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Written by brieannekt in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Bow of Eros

Daintily, she carries the wings of a blue sparrow.

Retracting, she darts her arrow.

The art of seduction without instruction, bow of eros.

Into the heart of her beloved, flows infinite love. Revival of a wounded warrior, sharp stakes start up his heart.

Without a bloody scene splatter, she meets his divine being.

Maiden of Matter, goddess of celestial beings.

Lordess of the ring.

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Written by brieannekt in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Bow of Eros
Daintily, she carries the wings of a blue sparrow.
Retracting, she darts her arrow.
The art of seduction without instruction, bow of eros.
Into the heart of her beloved, flows infinite love. Revival of a wounded warrior, sharp stakes start up his heart.
Without a bloody scene splatter, she meets his divine being.
Maiden of Matter, goddess of celestial beings.
Lordess of the ring.
#fantasy  #fiction  #adventure  #poetry  #mystery  #spirituality  #culture 
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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 Syne

The Man Who Was Too Mediocre

Frank had always done his job the right way, finished his work on time. He had never gotten into arguments and had gone to church every Sunday.

So he was not expecting to hear what Peter told him.

"Such an unpleasant situation. I'm afraid I cannot allow you to pass. It pains me to have to send you Below, but I have no choice. This place is reserved for the best of your kind. Yahweh's rules. I'm truly sorry."

And then Frank felt his phantom limbs leave the ground as he plunged towards Hell at the speed of light. He felt his soul stringed and stretched like melted cheese, like a light wave being sucked into a black hole.

Then darkness. He was still now, though he felt no ground beneath him. He could sense only emptiness around him.

Suddenly, from the void, a voice spoke to him. It was deeper than anything meant to be heard by human ears, but the voice penetrated him and resonated through every fiber of his soul. Every word seemed to last an eternity.

"You do not belong here.

This is a place reserved for the worst among you.

You carry no evil, no hatred.

No fears to feed from, nor any hopes or dreams to drain you of.

I have no use for you.

Be gone."

And so rejected from both Heaven and Hell, Frank was left to wander through the spiritual realm. He journeyed for thousands of years, searching every corner of limbo for a place to rest his soul.

He encountered Anubis,Thoth, and Ammut, and they judged him and weighed his heart.

But they could neither welcome him nor condemn him, for his heart contained nothing inside of it and was lighter than the feather, Maat. Thoth had never recorded an event like that before.

He met The Enlightened One, who meditated in empathy for Frank.

But Frank could not be reincarnated, for the way he had led his life had not been good, but it had not been bad either, so any new manifestation of Frank could not be anything greater or worse than himself. And coming back as your past self is prohibited for mortals.

Enlightenment was even more out of the question.

He reached the bank of the River Styx but did not have a single obol to pay for passage, so Charon could not let him step foot on his ferry.

He tried to become a ghost, but even that he could not be, for any mortal must have a strong purpose in life in order to remain attached to the physical plane.

So, aimlessly he wandered for many more centuries, barely existing as little more than a long lost memory. It was not much different than how he had existed in his physical form, and Frank realized he didn't mind limbo so much after all. Limbo was not good, but it wasn't bad either.

And that suited Frank just fine.

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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 Syne
The Man Who Was Too Mediocre
Frank had always done his job the right way, finished his work on time. He had never gotten into arguments and had gone to church every Sunday.
So he was not expecting to hear what Peter told him.

"Such an unpleasant situation. I'm afraid I cannot allow you to pass. It pains me to have to send you Below, but I have no choice. This place is reserved for the best of your kind. Yahweh's rules. I'm truly sorry."

And then Frank felt his phantom limbs leave the ground as he plunged towards Hell at the speed of light. He felt his soul stringed and stretched like melted cheese, like a light wave being sucked into a black hole.

Then darkness. He was still now, though he felt no ground beneath him. He could sense only emptiness around him.

Suddenly, from the void, a voice spoke to him. It was deeper than anything meant to be heard by human ears, but the voice penetrated him and resonated through every fiber of his soul. Every word seemed to last an eternity.

"You do not belong here.
This is a place reserved for the worst among you.
You carry no evil, no hatred.
No fears to feed from, nor any hopes or dreams to drain you of.
I have no use for you.
Be gone."

