User Tag List

First 1234513 Last

Results 21 to 30 of 141

  1. #21
    Senior Member ubee0173's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2010
    MBTI
    enfp
    Enneagram
    7
    Socionics
    iei
    Posts
    113

    Default

    aww thanks- you made me blush in real life!
    I will buy you a drink and I'll tell you what I think, and tomorrow, in the morning, I won't be sorry that I didn't sleep.


    [SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]

  2. #22
    mod love baby... Lady_X's Avatar
    Join Date
    Oct 2008
    MBTI
    ENFP
    Enneagram
    9w1 sx/so
    Posts
    18,086

    Default

    Quote Originally Posted by Accept View Post
    I wasn't sure what to expect here, and I confess to underestimating what might be posted, but if everything's as good as it has been so far, then I'm looking forward to checking in each day. I think I've found a favorite thread.

    I don't have anything short enough to post, so maybe my signature line will do. It's part of a story within a story.
    if you have a blog somewhere you could link us to that would work too...i like what you've written in your sig and would like to hear more if you've got it.
    There can’t be any large-scale revolution until there’s a personal revolution, on an individual level. It’s got to happen inside first.
    -Jim Morrison

  3. #23

    Default

    i never do this but because you people dont really know me here i go:

    -where have I been?
    Out and back
    take me back there I keep wishing
    One step away from family
    I don't fit in here
    cotton stuffs my mind
    body floats the other worlds
    my thoughts and talks, paralyzed.

    - immature mind you say
    selfish I think.
    I don't get it from streets.
    from inside to out. me . myself. I.
    perfect appearance
    dreams continue.
    feelings on pause.
    Hold.

    - You look golden
    6ft tall blonde statue
    unsure who you are
    I rejected you.
    I can't give you answers.
    I'm a hypocrite.
    You self medicate too
    We see other worlds
    We could drown in separate zen worlds
    Bliss. Disgusting dark bliss.
    My conscious says... No.
    I followed the voice.
    You are conflicted.
    I don't intrigue you any more.
    You are lost deeper than me.
    deep in silence. bliss. comfort. Falsely.
    I can't go back.
    I had to run there was no where to go.
    It's overcast here.
    Are we growing? or disintegrating?
    measure it for me.
    don't die on me too.
    find me at the bus stop we'll see light.
    time can't stand still forever.
    Were 21 not 17, 4 years gone by.
    in pleasures and dimensions.
    I can't wait for life.


    sorry if some of them were depressing or whatever??? i dont know i have happier ones i just wanted those they were written next to each other

  4. #24
    Senior Member Idec Sdawkminn's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2010
    MBTI
    EPIC
    Posts
    145

    Default

    I've written some weird stuff. Weird, silly, gross, exaggerated, and ridiculous stuff. There is nothing pure or beautiful about my writings. I'll only subject you to a sample of this monstrosity.

