Donate coins to Sammielee46.
Juice
Cancel
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 Sammielee46

Deflowering

Everyone has addictions.

Drugs. Alcohol. Pussy. Cigarettes. Food.

Fuck, some people are even addicted to the sound of their own voices.

My addiction isn't any of the above. I have an addiction to the sweetest nectar known to man. Innocence.

That majestic glint in an apple-eyed youngster, the look of sheer wonder, where retinas process the world in glorious kaleidoscopic colour; just before the eulogy of adulthood is read aloud during the funeral of life. Their leathered eyes becoming knowing, worldly, and suspicious.

My preferred age range is seven to twelve year olds. Prepubescent saplings that make me salivate at first glance. The spindle-limbed, uncoordinated, beauties make my dick harder than concrete.

Child pornography doesn't cut it. It never has. It’s not just about the visual aspect of what the world call 'minors.' It’s the three dimensional, multi-sensory experience. The feel, the smell. Fuck, the smell. The aroma of outdoors, sticky, sweet, their unique syrup. The feel of the smoothest skin, unmarred by razors, wax strips; pores still closed, unwrapped, pure. The sound of childhood. Giggles; the inhibited nature in which they let go and do not care who hears them. Carefreeness, immaturity, innocence.

It has always boiled back to innocence. Through my mothers’ own addictions I had my innocence stolen at the ripe age of four. Her vices: drugs, booze, and sex, made me flower into an adult way sooner than I should have. I’d listen to her moan and scream whilst some dirty looking old man would bend her over the counter and fuck her in the ass. I’d often walk in on her shooting up, belt around her arm, honey in a needle, burnt coloured spoon on the table, eyes glazed, body slumping. Seeing her that way would relieve me, her being drugged up was far better than fuelled with alcohol or screwing a stranger.

I had to fend for myself. Cook, wash my own clothes, pay for the gas and electric, get myself to and from school; everything a mother should do for a child but didn’t. By the time I was seven, I may as well have been twenty-seven. My mum died, overdosing on the liquid-gold lifeblood, and I was left tidy up around her. Time passed and eventually the care system took me in and tried to enforce childhood back on an already evolved flower. It didn’t work. I ran from every home they placed me in. Cat and mouse races ensued until I was finally old enough to be the man I am today.

Flowers. An analogy I have spent years cultivating. The life cycle of the human race closely mirrors that of the life of a flower, yet it never ends with a beautiful rose blossom. Bear with me here. A seed buried in the soil taking the nourishment from it’s life force, until it’s born, a little stem, green, new, fresh, poking it’s head towards the light from the darkness that consumed it, breaking free from the confines of the underworld. It flourishes, and the point at which I am interested is when it buds, the little heads at the end of the stem, the best moment, the innocence is still there, until it flowers into an adult and it turns out to be nothing more than a goddamn dandelion. Ugly, marred, and sowing its fucking seed everywhere.

I ended up teaching these little ones. I chose my career as I wanted to nurture innocence, capture their immaturity and try and keep them as childlike for as long as possible. The kinder-garden of spring, if you will.

The very last time I touched a bud was in class. She was my student. It was all but a hug; she’d fallen in the playground at recess, grazed her pigeon-knee, she was crying and was so sad. I held her, and the fire inside me ignited. I felt alive. I knew at that time that I must touch her more intimately, but it would have to be away from the school, it would take time. I would tend this garden until I got her alone to be able to prune her until she was putty in my hands.

After months of work, which included being trusted by her mother and father, convincing them that their actually intelligent child needed extra support outside of the classroom, they allowed me to home-tutor. To begin with she was off limits, her parents were always there, but as time went on they became confident with me being around. A day then came where they needed to go out and entrusted me with her care.

We’d finished our reading lesson and she showed me her bedroom, I won’t tell you her real name but I’ll call her Lily. Lily’s bedroom was beautiful, something out of the movies I had watched as a kid, something I never had. There were teddy’s everywhere, pink drapes, the softest carpet. We laid on the floor together, her smell fingering my nasal hairs. I touched her leg with my fingertips, slowly tracing up to the apex of her thighs, gooseflesh erupted across her skin and I knew at that point I had to taste her innocence.

I was gentle with my tongue, I tasted her newness, my tastebuds echoing the goose-pimples on her ivory flesh. She giggled, told me it felt funny, I told her in a reassuring voice to lay still, that funny feeling would feel nicer than candy. I swirled my tongue around her core until she began to shudder. My photosynthesis made my little bud quiver with my breath, with my touch; I breathed life into her, and she looked the most beautiful I had ever seen her.

I told her that the special time we had just shared was our little secret. Lily nodded. I wiped her with a washcloth, and we sat back at the kitchen table and coloured together, just in time for her parents’ return. I went home and took care of my iron-fisted erection.

For months this carried on until touching her and tasting her just wasn’t enough anymore, I was walking around with tight balls and a constant hard-on. I needed to connect us together.

----

There was blood everywhere, she was screaming, her tears scarring her ivy face, what had I done? She looked up at me, and at that point I knew I had to run, for my little bud had turned into a dandelion. I had stolen her innocence, I had stolen the innocence of so many children, just like my mother did.

----

This is my full, unedited, confession. I dialled 911 seconds ago. When you find this note, check my briefcase. I have listed all of the children that I have deflowered. Help them, please help them, just like I wish someone helped me.

~ Fin.

14
4
6
Juice
51 reads
Donate coins to Sammielee46.
Juice
Cancel
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 Sammielee46
Deflowering
Everyone has addictions.

Drugs. Alcohol. Pussy. Cigarettes. Food.

Fuck, some people are even addicted to the sound of their own voices.

My addiction isn't any of the above. I have an addiction to the sweetest nectar known to man. Innocence.

That majestic glint in an apple-eyed youngster, the look of sheer wonder, where retinas process the world in glorious kaleidoscopic colour; just before the eulogy of adulthood is read aloud during the funeral of life. Their leathered eyes becoming knowing, worldly, and suspicious.

My preferred age range is seven to twelve year olds. Prepubescent saplings that make me salivate at first glance. The spindle-limbed, uncoordinated, beauties make my dick harder than concrete.

Child pornography doesn't cut it. It never has. It’s not just about the visual aspect of what the world call 'minors.' It’s the three dimensional, multi-sensory experience. The feel, the smell. Fuck, the smell. The aroma of outdoors, sticky, sweet, their unique syrup. The feel of the smoothest skin, unmarred by razors, wax strips; pores still closed, unwrapped, pure. The sound of childhood. Giggles; the inhibited nature in which they let go and do not care who hears them. Carefreeness, immaturity, innocence.

It has always boiled back to innocence. Through my mothers’ own addictions I had my innocence stolen at the ripe age of four. Her vices: drugs, booze, and sex, made me flower into an adult way sooner than I should have. I’d listen to her moan and scream whilst some dirty looking old man would bend her over the counter and fuck her in the ass. I’d often walk in on her shooting up, belt around her arm, honey in a needle, burnt coloured spoon on the table, eyes glazed, body slumping. Seeing her that way would relieve me, her being drugged up was far better than fuelled with alcohol or screwing a stranger.

I had to fend for myself. Cook, wash my own clothes, pay for the gas and electric, get myself to and from school; everything a mother should do for a child but didn’t. By the time I was seven, I may as well have been twenty-seven. My mum died, overdosing on the liquid-gold lifeblood, and I was left tidy up around her. Time passed and eventually the care system took me in and tried to enforce childhood back on an already evolved flower. It didn’t work. I ran from every home they placed me in. Cat and mouse races ensued until I was finally old enough to be the man I am today.

Flowers. An analogy I have spent years cultivating. The life cycle of the human race closely mirrors that of the life of a flower, yet it never ends with a beautiful rose blossom. Bear with me here. A seed buried in the soil taking the nourishment from it’s life force, until it’s born, a little stem, green, new, fresh, poking it’s head towards the light from the darkness that consumed it, breaking free from the confines of the underworld. It flourishes, and the point at which I am interested is when it buds, the little heads at the end of the stem, the best moment, the innocence is still there, until it flowers into an adult and it turns out to be nothing more than a goddamn dandelion. Ugly, marred, and sowing its fucking seed everywhere.

I ended up teaching these little ones. I chose my career as I wanted to nurture innocence, capture their immaturity and try and keep them as childlike for as long as possible. The kinder-garden of spring, if you will.

The very last time I touched a bud was in class. She was my student. It was all but a hug; she’d fallen in the playground at recess, grazed her pigeon-knee, she was crying and was so sad. I held her, and the fire inside me ignited. I felt alive. I knew at that time that I must touch her more intimately, but it would have to be away from the school, it would take time. I would tend this garden until I got her alone to be able to prune her until she was putty in my hands.

After months of work, which included being trusted by her mother and father, convincing them that their actually intelligent child needed extra support outside of the classroom, they allowed me to home-tutor. To begin with she was off limits, her parents were always there, but as time went on they became confident with me being around. A day then came where they needed to go out and entrusted me with her care.

We’d finished our reading lesson and she showed me her bedroom, I won’t tell you her real name but I’ll call her Lily. Lily’s bedroom was beautiful, something out of the movies I had watched as a kid, something I never had. There were teddy’s everywhere, pink drapes, the softest carpet. We laid on the floor together, her smell fingering my nasal hairs. I touched her leg with my fingertips, slowly tracing up to the apex of her thighs, gooseflesh erupted across her skin and I knew at that point I had to taste her innocence.

I was gentle with my tongue, I tasted her newness, my tastebuds echoing the goose-pimples on her ivory flesh. She giggled, told me it felt funny, I told her in a reassuring voice to lay still, that funny feeling would feel nicer than candy. I swirled my tongue around her core until she began to shudder. My photosynthesis made my little bud quiver with my breath, with my touch; I breathed life into her, and she looked the most beautiful I had ever seen her.

I told her that the special time we had just shared was our little secret. Lily nodded. I wiped her with a washcloth, and we sat back at the kitchen table and coloured together, just in time for her parents’ return. I went home and took care of my iron-fisted erection.

For months this carried on until touching her and tasting her just wasn’t enough anymore, I was walking around with tight balls and a constant hard-on. I needed to connect us together.

----

There was blood everywhere, she was screaming, her tears scarring her ivy face, what had I done? She looked up at me, and at that point I knew I had to run, for my little bud had turned into a dandelion. I had stolen her innocence, I had stolen the innocence of so many children, just like my mother did.

----

This is my full, unedited, confession. I dialled 911 seconds ago. When you find this note, check my briefcase. I have listed all of the children that I have deflowered. Help them, please help them, just like I wish someone helped me.


~ Fin.
#fiction  #shortstory  #nsfw  #Itslit  #LolitaInspired 
14
4
6
Juice
51 reads
Load 6 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Winterreign.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Winterreign

Lost souls

I can hear them..

I can hear the sound

Of all those lost souls

Wandering this planet..

With unfinished business..

I can see and feel them.

I can feel their suffering

And their solitude..