And so rejected from both Heaven and Hell, Frank was left to wander through the spiritual realm. He journeyed for thousands of years, searching every corner of limbo for a place to rest his soul.

He encountered Anubis,Thoth, and Ammut, and they judged him and weighed his heart.
But they could neither welcome him nor condemn him, for his heart contained nothing inside of it and was lighter than the feather, Maat. Thoth had never recorded an event like that before.

He met The Enlightened One, who meditated in empathy for Frank.
But Frank could not be reincarnated, for the way he had led his life had not been good, but it had not been bad either, so any new manifestation of Frank could not be anything greater or worse than himself. And coming back as your past self is prohibited for mortals.
Enlightenment was even more out of the question.

He reached the bank of the River Styx but did not have a single obol to pay for passage, so Charon could not let him step foot on his ferry.

He tried to become a ghost, but even that he could not be, for any mortal must have a strong purpose in life in order to remain attached to the physical plane.

So, aimlessly he wandered for many more centuries, barely existing as little more than a long lost memory. It was not much different than how he had existed in his physical form, and Frank realized he didn't mind limbo so much after all. Limbo was not good, but it wasn't bad either.

And that suited Frank just fine.
#fantasy  #scifi  #fiction  #adventure  #philosophy  #life  #death  #spirituality  #culture  #mythology  #god  #buddhism  #biblical  #mediocrity 
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Written by Meseek in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Back flash.

Veszelyite vault of conglomerate neurons forming a Bermuda Triangle of pitch green water coloured slate. Overpowered by lazily morphing octopus tentacle arms tentatively dismantling the inheritance of an absent life of the patronymic. Echoing a trounced of emotion - the living Pinocchio. Acceptance of penance, stalactite icicles lacerate, bleeding out the Algific heart. Revelation of a new frontier, burning we cross the synapses - perpetual life.

I love you all.

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Written by Meseek in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Back flash.


Veszelyite vault of conglomerate neurons forming a Bermuda Triangle of pitch green water coloured slate. Overpowered by lazily morphing octopus tentacle arms tentatively dismantling the inheritance of an absent life of the patronymic. Echoing a trounced of emotion - the living Pinocchio. Acceptance of penance, stalactite icicles lacerate, bleeding out the Algific heart. Revelation of a new frontier, burning we cross the synapses - perpetual life.


I love you all.

#romance  #adventure  #poetry  #spirituality 
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Alternate Reality: Lesbian, Gay and Trans is the new normal and being straight is looked down upon. Write a short story, poem, song or any kinds of words in those beautiful brains of yours to tell a story. Tragic, unrequited love, horror... anything you like!
Written by Tylasmith in portal LGBT

