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Writing Community Anthology Thread


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[color=crimson]I've seen some poem dumps cropping up and read some short stories that have received little attention. Individual poetry and short story threads seem to attract, well, not too much attention. I'm not sure what causes this but perhaps a remedy is to collect our works here, amongst each other, where most of us probably are interested in reading other works while submitting our own.

I'd like for you to submit whatever work you would like here and comment on other people's work. This is not meant to replace any thread you would like to make yourself. Involve yourself and your work as you would like. What makes or breaks the deal is your involvement or lack there of.

In the post where you put your work, in the title of your piece I would like for you to put the appropriate rating for your work as you would in a thread.

A "short story" that is appropriate for a thread like this would probably be under 5,000 words. There could be exceptions to this rule.. so follow your gut instinct where applicable.

Hopefully this idea takes off. :)

To start things off I'll give you a short story and a poem of my own-

[b]The Crow[/b] [M-LV]

Pain shot through his eyeball and coursed down his body. Every jolt, every wave of pain brought him closer and closer to being awake. A heavy fog pressed down upon his mind resisting the siren's song that was bringing him to consciousness. It told him to sleep, to rest, to never wake up. Never wake up, never wake up, never wake up or he would understand. He didn't want to understand it said.

You don't want to understand! You don't want to understand! [b]You don't want to understand![/b]

In the dream that gripped his mind he heard the sound of fluttering and felt something jump on his chin. A surge of pain shot out from his eye and he shot up screaming. He held his hand over his eye. Wet streams of blood streaked down his cheek.

Red twilight shone down upon a mountain of skulls before him that towered up into the heavens. Startled, he scrambled to his feet and lost his balance, tumbling down several dozen feet before coming to a stop. He too was on a mountain of skulls. A crow soared after him and perched itself on his shoulder. His eyeball rested within it's beak. It ate it in one bite and stared unwaveringly. It's bloody feathers glistened in the light sending a shiver down his spine. His instincts told him that this creature was horrible. Unnatural and horrible.

The crow tilted his head, "Is it not the nature of things to destroy life?"

It hopped forward, took a strand of his black hair within it's beak and gave it a gentle tug. The man was unable to respond as a flurry of thoughts ravaged his mind the loudest of which asked what was going on. What is going on, what is going on, what is going on, what is going on!

"I spoke to you." The crow said and tugged once more. "To you, I spoke to you."

"I-I'm sorry?"

It tugged his hair harder. "I spoke to you, it is polite to respond. Is it not the nature of things to destroy life?" It let go of his hair and hopped down into his lap. "Is it not? I wish to hear an answer."

The man was overwhelmed and confused. The unfamiliar, horrifying surroundings; the blood drying on his cheek and the talking crow were too much to handle in the few moments he had been allowed. A sharp crack startled him. From the sky fell skulls onto the mountains around him. Each that landed let out a sharp 'crack!' as bone hit bone. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.

"What is going on here?" Crack. "This is a dream." Crack. "Right?" Crack.

The crow let out a sharp squawk and thrust it's beak into the man's leg. It twisted around several times and removed it leaving a gaping wound. The man yelped in pain and swatted angrily at the bird. It flapped it's wings and soared up into the air.

"Are you?" It asked.

"Am I what?" He lowered his hand and peered at the bird.

"Are you dreaming or are you awake? If you are awake, well. Only true nightmares happen when you are awake. Anxious moments that tease at the frays of your nerves threatening to prick the thread loose and leave you a heap of wreckage. Those times when the shadows in the world are creeping upon you to prey on your very being, drool dripping down from their jaws as ravenous hunger for your soul overcomes them. You trip into the darkness and fall into the black flames that gnaw into your flesh leaving you violated and sitting alone, a lost mess of a person."

"If you are dreaming, you will feel at ease. This is not real. You will wake and return to your existence mentioning these things in passing as being a horrifying affair you will not forget. I remember this one time, you'll say, I had a dream in which all seemed horrendous and a figure sat upon me consuming my flesh until I awakened. The warmth of your family, the hope of a new dawn and time will make the terror gripping your heart right now fade. I will be a ghost, a spectre that will haunt you only momentarily when you recall my stare matching yours." The crow landed on a nearby pile of skulls and pecked at a maggot crawling across it's surface. "More than that, you realized that I was going to kill you and you wonder now as I say this if I take pleasure in the thought of murdering you." It grabbed the maggot and swallowed it whole. "You should hope this is a dream lest I confirm your suspicions."

The man checked off the list of things in his head that pointed towards it being a dream. It had to be a dream. The crow sat silently as he thought tilting his head.

"This has to be a dream." He said finally. A skull near him chortled loudly mocking his conclusions. Frightened, the man stood up and lost his footing. He tumbled down the mountain, loosening skulls as he went, and came to a rest at the very bottom. He rolled over wearily and an avalanche of loose skulls crashed down on him. The lower half of his body lay trapped.

The man stared up into the sky. "I must be dreaming, there is no way that this can be real. These things don't happen. You're right, I will wake up and someday I'll laugh this off as one of the worst nightmares I've had."

The crow sailed down and sat upon his chest. "A moment ago you slept fitfully, crying out and muttering in your sleep. I conclude that you might have been dreaming then but right now you are very much awake."

Something snapped within his head at that statement- this can't be real and this damn bird can't be real. He grabbed the crow with both of his hands and held it by the neck shaking it violently. An audible 'snap' came out from it. He tossed the limp body aside. The skulls came to life once more and devoured the bird's body whole. The man watched it disappear into their black mouths piece by piece leaving nothing.

"Is it not the nature of things to destroy life?" All the mountains of skulls asked in unison. "Are you not, as a man, going to consume the living plants and the beast as sustenance? Are not the beasts going to consume the plants and each other as sustenance? Is it not the nature of things to destroy life?"

"I don't know! I don't know! Just let me out of here!" He yelled and pushed against the skulls that held him down. For each one he tossed aside another slid into it's place. The twilight sky clouded over and a droplet of rain hit his cheek. It was followed by several more and then the heavens unleashed a dark curtain of rain.

"Why can't I wake up?" He asked. "Tell me goddamn it." He spoke to the skulls trapping him. "Tell me what the hell is going on. Where am I? What is this place?"

Water rose up around him at a quicker and quicker pace. His struggles became more and more desperate as the water threatened to overtake his mouth. He took in a deep breath before it washed over him. The gray darkness of the water was his tomb. In the dim light he could make out the dozens of skulls around him. One skull floated listlessly above him. It's mouth opened and the head of the crow sunk from it down. It stopped just above the man's eyes and started to speak.

"Is it not the nature of things to destroy life? You fight wars, you grow food, you domesticate animals, you clear and use the land. Do not confuse this statement with negativity, it is necessary to do and yet you take for granted how much life is snuffed out for your comfort." The crows eyes glowed red as it spoke. "Do you consider the affect it has upon that which your trample to be so comfortable?"