    Jaic picked his jeans up off the floor and pulled them on halfway, then slid his left hand inside his boxers and felt the loose, warm skin surrounding his testicles. It was soft and felt nice. His fingers separated them as his right hand pulled his jeans up and the center seam nestled snuggly between his balls. He gripped the top of his jeans as he then pulled them up as far as his pubic bone would allow as he spread his legs and firmly grinded the seam of his jeans front and back between his butt cheeks to ensure he could not possibly pull his jeans any higher. Holding them up in the tight grip of his left hand, he took his belt from the closet and fed it through the loops of his pants, careful not to loosen his hold of them. Then he fastened it as tight as he could around the bottom of his chest as to remove any possibility that they might sink down. The bottoms of his pants stopped just below his calves. He threw on a t-shirt and hoped to make a good impression as he approached the kitchen.
    His mother turned around. Her expression instantly changed into one of extreme fear, disappointment, and worry. She gasped in horror and her left hand covered her mouth at the sight of her son. "Bihl…oh Bihl…" is all she could whimper in her distress.
    Jaic's father pulled himself out from under the heavily-soiled bedding and charged toward them. He pulled his underwear back up as he ran. Brown streaks ran up and down his body. He was stopped dead in his tracks as soon as his eyes fixed on the blasphemy before him. "Cewzin!" he yelled in a deep voice full of shock and disbelief. "Look at this boy's pants! How many times have I told you to pull your pants up, boy?"
    "Oh Jaic…" his mother said in mourning and shook her head, "how could you?"
    Bihl grabbed the top of Jaic's pants and pulled them up as hard as he could. "Confound it, boy, get this damn belt off until you can wear your pants like a real man!" His father fumbled with the buckle in determined frustration but only succeeded in increasing his anger.
    "Please help him, Bihl," Cewzin pleaded.
    "Cewzin, get over here and help me!"
    Jaic's mother hurried over. "What do you want me to do?"
    "Ugh, get this, ugh, this damn belt untied!" he grunted.
    Cewzin desperately grasped for the pin holding the belt into place as her husband pulled the loose end tighter to release it.
    "Grab that metal hook thing, Cewzin!"
    She tried to flip it out but it was still caught in one of the holes.
    "Grab it, god damn it!" Bihl rhymed.
    Cewzin, in tears, replied, "You have to pull it more."
    "God damn it, Cewzin! I'm already pulling it as far as it will go!"
    The belt slipped out of his sweaty hands and he staggered back. With a full refill of aggression, he lunged forward and pulled the loose end of the belt with all his might. In that magnificent second of power, Cewzin was able to free the pin of the hole and the belt was loosened.
    "I got it out! Bihl! I got it out, honey! I got it!"
    Jaic's father yanked his son off the ground by his jeans. "Cewzin, help me out here!"
    Full of hope, she asked, "What do you want me to do?"
    "Ugh, hold his feet down. The boy's too light. You need to feed him more."
    She knelt down and hugged her son's ankles as her husband dragged them both along the ground.
    "Hold onto something!"
    Cewzin frantically looked around for anything to catch her foot on, but Bihl jerked his son down to kneel and planted his right foot against Jaic's shoulder for leverage. With this new position, Bihl manhandled his son's jeans and pushed against his shoulder.
    "Get………IN there!" He relentlessly pulled and pulled on Jaic's jeans, smearing poop from his own body onto him. "Cewzin, push this boy's pants up! Try to get them higher!"
    Jaic's mom whole-heartedly obliged and tugged at the pant legs.
    "You're going to be the death of us, boy," Bihl accused. "Cewzin, come here and tighten this belt, hurry!"
    Cewzin quickly joined her husband and fastened the 2 ends.
    "Make it tighter!"
    "I'm trying, honey."
    "Tighter!"
    "I'm sorry, it won't go any more!" his mother yelped, full of shame. She fitted the pin into the tightest hole she could and connected the belt an inch above where Jaic had it previously. Bihl's grip failed and he fell backward to the floor.
    He scrambled to get up, gave Jaic a once over, and said, "Cewzin, this boy is growing. He needs some longer pants."
    "I'll lengthen them right now!" she happily offered.
    "Get out your sewing machine and make this boy's pants longer, Cewzin. He can't go out looking like this. And get that shit off him. You're a mess, boy!"
    As Jaic's mom attached pieces of purple, yellow, and brown plaid to the bottoms of the jeans, Bihl noticed the areas of filth on his own body.
    "Cewzin, we need a new Shoo-Shoo blanket. This one's not getting it all off anymore."
    Jaic lay on the table and waited for his mother to ruin his pants. He noticed the neighbor in the goldenrod house sitting on the cement steps to his house in his pajamas, holding a cup of coffee and observing the whole scene with calm amusement. Jaic wished the construction company would arrive with their walls soon. He hated everyone being able to look in and see them.
    "You're still only that far? Hurry up!"
    "I'm sorry, honey. I'm going as fast as I—"
    "No, don't do it like that! You're going to sew it right to his leg...Don't go so close to that! You're going to overlap the part you already sewed! Go this way...No, do it like this...No, I said turn it like THIS...See these right here? These have to match up. Damn it, Cewzin, I'm going to be late to work if I have to stay here and look over your shoulder all day!"
    Jaic left for school as soon as his mother was done and his father was still in his underwear.
    "I see you're drinking 1%. Is that because you think you're FAT? 'Cause you're not. You could be drinking whole milk if you wanted to."

    Music listening habits

  5. #25
    Giggity Vie's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    MBTI
    ENTJ
    Enneagram
    8
    Posts
    792

    Default

    I wrote this a couple years ago. Lamesauce.