trans-straight love

gravity was pulling us apart 

are lips were parting 

we were igniting a fire 

that has been in my heart

I just needed a match to light it up 

you were playing  tricks with my mind 

my body in sync with the curves of your hips 

my eyes tracing the shadows of the way your body 

cut across the corner 

begging me to follow 

you were stripping down 

to the beats 

your body like a goddess 

your lips meshing together words  I can't even tremble 

your thong wrapped around my neck 

pulling me down to the ground 

begging me to enter 

this holy heaven 

and drip in the scent of you 

my hands shaking 

but so effortlessly colliding in

this angelic creature of heaven 

backing away at this mess 

your hair wild and bright with color 

your body naked 

my hands and lips trembling 

with the taste of your skin

your sugary plump lips 

dipped in crystalized sugar taste 

of me 

you entered warm and sweet 

my eyes rolling back in my head 

my tongue glazing your neck 

trying to find an opening 

a place to call home 

you push me on the bed 

and fulfill these questions 

that have been buried in my chest 

since the 4th grade 

why do I get this buzz 

why does my heart electricity at the slight touch 

of angelic lips cruising my name from her lips 

you spread my legs apart and provide me with the answer 

people ask me how can you love a transgender 

how does your relationship work 

your straight*not a trans  and she is a transgender 

it the same way sex 

works 

were fucking to glue our broken parts together 

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Alternate Reality: Lesbian, Gay and Trans is the new normal and being straight is looked down upon. Write a short story, poem, song or any kinds of words in those beautiful brains of yours to tell a story. Tragic, unrequited love, horror... anything you like!
Written by Tylasmith in portal LGBT
trans-straight love
gravity was pulling us apart 
are lips were parting 
we were igniting a fire 
that has been in my heart
I just needed a match to light it up 
you were playing  tricks with my mind 
my body in sync with the curves of your hips 
my eyes tracing the shadows of the way your body 
cut across the corner 
begging me to follow 
you were stripping down 
to the beats 
your body like a goddess 
your lips meshing together words  I can't even tremble 
your thong wrapped around my neck 
pulling me down to the ground 
begging me to enter 
this holy heaven 
and drip in the scent of you 
my hands shaking 
but so effortlessly colliding in
this angelic creature of heaven 
backing away at this mess 
your hair wild and bright with color 
your body naked 
my hands and lips trembling 
with the taste of your skin
your sugary plump lips 
dipped in crystalized sugar taste 
of me 
you entered warm and sweet 
my eyes rolling back in my head 
my tongue glazing your neck 
trying to find an opening 
a place to call home 
you push me on the bed 
and fulfill these questions 
that have been buried in my chest 
since the 4th grade 
why do I get this buzz 
why does my heart electricity at the slight touch 
of angelic lips cruising my name from her lips 
you spread my legs apart and provide me with the answer 
people ask me how can you love a transgender 
how does your relationship work 
your straight*not a trans  and she is a transgender 
it the same way sex 
works 
were fucking to glue our broken parts together 
#fiction  #romance  #adventure  #poetry  #philosophy 
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Written by brieannekt in portal Poetry & Free Verse

bodhione

Catatonic smiles, Years in seclusion

The bell was their final invitation

To murder the masses lost in delusion

Arrested consciousness, caused mild confusion

Those lost in their illusion of "I and me."

Liberated from their thoughts without a lobotomy.

Living in space and time without a frame.

The culprits were not culpable, there was no "one" to blame.

Without egos, and weapons, they all blended in the cosmos, as the one in the same.

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Written by brieannekt in portal Poetry & Free Verse
bodhione
Catatonic smiles, Years in seclusion
The bell was their final invitation
To murder the masses lost in delusion
Arrested consciousness, caused mild confusion
Those lost in their illusion of "I and me."
Liberated from their thoughts without a lobotomy.
Living in space and time without a frame.
The culprits were not culpable, there was no "one" to blame.
Without egos, and weapons, they all blended in the cosmos, as the one in the same.





#adventure  #poetry  #philosophy  #spirituality  #culture 
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Written by Tylasmith in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Fairy of good

