if I never loved you, it wasn't because I didn't try

Recently, I moved in with a friend... or rather, I ended up here by means of being homeless...

So, my friend has this quirk. EVERYTHING. OMG! I apparently have no idea how to do anything, as She does it ALL the RIGHT way... and I, simply, DO NOT.

If I don't do something 'her' way or put things in 'their proper place', She thinks I am rebelling or trying to CHANGE Her life or something... (I have a thing with remembering simple things like that, I really do not remember!). She takes my absentmindedness PERSONAL... It always amounts to this: "WE need to have a little talk!".

I agreed to earn my keep here. I have no problem with that. I keep this house of hers clean! I want a place to stay until I can be out on my own (which is a whole 'nother story). But, there is a power trip going on here... So, I, (to be referred to as 'Cinderella' from this point forward) have to have the whole house clean, daily, and I do, daily. I have steam-cleaned the carpets upstairs and down, all the tile floors are clean, both bathrooms are completely clean, cob-webs removed, dishwasher ran and emptied, trash out and anything little... all DONE. All of Cinderella's work is DONE.

(I will, however, have follow around after those GAWD awful little fur-covered kidneys that bark, piss and shit, WHEREVER they want... and they get let out at least 5,000 times an hour!) Other than that, I have a WHOLE FREE DAY!!!!!

I remember that first day she chided me for wasting precious time: Writing, Drinking Coffee and Smoking Cigarettes... Instead of jumping into a routine, like She does. I sat there, 15 minutes after I woke up, only one sip of luscious, sweet, creamy, brown, magic-morning elixir in me, looking at her, listening... nodding and acting submissive. During the 'conference', I know I had my mouth open in disbelief. I gotta tell ya, it is hard to sip coffee with your mouth agape, (which, by the way, was a mini-epiphany, and quite notable).

"Why do you HAVE to WRITE?"

"I dunno... I just like to..." (Cinderella is interrupted before she can finish her sentence about her passions, etc...)

"So, you don't HAVE to, then?"

"Well, I suppose I have a choice, but..." (Cinderella is cut-off, er, i mean, quieted)

"Well, hurry up, I have something for you to do!"

"okay."

SO... Then She agreed to allow me 20 minutes...

My coffee had become rather cold, but I drank it anyway. I surely wasn't gonna go wasting any of my precious 20 minutes rewarming my coffee! So, I tried to think creatively. I tried to gather beauty and abundance of spirit to place upon the paper before me... Then I tried to actually enjoy my cold coffee and a half-burned out cigarette. I stared blankly at my notebook, pen in hand. All I could write was the only sure thing in my mind: the date.

Since then, I have not been overly excited about morning coffee and writing. I mean, it is Wintertime now, and the whole coffee and cigarette thing is NOT an enjoyable morning experience when it's 12 degrees at 9 am... And just try to get an ink pen to think about writing in that cold?? Nope. NOT happening!

'She' is not a muse... 'She' is a Creativity Vampire... And She is SUCKING the inspiration from me daily. I am sure it is only a matter of time before I graduate (or get demoted?) from Cinderella to Igor.

But tomorrow, I am gonna write. I may play computer games, nap... hell, who knows? But, one thing for sure, I am gonna fly on my own wings and feel the freedom... however short the time may seem...

I am hoping I can get some of my poetry flowing again. My writing is not something that "She" really understands. My fondest things to do each morning are to drink coffee, have a cigarette and write... write... write... One hour of my best each morning.

So, anyway, all of Cinderella's work is done and she allowed the space to breathe in, for the day.

~* Yay! *~




em

The Neighbor

'Let's go next door'
but the Neighbor is looking over the hedges
August is the cruelest month
and when he sings the blues
he sings it to his dog
Maybe I should go round
'You have a nice voice, want to dance?'
but his catch phrase isn't that interesting
If I knew his name
Maybe I would drop by
and leave a note
his fence dips low, just enough to put my head off
Is that him behind the jasmine?
looking awkward
searching for an answer
to some question
singing a love song
that has no end
It just dribbles off his tongue
and falls flat
'Pick up that tempo'
Maybe there will time later
I think that is him now
knocking on my door
a cigarette falling off his lips
I don't think I will answer
cause when I hear him singing
I know he loves himself

Saving lives one fictional character at a time. Please comment, constructive criticism appreciated since I never bothered to pay attention in English when we went over grammar. :)

Title: The Stranger
Description: Middle-aged mediocre family man leads a predictable boring life until a stranger changes everything.

---------------

How can I explain to you what I myself couldn't understand until the end?

