[x]

Hopea little girl stands on the corner of
5th and main.
her shoes are tattered and torn
from the burden of service.
it's pouring rain, but she has an umbrella
(also quite a bit beat-up).

she looks up at the sky, raindrops splattering
on her face.
she wonders - as she has for a while - if any help will come.

but no, that's silly.
she's already seen too much
to believe in fairy tales.

the little girl searches the clouds a bit more,
then lets go of the umbrella.

the wind is so strong that immediately it's caught up and
carried away,
just like a balloon.

she sits down
and sighs,
almost as if
that was her very last one.

Jenga Is a Dangerous Game

Oh, please don't use words like "forever" and "always".

I get a little dizzy when you say them,

And my careful, precarious stack of hopes could fall down at any minute.

Though I don't and do wish you wouldn't,

You build it up, nourish it, make it grow

Each time you are kind to me.

Add a block for every smile.

Cause my heart to fly, my soul to sing;

Make me want to dance with you until the music ends...

But please, don't use words like "forever".

I'm falling.

My tower is too tall, and I can't afford

To let it collapse on me, too.

Mrs. LubonekNobody knew how old the Luboneks were, but they’d lived at the top of Pecan Hill since before Cumberland was built, and the town grew up around them. Mr. Lubonek had a voice like gravel and always smelled of engine grease, sweat, and the gritty scent of someone whose friends were machines and whose family were the tools he kept in the shed. Mrs. Lubonek was airy as a bird and every bit as flighty, yet there was a sharp, witty glint in her eye that you only caught if you were looking for it.

The Luboneks lived a simple, dusty life atop Pecan Hill. Mr. Lubonek ran a small mechanic shop out of his garage and Mrs. Lubonek sold baked goods.

Heart, Have No PityThe train sways from side to side, gray subway lights washing away all color from the world, and the shuffle on his music player is playing only the songs Jesper hates. He hits the skip button again and again, tries to keep his briefcase pinned between his legs. There is a coffee stain on his shirt, but he did not have enough time to sprint to his bedroom and change before he had to leave to make his train on time. He cannot afford to be late again.

Skip-skip-skip. He should stop allowing his sister into his apartment; she always deletes his good music and replaces it with pop that Jesper despises. He thinks he hears his station being called

I'm GRUMPY!!!I'm having a

Grumpy-grouchy

Kind of day

A

Late-to-school

Look-like-a-fool

Day

A

Pen-is-dead

Throb-goes-my-head

Day

An

I-need-rest

Failed-my-test

Day

I'm grumpy and I'm grouchy.

I've got nothing nice to say,

And if you don't like it, you'd just better

GO AWAY!!

I want to scream and shout and fuss about

I'm HUNGRY and I'm TIRED

So don't you talk to ME about attitude, mister!!

68. HeroThese days, he never saw Bethany smile much anymore.
Between the lost sheep and the odd cloud and school and the daisy and the baby blue sky, there never did seem time to slip one in. Ryan tried to send a small smile or act of kindness or two her way, but they never seemed to quite hit. Rather, she became even sadder and more withdrawn than before. Why? He just wanted to help. She was as an injured bird, fluttering on the sidewalk, desperately trying to get back up to her tree, but she was afraid of anyone who tried to aid her.
He had already dropped his stone, yet she tried her best to fly away...
One day, he finally just knocked on her door. After a moment, it was answered by Bethany. He could see the momentary gleam of joy that showed on her beautiful (if only she knew how beautiful!) face, quickly replaced by her old fearfulness. It twisted a bit of his soul, that way. Why was she keeping herself from loving him?
"Listen, Beth, I...I need to talk to you."
"Wh-why?" She lo

The Copper Wire BoyHe had been created to replace a lost son. He had feelings, dreams, a name, but his body was not human. Burnt clay formed his spine, his ribs and his skull; porcelain his face. Twisted copper wire was his flesh; flexible and strong, but cold.
The woman whose son he was supposed to be did not dare look at him. She closed her eyes when he entered the room and talked to him in darkness. She allowed the illusion to replace reality and within six years, it became reality for her. Until the day she died, she let the artificial boy take care of her. After that, he was alone.

Felix glanced out at the park from the kitchen window day after day. The

WingedI don't find the words.

(For who knows of their hiding places?)

The words find me (-every time-)

They are birds singing - quick, grab them, grab them up quick -
Snatch them up
Before they fly away,
Soaring off to roost in, say, a lonely old dictionary, thesaurus
Or just fade into the ancient, yellowed
Pages of Time.

For if you do not use them, they are lost.
You may reach for them again, but you will never again
- No, not quite ever - never - really - ever - quite yet - almost - no, never - quite ever
Touch them.
And yet another small tragedy will have occurred in this vast, weary world.

A crushing disappointment.
A missed tra

the strawberry tartOne afternoon I bought a tart for thirty dollars.

