her. She wouldn't have minded being alone, if she didn't have to feel so lonely. Was he alone too? Or had
UntitledShe looked in the mirror, a hand covering her right cheek. Her eyes flashed away, but only momentarily. She regained her gaze with herself, wishing her head would cease it's judgment. She, overall, had the right to say whether she was decent to the eyes. No one else. After all, people tend to over-judge or under-judge others. She wasn't sure as to whether judgments on one's self were accurate, but they must be more accurate than his.
He was wrong. He didn't know her. Only she did. Didn't she? Of course she did. She slowly lowered her hand to cradle her lower lip. She was beautiful. Her family agreed, and her friends. Would people still love her if she wasn't? They would, she shouldn't be so stupid.
Still, she couldn't help but question. He had said he loved her. Then how could he be so cruel? She had already attempted telling herself that he was a liar. She didn't know why, but she just couldn't believe that.
Maybe he was right. Maybe he was even kind. What if he had attempted loving h
AzraelHe was just standing there, by the graffiti stained walls of a ghetto parking lot. It did not suit him at all, what with his blanca skin and raven lashes. This man was like a Roman god painting, dreadfully cut and paste unto a poor man's parking lot.
She was six and thought him to be a man of twenty two, just like her eldest cheerleader sister. Teddy bear still in hand and mother still busy searching for her car keys, she stood there, gaze steady, in awe of the young man's beauty.
It came as quite a shock to him when he noticed her eyes sparking, bright and full of life, looking at him. He let out a deep sigh and curled his pointer finger to signal her to come close, and she obeyed.
As she was walking closer, she noticed two more things: first, that this man had radiating white wings and second, diamond-like tears were falling from his eyes. When she asked him why he was crying, he answered, "I'm the person you go to if He finds it is time to bring you home, not just the person who pla
A writer conquers her villain"What are you doing? NO!"
The hooded figure doesn't falter. With far more brutality than is necessary he slams me into my chair, my hands jolting across the keyboard. Only his grip on my hair prevents me from smacking my head against the monitor.
I hesitate. I give my characters moments like this; times when they're too ashamed to do the thing that might save their lives. It's horrible. I'll never put them through that again.
"Your password, writer!"
Slowly, I place my fingers on the home row. Stroke the tiny raised tabs on F and J. Type out my password as quickly as possible.
My creation laughs.
Children's stories. If I ever open another Word document I swear it'll be to write about butterflies and daisies and little hopping bunny rabbits. Never again will I craft a monster.
My monster leans in close, the edge of his fabric hood brushing against my cheek. "Open it."
I don't need to ask. His story. He wants to change his story.
I pull it up on the screen, st
What is art?
'Describe what you call art'
To me art is something from the heart.
It's an embodiment of a vision,
It's a display of ambition.
An artist's work is never done,
Cause to the artist the work is only part of the fun.
An artist tries to show his emotions,
While sometimes hiding his true motions.
They say the eyes are the gate to the soul,
That's why an artist will never look foul.
They guide people through a world only they see,
A world filled with mountains, miracles, oceans and land seas.
So whenever somebody asks me: 'What is art?'
I do not only answer: "Something straight from the heart,
It's everything we know and that which we don't know.
It's hidden by the illusion of reality only certain people can see through."
The New World: Rebirth (TF, TG) (Part One)The dream started almost as soon as I closed my eyes. The first thing I saw was a white void. I looked around, hoping to see... something. I didn't know what. Everything felt weirdmy body was all tingly. I knew instantly that this wasn't a normal dream.
"...Hello?" I called out. I stepped forward, looking down. My footsteps seemed to create a kind of ripple effect on the ground below, which was this kind of Translucent light platform. I blinked-- I heard voices echoing throughout the white landscape. "...You're early~". It was a feminine voice-- unfamiliar. I tilted my head, and turned around. "W-Who are you?" I said, worried.
"My dear... I'll be seeing you very soon. And you'll be seeing me. I can feel it. The wheels of fate are turning." The voice said. I was about to call out a response-- but the dream quickly faded to black.
I jerked awake in my bed, panting a little. Okay, I say bed; it was really a sleeping bag, on the floor. I rolled over, checking the time on the clock th
Secretary - TGThere was a button beneath Leonardo's desk. He'd noticed it a few minutes ago, for the first time, upon reaching under his desk. He'd found it by accident, chasing a dropped pen; it had fascinated him since, distracting him from his work every time he'd directed his eyes at the cluttered mass of papers amassed on the cherry wood. Everything did that, though; work was just too boring.