My name is Wade Gardener, a 47 year old accountant who was living a mediocre life with my lackluster wife Helen who I was beginning to suspect hated my guts, and our 11 year old son David, who in an apocalypse probably wouldn't notice anything until the battery ran out in his iPod. I hated my life, but I didn't realize it until a stranger pointed it out. She said that I wore my misery like an ugly tie, and I hated to admit that she was right.
 

This is the story of how a stranger saved my life.

( Read more... )

Sitting here, silently stitching myself
back together after he has been around.
In earpiercing silence I can
hear my own heart break
and everytime I scream into the darkness
it echoes without a sound.
I´m slowly crawling way towards the light
when the shadows once again overpower my mind and I fall,
fall deep below.
Nightmarish dreams,
depressed child with saddened smile, tortured mind and burning soul.
Adolescent dreams that were never meant to come true,
now lost and burried forever.
Hollow screams once again echo in the darkness
as the smell of twisted, rotten hands lingers on my skin.
My eyes stinging from acid tears
burning their way into my skull.
Deprived of sleep and hope I sit here,
silently stitching myself back together.

As the Sun this morning rose, Mother woke:
Her thoughtflowers reverently praised Him, while
Her treefingers danced delightfully
To the songs of love-birds in play.

The wind she helped comb Mother's lush hair,
And on it planted pretty pearldewdrops
Then, effortlessly, swiftly,
Laced it with browngreen leafy bows.

As she puffed her face with scents of Spring
The earthworms uncreased her earthy skin.
When all ready, she blushed warmly, and
Spun around shyly to half-hide from Him her beauty.

As the Sun this morning rose, Man woke:
In grumbling groans set off to work.

First post to this community, as well as my first time posting my original fiction. This was written for National Novel Writing Month in November, and I plan on posting the chapters after I go back and edit them. I'd love to know what you all think about this! :)

Warnings: Some language, eventual violence and implied rape (no real descriptions, I promise), eventual yuri (F/F) Individual chapters will have their own warnings.

Current rating: PG-13, will become NC-17

Chapter: 1 / 33

**All names are meant to be fictional! If I used the name of an actual person, I would be shocked and amazed


Summary: While in Rome, haunted by her desire for her best friend Delaney, Luciana encounters a mysterious woman one night. This woman tells Luciana she 'must learn', and Luciana collapses to the ground, unconscious. When she wakes, she finds herself in Ancient Rome, the wife of a Senator. With a servant identical to her best friend, an uncaring husband, and an charming family friend, Luciana finds herself in the middle of an affair worthy of Aphrodite and Ares. Luciana must find a way to return home, while also preparing for the homecoming of the revered emperor Constantine the Great, who has an announcement of his own that will shake the Rome to its very core.

A Curse of Ancient, Chapter One

Hello there, this is the first time I've ever shared an original fic of mine :) So if you readers could give me some constructive comments, that would highly appreciated. Nothing too harsh though, I beg you. This chapter is basically an introduction but the story develops; I promise you. Well, enjoy and thanks for being interested enough to click :D

Title: Complications Rating: T Warnings: Language

Summary: Noelle Leonora is the sarcastic non-believer; meaning she doesn't believe in true love. Cassie Welshire is the sweetest girl around. Aaron Miller is the always confused, gorgeous 'it' boy. And Janine is the average delusional girl you'd see everyday. How did these four wind up in a love "square"? Or was there really a "square" in the first place? Read their story to find out. (Click Here To Read)

"High Moon", my new Haxan story, is now up at Beneath Ceaseless Skies. Please, click the banner to read the story. Hope you like it:

there is no world
no universe

there is only 
the one room
with only 
the one window
and the one set of drapes
and the one breeze
blowing across your face

there are no memories
just the sense 
that everything already happened
and you missed it

you were in the bathtub
soaking in fear

you forgot to rejoice
you had no memory
you had only the want

you know this
but remember

the want always wants

and when you can no longer serve the want

you'll be left alone by want
in the one room
with the one window
and the one breeze
with no memories
just a sense 
that everything already happened
and you missed it

ahead of you
the mountain looms larger
and this is cause for alarm
and behind you 
the echoes of laughter 
the warmth of a kiss upon your cheek
and this is cause for sadness

and yet
neither reach out far enough 
to touch you
and though they heckle from the sidelines
and intimidate with their cackles
they know their own limitations

the great fear 
of tomorrow 
and of yesterday 
is that you will realize 
in this moment
neither can touch you

In an instant the walls were caving in. No one said a word because they were all too busy noticing their haircuts and shoes. The padded walls breathing in tighter and tighter. Arms pressing together, bumping into strangers and awkward giggle and mumbles. Skinny bones pressing into soft peach flesh.

No one smiles. Everyone is looking down. The mental patient bedroom walls slowly soaking with tampon blood spreading out like crimson explosions.

