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Literature Text
When she gets on the bus at the station and the bus driver steps off for his five minute cigarette break, she feels like the bus has transformed into a room full of kindergarteners who’s teacher has left to get more juice for snack-time. The bus full of white collar commuters are too petrified to do anything. She is sure most of them were the friend in high school that would always tell the group that “you know, we really should get out of here now." But as they nervously look at each other, she knows that their minds are beginning to race with the possibilities, especially when they notice that he has left the keys in the ignition. A rogue bus, holding seven passengers as hostage has left the station, he is not armed, but he might be dangerous.
Literature
don't look back - oh.
before the
before, face it,
there were faces indelible,
the viscosity of
tar in his voice...
tar on his coarse fingers;
like everywhere
in everything
there was the sacred drunkard illuminating
a way...
when i hid by the bucket and
nettle brushed my shoulder, the poison
was slow;
(in reality, he
ran his cows over with a tractor and there
the sacredness should have ended;
didn't;
before the before there was gnarled bark
off unidentified trees
whispering by the river,
rough to the touch
i would spread out my fingers
fascinated by the splinters
now it is morning and i re
Literature
can't take my eyes off of you.
you are the warmest tide
in the midst of an indian summer
pulling me in deeper with every word;
every whisper and quiet breath
from your flawless lips.
there's a language on your face
that i can read like no-one else
will ever be able to
the lines fold and curve and your eyelids
shiver and twitch so i'm able to read
into your dreams and tell whether
i need to kiss you awake and
out of danger.
i want to take all of your nightmares
and toss them under the bed
so you'll never find them
between the dusty old books
and forgotten papers
you don't remember putting there.
and i want to shut your cupboards
and rip of the locks.
in
Literature
not a fairytale
the windows are dirty. the windows are dirty
and this is not a fairytale because
i'm not happy
i'm not a good person
i'm not okay with myself.
not really.
i don't want you to break this
i don't want you to break -
i don't want you
but i do.
the skeletons that were in my closet have come out,
they're dancing on my bed, they're dancing on my grave
they're dancing.
my teeth hurt when their bones shake and they rattle like
the phone in my hands -
it's ringing and ringing and ringing but it's not between my fingers
it's in my stomach and i can't pull it out and
there's screaming.
someone has fallen off the steps into dark
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Flash Fiction Month my dear friends.
© 2013 - 2024 xthe-eleanorx
Comments4
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I really like how this is set up...especially the ending~