    The blistering rays of late summer sunlight blazed down upon the citizens of Cheney, Texas, swallowing them in a sweltering bubble of insufferable heat. Due to the public ban of sprinkler systems, the once emerald grass lay scorched in a hideous quilt of browns and yellows. Not a single cloud marred the crisp sky, perfectly clear across the horizon as though mocking the inhabitants that there would be no relief today. This was the exact type of weather Michelle Lang despised. Loathed with such a fiery passion that she moaned to her husband, Thomas, so often that he had recently taken to ignoring her entirely. Today would be the day that her husband would realize how much Michelle truly hated the unwavering Texas heat. The date was July 24th, 1994.
    The alarm clock rang with such intensity that it shocked Michelle out of her slumber in an instant, her arm shooting from behind the Egyptian cotton linens and slamming down on the snooze. Sighing, she noticed that her husband had must have sneaked away earlier in the morning to his job as an attorney at the Cheney County Prosecutor’s Office. Staring at the empty spot next to her and realizing from the coldness that had crept over the sheets, Thomas had been gone for quite some time already that morning. Padding down the hallway clad in fluffy white slippers and a silk bathrobe, Michelle checked her twin son’s room. Both bunk beds lay empty, Superman blankets rumpled in disarray. Sighing once more, Michelle looked out the window at the rising sun and began to straighten the covers.
    The refreshing blast of cool air ruffled Michelle’s frosted blonde hair as the sliding doors opened to the Piggly Wiggly Supermarket, the shock sending goose bumps along her pale skin. Smacking the gum between her lips and reaching for one of the rickety metal carts, she turned towards her friend who seemed to be having difficulty making her way across the parking lot. Looking harried, the other woman was desperately attempting to cling on to a screaming red-faced toddler in one arm and an overflowing diaper bag in the other (behind her, several diapers left a trail across the blacktop).
    “Would it KILL ya’ to carry something? Anything, I’m not picky what!” the woman screamed over the piercing cries of the little boy who was now snatching at her face. Grinning slightly, Michelle stared defiantly on as the woman finally crossed the threshold looking extremely flustered.
    “It would kill me to go back out in that heat, Andi,” said Michelle as she grabbed the considerably lighter diaper bag while flinging it carelessly into the cart. Andi shot an incredulous look at her before turning her attention back to the toddler, shoving a pacifier in his open mouth instantly ending the ear-splitting scream.
    “Oh thank God. I was going to strangle him with one more second of that. Speaking of, how the hell did you get rid of your minions for the day?”
    “Tommy has been taking them with him to work today. I guess so I can be left alone in peace for once?”
    “Peace?! Your two children act better than my one! I’m lucky if I can get Sam to take Noah here to the damn bathroom,” Andi said exasperatedly, while shoving several bunches of bananas in a bag then throwing it into the basket as though emphasizing her point. Michelle looked on curiously as her friend began to stalk down the aisle, grabbing random pieces of fruit.
    “I know Dory and Nikki are excellent children and mature for their age. I know! I just…God, this damn heat is driving me mad. Tommy decided that the kids can go with him and I can be left alone for a bit, to clear my head, to relax.”
    “Oh and the grocery store is the PERFECT place for that.” Shoving past an elderly lady, Andi maneuvered the cart down the next aisle. Mumbling a sorry towards the affronted old woman, Michelle pushed her own cart after her friend.
    “I think I’m losing my mind, Andi. And Tommy. He’s been so distant lately. Non stop fighting. Not over little things, not even over big things, over absolutely nothing. Says I need to ‘accept the move already’. But everything here seems so mundane and…the women so… so bitchy. Like the other moms on Nikki’s soccer team? They stare me down like my Yankee accent is the plague.”
    “Women are bitchy. It’s a fact of life. Like, fact of life that life is mundane. And you lose Tommy? You two are perfect for each other; ya’ll make the rest of us look bad with your mushy date nights. You always being so well put together while the rest of scurry around like headless chickens. You have the perfect life, Chelle, don’t mess it up by looking at the past,” Andi said, actually turning around and placing her hand on Michelle’s forearm breaking the no-contact rule that Andi requested from day one of their friendship. Worry lined her eyes as she smiled sympathetically towards Michelle, whose red-rimmed eyes threatened to leak and opening her mouth in protest.
    “You’ll be fine doll,” and with that Andi turned back around and began to stalk down the aisle again.

