I just love opening
Unlabelled packages
Wondering what treasures await inside.
Gold, Jewellery, Dubloons,
Fortune just a few creaks away.
Of course, there’s always the fear
That it will be full of jumping spiders.
I wrote this in 1 minute, 29 seconds.
It probably shows.
-Tomo
I dreamt of the shade of the ironworks.
drinking from the dank of an oil drum,
wiping it, slick and black, from my face,
coating my hands. i saw trains passing,
hooting wildly at my war-torn, emaciated flesh,
coughing smoke from their ten-thousand-cigarette a day habit.
I smelled the fire that my people warmed their hands with,
dirty and grimy, mixed with sweat and blood and shit,
licking their fingers, whatever might be left on the cracked bones,
laughing at old tales. Their stories
left them warmer than the booze or the fire,
spelunking in the cold and windless embrace of night,
tripping over wires and rocks and fences,
beaten by empty-pocketed brothers with knives and two-by-fours,
their long hair caught in fans in strangers’ apartments.
I remember hopping a train once to the delta,
the only thing on my mind a draught from
the dirty, grey water, cool and sweet, thick and rich,
watching the boats putter by, beyond the grimy banks.
-rise
still tentative, pending massive editing
Start a piece with the word ‘or’. Go on, just try to.
Bonus points if it doesn’t start with a character saying something, midsentence.
(This is based on someone, but the situation just came to mind when I was looking at the picture.)
I tried to tell myself to be calm. I could hear my heart beating in my ears, and I had a suspicion that the red behind my eyelids wasn’t entirely from the sunlight. I lifted my hand to my forehead and turned towards that light, trying to let its warmth sooth me. I had to force myself to stop thinking altogether, but eventually the beats began to steadily slow.
I breathed out, opening my eyes and looking back at the note in my hands. There was a thumb-shaped tear in it where I was currently holding it.
Meet me at the Chez Pierre at 1:00PM. I have something special for you.
Love,
Eric
It was not Eric’s handwriting.
The bells of the restaurant door signaled that someone was entering. Damien walked in, and the sight of him made all the anger and frustration and annoyance come flooding back, cancelling out the relative calm I had achieved. He looked right at me, seemingly searching my face for something. Surprise? Shock? The annoyance kicked up a notch. Did he really think I was stupid enough not to realize he had written it? I knew his handwriting; we’d written each other love notes, once upon a time. Once upon a time before the illusion had come crashing down and I had realized that fairy tales don’t exist.
I gave him a cold glare, not willing to provide him with the pleasure of a stronger reaction.
He sat down across from me nervously. He was avoiding my eyes by inches.
He dropped his head lower in a sudden movement. “I’m sorry.”
Not sorry enough. I said nothing.
“It was the only way I could think of to see you again.”
The silence dragged on as I glared. He looked up at me expectantly. The annoyance shot through the roof. He lived in his own little world where everything he wanted to be true was true. For example, in his world, I wanted to talk to him.
In reality, I wanted to scream at him.
A question forced its way to my lips, only because I knew it would allow me to get out of here faster. “What do you want?” Each syllable was individual, clear, and low.
Damien looked at the table, letting the silence last a few moments. “A second chance,” he replied quietly.
I gritted my teeth and gripped the seat so I would not act on my insane, irrational anger. I could feel the note, still in my left hand, ripping again under the force. “You mean your fourth?” I asked incredulously.
He looked up and stared at me. He said nothing.
I placed the now-shredded note in front of him on the table and got up. I had to leave; how else was I going to resist throttling him?
“Wait,” he called after me, getting out of his seat as well.
I whipped my head around to glare at him, stopping only because I wanted to somehow make it fully clear to him that I didn’t want to deal with him ever again.
“I love you,” he said.
He probably thought he sounded sincere.
Despite the desire to explain to him that he loved me like an object to be possessed rather than a human being, I reached further and found a reply that I knew would hurt him more. “I don’t care.” When the words were out, I felt myself smile in a sick way. I let the words sink in for a moment, watching the apparent hurt on his face. “I’m sure you don’t remember this, in that mind of yours where you are perfect,” I said quietly, “but you once responded in the exact same way.”
Damien shook his head. “I’m different now. I changed.”
