Love
Thoughts Apart
As I looked over the pier into the horizon, with you right beside me; while we listened to the seals under our feet, I could not help but think I will forever remember this moment. As I listened to you describe your want, your need to be a dolphin because “they don’t have a care in the world and about how majestic they are,” I could not help but feel a sense of wonder and curiosity about what was going through your mind. As I watched you tremble while looking over the edge for fear of falling into the water below us, all I could think was I could just reach out and hold you and make you feel safe. But my own insecurities stopped me. As I look down to the water avoiding eye contact as much as I could all I could think was, He will never like you. He will never want to be with you. He is only staying with you because he has nothing else to do. These are the thoughts that I had when I watched you look over the edge as you inched your hand towards mine.
By Tristan Patel4 years ago in Fiction
My First
“Ms. Santiago, can you tell us who your first love was and why? As someone who is a New York Times best seller and a queer women, the people want to know.” The news reporter asked waiting to hear as she was literally on the edge of her seat ready to fall on the carpet if she didn’t answer quickly enough.
By Zaira Gomez4 years ago in Fiction
melody.
PRELUDE. A small, dim light cast a deep yellow glow over Cori Desmond’s face as she sat in the back of a late-night lounge. The lighting danced off the toffee hues of her brown skin and caused flecks of gold to flash in her deep dark eyes. Jet black curls framed her oval face, which dawned a slight trace of makeup behind her face mask. Couples filled the place tonight for Valentine’s Day, but Cori sat alone nursing a glass of dark red wine while she patiently waited for Carter to take the stage.
By nikki blaire4 years ago in Fiction
Cleaning Detergent
“Would you like to have a drink with me?” That went on for three days straight. He held his stoic feelings close to himself as always, just as he held his glass of red wine. It was as if he was staring at a stone statue he could no longer recognise. You could barely see any semblance of emotions on his face. His brows were bushy, slightly unkempt. “Old age,” I thought. I scanned the ridges and wrinkles around his eyes – he had laughed a lot, even smiled a lot. But why this coldness? Why has his smile eluded me for the past three days?
By Peter J. Albert4 years ago in Fiction
Fire in the Sky
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” I say. I’m sitting with my wife. Feet dangling over the edge. The old water tower is our spot. Rust covered railings. The faint blue and white chipped paint reveals the thick silver metal. We climb to the top every night to watch the sunset, the alluring pinks and oranges dancing over our beautiful city. The sun is hovering over the tallest of buildings in the distance. You can still hear the busy workers cruising around town; the distant sounds of vehicles honking, and yelling when someone gets cut off. It seems busier tonight; there must’ve been a basketball game. I missed it again. They were her favourite. I like sitting up here with her, watching the city wind down for the night. The sunset reflecting off the rooftops makes it look like the city is on fire. I don’t like fire anymore; it used to bring us together. That was back when we were happy, and now all I can see is pain. We should probably leave now, it's getting late. I break the silence. “We should go,” I say. She doesn’t respond; she never does. Just sits there in silence, admiring the beauty of mother nature putting our city to sleep. The beautiful colors shining on her face. Her eyes glowing in the fading sunlight. Her beautiful wavy brown hair flowing behind her. Oh, what I would do to run my hand through her hair. So smooth and soft. Not a single tangle. But I know she doesn’t like to be bothered, so I just look at her and imagine. She looks at me then and I can’t look away. She is breathtaking, especially in this light. Calm blue eyes holding my gaze. I feel the corners of my mouth begin to turn. I can’t help but smile. I want to see her smile back, her teeth glistening in the fading sunlight. But she doesn’t give me the pleasure. Instead, she turns slowly and looks behind her. I have to look too, she never looks away from the city. I see thick dark clouds. There’s a storm coming. We really need to go. But she doesn’t budge so neither do I. She’s stubborn. We will go when she’s ready. The sky has now turned a soft pink purple color. The dark of night slowly engulfing the beauty of the sunset. There is a slight chill in the air as the storm approaches. I feel goosebumps cover my arms as the wind wraps around us. I let out a soft shudder. I look at my wife again but her vision is fixed on the sun which is just peaking over the top of the tallest building. She is radiating heat. So I inch closer to her to battle the cold tugging at my sleeves. She doesn’t seem to notice. I look back at the storm, it’s almost above us now. We will be running back in the rain for sure. A few chilly seconds pass before a feeling of warmth washes over me. She is watching me so I turn and lock eyes with her. Still