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The ListShe has a list.

She has a long, long list, spanning many pages in her notebook. There are pages upon pages, coated in a messy scrawl of blue gel ink that varies in freshness from hours to years.

Every night, she adds to it. Every night, religiously, ever since she can remember. She has to stay up as long as it takes to add whatever she can recall to her list, no matter how tired or how busy she is. If one were to happen past her house on any particular night, odds are the light would be shining brightly as she frantically scribbled in her notebook.

Her list is precious to her. She isn't proud of it, but she needs it with her always.

The l

Almost Human - Chapter 1: Prelude to MadnessI hope you enjoy the little gift I left behind. I'd love to see your face right now as you receive it. Your blood must be boiling over, your heart racing for the horror your eyes have witnessed, your mind flooding with adrenaline to come after me. All that drive and resolve drowning that constant stoic and brooding stare. Oh, how I'd love to be standing right in front of you to witness the reaction to my present. But alas, my attention is needed elsewhere. That idiot Harley Quinn of mine cannot function properly without my lead. But don't you fret my dear Dark Knight, by the time you finished reading this I'll be waiting for you. I will be wa

Almost Human - Chapter 2: Not as it SeemsCome on Batsy baby! Let us add another wonderful dance to our grand play!" the Joker laughed manically, arms thrown in the air as if reaching to his Batman for an embrace.

Batman charged for him, that crazed laughter rang agonizingly in his mind. He had to silence that unbearable laughter! He pulled back and punched the Joker in the face with all his might. Almost immediately Joker was bleeding profusely from his nose, he stumbled backwards but he kept smiling. He didn't stop; he connected numerous punches and kicks until the clown crashed onto the ground. With weak giggles he managed to lift himself up and dusted himself off.

"Oh darling,

Reminder"Why--why do you hate me?" he snapped brokenly. "I've never--never done anything to you. But you hate me."
"I don't hate you."
"Really? Because I see the way you act around me--quiet and distant. You don't laugh when I'm in the room. But you're different with everyone else. When you can't see me, you're loud, happy... What did I do?" He seems defeated, slumping back.
She feels horrid.
"It's not really your fault," she says slowly, looking away. "I'm sorry. I like you. I really do."
"Then why?
She sighs.
"You remind me of someone. I loved them, but they're gone now. Sometimes, I look at you and I see their face. You'll say something and I hear their voice. I feel... guilty, I guess, for liking you. Things didn't end well between us."
He pauses. "I'm sorry, I didn't..."
"No, it's fine. I needed to get over it anyway."
He nods, getting up to leave.
"Just so you know," he says, "I really like you, too."

Distant TravelAbsent.
Far away.
Travelling soul.
Home.

EmbraceSky Bridge -
Horizon's end
meets earth.

Forgotten"How was I supposed to know?" he says softly to her back as she starts to leave. "How was I supposed to know you weren't happy? That things weren't working out? You never told me."
"You were supposed to listen," she snaps, turning around. "You were supposed to ask. That's what couples are supposed to do--communicate."
"I spoke to you every day," he murmurs. "I'd ask you what your friends said, what you did, how work was..."
"You never asked how I was!"
"Would you have told me if I had? Because I don't think you would've. I think you would've just let the whole thing sit there and then you would've left anyway, with some other excuse."
She shakes her head harshly, turning around again.
"You promised that you'd never leave!" he shouts at her back.
"Yeah? Well, you swore you'd never break my heart."

Philosophy-*Raphael's POV* I live with in a place where monsters seem to pop up everywhere and just attack. It is mainly of no reason WHY they exist and they attack. They just appear.

When I was a little kid, I fought them. I had powers, like my siblings did. My brother was a reaper of human darkness that made him stronger each time. My sister, she had powers of thr worldly elements. And me, well, life, death rebirth, and the flow of time that connects each one (time was of a lesser power) and a bum leg (which I tell about because it is another part of me). However, I digress. As I was saying, for a time I fought off these monsters, because I thought I had t

The DoorRandy

I opened the door and stepped through it. The old man who’d appeared to me had told me this is where I would find my answer. My greatest weakness. And the power to overcome it. He told me I would find the answers to these questions.
I found myself standing at the beginning of a long corridor lined with doors. Each door was identical; the same shape, size, and color. But there were labels on each door, all of them different. The old man had told me that these doors would be here, but they would not open. He said they were shortcuts to the end and that they were forbidden paths, and if they were to open somehow, they would lead to

...All religions preaching love
Without any comprehension
What in fact it really means
Limited by this dimension
Misinterpreting the words
Of the few who bridged the border
And in vain tried to explain
Meaning underlying order

Suicide #1 of 26 SuicidesThe breeze from the window into his study was rarely quiet. Occasionally, late at night, much too late in most cases, he could be seen by mentally unstable passersby, seen at his battered old ship of a desk, just barely through the ground floor window of his row house, seated beside a table lamp of fancy descent, scratching his cheeks and reflecting on one thing or another with brazen indifference to the world around him and acute curiosity about everything else.