The pangs in his lungs were overwhelming but he so desperately didn't want to give up. He relented and opened his mouth. Cold water rushed in to replace the old, stale air. It was painful, so painful and cold and he waited to die. He was fine with it, with going out like this for anything was better than being in this place. Just take me, God. Take me.

"An imbalance brought on by luxuries pains us all. The excess slaughter, the excess harvest, the excessive population of existences dedicated to survival at any means necessary. You wanted to know where you are and you do not ask what you are or how you are. What are you? How are you? Do you find it curious that not even the cold touch of death is upon you yet? Relief does not overcome you. You want to run from me, hide and cower in fear hoping that you will never find my eyes piercing into your heart.

Even death cannot save you from me. You can be crushed, you can be drowned, you can be burned to an ugly husk but only I can release you from this place." It let out a sharp laugh that echoed within the man's skull. "In this realm nothing can reach you and you cannot reach anything. All the angels of heaven could be clamoring to save you and all the demons of hell could be scraping at the edges of your soul but your bleeding, broken flesh belongs to me."

The pain continued. Sharp knives drove into his chest a thousand times with each attempted breath. Die. Let me die. Let me die.

The crow chuckled. "Ruin. All of this is ruin. The ruined souls. Ruined items. Ruined lives. Ruination is all this is. Each skull an item, a life, an existence inanimate or animate sacrificed by someone or something else. You are surrounded by destruction. For good, for evil, for ideals or for personal gain. By accident or on purpose. This is the crossroads that these souls pass through, their first stop on a long journey. You are lost in the ruin with no map, with no lighthouse, with nothing to guide you out of here.. except for me."

The water was dark now and he could not see anything. Not the crows head, not the skulls, not the sky. Was this to be his coffin, trapped here for eternity? Something gave way above him as he asked himself that and he felt himself floating upwards, to the surface. His body refused to move as much as he tried. He felt paralyzed and anxiety surged through his body. Move! He hit the surface and floated silently as the skies above him cleared. Move! All was draped in twilight once more. Move!

The crow landed upon his chest and hopped up onto his chin. It looked down upon him and waited. It tilted it's head to the side. Move!! His body would not listen to his fearful command no matter how much he insisted, pleaded and prayed for it to.

"Go and observe. Acknowledge things and ponder them. If you do not follow these words I will know and you will find yourself returned to my domain. There will be no doors out. There will be no mercy. I will tear each muscle from you ribbon by ribbon." The crow pecked at his chest several times. "Each drop of your blood I will squeeze from your writhing, screaming body."

It lunged forward and ripped out his second eye, leaving him in darkness. He felt pieces of it fall onto his face as the crow ate it. He felt another crow land on him and then another and another until there were half a dozen upon him. He could feel them ripping at his flesh all across his body. He wanted to scream. He tried to scream. He could not. All he could do was sit in his shell as the pain drowned his mind and soul. Darkness fell.

A voice called out from the black.

"Is it not the nature of things to destroy life?"


[b]Fishermen[/b] [PG-V]

My river ran dry
The fishermen escaped
I followed them into the mountains
Past the fields
Beyond the mines
Into the city

Their defenses are mannequins
I fight and claw through them
Darkness touches my eyes
Blood spills from my veins
I fall as a calamity
My soul takes flight

Put this terracotta soldier in my tomb
Dress him in garments
Hand him his weapon
Grant him a name
Give him this order:
Keep their hooks away


The first story I am not sure if I enjoyed writing or not, it was a very raw and grim from my mind. I like reading it. I think it's a pretty okay story actually.

The question of the nature of things is actually inspired by a quote from Darwin who wrote:

"We behold the face of nature bright with gladness, we often see superabundance of food; we do not see, or we forget, that the birds which are idly singing round us mostly live on insects or seeds, and are thus [b]constantly destroying life[/b]; or we forget how largely these songsters, or their eggs, or their nestlings, are destroyed by birds and beasts of prey; we do not always bear in mind, that though food may be now superabundant, it is not so at all seasons of each recurring year."

The flow of it seemed to start to cough and choke in the middle when I went from the crow's rant about dreams but there wasn't an easy way to disengage from his words. His words were really nice and anything after that seemed like a broken, cluttered mess in comparison.

I'm not sure if the guy is too much of a pussy either. I've never been in this situation before, I know it's happened to many of us at times, but I imagine facing such an ordeal would turn most gentlemen into significantly weaker-sounding individuals than they might be normally.

The poem, well. I don't really know what's up with that either.[/color]
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[COLOR=RoyalBlue]Well the story you wrote is definitely quite grim and the ending... *shudder* It was certainly interesting in that it held my attention the whole time I was reading it. The whole thing had a weird surreal feeling to it as if it was hell instead of just a dream.

As for the poem. poetry really isn't my thing so I don't know what to say about it.

Now in keeping with the thread, here's a short story of mine:

[B]The Hit [PG][/B]

He had always been good at his job and today was no exception. When the order was given to rig and blow the corporation he called in his partner and in no time they were at their destination. With his teammate covering his back he slipped out of the car and into the building with the small computer he had brought just for the job.

A few minutes to place the explosives, eliminate any resistance and he was back out in the car. Nothing could have been simpler.

?[B]That didn?t take long,[/B]? his partner said as he climbed into the car. ?[B]You?re getting sloppy, if the charges don?t work don?t come crying to me.[/B]?

He poked his partner in the shoulder; ?[B]You sound like my mother, just take me over there,[/B]? he indicated the outbuilding, ?[B]And cover me while I trigger the charges.[/B]?

A moment later he climbed out of the car and entered the building going immediately to the windows facing the one rigged to blow. There was already equipment there carelessly scattered in front of the window, indicating some other agent was up to something.

He ignored it, as that would have to wait until after the target was dealt with. With his other small computer in hand he swiftly entered the code, smiling when it was answered by the building going up in smoke. He closed it and then moved towards the door.

?[B]Hey idiot, you?d better hurry or I?ll leave you behind, there?s trouble out here.[/B]? His partner said on the small two-way communicator he had in his pocket. He pulled it out.

?[B]You leave me behind and no pay for you my friend.[/B]? He bantered right back at him.

But at the sound of a woman screaming a declaration of vengeance and he knew things were going to get ugly.

?[B]What do you want me to do? The brute out here and his lackeys are going to be a problem and you?ll have to go through them to get to me.[/B]? His partner stated.

He looked out the window by the exit at the woman who stood behind hired help. But within seconds they were swiftly cut down. He sighed, as he hated amateurs. And the brute of a man that they had faced was far beyond their skills. As well as those who were standing to the side of him. He checked his own ammo in the two guns he had. He only had a few shots left. [I]Hell.[/I]

?[B]Seems like I don?t have a choice,[/B]? he winced, knowing it would appear as if he was helping the unknown woman, but unless he intended to shoot her himself she was already running for the door where he was.. ?[B]Back me up and leave ugly to me.[/B]? He finally told his partner.

?[B]Roger.[/B]? And like the trained professional he was his partner didn?t take long to draw the others away, leaving the woman who had run into the building where he was in an attempt to escape once her help had been killed and the brute who was too smart to be fooled by such an obvious distraction. She hadn?t even noticed that he was there as she was facing the door sobbing in terror as the man entered the room.

