INSANITY, OR SOME OTHER CHEESY, UNCREATIVE TITLEInsane.INSANITY, OR SOME OTHER CHEESY, UNCREATIVE TITLE by ~Jarring-chord
That’s what Christopher felt he was becoming.
His mind was like an unbridled racehorse that would never slow down. Always galloping at full speed- galloping over a cliff to its doom.
His brain was constantly thinking, processing, and churning with ideas. A gift, his father and elementary school teachers had called it- a curse he knew it to be.
The hissing of the ceiling lights, the smell of the candle in the corner of the classroom, and the unsteady looks everyone gave him that he would never understand: all were but kindling for the bonfire inside his head.
A fire that would push him over the edge.
Christopher’s knees shook violently under his desk, catching the annoyed glances of a few nearby students. Images of complex nucleic molecular structures and timetables swarmed his head, causing the boy to grasp his hands and groan to himself.
Christopher was indeed going insane, if he wasn’t there already.
He tried to control himself, grinding his teeth and scribb
Pocket-SpaceYou know, I just found the strangest thing in my pocket.Pocket-Space by ~RoboticZamat
You would never guess what it was.
I could hardly believe it myself.
When I was a little girl, I was certain that there was a monster that ate socks, hence making us all suffer when trying to find the missing pairs. And I also thought that if you looked under the house hard enough, you would be able to see a pair of yellow eyes staring right back at you. Another thing I had been certain of was that pockets were things that defy the laws of both common sense and physics which, as we all know, are two completely different modes of reckoning.
I mean, think about it.
How may times have you put something into you pocket and forgotten about it?
This proves that pockets are capable of messing with your mind.
How many times have you searched for some necessary item only to find it in the pocket of another garment?
This proves that there is a wormhole-like effect between the pockets.
How many times have you b
Rain, Rain, Go Away...Gary burst into through his door, all but falling into his narrow flat, water rolling off of him as he managed to finally escape from the deluge outside. It was one of those days when all you really, really wanted was a nice cozy bed with a hot water bottle waiting for you. If there was someone waiting for you there as well, then that would have been an added bonus, especially if that someone was someone wished for, but Gary knew the limits of his luck. Right now, he would be lucky enough to simply get the bed, even without the damn hot water bottle. In fact, he would have been happy with simply having dry clothes on as he pulled sodden sneakers off and clambered out of his drenched clothes.Rain, Rain, Go Away... by ~RoboticZamat
In theory, the dry land he had ran back home on should have been 'dry', but in reality the only difference between the a body of water and land was that a body of water, for example a lake, would have been already filled with water, while the land was in the process of being filled. It w
|A message from and |
Hi Everyone!! Bienvenidos (mira bajo)
Welcome to Writing-4-life, a group where you can share your skills and inspire others to write amazing things!! This is a group for poets, fanfic authors, original story writers, and watchers alike to comment, critique, and give ideas to one another.
Join right ahead and submit some amazing literature! Who knows, today its DA, tomorrow...it's the Bestseller's list.
Being a small group, we'd enjoy some support...so invite your friends on DA, watchers, the people you watch, and others to come and join in the fun! You can also help by suggesting affiliates so we could share the inspiration!
Anyways, It's sorta necessary that I lay down the law, here:
> not too inappro-pro. Let's keep this group rated PG-13, k?
> don't troll/spam/cyber-bully/stalk/creep upon any other member of the group. It's just rude, and if reported, your membership in this group will be taken away from you, please contact if something happens as well as normal procedures.
> 10 deviations a day, until our gallery starts getting out of hand
> It's nice to be nice.
> Put your deviations in the right category... please? We have lives to, it takes time to sort and file things that can be easily done by the person.
>It is automatic acceptance but submitting artwork like drawings is rude and a hassle for those of us who have to check to clear it out.
> Have fun, and enjoy!!
Well, anyways, thanks for visiting our page!!
Bienvenidos, personas de paises como España, Nicaragua, Argentina, Colombia, Costa Rica, Puerto Rico, y otras al grupo "Writing-4-Life" un collecion va a hacer creado despues de 2011. ¿Es posible nos da tus poemas y historias?
The BetteringStarting out with the aftermath of hell, before:The Bettering by ~Vessecora
No one to hear me scream
Nowhere to go
I cower within the dream
There's no awareness
They look away
I lay here, broken by the careless
Bleeding into my vision
I long for it
I open my mouth
In a silent scream
Leading to the days towards the end:
Whether it be sin
Or whether it be folly
The dark angel shall grin
His wings will spread
The feathers shall fall,
Splashed with crimson red.
The moon will approach
The fires shall seep
The earth will part;
And humanity weep.
And then the aftermath once more:
The world is ending
An end to the pains?
The fire burns deep within
Running in the blood
As he begins with a grin
The end of one world
The start of another
Limbs together – curled
Where the aftermath lead to the beginning:
Oh take a walk through my mind
High above… Among the clouds
None but you
The fire blazes in my mind
You blaze within my heart
MemoryMemory by ~Vessecora
My mind screamed piteously as I sat there, his eyes steady on me, watching as the tremors ran through me.
A stray thought floated across my mind in a leisurely wake that felt at complete odds with the situation. This must be how abused kids in the city slums must feel. ‘Don’t make a sound while you cry little girl; keep the fear that you’ll be heard with you, or it will start all over again. Just curl up.’
The snot and the tears mixing with the imagined blood of core emotions, raped by it over and over again in the dead of night.
But in the daylight, as well.
The shadows of the dreaming night don’t always flee with the light of day. But I wonder to myself as the tremors subside, which is their element? Night, where they dwell in plain sight? Or day? Where they hide from our fearful eyes;
I asked him, “Hadn’t you ever wondered why I sleep with a glow in the dark comm-link?” He tilted his head. “Or why I sle
Based on a True StoryShe sat down on the sofa in a huff. No matter how many times they talked about everything they always ended up in some sort of argument. And over text? Not mature in the slightest. She had only talked to a few boys, and none were ever real potential. More so like friends... just distractions from the constant ache inside of her chest. She was sure he knew that much. Talking to other boys was no cakewalk. Trying to "get back out there" and enjoying herself wasn't exactly something she could do with ease the past few weeks. Without knowing it, he still held her heart in his own heartbroken hands. Or maybe he did know...Based on a True Story by ~kllylove
Her phone kept going off with text messages from him. He wasn't in any way being mean, or harsh, but he was definitely frustrated, in return frustrating her. They were not together at that point, he pushed her away to the point where she gave him the space he seemed to want. She was always the one who had an immense amount patience... never pushing him to any kind of brea
Based on a True Story IIBased on something that happened on November 14th, 2010.Based on a True Story II by ~kllylove
She sat on the edge of the couch, her heart beating at a slightly faster pace than what was normal for her cardiac cycle. She couldn’t stop playing with her hands either, or pulling on her sleeves, or biting her cheek. She had almost gotten so used to doing all these things so often that she hardly noticed them, but she was just afraid someone else would catch on to what she was feeling. And that just wouldn’t be alright with her.
Just stop fidgeting.
You’re here, and that’s what you want.
That’s what HE wants.
This won’t kill you. At least literally.
He won’t think you’re crazy… maybe.
She thought these things to herself sporadically as minutes slowly ticked by.
It had been exactly two months since their breakup, but there they were, in the same room once again, acting like they were both completely fine… or at least okay, when in
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