She is a fairy

She is mystical

She covers your world in pixie dust

She sprinkles gems of hope

She holds lost souls of the dead in a crystal ball

Her eyes icy blue 

Her skin pale and translucent

Her body embodies the sunlight

Her hair braided 

little pearls

Strung through her hair

Her wrist slit through the lining of her wrist

She's dropping her blood

On petals

Giving them light

Her wings are made from glass

On the edges are small tiny diamonds

She wears a dress

Lightly clad

Stuck to her body

Her dress translucent

Its the color of fog

From cigar smoke

Her back

Tattooed with bruises

, And tiny little words

That tell who created each one

Her body was someone else's canvas

She got tired of sitting there on the stool

And being poked and prodded

To sit up straight

To be awash in the pain of others

She throws her magnificent hair to the side

And on the side of her face

Shows a scar

It pooling over with

Sunshine

She smiles

She wears her pain behind her face

She keeps on being the fairy in the painting

To prevent the darkness from seeping in

She waves her wand of hope

Even though she herself doesn't believe in hope

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Written by Tylasmith in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Fairy of good
She is a fairy
She is mystical
She covers your world in pixie dust
She sprinkles gems of hope
She holds lost souls of the dead in a crystal ball
Her eyes icy blue 
Her skin pale and translucent
Her body embodies the sunlight
Her hair braided 
little pearls
Strung through her hair
Her wrist slit through the lining of her wrist
She's dropping her blood
On petals
Giving them light
Her wings are made from glass
On the edges are small tiny diamonds
She wears a dress
Lightly clad
Stuck to her body
Her dress translucent
Its the color of fog
From cigar smoke
Her back
Tattooed with bruises
, And tiny little words
That tell who created each one
Her body was someone else's canvas
She got tired of sitting there on the stool
And being poked and prodded
To sit up straight
To be awash in the pain of others
She throws her magnificent hair to the side
And on the side of her face
Shows a scar
It pooling over with
Sunshine
She smiles
She wears her pain behind her face
She keeps on being the fairy in the painting
To prevent the darkness from seeping in
She waves her wand of hope
Even though she herself doesn't believe in hope
#adventure  #childrens  #poetry 
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Written by Tylasmith in portal Poetry & Free Verse

In love with a love song

 Baby I am trapped in a cage of rage

Daunting demons

Collary words of affection

Wrapped in laced silk lies

Strawberry flavored lips

Streusel of words strung on the tightrope of hope

That you will come and pick me off the floor and help me soar

Screaming your name into a empty screen of emptiness

Lilac taste stung on the tip of my tongue

Disco strobe light hallucinations of you

Holding me down

Eating my candy heart

Queen of hearts

Carrying in her hand of jar of hearts

Your naked body

Sucking on the jar

Saliva dripping with blood

A sword stabbing daggers

Of my voice

Your saying it was a mistake

You got caught in her lyrics

You come humming of her

Your pressing your head

In my breast

And your arms around my waist

Muffling words of the song into my breast

Begging me to take you back

Your saying I am what keeps you in tack

Your smelling of jack

Your coughing up nonsenscial hack

On how your back

Your making me put my trust back on the rack

Your causing my heart to crack

Sinking into the floor

Your arms around me

Begging me to let you in

This wall that I built up 2 yrs around my heart

Your saying your not him

But your black crow eyes

And aladdin like skin

says otherwise 

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Written by Tylasmith in portal Poetry & Free Verse
In love with a love song
 Baby I am trapped in a cage of rage
Daunting demons
Collary words of affection
Wrapped in laced silk lies
Strawberry flavored lips
Streusel of words strung on the tightrope of hope
That you will come and pick me off the floor and help me soar
Screaming your name into a empty screen of emptiness
Lilac taste stung on the tip of my tongue
Disco strobe light hallucinations of you
Holding me down
Eating my candy heart
Queen of hearts
Carrying in her hand of jar of hearts
Your naked body
Sucking on the jar
Saliva dripping with blood
A sword stabbing daggers
Of my voice
Your saying it was a mistake
You got caught in her lyrics
You come humming of her
Your pressing your head
In my breast
And your arms around my waist
Muffling words of the song into my breast
Begging me to take you back
Your saying I am what keeps you in tack
Your smelling of jack
Your coughing up nonsenscial hack
On how your back
Your making me put my trust back on the rack
Your causing my heart to crack
Sinking into the floor
Your arms around me
Begging me to let you in
This wall that I built up 2 yrs around my heart
Your saying your not him
But your black crow eyes
And aladdin like skin
says otherwise 
#romance  #adventure  #poetry  #lyrics 
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With Ghost in the Shell coming soon, write your own cyberpunk story.
Written by B27321 in portal Sci-Fi

Die For me

Do Machines Dream,

I Only Know

my Sex Machine

Died For me.

I Know

Who Writes

About Such a Sick Thing;

a Sex Machine,

a Vat Grown Organic:

She.

I Did Not Invent

The Technology,

But I Did

Pervert It

to My Own Need.

Why you Ask;

Simple,

Loyalty.

They Would Die

or Suicide

Before They Gave Up

On me.

I Kept 5

I Wanted 10.

Only One;

Gemini

Was Better

Than the Rest,

One I Intended To

Put To the Test.

To Afford This Lavish Life Style,

to Afford my Pets;

I Did Things,

Things

Some People

Would Regret.

Mainly

I Killed;

Poison, Gun, or Knife;

That Was the Road

I Stood.

She Would End Up

Giving Her Life;

She Who Was Like a Twin,

Like a Second Skin;

Who Could Have Been a Wife.

Will She Be the Same

When She Down Loads

To Night.

