[x]

love is coming home--i don't write about God.

i don't write about God because it's writing about love, it's writing about faith, it's writing about trust and hope and belief and pain, the kind of gut-wrenching betrayal you feel when you've given up and you're waiting for someone to save you, only nobody ever does.

and who else are you going to blame?

it's easy to write about a God you don't believe in. it's easy to pour out all your hate and anger and hurt and deepest, darkest broken fears and fling them from your fingertips and scream, this is not God! it's easy to believe in nothing.

it's not easy to believe.

believing is opening yourself to the pain. it's

And Here Is JohnHere is John, beside me again. Sometimes when we meet he gives me a small, courtly bow, other times he's tired and he can only muster up a smile as the words "Bonjour, ma belle," fall out of his mouth. Sometimes his eyes burn feverishly, sometimes they're dull, sometimes he's drunk. It depends on where he's been that day. There are only two things constant about my John; he always manages to smile, and I can always see the fear deep in every line on his face.

Paris is grim, and John spends his time here waiting. His whole life now is waiting and fearing what could happen. No one knows what will happen, now. The front is moving closer to the

Somewhere Only We KnowSomewhere Only We Know

"Here it is," Jesse's dad called from the driver's seat of the car. "She's old but we're only staying here temporarily; just until our house is bug free."

He and his mother both got out of the car and paid no mind to his father's talk. The Lawrence family was used to moving between houses and had never lived in one house for more than three months. Because of it, in all his ten years, Jesse had never made a single friend.
Jesse pushed a lock of his short-cut black hair out of his eye and surveyed the house. The old mansion was a big as he'd ever seen, but it had obviously seen better days. The wood on most of the hou

quiet'horricos' was the first word to pass her lips. she wrote long before she could speak and her parents were afraid she was mute. they didn't care that at a young age she was able to write- simply that their child was different; wrong. after she spoke her first word they inquired to what it meant. she looked at them with wonder and a sadness not to be felt by such a young little soul and did not say a word. they got angry at her and stormed off, spewing hurtful words that meant little to her. after she spoke her first word she did not speak again for a long time.

'horricos' was the only word she spoke at her fathers funeral. she was now in her

We Were Angels"Mermaids, sirens, they don't exist," the grizzled old sailor said.

"But you saw what happened," the cabin boy insisted. His dark green eyes were wide and a bit teary; he was only twelve, and it was his first ocean voyage. Seeing a man climb over the rail and lose himself in the waves had shaken the boy up, though what was most disturbing about it was the look of bliss on the man's face as he leapt.

"Charlie was always loopy. He made himself see what he wanted to see and he jumped in after it." The old man shrugged. "We come from the sea, and it calls to us."

"The priest says we come from dust."

"Your priest has never been out of sight of

The August Rooster and the Eater of Pearls"Are you the spawn of Satan?" the woman asks me. She is wearing welding goggles and holding a clipboard.

"No," I say. "Hello. I'm--"

"Yes, yes, the potential apprentice. Sara, was it?"

"Samantha. It's a pleasure to meet you both."

"Lovely to meet you too, Samantha," the man says, stepping forward to shake my hand. His skin is cold, and I swear he has scales. "Are you ready go?"

"Go?"

"We're taking you with us for this afternoon's search."

"Ah. Yes. Okay then."

They both turn to leave, and I trail after them. They move quickly, and I end up having to alternate between walking and running to keep up.

"Out of interest, what exactly is i

i fold paper for a livingpeople think it's weird - that i fold paper for a living.

i sit by a park bench, chant numbers under my breath and bend each fiber of light, fragile paper just the way i want.
because it makes you feel powerful? you ask. and i sit there and smile at the words that twitch the sides of your lips.

i sit here and watch that simple square turn into a crane right before my eyes - with my hands - because i can make it happen. i imagine my next move, anticipate an outlook and create beauty out of the simplicity of what the bark of the tree next to the bench twisted into from the paper in front of me. because you've been ugly your whole life? you as

wanderlust she was a s e v e n t e e n year old girl from nowhere [or was it everywhere?] with dark hair and long eyelashes and skin that was always pale white. when she was young she played in the poppy fields of greece and when she got older her tongue started yearning to speak italian and russian so that she could travel to other far off places.

she was born on a friday between two ice storms, and the first word she ever heard was b e a u t y. her mama told her that when she first opened her dark blue eyes, her pupil was surrounded by a ring of pure white. the blue stayed but the white turned to green [and from then

Don't AskToday I'll write no poetry,
or whatever the hell
you call this thing
I normally do,

because I know
I will only regret it

and regret
is something I already know
too well.

So instead,
I'll rant with line breaks

and maybe

tell a story
along the way.

"You never smile anymore, Jay."
I guess life stole my smile, long ago.
So tell me, sis how's things on mom's side?
"Oh, you didn't hear: they're all in jail".
What do you mean 'they're all' in jail? Who's in jail?
"All of them, Jay. They are all
in jail."

For what?

"Meth, Jay. Meth."

