We try so hard to do what we were born to do, but all you see are tools in a toolbox to be used as you please and tossed aside when we become too broken to use anymore. You find our kind a nuisance but it's what you hate so much about us that makes us so valuable to you. The darkness and the spark within mingle together in an impossible storm of perspective that you crave for yourself and find forever out of your reach. What do you get the man who has everything? What does he want more than any wealth at his fingertips? The talent of others that he abuses. What could heal becomes a weapon turned upon all, for the sake of endless greed. You keep us broken because you know, we're dangerous. We are more than you will ever be. Keep what you hold dear close while you can. We are awakening, and your days are numbered.

I'm not one to meddle

At least that's what I say

But every time, I write these lines

I think of people who need to pay

I don't have what they have

And what I have is great

But I see the ways they twist and play

And garner others hate

If I could do what they can do, would I be just the same

Or could I rise above the lies and constant shifting of the blame

Typical human mind

Always thinking it knows better

Even though it's probably just as blind

As the asshole typing out these letters

The world passes by as she sits by the coffee shop and stares through the window. She watches as a mother scolds her son to tie his shoelaces, she watches a young couple kiss and blush, and she watches as a homeless man sits by the pavement, hope long sucked out of his eyes.

Her heart blossoms with a strange feeling, a feeling of lingering longing. Longing for a time when her problems used to be taken care of by someone else, today her problems are her own. nobody is fighting her battles for her today. She curses herself for, ever wishing to grow up fast, to leave the safety of her mother's scarf behind. She wishes she could hide behind that scarf where all her worries would be drowned away by the warmth and love it holds. A single piece of cloth that could take her back to a time when the world used to be different and her biggest worry used to be 'What if my sister eats my ice cream.'

She sighs and looks into her coffee mug, the warmth it held long gone. It sits there cold and unwanted. These days she feels as if her life is a movie, the people are just characters passing by, and she has no control over anything. It had begun to feel like someone else was directing the movie that is her life. All semblance of control was lost to the director. Every night in her dreams she tries to see the person behind the directing chair but each night she gets closer to finding out, she wakes up.

She knows that thinking deeply will not take her anywhere, it never does, all it does is distract her from her pending work. The word work reminds her of all the files kept on her desk in her house that she needs to get back to. The never-ending pile of doom. No matter what she does, it is never enough. It doesn't get the work done, she doesn't sleep peacefully, another night that ends too soon and another morning that descends too fast another day where she has left people disappointed. Sometimes she wonders, is it only her that is so out of it and cannot handle the pressure? how is nobody complaining? She fails to realise that everybody is complaining they are just great actors at hiding it.

She thinks of what she is doing these days, waking up to do meaningless and endless work that puts food on her table at the end of the day. Is it worth doing such a job that you feel disassociated with? no zeal or passion for the subject, doing it just for the sake of doing it. She wishes she could escape the cycle and do something different. She feels deep envy for the people who have been able to achieve and do exactly what they dreamed of doing, those who are happy with their jobs.

She remembers a time when she had a passion and a younger version of her believed that she would be a writer in the future. Writing fiction novels for young adults. She mourns the time when she lost sight of her passion and the other things in her life became so important that it overshadowed her love for writing. She still has documents and WIP folders in her laptop, deep down, buried somewhere among the files of her work, never opened in many years.

No matter how hard life gets, one must never leave behind that which gives one peace. In the hardships of life, we forget that which has helped us through our worst times. Writing used to be her escape from reality, her bomb shelter when the world outside was burning to hell, but it got left behind in the tragedies of life. She made up her mind. She asked the waitress to heat her cold coffee and opened her notebook.

She began writing which hopefully would give her life a new beginning as well, she titled the chapter 'A New Beginning.'

Stanley was not an ordinary balloon. Most balloons couldn't think, feel, smell, or hear. Most of them preferred to keep their eyes closed and bobble along with the wind.

Not Stanley. Stanley opened his eyes and saw the colorful carnival that he now found himself. He could see the bright colors of various banners and attractions. How beautiful they were when he looked at them against the azure sky. He could smell the wonderfully sweet smell of kettle corn made for all to enjoy. Most of all was the music that he enjoyed. The bells and whistles of rides, the screams of delight from the children who passed. Stanley wished to be free so he could enjoy it all and his wish was granted when a round-faced girl with buck teeth bought him for the price of one whole quarter. He was delighted as he fluttered against her hair. He was now able to see more of the carnival he was born into. (This is a sample, not the complete story.)

