Nikayna
I have within me a thousand stories, full of people both quiet and quite mad, creatures both fluffy and ferocious, and stars of every color
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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by Nikayna

One Break, Two Break, Three Break Four

The first was so small it barely registered.

She smiled at him, but he didn't smile back.

It was quite possible he just hadn't seen, or understood the unsaid words, so she thought nothing more of it. These things happened. She sat in the back of the room, after all, and there he was all the way up at the front. Life was a merry-go-round of missed connections and misunderstood meanings.

The second made her pause.

On her turn to present her project, though the others politely smiled and nodded at her watercolor still life of delicate pink posies and bright red cherries, he sat stone faced. 

Maybe it just wasn't what he was looking for. She searched the walls of his office, stalked his social media accounts, tried to get a feel for what he liked to look at it. Darker. Less frilly, less girly. More contrast. She could do this.

The third one, she couldn't breathe afterwords.

Her face red, she sat down after presenting her next project. The rest of the group cooed over it, gasped at how the moonlight and streetlights lit with tissue paper and christmas lights played and bounced off of the dark swaths of black and blue acrylic. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He had laughed, and not in the delighted way.

The fourth, not even all the Knight's men could put her back together again.

In an effort to understand him, to make him understand her, she pleaded with him in his office. The words fell like dust to the ground as he told her - "You'll never make it as an artist. You'll never be successful. You think collectors want your girly, pop culture crap? This isn't what I've been teaching you, why do you keep insisting?"

She sat on the steps of the building, not bothering to wipe away the tears that flooded her cheeks, her misery sitting on her shoulders with the weight of potato bags. One break, two break, three break, four. An eager heart is again no more.

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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by Nikayna
One Break, Two Break, Three Break Four
The first was so small it barely registered.

She smiled at him, but he didn't smile back.

It was quite possible he just hadn't seen, or understood the unsaid words, so she thought nothing more of it. These things happened. She sat in the back of the room, after all, and there he was all the way up at the front. Life was a merry-go-round of missed connections and misunderstood meanings.

The second made her pause.

On her turn to present her project, though the others politely smiled and nodded at her watercolor still life of delicate pink posies and bright red cherries, he sat stone faced. 

Maybe it just wasn't what he was looking for. She searched the walls of his office, stalked his social media accounts, tried to get a feel for what he liked to look at it. Darker. Less frilly, less girly. More contrast. She could do this.

The third one, she couldn't breathe afterwords.

Her face red, she sat down after presenting her next project. The rest of the group cooed over it, gasped at how the moonlight and streetlights lit with tissue paper and christmas lights played and bounced off of the dark swaths of black and blue acrylic. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He had laughed, and not in the delighted way.

The fourth, not even all the Knight's men could put her back together again.

In an effort to understand him, to make him understand her, she pleaded with him in his office. The words fell like dust to the ground as he told her - "You'll never make it as an artist. You'll never be successful. You think collectors want your girly, pop culture crap? This isn't what I've been teaching you, why do you keep insisting?"

She sat on the steps of the building, not bothering to wipe away the tears that flooded her cheeks, her misery sitting on her shoulders with the weight of potato bags. One break, two break, three break, four. An eager heart is again no more.
#prosechallenge  #art  #rejection  #Itslit  #getlit 
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Written by Nikayna in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Bared Teeth

the little dog snaps at the bone

beneath the big dog's jaw.

snarls and nips and bared teeth

it tries to establish its place in the food

chain attached to the house.

except the face on the shih tzu is yours,

the face on the pit bull is mine.

does it make you feel BIGGER, little dog?

STRONGER

like the lead sled dog winning the race

like the alpha wolf in a pack of bitches?

but without a reason behind the nips

you're just a skinny little pup punk.

and without a focus behind the growl

you are simply the runt

nature forgets when Natural

Selection cleans out the junkyard.

the fresh meat for the vultures

chewing on your bones

I will remember nothing of you.

(this one needs some work; suggestions welcome and helpful. Thank you!)

