Chapter: Raven Having to move from a place to another, Rose couldn’t understand what the stability of a warm family house was. Whenever she was praised, scold or worse, her face resembles that of expressionless doll. She did not complain, she did not blame, she did not point the finger. She was always polite with the people surrounding her. - Yes mother, father, good night Like a good child, she did not leave her room until the sun rise. Although one parents should be blessed to have such a good child listening to them without causing them trouble, they though otherwise. - Have you seen how she looked at us! This demon! - Dear… I

Being Human: Curse or Blessing? by Areejs, literature

Literature

Being Human: Curse or Blessing?

We humans are a strange bunch. Ever thought about it? We are so different yet so similar. There are people who live in the future, some who live in the present and some who absolutely don't care. There are so many people who deal with anxiety and depression on a daily basis just like a bitter co-worker, yet there are people who don't even believe in that kind of stuff. There are people who are logical to an inhumane extend(at least that's how I like to describe them), while there are some who so sensitive to emotions that they actually find it nearly impossible to make trivial decisions, and then there are people who lie somewhere in the midd

just what the doctor ordered by InklingsOfOblivion, literature

Literature

just what the doctor ordered

A toxic sunrise licked the fading shutters of Mimi Lolacute’s bedroom window. The air had been fiercely humid for weeks now, summertime unrelenting. Today, from the look of the morning, was no exception. Mimi rolled herself off the feathered bed to the carpet, knocking several empty cans of lurid energy drink off of the cabinet as she did so. Her clock read five a.m., and, sighing, she clicked open a new drink. A funny thing happened as she stood looking in the mirror. Mimi noticed an odd aura about her, flame-coloured at the core but tinged with teal. Rubbing her eyes and swigging the fluorescent liquid, she squinted and turned to loo

Duplicity lies in more than just light by comatose-comet, literature

Literature

Duplicity lies in more than just light

He thinks: I will keep you like a dirty secret under my tongue that no-one will know, but everyone can just about taste, can feel the answers and questions burn at the tip of their tongue but never be able to verbalise. I will lock you into my marrow, let you fester in my bones and when I fall one day and break an ankle, I might just scream your name. I will knead you into the dough of my skin, diluted and spread so thin that most people will look straight through you, and those that look too closely will not be able to quite discern the rope-veins criss-crossed across the back of your hand, the hard line of your eye-brows, the clock-hands

**crossed by comatose-comet, literature

Literature

**crossed

There aren’t enough words in this pen to list the endless possibilities we could have been and will never know. (you freckle other skies and I ripple in far-off oceans but our emissions of light and sound do not intersect.) We were caught together under an engorged full moon that looked so large I swear it was levitating just above your shoulder. We stumbled on a temporary vista, crossed statelines, stood in a wan washed out no-man’s land. We met in the midpoint between our scattered separate homes and expected it to last. But the moon swallowed up every star and the oceans were black and our emissions were non-existent. (we we

For Darcy by comatose-comet, literature

Literature

For Darcy

You twist a kaleidoscope behind my eyes and tell me to walk a straight line. You have stretched my horizons and suddenly the world is mammoth and I am miniscule. My fingers cannot reach over continents and tangle into your hair, our lips cannot meet with three oceans tossed like abandoned bed-sheets twisting between us. The distance aches like the pauses between heart-beats, between breaths, between our fingers canyons apart. The atlas ripples and undulates, all wild valleys and towering mountains; the pregnant curve of the horizon divides and the flat-line of the desert stretches. And I pore over maps looking for a short-cut but the only wa

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