[x]

My Winter GirlShe had eyelashes of snow.

I saw her as a winter girl, cold and sharp and sometimes unfeeling,
and she lasted like a tree in a blizzard:
laden down with ice and snow, crippled by the frost in her very bones,
her branches crack and splinter.

Every girl comes crashing down at some point
but she wore brokenness as if it were a cloak, shielding her from other
tragedies that may hunt her down and stab her
heart, leaving her frantically trying to scoop up the blood
and pour it back in.
you can't break someone who's already
broken.

I watched her downfall from the

Let the Sparrows InI.

Blackbirds are resting on the power lines,
Their silhouettes form the notation to
A dawn song set on the sheet music of
Telephone poles contrasted by the sun.

Curled leaves are land mines littered
On the lawn where imprints of twigs
And a nurturing robin's tracks collect.

Branchlets and leaflets stem from
Porch step railings and mailboxes;
The numbers read even on the
East side of the asphalt:

Seven-seven-thirty-six.
The engraved letters on
The siding reads, "Davis."
This house is home to family

So let the sparrows in.

The house,
With its branching hallways
And
Overhanging décor
And
Furniture rooted to the floor

TremorsShadows crawl across the floor
She sits alone in the room
painting her fingertips a pale shade of grey
and listening to the ravens croon

A fire burns deep in her heart
turning it a smoldering black
Revenge is surely the only option
But start, and there's no going back

In the basement he hides
so safe, so protected
Or so he had thought
Should've known that he'd be caught

A fire burns deep in her heart
turning it a smoldering black
Revenge is surely the only option
But start, and there's no going back

Tremors went up his shivering spine
As he saw the flash of a silver ring
It wasn't the devil, or one of its demons
It was the

Shyi. You say that there's nothing to see, no story behind your walls of whitewash. You tell me everything without saying anything, because we never speak.

ii. You never stop running, and your floor will never be my ceiling. Anyway, you'd never fall through. (They say I'm a little too good at this. I mean, I'm terrible at letting go. Maybe it's best I'll never catch you.) It's such a shame, seeing as I've been practicing.

iii. This is simple, unadulterated observation. I watch, you move. My gaze is objective; you're a work of art. (Or is it piece of work?)

iv. They say you're scarred but you hardly seem the broken type. They say you'd let me

The Transfiguration Of Alexandriai. "When I say I don't feel like being alive, I don't mean I'd rather be dead."

You are far from broken and yet trodden down deep where it hurts to some supposed god on high
and my love, it baffles the mind that you do not know that you are wanted.
But not one bit of this tragic mess has shattered you yet
and so I can only assume that it has made you stronger.

This is a part of your beautiful design.

ii. "I am landbred and have been earthbound all my days. I tire of walking about.
I wish to fly."

And so you were a migratory bird
that flocked from soul to soul and wanted for one anchored enough to share in your burden,
the weight of

Sawdust Dreamthese lips laced with alchemy
bind molecular bodies
forming a prelude for an orchestra
of silent crickets
written by dust hands;
spiders drumming over keys

i lay there, an arsonist
watching your troubles burn
i resurrect you
from ash
with a breath like smoking lantern
into a paprika tinder box

hushed and blindfolded
you sprawl beneath my fingertips
a calico cat
collared and stray

crescent moons
cast lucid dreams
upon gasoline puddles

we are skeletons
constrained by muscle
and serpentine skin

you exhale;

silver clouds spill from lungs
living phantoms
of dragons
and jealous priests

you are my malicious fa

REGRETSRegrets come from altars and dried flowers from special days. They grow in cupboard of past homes and apartments. Regrets blow on the breeze of lost words, missing kisses and last breaths. Regrets are what guilt is left as a residue, a reminder of the past, a harsh penalty for not doing something, for doing something, for feeling wrong. The heart knows there is regret, the head knows there is regret but you can't fix regrets. You'll sit and wonder, sigh with sadness, knowing, feeling that you can't change what you did, change what you said, change for better or for worse. Regrets last a lifetime. All those memories you have, most of them will