I can see

flashes and memories

Of their life story..

It's like i am part

Of their story..

Experiencing the same

Thing they went through..

All these horror

They been through..

Crystal clear in my mind..

I couldn't believe

All these horrors

They were put through..

I couldn't believe

That humans

Could be

So cruel..

I can hear their screams

And cries

Echoing in my ear..

Echoing in my mind..

The nightmares of their life

Haunting me in my dreams

Haunting me in my daily life..

Sometimes i would get

These random visions

And nightmares..

That felt so real

And vivid.

Something would pull

Me down under water

In and out of the water..

I couldn't breathe

It felt like the

Air was sucked out

Of my lungs..

I tried so hard to

Break free but

It was impossible..

Sometimes it was

Hard to wake up.

I couldn't tell the difference

Between reality and a dream.

I couldn't tell which

Was real and which one

Was a hallucination.

Sometimes something

Would push me off the cliff..

And i'd find myself..

Falling and falling..

And falling...

To my death..

And then i would wake up

Screaming, sweating

And yelling..

Some called me crazy

Telling me that

I'm hallucinating ..

They covered my body

In white cloth

And tied me up with a belt..

Then they sent me in

An asylum

And shoved pills

Inside my throat..

Hoping that

They can cure me..

Hoping that

they can get rid

Of this illness..

But i can still hear

Them...

I can feel their touch..

I'm not hallucinating..

I'm not crazy..

They are the crazy ones..

That made me this way..

They are the ones

That drove me to the edge..

They were the real

Monsters..

Not me..

They made me

Crazy..

It's all their fault.

All their fault..

12
3
14
Juice
55 reads
Donate coins to Winterreign.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Winterreign
Lost souls
I can hear them..

I can hear the sound
Of all those lost souls
Wandering this planet..

With unfinished business..

I can see and feel them.

I can feel their suffering
And their solitude..

I can see
flashes and memories
Of their life story..

It's like i am part
Of their story..

Experiencing the same
Thing they went through..

All these horror
They been through..
Crystal clear in my mind..

I couldn't believe
All these horrors
They were put through..

I couldn't believe
That humans
Could be
So cruel..

I can hear their screams
And cries
Echoing in my ear..

Echoing in my mind..

The nightmares of their life
Haunting me in my dreams
Haunting me in my daily life..

Sometimes i would get
These random visions
And nightmares..

That felt so real
And vivid.

Something would pull
Me down under water
In and out of the water..

I couldn't breathe
It felt like the
Air was sucked out
Of my lungs..

I tried so hard to
Break free but
It was impossible..

Sometimes it was
Hard to wake up.

I couldn't tell the difference
Between reality and a dream.

I couldn't tell which
Was real and which one
Was a hallucination.

Sometimes something
Would push me off the cliff..

And i'd find myself..

Falling and falling..

And falling...

To my death..

And then i would wake up
Screaming, sweating
And yelling..

Some called me crazy
Telling me that
I'm hallucinating ..

They covered my body
In white cloth
And tied me up with a belt..

Then they sent me in
An asylum
And shoved pills
Inside my throat..

Hoping that
They can cure me..

Hoping that
they can get rid
Of this illness..

But i can still hear
Them...

I can feel their touch..

I'm not hallucinating..

I'm not crazy..

They are the crazy ones..

That made me this way..

They are the ones
That drove me to the edge..

They were the real
Monsters..

Not me..

They made me
Crazy..

It's all their fault.

All their fault..
#horror  #shortstory  #nightmare 
12
3
14
Juice
55 reads
Load 14 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Winterreign.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Winterreign

Her innocence

* awareness*

*abuse*

I found myself cornered

In a dark alleyway,

By a creep

Who lurked

The night,

Going after

Young innocent

Little girls,

Deflowering

And stripping away

Their sweet innocent,

I pleaded and begged

Asking him

To set me free,

To let me go,

But it was no use

He was stronger

And tougher than me

He continued to rip

My clothes apart,

Not caring how

I struggled and cried

I tried to scream

But he shoved his

Hands on my mouth,

This was it

He was going to steal

My innocence away,

And there was

Nothing i could do

To stop it,

I kept crying

As he fondled my

Little chest,

Knowing nobody

Would come save me

Nobody would come

To rescue me,

I was only 10

Years old little

Orphan girl,

With no family

And i was surely

About to die,

Or perhaps this

Horrible memory

Would forever

Haunt me,

For the rest

Of my life,

He forced himself

Inside me,

I was in deep pain

The worst pain

Ever imaginable,

It wasn't the kind of pain

You get from a bruise

Or a cut

It wasn't the kind of pain

You get from getting

Your blood taken,

No it was far much

More worse than that,

It was like a knife

Tearing my walls apart

Like a knife cutting me open,

The pain didn't go away

The pain didn't subside,

I kept wishing and hoping

That time would speed up

I kept wishing it would stop,

I kept wishing for someone

To come and help me.

But nobody showed up,

Nobody came,

As the time went by

I kneeled on the

Cold ground

Covered in my own blood,

I tried to stand up

And move

But every move

That i made

Hurts,

It felt like my insides

Were broken and torn

Apart,

It felt like i

Needed stitches,

I was in so much

Pain and suffering,

It was unbearable,

I wanted it to stop

I wanted to die

At that moment,

I collapsed there

Laying in the pool

Of my own blood,

Losing all hope of life,

Losing all hope of living,

Losing all hope of happiness,

I didn't understand

Why did this

happened to me,

I didn't understand

Why someone would steal

A child innocence away,

I didn't understand

Why i was suffering so much,

To this day

I never forgot that painful

Moment out of my head,

That moment

Haunts me in my dreams,

I stayed away from boys and man

And i kept what happened

To me a secret

Because it was hard

To talk about it,

Because thinking about it

Makes me cry,

Thinking about it

Makes me hurt,

It was hard to sleep at night

It was hard to eat and to

Breathe,

I will never forget

The moment i lost

My sweet innocent,

No one should ever

Go through that

No one should ever

Feel the way i felt,

Because that pain

Will last for the rest of your life.

Because that pain

Will make you not trust anyone.

Ever again.

8
2
5
Juice
37 reads
Donate coins to Winterreign.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Winterreign
Her innocence
* awareness*
*abuse*

I found myself cornered
In a dark alleyway,

By a creep
Who lurked
The night,

Going after
Young innocent
Little girls,

Deflowering
And stripping away
Their sweet innocent,

I pleaded and begged
Asking him
To set me free,
To let me go,

But it was no use
He was stronger
And tougher than me

He continued to rip
My clothes apart,
Not caring how
I struggled and cried

I tried to scream
But he shoved his
Hands on my mouth,

This was it
He was going to steal
My innocence away,

And there was
Nothing i could do
To stop it,

I kept crying
As he fondled my
Little chest,

Knowing nobody
Would come save me
Nobody would come
To rescue me,

I was only 10
Years old little
Orphan girl,

With no family
And i was surely
About to die,

Or perhaps this
Horrible memory
Would forever
Haunt me,

For the rest
Of my life,

He forced himself
Inside me,

I was in deep pain
The worst pain
Ever imaginable,

It wasn't the kind of pain
You get from a bruise
Or a cut

It wasn't the kind of pain
You get from getting
Your blood taken,

No it was far much
More worse than that,

It was like a knife
Tearing my walls apart
Like a knife cutting me open,

The pain didn't go away
The pain didn't subside,

I kept wishing and hoping
That time would speed up
I kept wishing it would stop,

I kept wishing for someone
To come and help me.

But nobody showed up,
Nobody came,

As the time went by
I kneeled on the
Cold ground
Covered in my own blood,

I tried to stand up
And move

But every move
That i made
Hurts,

It felt like my insides
Were broken and torn
Apart,

It felt like i
Needed stitches,

I was in so much
Pain and suffering,
It was unbearable,

I wanted it to stop
I wanted to die
At that moment,

I collapsed there
Laying in the pool
Of my own blood,

Losing all hope of life,
Losing all hope of living,
Losing all hope of happiness,

I didn't understand
Why did this
happened to me,

I didn't understand
Why someone would steal
A child innocence away,

I didn't understand
Why i was suffering so much,

To this day
I never forgot that painful
Moment out of my head,

That moment
Haunts me in my dreams,
I stayed away from boys and man

And i kept what happened
To me a secret
Because it was hard
To talk about it,

Because thinking about it
Makes me cry,

Thinking about it
Makes me hurt,

It was hard to sleep at night
It was hard to eat and to
Breathe,

I will never forget
The moment i lost
My sweet innocent,

No one should ever
Go through that
No one should ever
Feel the way i felt,

Because that pain
Will last for the rest of your life.

Because that pain
Will make you not trust anyone.
Ever again.
#shortstory  #victim  #abuse  #innocence 
8
2
5
Juice
37 reads
Load 5 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to poeticasymptote.
Juice
Cancel
I'm enamored of short-form writing - micropoetry, flash fiction, etc. For this challenge, write an ultrashort story (150 words or fewer). It must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. I will do one, too. Tag me @ruffmiriam
Written by poeticasymptote in portal Flash Fiction

The Spell

A curse was to be placed

on a girl

by a dark magician;

but before casting it

he instructed,

'You may speak only one phrase

for the rest of your life. Choose.'

This curse (she smiles)

is a sweet one, she surmised

and he looked at her

dumbstruck and confused.

'Why, I better cast it now,'

he thought, unsure.

'What phrase have you chosen?'

'I love you,' she replied.

'You silly girl,' he said in anger.

'You cannot give

everyone your love.

You'll die the moment you lie.'

She smiled.

He was annoyed.

'Are you not afraid to die?'

he asked.

She smiled.

'I'd speak only to one,

and to the rest of the world

I'd be mute.'

'Fool!'

He was outraged because

he couldn't frighten her.

So he cast the spell.

Silence.

She faced him.

'I love you, I love you, I love you,'

she said.

She isn't dead.

20
6
12
Juice
69 reads
Donate coins to poeticasymptote.
Juice
Cancel
I'm enamored of short-form writing - micropoetry, flash fiction, etc. For this challenge, write an ultrashort story (150 words or fewer). It must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. I will do one, too. Tag me @ruffmiriam
Written by poeticasymptote in portal Flash Fiction
The Spell
A curse was to be placed
on a girl
by a dark magician;
but before casting it
he instructed,
'You may speak only one phrase
for the rest of your life. Choose.'

This curse (she smiles)
is a sweet one, she surmised
and he looked at her
dumbstruck and confused.

'Why, I better cast it now,'
he thought, unsure.
'What phrase have you chosen?'

'I love you,' she replied.
'You silly girl,' he said in anger.
'You cannot give
everyone your love.
You'll die the moment you lie.'

She smiled.
He was annoyed.
'Are you not afraid to die?'
he asked.

She smiled.
'I'd speak only to one,
and to the rest of the world
I'd be mute.'

'Fool!'
He was outraged because
he couldn't frighten her.
So he cast the spell.

Silence.