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Written by Nikayna in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Bared Teeth
the little dog snaps at the bone
beneath the big dog's jaw.

snarls and nips and bared teeth

it tries to establish its place in the food
chain attached to the house.
except the face on the shih tzu is yours,
the face on the pit bull is mine.

does it make you feel BIGGER, little dog?

STRONGER
like the lead sled dog winning the race
like the alpha wolf in a pack of bitches?

but without a reason behind the nips
you're just a skinny little pup punk.
and without a focus behind the growl
you are simply the runt
nature forgets when Natural
Selection cleans out the junkyard.

the fresh meat for the vultures

chewing on your bones
I will remember nothing of you.

(this one needs some work; suggestions welcome and helpful. Thank you!)
#poetry  #roughdraft  #needsanedit 
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Written by Nikayna in portal Poetry & Free Verse

L'Enfant Septembre

Fall Baby born to disaster

autumn leaves

you fuzzy, caterpillar

looking for spring in all the wrong places

head under logs and mushrooms in ears

but there's something about you

that makes me fly to you

shield you

from breezes that only hint winter

no summer no deep freeze no strength no conviction

air that can't decide which season to be

unsure and unstable

you need Time not him

not Father Insecurity, not the Ghosts of Times Past

just you and the leaves

you and the pumpkins

you and the Dying Dependence

you in you, trust in Père l'Automne, in Mère Hiver

believe in waiting.

the Rebirth is spectacular.

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Written by Nikayna in portal Poetry & Free Verse
L'Enfant Septembre
Fall Baby born to disaster
autumn leaves
you fuzzy, caterpillar
looking for spring in all the wrong places
head under logs and mushrooms in ears
but there's something about you
that makes me fly to you
shield you
from breezes that only hint winter
no summer no deep freeze no strength no conviction
air that can't decide which season to be
unsure and unstable
you need Time not him
not Father Insecurity, not the Ghosts of Times Past
just you and the leaves
you and the pumpkins
you and the Dying Dependence
you in you, trust in Père l'Automne, in Mère Hiver
believe in waiting.

the Rebirth is spectacular.
#poetry  #freeverse  #disaster  #autumn  #fall 
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Challenge of the Week #60: You have just discovered a new lifeform. Write a story of 200 words or more. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by Nikayna

For Science

"Mags, come here. Come quick!"

"Dude you know if I leave this it'll boil over the second I turn my back."

"I've done it, though. You've got to come see! I've created life!"

"Oh looky the man thinks creating life is so new and novel," Maggie grumbled, turning off her bunsen burner with a sigh. "Yeah, great Joe, coming."

She took off her goggles and gloves, tossing them on a table as she crossed the lab. A relatively new employee, she nevertheless quickly bonded with Joe. A seasoned scientist with the sort of tousled black and white hair that some men used three different products to achieve, which he came by naturally by not caring, he appreciated the shot of new blood in the old lab. Maggie might be young, but she had novel ideas.

"Look," he said, guiding her to the tank. "In the corner by the pine tree." She peered into the barely lit tank, trying to get her eyes to adjust.

"I don't see anything."

"Relax your eyes. Like those magic eye posters back in the 90's." She snorted, then giggled.

"Showing your age there, old man," Maggie said, then tried again, relaxing her eyes so that they nearly crossed. Suddenly, she caught sight of the strangest thing she had ever seen. A face peered out around the plastic pine tree, two big round iridescent blue eyes atop flared nostrils like a snake, and a mouth a little bit like a cat's, but without the fur. Its skin seemed to blink in and out of existence, its color like the underside of a shell. It had no ears or tail, and its jointed fingers and toes gripped the tree. "Holy crap," she whispered.

"I know," Joe said, releasing his breath and laughing nervously.

"Joe you've created life," she said, shaking her head in wonder.

"I know!" He grinned at her. "What should we call it?" She smiled back at him, then suddenly pulled a small pistol out from a hidden holster and shot him between the eyes.

