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All That Passed Between ThemShe came there each day, waiting. She would sit there in that spot on the bench for some time before getting on the train - the right train. The train that he was on. She had noticed him one day, on her way to a certain somewhere, as usual, and as a people watcher, she took note of the time and proceeded to try and catch the same train each day. She was a stubborn girl, curious too. Her nosiness often got her into trouble, but no matter - she always bounced out of scrapes. And when she was determined, red flags that could possibly have warned her were only burned and tossed into the trash.

He was a nice looking fellow. He had smiling eyes an
Of Loss And Measured TimeIt was ten minutes before the accident, and I just told my boyfriend that I love him. He's on his way to my house, and I'll see him soon.

It's been five seconds since the accident, and I'm getting worried. The distance between our houses is only five minutes.

It's been twenty minutes since the accident, and I hear sirens blaring their way down my street. I open the door and run to follow their path.

It's been forty-five minutes since the accident, and I'm watching the ambulance pull away from the mangled remains of what was once a red sports car.I didn't see the victim, but I don't need to. I've seen that car enough times. I vaguely regist
Out of ThymeIt wasn't until after she died that Trevor realized he couldn't cook.

The realization came six months after the funeral, when all the casseroles and baked goods were eaten and when all the flowers had long wilted, but before the critical time when he knew that it was time to box all her things away and donate them. He had started to do that, but when he got to her clothing, he couldn't take it anymore and the job was left unfinished.

There was no sudden moment of epiphany for him. He was able to cook simple things-spaghetti, soup from a can, microwave dinners, pasta and sausages, things like that. But as he stood over the stove, stirring hi
if you've ever seen the ocean.on the first day of school, she saw him. he was staring out the window in her english class. he had a sense to him that he just needed to get out. go somewhere. anywhere.

on the third day of school, she talked to him. he was sitting at an outside lunch table, his head down, headphones in ears.

"what are you listening to?" she asked, nervously waiting for an answer. he looked up.

"it's none of your business."

-

she didn't give up asking. she asked for the rest of the first week. by her nineth day asking he finally answered.

"i'm not listening to anything. it's the loudest music ever."

his answered confused her, and she stayed away.

-

but here and now i am aliveI was three years old when we moved there, when the wall in my room that moved and the drunken woman next door and the grey grey hight of the flats could not contain my first chubby steps to identity. My parents packed us up for the jumble sale of moving, pricing up our lives and our possessions with tape and cardboard and memories. The grass on the show house became our grass, became our house, while I slept in a new room under old sheets and dreamed of darkness.

I was five and nobody else was five and nobody else was a girl and I was so alone. The cats that roamed were my friends, the weeping willow and the squeak in the wheels of my scoot
A Love Story in Four Actsi.
     I loved a blacksmith once, back when the sand still clogged up my soul. It was only far after that I began to love the desert too.
ii.
     Underneath the casual noise--glass on wood, heat-smothered conversation, worn cards slapped down in careful triumph--there was this low, thrumming quiet that wouldn't be broken. He spoke in sepia undertones. "We're getting out."
iii.
     Hot iron smells like hot blood, like blood that's been poured out under the white Arizona sun. It's something you don't forget easy, like the taste of whiskey or the plasma patterns left on your eyelids after watching fire all night. It sticks.
v.
      My childhood was fed on medical books, and I've got this pain right behind my eyes and I wonder if this is what it feels like being lobotomized. Of course the brain has no nerve endings, but the hurt has to manifest itself somewhere.
He's a Magic Man.To say that he's a well-dressed man would usually be a lie. A white lie. Alright. A gray lie.
He walks around with his head held high nonetheless--how can he not? It contradicts the lines of his body, from the broad shoulders to the slim waist and long legs. It brings out the light in his face and that ever-ready smile--getting ahead of himself with utter enthusiasm, as always.
Back to his clothes. An emperor defined by the way he dresses down; while royalty is in his stride, it is denounced by the open shirt of blue or white plaid patterns, riding across the front of a white wife beater or thinner t-shirt. Always open at the throat, or
Better.I. White dress. You did your makeup in the upstairs bathroom mirror. There is hope on your lips  and powder on your skin. You are hiding your imperfections because how else would anyone fall in love with you? White dress you wore to make Tyler put his hands on your waist. White dress you wore in the summer. And in the laundry room, you wash blood off of a boy's hand, licking it once. Red blood you wished would stay in his veins. Red blood that goes straight to his heart where you once were. Red blood in the laundry room, where you make promises you'd never get a chance to keep. White dress you're wearing in the winter. White dress you press a
nighthawksThe late-night girl at the mess hall was herself a mess. She was wearing all black and it might have had a certain art-student glamour had her pants been skinny and her eyeliner not been greyish and smudged. Her grey coat was old-and-new, clearly a thrift-store purchase that she'd been proud of paired with a dress and tights, but on top of the black ensembled looked tired and out-of-place, haphazardly thrown on because it was wool and warm. But wool was not what she should have picked. The girl had an air of good intentions but having horrid luck, and that's what happened today. It had rained heavily in the morning, and that rain turned to sl
GlassJordan knew something was wrong the moment he turned the key.