    Twilight had just set upon the horizon, illuminating the town in deep pinks and purples as the temperature finally released its iron grip. A chilling breeze swept through the open window of Michelle’s silver mini-van that sat stationary in her driveway. Gazing at the house that she had lived in for the past two months with her family, she couldn’t help but remember the words that were said to her. Over and over it played in her head, like an echoing mantra that merely mocked her true feelings. You have the perfect life, Chelle, don’t mess it up. The perfect life. What did that even mean? A husband that treated her like a porcelain doll, a trophy on the side of his arm at events and children who lacked the personality that could warm her soul…was this the perfect life? She was going through the motions of being the perfect mother in hopes that it would one day come true – PTA meetings, being the feral soccer mom, and being so involved in her children’s life some even whispered that she was living vicariously through her children. Taking a deep breath and smiling to herself, Michelle tucked a loose lock of hair behind her hair and made her way inside. Opening the door, Michelle was greeted by the sight her family sitting resolutely at the dining room table.
    “Did you all have fun with daddy today at his work?” Michelle asked exuberantly to her two five year old sons, who merely just looked at her with wide eyes. Figuring they were playing some sort of silent game, Michelle then proceeded to peck her husband on the cheek who immediately shied away from her touch. A bit disgruntled, she looked him in the eyes and saw nothing but a cold vacant stare. Something was wrong. This wasn’t right. An annoying buzz filled her head as her sight blurred into a swirl of colors, clearing just as suddenly. Breathing erratic, Michelle took in the sight before.
    Three unrecognizable lumps slouched in front of her, their decayed faces shriveled tight with mouths open in a disgusting gape. The stench of rotting fleshed invaded her nostrils, enveloping all of senses – she could taste the sour, hot air. Resisting the urge to gag, her hand flew to her mouth taking large gasps as the hot salty tears began to make their way down her cheeks. The bloated bodies of her children warped their beauty, a grotesque shade of sea-foam green. Dried blood caked on her children’s faces, the crimson mess clashing terribly with their pallor. Taking a step backwards from the table, the memories began to flood through Michelle’s mind…picture after picture moving rapidly, distant echoing of screams and children’s laughter creating a distortion of sound, her husband pleading with her as she delivered blow after blow.
    The heat was back, burning her system into overdrive. Feeling the darkness creep back from her line of vision and her heart slamming against her chest, rage began to bubble up within her -- uncontrollable fury unleashing from her petite frame as she threw plates to the floor, porcelain shattering into thousands of pieces. Her reflection stared back at her: frosted blonde hair mussed into a straggly bun, mascara running thick black trails down her pasty face, and her eyes completely deranged. Why didn't he listen to her, dammit? Didn’t he realize how much she hated the heat? It was driving her into insanity! Staring at the figures in front of her family, something clicked within her. Sorrow vanished as quickly as it had come and as Michelle looked out at the Texas sunset, she couldn’t help but think…Alaska here I come.

  6. #26
    Kultainen Kuningas Devil Flamingo's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2010
    MBTI
    ISFP
    Enneagram
    4w3 sx/so
    Socionics
    LOL
    Posts
    149

    Default

    Ahhh! I love this thread so much. Lady X you roxxx.

    I don't have time now but one of these nights I'mma take my time and read all these, hehe. You guys have some good stuff! I'm not really a writer myself (I have a blog for bitchin' and excitin', and ofc I write essays for uni, but that's that), but I very much enjoy other people's writing. One of my bffs is a novelist.
    4w3 sx/so ·· ISFP (?) ·· rcu|E|n
    gryffindor-ravenclaw ·· chaotic neutral
    leo sun ·· scorpius moon ·· earth dragon


    metsän ukko halliparta, metsän kultainen kuningas,
    ava nyt aittasi avara, luinen lukko lonkahuta!

  7. #27
    AKA Nunki Polaris's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2009
    MBTI
    INFJ
    Enneagram
    451 sp/sx
    Socionics
    INFp Ni
    Posts
    1,373

    Default

    This is a fairytale I wrote awhile ago called The Tail of the Snake.

    * * *

    The young man was walking down a forest path, bound for the town on the other side of it; he had set his sights on this town after hearing that its king was looking to hire maids for his castle. The young man knew perfectly well that maids were always women, but he was so desperate to find a job that he would put on a dress and walk around with a feather duster, if that’s what it took.

    He soon came to a small stream just off to side of the forest path, and as the day was hot and the pouch of water at his side had grown warm, he decided to allow himself a moment to sip the cool waters. Just as he bent to sample the stream, however, he heard a voice somewhere nearby.

    “If I were you,” it said, “I would step back from that water right now.”

    The young man pulled back his hands, which he had been about to dip into the stream, and turned his head over his shoulder. All he could find were the rocks, trees, and animals of the forest.

    He called out after a moment, and received no reply; he spent a few more seconds searching his surroundings, and in spite of how close the voice had been, he found no one. It occurred to him that some sort of fairy might be trying to play a trick on him. He had heard travelers speak of sprites that would turn men who disturbed bodies of water into goldfish.

    He sprang to his feet. He had taken a few steps away from the stream when he heard the voice again.

    “Where are you off to?” it said. “Aren’t you going to stick around to thank me?”

    The young man stopped in his tracks; the voice seemed to have come from somewhere between himself and the path. When he looked in front of him, he could see nothing; when he looked down, he could see something, but he wasn’t prepared to believe it could speak.

    “What’s the matter? Never seen a talking snake?” It lay coiled up on a large rock not more than three yards from the young man; he had seen it slithering around earlier, but hadn’t thought anything of it.