#B27321

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With Ghost in the Shell coming soon, write your own cyberpunk story.
Written by B27321 in portal Sci-Fi
Die For me
Do Machines Dream,
I Only Know
my Sex Machine
Died For me.
I Know
Who Writes
About Such a Sick Thing;
a Sex Machine,
a Vat Grown Organic:
She.
I Did Not Invent
The Technology,
But I Did
Pervert It
to My Own Need.
Why you Ask;
Simple,
Loyalty.
They Would Die
or Suicide
Before They Gave Up
On me.
I Kept 5
I Wanted 10.
Only One;
Gemini
Was Better
Than the Rest,
One I Intended To
Put To the Test.
To Afford This Lavish Life Style,
to Afford my Pets;
I Did Things,
Things
Some People
Would Regret.
Mainly
I Killed;
Poison, Gun, or Knife;
That Was the Road
I Stood.
She Would End Up
Giving Her Life;
She Who Was Like a Twin,
Like a Second Skin;
Who Could Have Been a Wife.
Will She Be the Same
When She Down Loads
To Night.
#B27321
#fantasy  #scifi  #romance  #adventure  #poetry 
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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by RichWithey

A Fight With Apathy

He had feared the coming of this day all his life, he was 27 and terrified for a brief moment, but then it happened, the numbness set in; one moment, distressed and tormented with the fear of what was happening and then, the void; an absence of care, an absence of feeling. He sat there for about twenty minutes staring into space like a zombie before getting to his feet and staring out into the garden, it was barely seen in the last remaining light, the bright colours had faded to grey, he stared some more before feeling something on his cheek, he lifted his hand and expected to wipe away an insect of some sort, instead his finger was wet; he was crying, he looked at his finger with indifference and then stared some more. He thought of doing something insane, taking of his clothes and running through the back gardens of his street, stealing a car and smashing it into a wall at 100mph or picking a fight with a gang of youths, those gangs who thought they were tough because they were five or six united, but were pissy little cowards on their own. He had a stirring at this but while ushering himself towards the front door, he thought it better just to go to sleep. Apathy is so tiring.

Monday came and went, he had barely moved, he didn’t get dressed, didn’t take any calls and kept the room absent of the beautiful day that was threatening the blackout curtains of his room, the curtains were not intimidated and refused to budge. He left his bedroom reluctantly at 6pm to pee and discovered on the way that he was hungry, a feeling that had not left him, the need for food, other than that he still felt numb but almost happy about it because he had felt hungry; but then he forgot about the happiness and prepared himself a cooked breakfast and a big pot of tea. He ate this while watching the mundane programs that broadcasted across his retinas from the television, if you had asked him what he had watched, he couldn’t have told you and he wouldn’t care that he couldn’t. At 10pm the insects were on his face again but they turned to water on his fingertips and he looked at them with indifference once again, and then, with heavy, deadened eyes he fell asleep and dreamt.

He dreamt of himself, but he was different somehow, he shared stories with people who seemed to have the infliction he has in his waking world, telling them with great passions of how he was going to change the world, how one man can make a difference, and how he would execute this difference in rhythm and rhyme, poem and song, how the world was unjust and if only more people would stand up for the rights and fight against the wrongs then the world we be a better place. The people he spoke to, had turned grey though, infected by an invisible disease, he wondered how they couldn’t see his plight and why they weren’t prepared to be inspired by his ideals. Instead they nodded mechanically or delivered an answer that seemed like a shortcut to thinking, “that will never happen.” Or “try if you like but it won’t get you anywhere.” This angered him but he could see that they were ‘too set in some way’, pre-occupied with the mundane, too dead to care, or even attempt to offer a valid argument to get the creative ideas rolling in one way or another, there was nothing…

He awoke Tuesday at 3am and cursed himself for messing up his body clock so badly, he remembered nothing of his dream, he felt agitated and irritated, like there was something he was meant to do but he couldn’t remember what it was or whether it was important. Instead he drank two pints of water and went to sit on the garden steps, he stared up at the overgrown bushes at the end of his garden and wondered what spectacles of nature they were hiding, in the pale moonlight he could see the grave of his dog, she had been sleeping ten years, he had seen her occasionally since then, she seemed to hang around in his shadow when times were rough, a silent clown, ready to cheer him up when things had kicked him a little too much, an ever loving companion, that touched him from beyond the grave. He felt the insects again but knew by now that they were really tears. He sat and let them run from his eyes until there nests were empty and then he lay on his back in the short grass and stared up at the vast night until the sun began to bleach its edges with purples and blues. He felt an ache where his heart should be and decided to smoke.