Didn't seem like much at the time, just a couple of bills out of my back pocket, for a tart about three-quarters the size of my fist, laden with whipped cream and fresh strawberries.

I popped a strawberry in my mouth and I liked it, so I took another bite. Didn't like the whipped cream so much. Ate the strawberries, the edges of the chocolate pastry, and threw the rest of the tart away.

When I turned around and strolled back home, I felt the sunshine on my face and I thought that this world could do with a little more happiness, this bliss of a bright afternoon, more often.

Then I rounded

Begin AgainTurquoise heart
Reach out to those I love
Braided dreams
They all seem so very real to me
But I've been hurt before
Walls of precaution
Tumbling down to hit the ground
Kiss me slowly...
Do you know, could you say
It's been so long
Since I last trusted one individual
With all I am
I'm tired, could you tuck me in?
This hope is strange but wonderful
The dawn is breaking
Smiles that don't fade away
Oh, please love me for a thousand years
Then love me for a thousand more

The Tapping Next DoorFor most of my life I had lived in the same apartment. It was on the third floor and overlooked the busy city. It was also directly next to another apartment, which means you could hear everything going on behind the right-hand side bedroom wall.

I would occasionally hear faint noises coming from behind the wall. There would be scraping, which I assumed was the sound of a chair being pulled along a wooden floor. Sometimes voices could be heard. I guessed they were either from the residents living there or from a TV or radio. And then there was the banging.

The banging was a rare occurrence, but whenever it happened it really annoyed me. Why

26. Tears "Coward."

  The accusation was spat sharply into the still air.
Not offended, the silence waited.
  "Fool. Didn't you see? Couldn't you tell it wouldn't help?" Drip, drip.

  The lone figure stood at the foot of the new-turned grave, crying. They had waited until the rest of the mourners had gone, lingered on the outskirts until they could tell this dear deceased how they really felt. In person. Alone. They who never cried.

  "You knew it wasn't going to work. You knew that even if you escaped, we'd still be here, still trying to deal with our own jacked-up lives, but without you, now. You knew you'd only cause us all grief and despair. And for what?" Drip, drip. A clenching of teeth and fists. "A miserable little coward that left me all alone."

  (How symb

The mirrorThe day had been long and tiring, and I was not sorry to finally get home. I parked my car in the driveway, go tour lazily of it and headed slowly toward the porch. During my slow march toward home I started to get my keys and in a lazy gesture, I began to look for them in my pocket. While my hands brushed finally against the cold metal, I lifted my head toward the door and I suddently stopped myself: the door a few meters away was slightly ajar. I had a moment of hesitation, my gesture suspended in the air, keys in hand, before running to the porch to see that the door was wide open indeed. yet I never forgot to close double round every morn

God's MorticianIt wasn’t as if Thomas had known what to expect; it just that he hadn’t expected, well, this. He read the obituaries every Sunday out of a mixture of habit and morbid curiosity – or as he liked to call it; “professional interest”. At least that’s what he told his wife, anyway, when he noticed her brow furrowing, or her lips puckering into something dangerously close to resembling a pout over breakfast. She didn’t like dead people; his “clients”. She didn’t like hearing about embalming, or caskets, or hilarious anecdotes of “you’ll never believe the cosmetic work I had to

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More from ~theolivethief14

44. HateI hate your guts, Friedrick Nietzche.

Blue StarYou've grown too big to keep going like this
Though others supernova, you ignore, deny
Don't hear what I say; why can't you just resist
You're much too young, I don't want you to die
Blue star, blue star
You're burning up, furious
Blue star, blue star
Can't you see your time has come?
The end is near, you will dissolve
I cannot change your firm resolve
Blue star, blue star
You're burning up, furious...
Unless you cool, dear, you will not survive
The hydrogen is running low, oh no
You don't believe, you're scared; just stay alive
I care, but I can't help what you control
Only the good die young, that's what they say
I promise you, don't have to be this way
Only the good die young, that's what they say
I promise you, don't have to be this way
I promise you, don't have to...
Blue star, blue star
You're burning up, furious
Blue star, blue star
Don't you know that you're dying?
The end is here and you dissolve
I coul

UnableThere's nothing I hate more
Than being powerless.
You can't do
Absolutely
Anything
At all
And as the tears of frustration begin to fall
I know why they say "never say 'I can't'"
And as the sadness threatens to crush me
I know why the angel cries
I'm not mad at you
I'm mad at this
"Dad, that sucks."
I hate it.
Even Mumford & Sons can't help
Wanting to help and not having the strength, means, or permission
Is torture

11. MemoryOut of the blue
You come again.
The brook, the tree, the memory
Unbidden:
A sweet melody
That wafts along my inner ear
I simply
cannot
bear to hear.
And when I, lone, attempt to sleep
My daughter questions
why
I weep.