    The young man confessed that he had never seen a talking snake, and so as to get on its good side—there was no telling what powers a talking serpent might possess—the young man thanked it for warning him not to drink from the stream. Half out of curiosity and half out of a desire to make friendly conversation, the young man asked what would have happened if the snake hadn’t saved him.

    “Have you ever heard of essence of eddenfruit? Alchemists call it liquid death, and earlier this afternoon, I found out why. I was out catching mice for lunch, a mile or so upstream of here, and I saw a horse pulling a raft full of it to the other side. The men guiding the horse didn’t watch where they were going, and the horse ended up dragging the raft into a rock. It got jostled a little, and some of the extract fell into the stream. As soon as that happened, the two men and their horse sank into stream and floated way with a bunch of dead fish. They’re probably miles away from here by now. And even though the stream has most likely washed away some of the poison, I’ll bet there’s still plenty of it in there. It just wouldn’t kill you as quickly.”

    The young man thanked the snake again, this time with feeling, and asked the snake how he could repay it.

    “I’m not one to ask for favors; I’d rather give than receive. But there is one thing. . . .” The snake was silent for a moment. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but would you take me along with you? I don’t like this forest too much; some of the animals here think of me as dinner. And, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, you look like you could use some help getting along in life.” The snake was looking at his tattered clothing.

    The moment he heard these words, an idea formed in the young man’s head. He told the snake yes, scooped it up and put it in his pocket, and when the two of them set off, the young man was so excited that he no longer felt thirsty. He was thinking of all the ways a talking snake could help him earn money, and he felt certain he would never have to find work again.

    This was fortunate, because a great deal in his life hinged on money. Not only did he need to provide for himself, like anyone else, but his father had died two years ago, and since the rest of his family was either too young to get a job, or in the case of his mother, suffering from an illness that left her unable to get out of bed, he himself was the household’s only source of income.

    And so it was with a feeling like waking up from a nightmare and realizing it wasn’t real that the young man told the snake of his plans and they set to work bringing them about. As soon as they got to the town, the young man went to the town square, set the snake on the edge of the water fountain there, and had it recite the few poems he had had the time to teach it. The snake recited these poems over and over again for the rest of the day while the young man held out a tattered hat to collect money. This drew appreciable attention but nothing like the crowds the young man had hoped for; many of the people passing through seemed to think it came down to simple ventriloquism, and some of them ignored the act altogether.

    When the sun set and everyone began to turn in for the night, the young man and the snake still waited at the fountain, trying to squeeze every penny out of the day. They had collected so little that the young man wondered if they would be able to afford a room at the inn. It was only when people began to shout at them to quiet down and a police man threatened to lock them up that they finally gave up for the night. By then, their audience only consisted of one person, a strange woman who kept muttering something under her breath, and no one else showed the slightest inclination to stop and listen.

    The young man, feeling let down but hopeful that they would earn more money tomorrow, set off for the inn. But as he neared his destination, the snake stopped him.

    “There’s a better use for that money,” it said. “Come along, let’s find a candle to burn.”

    The young man felt certain that after buying a candle they would be able to afford a room—he could see the price for a room listed on the sign ahead of them, and knew a candle didn’t cost much—but even so, they had very little money, and he felt it would be best to save every penny for the days ahead.

    Nevertheless, the snake insisted that they go to the store. “Just trust me,” it said. “I wouldn’t mislead you when I’m as dependent on you as you are on me.”

    So the young man threw some coins on the counter, and walked out of the store with a candle in one hand and a match in the other.

    “All right,” said the snake, when they were halfway to the inn, “let’s stop here beside this bench. Now I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. Take out those coins of yours, line them up on my tail, and melt them into my scales with that candle.”

    The young man couldn’t believe his ears. He had spent so long shouting at the townspeople in an effort to draw their attention that his throat had started to get sore, and he hadn’t sat down to rest his legs during that whole time. His work had earned him little money, it was true, but it was still something, and he didn’t feel like turning it into a useless snakeskin.

    “I’m not doing this for selfish reasons. I’d never ask you to go out of your way to do me a favor. I’m doing this because it will make me pretty, and the prettier I am, the more attention I’ll draw, and the more attention I draw, the more money we’ll get.”

    Though it was a gamble, the young man decided to give the snake a chance; he lit the candle and melted the golden coins, one by one, into the snake’s scales. When he had finished and the snake lay glittering in the moonlight, his eyes hurt from staring at the molten gold for so long, and his thumb throbbed with a burn. He looked at the distant inn and wondered if he wouldn’t have been wiser to get some rest there; he was going to need some energy for the coming day, and he couldn’t expect to feel refreshed after lying in the street. But he had made his choice, and now he would have to stick with it.