?[B]Amateurs such as yourself have no place here lady,[/B]? he snarled as he shoved her out of the way and took aim and fired. Accurate as always his bullets hit home but the brute only staggered and continued towards him, firing a single shot. One that with his ability to see the bullets did not connect as he was out of the way before it got to him.

[I]Damn[/I] he thought. The brute was wearing body armor and he was out of shots now but he aimed his guns at the man anyway, knowing he would see through the bluff.

?[B]Interesting,[/B]? the brute rumbled with his dark raspy voice. ?[B]You are correct, amateurs such as her have no place here, you on the other hand do belong.[/B]? The brute raised his gun and pointed it my head.

?[B]Humor me.[/B]? He commanded. ?[B]I am only under contract to kill one of you, which one should it be?[/B]?

He grimaced at the question. Knowing that the answer was the woman. Knowing that unless his partner showed up soon the brute could do as he pleased and kill both of them.

?[B]Failure to reply will result in two deaths.[/B]? The brute warned.

?[B]It does not guarantee that only one will occur,?[/B] he shot back.

The brute laughed. ?[B]True, but unlike her I am a man of my word and if I say only one will die, then only one will. So I ask you again, which one should it be?[/B]?

He looked into his eyes but they revealed nothing. He sighed and sank to his knees, tossing his guns on the floor in the brute?s direction. ?[B]She is not my target and my partner interfered with yours. It seems that my time to die has come.[/B]? He closed his eyes and waited for the shot.

But it did not come instead he heard the sound of slow deliberate footsteps approaching and then he felt a strong hand grab the hair on the left side of his face. Then that same hand forced his head to the side and against the wall pinning him in place. He did not resist nor did he stifle the sob of regret that escaped his lips. He continued to keep his eyes closed and did not reach up to grab at the hand that held him in place.

He did not jump when the hard edge of the muzzle of a gun was pressed into the top of his head, cold and unforgiving. His ability to see bullets would not help him at this range.

?[B]I will do this with one shot.[/B]? He heard the brute say. ?[B]You have earned that much.[/B]?

Another sob escaped his lips but he did not care. He was human and no one wanted to die. The sound of the woman crying and sobbing was out of place and it grated on his nerves. It was a shame that he was going to die and she was going to live. But then life was not fair.

A shot rang out and darkness followed?


I'm not really sure where that story came from, its just one of those things that I just sat down and wrote. And for something that came out of no where I suppose it's alright. Though maybe one of these days I'll expand on it. Or at the very least improve it since it doesn't really have much of a back story to it at all. ^_~[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=DarkOrange]I do like your idea, except that I don't really like short stories. Personally I always read the poems that some through here, as I don't have the patience for short stories. But that's the beauty of this thread, because someone else surely does and anyone who is going to post here will surely offer comments.

As for your poem, Deathknight, I found it interesting. After the third pargraph I had to reread it, and I have a theory, though since you said you didn't know what it was, I guess I can't speak for your intent. I took it as a sort of war tale. It seems like the narrator is an emperor, the fishermen being invaders. They try to use their hooks to take his land. He follows them back to their country, though, and a battle seems to break out -- apparently one where he is killed. And then he has his terra-cotta soldiers to protect them, which makes me think that it was about that Chinese emperor.

I like it, whatever it may be. The mere fact that it stimulated that much thought from me speakes volumes about it's quality. Jolly good!

Here's some stuff I wrote in skewl today. The first one is autobiographical, the second is about something entirely different, and the third was written as a song, and is about suicide.

[CENTER][B]Voice of the Convoluted (Nonentity) [E][/B]

I realize this
Doings my own solidify
The space i reside
This place I've come to learn to hide
Terminal facade
A name begging I modify
I live a charade
Waiting for the pain to subside

Convoluted in this pool of thought
I know the reason all the dark falls in
Without a care, a care for everything
Everything I am is what you see

Still living like this
Lies permeate each other's minds
Truth in perception
A person who deserves to die
Can't pul me from this
Echoes of no reality
Where is the life kept?
Disillusioned, my own enemy!

Convoluted in this pool of thought
I know the reason all the dark falls in
Without a care, a care for everything
Everything I am is what you see

[B](Internal Conflict) Rising Action [E][/B]

The tower stretches across te sky
Culminations crafted of dismay
Journey of faceless anti-heroes
Through disease ever aching for a way

The dreamality speaks without concern
All pages stuck blended together
A rising action approaching will discern
If survival is worse or better

[B]Knife's Got A Secret (To Hide) [PG - Adult themes][/B]

Blade dance - flash - fickers in the moonlight
Handed over hand-in-hand between our pact
There's a tired child waiting with his arms tied
'Round the back of a cemetary sight
So I...
I'll be keeping the knife

Where a screming echo busts in the limelight
Another little boy detecting such a cure
Take the poison to the arm it's a long fight
Blood is dripping - dripping down - dripping all night!
So I...
I'll be keeping the knife[/CENTER][/COLOR]
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[color=crimson]Well I got some time yesterday to read your guy's stuff.

SunFallE, that was an interesting short story. It had a good flow in it- I enjoy stories with a good flow- and the dialogue was believable. You call mine grim, but that was pretty morbid too. I'd be interested in an expanded version but I have mixed feelings. It is the perfect little short story snack and expanding it might ruin that. I guess just go with how you feel, you know?

I've read your poetry before DigitalBoy and sometimes it kind of reeks of angst, lol. I'm not sure if you are particularly depressed but I can't really talk since my poetry ends up being an outlet for most of my negative emotions. I'd say I write poetry to vent that stuff out. The result is most of my poems are just very, very black and it's hard to share them without being a bit self concious about their level of negativity.

Voice of the Convoluted (Nonentity)- Now I understand what you're trying to say and you use some good descriptive speech. The issue I had is that it was hard to find a kind of timing to it and I'm not sure if you meant for there to be a timing so I read it freely a second time. It's an alright poem. I like your second one more.

(Internal Conflict) Rising Action- I like this one! It's short and to the point. Sometimes when I read poems around here it seems like the people were just writing shit to make it longer, lol.

Knife's Got A Secret (To Hide)- Compared to the other two this one had a distinct structure to it that was a nice touch. Straight forward too. It lacked a kind of.. hidden motive and that might have been done on purpose.[/color]
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[COLOR=DarkOrange]thanks! Yes, I would say that I am extremely depressed, as you can probably tell by my general view of the world in any of my posts, lol. It's not like i only bring this stuff up in discussion or poetry - this is the stuff I'm thinking about 24/7. It's... frightening, really.

As for that first poem, there is a rhythm to it, though I'll admit it's hard as hell to find since I was singing it in my head as i wrote it.

i find it funny that you enjoyed the second one so much since it confused the hell out of me. It looks like it has something to do with a novel and some kind of adventure -- I was trying to write something about all the pressure I feel against me; 'a tower stretching across the sky', a 'culmination crafted of dismay' - something I was fighting against. And i'm just a little anti-hero struggling against these huge forces. The second stanza is about how I can't decide ow the story is going to end, i guess. Do I go on, or do I die right now? I can never decide.

