Wow, it has been a REALLY long time. After a very long dry spell of no writing, I've finally decided to put down a story that has been floating around in my head for a couple years. It is most definitely not my best work, so any sort of feedback would be appreciated, but it is very good to be writing again. This is the first page. If people like it/I finish it (a rare thing, but I have hope), I'll be putting up the rest!
Warning: Some mature topics/language (not in this one, really, but later especially)
The first time I saw Raquel Davis she was nothing more than a flawless honey-colored ponytail bouncing in front of me as we ran around the cross country track. I was duly impressed, both by the ponytail and by the tiny pair of shorts she managed to pull of with confidence. I myself lacked the confidence and the know-how to pull off either; instead, my shorts were adequate length, and my ponytails drooped down the back of my neck, pieces of them flying out around my ears. Read more »
Big Picture South Burlington
I remember my grandmother telling me stories of the surface. When I was younger, without my own children, I would sit by her side watching the fish swim pass my biofield helmet, and listen to her talk for hours.
She told me that mother Earth had begun heating, and that it was irreversible. I remember not understanding why that was. It didn’t make sense that my ancestors were incapable of reversing their mistakes, if they could create such wonderful technology. She explained to me that Homo sapiens had damaged our planet to the point of no return, because they were selfish, and had disconnected themselves from nature.
When my generation came along the title of "human" began to mean different things then it once did. I remember looking at her toes and wondering if sometimes she felt unnatural down here. She belonged to the land and I, one of the first homo ichthyoid’s, belonged to the sea. My toes were webbed to match my hands. At times I wished for gills, and other times I thought about cutting my webbing's. Read more »
“Hurry up, will you, we’re going to get caught.” A low voice hissed from behind me as my fingers fumbled with the lock. It’s very hard to concentrate when four people are breathing down your neck. My hands were sweaty as, clumsily, I stuck the paperclip in the lock, and it opened with a faint but satisfying click. Bruce, the boy who had asked me to do this ,shoved past me, making me fall to the ground. He pushed open the door. The three boys behind followed him into the small room. Wheeling around, Bruce turned to the boy on his left, the one who had hurried me before.
“ You said it was in here, Aiden!” Bruce said angrily
“ It was when I was here before, and anyway, I still say it’s too risky. Let’s just get out of here while we can.” Aiden answered, a hint of fear flickering in his eyes.
From my place on the ground, I could hear everything they said, but that didn’t help me in understanding them. I had no idea what they were talking about. Read more »
“Ohhh god.....” Sighed Steven, collapsing down into bed.
Stevens girlfriend cuddles up from behind him and asked the mandatory, “Rough day at the clinic?”
“Ha, that’s one way to put it.”
“Is it the stress getting to you? Or is it someone specific?”
Dian’s thoughtful words were comforting as always to Steven, but it seemed to him something else lay behind them. Possibly guilt, he diagnosed. He decided that he’s address it later.
“Well there’s this one guy, he’s really just a pain in the ass, I guess.” Steven’s heart rate quickened ever so slightly thinking about it, and Dian took notice, giving his hand a comforting squeeze.
Steven continued, “This guy is so frustrating to work with. I can deal with mental issues, I mean, I completely understand him, but it’s just such a rare case. It’s defiantly schizophrenia, no doubt about it, but this specific guy just seems like he was designed for some sort of final exam back at... School.”
Dian nodded encouragingly, showing far too many signs of guilt for his liking. What had she been up to? Doesn’t she know she can’t get away with anything while dating a psychologist? Maybe she’s cheating.
“Steven?” She asked, breaking the extended silence.
Steven decided to keep going with his story anyway. “Right, sorry. As I was saying, this specific schizophrenic patient of mine seems like too perfect a case. This guy, along with having countless imaginary “friends,” actually believes that he’s a psychologist.” Read more »
Hello my once-lost-twice-loved-never-found dear,
I like the lilt of your name as it falls and rises
like waves under the pull of
the crescent moon
and I like it even more than
because the latter does not make me
like names do.
Because I am porcelain
and I am a friend-person-nonpartaker-of-silly-love-stories,
but I am a girl who dreams of
and I crack easier than eggshells that are off-eggshell-white
or china teacups with my rouge-tinted-lipstick-stains.
So hold my heart and let it dance
or never take it and let it fly
like birds that flutter,
especially in these autumn days,
because you, my dear, are an amalgamation of
colors and emotions and feelings
like after-sunset skies,
only those invoke a certain happiness
that your ambiguity gently takes away.
Shards can always be melded back together,
but those who play with porcelain
will always live with the wounds and
I started the year off in a Holocaust Studies class, which I eventually omitted from my schedule due to a multitude of reasons---nevertheless, the topic manages to fascinate me to all extents. I'm incredibly saddened by every event, but each story is so compelling. Anne Frank, of course, sparks my interest the most---the way that a girl like me faced all this. It reminds me to be grateful for life, for each breath. I've been reading some stories about the Holocaust, so this was inspired by it. I think I may continue it to a broader story, but that would require some more mental strength.
