[x]

Grandfather's BirdGrandfather had a pet bird. Just a small, yellow and white parakeet; he named it Georgie, after Grandmother. Every morning, he would wake up at 6 o'clock, make a pot of coffee, grab the newspaper, and feed the small bird a small pile of birdseed. And he would gently carry the birdcage, and place it on the table and talk to her as he drank his coffee and read the newspaper.

"Gas prices are up again Georgie, geez, remember when we could pay 20¢ to fill up our car?"

And sometimes the bird almost chirped in response. Years and years went by, and Grandfather grew older, and he could no longer carry the bird off the shelf, but he would still

The Black Bag     The problem was simple, really. I was a little too drunk. Me and my buddy Jake though, we found it simple to walk with a stagger and laugh a little too loud, a simple problem. The day was pretty good, pretty drunk.

     The hours passed easy until Max came out of his pawnshop. Max never leaves his pawnshop. He looked so worried and strange I had to squint to be sure it was him. He got us interested, walking toward my buddy and me with trouble written all over his face. Trouble is something a man can relate to from time to time, somehow.

     Max walked right up

The Man in the Coffee ShopThe man who works at the coffee shop looks like you. I noticed this some time ago and have since frequented the place. He recognizes me now. He smiles at me when I come in. His smile even looks like yours. He doesn't say hey though- you always said hey.

I still work at the library even though you're not there.
Sometimes I look over to your desk and expect to see you typing at your computer, but someone else is there now. It's not you.

Sometimes someone will come in who looks like you. Maybe he will have the same hair, same stature, same profile, same laugh, same voice. It's never been you.

Sometimes I drive myself crazy. I pull at my hai

Writer's BlockThe numbers on my desk calendar started to blend together as my eyes began to close and I dozed off. I regained consciousness with a start, and I involuntarily slammed my hand down to what should have been my desk.

"Wh-where am I?"

"Oh my dear! We certainly weren't expecting you today; we would have cleaned up a bit. Heh, you see, we're having a bit of a well… technical difficulty." Said a round, rather pleasant woman wearing a polka-dot dress with a nametag simply saying "Dot."

I looked around; I was in a large, disorganized office with people and papers scrambling with bundles of copy paper. I grabbed a paper from the desk beside an

GuiltyThe room was small and cold. Everything in the room was white. Sterile. There were two people in the room: a man and a woman. The man was tall, middle-aged, with short brown hair and rimless glasses. He wore a long white jacket and stood behind a tall white table. The woman was young, in her early twenties, with long mousy brown hair and a small nose. She looked frightened and small, standing next to the comparatively giant man.

"You."

She turned to face the man. "Yes, sir?"

"You are not permitted to speak."

"But-"

"You are hereby charged guilty of crimes against this woman," he said. He gestured to the frightened woman beside h

Homeostasis For the past two weeks, she has wanted a bottle of bright red nail polish, so, one rainy afternoon, she sets out to procure one.

"Want" is an odd word to use with her – when it comes to material things, she rarely wants. She is merely curious about them, as in, "I wonder what it would be like if I had this object." And, in her desire to discover, she will consent to obtaining it.

There is a drugstore within a seven-minute walk from her house, so she grabs ten dollars and a jacket and slips into her worn shoes. They are old, but she does not want to take the trouble of putting on socks.

She steps out into the rain, which is only sl

Actually What Happened WasI wished a junior postman a nice day -

"Just put them down there, " I said to him as he staggered over my porch with two parcels and something invertebrate wrapped in grey plastic, whilst from my mouth I projected the ugly sycophancy of a convent girl.

And then - "Have a nice day," I said.

He said something back - a stout sound, just enough of a noise to qualify as a syllable. It did not have a smooth ending: it was not gratitude. As he tossed it to me, he lumbered away and did not slide the door back.

Why did he run from me? Did he sense the two goldfish I haven't been bothered to name, swimming around with no past and no future? Was he

Sister of the Rue"I don't think you've heard this one, Hal," said Snake with a toothy grin. Hal didn't look up from the knife he was sharpening. "One of the Devotees of the Rue showed her hair in the med tent earlier."

Shrihk, shrihk, shrihk, shrihk—the edge was coming along all right, not that it would matter. In the next scuffle, it would be a shield or luck making all the difference, not the edge of some poor mook's sidearm.

