“
The mist shimmers a few yards away from where the toes of his new black steel toed boats were stuck into the gathering mud. The cuffs of his blue jeans have turned a dark black from the mud, his belt buckle dripped water, his hands were settled on his hips, his finger tips digging into his hips. A large drip of water fell off the tip of his large cowboy hat and fell between his boots. He looked back up to the mist, it formed more of a wall before him then the lie lowing stuff he remembered from his youth. He took a few more steps, his long legs reaching the edge of the mist in two lengths. He lifted a hand, slid it into the mist, the water instantly covering his hand and sending drips of water down his arm and off his elbow. His hat tilted to the side, his left eye shining blue from under the rim. There’s a slight rise from the corner of his mouth before he takes another step and disappears into the mist.
there are children on this site
I kind of want this to be different reading rooms in a massive library, like history, literary fiction, dogs, arcane sciences, design, natural sciences, religion, art and special collections.I should write a story about this.
it’s like the library in Castlevania: Symphony of the Night! D:
IT’S OKAY TO USE “SAID” A WHOLE DAMN BUNCH.
IT’S OKAY TO USE PRONOUNS REPEATEDLY SO LONG AS YOU STRUCTURE YOUR SENTENCES SO AS TO KEEP IT FROM BEING CONFUSING
FUCK, IT’S EVEN OKAY TO USE COMMON SAYINGS AND CLICHES SPARINGLY.
DON’T PURPLE UP YOU PROSE JUST BECAUSE YOU THINK IT’S NOT OKAY TO DO THESE THINGS BECAUSE IT IS
DON’T TAKE AWAY FROM YOUR PLOT TO MAKE ULTIMATELY UNIMPORTANT DETAILS OF YOUR NARRATION LOOK FLASHIER.
Yep. Please.
They ran out of the yard, hand in hand, she had a flashlight in her free hand, he had a bag over his shoulders. They ran with smiles on their faces and laughter threatening to break through.
They passed their neighbors bull, the horses as they ran free in the yard, the old barn in the middle of the woods. The laughter trailed behind them as they kept running.
Finally, they broke free of the trees, free of the farms, free of their parents, into a field with grass as high as their waist and the sky as clear as glass. He let go of her hand to cheer and pulled the bag off his shoulders, from within it he pulled a blanket and watched her as she lay down on it. He laid down beside her and she flicked off the flashlight.
Hand in hand they watched the stars, their light enough to show them each other but nothing else and that’s all that mattered.
The first star came from over the trees behind them, she closed her eyes tight and whispered a wish out to it’s tail. He smiled as her lips formed words he could not hear.
They were there for hours, the meteor shower growing over their heads, dying down as the first colors of a sunrise peered through the towering trees.
He likes to take his place on the highest cloud above the largest city just before the last children are tucked into bed and the last goodnight kiss is placed against a soft cheek.
He sits crossed-legged, his jacket gripped tight around him, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. He leans forward, over the edge of the cloud and looks down on the city as the dreamers start their dreaming.
Just to the west of the clock tower, as it strikes the ninth time, appears a girl riding a horse across the sky. The horse is pure white, it prances around the rooftops near by as the girl giggles on his back. East of the river is a boy, he’s laying down beneath a large oak made of wisps of cold night air. He’s chewing on a blade of grass when, from the tree branches, a kite falls on his head. Giggles rain down on him as a younger boy climbs down and gleefully jumps into the other boys arms.
The night grows old as he watches the children dream, watches them jump into puddles made of stardust, run through fields made of the moon’s glow. He watches as one girl falls from her high swing before it comes down and she rolls, gets up and smiles. He watches as another swims in a lake of stars and uses a diving board of clouds.
He doesn’t move from his spot until the sun takes the oak of cold night air, the horse of pure white, the puddles of stardust and the pool of stars, and the fields of the moon and shifts them and makes them his own. The sun burns them from their edges, slowly enticing the children up from their long night’s dreaming.