    As he lay under the bench, drifting off to sleep, he counted the specks of gold on the snake’s body. The snake looked rather pretty, the young man thought, and when he fell asleep, he began to think he had made the right choice.

    Early next morning, the young man and the snake set to work. Almost as soon as they got to the fountain, they began to draw glances, and before long, they were surrounded by a crowd who were as interested in the snake’s ability to speak as they were in its glittering scales. Though many people left that crowd to go about their business, it was always replenished by newcomers, so that by the end of the day, the young man and the snake had earned several times the money they had earned the day before. An actress had even stopped and suggested that they might make an appearance at the town theatre.

    With their work done for the day, the young man set off for the post office, feeling happier than he had felt in a long time. He was going to send back some of the money he had earned to his starving family. The snake, however, stopped him.

    “Why don’t you take out that candle?” it said, and an hour later, every coin the young man had earned lay glittering on its back, so it looked like it had been carved out of gold.

    The young man didn’t look nearly as well; he had grown slightly pale, and dark circles had developed under his eyes. He didn’t feel well, either; his stomach had been empty for almost two days, and sleeping under a bench hadn’t refreshed him. All he could think of, for awhile, was how nice it would be to head to the inn, where he would find a warm dinner and a cozy bed.

    He found it hard to sleep, that night; every time he closed his eyes, he wanted to open them back up and check that the snake hadn’t gone missing. The snake was worth more money than he had ever owned at one time, and without the snake, he didn’t think he could earn that much again.

    Their third day in the town brought them more success than ever; they not only earned enough money to spend the next several weeks taking board at the inn, but they had earned enough money besides to keep the young man’s family fed for a month. On top of that, the town theatre had sent them word through the actress who had watched their show yesterday that they were welcome to perform there tomorrow.

    “About the money we earned today. . . .” began the snake, and the young man took out the candle and struck the match before the serpent had even finished: two days of success, and another one in the works, had made him confident enough to spend another night on the street, with his pockets bereft of gold.

    The young man admired his handiwork, for awhile--the snake had grown to three times its original length—before he decided to make way back to the bench where he would sleep again. When he stood up, however, he grew faint and broke into a sweat; little lights popped in front of his eyes, and he thought he would pass out before he got back to the bench. He eventually made it, though; and yet, even though he had grown used to sleeping on the pavement and needed rest more than ever, he barely slept that night. He kept hearing distant noises such as the barking of dogs and the slamming of doors, and every time he heard these things, he would give a little start, half certain that a thief had come to steal the snake.

    The theatre could barely hold the masses that poured in--even the king and his court had shown up—and when the sun went down, the young man and the snake had earned so much gold that they had to get a room at the inn in which to pile it up. The young man, whose eyes had turned yellow with candlelit gold, grabbed a match before the snake had the chance to say anything, and began melting the coins, one by one, into the snake’s pelt. By the time he finished, he felt so tired that he grew dizzy upon standing, and blacked out. When he woke up, he found himself on the floor of the inn, with the morning light pouring in and the snake, now as large as a horse and several times longer, coiled up on the bed.

    The young man was in the middle of getting ready for another day of work when there came a knocking at his door. He rushed over and opened it, and there he found a woman heavily clad in armor. She gave him a letter explaining that the king wanted to see him and the snake at his castle as soon as possible, and she herself would escort them. The young man wiped off his shaving cream, called the snake over, and they joined the woman to a walk through the town. Before long, the young man saw the castle rising up before them. He asked the woman why the king wanted to seem him and the snake, but she refused to say anything; she had been silent the whole time.

    Soon they stood before the king’s throne, having been brought there by the woman. The young man feared he would be punished, though he didn’t know what he had done wrong, but the king told them he had been so pleased by their services to the arts, and he had found their show at the theatre so delightful, that they had not only earned a room in his castle but also a generous reward.

    The king showed them their room, and after that, escorted them to the chamber in which their reward had been put; when the door came open, they found themselves staring at piles of gold mixed up with fat glittering rubies. When the king left them to enjoy the treasure they had earned, the young man burst into sobs of joy; with this much money, he could easily feed himself and his family for several years to come.

    “You know the routine by now,” said the snake as it slithered in and out of the mounds of treasure, like a golden earthworm. “Take out the candle, and we’ll get started.”