More late night ramblings, inspired by e.e. cummings. poetry is still a newish feeling to me; rather, not as familiar as it used to be.
lost, i am lost,
i am a wandering soul
in a mist,
i gasp in the fog,
entangled in my own web
i smell rainy
when the stars would
and you are not
what the stars said you
you are not
by red-rose lacy fingers
not inspired rolling hills
that roll endlessly
[and i am
but a wanderer]
There once were four men, all in training for a trade. One aspired to be a philosopher, another to enter the army, one wished to become a clergyman, and the fourth desired to be a comedian. They were all close friends who share a large house out in a rural area, and they were all faced with a problem. The comedian was murdered, he lay dead in the kitchen. It was evening, and no one had come or gone from the house all day. No one had driven by the house, and the door remained locked. The three friends gather in the dining room for a discussion on the matter.
The soldier started, "Whoever did it has cut the telephone lines, and we have no way to contact the police without driving all the way into town."
"But," Countered the Philosopher, "The murderer is obviously amongst us. Who else would have all day to cut the phone lines? And no one has entered or left this house all day! If we let someone go into town, we might just be letting the murderer free." Serious looks were past all around the table, as each considered the others.
The clergyman thought to himself. I'm surrounded by a man of violence, and one of thought. Who else should I suspect but the soldier? So the clergyman's eyes turned to the soldier.
The soldier thought to himself. A man of the cloth would never be moved to violence, and that leaves only the philosopher. And so the soldier's eyes turned to the philosopher. Read more »
Hey guys, I got this prompt from Ciel, and I thought it would be really fun to write this, so here you go. I wrote note before I wrote the piece, so I don’t know how long it will be, but I have the feeling that it will be pretty long. I might use mature language, but I’m not sure. Thanks for reading it! ~zeus
EDIT: I think I’ll be putting this up in parts, so I’ll give you the first part now, and then go to sleep. Probably get you guys the next couple of parts tomorrow. I think its gonna be pretty different from what Ciel had originally, but I got the original idea off the prompt she posted. ~zeus
(any idea for better titles?)
The First Monday
I was sitting at my desk, with my feet up on a pile of papers, the obligatory cigarette in my hand, when he knocked at my door. I sat for a moment longer, still absorbing the headline of the Daily News, before I responded.
“Come in.” Read more »
Basically, I listened to this song about fifty times in a row and started thinking in melancholy Sunset Boulevard cliches.
Holly Wood is poker-faced androgyny,
reality bound like double-ds flattened by
all flash and wit,
smoke and mirror,
fools' gold chipped to reveal
the disappointment of granite.
Her dress is cut too low,
fouled by cigarettes' dripping ash.
She promenades those gilded hills,
catches tragedy sucking face
under every busted streetlight;
in the midnight speakeasies, she
ogles those immortal newlyweds,
anguish and joy.
Wearing her jewels like
a second skin,
she patrols the moonlit alleys.
At sunset, she shimmies up the stairwell
and waits for her lonesome star to rise.
She watches men fall apart in her
hands and her sex
puts them back together
but only for a moment:
only until the bucks and moans
have shaken them loose again.
She rocks them to sleep with hands
like lace that might as well be steel
and fondles her dirty pearls when
they drop off,
waiting to hear them beg.
"Don't leave, don't leave"; their murmurs
set the cadence of the night, deliver
control straight to her lacy hands,
and she smiles: Forever is her
favorite word. Full of inflated
nothing. Pregnant with hot air.
A word that without the weight
of lust might float away, her
hard-earned pearls on the wing.
"I don't usually kiss," she tells
each one, "but for you, I make an
The coldest night in all of town
Was on the last day of November.
When I was driving to see my ma & pa;
I bet you remember.
I was turning the corner, into their lane,
Then I got a surprise
A woman in a sleek black car
came speeding in front of my eyes.
She crashed into my car at full force Read more »
I first met Skit on a cloudy day in the park. Our meeting was, to be frank, unremarkable; I'm sure I'll come to forget it in the coming years.
I was sitting on the swing set, dragging my toes trough the gravel as I drifted inactively back and forth. Skit approached wordlessly, sat on the swing beside mine, and offered up a name. I didn't even notice Skit until I heard that voice - slightly feminine, but ever so husky. From day one I never knew whether Skit was a boy or a girl. I don't think Skit knew either. I know neither one of us gave one single fuck. Read more »
I base my theorems on the times you could have cried,
but mostly on the times that I lied, and my
calendar coded continuum of you is
tied up in the things that I think you'd say or Read more »
previously: Read more »
previously: The Columbus effect prologue part 2
[Come on, you guys! Get writing. Don't let gg & me be the only ones squabbling over a bag of M&M's, here.
A rocky beach. Somewhere on the northeastern coast. Seagulls, of course. Read more »
The War Chief: Harit
I slowly open my eyes to see bright sunlight streaming through the window and landing right on Haulim's back. I just sit there, watching the slow rise and fall of her breath. Her halo of golden hair splayed out around her head, giving the appearance that she is the sun. I carefully tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear and her breathing quickens.
She slowly opens her eyes and smiles tiredly at me.
"Good morning, darling." She says softly. Read more »
I want to write about you but you'd say I shouldn't.
I want you to write about me but I know you wouldn't.
It's just the way things are, like the way
my brown music bag is beginning to fray
and I lie when I write an essay
and the light spins from behind the hill every day
and I wish that you didn't just want to walk away- Read more »
Hey people! I'm back. I have been extremely busy writing boarding school application essays, and have had no time for YWP. I'll be a lot more active starting in January. This piece comes from a though I'm having about my life so far and what boarding school will be like. Sorry if this gets angsty. I am writing straight from the thoughts I was having at the moment and I'm not going to tone it down for anyone who thinks it's too angsty. Got that? Read more »