"I know what you're probably thinking right now, Hal—oh, well, you're probably thinking 'Shut your useless face, Snake, I'm too busy being taciturn and useful.' But what you'd be thinking if you weren't a stoic prick, is 'W

Giving Up - Jake"I don't understand it." She said. Her tone was dead, emotionless and distant. Jake had a feeling he knew what was coming, and he knew that there was no way he could change things.

They'd been heading towards this inevitable for a long time now.

It was a long time coming and nearing overdue.

"Why are we still together? What is the point of there being an us?" she whispered. She sat next to him, near but not touching, her long hair brushing his bare arm just barely. The golden waves created a screen that kept him from seeing her face as she bent her head forward.

He wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he knew that his touch mean noth

Emma's letterDear Meredith,

I'm writing today, as a human. Just this morning, 3 AM Eastern Standard Time to be exact, the anti-clone act was passed for the entire state of New Jersey. It took us ten years, but it happened. I honestly don't think I've seen any of us so at ease before. Even Drake seemed less uptight then usual. Things like that don't happen every day.
I bet you're wondering why I'm writing too you. Well, Cynthia said I should write too you because she thinks I'm "troubled". Something about the living situation I guess. I don't know. I guess she thought if I wrote too you I could "appease my conscious" or whatever. What does a tw

Sasha GrimTime hiccupped while Sasha was nursing a cup of coffee in the lunchroom of the office complex where she worked. It was a brief flicker but she knew what it meant all the same. She'd been gazing idly in Gary Piedmont's direction -- Gary with his perennial tan and cobra-like grace -- when suddenly in his place was a bloodied and burnt apparition with bugs caught in its smile.

She watched, wide-eyed, fingers tightening spasmodically around the cup of coffee she held as the thing walked across the room in Gary's well-tailored suit and sat down. Then she blinked and the ghastly image was gone.

Sasha took a deep

Across the OceanI stood outside in the rain today. I know it sounds cliché, but the steady drumming of raindrops drowned out the beat of my heart and I swear I could hear you crying.I've never felt as complete as I did then.Let's just pretend that you didn't break my heart. I'll bandage my bleeding knuckles and go find that fake smile you left behind.
I won't be lonely. We'll pretend I'm happy standing outside in the wet; these are raindrops, not tears. I'll give you every excuse I have to offer, and someday when the rain clouds disappear I'll realize that I'm just talking to the sky.I've run out of words, you know. I can feel it.When it started raini

Untitled Anna and I met at our big tree in the center of the field every afternoon that summer. I always got there before she did, and leaned against the wide oak trunk with my hands stuffed into my pockets. I went through a phase that summer, sporting skinny jeans a size too small wherever I went. I think Anna was the only one who ever noticed how uncomfortable I was in them. She just smiled a little whenever I squirmed to adjust them.
The only things she ever wore were a tank-top and gym shorts. I guess she was just comfortable that way. She never wore shoes, either – she liked the way her bare feet shushed through the grass.
"

The Love Story You Don't Tell This is an insufferably stupid story, recounting the tale of normal boy and a weird girl, and how they did not fall in love. As is the case with all romance, it is fundamentally, innately, absurd.

It opens with a girl, sixteen years old, caramel hair and green eyes, standing in the hallway of a small private school, holding her books for her Algebra Two class that she detests. One of her best friends, a freshman, says that her class will be getting a new kid. He is from England.

Our heroine cannot contain her boundless exuberance. Since time immemorial, she has been enamored with English accents, and, by extension, the people that posses

ChocolateI once had some chocolate bars
And on a summer day,
Out on the grass behind my house,
I passed them around to my friends and we ate them,
Bit by bit, greedily,
Holding the smooth skins
And leaving smudges.
Each bar went around to all of us
And we all had our share
Some more than others.
We all left our teeth marks;
Little chips in the layers of chocolate
that told the next in line that we were done.
I gave away the bars freely;
There were always more
Different flavors in fact
And we were so eager to share,
And so eager to find our favorite,
That we tore through each bar with little thought,
Taking our fill before passin

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5-4-3-2...I'll spend days screaming for your help.
Do you not understand?
Independence has been destroyed.
I'm only alone to get through to
Where another one is around.
Fighting off all these demons alone is no fun,
But I cant fight them off when you're here.