She faced him.

'I love you, I love you, I love you,'
she said.

She isn't dead.
#fantasy  #fiction  #romance  #challenge  #shortstory 
20
6
12
Juice
69 reads
Load 12 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Winterreign.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Winterreign

Her innocence

* awareness*

*abuse*

I found myself cornered

In a dark alleyway,

By a creep

Who lurked

The night,

Going after

Young innocent

Little girls,

Deflowering

And stripping away

Their sweet innocent,

I pleaded and begged

Asking him

To set me free,

To let me go,

But it was no use

He was stronger

And tougher than me

He continued to rip

My clothes apart,

Not caring how

I struggled and cried

I tried to scream

But he shoved his

Hands on my mouth,

This was it

He was going to steal

My innocence away,

And there was

Nothing i could do

To stop it,

I kept crying

As he fondled my

Little chest,

Knowing nobody

Would come save me

Nobody would come

To rescue me,

I was only 10

Years old little

Orphan girl,

With no family

And i was surely

About to die,

Or perhaps this

Horrible memory

Would forever

Haunt me,

For the rest

Of my life,

He forced himself

Inside me,

I was in deep pain

The worst pain

Ever imaginable,

It wasn't the kind of pain

You get from a bruise

Or a cut

It wasn't the kind of pain

You get from getting

Your blood taken,

No it was far much

More worse than that,

It was like a knife

Tearing my walls apart

Like a knife cutting me open,

My insides hurts

So much and

The pain didn't go away

The pain didn't subside,

I kept wishing and hoping

That time would speed up

I kept wishing it would stop,

I kept wishing for someone

To come and help me.

But nobody showed up,

Nobody came,

As the time went by

I kneeled on the

Cold ground

Covered in my own blood,

I tried to stand up

And move

But every move

That i made

Hurt so much,

It felt like my insides

Were broken and torn

Apart,

It felt like i

Needed stitches,

I was in so much

Pain and suffering,

It was unbearable,

I wanted it to stop

I wanted to die

At that moment,

I collapsed there

Laying in the pool

Of my own blood,

Losing all hope of life,

Losing all hope of living,

Losing all hope of happiness,

I didn't understand

Why did this

happened to me,

I didn't understand

Why someone would steal

A child innocence away,

I didn't understand

Why i was suffering so much,

To this day

I never forgot that painful

Moment out of my head,

That moment

Haunts me in my dreams,

I stayed away from boys and man

And i kept what happened

To me a secret

Because it was hard

To talk about it,

Because thinking about it

Makes me cry,

Thinking about it

Makes me hurt,

It was hard to sleep at night

It was hard to eat and to

Breathe,

I will never forget

The moment i lost

My sweet innocent,

No one should ever

Go through that

No one should ever

Feel the way i felt,

Because that pain

Will last for the rest of your life.

Because that pain

Will make you not trust anyone.

Ever again.

5
1
5
Juice
22 reads
Donate coins to Winterreign.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Winterreign
Her innocence
* awareness*
*abuse*

I found myself cornered
In a dark alleyway,

By a creep
Who lurked
The night,

Going after
Young innocent
Little girls,

Deflowering
And stripping away
Their sweet innocent,

I pleaded and begged
Asking him
To set me free,
To let me go,

But it was no use
He was stronger
And tougher than me

He continued to rip
My clothes apart,
Not caring how
I struggled and cried

I tried to scream
But he shoved his
Hands on my mouth,

This was it
He was going to steal
My innocence away,

And there was
Nothing i could do
To stop it,

I kept crying
As he fondled my
Little chest,

Knowing nobody
Would come save me
Nobody would come
To rescue me,

I was only 10
Years old little
Orphan girl,

With no family
And i was surely
About to die,

Or perhaps this
Horrible memory
Would forever
Haunt me,

For the rest
Of my life,

He forced himself
Inside me,

I was in deep pain
The worst pain
Ever imaginable,

It wasn't the kind of pain
You get from a bruise
Or a cut

It wasn't the kind of pain
You get from getting
Your blood taken,

No it was far much
More worse than that,

It was like a knife
Tearing my walls apart
Like a knife cutting me open,

My insides hurts
So much and
The pain didn't go away
The pain didn't subside,

I kept wishing and hoping
That time would speed up
I kept wishing it would stop,

I kept wishing for someone
To come and help me.

But nobody showed up,
Nobody came,

As the time went by
I kneeled on the
Cold ground
Covered in my own blood,

I tried to stand up
And move

But every move
That i made
Hurt so much,

It felt like my insides
Were broken and torn
Apart,

It felt like i
Needed stitches,

I was in so much
Pain and suffering,
It was unbearable,

I wanted it to stop
I wanted to die
At that moment,

I collapsed there
Laying in the pool
Of my own blood,

Losing all hope of life,
Losing all hope of living,
Losing all hope of happiness,

I didn't understand
Why did this
happened to me,

I didn't understand
Why someone would steal
A child innocence away,

I didn't understand
Why i was suffering so much,

To this day
I never forgot that painful
Moment out of my head,

That moment
Haunts me in my dreams,
I stayed away from boys and man

And i kept what happened
To me a secret
Because it was hard
To talk about it,

Because thinking about it
Makes me cry,

Thinking about it
Makes me hurt,

It was hard to sleep at night
It was hard to eat and to
Breathe,

I will never forget
The moment i lost
My sweet innocent,

No one should ever
Go through that
No one should ever
Feel the way i felt,

Because that pain
Will last for the rest of your life.

Because that pain
Will make you not trust anyone.
Ever again.
#shortstory  #victim  #abuse  #innocence 
5
1
5
Juice
22 reads
Load 5 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Winterreign.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Winterreign

Jar of hearts preface

I remember the first time that i laid eyes on you. The moment i fell for you, everything in my life changed because of you. You came into my life and showed me how to love, you opened my eyes up to the world. Little did i know that you'd be the one to break me in the end. You were the air that i breathed, you were the one that guided me out of the darkness. You saved me from my demons and showed me love. I was infatuated by you and blinded by your love . I should have known better, I should have never fell for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1 year ago

-Past-

I stood on the edge of the roof, taking deep breaths in and out. This was it, this was the day i would finally end my life. I know it's a cowardly move, but i don't care. I was the invisible girl nobody noticed, I would get bullied and laughed at. My parents were always working so they didn't have time for their children.

my sisters were always drinking , partying and hanging out with boys older than them that they barely paid attention to me. I couldn't take it anymore, I couldn't live in a world that wouldn't accept me.whats the point of living anyway when you've been alone your whole life, where nobody knew your name.

Where people judged you and labeled you, the world wouldn't miss me when i'm gone so i'm doing them a favour. I wondered what heaven would be like, would i have wings and finally be happy? I guess it's better than being here on earth.

I was about to jump when someone caught me and pulled me back. I turned around and saw who my hero was. He was so handsome like a Greek god with his long white and black hair tied into a pony tail. His eyes were blue but not like the blue of the sky. His eyes were blue like the ocean, crystal- clear blue that was mesmerizing. I felt like he was looking deep into my soul.

I couldn't look away from those beautiful eyes, fuck i wanted him to kiss me roughly and have his way with me. I shook my head , pulling away from his gaze. I noticed that he had an eyebrow piercing and a snake bite.

those small pink lips of his looked kissable. His arms were covered with tattoos of different kinds, I found them intriguing .I didn't know what to say, so i bit my lips nervously. He saved me but i didn't know if i wanted his help.

He took my hand and kissed it then he pulled me into his embrace, holding me close in his arms. It felt so nice being in someone's arm, he smelled really nice. I closed my eyes inhaling his scent as he tried to calm me down.

I will never forget the first time meeting him...

10
2
3
Juice
32 reads
Donate coins to Winterreign.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Winterreign
Jar of hearts preface
I remember the first time that i laid eyes on you. The moment i fell for you, everything in my life changed because of you. You came into my life and showed me how to love, you opened my eyes up to the world. Little did i know that you'd be the one to break me in the end. You were the air that i breathed, you were the one that guided me out of the darkness. You saved me from my demons and showed me love. I was infatuated by you and blinded by your love . I should have known better, I should have never fell for you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1 year ago
-Past-
I stood on the edge of the roof, taking deep breaths in and out. This was it, this was the day i would finally end my life. I know it's a cowardly move, but i don't care. I was the invisible girl nobody noticed, I would get bullied and laughed at. My parents were always working so they didn't have time for their children.

my sisters were always drinking , partying and hanging out with boys older than them that they barely paid attention to me. I couldn't take it anymore, I couldn't live in a world that wouldn't accept me.whats the point of living anyway when you've been alone your whole life, where nobody knew your name.
Where people judged you and labeled you, the world wouldn't miss me when i'm gone so i'm doing them a favour. I wondered what heaven would be like, would i have wings and finally be happy? I guess it's better than being here on earth.

I was about to jump when someone caught me and pulled me back. I turned around and saw who my hero was. He was so handsome like a Greek god with his long white and black hair tied into a pony tail. His eyes were blue but not like the blue of the sky. His eyes were blue like the ocean, crystal- clear blue that was mesmerizing. I felt like he was looking deep into my soul.
I couldn't look away from those beautiful eyes, fuck i wanted him to kiss me roughly and have his way with me. I shook my head , pulling away from his gaze. I noticed that he had an eyebrow piercing and a snake bite.

those small pink lips of his looked kissable. His arms were covered with tattoos of different kinds, I found them intriguing .I didn't know what to say, so i bit my lips nervously. He saved me but i didn't know if i wanted his help.
He took my hand and kissed it then he pulled me into his embrace, holding me close in his arms. It felt so nice being in someone's arm, he smelled really nice. I closed my eyes inhaling his scent as he tried to calm me down.
I will never forget the first time meeting him...
#romance  #adventure  #shortstory 
10
2
3
Juice
32 reads
Load 3 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Selahkx.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Selahkx in portal Poetry & Free Verse

I barely remember it all now, just details that leap out to me when I think of him sometimes. You know, important things that you think are small when you're in the It, but in hindsight turn out to be the Everything.

I remember the night I met him. It was early April 2004. I was 18. He was 22. He walked in with his friend who was visiting my room mate. I was annoyed and didn't want company. Then we locked eyes. He was the physical manifestation of the boy of my dreams. He hopped up on my bed like he'd known me my whole life and told me his name in the cocky, nonchalant way the handsome ones tend to do. I blushed and smiled, but my eyes never left his. He was mine and we knew it. Everyone in the room saw the change that came over us.

We were going to Be.

From that day forward we were inseparable in Spirit and physical proximity.

The feeling was pure. It was cutting. It made me realize I was truly alive. He was beautiful and kind and tall and intelligent and hailed from New York. He spoke the same language as me. We didn't need words. It was understood.

We would spend hours marveling at the contrasts in our skins: mine was a richly dark mahogany next to his olive shot through with coppers and golds. He'd raptly watch me play violin in his t-shirts on lazy Saturday mornings turned into afternoons. He held my hand tightly everywhere we went, even while he was driving. He thought I was the most lovely girl he'd ever known and told anyone that who would listen.