This was his alone time.

Sometimes he read. Crime novels mostly. Sometimes he caught up on work. Law briefs written by childless thirty year olds generally.

Sometimes he unlocked

DecadenciaAquella carga resultaba cada vez más pesada y asfixiante. Aún era tan joven… y ya sintiéndose como un anciano observaba impotente la corriente de cambios devastadores que no paraban de erosionar su entorno, mientras iba encajando casi por inercia el paso inexorable del tiempo.

Se sentía tan vacío. A veces, era como si notara un agujero enorme en la zona más profunda de su interior; todo se lo tragaba. Y entonces se veía arrastrado de manera inevitable hacia un torbellino de confusión, cuyo desenlace no era otro que el fracaso, la humillación, el sufrimiento… la soledad.

¿Cuánto tiempo llevaba experimentando algo así? Intentaba

deeper bruisesback when i was all chubby cheeks and wide eyes i would sit on my grandma’s lap (her knees were sharp and bony, but i didn’t mind much) and listen to her tell tales about her abusive first husband. and how when she was my age, she returned home from school to see her baby brother cold and lifeless on the kitchen tile. she called me brave when i didn’t cry at her stories, and i can’t help but wonder if she would still call me that. when i told my mother her face paled and eyes widened with rage, because little girls were supposed to dream of princesses, not marks left behind from belt buckles.

i was grossly interested

Factory LifeFactory Life

Well, yes actually, I do know what swimming feels like.

It was back ten or twelve quarters ago, the time I actually got to go swimming. The band got together (me, Scally, and Johnson . . . Barret was there too) and we headed out, back towards that dead area in sector Mu . . . the one between us and the RPC management department. You know the one. Yeah, that one. It was a lot bigger back then.

Johnson had heard a story about a conduit of water the size of a tramline. Heard it from some maintenance dude, I guess. We decided to check it out.

We were gone for almost six shifts, searching up catwalks and through maintenance duct

5.21one day i met this boy with dark hair and eyes that seemed too intense to be real, and i swear his soul shined brighter than the stars. we would sit on his balcony and stare up at the sky, pretending we knew where life was heading for us; pretend that we were invincible. he told me about how art is something that taps into your brain and takes over, that art is the only thing capable of saving you. (i never asked what it saved you from, but i think i know now.) i told him that when i was little i was scared of jumping off the swings because i didn’t want to get hurt. he said it was ironic. i pretended that i didn’t understand that

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to an errant loveri have painted my loneliness white;
make no mistake.
it hides itself beneath my skin
and if i try very hard i do not see it.
only in the quiet moments.

you are a teacher
in the art of forgetting -
already i have forgotten
how to breathe.

air is as nothing.
you are in my blood.
i need to sleep to wake up but i can't.
you promised to return -

when? when? when?
i miss you.

i saw you today
and the words in my mouth
blew away with the leaves.

you whispered loving artifice
against my skin in the stillness -

"¿soy una puta, verdad?"
"sí, eres la puta más linda del mundo."

and i am yours beyond all doubt and reas

.listen.if you listen closely, you can hear them scratching beneath the floorboards.

listen closer.
closer.

closer.

can you hear their cancer?
their rotting heartbeats are crying out in a hollow rhythm.

my thoughts are broken but my mind is filled with dreams of a brighter past.
can you hear my silent whispers?

listen closer.
closer.

closer.

the ceiling is creaking.
cracking.
falling
in
o n m y h e a d
and they are tearing the skin from my ears, the hair from my scalp.

try to scream, inhale water, tongue like lead.
they are scratching beneath the floorboards again.
can you hear them?

listen closer.
closer.

closer.

they are sil

BelongFirst thought on waking up: This is not where I belong.
Don't open eyes, but it wouldn't make a difference anyway. Too dark to see. Three or four hours to sunrise, yet. Not that that makes any difference, either.
Watch hands tick the seconds, unnaturally loud. One, two three, four...
(this is not where I belong)
...nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen...
Ticking's too loud, but it's the only way of telling time in this place.
Rats nibble at yesterday's half-eaten roll. Named them all - how long ago? a week? two? Hard to tell, here.
(this is)
Emmett, Minerva, Evelyn, Harold, and Spike.
(not where)
Call him Spike on

paper heartsi think that your ribcage is made of steel bars,
creating an impermeable fortress for your heart.

if i could peel away your sadness i would press it
upon my cheekbones, spread like white tulips to grace
the rainbows that you painted upon my skin.

i would swallow your pain without reserve,
let it slide through my ice-glossed lips like quicksilver.

in the stillness, i trace the battle scars that linger
on your breath with the final vestiges of smoke
from the fires of absolution we could not control.

greener pasturesHe woke alone. To darkness, and an empty bed. Sitting up in bed, he ran a hand through sleep-tousled hair and contemplated the need for a cigarette. Fumbled the pack out of the nightstand drawer, fingers shaking as he lifted the slim cylinder to his lips and lit up. First inhale: bliss.