glowing blue even in the obscurity of the fading sunlight. “I miss you,” I say. I didn’t mean to say it, the words just fell out of my mouth. She smiles a sad smile but remains silent. I miss her voice, so soft and angelic. My words hang empty in the air. I stand up suddenly, a feeling of anger and sorrow flowing through my veins. I have to go see her for real, I’m done with the make-believe. My imagination causes me too much pain. I stand on the edge of the water tower, gazing out over our city. The sun has disappeared now, just a few swirls of bright color in the distance fighting against the blackness of night. I take a deep breath. It’s time. Before another thought enters my mind, I feel a soft touch to my hand and a burst of warmth and comfort flows through me. I close my eyes, accepting the feeling. When I open them, she is there, floating above me. She’s glowing in darkness; surrounded by a faint aura. “So beautiful,” I mutter to myself. She puts her hands on my shoulders. So gentle yet so strong. I bring my hands to hers, her skin as soft as a lamb's ear. I haven’t felt her touch in so long, not since that day, the day the flames took her. Her screams torture me every night. She was trapped in the place where I thought we were safe, the place I used to call home. There was nothing I could do. I would’ve switched places with her in a heartbeat. A single tear begins to pool in my eye. I close them and I feel it crawl down my cheek. My hands leave hers and go to the back of my severely scarred neck. My daily reminder of all the pain and suffering I’ve been through. I take a step forward. She suddenly speaks, stopping me in my tracks. I haven’t heard her voice in forever. It’s more beautiful than I remember, the sound of a thousand angels, like music to my ears, the perfect melody. “It’s not your time,” she says. She knows what I am trying to do. She brings her face inches from mine. “I need you here,” she says. All I can do is look at her, I’m at a loss for words. Her beauty flooding me with warmth. She’s right, I can’t do this, I have to leave. I turn and take a step away from the edge and she follows close behind. My guardian angel. I turn to look back at her one last time before beginning my descent down the ladder but all I see are the lights of our city. She is gone, her mission completed. I smile, she still loves me. Then the sky opens up, releasing a torrent of rain trying to wash me away. I look up in defiance, nothing can extinguish the fire that she left burning inside me. She is keeping me here. I will burn for both of us.
By Spencer Drummond4 years ago in Fiction
You Won't Find Us Here
“We’ve been in the wind too long,” he says, through gritted teeth. His hair is funny, the way it pokes out from the sides of his head. I would laugh, but there is nothing lyrical left within me. I’ve forfeited pieces of myself for capsules in orange bottles. These I carry, in white-knuckled fists, as a chalky powder dissolves in my bloodstream. He knows, and my explanations (a myriad of excuses) cause him to deflate, teary-eyed. Perhaps I’ve broken him—it seems he’s given up searching for sunshine in dark places.
By Jalia Maléy Brodie4 years ago in Fiction
Divine Intervention
Moving is never easy. When you're an awkward kid in middle school, it borders on torture. For as long as he could remember, Ali had a difficult time making friends. That's just a consequence of bringing your own food to parties, having exotically dressed grandparents, and parents with job titles he could barely pronounce.
By Bashar Salame4 years ago in Fiction
The Love Story
Questions among men are questions of fate; nonetheless, there are and there is: I looked out the window out onto a glossy background, and I was questionless. “Can a can can.” It’s all I remember saying to myself, thus I read books. About mostly cartoons.
By Alex Stough4 years ago in Fiction
God.
It was my turn to play God. Kissing my old life goodbye, I listened to the flat line of a once beeping machine, letting everyone know I was finally gone. I’d dreamt of this the night before. An angel came to me, wearing nothing remarkable and without wings. “You look just like me.” I remember saying. “We are the same.” They said. “It’s time.” It was my turn to play God. Every death, every birth, every miracle and natural disaster would all be up to me. Every type of good fortune and string of bad luck. Every curse and every prayer would find its way to me and it would be up to me to decide what to do with it all. I’m not special. I wasn’t chosen for any specific reason. We all take our turn as God when we die. It’s happening all the time. Why do you think things seem so chaotic sometimes? Hundreds of thousands trying to play God at once sometimes. A warm day in December in the Midwest or snow in April. A car accident. A lottery winner. A brand new baby. A lost sister. Am I in the mood for sunshine today or do I feel more like rain? The weather and whether or not you’ll live to see tomorrow are decisions all left to me. I’m God now. We all just take our turns. And then, like the recycled energy we are, we come back. Just not as ourselves. Not as our old selves, anyway. We take our turns as God and then we are reborn. Recycled energy.
By Amber Marie Cardona4 years ago in Fiction