As for the third, it was purely intended as a song - i wasn't too concerned about poetic brilliance, but it did turn out WAY better than I expected.

This one is written right here, on the spot

[CENTER][B]Gimme The Wood [PG - LV][/B]

Master's calling for the barracks
Filled with ready aiming youth
Whisper's lies amonst the fallen
Time to die for what you lived

I'll remove each nail completely
Lowered for these eyes to bare
Eat your own flesh, I'll grow my own
Gimme the wood; this winter's cold

Negleting that greater presence
Bleach erodes from irises
Every flame of truth unspoken
Doused with peace I long to witness[/CENTER]


Under 5 minutes, but i swear to god, i absolutely love it!

EDIT: Got another one... a very personal one, once more on-the-spot

[CENTER][B]Mommy, Your Boys Are Freaks [PG - Adult themes L][/B]

The first one's got a problem, the poor boy is a mute
Every thought he's ever spoken distanced you from the truth
While the thoughts inside were churning toward the end of the world
Every other mind he's blown apart, the spiral unfurls
A madness created inside of him he's hidden it well
With the knowlege flowing in and out reflecting the swell
Of a wound bleeding eternally from his empty heart
And I know he will be crying while we all fall apart

Mommy, mommy, just look what you've done
I know you meant to do so very much with your son, but
The inside of his mind is lined with gasoline
And he's gunna blow someday

The second is a voiceless ghost with rage bent around
To the edges of a psyche where remorse can be found
Sitting alongside a martyrdom he hopes he contains
But the marred surface is burning as we eat his remains
The child lacks a quality he'll never capture
With the studious corruption of this elapsed rapture
And he'll cry inside his mind infront of everyone here
Till the day he crumbles, rots, corrodes, gives up, disappears

Daddy, daddy, just look what you've done
I know you meant to do so very much with your son, but
The inside of his mind is lined with gasoline
And he's gunna blow someday

The last one is a bomb that don't require a fuse
And every thing you've ever heard from him is frightening news
A day you know will come when this one has a collapse
Cuz every thing you've ever tought you know is doomed to relapse
He comes into his own with blood and fire in his eyes
Cuz he never learned to conjure his own truth in the lies
You never learn the lessons to turn him from awry
Lie him down along with the others and watch them all die

Mommy, daddy, just look what you've done
I know you meant to do so very much with your son, but
The inside of his mind is lined with gasoline
And he's gunna blow someday[/CENTER][/COLOR]
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[color=crimson]The first one is.. alright. I like the brevity of it but just can't shake this feeling of detachment with the emotions you're giving it. Like it's force fed, lol.

The second one sounds like a good song, if that's what you intended. Well defined structure and a flow I can notice for once. Bleak as usual huh? It's too bad it's so personal. Chin up.

[b]Walk With Me[/b] [E]

I walk the Earth as one among many.
Among the people and the animals and the plants aplenty.
Significant life all around, I sense the time within all of you so wondrous
You toil so; I regret your suffering my child
Let me ease it, let me make it splendorous for you
Look up to the heavens and see all that I have to offer
All that can be yours if you simply try
Reach out and touch the ceiling of stars
Feel it's texture, acknowledge the feeling of it all
Take what you will and care for it so
It will grow I promise
As you grew, as you all grow it too shall grow into something unforgettable
Before you pass on to the next life cherish this jewel so
Do not hurt it, do not make false promises to it
It does not deserve such pain and suffering as you have felt
Just raise this angel tenderly and it will become something new
More than just a person, a plant or an animal
It will become the future, a bright future for you all
My child, you can rest easy now with these thoughts
The sun will rise tomorrow and bring a cleansing air with it
These things will come to pass and all will be alright for you
Just remember to reach out to me
And see what I have to offer you

[b]Untitled[/b] [PG-LV]

A single spark hit a butterfly's wings. The bright, flickering orange spread out from it like a ripple in a pond. It lost altitude quickly and landed next to my boot. The butterfly stumbled in a stupor and fell on it's side. It tapped into willpower, if insects have that, and was back on it's little spindly legs in a second. It circled around and climbed up onto my boot.

'You can't fly anymore.' I thought. 'It's useless.'

It tried to climb up my pants leg and fell backwards tumbling to the ground and into a pool of blood.

'Oop my bad.' I leaned forward and retrieved it. I sat it back down next to my boot. The cry of gunfire erupted out a few blocks away. I picked up my assault rifle and checked it over. I sat it in my lap and looked back to the butterfly.

It was coated on one side with blood and wasn't moving. "Hey." I said and poked it. "You alive?"

It scrambled away from my finger and came to rest a foot away. "Don't be afraid of me." I gestured towards it and called to it like it was a dog. "Come on buddy, come here." No response. "Come on, please. When you were flying around you were very beautiful." I patted the bloody stub that was my right leg. "I can't fly either. We can be pals alright?"

Jets screamed overhead and the tall tenement across the street exploded in a blinding flash. I raised my arms to protect my face and felt jagged daggers of shrapnel pierce into me. I gasped at the waves of pain assaulting me. My good leg, my torso and my arms were all alight with pain. I lowered my arms with a grimace. The butterfly was smashed under a piece of stone next to me.

"Shit." I picked the rock up and turned it over. Insect guts covered it and I shook my head. "... Shit."

A rumble down the street got my attention. The form of a tank appeared from the dust and smoke. I had fought a hundred of those very tanks in the past three months. The crawling landscapes of burning wreckage. There would be pieces of bodies. Legs, arms and a soldier or two who had no lower half any more. I would just barely pull out of the battlefield alive stumbling from hot spot to hot spot in a warrior's haze. Kill this, run here, duck here, don't peak around the corner, throw a grenade, pull back, regroup. It's gun lowered and I looked down into it's black abyss.

I patted my side pocket and the dog tags inside shifted against each other.

"Guys.. I'm sorry."[/color]
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[COLOR=DarkOrange]In response to my poems' respone - lol. It's funny cuz when I wrote the second one, I kept wondering if it was to obvious, but I must have been wrong >_
As for your stuff,

Walk With Me - This seems purposefully optimistic :p

Untitled - I just recently read All Quiet on the Western Front for school, and this called back memories. I really like your writing style, especially when this part:

[I]It was coated on one side with blood and wasn't moving. "Hey." I said and poked it. "You alive?"[/I]

Came up. Very nice. Also the paragraph after that. In fact, the whole story was cool.

*will edit later*

EDIT: More damn poems! This first one, DK, I remember how you said you liked em short and to the point. For these three, I decided to shift focus from using big words and more on trying to make my meaning clear, which is significant to the subject matter. Also, I was REALLY depressed when I wrote these so... enjoy!