Dear IdeaDear Idea,
I don't blame you for not liking me. A lot of the time, I don't either. I'm limited, immature, ignorant. Cowardly and self-doubting. I am only human.
You said you needed me. As you may have guessed, the feeling is mutual. I need you to create. I need you to inspire me. To bring me higher. To make me a part of something bigger. I need you so that I can leave a part of myself behind. If I did nothing else while here, let it be said that I gave you life; that I released you from he frail, tiny prison of my mind; that I used you to expand and better the world.
I need you when school is boring. When the days get tough. I need, I need, I need. See how I am? (But you already know.)
You have to understand that I can only do so much. It must be hard to condescend to me, frightening, brilliant thing that you are, but bear with me (as I tremble). Often I must put you on hold when you call; frequently I must store you away for later despite your frantic, furious struggling. Many d

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Submitted: January 3
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What Does 'Asylum' Mean?

by ~theolivethief14, Jan 3, 2013, 4:27:23 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

I wore my fuzzy socks for the same reason I remembered home. It was mostly for moral support.

They didn't match my outfit at all, striped blue and purple as they were. It looked as if I’d skinned James P. Sullivan himself. But no, I wasn't a killer. Not just yet. I’d have a lot of time to consider it, it seemed. It was really quiet in the new place where I lived. The walls were soft, and nobody came to talk to me anymore.

That is, besides the people in my imagination. Sometimes, I think they’re real, but they’re mostly just in my head. That’s why I never liked 3D movies. You can never tell what’s there and what’s not, and when you try and touch it, you just end up looking stupid. Though that’s no reason to take me away and put me here. I was just trying to figure out what it all meant. Well, I guess I don’t mind it now.

Anyway.

My mom only came to visit me once in the soft place. At first, I hated the confinement, but now it doesn't bother me. I don’t need other people to be happy. I’m perfectly content here. It’s safe and warm, although they don’t always give me the food that I like. There isn't any chocolate pudding, for example. Or string cheese.

They brought me out of the room to see her. I was in a long hall of doors, doors that led to rooms just like this one. No windows, of course. I’d almost forgotten what it looked like.

"Hi, Mallory," my mom said. Her smile was nervous, guarded. She didn't bring any of the kids with her. She was scared of something.

I wondered why. Dad wasn't here, and the security guards weren't scary. In fact, I’d made friends with some of them. In fact, they were really nice. Though they didn't talk very long.

"How are you?" I asked cheerfully. This was going great!

"Oh, I’m fine. Once I paid for the lawsuit, of course..." These last words were mumbled, as if embarrassed. "Lawsuit? What lawsuit? Aaron didn't crash any cars in the last year, did he?" My fifteen-year-old brother was sooo irresponsible.

"No, no. It was for the...murd..." She didn't finish, so I decided to try to guess what she was saying.

"Merchant? Mervin?" Then I gasped. "Murder? Who was murdered?"

"No one, Mallory. It’s nothing." Mom began to turn away. The security guards were whispering.

"Nothing? Are you suggesting that I am a murderer?" My voice, rising in a crescendo, shot up a pitch on the final word.

"No, no, no!" Mom cried. She was walking away as fast as she could. I think she may have been starting to cry. But I didn't care. That last statement was totally uncalled for, and I just lost control.

"I’m not a murderer! I’m not! I’m not! It wasn’t me, I swear! He’s not a person..it didn't count...not a murderer...not a murderer!" I screamed. The security guards grabbed me. I kept on yelling, trying to make my point clear to her as I struggled. But Mom just ran away, her high-heeled footfalls resounding in a staccato beat in the empty corridor. Click, clack, click, clack.

She just ran away. Just like he did. Cowards, both of them.

It was a while before I calmed down, but eventually I gave up because my throat was sore and my head hurt too much from crying. Crying and the memories. Everything else. Everything.

Take me back. Take me back to my safe place. Take me back to my heavenly room, where the walls are soft and nothing can hurt me.

I kept repeating the words as they escorted me back to my room, softly sobbing them under my breath, "You've got the wrong person...not a killer...I’m not, I’m not a killer...not...yet..."

It all faded into black velvet silence as I collapsed in a heap. From that day on, nothing has ever hurt me since. The world is too much for me, so I have grown to love my soft-walled room.

What Does 'Asylum' Mean?by ~theolivethief14

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

It was just like middle school. Nobody understood me.
~
So childlike, in her innocence...
In case you were wondering, Mallory was...ABUSED...by a man who (in this story) remains anonymous...You can guess what happened next.
My final project in Creative Writing. I'm actually pretty proud of it.

Could also be called "Not a Killer" :I

I think I'll just...leave this here...//rolls away

might enjoy this one.

Sequel: [link]

(c)

love 3 3

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

*disrhythmic Apr 3, 2013

Mallory's naivete puts a really refreshing spin on the idea.

Nice work and congrats on the DLD!

~theolivethief14 Apr 3, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Thank you!

=DailyLitDeviations Apr 2, 2013

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.