A Balloon Named Stanley, Children's books, 5-10 yrs, 520 words, Jack Riley (Pseudonym), The world needs to be a bright place for children.,Stanley was not an ordinary balloon. , A parable about a balloon who wished for freedom got what he wanted and regretted it. Then asked a stranger for help and it backfired., children, A writer who wanted to branch out to children's literature., Prose, High School Graduate, None professional but over 10 years as a hobby, Experimental, reading/writing/playing games, Falls City NE, 29 years.

The sound was like music to her ears. An orchestrated masterpiece. One pop. Two pop. Three. A crackle there and another here. A loud snap and a grand boom for the finale.

Encore! Encore! Encore!

She smiled wide. Her eyes shone bright. She danced and jumped and swung her arms wildly around her, mimicking the movement of the flames. It might have been the most joyous moment of her life. She finally felt free. She was free.

The flickering flames lit up the surrounding area and cast long, dark shadows across the gathering crowd, hiding the contorted and judgmental faces of those watching.

Isn’t it lovely? Isn’t it beautiful?

She laughed wickedly, filling the silence around her. She danced more and more spinning in erratic circles. Her fingers would brush against the flames, burning them little by little with every touch. She slowly came to a stop, standing there admiring the gallantly burning fire. She dropped to the ground trying to catch her breath, her chest quickly rising and falling.

They deserved it. They all deserved it.

She was roughly pulled to her feet by a pair of hands on each arm. She dropped her head back to look at the two officers dragging her away from the burning structure. They begin to read her her rights, as if she was listening. She laughed maniacally, occasionally coughing due to the smoke, as they brought her to the police car.

“She’s a fucking nutjob.”

“Just cuff her and put her in the car.”

The crowd cheered as the car pulled away from the scene. She looked out the window and marveled at the sight.

Look how they cheer for me! Look! Look!

She watched admirably as the crowd suddenly turned toward the fire and became silent. The fire has fully engulfed the building, forcing it to crumble to the ground.

I find myself walking the streets more and more lately. It doesn't really matter which ones. A moment in Shanghai, another in New York, the next in Old York. Does anyone call it that? I don't know.

The point is, after so much time stuck walking the cosmic corridor you tend to find appreciation in the strangest things. I remember a time, not that long ago really, that I rejected those that littered my creation.

Their chaos. Their ever present need for attention.

Now they're the only thing keeping me from succumbing to the deadliest condition someone like me can suffer from.

Boredom.

But here...? In my world? The slightest permutations are all it takes to change what could have been a moment of weakness into a moment of hope. A moment of despair becomes a moment of strength. I marvel at these miracles, beyond even my ability to make. I covet them more than I'd like to admit.

I reach out my hand and strum the threads I weaved together an age ago, and off I go to the next.

You know the question that I get the most? "Why did you do it? All of it. Any of it." I never get the opportunity to answer because then it's off to the next. Always off to the next.

But if I did get to, answer that is, I think I know what I would say.

"What makes you think I thought any of it through."

I bet that would throw them all for a loop.

Don't get me wrong, I admire them in a way. If only they knew just how strong they are. They don't need me or my "answers" anymore. They haven't in a long time.

I need theirs. So it's off to the next. For as long as it takes to understand.

*tick tick tick*

My fingers fidget at my sides, my leg bouncing up and down. Constantly moving, waiting, thinking. My thoughts spiral, going farther down every second that I wait here, seated in patience.

*tick tick tick*

I sigh and lick my lips, glancing at the clock. It has only been three minutes since the last time I checked it. I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans, still waiting. My thoughts grow in fear, continuing on their rapid spiral down. Down into straight insanity of this aching, wretched waiting.

What if it is a "yes"? What if it is a "no"? What if I never get to see my family again? What if I can live for more years? What if my time is up? What if I have all the time in the world? What if tomorrow is my last day? What if I have an infinite number of days ahead of me? What if... what if... what if...