[CENTER][B]Tearing Open the Rapture [G][/B]

Break apart your every minute
Throwing all the pieces at me
Then you beg for elevation
How could I give you what you need?
I just another you
I'm tearing the rapture wider
Submerging and clibing deeper
Pushing myself under without you[/CENTER]

I'd like to note that in the second to last line I was very deliberate in using the word 'climbing' as opposed to 'falling' or 'sinking'.

[CENTER][B]Churning Eroding Dysfunction (End Me)[PG - V][/B]

Whirlpool collapsing inward
Swallows this imploding heart
Pulled through vortexes of the dark
Grinded and mulched through my actions

Every mistake becomes a downfall
And every smile turns into lies
The skin has no secrets held under breath
Truth seeps; my blood; across the ground

This is honest, this is modest, truth
Now come look at what I've done
Within is churning, corroding dysfunction
Never worked on, never fixed[/CENTER]

[CENTER][B]Overbearing Continuous Death (Anagram) [G][/B]

Battles of diagrams of everyday monotony
Sat down with anagrams dicussing this reality
I'm trapped within one moment constantly, endlessly
This overbearing melancholy is destroying me

I'm turning out toward the visions of my memory
Moving picture of one image copied endlessly
Six walls are holding me down where I can never breath
An execution of a plan I wrote but hate to see![/CENTER]

The third one is about my OCD. It's meant to sound like an old-school punk song, or [B]Supersonic [/B] by [B]Bad Religion[/B]. There's a little chorus, but it looked weird so I took it out. [/COLOR]
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[COLOR=Blue]I love most of DB's work. Aways have too. I feel like I can relate to some of them as well. Here's one I just made.[/COLOR]

[CENTER] [B][COLOR=Blue]Blood of our souls[/COLOR][/B]

[COLOR=DimGray]I wish this darkness would just die.
I?m infused debt to you for saving me.
I hold open the door to my heart.
You fell inside, you fell apart.
But when you got up you went back to me.
I may be deadly but you didn?t look at those details.
But you still see me killing, eating their entrails.
Blood everywhere from all of their deaths.
You wish to run away, but you stay instead.

You hold the key to my soul.
You hold the key to making me whole.
You hold me in your hand, you save me from the crisis.
You hold me in your hand, with you I feel priceless.

I whish this darkness would just go away.
I live the pain every day.
I fight myself for superiority.
Cutting my veins as I bleed necessity.
I feel the warmth of the crimson.
I hold in the hurt and I release the pleasure.
I can?t live without you here.
You were my heart you were my other soul.
And without you I?ll never feel whole.

I am the key to madness.
I am the key to dementia.
I hold your dead heart in my hand.
I hold your dead mind in my soul.

Without you there is nothing.
Without you there is no deliverance.
I cut my arms to feed the fire.
I hold death in my hand, I expire.[/COLOR] [/CENTER]
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[color=crimson]In your first poem I read that one sentence as "I'm just another you" and I hope that's what you meant, it seemed to fit. It was alright. Kind of hazed.. like it was shooting in the dark towards melancholy things without precise aim. Like, I'm sad. This poem is sad. Are you sad yet?

Your second poem is pretty good but, not to sound pretentious, "mulched" kind of broke me away from the poem for a second because it wasn't poetic to me, lol. Then I tried to replace it with words like "shredded" or "minced" and even minced sounded only okay. Maybe there's some kind of other synonym I'm missing. Other than that though it was enjoyable. :) Admittedly I might just be picking at it for no reason so ignore me if you want.

Your last one went along in my head kind of like a piece of slam poetry and came off really well. Probably not what you intended but it's meant to be a compliment. No criticism.

Hi FH. Welcome to the CAT! "I?m infused debt to you for saving me" - this sentence I couldn't really make sense of in my head. The rest of it was pretty average. You rhyme well enough and it had elements of art within but it just seemed a bit meh. Not too bad, not too good.

Also could you put ratings in your work just to follow the Anthology forum guidelines?[/color]
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[COLOR=DarkOrange]Responses to responses

1. Yes, you read it right. now see, the key to this poem is that it is meant to be sort of a message to my little brother. You see, my brother always sits around begging me to think of what to do because both of us sit around all day for the most part. I can't stand it -- why do you rely on me?! I'm just another you, I don't know what to do! -- and it's like, he doesn't know it, but I spend all my time climbing into an endless hole, and i'm going wihout him.

2. >_> What you got against the word mulched? Admittedly, this isn;t my favorite of my works, mostly for the first stanza.

3. Yes... anger... must be a punk song, gotta make it a punk song...

to F-H: i agree with DK entirely XD[/COLOR]
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Fun stuff, even if my attempts at short stories and poetry are few and far between. Now lets see.

I rather liked the Crow DeathKnight, even if it was rather morbid and the imagery unpleasant. It seemed on some level to be questioning reality. Or rather the nature of things as far as destroying life goes.

Now I hope all of you will forgive me, but I know next to nothing about poetry even though occasionally I write a few poems. So though I find them interesting to read, often I haven?t a clue what to say when it comes to critiquing them, though when I see one that I do, then I will comment.

I liked your story too SunfallE since in it?s own way it was pretty grim as well, leaving it up to your imagination as to who died, though it was most likely the hit man. And like DeathKnight, unless you?ve got a firm plot in mind, it makes a nice short little story. One that I'd leave just the way it is as the dialogue combined with how you had him thinking seemed to flow fairly well.

Untitled by DeathKnight was also fairly out of place with his surroundings with how the guy was talking to the butterfly, up until he ?looked down it?s black abyss? which brought him back to reality in a flash. An interesting way to put it I thought.

Anyway, here?s my contribution to the thread. Feel free to pick it apart since I?ve never really learned anything about poetry, I just occasionally get an idea and something like this is what I get. ;)

[CENTER][B]Silence [E][/B]

Silence is not golden
Nor can it ever pretend
To fill the gaps
Or to make things mend

For in that moment
Where silence is found
Our minds begin to race
And cannot be bound

Silence is not the key
Though it may appear to be
The beginning of the end
To open up what?s inside of me

I break the silence
To still my wandering mind
To ground the thoughts
That I could not find

For in that moment of silence
Though I tried to keep my way
I required the turmoil of noise
To keep things at bay[/CENTER]
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[COLOR=DarkOrange]that's pretty good, Rach! Your better than you imply for someone who has no experience with poetry. It reminds me of episode 3 of Mushishi... (or chapter 2 of the manga). In any event, I enjoyed it and I found myself imagining someone during the moment of silence at school just going insane, lol.

*will edit with stuff when i'm not feeling like crap*[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=RoyalBlue]2007DigitalBoy is right Rachmaninoff. You're too hard on yourself. I'm not into poetry and yet I found your's easy to read. It had me thinking about how for some silence is intolerable, that they feel lost and groundless unless they are around others.

Anyway, seeing all the poetry here reminded me that I did write a poem over a year ago. So I'll put it up.

