Nip slip in the auditorium
this is a bad day to not wear a bra
These buttons are crap
My nipples are now exposed
What an audience!
About the Creator
Anna Torres
I’m a 39-year old mother and student. I love reading, metal music, and writing. I have begun writing again since 2021
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More stories from Anna Torres and writers in Poets and other communities.
Sledgehammer
Coward, you are in need of reparations. We are in charge of setting things right. Your compliance is in demand. Admit you were wrong. Concede in defeat and play dead already. Cleanse this forest floor with flame. I hope the flames shudder and maim as you return to dust. Allow us to heal from the damage done. We have overcome hostility and still we are the volatile ones. Monotone shadows have buried all the murders you inflicted on us. A defiler with no conscience. We rented your funeral pyre but have yet to see you on it. You shattered paradise without any doubts. We hired mercenaries but even they wouldn't dare touch your skin. Perverse corruption has altered you completely. You let the sky collapse as if your power came from above. I'll lay you down in the trenches where you'll never be found. Our wrath formed during Roman antiquity and has come full circle and is searching for you. You can't hide in a casket nor some hole made for a commoner. You can't jettison anyone anymore. Ancient Scandinavian gods cannot defend you from thunderous me. We have staked our claim on you. There was a time for amends or restitution but that time has gone. Across no man's land and fallen rubble, we spot you. I will take what is mine. You don't fear me yet but you will in time. I've traveled too far to give up now. You didn't plan on interference and now the end is nigh. You were a momentary master for this monumental disaster. This tiny speck of space and time will only end up destroyed faster. Is this the real end where time travelers will say their final goodbyes? We have gathered here across this chasm, this lovely pit, to finally extract our revenge. This is not the end. I hope you'll resurrect so I can bury you one last time
By Anna Torres2 years ago in Poets
Lightning Never Strikes Twice
The distant rumble, the sudden deluge, the crescendo of sound, the flash of light, the explosive energy — it never gets old. I became an amateur storm chaser about two years ago. My wife, Cindy suggested it. Sort of. She said, "Alex, you know this cancer is killing me. I've come to terms with that, but you're smothering me. Go join a band, write a book, or become a storm chaser, for all I care. I love you, but you need a hobby."
By Julie Lacksonen5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
That would have held their attention, lol!