There I was. Sitting in a prison cell for a crime I couldn’t remember. The night had been one crazy blur. I was so scared, all the books and movies and plays had told me that I should be scared. There were other people with me. Together, we were united by our fear. This fear led to empathy, the empathy to kindness.
by augustfireWe should have known better, the least thing that you should expect from others is to understand the grievances and pains that are mounting inside you. Because for having a person to fully grasp the meaning is to actually going through it. Do you want to go through the sufferings? Nobody in a right mind would want that. Life is hard enough.
by fanaismeI make excuses for you and me, reasons why I need you, like children need Santa Claus. When I was little, my parents tried to tell me the truth and I insisted no, Santa Claus did indeed fit himself down our chimney. While you do not attempt to slide down the chimney, your warmth slides down my body and into my heart.
by thegettingoutThe woman with one gloved hand walks off the train before the doors ding closed. Stairwell jammed, she keeps her tote level; holding straps securely, with one gloved hand. Her stride, the pride of finishing school; bumped from the side, she holds on. Top of the stairs, she exits with conviction, walks down Vandam; the package, held tight with one gloved hand.
by makingrentinnycThe night was warm so we left our clothes in the sand and headed for the waves. The ocean was rough and cold against our naked bodies. A wave knocked me against him and I was caught in his arms. And all of the sudden I tasted bubble gum, felt his hand on my back and the other tangled in my hair.
by w-a-n-d-e-r-l-u-s-t“You need to eat,” I said.
She came into the living room with a distraught look on her face. Her boyfriend had just broken up with her. He had been cheating and, of course, she didn’t want to admit it, though the whole world knew it. She slumped down on to the couch.
“I’ll live,” she replied simply.
I wasn’t so sure.
by flyingspiritIn nothing but a towel, she stares at the girl in the mirror. She loathes its reflection, sickened by its appearance. A black bag emerges. The tools for beauty. She begins to work. Her labour complete, she is changed. Unrecognizable. She sighs, knowing God didn’t create her this way. To the world, she is beautiful, but she has never felt so ugly.
by thewritersaddressIf they say a picture is worth a thousand words, then I have reread your short story more times than I can remember. I find the consonants of your perfect lips as beautiful as the vowels of your crystal blue eyes. The background reminds me of when the word “us” was still nonfiction. Yes, I know these thousand words all too well.
by wassailing