"I don't know about 'we'," she said, slowly reaching a finger into the tank and letting the creature crawl onto her hand. "Sorry Joe," she said, looking down at his prone form on the lab floor. "You know you would have done the same damn thing." She carefully cradled the being and walked out of the lab. "Mister Johnson, I've done it!" she yelled, as she hurried down the hallway. "I've created life!"

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Challenge of the Week #60: You have just discovered a new lifeform. Write a story of 200 words or more. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by Nikayna
For Science
"Mags, come here. Come quick!"

"Dude you know if I leave this it'll boil over the second I turn my back."

"I've done it, though. You've got to come see! I've created life!"

"Oh looky the man thinks creating life is so new and novel," Maggie grumbled, turning off her bunsen burner with a sigh. "Yeah, great Joe, coming."

She took off her goggles and gloves, tossing them on a table as she crossed the lab. A relatively new employee, she nevertheless quickly bonded with Joe. A seasoned scientist with the sort of tousled black and white hair that some men used three different products to achieve, which he came by naturally by not caring, he appreciated the shot of new blood in the old lab. Maggie might be young, but she had novel ideas.

"Look," he said, guiding her to the tank. "In the corner by the pine tree." She peered into the barely lit tank, trying to get her eyes to adjust.

"I don't see anything."

"Relax your eyes. Like those magic eye posters back in the 90's." She snorted, then giggled.

"Showing your age there, old man," Maggie said, then tried again, relaxing her eyes so that they nearly crossed. Suddenly, she caught sight of the strangest thing she had ever seen. A face peered out around the plastic pine tree, two big round iridescent blue eyes atop flared nostrils like a snake, and a mouth a little bit like a cat's, but without the fur. Its skin seemed to blink in and out of existence, its color like the underside of a shell. It had no ears or tail, and its jointed fingers and toes gripped the tree. "Holy crap," she whispered.

"I know," Joe said, releasing his breath and laughing nervously.

"Joe you've created life," she said, shaking her head in wonder.

"I know!" He grinned at her. "What should we call it?" She smiled back at him, then suddenly pulled a small pistol out from a hidden holster and shot him between the eyes.

"I don't know about 'we'," she said, slowly reaching a finger into the tank and letting the creature crawl onto her hand. "Sorry Joe," she said, looking down at his prone form on the lab floor. "You know you would have done the same damn thing." She carefully cradled the being and walked out of the lab. "Mister Johnson, I've done it!" she yelled, as she hurried down the hallway. "I've created life!"
#science  #prosechallenge  #Itslit  #getlit 
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Challenge of the Week #57: you’re god; rewrite the creation story. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by Nikayna

I Keep Trying

There have been many creation stories.

First I tended to the oceans, to them that swam and drifted, them that hunted, and them that accepted their fate as prey. Soon the water was not enough, it was too limiting, they wanted more. So I allowed them to crawl upon the lands, to explore the fauna that sprang up from dirt and sand.

It wasn't long before even this was not enough. So I made the molds bigger. More ferocious. I gave them tools to hunt their brethren, and tools to chew the fauna. I looked down upon them, glorious in their diversity, and smiled.

My mirth was to be short-lived.

They chewed too much, hunted too much. The delicate balance of the resources I laid out for them became tenuous, and cracks began to show. The Earth herself trembled in anger, until finally she rained down holy destruction upon them, her fury seething with fire and tempest. 

And then they were gone.

A few survived, a bare few. My strongest creations. But what is a whole world without those that move through it? Who would appreciate the rainbow of flowers? Who could look upon those that survived the upheaval and wonder at their awesome fortitude?

So then I created new beings, them that stood on two feet and used their hands to create tools, art, homes, fire. Creators, out of the creator. The ultimate being. I didn't know what to expect. Creation, after all, is the opposite of destruction.

It took some time for me to understand the duality of these new beings, how strongly both sides of a coin could live within them. I thought upon scrapping them, thought about going back to the drawing board and starting again, but they are resilient. Like them that survived the first apocalypse, but with the ability to adapt, grow, change. The Earth trembles softly when they get too confident, but her silence stays my hand. Even she is fascinated by their sheer audacity.

So I wait.

