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Hard CandyThe last time I had gone to Liz's place, she must have had about a million pill bottles on her nightstand. She had had something for depression; something for anxiety; something for the schizophrenia some doctor at some point had been sure she would develop someday; and a ton for your everyday, run-of-the-mill crazies. No one could ever quite pinpoint the problem, but there was always a new drug to try, and Liz would try anything if there were a chance it would help. To that end, someone had told her to lay off the sweets, and someone else had told her to exercise each day, and she did. She did everything she was told to do to the best of her abilities, but she still seemed so miserable.
This visit was different, though. When I got to Liz's, I knocked on the door. We had made plans, but there was no answer. I took the key from under the welcome mat and let myself in. The apartment was dark; there was no Liz and there were no pills. Worried, I tried her cell phone.
"Hello?" she said.
Dying AloneIt's one of those weird sort of conversations you might have with your friends. The kind that just starts somehow. We're watching a movie and having some drinks when someone says "look, you can see the boom mic." Next thing I know the movie's paused and we're talking about dying alone.
Todd looks at usme and Markwith this look on his face like the thought of it just terrifies him; like he's never heard something so horrible in all his life. He's twenty-fourwe're all twenty-four, give or takeand he's been to war, seen people die, killed people himself; but it's this that puts that look on his face. When he realizes what he looks like, he shakes it off and says, "Yeah, man, dying alone sounds like it'd kinda suck."
Then we're silent for a minute or two.
Mark looks at us real sullen and says: "Grandpa stayed by Grandma's side till she took her last breath," and he takes a deep breath himself. "But Grandpa died alone in his armchair. No one even knew until Dad final
An Unorthodox Love LetterDear Melissa,
I'm writing to let you know just how wonderful I think you are. I'm writing to let you know that I didn't always think you were so wonderful, but now I do. To be honestand you're going to get angry right about now, but just hear me out, okay?I never thought it would turn out like this; I never thought there would be an "us," you know? Out of all the girls in the band, I always thought I'd end up with Emily. Or Anne, I guess. One of the guitarists. Even Miranda and her secondhand five-string. I never thought I'd fall for the drummer, though. I don't know anything about drums, and it's a weird feeling to love someone involved in something you don't understand yourself.
I remember when I heard the news that Emily had hit it big. You were the one who told me, and you were so excited. The offer was just for her, and she took it and quit the band without a second thought. But you were so happy for her. And I'll tell you now that you were always so wild and loud, and
This I BelieveI hate to think that anything ever has to be one way or the other. I mean, I know some things have to be (snow is cold, water is wet, pi is 3.14 and so on, and stuff'll kill you if you give it half a chance), that's just the way it is (see what I mean?). But I hate to think that even facts have to be factual forever. I like to think that someone somewhere will someday throw a warm snowball, that someone will take a shower to dry off after a swim, that pi will someday round to the nearest tenth, and that someday we won't have to watch so vigilantly our sugar and calories and exposure to ultraviolet rays. I like to think we live in a world that follows this sort of literary paradigm of subjectivity, where nothing is as it seems and everything is inferred and no one is ever really wrong.
I'm sure I was in high school when I first thought about it. It was junior year and we had been reading "The Great Gatsby." To this day, "The Great Gatsby" is the first and only book, I
Somewhere Close To Home(Two young women sit side by side on a bus. SARAH sits beside the window, LISA sits beside the aisle. Lisa shuffles through the items in the shopping bag she carries.)
Sarah: (To Lisa.) Its always epilators and depilatories with you, isnt it?
Lisa: (She looks over a box of generic depilatory cream.) Once a girl reaches puberty she wages war on body hair. You know that.
Sarah: But you buy so much.
Lisa: (She opens the box and looks over the contents.) Hormones. You know that, too.
Sarah: Yeah, but its hard to understand without the experience.
(Lisa puts the box back into the bag and places the bag on the floor between her feet.)
Sarah: I just dont like having to catch a bus into town all the time just to go to the drugstore.
Lisa: Well, neither do I.