He was the only man who has ever stood up and battled for me against those whom I felt defenseless. He was the first man to send me flowers - pink roses often and just because. He was tone deaf and had no rhythm but loved music I think sometimes even more than me. He wrote me letters and poetry and talked me to sleep every night that first summer when I was away from him.

He taught me to love non-fiction books and chess and documentaries and the power of sitting with someone in Silence. He spoiled me. He grounded me. He was one of the best friends I'll ever have. He taught me what love is. He taught me how to love myself. He saved my life.

He was a romantic. He was strong. He was humble. He was quiet. He was a good Cancer. He loved me more than anyone he had ever known before in this life. He made sure everyone knew that, especially me.

Love became a tangible entity and wafted off of our skin like perfume. It was Spring when we met, and those warm months turned into hot months then cold then warm again. With him I took my first steps into womanhood. It seemed that the sun rose every morning just for us. Everyday was an adventure. Everything seemed be covered in sunshine and rose petals. He was my drug. I finally understood why civilizations rise and fall all in the name of that emotion.

Women stared at him when we were together, but he always stared at me. He imprinted into every groove and curve of my body. He taught me that physical love and emotional love and spiritual love combine to make pleasure Infinitely.

His dad was German and his mom was Haitian. Quite the interesting combination. He had the temper of the half-island country and the predisposition for cruelty of the white man. That didn't come out until the end when we were trying our best to break each other's hearts.

My friends liked him for me until when a couple years in they began to notice my weight fluctuating based on the state of my relationship-thin for bad, chubby for happy. I was an average size to skinny the last year of our relationship. To this day, I only wear stretch jeans, a habit I picked up during that year.

We were too young to make the life we wanted together become a reality. He had no father and I had no kin. We were both hurting and wanted so badly to heal the other. We kept trying to fill those voids. We failed, but we were too young to realize that is not the job of another human being-filling another's Empty.

Failure turned into resentment. Resentment turned into cruelty. We loved each other and knew each other very well, so when we began The Hurting we became monsters. We broke each other's hearts. I didn't get out of bed for 3 days after the last time I saw his face because I knew I would never see him again. I Changed. I became hard and stopped playing my violin and writing and smiling. I stopped going to class. My professors were kind and passed me anyway because even they understood. I ran away and joined the Navy two days after graduation. It took me almost a decade of breaking my heart and the hearts of others to stop running. I've finally forgiven both of us.

One of the best days we ever had was spent drunk and in love gallivanting around New York City. He had gotten down on his knee and given me a ring not long before that day. I remember its proud flaunting in the Harlem sun.

In Brooklyn we passed a woman struggling to make it down subway stairs that we were walking up. She had her hands full with two toddlers and a baby in a stroller. He told me - Hold on K; picked up the stroller with one hand and the smallest toddler with the other. He flashed a gilded smile at all of us that my brain committed to long-term memory. Even the baby girl was dazzled. I watched him run down the stairs like only the young and free dare to. He just had a heart like that.

At the bottom of the stairs the woman gave him a hug and yelled back up to me -

You got a good one girl, don't let him go. I yelled back - I never will.

I did. I have.

He now has a wife and a daughter of his own. I learned they were married seven years ago when a picture from a mutual friend passed across my screen. You think you know pain-you do not. Not until you've seen the person you've loved the most on this earth married to the woman you knew as his classmate only 2 years before. I was angry at and mistrustful of men and the world for a long time after that. But, alas, Time does heal. So does Love of Self. And Writing. And Music. And Hope.

I knew I had released the ghost last week when I reflected on how much his little girl looks like him. How happy his wife looks. How proud I was of him. I smiled at those thoughts and breathed the last of him out of my lungs. Al fin.

I remember the intensity of the Spring sun the last day I ever saw him; it was making his skin shine like new gold. We were holding hands but the space between us was finally impossible to span. The tears that welled up in both of us betrayed the last lies we ever told each other: See you later, we said. My last words with him were exchanged in the place where I first realized I was in love with him. It was by a lake they call Salem. Fitting how that word means peace.

The sun burned brightly in the sky on both of those days, lapping, waving, rippling, and sparkling the water like water only does when it's warmed. I'll always remember the sparkling. Everything about our relationship was a poem, especially our goodbye.

To this day, I still smile deeply inward at the sight and smell and feel of pink roses...

Thank you.

~rose gold

selah.k_x

13
4
0
Juice
29 reads
Donate coins to Selahkx.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Selahkx in portal Poetry & Free Verse
I barely remember it all now, just details that leap out to me when I think of him sometimes. You know, important things that you think are small when you're in the It, but in hindsight turn out to be the Everything.
I remember the night I met him. It was early April 2004. I was 18. He was 22. He walked in with his friend who was visiting my room mate. I was annoyed and didn't want company. Then we locked eyes. He was the physical manifestation of the boy of my dreams. He hopped up on my bed like he'd known me my whole life and told me his name in the cocky, nonchalant way the handsome ones tend to do. I blushed and smiled, but my eyes never left his. He was mine and we knew it. Everyone in the room saw the change that came over us.
We were going to Be.
From that day forward we were inseparable in Spirit and physical proximity.
The feeling was pure. It was cutting. It made me realize I was truly alive. He was beautiful and kind and tall and intelligent and hailed from New York. He spoke the same language as me. We didn't need words. It was understood.
We would spend hours marveling at the contrasts in our skins: mine was a richly dark mahogany next to his olive shot through with coppers and golds. He'd raptly watch me play violin in his t-shirts on lazy Saturday mornings turned into afternoons. He held my hand tightly everywhere we went, even while he was driving. He thought I was the most lovely girl he'd ever known and told anyone that who would listen.
He was the only man who has ever stood up and battled for me against those whom I felt defenseless. He was the first man to send me flowers - pink roses often and just because. He was tone deaf and had no rhythm but loved music I think sometimes even more than me. He wrote me letters and poetry and talked me to sleep every night that first summer when I was away from him.
He taught me to love non-fiction books and chess and documentaries and the power of sitting with someone in Silence. He spoiled me. He grounded me. He was one of the best friends I'll ever have. He taught me what love is. He taught me how to love myself. He saved my life.
He was a romantic. He was strong. He was humble. He was quiet. He was a good Cancer. He loved me more than anyone he had ever known before in this life. He made sure everyone knew that, especially me.
Love became a tangible entity and wafted off of our skin like perfume. It was Spring when we met, and those warm months turned into hot months then cold then warm again. With him I took my first steps into womanhood. It seemed that the sun rose every morning just for us. Everyday was an adventure. Everything seemed be covered in sunshine and rose petals. He was my drug. I finally understood why civilizations rise and fall all in the name of that emotion.
Women stared at him when we were together, but he always stared at me. He imprinted into every groove and curve of my body. He taught me that physical love and emotional love and spiritual love combine to make pleasure Infinitely.
His dad was German and his mom was Haitian. Quite the interesting combination. He had the temper of the half-island country and the predisposition for cruelty of the white man. That didn't come out until the end when we were trying our best to break each other's hearts.
My friends liked him for me until when a couple years in they began to notice my weight fluctuating based on the state of my relationship-thin for bad, chubby for happy. I was an average size to skinny the last year of our relationship. To this day, I only wear stretch jeans, a habit I picked up during that year.
We were too young to make the life we wanted together become a reality. He had no father and I had no kin. We were both hurting and wanted so badly to heal the other. We kept trying to fill those voids. We failed, but we were too young to realize that is not the job of another human being-filling another's Empty.
Failure turned into resentment. Resentment turned into cruelty. We loved each other and knew each other very well, so when we began The Hurting we became monsters. We broke each other's hearts. I didn't get out of bed for 3 days after the last time I saw his face because I knew I would never see him again. I Changed. I became hard and stopped playing my violin and writing and smiling. I stopped going to class. My professors were kind and passed me anyway because even they understood. I ran away and joined the Navy two days after graduation. It took me almost a decade of breaking my heart and the hearts of others to stop running. I've finally forgiven both of us.
One of the best days we ever had was spent drunk and in love gallivanting around New York City. He had gotten down on his knee and given me a ring not long before that day. I remember its proud flaunting in the Harlem sun.
In Brooklyn we passed a woman struggling to make it down subway stairs that we were walking up. She had her hands full with two toddlers and a baby in a stroller. He told me - Hold on K; picked up the stroller with one hand and the smallest toddler with the other. He flashed a gilded smile at all of us that my brain committed to long-term memory. Even the baby girl was dazzled. I watched him run down the stairs like only the young and free dare to. He just had a heart like that.
At the bottom of the stairs the woman gave him a hug and yelled back up to me -
You got a good one girl, don't let him go. I yelled back - I never will.
I did. I have.
He now has a wife and a daughter of his own. I learned they were married seven years ago when a picture from a mutual friend passed across my screen. You think you know pain-you do not. Not until you've seen the person you've loved the most on this earth married to the woman you knew as his classmate only 2 years before. I was angry at and mistrustful of men and the world for a long time after that. But, alas, Time does heal. So does Love of Self. And Writing. And Music. And Hope.
I knew I had released the ghost last week when I reflected on how much his little girl looks like him. How happy his wife looks. How proud I was of him. I smiled at those thoughts and breathed the last of him out of my lungs. Al fin.
I remember the intensity of the Spring sun the last day I ever saw him; it was making his skin shine like new gold. We were holding hands but the space between us was finally impossible to span. The tears that welled up in both of us betrayed the last lies we ever told each other: See you later, we said. My last words with him were exchanged in the place where I first realized I was in love with him. It was by a lake they call Salem. Fitting how that word means peace.
The sun burned brightly in the sky on both of those days, lapping, waving, rippling, and sparkling the water like water only does when it's warmed. I'll always remember the sparkling. Everything about our relationship was a poem, especially our goodbye.
To this day, I still smile deeply inward at the sight and smell and feel of pink roses...
Thank you.
~rose gold
selah.k_x
#shortstory  #love  #memories 
13
4
0
Juice
29 reads
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to WhiteRaven.
Juice
Cancel
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 WhiteRaven in portal Publishing

Another

Another

There was another.

I've heard of her.

She walks with a careful limp. Stray eyes slip and forget her at first glance.

But I see straight through her.

She's an unknown.

She's an angel.

Not in the strictest sense of the word.

But an angel of The Wood.

I've watched her mend a burnt gash in bark, breathe life into a drooping toadstool.

Call on the earth and grow a dozen black roses in the dead of December.

Just because she could.

I've seen her smile the way people do when they think they're alone.

Except I was watching and she could only assume paranoia at my presence.

Tick tick tick went her intuition but she tamped it with a shaky smile.

She'll tack it as waylaid anxiety.

And why shouldn't she? 

She is young and will forget the unsettling moment.

And I'll be a distant call of a crow.

Echoed and forgotten. 

Every morning before the sun warms my back she's here.

