Love
He Was her Unamore
The flowers on the the windowsill succumbed to their fate as the last petal fell onto the wood below. A cloud of dust coughed, before it’s brethren danced in the sunbeams, interrupting her reverie. The woman wiped a tear from her eye. It was beautiful, this fleeting moment of particles suspended. It's what they once were, her and Him. With Him, the sun rose and set. With her, the light was eclipsed in shadow. He had breathed his last breath, leaving her in a state of stasis and stagnation.
By E.K. Daniels3 years ago in Fiction
amourlust
Hanging on, it's what she did best. Telling Mia to give up, was like lighting fire to a short, temperamental fuse, and expecting a slow burn. She didn't know the meaning of the word quit, and never understood how quickly some would reach this conclusion.
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden3 years ago in Fiction
Lumilya
Evelyn got up to the incessant chirping of her alarm. She rolled over in bed, moaning, and squeezed rest, trusting to induce some more hours of rest before she had to confront the day ahead. The morning was full of meetings and deadlines and stress. Evelyn couldn’t wait to climb out of bed and out into the fresh, cold, and chaotic world outside.
By Kageno Hoshino3 years ago in Fiction
Autumn
While autumn was covering the quiet Aegean town like a colorful quilt, Aras set out to sea with his boat, just like every morning. While the deep blue of the sea and the endless blue of the sky were mixing together, the thoughts in Aras' mind were also mixing with each other. Besides being a profession inherited from his father, fishing also gave him peace. But today, as he was gathering his nets, he felt an unusual heaviness.
By ~ Mikail ~ 3 years ago in Fiction
The Night Librarian
In the quiet corner of the library stacks, where the very essence of the books seemed to breathe, the librarian embarked on her nightly routine. With a rhythmic squeak, she pushed a trolley laden with grimoires and mystical texts toward their designated spot in the dark recesses. She spoke to the books, admonishing them, "It's not as if any of you are chained. Behave yourselves!"
By Kims gathoni3 years ago in Fiction
The Sketchy Thief of Hearts
Mick, an artist and thief, was known far and wide for his unparalleled skills in both fields. His reputation preceded him, as he had successfully stolen countless valuable objects beyond anyone's reach. However, Mick's insatiable desire for thrill constantly pushed him to seek the most daring heists. He was never satisfied with what he had and would always find new ways to make each heist more daring and complex. Mick was also known for his ability to evade capture, as he was a master of disguise and careful planning. He was an unstoppable force, and no one could stop him.
By Wayne Ince3 years ago in Fiction
Belisten
Stop talking, she had said to me while swirling anxiously in circles on her black, leather computer chair. It was covered with a faux fur blanket which she had received as a gift one Christmas; it was something familiar and safe. Her vulnerability was obvious; her all too familiar ways were especially reflective in her warm, brown, almond shaped eyes which barely met mine. She skirted around our conversation. What do you want me to say? I didn't respond with words, yet my mother heart was on high alert, absorbing each syllable as she mumbled, noting her agitated movements, listening with a racing pulse to her words while my unbridled flashbacks of her childhood giggles stabbed through my well-trodden heart. You never listen! I am listening; I feel I am poised, attentive and my dear, cherished, only child how I wish you could feel the love I have for you, a love which will never die. Mom! I sit more attentively. What the hell am I doing wrong here? My eyes are right on her, my mouth is shut, my body language is relaxed, (or is it?) and I am here, ready for whatever she has to say. Nervous, yes. Ill prepared for parenting a struggling adult entirely? Maybe. What can I do but take in her words, let them tumble around as if in the clothes dryer until they settle. Help me out here someone! I am lost as a Mom. Lost. Oh God. She stops swirling about and looks at me as if I can't possibly relate. I hate my life. What do you hate about your life? I try to verbalize my reply, to sound like a friend, a bit casual yet I resent my repressed tone. I am not loved for who I am; I am transgender, and Pappa walked out of my life! Are you daft Mom? You of all people should know how much it hurts to be alive, to be me, to not be wanted! I clear my throat, stand, and wrap my arms around her. I don't speak. I hold her face in my hands and look into her eyes with pure love. My pain is hers. I take her hands and lift them into the air with mine. For one moment we are one; I am familiar with listening to her emotions as they burst from her soul. I hear her sorrow, her plight, and in all my imperfections, I remain steady. Without quivering I select some words but stumble and don't say them. I am thinking, "always as far as time can take us, I am with you." Mom! What have I done now? Can we talk about something else? I let go of her, sit down, and pretend to look at a menu for Thai take-away laying on the coffee table. A few minutes slowly tick by; I look up as she wipes away a tear. I love you, Mom. Handing her the menu she quickly tosses it back. I want pizza; I hate Thai food. You of all people should know that. I do know this. I know so much about my beautiful, hurting loved one, yet I also know nothing at all. Can my love save her? I order pizza. I ask what she wants and she rolls her eyes and turns her back toward me. She has asked for the same pizza for twenty years. I order one large pizza with cheese. Just cheese. She swirls around to face me and blurts out, With olives! Surprised, I add them to the order. I don't know as much as I want about her. Olives? She never eats olives. I am sobbing inside wanting to soak up all her self loathing, stitch her wounds; I'd give anything to see her laugh or smile again. I want her to be happy. Mom? You're just staring at me like a zombie. Can you go now? Of course. I have filled her needs for this particular wave of melancholy. I stand again and kiss her cheek. Leaving her is always hard. Leaving her alone with all of her thoughts stings as I push through a smile. Talk tomorrow? I ask. I am twenty-six, not six Mom. Emphasizing the twenty she sighs and stands. She gives me a hug of reassurance, an unspoken contract that she won't harm herself. Enjoy your pizza. Opening her door for me she ushers me out. Thanks and goodbye, Mom.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 years ago in Fiction
Aromescence
She affected me like atmospheric pressure at first, almost a tickle behind the ears and heart. 14 years since we had met in person. Our odd-hours, online reconnection as much a dissociated dream as a reality; as much a theosophical possibility as a tangible life-path. A concept instead of a thing.
By Conor Darrall3 years ago in Fiction
LOKI SERIES SEASON 2
Mobius M. and the Minutemen chase after an angry Loki, trying to convince him that they don't know each other. When Mobius tells him again that they don't, Loki jumps into a mail cart and crashes into the lower level of the Time Variance Office. He meets Casey, who doesn't remember him either. When an alert says there's a "level 5 intruder", Casey says he's found it, and Loki starts to distort into the future. He meets Casey again, who remembers him and takes him to where Mobius is with Hunter B-15. Casey hears Loki screaming and looks back, but he doesn't see anything.
By DEVASENAN SUBRAMANI3 years ago in Fiction