Anger flooded over me, threatening to explode into screams and violence. I slammed my eyes shut, trying not to drown in the red. I could feel myself beginning to shake.
He must have taken my attempt at repressing rage as something much less dangerous, because he was suddenly there, hands on my arms, whispering my name. I jerked away from him, eyes still closed. He caught my hand for a moment. “Please… Will you be mine again?” he asked.
I ripped my hand from his. “Never,” I said in a shaky whisper. I wanted to scream the word, over and over, to beat it into him, to make sure he knew just how much the answer to his question was always going to be no. “Get over yourself,” I said, my voice still shaking with my rage but firmer and louder now. I turned away from him before opening my eyes, not wanting to even look at him. I threw open the restaurant door and began walking down the sidewalk.
It wasn’t long before I had to stop walking. I quickly pulled my hair back, fell to the ground, and vomited.
When my stomach was empty, so was I. The hollow feeling wasn’t pleasant, but I preferred it to the rage and hate. I lowered myself to the ground and laid on the sidewalk.
I had to forgive him. I couldn’t live with just the thought of him always evoking these feelings in me. I had to forgive him. But how could I?
I couldn’t understand him. I couldn’t put myself in his shoes. I couldn’t fathom how someone could be so delusional, so dead-set on making himself miserable.
And then I began to wonder why I had even showed up at the restaurant, knowing it was going to be him. Knowing he would only make me miserable.
Was I so delusional to believe that telling him the way I saw things was going to help me?
He wanted to world to adjust to fit his standards. I could understand that. The real world was fucked up in so many ways. Who wouldn’t want to change that?
But he wasn’t sorry. Not really. I was going to have to accept the fact that he likely never would be.
“If he’s not sorry, that’s his problem,” I could hear Eric saying. “You don’t have to worry about it. He’ll never hurt you again.” I could almost feel the way his arms would wrap around me. “And if he does, I’ll break his face, of course.”
I smiled, despite everything.
I could forgive him, maybe.
I suddenly became aware of the ring of faces above me. A small crowd was forming, concerned about the fact that I was lying on the sidewalk in the middle of the day. I sat up, blinking.
“Ma’am, are you alright?” a nearby man asked.
“Yes,” I replied in earnest. I smiled, got up, and continued walking like nothing had happened.
-Star
Midday Jitters
rivers of light,
lulling, tying knots
in my stomach.
coffee anhydrous. drink
drought, i thought
i told you to come at three?
i’m sick of this tin table
this wide window, my heart
pounding in my chest.
midday jitters.
i don’t know if i like it. the ending is too messy.
-rise
(photo credit: Skullofsilver - flickr)
I don’t know how well this will lend itself to writing, but I figured Id let you all give it a shot!
We Are.
Stealthy streaks,
dripping, falling, tracing,
drying.
Winds rush.
we fall.
we live.
we are,
gone.
Pushed to the side,
we are forgotten.
Slowly we fade,
into the light.
But we return,
when skies grow dark
and clouds grow heavy.
We fall again.
its about raindrops on a windshield. (: Sorry about its mediocrity!
-DANGitsVero
this is pretty rough, but hell.
how to swim
it snakes and crawls
wet beneath your dusty skin.
shawls of ancient world,
like your withered bone,
your empty eyes. flaking
nails, teeth clenching
into a weathered, woven belt:
needles push and shove their way
into muscle, atrophied, by
way of years past, lusts long
dead. carnations grow
beneath your skin, full
of flushed, hot blood, dirty
with age and fear.
-rise
I don`t know if I interpreted this right, but this is what I got from it :P
dipped
into the dark.
drowning in the
all consuming
blackness.
i yearn for air,
like Leander in the
Hellespont.
i turn, tumble, lose
my way;
life is a whirl
around me.
you reach out to me,
take me from the
darkness.
pull me out.
and lay me onto the
cool white ground,
simply to be discarded later;
The stir-stick good
for nothing but your
Coffee
— discordany
I love me and he loves him
We got together on a whim
And tore each other’s heart to pieces
With words; and never with our fists
But pride was hurt, too much to bear
And so our compromise was this:
I gave him my attention so
He’d give me his; we were at peace
And odd to think that now sometimes
I wish that this would never cease
But still, I only think of me
And him the same; we’re meant to be.
- Star