The rest of Tuesday went by as a blur, a simple mission was to be executed and that was to stay awake until 11pm, this was almost impossible between the hours of two and seven, however by eight o’clock he was wide awake and feeling revived, he decided to go for a walk.

The evening was serene, the air smelt sweet and the streets were quiet, he imagined a world like this, empty and quiet, he liked the idea for a moment before going against it with such ferocious rage that it burst into flames and exploded. The evening was calm enough for him to regain composure very quickly and he even chuckled at the malicious attack on such a remote thought. He had walked for about thirty minutes with his thoughts before he saw another person, a girl in a short yellow summer dress, she had long golden hair that seemed to radiate in the remaining sunlight. She was walking towards him almost whimsically, they made accidental eye contact on nearing each other, he felt a little shy but she just smiled and glided on by in slow motion, he glanced back and watched her walking for a moment before he realised she had glanced back at him, he turned away quickly and slightly embarrassed but continued his walk with the signs of a spring in his step and almost forgot the last two days of numbness. He returned home around 10.30pm and managed to sleep from 12am. He dreamt again that night of himself and a beautiful lady with golden hair sitting on a sandy beach, a beach fire, crackling as quiet as possible, almost cursing itself to be silent so it could hear the conversation between the two lovebirds, they gazed at each other and hung on each others words in between tasting the ‘dark berry fruits’ of a delicious red wine. She was an inspiration to him, a muse for a cause he had not yet known, the dream ended with a perfect embrace and a kiss that delivered the most erotic and passionate energy he had ever known.

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by RichWithey
A Fight With Apathy
He had feared the coming of this day all his life, he was 27 and terrified for a brief moment, but then it happened, the numbness set in; one moment, distressed and tormented with the fear of what was happening and then, the void; an absence of care, an absence of feeling. He sat there for about twenty minutes staring into space like a zombie before getting to his feet and staring out into the garden, it was barely seen in the last remaining light, the bright colours had faded to grey, he stared some more before feeling something on his cheek, he lifted his hand and expected to wipe away an insect of some sort, instead his finger was wet; he was crying, he looked at his finger with indifference and then stared some more. He thought of doing something insane, taking of his clothes and running through the back gardens of his street, stealing a car and smashing it into a wall at 100mph or picking a fight with a gang of youths, those gangs who thought they were tough because they were five or six united, but were pissy little cowards on their own. He had a stirring at this but while ushering himself towards the front door, he thought it better just to go to sleep. Apathy is so tiring.

Monday came and went, he had barely moved, he didn’t get dressed, didn’t take any calls and kept the room absent of the beautiful day that was threatening the blackout curtains of his room, the curtains were not intimidated and refused to budge. He left his bedroom reluctantly at 6pm to pee and discovered on the way that he was hungry, a feeling that had not left him, the need for food, other than that he still felt numb but almost happy about it because he had felt hungry; but then he forgot about the happiness and prepared himself a cooked breakfast and a big pot of tea. He ate this while watching the mundane programs that broadcasted across his retinas from the television, if you had asked him what he had watched, he couldn’t have told you and he wouldn’t care that he couldn’t. At 10pm the insects were on his face again but they turned to water on his fingertips and he looked at them with indifference once again, and then, with heavy, deadened eyes he fell asleep and dreamt.
He dreamt of himself, but he was different somehow, he shared stories with people who seemed to have the infliction he has in his waking world, telling them with great passions of how he was going to change the world, how one man can make a difference, and how he would execute this difference in rhythm and rhyme, poem and song, how the world was unjust and if only more people would stand up for the rights and fight against the wrongs then the world we be a better place. The people he spoke to, had turned grey though, infected by an invisible disease, he wondered how they couldn’t see his plight and why they weren’t prepared to be inspired by his ideals. Instead they nodded mechanically or delivered an answer that seemed like a shortcut to thinking, “that will never happen.” Or “try if you like but it won’t get you anywhere.” This angered him but he could see that they were ‘too set in some way’, pre-occupied with the mundane, too dead to care, or even attempt to offer a valid argument to get the creative ideas rolling in one way or another, there was nothing…