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Challenge of the Week #57: you’re god; rewrite the creation story. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by Nikayna
I Keep Trying
There have been many creation stories.

First I tended to the oceans, to them that swam and drifted, them that hunted, and them that accepted their fate as prey. Soon the water was not enough, it was too limiting, they wanted more. So I allowed them to crawl upon the lands, to explore the fauna that sprang up from dirt and sand.

It wasn't long before even this was not enough. So I made the molds bigger. More ferocious. I gave them tools to hunt their brethren, and tools to chew the fauna. I looked down upon them, glorious in their diversity, and smiled.

My mirth was to be short-lived.

They chewed too much, hunted too much. The delicate balance of the resources I laid out for them became tenuous, and cracks began to show. The Earth herself trembled in anger, until finally she rained down holy destruction upon them, her fury seething with fire and tempest. 

And then they were gone.

A few survived, a bare few. My strongest creations. But what is a whole world without those that move through it? Who would appreciate the rainbow of flowers? Who could look upon those that survived the upheaval and wonder at their awesome fortitude?

So then I created new beings, them that stood on two feet and used their hands to create tools, art, homes, fire. Creators, out of the creator. The ultimate being. I didn't know what to expect. Creation, after all, is the opposite of destruction.

It took some time for me to understand the duality of these new beings, how strongly both sides of a coin could live within them. I thought upon scrapping them, thought about going back to the drawing board and starting again, but they are resilient. Like them that survived the first apocalypse, but with the ability to adapt, grow, change. The Earth trembles softly when they get too confident, but her silence stays my hand. Even she is fascinated by their sheer audacity.

So I wait.
#prosechallenge  #god  #creation  #Itslit  #getlit 
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Written by Nikayna in portal Poetry & Free Verse

He Sang of Me

he sang of me in

baritone notes.

they held my lungs,

refused my breaths.

I covered my ears but

it amplified each

rich B-flat and

buttery G.

he reached below

the musical staff,

found what he wanted

beneath my skin,

the bass of his voice

reverberating the

flesh right off of

my bones. I made

him mine, I proclaimed

him so and claimed him

but when he finished

my song, he sang

another, for another

across the room.

and he sang of her

in baritone notes.

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Written by Nikayna in portal Poetry & Free Verse
He Sang of Me
he sang of me in
baritone notes.

they held my lungs,
refused my breaths.

I covered my ears but
it amplified each

rich B-flat and
buttery G.

he reached below
the musical staff,

found what he wanted
beneath my skin,

the bass of his voice
reverberating the

flesh right off of
my bones. I made

him mine, I proclaimed
him so and claimed him

but when he finished
my song, he sang

another, for another
across the room.

and he sang of her
in baritone notes.
#poetry  #music  #love  #lust 
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Written by Nikayna in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Mother Nature

my druids are dying

sick with a fever born of a

faith not all believe in.

your people have afflicted them,

thinking themselves holy and whole,

enclosed in armor they don't realize can't

Save them -

for Nokomis possesses strength

that comes from beyond soil, beyond memory.

she can make the smallest flower bloom -

fragile and honeyed -

and make the sky crack open its chest and retch

white hot flames in the same instant.

my druids are dying

but your god did not kill them -

it was you all along,

under a pretense of false humanity.

the earth shudders and weeps

as the light of its children fades and disappears,

but Nokomis sits smug and smiling.

she knows she will have the last say.

her earth knows how to heal itself,

a trick more ancient than the oldest bones.

you refused to learn.

she will crumble mountains to dust and dirt,

boil oceans away to nothing,

rip apart the land to its plates

and crack them, heaving the shards

into a sea of red lava

that will soon cool to black stone

and spin across the galaxy,

with no memory

of flowers or fish or humans or gods.

my druids may be dying

but when the earth heals and renews

they will be reborn.

not as the Savior or as myths.

not as golden idols or marbled perfection.

as a delicate white petal,

as the first seed that will become the

New Humanity.

and when the first child takes in its first breath,

Nokomis will watch

and remember.