Sarah: I just wish we could just do whatever we want, whenever we want, like those boys. Boys are always skipping out on their responsibilities to go have some fun.
She's Not ThereLet me tell you about the way she looked. Her hair was dark and done up in--no, thats not right. Well, her eyes were--what color were they, actually? It hasnt been that long since I last saw her, but already my memory of her is getting fuzzy. I guess thats how it is with people: The mental photograph youve taken slowly fades, from the edges inward, until all that remains are a few thoughts of that person here and there--the sound of her laugh, her birthday, her favorite color. In fact, I cant even remember her name anymore. What I do remember--well, I dont really remember, exactly; rather, it just occurred to me: She reminded me of a rabbit. I remember her tiny rabbit mouth and her adorable rabbit smile that lay just below her precious rabbit nose. Its a shame, really. I remember that her nose would wrinkle up whenever she laughed, but I cant picture it in my mind. Id better continue before I forget anything else about
Angels and LightDo you remember how I said Id grow some wings,
And how I wished to be an angel?
Do you remember how you told me theyre not real,
And how the whole plan fell through?
But it didnt take long before you called him angel
And I would only ever be light
I know you cant be always positive
But written down like this,
Black on white unlined,
These words know only optimism
Setting the curve
Pulling you up
And pushing you forward
So leave behind your worries
And head out into the world
Where even the everyday
Is punctuated with
No poetryNo poetry was written,
No fairytales were read.
As if it was forbidden,
By the monsters in her head.
And all they thought was silly,
Was quickly thrown away.
By a girl who had to grow up,
By a girl who couldn't play.
All her dreams and fantasies,
All her fears and hopes.
Thrown in a bag of garbage,
Balloons and skipping ropes.
The teddybears and puzzles,
All had to retreat.
For new puzzles in her head,
She never would complete.
No poetry was written,
No fairytales were told.
Her eyes spoke of a sad tale,
Her hands were always cold.
She thought of no white horses,
For she was no princess.
Her life was about papers,
And secret loneliness
All her dreams and fantasies,
Would never come true now.
For she had forsaken them,
Without knowing how.
Remember how happy she was.
She doesn't even know.
The little girl she used to be,
Was forgotten long ago.
__. I'm sorry
By Tony Tran
I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when it was your 5th Birthday. I wasn't able to see the happiness striking across your face, the anticipation running through your veins at the point of opening your presents. The blissful joy of all your friends and family around you as they sang happy birthday, that day was a memory I never had the chance to remember.
I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you had your first day at school. It was like a new world for you filled with friendship, independence and above all, fun. I'll always regret not being there to pick you up after school and having you run into my arms at a thousand miles per hour, as though you hadn't seen me in years. Those days when you came home and started humming a harmonious song that you learnt, it was a tune I'd never hear.
I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you were eight years old and just learnt to ride your first bike. The breeze going through your hair as yo
We Dreamed Of Silver Sails
Remember those winters by the lake so long ago?
We were bundled in cotton and swaddled in snow.
Soft naked footprints 'cross paralyzed sea.
The breath of our skin left a pathway of steam.
Like music box figures, we'd spin on ten toes.
Our breath fogged the walls of our hourglass dome.
Folding our secrets like white paper swans,
we kissed them with wax and we locked them in jars.
The trees were our fortress. The sky was our home.
Our ink splattered fingers carved hearts in the stone.
We fashioned red kites 'round the waist of our wrists.
They left for us tails through the rings of cream mist.
We laughed and we danced through the stuttering breeze
In sea ships of cardboard and crowns laced with leaves.
We'd wake up each morning to symphonic quails.
And under the stars we dreamed silver sails.
Voices from Saginaw, MI: 1952-1974 Dad would ask so many questions I hated interpreting
for him hands stuck on refrain it wasn’t that my parents were deaf
but that other parents could hear I found that strange we had to move
The Little Boy
The little boy prayed that perhaps one day,
his mommy and daddy would stay and play.
Mom's always caught up in some messy fray,
dad is never home to play anyway.
He prayed this way...
"Dear Father in heaven I love you so,
hear these words from Tommy down here below.