There you are. In the middle of the people you hate. There you are in the midst of human suffering and pain being choked out of existence by throngs of others in this feminine hygiene elevator.

Be sure not to use the same words more than once or else you'll sound boring.
No one.
Wants.
To.
Sound.
Boring.

I think you are afraid of it. Either you're reading this looking for tips, or you're trying to see who's better than you. We're all just rats in a big maze carved out of the world ever loving pussy. Humanity is the rape victim of trade. How much does it cost to be the people in your mind's painting of the perfect life. How much debt does it cost to get there? Do you work full time?

You need a master's degree for that.

And Now, something completely different.

You, sitting there. Reading this. All alone like me.

You sitting there reading this all alone.

Like me.

Like me?

Do you like me?

Are you like me?

What is this to you?

Did you notice how I changed the focus, do you think it'll go well in your writing, or maybe it's too cliche and you'll wait until you think of something better. You're too scared to comment. So what? So this. Sew this. What's a woman's place but in the home? What's a man's place but in the work place slaving for hours until he can go home and be told he doesn't do enough for his family.

I understand now.

The real world is more terrifying than anyone can even imagine.

Health care is something you only notice when you're sick. What republic cares for the penniless when they are in single sheet matress sheet dresses wearing paper shoes and waiting for the reaper to collect his toll.

But I digress, because you're getting bored. The tampon walls are closing in, and you're starting to notice that the radio only plays the same 3 songs over and over again until you hear the one song you like.

And you have to wonder, what kinds of people listen to those same 3 songs. Do you know that you are one of them, to the person who listens to the other 2 songs?

I'm throwing this away, it's irritating me.

This is a story I started working on while listening to Last of the Wilds by Nightwish. It is about faeries.

I would like feedback. Sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes. I do not always catch them all.
( The Last True Protectors )

You Are To Me

Like a drumbeat
Clear and loud
Through miles of fog and lots of sound
Like a lightbulb
Turning on:
Sharp relief from shadows

Caught between ending and starting
Days follow nights follow days
Moving and tumbling and reeling
Spinning circles inside a maze

Like a bird's wings
Opening up
To soar; to fall;
To hope for more
Like a motor's starting purr
A goodbye, a return, a chance
That's what you are to me

You're the sun out on the horizon
Rising or sinking, no one can say
You're the moon, orbiting an orbiting globe
And never seen in the day

You're like curry
Spicy and warm
Familiar and foreign
At once
And you're like a singer's
Encore song
The cherry on the whipped cream

We're caught between ending and starting
Our days follow nights follow days
We're moving and tumbling and reeling
Spinning circles inside out maze

I've been doing a lot of reading recently and it's made me very anxious to try and start writing again. I really enjoy. and would be looking to write some thing mythology/fantasy based, but the more I research the more I feel like everything has been done. Or, at least that there's a definite pattern in what stories/characters get used. Vampires would be the best example.

I was wondering if anyone had suggestions or knew of any useful resources/places to look that might help me think and possibly widen my options? Grateful wouldn't even cover my response if so.

There today no more than here yesterday:
Hearts who rush on express lanes, so to stay
Together - so little, more like apart,
more like least understanding of whose heart.

Whose heart we take whose heart that is offered,
If hearts know not to own? To whom owing
Promises of love, or unrequited
Dreams: No more, no less than hollow shells' songs.

Songs of mere promises, more sweetly sung
To empty ears? Eyes see not what is heard
By hearts that beat quick in vacuumed spaces:
Unheard, less than a love whispered in sleep.

In sleep, all men die and begin to dream
Of things they understand least; most by hearts,
Of love and songs sung for other hearts lived
There today no more than here yesterday.

Equal night; balance of Earth

Our symmetry is nature
the sweet color of spring, that winter brings

Magnetic; together by force

Your virtue is my flaw
your failing is my tact, opposites attract

Oceans merge into breathing rivers;
A new life is born

Title: Of Acid and Marshmallows
Author: seiferre
Genre: Fantasy, Children's, Humor
Rating: G
Critique: If you would like to. :3 Mostly I'm just posting to share, but I'd like to see some comments.
Summary: Marshmallows don't consider it suicide.
Author's Note: This was mostly written for fun; I didn't intend for it to go the way it did, but I was satisfied with it. I wrote it for my sister.

( ...He was a marshmallow – sweet and fattening and perfect for hot chocolate... )

This is my first post on any kind of community site. I hope this goes alright.

Title: A Wild Song
Word Count: 386
Rating: G
Summary: Play me. Play me a song rich and deep. The violin. The violin wanted her to play its song...

(Suddenly the stage with the light cast on her vanished, and her hands and her mind played a melody atop a broken tower...)