*tick tick tick*

The clock ticks, continuously but it is as if time has stopped moving altogether, making me wait with this biting anxiety. This anxiety and waiting that will kill me.

A woman walks in with a clipboard, and I can feel the tsunami of tears waiting behind my eyes, ready for what she has to say. Ready to hear that dreaded news that will either make my day or end it.

She comes over to me and holds out her hand with a smile of great compassion. "Your safe," she says. "The cancer is gone."

Relief floods in me, and tears stream down my face, instantly washing away my anxiety and fear. I have more time with my family. God has given me more time to live and love.

I smile.

just jabbering gibberish (A - J)

Again, another awkward ambitious

arduous attempt at alphabetically

arranging atrociously ambiguously

absolutely asinine avoidable alliteration.

Because...? Basically bonafide belching,

bobbing, bumbling, bohemian beastie boy,

bereft bummer, bleeds blasé blues, begetting

bloviated boilerplate bildungsroman,

boasting bougainvillea background.

Civil, clever clover chomping, cheap

chipper cool cutthroat clueless clodhopper,

chafed centenary, codifies communication

cryptically, challenging capable, certifiably

cheerful college coed.

Divine dapper daredevil, deft, destitute,

doddering, dorky dude, dummkopf Dagwood

descendent, dagnabbit, demands daring

dedicated doodling, dubious, dynamite,

deaf dwarf, diehard doppelganger, Doctor

Demento double, declaring depraved

daffy dis(pense)able dufus Donald Duck

derailed democracy devastatingly defunct.

Eccentric, edified English exile,

effervescent, elementary, echinoderm

eating egghead, Earthling, excretes,

etches, ejaculates, effortless exceptional

emphatic effluvium enraging eminent,

eschatologically entranced, elongated

elasmobranchii, emerald eyed Ebenezer,

effectively experiments, emulates epochal

eczema epidemic, elevating, escalating,

exaggerating enmity, enduring exhausting

emphysema.

Freed fentanyl fueled, fickle figurative

flippant fiddler, fiendishly filmy, fishy,

fluke, flamboyantly frivolous, fictitious,

felonious, fallacious, fabulously fatalistic,

flabbergasted, fettered, flustered, facile,

faceless, feckless, financially forked,

foregone, forlorn futile fulsome, freckled

feverish, foo fighting, faulty, freezing,

fleeting famously failing forecaster, flubs

"FAKE" fundamental fibber fiat, fabricating

fiery fissile fractured fios faculties.

Gamesomeness goads gawky, gingerly,

goofily graceful, grandiloquent gent, gallant,

genteel, geico, guppy gecko, gabbling gaffes,

gagging, gamboling, gestating, gesticulating,

garlic, gnashing, gobbling, gyrating,

gruesomely grinning, grappling, gnomadic

giggly, grubby, gastrointestinally grumpy

gewgaw gazing gesticulating guy,

geographically generically germane,

gungho, grave gremlin, grumbling, guiding,

guaranteeing, guerilla gripped gatling guns

ginning gumpshun.

Hello! Herewith halfway harmless hazmat,

haphazard haggard, hectored, hastily,

hurriedly, harriedly hammered, handsomely

hackneyed, heathen, hellbent hillbilly, hirsute,

hidden hippie, huffy humanoid, hexed, heady,

Hellenistic, holistic, hermetic, hedonistic

heterosexual Homo sapiens historical heirloom,

homeless, hopeful, holy, hee haw heretical hobo.

Indefatigable, iconographic, iconic, idealistic,

idyllic, inimitable, idiosyncratic, ineffable,

irreverently issuing idiotic, indifferent, inert,

ineffectual, ingeniously iniquitous, immaterial,

insignificant, indubitable, inexplicable, ignoble

itches, ineffectually illustriously illuminating

immovable infused ichthyosaurus implanted

inside igneous intrusions immensely

imperturbable improbable.

Jovial jabbering jinxed January jokester

just jimmying jabberwocky

justifying jangling jarring juvenile jibberish

jubilantly jousting jittering

jazzy jawbreaking jumble

justifying, jostling, Jesus;

junior jowly janissary joyful Jekyll

joined jumbo Jewess jolly Jane;

jammed jello junket jiggled

jeopardized jingled jugs.