But then I'll try to swallow my pride
And all I find is a burden.
I ask way, way too much of you, my friend.
And I feel guilty over it.
Yet, I cant get through it alone.

Turn up the music
Until I can feel the rafters shake to the ground.
I'm keeping that knife
Pasted with sweat to my palm.
Turn on all the lights
Until It's like staring at the sun.
Yes, I'm keeping that knife
Fir

You Even Said You WereI am done with the testing.
You said you'll never leave?
I bet you're only saying that
So I'll say the same.

And when I did say it
You said you know.
Oh you do?
Why test me then?

There Is A Parasite...There is a parasite
In the world tonight.

They're called dreams.
And aren't they awful...

Oh, aren't they awful
To make you see what you fear the most?

Yes.
But the good thing?

Dreams can be undrempt.

Remember that now
When you watch my demise
Like it was some motion-picture on a screen.

And while you sleep, I'll pray to God
You find another thing to dream about.

Maybe this time,
It'll be wonderful.

There is a parasite
in the world tonight.

And its within yourself
To start and stop it.

I Stole BloodI wonder if you wonder why I stopped talking.

...

Its because I'm trying not to cuss you out.

You

You ignorant, horrible man...

You can't see the love I have

For the family that isn't biologically my own

But dammit

I'll protect them like flesh and blood and bone marrow.

And you don't get to inflict and infect scar tissue

On people you don't know.

Cause I'm not giving you the chance.

You simply don't understand

Me

Or the humans around you.

Maybe cause you spent so long in front of a computer

Instead of living life with the rest of us.

Oh, I feel so above you.

When you say such arrogant things.

Its hard to learn a lesson when

Wasting TimeThere are wonders on this earth I will never understand.
The guitarist sitting in front of me starts strumming. I dont know the song. My friends dont know the song. But he does, and I close my eyes.
I'm in a car. My head is out the window, sun shining warm on my face, hair blown back by the wind, and I'm smiling, just a little. I rest on my arms (which rest on the window sill) and watch the fields past. Those fields...well, they're a thing of beauty. All it is is long, long grass with flowers spotting it like it's some sort of textile...but sometimes, I think humans forget how wonderful simplicity can be.
And it all plays for me like its

March Was GreyMarch was grey.
April isnt even here yet, but March is so old, its safe to say
March was grey.

And I could make that poetic and relate it to "my" heart (like thats not cliché) or my hatred for brother's girlfriends or my hospitality to my family, but all I can think of is my grandparents, so old all they have left to do is bitch. Its safe to say they're grey too. Or how much I hate being a teenager. I'm hardly two years in, and already I believe we should switch two letters and make it 'TeenANGER'. And everything I just wrote proves that too.

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Feeding The Pigeons

by ~enyo-soldaat, Feb 15, 2011, 10:38:29 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Introductions & Chapters