The button, though, was special; or Leonardo told himself it was. It was a button; a red button, placed beneath his desk without his foreknowledge, just primed for an accidental touch; it filled his imagination with possibilities, straight from his artwork. Perhaps it was a secret button; capable of turning men into women. Perhaps it shot a call to the police; or some secret agents, who had been tied to the last owner of his desk. Perhaps his desk had some amazing, legendary ex owner; despite the fact that he had bought it new.
His fingers clutched at his knee caps, resisting the urge to crawl forward and
Mecchen House - Chapter 19-1Chapter 19 – The Black and White of Mecchen
A strange stillness followed. I slowed my breathing and set my legs. I watched the darkness for any changes. It felt like it was slowly turning.
“It is too late for her and too late for you.”
“I’m not going to talk to you. I’m only going to stop you and get Ami back.”
It felt a bit of flame curl through arm. I held my arm out.
The darkness receded.
“You have no chance. No hope.”
I said nothing in return. I just turned slowly in the darkness, watching for any changes.
“She suffered as a human. I have released her. I will release you too.”
I turned at the source of the voice. Ami stood before me, hands at her side and dressed in white.
She bowed her head. I knew it wasn’t really her.
“Don’t fight. There is peace to be found here. Stay with me, and I’ll make you happy.”
I flailed at the image of Ami and it vanished like a mirage.
What Makes You BeautifulYour smile.
That's what makes your beautiful.
I Want YouI Want You
Wrap your body 'round mine.
Kiss me gently,
So I can feel your lips one last time.
Before the night ends,
I don't want you to go.
My life now depends,
On the love that you show.
Hold me tight,
Make our hearts beat fast.
Let your heat be my pure delight,
And let this silence last.
Embrace my soul,
Intoxicate the air with your sweet scent.
Make me whole,
Linger on my skin and allow no repent.
All we need is this moment,
The rest of the world we can ignore.
To me you are so fragrant,
Each other we can explore.
If you'd just try
Then maybe we'd get somewhere!
Until then I'll just ask why,
Why you don't seem to care.
SheThere is one aspect of human culture which has always surprised me to the point of amusement: you believe wholeheartedly, or so your many representations and adaptations of me would suggest, that Death is a man. Each time I collect a soul I cannot help but chuckle as they stare dumbfounded at the swell of a bosom beneath my robe.
(A robe, I feel I should add, that is white and not black. My job can be miserable enough; I have no need to drape myself in such a drab shade.)
Fear not, reader. I am not about to bore you with a hearty feminist rant, it does not bother me never has and never will that my job has been assumed as a male role. After all, everything you think you know about me is wrong, so how can I take offence at something which is so far from me?
I must admit, I cackled most when I learned of the scythe I supposedly carry everywhere. Do you know how many people die within an hour? I would be worn out if I had to carry such a ghastly, heavy thing ar
obituary"He died, peacefully,
in his sleep."
Tell me, how
can you possibly know that?
You don't know
what death is any more
than I do. How do you
know he wasn't
wide awake; thrashing and gasping
in the dark?
Hoping and praying - pleading
with fate - for just
a little while longer.
one more year so
that he can walk
his daughter down the aisle
and watch his son
one more year so
he and his wife - his childhood
sweetheart - can celebrate
forty years of marriage.
one more year so
he can escape the terror
that is death. But,
what do I know?
Someone else will be lying
upon me tomorrow - upon
the last resting place
of a dying man - and he,
the patient of yesteryear,
will be nothing
but a false memory
to soothe the loved ones
of those taken,
from my care.
Taking A StandRobyn Feeney pushed her short auburn hair behind her ears as she glanced up from her book. She saw a group of boys sitting at one of the far tables across the library, all of which were looking over their shoulders at her. She had been listening to them as they snickered quietly amongst each other, their efforts to remain discreet futile. The leader of the pack, Garth West, whispered a few words to his posse and Robyn cocked her head slightly so she could listen. She was able to make out the words "Teeny Feeney". She wasn't surprised by this. This had been her label since she was in the eighth grade, brought about by her small size and quite nature. She hadn't grown much since then, so the nickname stuck with her through the years. She was now a senior in high school and she was still taunted by that stupid label on a daily basis.