Talking to the brush and young flower buds. 

With every rise and fall the air simmers and the ground stills.

Dust lays down and trees lean in to listen.

She murmurs to the roses now,

smiling as they wave to and fro with her words. 

They love her because she holds magic.

Old magic not seen for centuries and certainly not in this wood. 

Her kind is what makes places like this breathe. 

Angels look after woodlands and stand to mitigate when man and nature merge. 

But she doesn't know.

She doesn't yet understand her purpose. 

I see her pick up a branch from the ground with a frown.

Shaking it with eyes alight she calls for it to return.

I see it wobble and hover to a tree. 

Bright yellow shimmers where branch meets bark. 

It has done what was asked of the angel. 

But why does she ignore a dying tree?

Her age is what sews her ignorance. 

No one soul can hold her accountable for that.

Only time will teach her to grow learned.

Still I cannot help but cast blame on this green caretaker.

All I asked was for her to turn around.

But she is too young to see. 

Kicking the wet needles she ponders her power.

Furrowing her brow in thought. 

She's timid now, not one in twenty, but that is now.

Given time she will grow and so will her abilities.

But I can barely see her anymore, my bark is crusted.

Even my hearing is muffled now.

All I can make out is my crackled breathing with each wind stroke.

Caressing my dying branches. 

I've tried to call to her.

Many nights I allowed the small owl to speak for me.

Other nights the wind itself to no avail. 

My case was settled and I was to meet the earth for one final time.

At last one dim day in Spring I see her eyes.

Speckled green blue droplets burning with intensity.

She puts her face so close to mine.

"How had I not seen you Old One?"

Her voice is strong and steady but those eyes are wet.

Her eyes give everything away. 

And they tell a sad story.

For years she played with it.

Her gift.

Never stopping to ask why.

Never thinking.

Never looking about her.

And now she would reap penance. 

I can see her regret glazed in her eyes.

She is now six and twenty. 

And I see she is no longer timid.

I said that wouldn't last didn't I?

Even so it is too late.

And we both know it.

Yet she whispers to me, almost song like.

Hair as brown as my bark furls and unfurls with the wind.

This gentle wind called upon by her power.

And I can feel my eyes grow soft.

I can taste the smoothness of my bark.

One last harvest before the long winter.

Stained glass leaves lying to transfixed eyes of their death.

She opens her palm to me. I am taken by the green pine cone 

wrapped ever so tightly; looking as shy and she once was.

"I ask that you forgive me and allow me to sustain your legacy." 

Placing a soft kiss she buries the cone a couple yards from me.

She hits a root but I say nothing.

I was not forgotten.

I won't be forgotten.

With a soft intake of breath and decent of her eyelids she murmurs:

"Rest Old One. I release you."

And what else is an old tree like me to do?

I obey the angel. 

6
1
1
Juice
17 reads
Donate coins to WhiteRaven.
Juice
Cancel
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 WhiteRaven in portal Publishing
Another
Another
There was another.
I've heard of her.
She walks with a careful limp. Stray eyes slip and forget her at first glance.
But I see straight through her.
She's an unknown.
She's an angel.
Not in the strictest sense of the word.
But an angel of The Wood.
I've watched her mend a burnt gash in bark, breathe life into a drooping toadstool.
Call on the earth and grow a dozen black roses in the dead of December.
Just because she could.
I've seen her smile the way people do when they think they're alone.
Except I was watching and she could only assume paranoia at my presence.
Tick tick tick went her intuition but she tamped it with a shaky smile.
She'll tack it as waylaid anxiety.
And why shouldn't she? 
She is young and will forget the unsettling moment.
And I'll be a distant call of a crow.
Echoed and forgotten. 
Every morning before the sun warms my back she's here.
Talking to the brush and young flower buds. 
With every rise and fall the air simmers and the ground stills.
Dust lays down and trees lean in to listen.
She murmurs to the roses now,
smiling as they wave to and fro with her words. 
They love her because she holds magic.
Old magic not seen for centuries and certainly not in this wood. 
Her kind is what makes places like this breathe. 
Angels look after woodlands and stand to mitigate when man and nature merge. 
But she doesn't know.
She doesn't yet understand her purpose. 
I see her pick up a branch from the ground with a frown.
Shaking it with eyes alight she calls for it to return.
I see it wobble and hover to a tree. 
Bright yellow shimmers where branch meets bark. 
It has done what was asked of the angel. 
But why does she ignore a dying tree?
Her age is what sews her ignorance. 
No one soul can hold her accountable for that.
Only time will teach her to grow learned.
Still I cannot help but cast blame on this green caretaker.
All I asked was for her to turn around.
But she is too young to see. 
Kicking the wet needles she ponders her power.
Furrowing her brow in thought. 
She's timid now, not one in twenty, but that is now.
Given time she will grow and so will her abilities.
But I can barely see her anymore, my bark is crusted.
Even my hearing is muffled now.
All I can make out is my crackled breathing with each wind stroke.
Caressing my dying branches. 
I've tried to call to her.
Many nights I allowed the small owl to speak for me.
Other nights the wind itself to no avail. 
My case was settled and I was to meet the earth for one final time.
At last one dim day in Spring I see her eyes.
Speckled green blue droplets burning with intensity.
She puts her face so close to mine.
"How had I not seen you Old One?"
Her voice is strong and steady but those eyes are wet.
Her eyes give everything away. 
And they tell a sad story.
For years she played with it.
Her gift.
Never stopping to ask why.
Never thinking.
Never looking about her.
And now she would reap penance. 
I can see her regret glazed in her eyes.
She is now six and twenty. 
And I see she is no longer timid.
I said that wouldn't last didn't I?
Even so it is too late.
And we both know it.
Yet she whispers to me, almost song like.
Hair as brown as my bark furls and unfurls with the wind.
This gentle wind called upon by her power.
And I can feel my eyes grow soft.
I can taste the smoothness of my bark.
One last harvest before the long winter.
Stained glass leaves lying to transfixed eyes of their death.
She opens her palm to me. I am taken by the green pine cone 
wrapped ever so tightly; looking as shy and she once was.
"I ask that you forgive me and allow me to sustain your legacy." 
Placing a soft kiss she buries the cone a couple yards from me.
She hits a root but I say nothing.
I was not forgotten.
I won't be forgotten.
With a soft intake of breath and decent of her eyelids she murmurs:
"Rest Old One. I release you."
And what else is an old tree like me to do?
I obey the angel. 
#shortstory  #regret 
6
1
1
Juice
17 reads
Load 1 Comment
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Elizabeth_Danon.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Elizabeth_Danon in portal Fiction

The Witch of Queens

    I swear to ya, I’m not some no good wretched son of a you know what. I didn’t even do anything, it was that damn Mrs. Fitch. Always got her panties in a bunch over the slightest thing. I told her the truth and everything, didn’t do my homework cuz I was playing baseball. Dan and Tony had me all distracted, my mom was in a fit over dinner. What’s a man to do these days? Psh, women.

    Sixth grade really isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. If my dad were here, he’d laugh and pat me on the back. At least I was honest. And now I’m so damned late, it’s already 5pm. By the time I get home my mom’s gonna be furious. “Dom what’s the matta with you? Anotha detention? Do I need to have you see a shrink? Is it because of your father? Dom! Yada yada yada.” What a crack of bologna. She’s serious about this whole shrink business, but I can assure you, I’m fine.

    The ride home from school ain’t so bad now any how. At this time, there’s barely any kids around. Just lousy sad adults. I just squeeze around them to get a seat in the back. Sometimes I get a window, sometimes I get a old lady. Today the bus seems a little less packed. I love looking out the window as we go down Woodhaven. There’s the Queens Plaza Mall. Piece of crap place. Can’t step in there without your money being sucked outta ya wallet. Here ya go, just take it. Take it all. Who needs to eat food, lemme just eat those shoes. It’s daylight yet, so I can still see the buds on the trees closing and opening, ya know... all that mambo jambo. Gonna smell like the garden section of home depot for the next four months around here. I can already see people’s eyes puffin’ up like tomatoes. There are so many tomato eyes around here I might as well start handing out spaghetti. I’ll be the patron saint of spaghetti. Spaghetti Dom.

    Ding! Bus 11 lets me off right here at the intersection of Woodhaven and Metropolitan. The 24 hour shop is on my right. Sometimes I sit with the old man at the wooden table outside. We never really talk, just play Chess. Wendy’s is across the street. Another piece of crap place. Too many delinquents. That’s what my mom says anyways.

    I have about a two block walk home from the bus stop. The air is sorta nice, fresh and cool. Not cold, cool. All I need is this sweatshirt, it says Yankees. Can’t believe Jeter retired, he’s a legend. If I was the Yankees manager I would have said, “hey! Jeter just keep playin’. Who cares if you’re getting old. All you gotta do is hit a ball and run a little bit.”  But no one would ever listen to me, not even my mom. I’m just some eleven year old. You’d think eleven years alive would get a man some respect. What another load of bologna.

    I live in one of these brick apartments here on Woodhaven. There are little plots of lawn sprawling the entire front and back side of our complex. I live on the second floor of 7312. It’s called the Rutledge apartments. Should be called the Ratledge apartments. We’re not even allowed to plant anything in the front. To ya know, spice up the place. What’s the landlord afraid of anyways? The big bad wolf or something? Didn’t know wolves like flowers. There’s my stoop right over there. The one with the plastic lawn chair.

    “Yo Dom! Where have ya been?”

    Oh great. The delinquent Dan. Damn rat was snickering at me from the corner, “Shut the hell up would ya.”

    “I thought Mrs. Fitch killed ya and threw your body in Forest Park.”

    “I faked being dead. I layed there for a few minutes in the tree branches. Then got up and walked home.”

    “Dan, is that Dom?!” The other idiot Tony was yelling from around the corner. “Yo Dom, come play some ball with us would ya?” Damn guy looked like he just swam in a vat of sweat.

    I looked up at my kitchen window, didn’t see my mom. “Sure!” I opened the front door of our building and threw my book bag into the hallway. The street we play ball on is half apartment buildings, half houses. The people with money live in the houses. Tony and I live in the apartment side. Dan’s on the house side. I figured I’d have about another half an hour before my mom came screaming my name like she owned a damn fire house.

    The crappy looking Honda over there, that’s first base. The middle of the road between that house and that apartment is second base. That tree over there, that’s third base. Where I’m standing now, it’s home base. Gotta slide my white sneaks like this, the way the professionals do it. Steady my hands on the bat like so, and wham! I run like hell to first base, just making it before Tony could wack me with the ball. Now it’s Dan’s turn. Wham! And OUT.

    “What the heck Tony, did you really have to catch it like that?”

    “Dan, chill out. It’s the rules,” Tony yelled back while walking to home base. “Pitch me a good one aye, don’t be a sore loser.” After Dan and Tony switched positions, wham! Two men on base! Now it was my turn to pitch one out.

    “Alright Dan, one guy on first, one ghost guy on second. You ready? Don’t get out again!”