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Written by Nikayna in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Mother Nature
my druids are dying

sick with a fever born of a
faith not all believe in.
your people have afflicted them,
thinking themselves holy and whole,
enclosed in armor they don't realize can't
Save them -

for Nokomis possesses strength
that comes from beyond soil, beyond memory.
she can make the smallest flower bloom -
fragile and honeyed -
and make the sky crack open its chest and retch
white hot flames in the same instant.

my druids are dying

but your god did not kill them -
it was you all along,
under a pretense of false humanity.

the earth shudders and weeps
as the light of its children fades and disappears,
but Nokomis sits smug and smiling.
she knows she will have the last say.
her earth knows how to heal itself,
a trick more ancient than the oldest bones.
you refused to learn.

she will crumble mountains to dust and dirt,
boil oceans away to nothing,
rip apart the land to its plates
and crack them, heaving the shards
into a sea of red lava
that will soon cool to black stone
and spin across the galaxy,
with no memory
of flowers or fish or humans or gods.

my druids may be dying

but when the earth heals and renews
they will be reborn.
not as the Savior or as myths.
not as golden idols or marbled perfection.

as a delicate white petal,
as the first seed that will become the
New Humanity.
and when the first child takes in its first breath,
Nokomis will watch

and remember.
#poetry  #freeverse  #nature  #earth 
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Written by Nikayna in portal Poetry & Free Verse

The Morning

of your death surprised me.

it broke warm and lazy,

with no clichéd rain clouds or chills.

birds sang in the elm trees.

Nancy walked her dog down the street.

traffic was still backed up

from Bell until Hope.

your last breath only stirred the air

for a second.

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Written by Nikayna in portal Poetry & Free Verse
The Morning
of your death surprised me.
it broke warm and lazy,
with no clichéd rain clouds or chills.
birds sang in the elm trees.
Nancy walked her dog down the street.
traffic was still backed up
from Bell until Hope.
your last breath only stirred the air
for a second.
#poetry  #death  #freeverse  #mourning 
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Written by Nikayna in portal Poetry & Free Verse

I Am a Poet - Destroyer Series (IV)

IV. Destroyer of Peace

I am a poet

inciter of rage

evoker of tears.

wicked words are bellowed at my window

paper burns outside my doorstep.

a ring of protest,

threatening my isolation.

I will not retreat

to the safety

of a large respectable crowd.

my words are sugar-free.

I will not hide the taste of my meat.

you cry on your knees,

hold out what's left of your heart,

but I will not be voiceless.

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Written by Nikayna in portal Poetry & Free Verse
I Am a Poet - Destroyer Series (IV)
IV. Destroyer of Peace

I am a poet
inciter of rage
evoker of tears.

wicked words are bellowed at my window
paper burns outside my doorstep.
a ring of protest,

threatening my isolation.
I will not retreat
to the safety
of a large respectable crowd.

my words are sugar-free.
I will not hide the taste of my meat.

you cry on your knees,
hold out what's left of your heart,
but I will not be voiceless.
#poetry  #poet  #series  #destroyer  #fini 
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Written by Nikayna in portal Poetry & Free Verse

I Am a Poet - Destroyer Series (III)

III. Destroyer of Beauty

I am a poet

painter of light

sketcher of dark.

canvases drip their colors

down the walls around me,

staining my arms,

dying my hair.

statues convulse on their bases,

smash their heads at my feet.

the pieces pierce my heels.

each red drop

of blood and paint,

each marble eye

and cracked lip,

become mine

to manipulate,

to breed awry.

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Written by Nikayna in portal Poetry & Free Verse
I Am a Poet - Destroyer Series (III)
III. Destroyer of Beauty

I am a poet
painter of light
sketcher of dark.

canvases drip their colors
down the walls around me,

staining my arms,
dying my hair.

statues convulse on their bases,
smash their heads at my feet.
the pieces pierce my heels.

each red drop
of blood and paint,
each marble eye
and cracked lip,
become mine

to manipulate,
to breed awry.
#poet  #beauty  #series  #destroyer 
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