"Lily?" he called out as he slipped into the dark house.

It was only around 6pm, but it was the middle of January, so the sun must have been down for at least an hour. She would have turned on the lights by now.

Maybe she's out, Jordan tried to convince himself to no avail. Lily had scarcely left the house in weeks.

He was still barely a step away from the door. Going any further meant making this real.

Jordan decided he'd have to make it real sooner or later and kicked off his shoes, but didn't bother to strip himself of his winter coat. The chill in the air was far too heavy
Spilled Ink On Wet Paper"Do you remember when you were little and you had a bicycle with a bell that you'd ringringring just to annoy your parents and you'd try and carry all of your toys whilst riding but you'd accidentally let one slip and then you'd go flyingflyingflying and your knee would be scraped and you should have been crying but the blood was a pretty red so it was all okay?"
"Yeah."
"Well that's sort of what being with you is like."

Oh, darling. Darlingdarlingdarling, we sure had fun before we got angry; didn't we?

Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed trying to forget my own name, I think about youyouyou. You just look contemplative and smile and don't s
Clashing MemoriesHe remembers her silent clapping each time they met and the final goodbye on the intercom as he left the building.  He remembers the bubbles and booze and the sound of her voice when she was amused.

She remembers the expensive perfumes in his hair -one on each strand, fighting for absolute possession... She remembers breaking up with him, refusing to be the girlfriend he fooled, and breaking pieces of her heart as she remained one of his buffoons.

She used to love him. Or so she thought. She was not young, yet she still got confused when her existence wanted to fill another soul. Keeping someone company was safe grounds, yet passi
CreativityI looked at her with a mild tint of unease.  She looked like a five-year-old girl in a classic princess outfit, all pure white, that looked like it was lifted straight out of Disney.  Her back was adorned with two butterfly wings, one decorated with a slightly nauseating spiral of colors, the other a mess of letters and punctuation symbols.  My attention eventually settled on her pendant, a simple unlit lightbulb hanging upon her neck.

"Quit gawking and say something, Romeo."

Her voice was almost fairy-like.  I abruptly turned my attention to her face.

"Who... who are you?"

"I am your creativity.  If you'd prefer to assign me a name, you
Lone endingsI saw you standing against the end as it rolled in. I don't think you knew I was there; every inch of your posture said you were alone. The final shafts of light tore through the clouds with the little strength they had left - the last, panicked struggle before death. We had felt that too; we had striven against the waning world, and now even light was consumed by that fear.

But not you. You stood there, watching the ripples on the horizon that would once have been only distant waves, and you knew, as I knew, that the sight was now the flickering of the oceans plunging out of existence. Yet you stood and stared, not fearfully, not boldly; ju
Sankyour love, titanic

your heart, frozen
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We Left Him In VirginiaI walked down the narrow aisle of the hospital, if you could call it a hospital. The late spring air that had seemed so pleasant outside was stale amongst the crowded as the beds that were crammed together along the walls of the tent. Files buzzed in my face as I tugged at the collar of the stolen nurse's uniform. I felt sweat trickle down beneath my hair. Was it because of the Richmond air, or was it an after affect of my hammering heart?

I kept my eyes to the floor as I walked along, trying to block out the sounds of the bleeding and dying from my ears. But occasionally I had to glance up. I was searching for someone, after all. I shuddere
HymnWhat is a hymn?
Is it music, the pure express of soul?
Is it the verse of scripture, captured in voice?
Is it the light that filters through the clouds,
Or is it something simpler?
Something more complex?
Why must it be anyting at all?

Why must a hymn be trapped in a single world?
Does it not go beyond time, beyong space?
Like a prayer,
Isn't it far too scared to be defined by the harshness of the tongue?

Why do we always try to kill words by naming them?
Dorothy Speaks OutBlew into Oz today.
Stomped down the yellow brick road hunting green backs,
Dragging my three little morons behind me.
Had my dog bite the man behind the curtain,
And then talked to dolls on the shelf in my green sunglasses.
But in the end, I can't help but wonder...
If the good witch said that these silver slippers are the only way home,
Then what's with these crappy rubies,
Hollywood?
The NoteI was walking home one day,
For what purpose I can't remember
It seemed important at the time,
My feet mindlessly carrying me forward,
But that changed the moment I saw him

A lonely figure upon a parkway bench,
Trampled down by the weight of too many uncaring soles,
The old wounds of yesterday reopening in the cold of the dusk

I stopped for a moment to stare,
Taking in the melancholy of his being,
Before running to offer him my aide

I didn't know what to say to comfort him,
There are too many words in times like these
Sorry came first,
But what does that word mean today?
Then I asked for his forgiveness,
I know not why
But it
Casting A SpellThe circle was merely the beginning.