A Journey Within...A Journey Within...
I sat silently in self-imposed sorrow,
Hoping for hope on the horizon of the morrow,
When from out my window stepped through a man
Tall, thin, and with an Anglo brand.
He held out to me a callused palm
And led me through the calmest psalms
To emerge before a dying oak
Who provided me with a wooden cloak.
I accepted, of course, with words of thanks
And ran with me towards the banks
In which a rushing red river did flow
In every direction I would ever go.
I boarded a vessel and began my ride
To see what I could find inside.

...And at the Ending we Begin
With a hand over the vessel's sides
I exhaled deeply an

lonely phantoms.Bright blue seas, rippling
with life. Fluid dances under a glaring sun
that grows dull
to me, and slowly
falls to the
fishes.

Warm night,
stale night – breathing
stale air. I enter your dreams:
you sleep alone as I.

Gentle stroke -
Fingers float across your peaceful face,
the phantom skin of stoic limbs,
each aspect still, suspended in
time.

Your pulse cries
out as
lips meet lips, and
I am
whisked
away.

Sleeping Beauty RevisitedOnce upon a time, in a kingdom that's probably really really far away from where you live (really), there was a king and a queen who were having some troubles.

Now, here's the part where the kids start asking the awkward questions, and mothers are forced to give inane, quaint little explanations while quietly contemplating which rail to run your narrator out of town upon. I wouldn't think to speak for you, but personally I would rather avoid all that possibly-unnecessary ugliness, and shall instead lightly skip over the subject as tastefully and briskly as possible:

They couldn't seem to have a baby.

No matter how many times they tried, no

that animalshe stands in a cramped kitchen, a small pot of bitter grounds boiling,
the bubbles imitating a small animal drowning, frantically letting out its last few breaths as she gets the pot off the stove,
carefully pouring the pitch black coffee into a mug,
a few scorching splashes licking at her skin,
a sugar cube in her right hand.

it churns the fine bones that weave through a small space, in which
cramped up are memories, small pictures, dented. smiles obscured by a coffee stain.
it squeezes the muscle that grows in one's thoughts,
hoisting them up, beating them through the brain,
as a heart pumps blood.
you can feel it as if, sma

WanderlustMilo dreams of caves; hundreds of thousands of seemingly endless feet, yards, miles of tunnels that twist and fold into each other like a frayed ball of string. Sunlight doesn't reach the caves, they are cold and dark as an abandoned tomb and even the air breathes thicker as mushroom clouds of dust fall from the ceiling and rise from the floor. The overwhelming feeling is of being buried alive and Milo wishes to beat on the coffin and beg for his freedom. The ceiling is too high to reach though, and rather than silence his cries are met by a cacophonous chorus of his own echoing voice. Milo turns on the spot but fails to choose a direction; a

I am the WriterI am a protagonist,
An antagonist,
A minor supporting character

I am the investigator,
The liberator,
The prophetic narrator

I am your hero
Your villain,
Your forgotten sidekick

The creator,
The destroyer,
I am the writer

Finding myselfIt grabbed me by my hair and yanked me out of my reality. It came so suddenly, so surprisingly, like it had been waiting to strike. I'd been hit with confusion and misunderstanding, overwhelmed by the emotions that followed, coming from deep within.

I fought it, caught in a tangle of denial and hate for myself. Everything would be so much more complicated, worsening the current situation even more. Something like this would evidently put everything to a stop, but it would never stop it completely. Lost, I struggled to pick up the pieces I'd hastily left behind. Often questioned were my quizzical actions I displayed, the anger I f

CagedI was the pretty little bird that you trapped in your cage,
the sweet little bird that you kept chained to your stage.
Doomed for a life behind iron bars,
clad with sorrow that tore my wings apart.
Everyday you sat, just inches away,
made me sing every hour,every minute of the day.
My lungs clattered,
broke from these agonizing songs.
Why didn't you notice what you were doing was wrong?
For every time I sang, you set up new locks,
treated me like a doll you kept inside a box.
So I fled, I ran, I wanted to be free,
wanted to be a bird sitting high up on a tree.
The wind blew, the rain raged, there was no hand that feeds.
The worl

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Day SixteenA woman played with her baby
across the street from a policeman
holding the biggest gun I
have seen in my life.
Today, I played tourist in
my own city
and I saw that grass grows
the same way
on any side.

