The NameOn the eve of Tvesa's death, people couldn't recall her name. The townsfolk examined her corpse closely and rechristened her as Rubia. And thereby, our town of shadows had a new member. Rubia.The Name3 years ago in Literature More Like This
My acquaintance with Tvesa had been simple. We were born into the same town. This town. I still live in. An assemblage of congested places. Of many houses. And their windows. If you had to meet the sun, you had to be on the roofs. The sun-rays never penetrated beyond that. The lanes and by-lanes of our town were always a mingling of overlapping shadows. Shadows that went right through your skin. Poured in through your eyelids, even when they wer
Red SidewalksFlame is a girl who likes writing poems on her palms.Red Sidewalks3 years ago in Literature More Like This
She writes wishes on them, too, and wouldn't wash them for days until her aunt shoves them under a running faucet and scrubs them clean until Flame cries.
Mommy, Daddy I
didn't mean to
She loves drawing as much as writing, and etches family portraits on to the side walk until the rain comes from the heavens, and it becomes far too obvious what that red line above their heads are for. The little girl survives, every time. All smiles with a silver crown, she stands alone under an over-turned plastic box. S
Flame and AshFor the Flame and Ash Short Story and Poetry Contest. Approx. 1500 words. Summary: There must be balance, always.Flame and Ash3 years ago in Literature More Like This
Flame is riding the bus when the man across the aisle looks up from his magazine and begins to stare at her. She ignores him. She is trying to decide where to start with this city; so far, she's seen half a hundred places, open doorway hearths leading to rooms with windows painted shut. She smiles, imagining smoke filling those rooms, glass breaking onto the sidewalk below. White towels waving, I'm here. The buildings pass, their brick and stone gro
Of flame and ashWhen people think of a fire goddess, they think of Pyra, the nymph who dances in the flames. She wears them like a dress - wreathing her, making her skin glow. Her features are simple but pretty, fire dancing in her eyes and her hair as she wriggles and twists in the grate.Of flame and ash3 years ago in Literature More Like This
They do not think of me, Cinis, because I do not look like a goddess to them. Pyra may rejoice in the fire, but it answers to me. I am its mistress; it is my bidding that sends it blazing to destroy everything in its path; my words that summon it out of hell and kindle it in dark places.
But could I do so untouched? No. For fire does not wear a leash. It rages around its
Without WarningIt cameWithout Warning2 years ago in Literature More Like This
All of a sudden
A vision, an omen
Of anguish and pain
A wasteland, grey landscape
All burnt down to ashes
Drowned in the dark
Then cities and people
Prey to the flames
Planes over their heads
Casting shadows of death
A celestial gift
Their uranium rain
Two eyes on the future,
Two eyes on the past
Sharing one same curse and fate:
Yesterday in flames
Tomorrow to ashes
Destruction and hate
Are all they can see
Lead but to one grave.
I Burn Out Hard, Like a SparkI used to be beautiful once.I Burn Out Hard, Like a Spark3 years ago in Literature More Like This
There was a time when I was loved. I was cherished, prized and valued. You wouldn't think so looking at me now. I sit here, horrible, ugly, disfigured, unwanted, unloved. But back then, I was something.
Not that long ago, I was a thing to behold. I sat in my place, respected and revered, while many gazed upon my beautiful visage. They would travel from far away lands to be enraptured at my striking beauty. Modesty was no option for me. I swelled with pride at the smallest glance, the tiniest slice of attention. As I sat in my place of honour, I felt like all was right in the world and that nothing could ever tea
Of Ash and FlameA wonder. A mystery. Was it ever truly known, the correlation between death and the disposed? It crackles and burns, peeling away at layers of pain. A wonder of ages to see the crooked crown on the scornful head. Could you explain the relationship of woes and worries, the care that goes too far on a dissatisfied heart?Of Ash and Flame2 years ago in Literature More Like This
The spice of life for only those who are dead, fearing that their eyes might become home to the fiery furnace of Hell itself. A blank expression on a mottled face makes even the hardest of hearts grow cold with despair. Is there any hope? A joining of happiness to the sorrow and pain that comes from the bond of ind
Flame and AshMonster.Flame and Ash2 years ago in Literature More Like This
The faintest whispers of accusation still hang in the air. The word wraps itself around her slender neck, coiled and tight, like a snake: fangs bared and ready to strike. She lets its venomous teeth sink into her chest, sending poison straight towards her non-existent heart. It vanishes as a wisp of smoke rises.
She ignores him. Before her, the warehouse is ablaze, bright orange fire eating every brick and plywood. It is a beautiful sight. A smile forms on her cracked, bleeding lips: a smile of triumph as the sweet taste of vengeance spreads. Who is there to challenge her? Not even they can. She remembers them st
JudgementalJudgemental3 years ago in Literature More Like This
Walking down the sidewalk you near a man,
wrinkles below his eyes, and veins on the back of his hands.
Hunched posture and short, frilled strides.
Holding his defenseless arms up by his sides.
Make eye contact and smile,
continue walking awhile.
Step after step, no destination.
Time after time, no duration.
As you walk, you near a man again,
black sweatshirt, pocket has his hand.
Fearless frown, not willing to move his line of sight.
Head slightly tilted back, with lips held tight.
As he gets close, you look away inattentively.
Yet, your peripheral attaches uncontrollably.
And, he passes; harmlessly. And you slowly stop,
Burning MoonI'd rather not say that these past years have been years of sadness. They were lonely years, mind you. They were the loneliest years that I've ever lived, but that's to be expected. I've lost all friends about myself, though. This will be the story of a little girl, one with bright hazel eyes and hair the colour of sunrise.Burning Moon2 years ago in Literature More Like This
Back before we met I worked as a travelling salesman. Others called me a con artist, a swindler, a cheat, a liar, an equivocator. Looking back on my life, I was all those things and more.
It was that line of work that brought me to Bankview, a town too small to be found on most maps. Those were always the best places to
I Believe.Growing up, being asked what you believe,I Believe.2 years ago in Literature More Like This
not knowing what to say.
Getting older, not believing in anything,
fear of being asked what you believe.
Not agreeing with what your parents believe,
hiding it from them.
Maybe I would be happier,
if I was raised to believe.
Maybe I'd be more social,
if I was raised to believe.
Maybe I'd be naive,
if I was raised to believe.
Refusing to follow the crowd of believers,
that don't know why they believe.
The crowd that believes,
only by what they were raised to believe.
Past beliefs.....daily human sacrifice,
crowds can't fathom it today.
But its all equally nonsense to me.