He awoke Tuesday at 3am and cursed himself for messing up his body clock so badly, he remembered nothing of his dream, he felt agitated and irritated, like there was something he was meant to do but he couldn’t remember what it was or whether it was important. Instead he drank two pints of water and went to sit on the garden steps, he stared up at the overgrown bushes at the end of his garden and wondered what spectacles of nature they were hiding, in the pale moonlight he could see the grave of his dog, she had been sleeping ten years, he had seen her occasionally since then, she seemed to hang around in his shadow when times were rough, a silent clown, ready to cheer him up when things had kicked him a little too much, an ever loving companion, that touched him from beyond the grave. He felt the insects again but knew by now that they were really tears. He sat and let them run from his eyes until there nests were empty and then he lay on his back in the short grass and stared up at the vast night until the sun began to bleach its edges with purples and blues. He felt an ache where his heart should be and decided to smoke.
The rest of Tuesday went by as a blur, a simple mission was to be executed and that was to stay awake until 11pm, this was almost impossible between the hours of two and seven, however by eight o’clock he was wide awake and feeling revived, he decided to go for a walk.
The evening was serene, the air smelt sweet and the streets were quiet, he imagined a world like this, empty and quiet, he liked the idea for a moment before going against it with such ferocious rage that it burst into flames and exploded. The evening was calm enough for him to regain composure very quickly and he even chuckled at the malicious attack on such a remote thought. He had walked for about thirty minutes with his thoughts before he saw another person, a girl in a short yellow summer dress, she had long golden hair that seemed to radiate in the remaining sunlight. She was walking towards him almost whimsically, they made accidental eye contact on nearing each other, he felt a little shy but she just smiled and glided on by in slow motion, he glanced back and watched her walking for a moment before he realised she had glanced back at him, he turned away quickly and slightly embarrassed but continued his walk with the signs of a spring in his step and almost forgot the last two days of numbness. He returned home around 10.30pm and managed to sleep from 12am. He dreamt again that night of himself and a beautiful lady with golden hair sitting on a sandy beach, a beach fire, crackling as quiet as possible, almost cursing itself to be silent so it could hear the conversation between the two lovebirds, they gazed at each other and hung on each others words in between tasting the ‘dark berry fruits’ of a delicious red wine. She was an inspiration to him, a muse for a cause he had not yet known, the dream ended with a perfect embrace and a kiss that delivered the most erotic and passionate energy he had ever known.


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#fantasy  #nonfiction  #romance  #horror  #adventure 
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Written by Mtrubenfire in portal Fiction

half-asleep

It is 1:45 am. The tv is talking to me, but I am talking to myself. Time to go to bed. To think of nothing, and nowhere. To rest up for the day ahead. I start dozing. The tv voices become white noise, far away. The network has finished its day. I am trying to finish mine. So I make the long journey to the bedroom. I am lying in bed. My eyes become stock-still. My limbs are immobile. I am paralyzed. This is what happens when I am half-asleep. Duermevela, a Spanish word that has no exact translation. It roughly signifies the eerie time between wakefulness and sleep. The time when Spirits visit us.

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Juice
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Juice
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Written by Mtrubenfire in portal Fiction
half-asleep
It is 1:45 am. The tv is talking to me, but I am talking to myself. Time to go to bed. To think of nothing, and nowhere. To rest up for the day ahead. I start dozing. The tv voices become white noise, far away. The network has finished its day. I am trying to finish mine. So I make the long journey to the bedroom. I am lying in bed. My eyes become stock-still. My limbs are immobile. I am paralyzed. This is what happens when I am half-asleep. Duermevela, a Spanish word that has no exact translation. It roughly signifies the eerie time between wakefulness and sleep. The time when Spirits visit us.
#fantasy  #scifi  #fiction  #horror  #adventure  #poetry  #science  #mystery  #spirituality 
8
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0
Juice
26 reads
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