Day FifteenIt’s funny the way the
darkness
can swallow up a tragedy,
silencing it just enough to
let us believe that when we
open our eyes
it will all be over.

Day FourteenMy grandmother was planning a
wedding
in her free periods during her senior year.
A picket fence, a baby on the way,
the real American Dream.

My mother rang the wedding bells
just after she tossed
her University’s graduation cap.
Why take a hop when you can leap?

My family puts a special emphasis
on the word “friend” if he’s male,
parading a ghost of a figure around
as if I have
finally
achieved the medal of adulthood to
wrap around my finger and say
“I do” because
“I won’t”
just isn’t an option.

Day ThirteenI lost you long ago—
when you looked into my eyes
and saw someone else.

Day TwelveI joked about killing myself
seven times today:
Four times in the morning,
twice in the afternoon,
and once on the bus when I
didn’t think anyone could hear.

My great-grandmother’s
funeral is on Sunday, and I
can feel the base in my
family creaking.
There are no roots to
the left of me,
and the right is
barely hanging on.
No one told me that trees
die from the bottom up.

Day ElevenI.
It amazes me that
there are parts of my body
that I don’t use.
My appendix floats between the
skin and bones
and my tonsils only keep me
from getting all the air I need.

II.
Today alone, I saw six different parents
strapping their babies to their bodies
like another appendages.
What qualifies them as
extra.

III.
My tongue can trace
the roof of my mouth and reach
the very base of my chin.
When I need it to form strains of
vowels and consonants,
it cannot be found.

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Impressionable

by ~xthe-eleanorx, Mar 21, 2012, 7:13:11 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

You left impressions in her skin and they sank straight down to her heart. You always told her that she was impressionable, but she never took it quite so literally.

She was holding memories so tightly that her hands started to burn. Each day a layer of skin would char and crumble. She swept the ash off and carried on.

Sometimes when she felt lonely, she would take old blankets and wrap herself in them. They smelled like the people who used them before her. They have absorbed their dreams, their feelings, their hearts. She liked to hear other peoples' dreams because she never had one herself.

She never felt quite at home. She worried about getting caught in a gust of wind and tossed down in a field somewhere, but secretly, she hoped for it.

She missed you. She wouldn't admit it, but I could see it in her face and hear it in her words.

She lost her right shoe one night. She walked a half mile in the rain without it and arrived at the front door with a big smile on her face. Sometimes I worry. Perhaps too much.

She pinned her heart on her sleeve, but she wrapped it up in tinfoil first. I asked her if it hurt, she said that it did at first, but not anymore.

Her body weakened without her heart. She turned pale and cold. I told her that I thought she was dying, she told me that she knew.

I used to catch her staring at the wall sometimes. She wondered if that's all there was—one day you just hit a wall and then the end.

She insisted on arranging her own funeral. She made silver death notices and limped down to the florist. She brought back a wagon-full of large bouquets of lilies and poppies, arranging them around a bed.

It was quite a sight to see when I found her resting peacefully. She requested that you come to see her one last time before she was gone forever.

We watched them carry her away, drifting through sun and snow. We followed her body, crying and waiting. But you would wait no more.

Impressionableby ~xthe-eleanorx

Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

^{I don't really know what to think of this. It took a turn for the rather strange towards the end, but that is the result of leaving a piece to wait overnight. I'm still not super fond of the ending ending.

This was also intended to be poetry, but it isn't.