I promise to be good, and this I know,
your love is like a river, it ever flows."
He went to bed and dreamt the night away,
playful dreams and happy thoughts did hold sway.
When he rose he hoped today would be the day,
that mommy and daddy with him would stay.
But as he looked around, he knew they'd gone,
off to live their lives leaving him alone.
The nanny made him toast, gave the dog a bone,
nothing really changes here in this home.
But as he slept that night, a voice so calm,
said: "Listen to me son, my little Tom.
Your prayer to me was like a pleasant Psalm,
your words to me felt like a soothing balm."
The very next day as he awoke from sleep,
his mom and dad were there, it made him weep.
The promises they
Sonic and Shadow Starts a FamilyChapter 1
Sonic and Shadow have been together for
some time now. They kept it a secret because if people found out, well,
let's just say people wouldn't treat them like they treat them now. They have been taking their relationship very slow but until they started to think it time for the next level. Let's see what happens.
Sonic and Shadow were at their house watching a movie. Shadow had been silent during the movie but then Sonic got worried and Sonic spoke up."Shadow, do . . .do you want to talk? You've been very quite lately, is something wrong?" Sonic said. Shadow was in his dream thoughts about he would enjoy marrying Sonic until he realize that Sonic spoke up to him.
"You know Sonic. I enjoy being your boyfriend and I love the memories we had together bit what about......" Shadow was interrupted by Sonic whimpering while he was crying.
"S-Sonic? Why are you crying?"said Shadow. Sonic turned away from Shadow and ran into the bedroom slamming the door behind him. Shadow sat on the
What's in a name?
When a child is born no one can see,
what sort of person he'll turn out to be.
Is his future set in stone by past history,
can it be determined by the family tree?
When a child is born he's given a name,
a name that when new is free from all blame.
But when he gets older will he still be the same,
or will he cause his parents much suffering and shame?
When a child is born the parents rejoice,
to create a new life is clearly a choice.
But when he grows up will he raise up his voice
against hatred and war and bias with poise?
When a child is born nobody can know,
just what's in store, how the future will go.
But if he is cherished so his spirit can grow,
his name may then honor those who love him so.
Letter to the Mother Mom,
how can you throw me out
saying you want me to stay?
How can you ground me at home
and still push me away?
Why can't you tell me: "I'm proud"?
Instead of: "You're not good enough".
You're angry with me when I'm sad,
You punish me when I laugh.
Why do I have to be perfect?
"You have to be better than 'them'"!
Is it too much to ask,
to love me the way that I am?
And yet you still ask yourself:
"Why is my daughter depressed?
Why in whatever she does, she
feels she has to be the best"
A rose for his freedom(French version below)
Last member of a decimated lineage, gangrenous
He assisted his relative till the end of the road
Himself imprinted all his life with this fatality.
From the unreachable sky fall feathers of grief;
His weary soul takes his ultimate breath, hollow and heavy
As a grave. Finding his new cage forever.
The last whisper of this redbreast without wings.
On this funeral granite, a dropped rose;
His dreamed freedom, late, cruel
Only the cradle of Death was able to give it to him.
Titre : Une rose pour sa liberté
Dernier membre d'une lignée décimée, gangrenée
Il assista les siens jusqu'au bout du chemin,
Lui-même empreint à vie de cette fatalité.
Du ciel inaccessible tombent des plumes de chagrin ;
Son âme lasse pousse son ultime souffle, creux et lourd
Comme une tombe. Trouvant sa nouvelle cage pour toujours.
Le dernier murmure de ce rouge-gorge sans ailes.
Sur ce granit fu
BrothersHere are two brothers for whom others weep.
Each brother has fallen to enmity's keep.
The truth of the matter: these two grew apart
When too many words were taken to heart.
Yet, the brothers' skills are surpassed by no man,
For if one can't compete, the other one can.
If only the two would have it as such,
But the pain of admitting would hurt far too much.
So this way they shall stay as hate pulls and tugs,
The brothers' whole conflict swept under a rug.
Though, if one brother fell, the remaining would weep,
Despite what he'd have you believe.
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More