The new pills were in my pocket, probably getting all linty. Or should I say the new-new-new pills: after all, this was the third try at finding a medication I'm not allergic to. After throwing my guts up on two different meds, I'm not about to swallow another one, only to find it's coming back up too.
Why do I even have medication? It's not like I'm in horrible pain when I don't take it.
My arms are stuck straight out, and they waver as I try to balance on one metal track. If my foot touches the ground, it's "burned" by lava. Lava is pretty good incentive not to touch the middle of the train tracks: even if in real life, its not lava. Its just rocks.
I stuff my hands in my pockets and feel the oblong pills big enough for a horse to have trouble swallowing. I wrap them in my hands, and as I walk, they "accidentally" fall to the rails below.
"What are you doing?" A voice says behind me. I near jump outta my skin and whip around.
A cop. Great. More specifically, my cop, if you wanna call him that. This guy has stopped me so many times for so many things I wonder why I still don't know his name.
"Miss, you know this is another offense, right?"
"Doing what?"
"Speak up, please." He taps his ear.
"Doing what?" I say it louder and clearer.
"Thanks. Sorry miss, I was shot in the ear at one time in my career and lost most of my hearing. I can only hear what's loud and close to me."
He looks old, probably near retirement. The bullet isnt the only thing making you lose your hearing... Grey, wispy hair has completely taken over--including the little tuffs in his ears--and he's even thinning on the top. His eyes are brown, not warm or cold, and his jaw is sharp and jutted, along with a cleft right in the end. He might actually be intimidating if he was taller than 5' 9'', tops.
"Now, what are you doing right now?" He says it like I'm some sort of idiot. Which, granted, I may be.
I shrug. "Standing. Breathing."
"Where are you standing?"
"Tracks."
"What kind of tracks?"
"The train kind." I grin. I can't help myself: This is too fun.
"Don't get smart with me, girl. This is a crime. Just like drawing with chalk on public grounds, trespassing, climbing the old oaks, and most of the other things I find you doing. These trains are remote operated! There's no driver! You could die! Did you know that?"
Yes. "No."
"What?"
"No!"
"Well now you know. What's in your hand?"
Ecstasy. "Prescription."
"Why aren't you taking them?"
I stay quiet. I don't have an excuse.
"What are they for?"
I stare right past him. Something's coming over the underpass, but the heat waves are making it hard to see just how close it is.
"Miss! What are they for?"
"Train."
"Huh?"
"Train!" I start the opposite direction, towards the road. It's closer than I would have preferred. He grabs the back of my collar.
"I told you not to mess with me! Now, why don't you call your parents and have them explain exactly why you're here and what these pills are for?"
"I'm not messing with you, dude!" Forget formality. "There's a train coming! Let me go!"
"I think I'd hear a train."
"You're deaf!" I tug out of his grip. Now I can see. The train is way, way too close for comfort: 200 feet and approaching fast. It's black and still new; its metal wheels gliding easily over the metal rails. No horns are blaring, and the rail barely shakes.
I sprint down the side of track, half-falling as the rocks slip from under me. And I know its cliché, but I watch in slow-motion as he turns around, sees the train, and starts to run…
And I watch his foot get caught on the rail. He trips, falls: sprawls across the path of this monster locomotive. I look at him, and he looks at me, and then…
Well, then i had to look away.

Feeding The Pigeonsby ~enyo-soldaat

Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Introductions & Chapters

Submitted to the Oregon Writing Festival, which i hope to be attending in May. I'm open to critique (NOT criticism) about whatever. I tried to work this out to make as much sense as possible.

To The Written Revolution: I feel like this piece started off very choppy and ended very abruptly. Maybe it was because I wrote it in a half-concious state late at night. Anyways, I'm wondering if anyone actually LIKES the ending or, if not, how i could change it to be less abrupt.

love 1 1

joy 1 1

wow 1 1

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~smilee-shortee Mar 3, 2011

this is really great.
sigh.
poor guy.

~enyo-soldaat Mar 4, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

thanks! For liking the story, not the guy getting hit by a train... :/ thats kinda sad.

~FragmenteDreams Feb 24, 2011 Student Writer

Gulp. The mental image... woah. Definitely tragic. But, hey, not every story has a happy ending, right? If you'd ended it any other way, I think it would have seemed less realistic to me. So yeah, I like it. And the fact that it's abrupt just enhances the overall effect, I think. It did for me. So yeah, definitely a good story, and definitely a great ending.

~enyo-soldaat Feb 24, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Yeah, I'm not a fan of the traditional happy ending. I feel like something needs to remain tragic, but resolved. XD Thanks so much for all the compliments!

~darknezz111 Feb 24, 2011

That was really good. I really appreciated the smart-allecky humor, and you just knew as soon as the cop showed up that something was going to happen. The ending came as a bit of a shock, as well. Very impressive work.

~enyo-soldaat Feb 24, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

I loved writing from this POV. I'm glad to know the ending wasnt predictable. Thanks so much!

!luckyfive5 Feb 16, 2011

Wo. Nice!

~enyo-soldaat Feb 16, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

thanks Jess. This is what i submitted to the Writing Festival.
Which, BTW, i want you to do.

!luckyfive5 Feb 16, 2011

Will you wre more on it? I think I will. I just need to ask Huss for the slip!

~enyo-soldaat Feb 16, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

No, I'm probably not writing any more on this. :/ maybe ill stick it into a story later.
YOU SO SHOULD DO IT DO IT DO IT.

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