(Secret between you and me: This is basically a conglomeration of my favorite thoughts and ideas for stories from the past few months.)

Quaestiones:
1. Are the tenses confusing? I know that I have a few paragraphs in the present, but I really didn't like them in the past tense, so I kept it. Thoughts? [EDIT] I ended up changing it.
2. Does the narration make sense?
3. Your thoughts on the ending?
4. Any other thoughts or comments?}

love 3 3

~~joy 0 0~~

wow 1 1

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~Arwenjones Apr 16, 2012 Student Artist

2. The narration makes perfect sense, and is very poetic and moving to boot.
3. The ending was, really, a perfect fit. It seems like the way the story should go, but not enough so to be predictable.
4. I love the literal metaphors you've used here, they're just really cool.

~xthe-eleanorx Apr 16, 2012 Student Writer

Thank you very much! I am glad that you like it!

~Arwenjones Apr 17, 2012 Student Artist

C: I love it!

~RebbieChan Mar 28, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I really like this, love the poetic feel

1. the only thing that I noticed was out of tense was "I told her that I thought she was dying, she told me that she knows." Changing "Knows" to "knew" doesn't flow as well with the rest of the piece, so I see why you decided to keep things that way. To be honest, I didn't notice it the first time I read it over. So, personally, I think it's just fine.

But it future cases it may (or may not) be better to go back and edit it so that using proper tense sounds right.
2. While for the most part, it flows really well, sometimes it feels choppy here and there. Between paragraphs I think it was fine but for instance: "It was quite a sight to see when I found her resting peacefully. She requested that you come to see her one last time before she was gone forever." the two sentences placed together like this really through me off. It felt choppy and messed with the flow. Previously the choppy-ness was from paragraph to paragraph and became more of a rhythm than anything else and so this separation in mid paragraph didn't sit right.
3. The ending makes me wonder about this "You" does it mean that the person won't wait because now they are both dead, or does it mean that the person walking away from the funeral/didn't come? Also, I am the biggest offender of using "But" to start a sentence for effect, but I've found that more often than not editing that "but" out works better because if it does not get that desire effect, it just doesn't look right. In this case, I think that the "but" could stay in front and get that effect, if it were reworded and set on a different line. Otherwise I would edit the "but" out of being the starting word.
Anyway, great piece, I really like it1 ^_^

~xthe-eleanorx Mar 28, 2012 Student Writer

Thanks for the critique! Actually, I need to get rid of the question about the tense change from my questions for critique because I went and changed it from what I initially had, apparently I missed that bit though.

~RebbieChan Mar 28, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

lol, it happens ^_^

~saevusWinds Mar 26, 2012 Student General Artist

1. Are the tenses confusing? I know that I have a few paragraphs in the present, but I really didn't like them in the past tense, so I kept it. Thoughts?

A little, I would make it all in past tense. It will make it seem neater and less confusing.

2. Does the narration make sense?

Yes, although I don't really like how you separated it into so many sentences and how choppy it felt. Also, I felt a couple of phrases (like something sinking to her heart) were a little cliche. However, I LOVED this part: "She pinned her heart on her sleeve, but she wrapped it up in tinfoil first. I asked her if it hurt, she said that it did at first, but not anymore."

3. Your thoughts on the ending?

I actually loved that the best. It was my favorite part.

It really left something on me.

~xthe-eleanorx Mar 26, 2012 Student Writer

Hm. That's rather funny because I ended up changing the tenses, but perhaps I missed a sentence or two? Regardless, thank you for the comment, I will most definitely consider your suggestions.

~saevusWinds Mar 26, 2012 Student General Artist

No problem!

~Warrayfinson Mar 24, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

This is a beautiful piece

1. I found the tense is what kept me interested, so for me it wasn't confusing at all. I like how you skipped between times and events, it gave it a unique twist to your story.

2. The narration was gold, I really enjoyed it

3. The ending is bitter sweet, but very effective in capturing your overall theme

Again, excellent work on this!

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