Images. Honey-hair under a cowboy hat. Jade imp eyes and too-thin, too-wide lips. The pretty blonde with little shoulders and skeletal hips, ready to launch. Shit-kicking boots, tight-fitting jeans. Sweetly rounded, perfectly sized, oh-so-grabbable ass.

He leaned forward, tapping off ash, stared mutely at the near-to-overflowing ashtray. When had that happen

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fish out of water

by ~vermilion--vermouth, Dec 6, 2011, 12:12:11 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

The only thing worse than late night tv is late-late night tv. When the half-assed news reports and corny sitcom reruns give way to hour-long advertisements for this week's hottest new gadget! only three easy payments of 29.99! call now with your credit card! and "religious" programs with pacing televangelists who call out to viewers for salvation and donations while throwing out verses from gilded Bibles they haven't actually read in ten or twenty years.

All in all, it's mind numbing, and after a while, I realize two things with a slight sense of horror - one, that I've begun to drool, and two, that my beer has gotten warm. Closing my mouth with a firm meeting of teeth and tongue, I wince, then lift my arm to wipe the spittle away with my sleeve. That task completed, I sit a moment longer, pondering the movements required to get from the couch to the fridge, and back again.

I'm not really a slug, mind you – it's just that the floor is cold, and my slippers are nowhere in sight. Probably in the bathroom, along with my cigarettes and matches. Oh, but now that I'm conscious again, I realize just how much I've had to drink in the last twelve hours, and suddenly the bathroom really seems like the place to be.

Pushing myself out of the cushions which have slowly sucked me in, I stop first in the kitchen to deposit my warm – and probably stale – beer in the sink and get a fresh one from the dwindling supply on the top shelf of the ancient Kenmore. Then I make my way to the bathroom, guided by the light of the tv and years of practice.

Sure enough, there it all is – slippers, smokes, matches, even an unopened candy bar I'd picked up on my way home from work and had since forgotten about. Obviously.

Relieve bladder – check. Wash hands for thirty seconds – check (twenty three, but who's counting?). Wiggle feet into slippers, light cigarette, crack beer, collect candy, stretch. Check checkity check.

The bubbler is off in the fish tank again. Must be a short in the wire. Set everything but the lit cigarette on the coffee table and lift the lid. As long as the lid is off, they'll survive overnight without it – first stop tomorrow morning will be the pet store to get a new one.

I start to sit back down, but think better of it. Standing feels good right now, and I really should sleep in bed tonight, rather than on the couch. I've been feeling twinges in my lower back lately from some displaced springs.

Stretch again, then take another sip of beer. It's cold at least, but now I don't really want it anymore. What a waste.

I wonder, briefly, if fish like beer, and my hand hovers over the tank for a long moment. The fish, silly creatures that they are, begin to gather, looking for food.

"…and THAT is the GOD'S honest TRUTH!"

The shout from the televangelist snaps me back to reality, and I lower my arm quickly. Feeling guilty, I drop a few fish flakes in the tank by way of apology, and the can joins the other in the sink.

The purple-robed choir begins to sing an upbeat hymn-y type of song as I grab my cigarettes and candy bar. Making a face, I punch the mute button on the remote, then drop it on the couch.

Plodding up the steps, one final thought crosses my otherwise-unburdened brain: if fish were alcoholics, what would they prefer? Beer or wine?

The televangelist answers me in my head: probably wine.

fish out of waterby ~vermilion--vermouth

Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

_{It's a working title.
Completely open to suggestions.

1. Is it easy to follow?
2. Does the style (thought pattern) make sense? Is it easy to read?
3. The narrator is female. Do you feel that the narrator's gender should be more clearly defined? Would it have an effect on the story?
4. Should there be a Mature Content warning (ideologically sensitive) for the televangelist or the beer?

This is what happens when I write at 5 in the morning. =w=

also featured on my alt account, ~dietcocaine}

~sexpet666 Dec 6, 2011 Student General Artist

I, too, thought the narrator was male. I think it's the beer (Sexist, eh?) but I kind of like finding out later that it's a chick. Screw a mature content warning (in my opinion)

It also does sound rather drunk. Nice

~vermilion--vermouth Dec 6, 2011

_{The drunk part may be because I've got a serious case of sleep deprivation. XD But I'm glad it worked. (:}

*fenrirhound Dec 6, 2011 Student Traditional Artist

It's pretty easy to follow but I thought the narrator was male. Everything else looks fine to me

~vermilion--vermouth Dec 6, 2011

_{Reading back over it, I did notice that it was really easy to see the narrator as male.
Debating leaving it that way vs. stating somewhere that it's a she.}

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fish out of water

fish out of waterby ~vermilion--vermouth

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