[CENTER][B]Broken Love [PG][/B]

You say that He loves me
But I know you don?t care
I?m just another number
One you can find anywhere

You say His hand is reaching for mine
But your face is turned away
You?re hand is stretched out
But only to take away

You say that He is forgiving
But you always hold a grudge
From the time I was born
It only takes a nudge

You say He is all knowing
And yet he is unknown
There is no set path to follow
And I find that I am all alone

You say that He exists
But your eyes do not see
Everything depends
On what you tell me

So you say that He loves me
But I no longer care
I refuse to be a number
And follow you everywhere

So you say His hand is reaching for mine
I will pull mine away
My hand is mine
And I chose to pull away

So you say that He is forgiving
I refuse to hold a grudge
It?s true that I was born
And I refuse to budge

So you say He is all knowing
I don?t know if He can be known
I will find my own way
For each of us is alone

So you say that He exists
I will use my own eyes
I will no longer depend
On your hatred and lies

So is He even there?
I do not know
But one thing is certain
I want you to go[/CENTER]

This is something I wrote in response to one of my usual fights in regards to religion that my mom and I had, though this was in response to a fight over a year and a half ago. My Mom and I have always had opposing views regarding religion, she believed in it and I had lots of questions. And then eventually I no longer believed in it or rather I wanted to find my own path but she couldn?t accept that. [/COLOR]
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[color=crimson]That's a good poem, Rach. Being taught guidelines for poetry and all that can be helpful but it cannot make a bad poet a good poet. You are a good poet. If you wrote more and refined yourself you'd be better than most published poets, lol.

SunFallE, that is a very personal poem and it written pretty good. The emotion and words can be felt from your heart. I am sorry that events made you write such a bitter and depressed poem.[/color]
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[COLOR=DarkOrange]Wether it's because of me listening to [B]Anti-flag [/B] and [B]Bad Religion [/B] the last couple days, or just my general rebelliousness, this is what I ended up with for today.

[CENTER][B]Confinement Coalition[/B]

Signed, aligned, determined to confine
To never allow anybody to change
The way of their vision, the lies of their truth
A coalition assigned to maintaining the youth

A people defined, realigned in their law
From the wound they are tought how to fihgt to prevail
Societie's bluntness the strength of illusion
Feeding the differences to the confusion


Repression is a strong man's choice of plan
So I can be coined among the damned
Instruction booklet says to be that way
Maybe I should go with what they say
Telling me to throw away my method
Follow closely or you'll be left behind
Stay in line and bow your head at the que
Do your homework or you FAIL AT LIFE!



Yeah, both are way too cliche ans basic to be likable, and the second one has a very meticulous rhyme scheme... meh, whatever. ANGST.[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=Blue]DB I liked those poems. The second one I liked better. I don't feel that the 1st one was angsty. Perosnnaly a lot of happy people can make depressing poems. so angsty goes for everyone. I'm not saying your happy, I mean that angsty poems are for everyone, if your talented enough. But yours come from your soul, and that's why I like them.

Here's a step away from my comfort zoe. But I just watched Stepehn Lynch so, wh? why not comedy?[/COLOR]

[CENTER][B][COLOR=Blue]My best Friends {M}[/COLOR][/B]

[COLOR=dimGray]I had a friend who?s name was bob.
He was cool, but he was a slob.
In the shower I?d wash my nuts.
But he had more dirt in him than 10 butts.
But I?ll be his friend.
Ya I?ll be his friend till the end.

I knew this guy named Ray,
He was my fiend but he was gay.
In band I would play the brass,
But he would play with my ass.
But forever I?ll be his friend
Despite his love for my end.

I knew this girl whose name was Jill,
She?d pleasure herself with a pill.
She? would do drugs like crack or pot
She tried to fly off buildings quite a lot.
Despite her addiction I?ll be her friend.
Hell, I?ll be her friend till the end.

I had a friend who?s name was Blaine.
He?d love to cause himself lots of pain.
He?d hit his head against walls.
He?d stick nails into his balls.
He may be bad but he?s my friend.
I?ll be his friend until HIS end.

I know that I have very weird friends.
They will have problems until their ends.
But you should come over my house,
I wear things and even a blouse.
I kill things that aren?t even there.
I?d lock lips with a bear.
I love to fondle my cat.
I?d hit my goldfish friend with a bat
Hell you think they?re all bad.
If you lived with me you?d go mad.[/COLOR][/CENTER]
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[COLOR=DarkRed]What a fun idea! ^_^ I loved the stories, even though the crow, the hit and the one with the tank were morbid. They still were fun to read. And though I'm not big on poems I liked the one with the fish hook since it seemed to be talking about war as well as the one on silence since in our world today silence seems to be hard to find. I also liked the poem you did SunfallE it was just so sad I thought. It was like a horrible betrayal from one who should have been there to guide you.

And the latest poem by ForgotteÑ-HerÖ cracked me up. Though I think it needs some work. Since you've mixed up your tenses. Saying you had a friend implies that they are gone and yet the end of several sections then turned around and said you'd be their friend till the end, so it would make more sense to say I have a friend instead of had. ^_~

Anyway....Here's a poem I wrote back in spring of 2005 for a school assignment. I had to write one on abortion as if I was against it and this is what I came up with.

[CENTER][B]I?m Not Wanted [PG][/B]

Darkness surrounds me
I cannot see or hear
I can sense something near me
I reach out to it
I am comforted as it protects me
Warmth surrounds me
It is soothing
I am changing somehow
I am excited!
I can sense potential
And I am eager to experience it
I?m wanted!
I am impatient!
But it is too soon
I must be patient
I fall back into the darkness
The time will come
It hurts!
Something is tearing me apart!
What is it!
I reach once again for the presence that protects me
A wall blocks me!
I?m cold
The warmth I felt before is fading
Again I reach for the presence
It pulls away
I?m not wanted?
I cannot even cry
What happened?
Suddenly I understand
What I want to be
Will never be
Because; I?m not wanted[/CENTER]

It was rather fun to write, even if I don't have a problem with abortion. And I did get a good grade on it for school. ^_^[/COLOR]
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[COLOR=Blue]It was a little confusing, but thank you for the commetn. Im glad you laughed at it. Now I liked your poem. It waas a little hard to grasp at first fro me, but towards the end it popped out of is misunderstanding hle and looked at me with it's eyes.

I don't have one now so I'll put one in later.[/COLOR]
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[color=crimson]Confinement Coalition- The first verse flows much better than the second, lol. Overall it's alright.. nothing, uh, stellar. =) Angst is alright it just has to be, you know, presented in a certain fashion.

ULTIMANIPULATION (Question Mark)- Not too bad up to.. QUE and LIFE not rhyming the way I was reading it. I'll reread it and see what happens. The way this one was presented, for example, I didn't notice the angst.

My best Friends {M}- Not really funny but it's better then what I could do. Lynch is awesome btw.

I?m Not Wanted [PG]- Hey, pretty good. I didn't know what it was about at first because I skipped to the poem without reading before it, lol.

Plenty of talent on OB, eh. :)[/color]
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[COLOR=Gray]This is a really, [i]really[/i] short story (half a story, actually; the rest is sort of in-progress right now... I might post the completed version when it's done) that I'm writing for english class (I have a really open-minded LA teacher) and I'd like some people to comment on my work thus far.