"Oh and you remember Steven and Paul Kelley?"
Of course I remember;

Away from NeverNeverLandMoney is dirty. Leaves invisible yuck on a person; stains fingers, smears over skin and catches under nails. Festers. And then hands turn into pincers to take and eyes small greedy and black. Skin hardens to bounce back ugly words and back curves under weight of things. Lobsters, fat and red.
Marriage is scrubbed. Clean and pretend. Perfect white dresses and kisses put and planted. Brides march and grooms promise so hard. Military of gowns with bow tie generals. An army of high heels and flowers landed in laps. Marriage spreads. Infects. Zombiefying disease. Shuffle, I do, brains.
Driving is fickle. Slide into each other, through each other. Blood and bits go with them. People cry over tombs and insurance papers. Or nothing. Home again, uneventful day. Locked behind wheel, over tarmac, lights suspended like vultures above. Danger, danger. Promise of convenience. Thrill. Like riding a shark.
Work is uniformed. Slotted, easy, organized files. Tags meaning le

Random DescriptionThe system is an odd one, a motion which is found nowhere else in the multiverse. For nowhere else in the multiverse have three planets so equal in mass and volume been close enough to each other that they have all begun to orbit about each other. Their individual pulls so much the same that they all rotate at the same rate, and have begun to roll about a central point. That point full of darkness and magic, with the system's trash stirring itself sometimes in an attempt to pull itself together and form a new planet all its own.

And the star, the blinding blue star, far away from the triplets, bestowing on them its light and life. It is

Dear x** for official reasons these people do don't do don't maybe exist**

Dear x

You are my savior and my destroyer. So many times you've kicked me into the bottomless pit and laughed as I fell from view. Only a few hours later to send a paper aeroplane tied with some ambiguous message, for me to misinterpret and ride back out again. Still, you make my heart run marathons and bright words dance in front of my eyes. With you I want to break all the rules in the book, I want to smash the sky to pieces and just stare in to oblivion with you.

youmakemewanttowritewithoutpuntuationjustbecauseican

love -r

Dear Shado

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.

-

Life Mate Nora had been surprised when she found out that the inhabitants of this planet didn't have some sort of marriage ceremony. Åsh had told her that once lovers accepted and claimed each other as a life mate, it was considered to be stronger than human marriage ceremonies. As they couldn't decide what to do, Nora and Åsh decided to compromise and combine the two traditions. Nora got her big family gathering and Åsh got his vows.
"Nora Wing, citizen of New London, section 6, of planet Earth, I claim you as my life mate."
Now it was her turn. Nora took a deep breath and hoped she wouldn't make a mistake. If she did misp

Small GiftsThe cat who lives in my neighborhood brought me another dead lizard.
"It's lovely," I observed, "but you do realize I have no use for that."
"Oh! I didn't know," the cat replied. "It's how we show affection for our humans. If you'd like a dead bird instead, that could be arranged."
"No no, I get what you're doing. It's sweet, really. It's just--"
She paused from grooming herself to look up at me quizzically.
"It's just... I can't do anything with a dead lizard or bird. Except throw it away. Which, by the way, reflects in no way on my appreciation of--"
"Wait," the cat sat up. "You throw them away? I worked my ass off to catch that thing. Least you could do is take a bite." She nudged the small green body with a paw.
"Here's the deal," I began again. "What I really need is money. Barring a miracle, I'll be gone from this place at the end of the month. I'm already behind on the rent."
"But I like you!"

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stuck like glue

by *aprilwednesday, Apr 20, 2011, 11:43:46 AM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Romance / General / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

^{it started with lightbulbs, and it ended with jail.

and when she looked back on it it seemed suitable, like the lightbulb he dropped on her desk was the universe's way of saying that this [whatever this was] was a great idea.

but it wasn't just lightbulbs. every day there was something new, a perfectly random little something dropped on her desk without a word of acknowledgment, like a cat bringing home dead things as gifts [but much cuter, of course] and every day she would tap her fingers with anticipation, just waiting for him to arrive with something new.

and they were always silent in class, barely speaking more than a few words to each other [maybe because he always slept right through the lesson]. but late at night they would spend hour upon hour talking to each other, and she would struggle to keep her eyes open so that she wouldn't have to say goodnight, because she knew, after not very long at all, that he was special.

and for months they were like that - best friends, talking nonstop, staying up late and talking each other through all the crises that teenagers are prone to. sometimes they would tiptoe around the idea of romance, as though they were both afraid to really say it out loud. because really things were good the way they were, and why should anything ever change?

***

in a high school theater, on a big black stage, hidden from the rest of their class by a half painted wooden jail, he kissed her for the first time. and for the second time. and for the third time, too.

it started with lightbulbs, and it ended with jail.

and, she thought as she snuggled into his arms, jail had never been so romantic.}

stuck like glueby *aprilwednesday

Literature / Prose / Fiction / Romance / General / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

A little something I wrote for my boyfriend. This all really happened - when I went to see the play that the jail set was for, all I could think was 'he kissed me behind that!'

Comments are always loved

*xlntwtch Mar 12, 2013 Writer

Featured [link] Thank you!

*aprilwednesday Mar 15, 2013 Writer

^{thank you!}

*xlntwtch Mar 15, 2013 Writer

_{you're welcome}

=Sammur-amat Nov 29, 2012 General Artist

Congratulations on the DLD, lovely lady!

*aprilwednesday Nov 30, 2012 Writer

^{thank you!}

=Sammur-amat Nov 30, 2012 General Artist

Most welcome!

=LadyofGaerdon Nov 27, 2012 Professional Writer

This is wonderful. So sweet and romantic but not in an overbearing or cliche way. Nice job!

*aprilwednesday Nov 30, 2012 Writer

^{thanks so much!}

=DailyLitDeviations Nov 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

ing the News Article. Keep writing and keep creating.

*aprilwednesday Nov 30, 2012 Writer

^{thank you!}

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