    “Just pitch the ball!”

    Wham! Home run! Home run’s are whenever the ball gets passed that yellow house, the witch’s house. “Crap! Dan what the heck you got it in her yard. I’m not getting it.”

    “Yeah me neither Dan, not it!”

    Dan looked at both Tony and me with that look in his face. The stupid one. He didn’t even answer either of us, just started walking slowly towards her house. The Italian witch of Queens. “You know if you walk any slower than that you’re gonna miss our high school graduation. And we’re only in middle school,” Tony shouted. I couldn’t help but bust out laughing. Dan’s such a loser, he was walking like a scared dog with his tail between his legs. Me and Tony were too busy laughing and pointing fingers at Dan to realize that he had stopped dead in his tracks. “What’s the matta, cat got ya tongue?,” I belted out laughing. Tears coming down my face.

    Finally Dan turned around and screamed, “Shut the heck up guys, her door’s opening.” He ran back over to us. “You guys trying to turn me into a potion or something? I’m not a big fan of  being boiled to pieces.” All of us looked over to her house and watched. First her cat walked out. The black one. It’s feet and face sniffed around the top step of the witch’s stoop. Then the witch herself walked out. She was wearing one of those white peasant skirts. The long ones. And some flouncy white blouse with long sleeves. Looked like she was wearing white converse sneakers too. God, if she wasn’t a witch, I swear I’d ask her to marry me. She’s not one of those ugly witches, no the complete opposite. She has long dark curly hair, the kind that can kill a man if the wind blows a certain way. Her face has a beautiful olive color, with piercing brown eyes. She’s younger than my mom, but older than me. One of those cougar types. I see how she smiles at  me. Maybe she’s a water siren. Like in those pirate movies.

    That’s when she bent over by some big plant in her garden. When she stood back up she had the baseball in her hand. I was about to run away and leave those suckers behind, but I couldn’t. I was glued. The witch lady is a weird woman, that’s for sure. Never have I ever seen a person walk their cat on a leash. She was smiling as she walked over to us. Since Dan was the closest, she talked to him, “is this yours?” No answer. Dan probably was peeing his pants.

    “Excuse-ah me, this was in my garden,” she’s got one of those Italy accents.

    “Yeah, it’s ours,” Tony responded. Witch lady smiled and threw the ball to him.

    “DOM!!!!!” The sirens started going off as my mom rounded the corner. Crap.

    “DOM! Where the heck have ya been? I’ve been waiting for ya!”

    “Yeah I know mom, Dan and Tony got me.”

    “Oh yeah, all the way from detention? I got a voicemail from the principal.” Damn old people.

    My mom walked over to us, and was now standing by the witch lady. “Oh hi Isabella! how are ya?”

    “I’m fine-ah,” witch lady- named Isabella- smiled back, “good weather for my garden!”

    “Oh yes! I actually stopped off at home depot across the street and got ya some rose seeds. I’ll bring them over on Friday for our reading.”

    “Oh wonderful, thank you so much-ah! I’ve been wanting to plant roses for some time.”

    My mom smiled back at “Isabella” and looked at me dead in the eyes, “alright young man, time for supper.” She grabbed me by my earlobe and pulled me all the way to China.

    I waved to the guys and sort of looked at Isabella. Can’t even look her in the eyes. I feel like I’m gonna fall over whenever I do. Specially’ since my earlobe was being yanked.

   

ONE WEEK LATER

    Today feels like a real Spring day, all the flowers are out. And there are even more tomato eyes than before. I just got home. My book bag’s on the couch, I’ll do my homework when I get back. Want to catch the guys for some baseball ya know. The corner kinda feels eerie when there’s no one else on the block. Dan and Tony are nowhere to be found. Sometime’s they’re hanging on the street up by Dan’s stoop. Dan’s mom makes some bomb iced tea lemonade. I sort of feel like some, maybe I’ll go give a knock on their door.

    “Dom! Hey-ah, Dom!”

    I looked over, it was the witch lady. She was yelling at me through her living room window screen, “hey-ah Dom, wait a minute please-ah.”

    “Hi,” I said as soon as she walked down her stoop and through the garden gate.

    “Dom, your mom gave-ah me some seeds the other day. I have-ah so much to plant. Can you help-ah  me?”

    “Okay,” my face was blank.

    “I’ll give-ah you some money. Can you help-ah now?”

    I looked towards Dan’s house, no one was outside. “Yeah, I can help.”

    Witch lady smiled, “okay-ah great. I’ll get my stuff. Wait in the garden.”

    I followed her through the garden’s gate, and saw all sorts of flowers starting to bloom. Probably all European roses. She came back out five minutes later with a watering bucket and different flowers ready to be planted. She handed me the bag of seeds my mom gave her, “These-ah go in the left corner by my house-ah. I already dug-ah the hole. Can you put the seeds in there-ah and cover it back up with dirt-ah?”

    I nodded yes and got to work. As soon as that was over she asked me to help plant the arrangement of different colored flowers she had. All in all it took about an hour to get the tasks done. I looked over to her when I was done, with one of those dumb sideways looks. She had a sour look on her face, “so many weeds-ah. Shoot. Dom, can you come back-ah tomorrow and help me get-ah them out? Here’s twenty. For today-ah and tomorrow.”

She slid the twenty into my hand and I got the biggest smile on my face, “sure thing Ms. Isabella.” She smiled back at me as I ran outta her gate.

    “Dom is that you? Did you just come from the witch’s house?!” Dan and Tony were standing near the corner.

    “Yeah she gave me twenty bucks!”

    “What? Why?!”

    “I’m helping her with her garden!”

    “Her garden? Yeah helping plant the vegetable that’s gonna go in Dom Stew. I bet you’ll make a really organic meal,” Dan snickered.

    “Yeah, sure. I’ll catch ya guys later. Mom’s making lasagna today.”

    “Bye, Dom Stew,” they both yelled at me.

    I decided to save the twenty in an old decrepit envelope that I found in the living room cabinet. Hid it under my bed after the lasagna last night. I’ve been sweating myself to death in this garden for the past hour getting these weeds out. Every now and again the guys will run past making faces at me. I can hear them laughing all the way to Long Island. Idiots.

    Isabella has been in the house with some old woman since I got here after school. She says it’s a client. Whatever that means. All I know is I need something to drink. The sun is beating down on me and my nose is starting to get hellah stuffy. I’m the new tomato eyes.

What’s that ruffling sound near the door? Oh, it’s just the old lady client. She keeps turning around and shaking Isabella’s hand. “Thank you, thank you so much.” I think the old bat’s even crying. She keeps wiping her eyeball. Maybe it’s all the pollen that’s around here. Old lady pollen eyes just shot me a smile as she walked through the garden. She has one of those head scarves on her head like she’s the Virgin Mary. Except it’s colorful, so she’s probably the mother of Guadalupe.

    “Dom, come in. I have iced water,” Isabella grabbed my attention.

    “Hey sure thanks, I’m dying out here.”

    Her house seemed pretty clean and simple. She’s got some crosses and religous stuff hanging around but then again, what Italian doesn’t? I sat at her wooden kitchen table, and she handed me some water and a plate of strawberries. “Do you want-ah mint in your water? I have fresh-ah.”

    “Mint? Sure, thanks.”

    The woman's got a damn mint tree growing in her sink window. Picked em right off and handed them to me. “It’s-ah good.”

    “My mom say’s you’re from Italy. Is this an Italy thing?,” I said while sipping my mint water. It tasted sweet.

    Isabella laughed at me, “it’s-ah just a good-ah thing.”

    “Where in Italy are ya from?”

    “An island of Venice, it’s-ah called Burano.”

    “Oh, I’ve never been.”

    “How’s-ah the strawberries?”

    Damn strawberry juice dripped down my cheeks, “good can I get a napkin please.”

    She went over to the marble counter to get me some napkins when I spotted a pack of cards on the table. “Hey, what do ya have there? Playing cards? Wanna play a game of War?”

    She laughed, “no-ah, they aren’t for playing.”

    “What are they used for then? Decoration?”

    “I read-ah people with them.”

    “Read people? Like when you read my mom?”

    “Yes-ah, that is correct,” her brown eyes were highlighted by a small streak of sunlight as she sat back down. The sun was setting.

    “I read things too, lotta books.”

    “This-ah kinda reading is-ah different. I’m a psychic medium,” she pierced me with those eyes. I thought I was gonna melt right into the chair and become a piece of lousy wood.

    “So you’re a fortune teller? Where’s the ball? The crystal one?”

    A breeze came in through the screened kitchen door and blew her hair. In that way that makes a man die. I thought I did die. “I don’t-ah use that. Just these cards.”

    “Ah, what’s that around my leg!,” I yelled. I looked down and it was the damn cat. Before I knew it the thing was sitting on my lap.

    “Her name is-ah Bella.”

    “Hi Bella,” I said. The thing was purring like a lawn mower. “Why do you walk a cat?”

    “It’s-ah just something we do in Burano.”

    “Oh.”

    “I think she likes you.”

    I petted her as I sipped my mint water, “she’s really soft.”

    I finished everything, and told Isabella there were still a lot of weeds in the garden.

    “That’s okay-ah. Come back early Saturday morning to finish. I will-ah pay you.”

    The funny thing is, the weeds never seemed to stop coming in. I was always picking and there always seemed to be more. And every time, Isabella would say that’s okay-ah come-ah back-ah this day-ah or that day-ah to finish-ah. And I’d come back and there’d always be more weeds. And she’d always give me more money. And I’d always go inside for some mint water and pet Bella. The guys started making fun of me because I’d start getting bent outta shape whenever they called Isabella the witch. They’d laugh even harder because I’d stop dead in the middle of our game when she came outside to walk Bella. They’d call me witch lover, cat lover, spell boy. Everything you can imagine. Stew boy.

    The thing is, I had enough money to buy a new baseball bat, balls, mitts, AND shoes. Today, I decided that I’d even go to the Sport’s Authority by Home Depot to pick all of my gear up. I couldn’t wait to show off to the guys. But when I woke up, I noticed my mom crying at our small plastic kitchen table.

    “Mom, everything ok?”

    “Oh Dom,” she looked at me through tomato eyes. “I’m so behind on everything. And now our stove is broken and I have no money to fix it. I wish your dad was still here.”

    I walked over to my mom and hugged her, “me too.”

    “Why did he have to leave us? Why did he have to go there? Why, my baby, oh why?,” my mom was sobbing uncontrollably now. She was a stay at home mom before my father went overseas. Now she has to work some desk job at a doctor’s office that barely puts food on the table. My dad, he was a marine. He died during a failed mission over in Afghanistan. About two years ago.

    “Sweetheart, can you go and check the mail for me today? The mailman just came.”

    “Alright mom, sure hold on.” I dropped my arms from around her nightgown clad body and ran into the bedroom real fast to throw my Yankees sweatshirt on. The one that my dad gave to me before he left for his last deployment.