    The young man had never dreamed of seeing so many riches in one place, and the idea of taking them all and pouring them into one thing filled him with fear. He would be stripping himself down to nothing, as he done for the previous few days, but this time more hinged on his choice than ever: if the snake were to vanish somehow or lose its appeal to the masses, the young man would go right back to where he had been for the last two years, and it wouldn’t be a simple matter of starting over again, either; the young man had given this his all—those riches had been earned with his hollow stomach, his burnt fingers, and months of desperate searching. He didn’t think he could do it again; it would require more luck and energy than he had left.

    But when he thought of what he could accomplish with this one extra sacrifice—riches beyond imagining—he couldn’t help himself; he lit the candle at once and began the long task of turning the snake into an idol worthy of his latest dream. He worked all through the day, melting down the gold, and when night fell and he was out of gold, he began melting the rubies; they dripped onto the snake like drops of blood, and the young man had burned his fingers so many times that he wondered if he was actually bleeding: he could no longer see well enough to tell; he thought it must be eyestrain from squinting so hard at the heaps of riches.

    Later that night, someone knocked on the treasure room door. “Anyone in there?” said a woman dressed like a knight.

    Eventually she opened the door, and the snake, which looked less like a serpent and more like a bejeweled dragon, squeezed itself out the door; the only thing left behind it was the corpse of the man who had fattened it up.

    “Good job, Tessie, good job,” said the woman as she patted the snake’s head. And with the serpent slithering along beside her, she walked away in boots made of golden snake skin. When she reached the castle gate, the guards there questioned them.

    “We’re just getting some fresh air,” said the woman. “We’ll be back in a little while.”

    The guards told them to go ahead, addressing themselves to the snake; they had seen the woman’s lips move, but thought she was muttering something under her breath; she had gotten fairly good at throwing her voice, she thought, and even without a decoy, she could keep up the act for some time.

    As they left the town, the woman gazed at the serpent with wondering eyes. “What I’ll make from this haul,” she whispered, “I can only dream.”

    As soon as she said this, the snake stopped.

    “What is it, Tessie?” she said. “Find something to eat?” The woman waited for the snake to strike its prey, and as she did so, a warm and tender look came over her; she looked as though she had fallen in love, and perhaps she had.

    “Hiss,” said Tessie, and its fangs sank into the woman with a resounding crunch.
    [ Ni > Ti > Fe > Fi > Ne > Te > Si > Se ][ 4w5 sp/sx ][ RLOAI ][ IEI-Ni ]

  8. #28
    Oberon
    Guest

    Default

    Here's Part 2 of Jenny Stilwell's story:

    When we got her inside, I shoved her to the far wall, sent Naji out for provisions, then locked and bolted the door and put my back to it. Jenny was breathing hard, bent forward, focusing on me as if she were trying to figure out which part to tear off first.

    "Jenny."

    Her look changed abruptly to confusion.

    "You're safe for the moment, Jenny. You can calm down."

    She frowned. "I know that voice," she ventured. "Who are you?"

    I relaxed only a little.

    "It's John, John Billings."

    "John Billings... Oh dear god!" she cried.

    "You must never ever use that name for me outside these walls. Here I'm Faisal ibn Al-Nasri, and I've just purchased a very expensive concubine."

    Now that she wasn't actively working out the details of how to dismember me, she suddenly looked very tired.

    "Sit, Jenny. You must be exhausted." There was a sofa against the wall; she sank into it.

    "We've a million things to talk about, but first we have to tend to you. Have you eaten?"

    "Nothing for... I don't know how long. I wouldn't eat what they offered me."

    I brought her a bowl of dates and the morning's leftover flatbread from the cabinet, and watched her as she ate. Under the film of dust and tear streaks, her skin was pale, her bones lovely. I watched her trim little hand move over the dates, pick one, carry it to her mouth. Her eyes were the blue of Delft porcelain, her hair a lovely chestnut brown.

    Good Lord, I thought, even disheveled and filthy, she's gorgeous. I brought her a cup of water, and the pitcher.

    "Jenny," I asked, "How did you come to be in Riyadh?"

    "They boarded us," she said between bites. "Daddy had to escort some cargo to Macao, and he took me with him. A chance to see the world, he said. While we were making the passage through the Molucca straits, pirates boarded the ship and took us... and Daddy... he tried to fight them..." suddenly she was crying. I stood and gathered her into my arms, let her cry. I had asked the stupid question, and now this was all I could do to make it right.

    She sobbed against me for a long time, then lay her head against my chest and just rested there a moment. I shifted my arm on her back, and she drew her breath in sharply.

    "You're hurt."

    "They...beat me," she said simply.

    "You should have said something," I chided. "I'll have to tend to you, you know."

    She looked up at me, questioning.

    "I'm a qualified field medic."