Most people never took the time to look further then the circle, scratching curves into the dirt as they pranced and chanted and pretended to know what they were doing. But not Shella. She could see beyond the dirt. She could see the Earth's Lifeblood pulsing in strange colors around her. It was a marvelous gift that no one else seemed to have. Most denied that it existed, being too stupid to see past their own noses.

But her gift was as strong and it was real, and she fully intended to use it.

Dipping into the Lifeblood, Shella marked her own circle into the marshy floor of the world, kicking up sparks
Ending - ElementalsKira clutched at her chest as she leaned against a tree, the beam of the flashlight bouncing up and down with the heaves of her breath. How long had she been running? She glanced down at her watch; 11:30. That meant an hour since waking to find a house emptied of nearly half of it's occupance, with the others dreaming in a cold stone sleep. All expect for her and Kenji. Kenji. Kira could still hear him screaming, still she him falling to the ground in a bloody hazy within her mind's eye.

She shook her head, forcing her feet to go on. "JI!" she shrieked, her cry cracking with her desperation. "Where are you?"

She pushed her aching body on, s

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The Space Between

:iconthrontre:

She had seen him looking at her, his brown eyes tracking her movements as their bodies rattled inside of the train.

Each day he seemed to move closer, becoming more daring. At first she was only flattered, catching his eyes in thanks as they left the train and went off to their separate worlds. Soon, it seemed she knew him.  Knew him in the swaying of his body as he gripping the rail, and in the lifting, flick of his wrist to look at the watch with the brown, leather strap, and how her hair would stand on end as the gaze of his eyes left tiny pin pricks at the back of her neck.

His actions were silent love letters that touched her through the narrow space of the train.

Today, of all days, he chose to stand next to her, his hand sitting at his hip with fingers curled out towards her. It seemed to her that those fingers wanted to be touched.

She felt the pulse of him,

of everything,

in that space between them.

It was warm and frantic, frenzied with the possibilities that came with the scant brush of fingertips.

She extended her pinky, stopping it a fraction from his. The energy pulsed. Her spine tingled.

And yet she saw the impossible space between his fingers and the quiet, unmoving stillness of his body, and did not know how she could possibly fill it.
:iconthrontre:
Another piece that I have pulled out of the pages of my journals. One of my cracks at a prose poem as well. (When I'm doing my writing exercises, I end to write these passages that walk the edge of poetry and prose, rather than choose one or the other.)

So one could say that this poem is about a love story. About the chances you take when you want to start a relationship, but all the fears and pressures that go along with them.

Thanks for reading! Enjoy! :heart:
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:iconsurrealcachinnation:
*SurrealCachinnation Feb 12, 2013  Student Writer
I have borrowed the wonderful title of your piece for an AWESOME project by =SilverInkblot that uses titles of existing deviations to form the lines of a Found Poem. The idea is to ay attention to titles, which can make or break a piece, and to give exposure to as many deviants as possible. :heart:

If you'd like to see my poem, you can find it here: [link]
And you can read about the project here: [link]
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:iconsammur-amat:
=Sammur-amat Aug 30, 2012   General Artist
Ah, this is quite an elegantly executed piece. Congratulations on the DLD for it, lovely:heart:
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:iconthrontre:
~Throntre Aug 30, 2012  Student Writer
Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it, and thank you for the watch! :D
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:iconsammur-amat:
=Sammur-amat Sep 1, 2012   General Artist
My pleasure indeed! :la:
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:iconxlntwtch:
*xlntwtch Aug 28, 2012   Writer
:iconcongratssignplz:...on the DLD. Terrific flash fiction, emcompassing worlds of 'theme' in a few words. Thank you. :+fav:
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:iconthrontre:
~Throntre Aug 28, 2012  Student Writer
Thank you! :heart: Oh goodness, I still can't believe I got featured!
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:iconxlntwtch:
*xlntwtch Aug 28, 2012   Writer
:) :iconwelcomeplz:
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:icondailylitdeviations:
=DailyLitDeviations Aug 27, 2012
Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by DailyLitDeviations in a news article that can be found here [link]
Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by :+fav:ing the News Article.
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:iconlynnstrife:
Mood: Love ~LynnStrife Oct 3, 2011  Student Digital Artist
Kinda sad, yet beautiful :) Lovely~
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:iconkj-illustration:
*KJ-Illustration Oct 1, 2011  Professional Digital Artist
Hi :heart: Your work has been featured in my September Feature: [link] :love: :hug:

ps. Please :+favlove: (in the left-hand-corner) the article to spread the love and attention if you enjoyed it (:
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