Ok, the assignment is this: take an event that happened in your life, and fictionalize it, a la The Life of Pi. I decided to make the story about a guy I know who stuffs his locker full of old plastic lunchbags (to this day, I swear it!) full of half-eaten food, because that's about as interesting as my life gets. Anyway, here it is! Please comment...

[B][B][center]The Bag Monster of Locker E3114[/center]
?You?re feeding it?? The tasteless fat-man said to the red-headed Irishkid standing across from him, an incredulous look etched into his round, Herculean face.

?You?re telling me you?ve got a better idea?? The Irishkid responded, matching the fat-man?s incredulity with his own sarcasm.

?Oh, I don?t know, maybe we could tell someone about it?? The fat-man replied, his voice edged with whine, ?Like, you know, someone smarter then us??

?Didn?t you learn anything from ET, man? Known fact: every time you find something cool, the worst thing you could do is go to the authorities about it!? The Irishkid held his hands, palm-up, in the air to illustrate how obvious a point he was making. ?It?s common sense! This has to stay a secret!?

The fat-man?s handsome features twisted with an unmistakable twinge of stubbornness, and he removed his glasses and cleaned them abashedly. After a short pause, he continued: ?Ok, ok, fine ? give it all the bags it wants. But if it gets too big and you have to flush it down the toilet, you ain?t using mine, got it??

Having mentally bested the fat-man, the Irishkid?s lips curled back to reveal the vile smile hidden there in his Dante-esque mockery of joy. That hurdle topped, he turned to his locker and reached for the combo-lock. The fat-man took a few steps to the left and the Irishkid began to roll in the numbers.

At first glance, one wouldn?t think much about Locker E3114. Your standard-issue, narrow aluminium school locker, with a yellow face and a few dents and scratches here or there; nothing to set it apart from the other fifty-or-so that ran down one of the school?s subsidiary hallways. As they say, never judge a movie by its trailer.

The lock clicked and was pulled open and off its hook. With the kind of unison formally only seen during Nazi rallies, the two took in a deep breath and held it there as the door creaked open slowly. The fat-man?s eyes squeezed shut squeamishly, and a short cry escaped his lips as the smell poured out.

It came at you in droves; its attack was as relentless as a Soviet assault, more debilitating then a high-heel to the crotch, like the rage of some putrid Poseidon clone. The smell broke like waves, leaving you with momentary gasps of air, only to steal it away seconds later as the smell poured into the swell. To put it poetically, it smelled worse then Hitler?s rotting corpse.

The Irishkid was more used to the smell then the fat-man, so he managed to stay on his feet while the fat-man fell to his knees and gasped for air. But, as most things do, the attack passed with time and the air became breathable, if unpleasant, once more. The fat-man recovered, whistling reverently.

?Damn! That thing?s getting big!? The fat-man stated, prompting the Irishkid to grin again and arch his eyebrows with a sort of malicious pride.

?Mamafloo penzoile frer kikgaedegae!? exclaimed the Bag Monster, its voice a banshee?s wail played in fast-forward. It had nested in the top tier of the Irishkid?s locker amidst plastic bags and product placement, a mushy, amoeba-like mass of sentient fungus. ?Mikalaealoo ik penzoile hermanari!? It continued, a mouth forming like a fissure across its surface.

The fat-man whistled reverently, and the Irishkid made a cooing noise under his breath in a vain attempt to silence the thing. With an un-onomatopoeia-able cry, the thing resolved a stubby tendril from its mass and reached out with it creepily, like a sagely beggar with a strange deformity. The Irishkid made a shushing noise and reached into his back pocket, returning with the Bag Monster?s favourite dish ? a plastic Super-C bag filled with rotting goodies.

The thing?s tendril curled around the bag and took it roughly from the Irishkid?s hand, the tentacle then retracting rapidly back into the body and bringing the bag with it. The Irishkid stood back and let the beast go at it. The fat-man mad a shrunken-head face and let out a low, questioning note, shrinking away from the feasting beast in the locker. The Irishkid grinned and closed the locker door, leaving the slurping abomination to its meal.
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Here are some of the poems I did for creative writing. There was 15 to begin with but I'm not going to post that many right now. I just post about 5 for now.

[u]Bread Maker That Chose Not To Be[/u]

Walking though the night the sun sets twice.
Gloom and doom not to be.
Fang Bang.
Snake bite earrings.
Work part time several times.
Green furniture in the sleeping building ends all.

[u]Town Of Chew And Swallow

[/u]Two hands and one face.
A box full of sharp objects.
No better then the next town over.
Morgue the words.
Sleep moon sleep.
Never come out.
Like a slap on the face.

[u]Do You Like My Shoes?
Run and take it away.
Too sweet to look at.
Do you like my shoes?
Sleep until 2 o' clock.
You before.
Live where the ocean runs dry.

[u]Grill Cheese
How do you make room for a bookcase?
Never rid the world of writing.
Need is the water that flows backwards.
Sick is the flower by the field.
Not able to be part of the group.

[u]Apple Pops
The apple is aways far from the tree.
We have the knowledge thanks to the piece of apple.
Black lipstick circles the bite missing.
The serpent red handed covers theirs but not mine.
Let me go to sleep.
Its lipstick mark is far from bleeding.
And its all I've got to show.
The garden once existed.
Be careful though for what you wish for...
You might find it.
Do Not Enter!
Where can I find the end?
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[B]BigSky:[/b] I thought the bag monster was pretty amusing, although you do have a few grammar mistakes in there. "Fat-man" should really be fat man and "Irishkid" needs to be Irish kid. I like the idea of the word "un-onomatopoeia-able," but it seems a bit too lengthy, especially with the hyphens. It might be better to choose a word with about the same meaning. Other than that, you're writing style is pretty good, and your descriptions are original.

[b]Cat14:[/b] If this was for creative writing, were some of the poems written from prompts? I just wondered if your teacher gave you the sort of food theme you have, or if you were just hungry ;). I like the way all of them are put together, although I can't reconcile the subjects with the titles in my head. It all seems stream-of-consciousness. Especially for "The Town Of Chew And Swallow," the phrases seem to have their own meanings depending on the reader. I can think of multiple ways to interpret each line, which makes me really enjoy them and want to reread them.

My first offering is born of our school literary mag preferring really short short stories, and the fact that on our selection committee we seem to shoot down every other piece for being "emo" or "cliche," both words i think we need to ban in meetings.

My second is not really supposed to be a story, it's more an experiment in writing style. I'm not looking for critique on the supposed story so much as thoughts on the way it is written.

[b]Replacement[/b] (E)

[i]Look at her, sitting there with him, like I never even existed. I knew from the start that she and I weren?t going to last; first relationships like ours never do. But still, it hurts to be replaced like this, and to see them, every day, it?s just? unfair.

They always have lunch together, sit together, cuddle together. I mean, for fluff?s sake, they even wear color coordinated outfits!

