James Green
Bio
Weaving words into captivating worlds, this author's storytelling will transport you to realms of imagination and leave you breathless.
Stories (332/0)
CHIRPED VOICES
”Why cry when you can laugh?” she said to herself, as she stood there waiting for the next customer to arrive. The week had been a long week for her; many a vacant stare, many a tonal wave of half-hearted musings. Finally, Friday had arrived, indulgent titillation was headed her way, and what titillation it was going to be. As she left her weekly position, she headed to the place she knew and loved, full of laughter and cheer it was difficult to choose a better place, another place, like the other. Step by step she made her way, then to her dismay, a call from a window: ”Hey, there. Yes, you there.” “Me?” She quivered. “Yes, you. We’re having a party up here, and you’re welcome to join, all are welcome here. Come on up. Here, use this ladder.” With a nervous giggle and an excited palpitation, up the ladder, step by step, made of rope and wood, not a single misstep. As she made her way through the window, with the help of an outstretched hand, four people she did see; four people, staring into four corners, not a whisper, not a sound. “Strange.” She thought. “You said you were having a party? But there’s no music. And why are those people staring into the wall like that?” The host, listening, but unengaged, walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. The four turned around, like toy ballerinas they turned. The window guillotined down! “What’s happening!? What do you want!?” She shouted, with clenched fists to her chest. The window rose up, the four-span round to their corners. Flapping her arms in haste, she flew to the window, flew down the still dangling ladder. “Fly, birdie, fly!” Chirped voices from the top raised window.
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
CATCH
Jostling through the grass on a fine summer's day, a pot I did find shining from the gleam of the sun's glistening rays; edging ever closer to a green hat on a head on a body in stern composure. "Quarreling with me will get you nowhere, you hear?" My face now glum with the threat of a tear. "Seeing is believing isn't it, me lad." My face now confused, no more looking sad. "All the gold in the world I wish to thee." "Why thank you, kind sir." Staring at a face like a mirror in front of me. "I struck gold, I did, meeting you today." Him or me, to the lad, tee-hee; which one, mirror mirror finally caught one, which one, 'o luck have thee.
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
START WRITING
Start writing... A story about what pray tell? When the words flood the mind as if they fell, the conundrum of a mystic with no mysticism to sell, only words covering the mind, like a turtle sitting in his shell. Compelling? Maybe, if the dance of words scatters in the fingers and the mind calms soothing the thunderous storm of a writer with nothing to write, in fright that the muse has taken flight. But, the well, dear writer, is deeper than one thinks, just sit and wait for another day exists, for the time is yours to do as you so wish. Calm.
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
JELLY LEGS
Flutters from the belly, legs full of jelly, her sight met mine from across the road ever so slightly left of the alley; timid to say, "Hi.", an inviting twinkle in her eye, what does one do when fear blinds one with a sigh. "Advance." A voice whispered from a place not heard from the sigh. With a one-step, and a two, with a third step making six, "Hello." I muttered scratching my eyebrow, she biting her lip.
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
MONDAY
Monday morning had arrived, the start of another week in eternity. Stepping out the door, what seemed to be flurrying snow, turned out to be a blizzard of falling feathers. As the tribes were making their way into providence, they all began to look up and marvel at the gift the heavens had bestowed upon them. Heads were high, hands were even higher, dancing and chanting exploded in rapturous merriment! Feet jumping and pirouetting beneath every ecstatic enchanted spirit. The feathers stopped. The people stopped. Underneath my umbrella, “Another Monday morning in eternity,” thought I. As I made my way down the feather-covered lane, breathing in big belly breaths of disenchanted sobs, “Today, is a great day to be alive,” thought I.
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
JUGGLING KEYS
The juggling and jingly of keys, tis the siren song of the prison guard as he makes his way out of his agreed-upon confines, out of his confines to indulge in his gluttonous delights. Stepping one foot in front of the other, making his way to his local greengrocers, he spotted something rather odd and out of place; a tipi, situated down a narrow dimly lit alleyway. Being the nosey authoritative type, he took it upon himself to investigate that which caught his attention. Swinging his keys in a tornado-like fashion, he stepped into the alley, closer and closer to the tipi, stepping further and further away from the path outside. Fully immersed within the dimly lit space of the alleyway walls, he noticed it wasn’t a tipi at all, but a giant slice of pizza, lying humbly yet earnestly up against the back of the alleyway wall. With his right eyebrow raised to attention and his left eye squeezed with confusion, his belly uninvitedly started to rumble. It rumbled so ferociously it was as if he the guard no longer existed. With the dropping of his keys, his arms now stretched forward, he edged closer to that which awaited him. In a moment of self-preserving reflection, he stopped, the arms dropped to their sides, his throat airing a mouse-like whimper; he stood there, gazing. Small droplets of water began to appear on his temple and from the corners of his glassy wide eyes; his belly once again began to rumble, his arms once again began to raise themselves forward. With tears now gushing from the corners of his eyes, and his tongue stretched out as if hooked on a fishing line, he stepped closer. “Trust me!” the air echoed, “Trust me...” his tongue stretched mouth echoed back. “I’m worthless?” poured out his tongue stretched mouth; “I’M WORTHLESS!?” his tongue stretched mouth began to scream! TEARS NOW STREAMING DOWN HIS FACE! BELLY RUMBLING SO LOUD, HIS SCREAMS NO LONGER AUDIBLE! HANDS CLAWING AND GRASPING AT HIS HAIR AS IF A PUPPETEER WAS CONTROLLING HIM FROM ABOVE!
By James Green2 years ago in Fiction
WHICH DOOR
No one was looking, they jumped over the wall, smashed the window, crawled their way through. Up the stairwell, they stumbled among many doors, “Which one to choose?”, they both pondered. “So many doors, but so little time.” Running from door to door, they each grabbed a handle, looked into each other, teeth chattering like a rattling bag of marbles; releasing their grasp, they ran to the next set of doors; with a left and a right kick, a thud and a boom, a right kick and a left kick, punished doors thickening the hallway air. “Why won’t they open!” he shouted. “Will they ever open!” he yelled. “That door!” he pointed. “Yes, this door,” he marvelled. Turning the handle, whilst behind him his knees dropping to the floor, hands reaching towards the heavens, the sound of a click. “It’s opening!” Dropping to his knees, his palms to his heart in prayer, standing up, he stepped over him from behind, pushing the door open with sprawled out fingers. “It’s time.” He murmured, as he walked further in. The shadow of praying hands becoming more fainter by the step.
By James Green2 years ago in Poets
SILENT COINS
It was an early afternoon, no different than the last one for Satoshi. Satoshi loved to walk, it was his favourite pastime along with drinking coffee and spending money on frivolous things. That afternoon he walked past a phone box which began to ring. “Strange,” he thought, as he looked around with no passer-by insight. Curiously he walked inside and lifted the phone to his ear. Silence. Staring blankly into the outside world he began to feel a chill down his spine. Silence. He swiftly left the box, began walking down the road compelled to look back at the box but with no haste to return to it, or to indulge in thoughts about it. Later that evening tucked inside the womb of his humble, but, lavishly adorned apartment, he couldn’t help but think about what transpired that early afternoon; “Why the call to no one?” he said to himself. Perplexed, he sat there, wondering why was he chosen to pick up the call, and why the silence. He couldn’t help but think this meant something, something far deeper than he could comprehend. “Stupid,” he said to himself, “What nonsense,” he uttered under his breath. Feeling his imagination running wild he decided the day had run its course and fell joyfully into his bed.
By James Green3 years ago in The Chain