He’ll stand then, up on his cloud and stretch the night’s cold wind away. He’ll leave the day for the sun, but the night is his.
Books are a uniquely portable magic
“I’m in crisis here!” She yells as the family fails to hide their snickers. “Come on. I need some help here!” She drops her bag next to the kitchen table and collapses into her chair, her head hits the table and her mother winces. Her arms hang down under the table at her sides.
“From a boy?” Her brother asks as he rolls his eyes.
“Not just a boy,” she groans as she lifts her head just to place her chin on the table so she can look at her brother. “The boy. The star football player.”
“Right.” He answers, “the jackass.” She rolls her eyes again and lays her head on her right side, looking now toward her mother.
“Now, Jimmy…”
“Now, Mom,” he scraps the last of his dinner from the plate and raises his fork to his mouth. “Jackass accurately describes Dan the incorrigible.” He finishes his dinner and gets up from the table, taking his dishes to the sink and then disappearing into the living room.
“Mom.” She pleads. “He’s notbad, he’s Daniel Neumeyer the cutest boy in the whole town.” She thumps her forehead back against the table. “And I just became the girl who fell in the mud puddle!” She groaned again.
“Well, if he doesn’t like you just because you fell once, the-“
“Just because I fell! I face planted in the puddle!” From within the living room, Jimmy’s laughter echos.
The ceiling crumbles as the wind gusts through it’s empty rooms. It sends dust down onto the cracked floor beneath it. Breath whistles through the windows as time wraps the building in its arms.
The back wall has crumbled beneath the weight of its arms, the roof seems to groan from the horror of being head up only by three walls.
A ghost flits through the large empty room at the front, the front door still stands but the wall around shows strain. The ghost places a kiss to the doorjamb and then floats up into the rafters as is has done every night.
The kids have stopped coming, their empty bottles, old comics and long lost blankets litter the floor, the wind tangles leaves within the folds and creases.
Time has not forgotten this place.
Who says the weather listens to the earth’s call?
The earth cries out for water yet the weather does not give it. the weather cries out for water and yet the earth has none to give. The wind blows the dry dirt through the dying trees. It calls for something more from the weather above it and yet the weather doesn’t answer. The sun burns holes in the earth as the earth cries out in pain. The children of the earth lay down in despair.
The weather looks to the stars and cries their pardon. The earth looks to the stars and cries their pardon. The stars look to the earth and shed tears. The tears fall through skies and lands and winds but the stars tears cannot heal the land.
I was late. I was always late.
Two am and everyone was finally quiet, I always gave them until at least 1 before I went back to the dorm because I had gotten paired with the partiers of the campus. Well, to be fair, my roommate and I got stuck in the middle of the partiers. Unlike Jake, I had found a way out of that pile of peer pressure and into the library.
But, as always, I was late.
I opened the door, our light was off and I turned it on as I always did. Jake didn’t care, he slept like the dead.
And really, I should have known something was wrong. Because Jake, Jake never shut off the light when I wasn’t there. He almost preferred it on.
I threw my bag on my bed, I had the top bunk, and turned to sit at my desk. Which is when I saw him.
He was set up against his desk, this wicked smile on his face. His eyes weren’t focusing but he was still conscious.
“Jake.” His hand twitched at his side. “Jake!” Eyes rolled in his head. “Jake, jeezus, what did they…” I didn’t care, knelt in from of him and shoved my fingers down his throat.
Puke.
“Jake, come on.” I could feel him gag, felt the hot sticky mess come up, go over my hand and heard has it plopped on the floor. “You idiot.” Alcohol filled the room. More came up, dots of white, pills of blue, swirls of red.
I pulled my phone from my desk with puke covered hands, hit speaker and dialed 9-1-1. It rang while I shoved my fingers back down his throat.
By the time the guys in blue got into the room, my hand was burning, Jake didn’t have anything left to gag up and my whole world was focused on the fact that Jake was still breathing.
Still breathing with that smile.
That wicked smile on his face.