And here I am, torn to shreds, left on a shelf of solitude and loneliness, with no one to talk to. My conclusion: life is pain.[/i]

Six-year-old Jane happily grabbed her new favorite stuffed animal, Mr. Kitty Whiskermeister, and ran out of her room to the tea party her mother was setting up downstairs. Her old toy, a stuffed bear named Baron von Cuddlesworth, who was her favorite until the dog ripped off his arm and one eye, watched bitterly from a shelf.

[b]Untitled[/b] (E)

It?s ten-oh-eight and sunny when the mail carrier arrives. There?re five credit card offers, the electric bill, and a brown box held with that clear industrial-strength tape that keeps things so secure even the package?s recipient can?t get into their stuff without stabbing the box with a pen. Opening the box reveals those visual kei CD?s ordered from Japan, a taste upon the ears different from other rock, and one of these little gachapon toys they have over there.

This one is from a series of tiny plastic animals. It comes in a little plastic egg. More specifically, as the website reads, it?s a ?Japan Mini: Furuta Choco Egg - Animal Series - Chapter of New Pet (1 Randomly Out of 20).? It?s a fish. The Welsh corgi was cuter but you know?the random thing. It?s a tiny little fish, something tropical and midnight blue, looks sort of like a beta, but monochrome. It looks prettier when you look at it longer, and suddenly it?s the best random tiny plastic animal they could have sent.

Assembling its plastic pieces?it?s like a mini model kit?takes less than ten seconds. It?s only a few inches big, but it?s a fish and there are lots of little fish in the world. It?s not like it?s one of those cheap things they have in American toy machines, those ones that cost a quarter and smell like chemical fumes or turn your skin green. It?s a well made toy, nice looking, worth something. It would have been worth the $8.50 they were charging on the site for it singularly, except for the fact that it came free with those two particular CD?s. You know that cliché about free things. Maybe the little blue fish wasn?t one of the [i]best[/i] things, per se, but it was still neat.

So there aren?t that many things to do with a small fish replica, but there are these bottles like from some alchemist?s lab sitting in front of the window, and the fish is dropped down into one of those to live out eternity in glass with a cork ceiling. It sits beside another mini animal?same toy, different line and species. What was it?a ring-tailed lemur? That?s the best guess. The ability to read Japanese might have been helpful. But it?s mainly the fishes companion, sitting beside it for eternity in a glass bottle with a cork on top, only they can?t be too very close. You know, the whole being trapped in a bottle thing.

There?s one day when the bottles with the animals are sitting in front of the window. That?s every day, but on this day kitty living in the apartment goes over there and taps at them without grasping the concept of glass. Apartment kitty keeps batting, until one of the bottles crashes to the floor, and kitty runs to hide under the couch because it doesn?t like the glass-breaking sound. On some level, apartment kitty knows it?s in trouble for breaking things.

There?s a ring-tailed lemur in a glass bottle sitting alone in the window, and a monochrome blue beta lying in glass on the floor not breathing.
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[QUOTE=kalon][B]BigSky:[/b] I thought the bag monster was pretty amusing, although you do have a few grammar mistakes in there. "Fat-man" should really be fat man and "Irishkid" needs to be Irish kid. I like the idea of the word "un-onomatopoeia-able," but it seems a bit too lengthy, especially with the hyphens. It might be better to choose a word with about the same meaning. Other than that, you're writing style is pretty good, and your descriptions are original.

"Irishkid" and "fat-man" were both intentional; I wanted to avoid using names, but still wanted to sort of apply a one-word title to the characters so that they could be easily identifiable. Irishkid is also a sort of play on the term Irishman; he's Irish, but he's not quite a man yet, meant to imply that the fat-man was somewhat superior to the red-head, which is a total in-joke, so don't let it bother you.

Oh, and as for un-onomatopoeia-able, I just really, [i]really[/i] wanted to use that word, so I found a way. I realize "indescribable" would have been much more apt, but not nearly as cool.

Thanks for the comments :D
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[b]Cat14:[/b] If this was for creative writing, were some of the poems written from prompts? I just wondered if your teacher gave you the sort of food theme you have, or if you were just hungry ;). I like the way all of them are put together, although I can't reconcile the subjects with the titles in my head. It all seems stream-of-consciousness. Especially for "The Town Of Chew And Swallow," the phrases seem to have their own meanings depending on the reader. I can think of multiple ways to interpret each line, which makes me really enjoy them and want to reread them.[/QUOTE]Yes the titles had to be named that. You see we kind of had a day where we all brought food to class and we read the book town of chew and swallow. It was a eulogy a character in a movie name Harry that end up dieing in the end. I have a very weird creative writing class. Here are some more of the poems that I've wrote.
Thanks for the comments kalon

This one I did that I though was funny.
George Forman Grill

[/u]What is that you need?
You want a grill nammed after you George Forman?
I think you are lost in your hobbies or career.
Maybe you are too into making money.
Watch were you are going.
Or you will end up in a sea of greed.

[u]Steven's Lasagna[/u] (he had brought lasangna)

Try alone, the wind will blow.
The moonlight sections brighten.
Black cats screech to the lamppost.
Out of time.
Tombstones break and crumple.

[u]Star-Dust Covered Cake[/u]

It is wednesday 13.
Is it the date or band or even the freaky lead singers name.
Ear poping metal of difference to paint and make the face.
Quotes are just other people's words rewritten.

Brat prince cries to be silenced by hums.
Meowing in the distance.
Lying in a cradle of filth.
Voices are consumed by laughter.
Snowboarders do not exists.
We all get a chance in the eye of the storm.

[u]Harry Eulogy
Harry you are nothing but a waste.
Some mental disgrace thinking that your imaginary characters exist.
In the end it was your downfall.
For to you they never went away.
Than no one would ever be here at your eulogy.
Thanks for whatever good you did if any.
Not even your characters will remember you much about you.
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Wow. I liked all of them and yes the first one is very entertaining. The one that really stuck out to me was Star-Dust Covered Cake... I don't know what it is, but there' s something poetic about it, what with the words you chose. The last line gave me chills and I'm not quite sure why... I loved it, but I don't know why. In any case, you should keep writing...

Now, just so we don't break away from the poetry trend we have going on here, (and the fact that my only story I have typed up is literally 21 pages in Word, and that's just chapter 1.) I think I'll post this poem. It's the shortest one I've ever written, and it was in response to a friend. I think it's also the most confusing poem I've ever written and it's those types that no one will every figure out exactly... To pinpoint it, you'd have to be me! :D

[CENTER][B]A Puppet's Poem[/B] [E- I guess]
Cold, hard wood.
The way a puppet?s skin should.
Frosted white glass.
Its eyes are blinded from my class.
Strings that stretch into the sky,
Should I take hold, its emotions fly.
Scarred and shadowed, heart and head,
Devoid of thought, it finds light in bed.
So cold it was and blinded it saw,
Assumptions ran. My word became law.
I grasped its strings inside my fists.
I drew it close with flicks of my wrists.
Its head and heart are no longer there;
They belong to me and you don?t even care.[/CENTER]
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