Emery Pine
I’m a poet with sprinklings of fiction. I write with the soul, so I hope you find it interesting and relatable
To My Dad
Growing up, My dad taught me a valuable life lesson. He told me that duct tape fixes everything. When our dog chewed a hole in the tub,
Emery PinePublished 14 days ago in Poets
I Don’t Eat Humans
11/15/19 “Well, you see, I don’t think there’s really a point in me being here if we’re not going to go shopping. I’ve been sitting in that castle for… twenty-three years now, waiting for a good shopping trip. My parents never let me go by myself before. They’d let me go to the market with my guards, but they don’t know a thing about shopping. I really need to get a new pair of heels for my birthday next week. If we’re not going to go shopping, I don’t know why I’m here.”
Emery PinePublished about a month ago in Futurism
My Twilight
09/30/19 The boy who sat across the table smiled. He had an aesthetically pleasing face, but his smile made Zandri’s blood run cold. His eyes were dark and inviting in a way that made her stomach turn.
Emery PinePublished about a month ago in Horror
Undying Love
02/26/19 “Why?” a gentle voice asked from behind me. I knew what was coming, but turned anyway. There was no point in fighting it. If I didn’t turn, the voice would only start sounding like it was everywhere, ringing in my ears, clanging through my head. So I turned. Everything around us is blacker than black, nothing exists but us. Her skin looked like it was glowing, her green eyes burning me where I stood. She looked at me, waiting for an answer. She stood so still, it couldn’t be natural. Her face was still the one I loved, but different— more angular, even more beautiful, knowing, dangerous. Dead. She was dead. But here she was in front of me.
Emery PinePublished about a month ago in Horror
Oxford the Wizarding Academy
04/13/20 I start my classes at the University of Oxford tomorrow morning. I arrived in town last week to get settled into my small studio apartment near campus. I can walk or take one of the shuttles they use here in this town. I have yet to get onto one of the shuttles. They scare me a bit, it we’re being honest. Everything here does. It’s too big, too many people. It’s overwhelming. I’d almost rather be back in Llanwrtyd, my small town back in Wales. This, however, isn’t an option. It wasn’t cheap for my admittance into this school, as well as the travel from home to here. My fellow townsmen, all 805 of them, chipped in with whatever they could into a collective fund for me to come out here for my education. I can’t ditch out now and waste all their money and hopes for me. They were so generous and kind, all of them believing me. It would be bloody wrong of me to quit now. I say all this as it I do not want to be here at all, though. This is not the case. While I do wish I was back at home, I am also quite excited about the prospects of this new journey. I’ve never been in such a large city. The amounts of people is overwhelming. So many of them talk with such different accents and dress funny. I’m excited to experience this new part of the world, as well as start my new track of learning.
Emery PinePublished about a month ago in Futurism
In the Woods
09/29/19 Simon stared at Gabby in horror. They’d left earlier that morning to go hiking. They were several miles in when Gabby pulled her hunting knife that her dad gave her a few years back out of her backpack. They’d been going out for a year and a half and went hiking all the time, so he’d seen it before. She liked to carry it at almost all times because she had a tendency of being extremely paranoid. He’d gotten used to it.
Emery PinePublished about a month ago in Horror
Hamlet Rewritten
01/12/20 To love, or not to love, that is the question: whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous pain, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them. To hate, to leave, no more; and by leaving to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that the heart is heir to: ‘tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d. To hate, to leave; to leave, perchance to be loved by another— ay, there’s the rub: For in that leave of hate what love may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause— there’s the respect that makes calamity of so long love. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time. Th’oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely. The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay, the insolence of office, and the spurns that attention merit of th’unworthy takes, when he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, to suffer and break under a weary love, but that the dread of something after leaving, the undiscovere’d country, from whose bourne no traveller returns, puzzles the will, and makes us rather bear these ills we have than fly to others we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pitch and moment with this regard their currents turn away and lose the name of action.
Emery PinePublished about a month ago in Poets
Banned from Existence
When I become aware of my surroundings, the first thing I feel is a hard surface pressing against my back. My eyes are still closed, but I can see light through my shut eyelids. It must be pretty bright wherever, I think. I slowly open my eyes to look around me. I;m not sure if it’s what I want to do quite yet, but everything is silent around me, so listening isn’t telling me anything. Ehh I open my eyes,, I’m temporarily blinded by the fluorescent lights above me. After a few seconds, my eyes adjust enough to see the room around me. I’m laying in the middle of a blank, empty white room that stretches into all directions as far as I can see.
Emery PinePublished about a month ago in Journal