    We got nothing but junk mail. I put it all down on the table in front of my mom, she likes to look through the weekly’s anyways. See what’s on sale, stuff like that. My mom was sifting through the grocery store ads when she stopped, “What’s this?” It was an old decrepit envelope with no name. She opened it. Into her hands fell all the money that I had made from helping Isabella.

    “Two hundred and forty dollars, that’s impossible,” my mother turned white as a ghost.

    “What’s wrong mom? Isn’t that a good thing.”

    She stared at me with her gentle eyes, “Isabella told me, that your father would send me enough money. I didn’t know what it meant… but…”

    “What, do you think it’s poisoned with Anthrax or something?”

    “No, sweetheart,” my mom chuckled, “… the electrician… he said, over the phone this morning, that it would cost two hundred and forty dollars to fix the stove.”

   

   -ED

   

    

4
1
2
Juice
18 reads
Donate coins to Elizabeth_Danon.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Elizabeth_Danon in portal Fiction
The Witch of Queens
    I swear to ya, I’m not some no good wretched son of a you know what. I didn’t even do anything, it was that damn Mrs. Fitch. Always got her panties in a bunch over the slightest thing. I told her the truth and everything, didn’t do my homework cuz I was playing baseball. Dan and Tony had me all distracted, my mom was in a fit over dinner. What’s a man to do these days? Psh, women.
    Sixth grade really isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. If my dad were here, he’d laugh and pat me on the back. At least I was honest. And now I’m so damned late, it’s already 5pm. By the time I get home my mom’s gonna be furious. “Dom what’s the matta with you? Anotha detention? Do I need to have you see a shrink? Is it because of your father? Dom! Yada yada yada.” What a crack of bologna. She’s serious about this whole shrink business, but I can assure you, I’m fine.
    The ride home from school ain’t so bad now any how. At this time, there’s barely any kids around. Just lousy sad adults. I just squeeze around them to get a seat in the back. Sometimes I get a window, sometimes I get a old lady. Today the bus seems a little less packed. I love looking out the window as we go down Woodhaven. There’s the Queens Plaza Mall. Piece of crap place. Can’t step in there without your money being sucked outta ya wallet. Here ya go, just take it. Take it all. Who needs to eat food, lemme just eat those shoes. It’s daylight yet, so I can still see the buds on the trees closing and opening, ya know... all that mambo jambo. Gonna smell like the garden section of home depot for the next four months around here. I can already see people’s eyes puffin’ up like tomatoes. There are so many tomato eyes around here I might as well start handing out spaghetti. I’ll be the patron saint of spaghetti. Spaghetti Dom.
    Ding! Bus 11 lets me off right here at the intersection of Woodhaven and Metropolitan. The 24 hour shop is on my right. Sometimes I sit with the old man at the wooden table outside. We never really talk, just play Chess. Wendy’s is across the street. Another piece of crap place. Too many delinquents. That’s what my mom says anyways.
    I have about a two block walk home from the bus stop. The air is sorta nice, fresh and cool. Not cold, cool. All I need is this sweatshirt, it says Yankees. Can’t believe Jeter retired, he’s a legend. If I was the Yankees manager I would have said, “hey! Jeter just keep playin’. Who cares if you’re getting old. All you gotta do is hit a ball and run a little bit.”  But no one would ever listen to me, not even my mom. I’m just some eleven year old. You’d think eleven years alive would get a man some respect. What another load of bologna.
    I live in one of these brick apartments here on Woodhaven. There are little plots of lawn sprawling the entire front and back side of our complex. I live on the second floor of 7312. It’s called the Rutledge apartments. Should be called the Ratledge apartments. We’re not even allowed to plant anything in the front. To ya know, spice up the place. What’s the landlord afraid of anyways? The big bad wolf or something? Didn’t know wolves like flowers. There’s my stoop right over there. The one with the plastic lawn chair.
    “Yo Dom! Where have ya been?”
    Oh great. The delinquent Dan. Damn rat was snickering at me from the corner, “Shut the hell up would ya.”
    “I thought Mrs. Fitch killed ya and threw your body in Forest Park.”
    “I faked being dead. I layed there for a few minutes in the tree branches. Then got up and walked home.”
    “Dan, is that Dom?!” The other idiot Tony was yelling from around the corner. “Yo Dom, come play some ball with us would ya?” Damn guy looked like he just swam in a vat of sweat.
    I looked up at my kitchen window, didn’t see my mom. “Sure!” I opened the front door of our building and threw my book bag into the hallway. The street we play ball on is half apartment buildings, half houses. The people with money live in the houses. Tony and I live in the apartment side. Dan’s on the house side. I figured I’d have about another half an hour before my mom came screaming my name like she owned a damn fire house.
    The crappy looking Honda over there, that’s first base. The middle of the road between that house and that apartment is second base. That tree over there, that’s third base. Where I’m standing now, it’s home base. Gotta slide my white sneaks like this, the way the professionals do it. Steady my hands on the bat like so, and wham! I run like hell to first base, just making it before Tony could wack me with the ball. Now it’s Dan’s turn. Wham! And OUT.
    “What the heck Tony, did you really have to catch it like that?”
    “Dan, chill out. It’s the rules,” Tony yelled back while walking to home base. “Pitch me a good one aye, don’t be a sore loser.” After Dan and Tony switched positions, wham! Two men on base! Now it was my turn to pitch one out.
    “Alright Dan, one guy on first, one ghost guy on second. You ready? Don’t get out again!”
    “Just pitch the ball!”
    Wham! Home run! Home run’s are whenever the ball gets passed that yellow house, the witch’s house. “Crap! Dan what the heck you got it in her yard. I’m not getting it.”
    “Yeah me neither Dan, not it!”
    Dan looked at both Tony and me with that look in his face. The stupid one. He didn’t even answer either of us, just started walking slowly towards her house. The Italian witch of Queens. “You know if you walk any slower than that you’re gonna miss our high school graduation. And we’re only in middle school,” Tony shouted. I couldn’t help but bust out laughing. Dan’s such a loser, he was walking like a scared dog with his tail between his legs. Me and Tony were too busy laughing and pointing fingers at Dan to realize that he had stopped dead in his tracks. “What’s the matta, cat got ya tongue?,” I belted out laughing. Tears coming down my face.
    Finally Dan turned around and screamed, “Shut the heck up guys, her door’s opening.” He ran back over to us. “You guys trying to turn me into a potion or something? I’m not a big fan of  being boiled to pieces.” All of us looked over to her house and watched. First her cat walked out. The black one. It’s feet and face sniffed around the top step of the witch’s stoop. Then the witch herself walked out. She was wearing one of those white peasant skirts. The long ones. And some flouncy white blouse with long sleeves. Looked like she was wearing white converse sneakers too. God, if she wasn’t a witch, I swear I’d ask her to marry me. She’s not one of those ugly witches, no the complete opposite. She has long dark curly hair, the kind that can kill a man if the wind blows a certain way. Her face has a beautiful olive color, with piercing brown eyes. She’s younger than my mom, but older than me. One of those cougar types. I see how she smiles at  me. Maybe she’s a water siren. Like in those pirate movies.
    That’s when she bent over by some big plant in her garden. When she stood back up she had the baseball in her hand. I was about to run away and leave those suckers behind, but I couldn’t. I was glued. The witch lady is a weird woman, that’s for sure. Never have I ever seen a person walk their cat on a leash. She was smiling as she walked over to us. Since Dan was the closest, she talked to him, “is this yours?” No answer. Dan probably was peeing his pants.
    “Excuse-ah me, this was in my garden,” she’s got one of those Italy accents.
    “Yeah, it’s ours,” Tony responded. Witch lady smiled and threw the ball to him.
    “DOM!!!!!” The sirens started going off as my mom rounded the corner. Crap.
    “DOM! Where the heck have ya been? I’ve been waiting for ya!”
    “Yeah I know mom, Dan and Tony got me.”
    “Oh yeah, all the way from detention? I got a voicemail from the principal.” Damn old people.
    My mom walked over to us, and was now standing by the witch lady. “Oh hi Isabella! how are ya?”
    “I’m fine-ah,” witch lady- named Isabella- smiled back, “good weather for my garden!”
    “Oh yes! I actually stopped off at home depot across the street and got ya some rose seeds. I’ll bring them over on Friday for our reading.”
    “Oh wonderful, thank you so much-ah! I’ve been wanting to plant roses for some time.”
    My mom smiled back at “Isabella” and looked at me dead in the eyes, “alright young man, time for supper.” She grabbed me by my earlobe and pulled me all the way to China.
    I waved to the guys and sort of looked at Isabella. Can’t even look her in the eyes. I feel like I’m gonna fall over whenever I do. Specially’ since my earlobe was being yanked.
   


ONE WEEK LATER

    Today feels like a real Spring day, all the flowers are out. And there are even more tomato eyes than before. I just got home. My book bag’s on the couch, I’ll do my homework when I get back. Want to catch the guys for some baseball ya know. The corner kinda feels eerie when there’s no one else on the block. Dan and Tony are nowhere to be found. Sometime’s they’re hanging on the street up by Dan’s stoop. Dan’s mom makes some bomb iced tea lemonade. I sort of feel like some, maybe I’ll go give a knock on their door.

    “Dom! Hey-ah, Dom!”
    I looked over, it was the witch lady. She was yelling at me through her living room window screen, “hey-ah Dom, wait a minute please-ah.”
    “Hi,” I said as soon as she walked down her stoop and through the garden gate.
    “Dom, your mom gave-ah me some seeds the other day. I have-ah so much to plant. Can you help-ah  me?”
    “Okay,” my face was blank.
    “I’ll give-ah you some money. Can you help-ah now?”
    I looked towards Dan’s house, no one was outside. “Yeah, I can help.”
    Witch lady smiled, “okay-ah great. I’ll get my stuff. Wait in the garden.”
    I followed her through the garden’s gate, and saw all sorts of flowers starting to bloom. Probably all European roses. She came back out five minutes later with a watering bucket and different flowers ready to be planted. She handed me the bag of seeds my mom gave her, “These-ah go in the left corner by my house-ah. I already dug-ah the hole. Can you put the seeds in there-ah and cover it back up with dirt-ah?”
    I nodded yes and got to work. As soon as that was over she asked me to help plant the arrangement of different colored flowers she had. All in all it took about an hour to get the tasks done. I looked over to her when I was done, with one of those dumb sideways looks. She had a sour look on her face, “so many weeds-ah. Shoot. Dom, can you come back-ah tomorrow and help me get-ah them out? Here’s twenty. For today-ah and tomorrow.”
She slid the twenty into my hand and I got the biggest smile on my face, “sure thing Ms. Isabella.” She smiled back at me as I ran outta her gate.

    “Dom is that you? Did you just come from the witch’s house?!” Dan and Tony were standing near the corner.
    “Yeah she gave me twenty bucks!”
    “What? Why?!”
    “I’m helping her with her garden!”
    “Her garden? Yeah helping plant the vegetable that’s gonna go in Dom Stew. I bet you’ll make a really organic meal,” Dan snickered.
    “Yeah, sure. I’ll catch ya guys later. Mom’s making lasagna today.”
    “Bye, Dom Stew,” they both yelled at me.