Ignoring them, she focused on her book once again, blocking out their belittling conversation and instead treating herself to a tale of adventure and magic.
Light of hopeThe water fially seemed to have stopped rising. My family and
I were relived that Katrina was showing signs of calming. We
were running low on food and water. It did not help that ten
year old son, James, was sick. Soon after, maybe a week later,
his three year old sister, Emily, also was becomeing sickly.
As I looked through the window the sun broke through the clouds
and bathed what was left of our house in light. At that moment
I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time. I felt hope.
Not Like the Movies"Vampires do not sparkle!"
"How the hell would you know!"
Half an hour later Rosie left the body in a back alley, licked the remnants of blood from her fangs and, with a satisfied smile, rejoined the night life on the streets.
of Heathcliff in that
Anne found herself
by the window
and Mr Rochester bled
screams on the stair.
I love this room
as my brother loved
his drink. It damages
that which remains
of this family
to be so surrounded
of those we
ache to see.
Father writes letters
next door, and I
long for my sisters;
the missing parts
I imagine their
mimicking my own.
I try to remember
Emily's curls and
Anne's sweet smile;
the way they walked
around our home.
It scares me
that I can picture
neither, for both
are now beneath
I go on walking,
walking on alone.
The Devil's HourThere was an empty space in the blankets beside her and she shivered; cold and alone in the dark. Hand fumbling through the pile of food wrappers beside her pillow, she managed to find Damon's phone. 3:03am according to the screen, though she had to squint through her smudged eyeliner to read the digits; the brightness made her eyes water.
She gently tossed the phone aside with a groan, hearing it rustle its way through the pile of rubbish, and dropped her face against her pillow. It was too late or early for this. Where had he gone this time?
Still half asleep, she stumbled from their makeshift bedroom, the bridge of her nose creasing against the smell of damp, and cursed when she stubbed her big toe on a protruding nail.
Next time they decided to squat somewhere, she was going to choose the place.
It was only a small house, and she soon found him in the little room
Coyote EnvyJeremy Driggers didn't just love coyotes. He envied them. He wanted to be one, and gradually grew less and less guarded about it. He drew coyotes in his notebooks in class. He watched Warner Bros. cartoons and rooted against The Road Runner. He wrote letters to the editor defending coyotes going through garbage cans in suburbia.
Jeremy wasn't very outgoing in or out of class, so no one paid much mind to him or his coyotes. He wore coyote T-shirts to class and even put a tail hole through a pair of pants, but no one asked him about it. At night, rather than socialize, he would lie outside and stare at the sky, obsessing about being a coyote.
This continued from high school into college. Jeremy signed up for several clubs where he hoped to meet like-minded individuals, but they never came at it from the same angle. They cared about camping and hunting, or endangered species, or Native American culture. No one else expressed interest in becoming a coyote, so he wasn't about to volunteer i
Mecchen House Chapter 20-2Chapter 20 - Hitomi & Akiko - Cont.
Though her answer tripped me up a little, it actually made the most sense. And it also told me she had knowledge of not only Brookville but of what I did in my own room.
I challenged her with this supposition and said, “I assume this means those three figures were…?”
“The images of my sisters.”
A straight answer.
I pressed my hands together. “Alright. Why…? Why would I put those figures of… sisterly forms… in my room?”
It wasn’t fully clear to me where I was leading this. I wondered about Jamie’s hypothesis that this girl just had the wrong trio. Perhaps there was some way to poke holes in her own assumptions and ultimately set things right.
“They were reminders. Shaky fragments of memory. I learned from them in making my own.” Hitomi’s gaze lingered low with distance to her words. It seemed almost like she was in a trance.
ClawsWait...don't go. I'm sorry. Don't you trust me? It was an accident. I didn't mean...to hurt. Please. Come back. I'll be more careful. It's just...the claws. Not me. I would never, ever...would I? I do own the claws, true, but still....it was them. I just own them. It's not my fault. I had to. Please. If I hadn't, I would have...lost them. I need them. They love me. Can't you see?...I just carry out it's wishes. But, it's okay now. I'm done, well, they are. For now. You're safe. Why...don't you believe me? I'm sorry. But I can't stop. Nor can I tell you their reasoning. They won't let me. I wish I could, though. But it'll be worth it, you'll see. They need me too...so they can stay with me. They need sacrifice, to know I'm worthy. I'm sorry...please don't cry.