    "I trust you," she said. "I don't think I want this frock any more at any rate," and she slowly began peeling off the remains of her dress. She was right; it was tattered beyond redemption.

    When I saw the first glimpse of her back, I winced. "Don't," I told her. "Just lie down on the sofa, on your belly if you would."

    She did. I drew my kindjal and cut away the rest of the dress, down to her waist. I poured some water into a bowl and added a bit of boric acid powder from my kit. With a handkerchief, I began blotting at the weals where she had been beaten. She gasped at the sting.

    The slavers knew their business. Only a few of the strikes had actually broken the skin, and provided they didn't get infected they wouldn't scar. The rest were ugly and swollen, though, and it would be a week or more before Jenny felt right again.

    "My legs," Jenny said.

    "What?"

    "They beat... my legs, too."

    I took her hand in mine and held it for a moment in sympathy. Then with the kindjal I cut away the rest of the dress, and everything else she'd been wearing.

    I swallowed hard and, concentrating with all my might on King and Country, took up the bowl and cloth and went to work.

  9. #29
    Senior Member ubee0173's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2010
    MBTI
    enfp
    Enneagram
    7
    Socionics
    iei
    Posts
    113

    Default

    Quote Originally Posted by Omission1234 View Post
    i never do this but because you people dont really know me here i go:

    -where have I been?
    Out and back
    take me back there I keep wishing
    One step away from family
    I don't fit in here
    cotton stuffs my mind
    body floats the other worlds
    my thoughts and talks, paralyzed.

    - immature mind you say
    selfish I think.
    I don't get it from streets.
    from inside to out. me . myself. I.
    perfect appearance
    dreams continue.
    feelings on pause.
    Hold.

    - You look golden
    6ft tall blonde statue
    unsure who you are
    I rejected you.
    I can't give you answers.
    I'm a hypocrite.
    You self medicate too
    We see other worlds
    We could drown in separate zen worlds
    Bliss. Disgusting dark bliss.
    My conscious says... No.
    I followed the voice.
    You are conflicted.
    I don't intrigue you any more.
    You are lost deeper than me.
    deep in silence. bliss. comfort. Falsely.
    I can't go back.
    I had to run there was no where to go.
    It's overcast here.
    Are we growing? or disintegrating?
    measure it for me.
    don't die on me too.
    find me at the bus stop we'll see light.
    time can't stand still forever.
    Were 21 not 17, 4 years gone by.
    in pleasures and dimensions.
    I can't wait for life.


    sorry if some of them were depressing or whatever??? i dont know i have happier ones i just wanted those they were written next to each other
    i really like your stuff. im a big fan of saying what you mean instead of metaphors and pretty words for pretty-words sake. dont get me wrong, i like all those too, and there are a lot of amazingly talented writers on here. but i am a sucker for straightforward. keep it up!
    I will buy you a drink and I'll tell you what I think, and tomorrow, in the morning, I won't be sorry that I didn't sleep.


    [SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]

  10. #30
    Starcrossed Seafarer Aquarelle's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    MBTI
    INFJ
    Enneagram
    4w5
    Posts
    3,532

    Default

    Here's something short of mine... I haven't written poetry in awhile, but I've been thinking I should get back into it... I went through a phase a few years ago where I was churning out a lot of stuff. (This one was actually published in a compilation by a small Midwestern publisher. )

    Mornings Outside the Boiler Room

    Six a.m. at Jefferson Junior High, three men
    in blue shirts sitting on empty milk crates
    put out there to air for the summer,
    one man smoking a cigarette, all three drinking coffee
    from Styrofoam cups, watching the day dawn and thinking
    those floors’ll still be there when the sun’s done risin’.
    Masquerading as a normal person day after day is exhausting.

    My blog:
    TypeC: Adventures of an Introvert
    Wordpress: http://introvertadventures.wordpress.com/

Similar Threads

  1. Post songs you've written here
    By CuriousFeeling in forum Arts & Entertainment
    Replies: 3
    Last Post: 11-18-2016, 11:12 AM
  2. What's the rudest thing you've ever done?
    By Asterion in forum The Bonfire
    Replies: 94
    Last Post: 09-09-2009, 09:03 PM
  3. [NT] really mean things you've said that you sort of regret a little maybe
    By murkrow in forum The NT Rationale (ENTP, INTP, ENTJ, INTJ)
    Replies: 45
    Last Post: 08-04-2008, 04:03 PM
  4. craziest thing you've ever told someone?
    By prplchknz in forum The Bonfire
    Replies: 15
    Last Post: 05-05-2008, 03:00 PM

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
Single Sign On provided by vBSSO