    I decided to save the twenty in an old decrepit envelope that I found in the living room cabinet. Hid it under my bed after the lasagna last night. I’ve been sweating myself to death in this garden for the past hour getting these weeds out. Every now and again the guys will run past making faces at me. I can hear them laughing all the way to Long Island. Idiots.
    Isabella has been in the house with some old woman since I got here after school. She says it’s a client. Whatever that means. All I know is I need something to drink. The sun is beating down on me and my nose is starting to get hellah stuffy. I’m the new tomato eyes.
What’s that ruffling sound near the door? Oh, it’s just the old lady client. She keeps turning around and shaking Isabella’s hand. “Thank you, thank you so much.” I think the old bat’s even crying. She keeps wiping her eyeball. Maybe it’s all the pollen that’s around here. Old lady pollen eyes just shot me a smile as she walked through the garden. She has one of those head scarves on her head like she’s the Virgin Mary. Except it’s colorful, so she’s probably the mother of Guadalupe.
    “Dom, come in. I have iced water,” Isabella grabbed my attention.
    “Hey sure thanks, I’m dying out here.”
    Her house seemed pretty clean and simple. She’s got some crosses and religous stuff hanging around but then again, what Italian doesn’t? I sat at her wooden kitchen table, and she handed me some water and a plate of strawberries. “Do you want-ah mint in your water? I have fresh-ah.”
    “Mint? Sure, thanks.”
    The woman's got a damn mint tree growing in her sink window. Picked em right off and handed them to me. “It’s-ah good.”
    “My mom say’s you’re from Italy. Is this an Italy thing?,” I said while sipping my mint water. It tasted sweet.
    Isabella laughed at me, “it’s-ah just a good-ah thing.”
    “Where in Italy are ya from?”
    “An island of Venice, it’s-ah called Burano.”
    “Oh, I’ve never been.”
    “How’s-ah the strawberries?”
    Damn strawberry juice dripped down my cheeks, “good can I get a napkin please.”
    She went over to the marble counter to get me some napkins when I spotted a pack of cards on the table. “Hey, what do ya have there? Playing cards? Wanna play a game of War?”
    She laughed, “no-ah, they aren’t for playing.”
    “What are they used for then? Decoration?”
    “I read-ah people with them.”
    “Read people? Like when you read my mom?”
    “Yes-ah, that is correct,” her brown eyes were highlighted by a small streak of sunlight as she sat back down. The sun was setting.
    “I read things too, lotta books.”
    “This-ah kinda reading is-ah different. I’m a psychic medium,” she pierced me with those eyes. I thought I was gonna melt right into the chair and become a piece of lousy wood.
    “So you’re a fortune teller? Where’s the ball? The crystal one?”
    A breeze came in through the screened kitchen door and blew her hair. In that way that makes a man die. I thought I did die. “I don’t-ah use that. Just these cards.”
    “Ah, what’s that around my leg!,” I yelled. I looked down and it was the damn cat. Before I knew it the thing was sitting on my lap.
    “Her name is-ah Bella.”
    “Hi Bella,” I said. The thing was purring like a lawn mower. “Why do you walk a cat?”
    “It’s-ah just something we do in Burano.”
    “Oh.”
    “I think she likes you.”
    I petted her as I sipped my mint water, “she’s really soft.”
    I finished everything, and told Isabella there were still a lot of weeds in the garden.
    “That’s okay-ah. Come back early Saturday morning to finish. I will-ah pay you.”

    The funny thing is, the weeds never seemed to stop coming in. I was always picking and there always seemed to be more. And every time, Isabella would say that’s okay-ah come-ah back-ah this day-ah or that day-ah to finish-ah. And I’d come back and there’d always be more weeds. And she’d always give me more money. And I’d always go inside for some mint water and pet Bella. The guys started making fun of me because I’d start getting bent outta shape whenever they called Isabella the witch. They’d laugh even harder because I’d stop dead in the middle of our game when she came outside to walk Bella. They’d call me witch lover, cat lover, spell boy. Everything you can imagine. Stew boy.
    The thing is, I had enough money to buy a new baseball bat, balls, mitts, AND shoes. Today, I decided that I’d even go to the Sport’s Authority by Home Depot to pick all of my gear up. I couldn’t wait to show off to the guys. But when I woke up, I noticed my mom crying at our small plastic kitchen table.
    “Mom, everything ok?”
    “Oh Dom,” she looked at me through tomato eyes. “I’m so behind on everything. And now our stove is broken and I have no money to fix it. I wish your dad was still here.”
    I walked over to my mom and hugged her, “me too.”
    “Why did he have to leave us? Why did he have to go there? Why, my baby, oh why?,” my mom was sobbing uncontrollably now. She was a stay at home mom before my father went overseas. Now she has to work some desk job at a doctor’s office that barely puts food on the table. My dad, he was a marine. He died during a failed mission over in Afghanistan. About two years ago.
    “Sweetheart, can you go and check the mail for me today? The mailman just came.”
    “Alright mom, sure hold on.” I dropped my arms from around her nightgown clad body and ran into the bedroom real fast to throw my Yankees sweatshirt on. The one that my dad gave to me before he left for his last deployment.
    We got nothing but junk mail. I put it all down on the table in front of my mom, she likes to look through the weekly’s anyways. See what’s on sale, stuff like that. My mom was sifting through the grocery store ads when she stopped, “What’s this?” It was an old decrepit envelope with no name. She opened it. Into her hands fell all the money that I had made from helping Isabella.
    “Two hundred and forty dollars, that’s impossible,” my mother turned white as a ghost.
    “What’s wrong mom? Isn’t that a good thing.”
    She stared at me with her gentle eyes, “Isabella told me, that your father would send me enough money. I didn’t know what it meant… but…”
    “What, do you think it’s poisoned with Anthrax or something?”
    “No, sweetheart,” my mom chuckled, “… the electrician… he said, over the phone this morning, that it would cost two hundred and forty dollars to fix the stove.”

   
   -ED
   
    
#fiction  #shortstory 
4
1
2
Juice
18 reads
Load 2 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Alliey_Michelle.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Alliey_Michelle

City Moon

I was not sorry. 

I told anyone who would listen that I wasn't staying and there was nothing anyone could say to convince me otherwise. They would roll their eyes and shake their heads at my big talk, but I knew I would do it. So when I turned eighteen, I left and never looked back. It was, single-handedly, the most selfish thing that I have ever done. 

Frankly, I couldn't stay. I felt stifled in that tiny town that couldn't contain my hopes and aspirations. I dreamt of big cities and even bigger opportunities. I took my life savings and made a break for it, alternating between bus rides and hitchhiking. Nowadays, you can't really do that - especially young girls on their own. The world is a different place. No less dangerous or scary, but it tends to show its teeth and claws more often.

After a few days, I made it to New York. The lights and bustle were everything I had imagined. What I hadn't anticipated was the smell. The noise. The grit. The oppressive feeling of being so small that I could be swept away like a little fish in a swiftly moving river. But no matter what, I still wanted to make it.

When I called home, I would lie. I said that I loved it, that the city was everything I had hoped for and more. The energy was electric; I had found friends who loved poetry and art galleries and dressed all in black like proper beatniks. We hung out in jazz clubs, smoked skinny cigarettes, and discussed the prevalent themes in e e cummings' poetry. As far as anyone was concerned, I was having the time of my life. 

"Don't forget to go to church on Sundays."

"Yes, Oma."

"Don't go out with strange men."

"Yes, Oma."

"Eat a hearty meal at least once a week."

"Yes, Oma." 

On the other end of the telephone, I could almost hear my grandmother's smile, "I'm so proud of you, mein mäuschen." She would brag to the women in her sewing circle about all of the things I was doing in the Big Apple; some would disapprove of "my lifestyle," but all shared the same sense of living vicariously through me. Someone from this dusty old town that had never fully recovered from the Dust Bowl had finally gotten out. We would then share our "I love yous," and hang up. And I would burst into tears. 

At times, the weight of loneliness and insecurity in a city packed to the gills was too much to bear. How could one feel so empty in a city that was teeming with life? My only source of comfort was to escape to the frigid and dirty rooftop of my apartment building and gaze up at the night sky. You couldn't see too many stars - they competed with the dazzling lights of the city - but I would pretend that I was back home, looking up at the same moon that Oma saw.

4
2
0
Juice
58 reads
Donate coins to Alliey_Michelle.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Alliey_Michelle
City Moon
I was not sorry. 

I told anyone who would listen that I wasn't staying and there was nothing anyone could say to convince me otherwise. They would roll their eyes and shake their heads at my big talk, but I knew I would do it. So when I turned eighteen, I left and never looked back. It was, single-handedly, the most selfish thing that I have ever done. 

Frankly, I couldn't stay. I felt stifled in that tiny town that couldn't contain my hopes and aspirations. I dreamt of big cities and even bigger opportunities. I took my life savings and made a break for it, alternating between bus rides and hitchhiking. Nowadays, you can't really do that - especially young girls on their own. The world is a different place. No less dangerous or scary, but it tends to show its teeth and claws more often.

After a few days, I made it to New York. The lights and bustle were everything I had imagined. What I hadn't anticipated was the smell. The noise. The grit. The oppressive feeling of being so small that I could be swept away like a little fish in a swiftly moving river. But no matter what, I still wanted to make it.

When I called home, I would lie. I said that I loved it, that the city was everything I had hoped for and more. The energy was electric; I had found friends who loved poetry and art galleries and dressed all in black like proper beatniks. We hung out in jazz clubs, smoked skinny cigarettes, and discussed the prevalent themes in e e cummings' poetry. As far as anyone was concerned, I was having the time of my life. 

"Don't forget to go to church on Sundays."

"Yes, Oma."

"Don't go out with strange men."

"Yes, Oma."

"Eat a hearty meal at least once a week."

"Yes, Oma." 

On the other end of the telephone, I could almost hear my grandmother's smile, "I'm so proud of you, mein mäuschen." She would brag to the women in her sewing circle about all of the things I was doing in the Big Apple; some would disapprove of "my lifestyle," but all shared the same sense of living vicariously through me. Someone from this dusty old town that had never fully recovered from the Dust Bowl had finally gotten out. We would then share our "I love yous," and hang up. And I would burst into tears. 

At times, the weight of loneliness and insecurity in a city packed to the gills was too much to bear. How could one feel so empty in a city that was teeming with life? My only source of comfort was to escape to the frigid and dirty rooftop of my apartment building and gaze up at the night sky. You couldn't see too many stars - they competed with the dazzling lights of the city - but I would pretend that I was back home, looking up at the same moon that Oma saw.
#fiction  #shortstory  #freewrite  #freewritefriday 
4
2
0
Juice
58 reads
Login to post comments.