The lilting white noise of the fan was not enough.
The comforting and assured tapping of the keys was not enough.
The incessant whine of electronic devices was not enough.
The words, snaking through her skull and tapping on her forehead, were not enough.
Because the words were left unwritten, as they so often are.
But the laundry was done.
The bed was made, sheets tucked in and quilt straightened to ninety degree angles.
The sink glistened and boasted its emptiness.
The dog had been washed, brushed, and fed, and now sat panting happily by the door.
The urgent emails had been sent, with a friendly but emotionally distant tone.
Hair h
She was running again, running through the downpour and running through the pain but mostly running away, away from him and his lies and his wonderful words and the way he caressed her cheek and breathed her name and the way he broke her in half. Her lungs burned from the effort of running and hatred. Her throat burned from the effort of holding back the tears. And then, as suddenly as they started, her feet stopped and her body lurched from the abruptness. There was a park bench a short two steps away and so she staggered towards it and sat, heavily, as if all of the burdens weighing her down fell onto the bench with her.
And then the tea
To be Wanted, to be Used by blusteryautumnbreeze, literature
Literature
To be Wanted, to be Used
There was something in the way he spoke
Symphony in his words
Magic in his fingertips
Kindness and pain in his eyes
He had felt much
And seen little
He was medicine to her
For a while.
Her broken mind
Her lonely heart
Then he was a parasite
Feeding off of her love
Off of her innocence
There was darkness for a long time
She forgot how to see the light
He tried to teach her, but
She
Didn't
Trust
Him
Anymore.
He didn't understand why she
Was so afraid.
Fear of everything.
Everyone.
Fear of him.
And he couldn't understand.
Another Time, Another Place by blusteryautumnbreeze, literature
Literature
Another Time, Another Place
As they stood at the railing the lined the road, staring out into the water in a graceless cliché, she turned to look at him.
“This has to be the end.” She said quietly. The corners of her eyes were wet, and her throat was raw from the effort of repressing her tears. “We can’t pretend this is nothing anymore.” The waves crashed against the side of the road, rhythmically and relentlessly, but they did not move the road. The tension hung between them like an unspoken injury, curling in and around them; both pulling them together and driving them apart.
“I don’t want to leave you.” He s
Jump City was never quiet, but at three in the morning there was an almost serene background noise that lent itself to the dark sky above. The hum of machinery, the crashing of waves, the stray car alarm, all collaborated for this beautiful night music. It was the perfect time for a run.
She pulled her hood far over her head, with just enough space above her eyes to see. Never mind her lack of peripheral vision- she didn’t need her eyes to have a keen sense of her surroundings. There was no easing into the run, she just set off at a mad sprint, her small, birdlike body cutting through the city streets with the ease of someone who has
Of Coffee and Quantum Mechanics by blusteryautumnbreeze, literature
Literature
Of Coffee and Quantum Mechanics
A calculated risk is often worth the reward, but a foolish risk will leave your life in shambles. If my father were a man who condoned tattoos, I am sure he would have this quote trailing around his bicep, for all the world to see. Unfortunately for the world, my father detested tattoos and the people who sported them, so he settled on a plaque, hung above his desk in his lavishly furnished office. Unfortunately for my father, he was saddled with me: Twenty-one, dead-end job, no degree, and positively rife with tattoos. Sorry, Dad. My life, I’m sure, was the cautionary tale my father used when showing the plaque to his clients. And suc
"I'm waiting."
The note was barely legible; the paper looked as is it had been crumpled up and then smoothed out several times. Those two words, written carefully on the index card, were obviously a source of great inner turmoil for the author.
The phone lay next to the note, as it asking him to end the waiting, to end the suspense, to end all this fighting and to just let be.
But he couldn't do that, not after what she had said. She had hurled those words like throwing knives at him, and she was an incredible shot: each had found its mark.
And as much as he loved her, he couldn't pretend it had never happened. He could not forget that sh
The colors melted together on the asphalt, the bright reds and whites of taillights mingling with the yellows of the divider lines and the greens of the stoplights. There was a small café, tucked in between two apartment buildings, that sold decent coffee and cheap, fresh pastries. It had a long bench that ran under the window along the street and a mix and match of tables and chairs that didn’t, in theory, go together but in the tiny shop somehow created their own eclectic theme. Regular customers referred to it as a gem, some sort of refuge away from the fast pace of the city and harrowing stresses of life.
They went there every day,
Sometimes, you don't know it's there at first. Sometimes, it comes upon you all at once, bubbling, broiling, filling your chest cavity with heat and passion and ferocity you didn't know you possessed.
It takes root in your heart and it spreads it's stalk, then it's leaves, then it's buds, throughout your entire body, and shoots it's tendrils into your arms and legs.
It tangles itself throughout your ribcage, curling and knotting around your bones.
It integrates itself deep into your core. It becomes a part of you.
And you can sit there, quietly, not even knowing the evil that's growing inside you.
Anything c
The lilting white noise of the fan was not enough.
The comforting and assured tapping of the keys was not enough.
The incessant whine of electronic devices was not enough.
The words, snaking through her skull and tapping on her forehead, were not enough.
Because the words were left unwritten, as they so often are.
But the laundry was done.
The bed was made, sheets tucked in and quilt straightened to ninety degree angles.
The sink glistened and boasted its emptiness.
The dog had been washed, brushed, and fed, and now sat panting happily by the door.
The urgent emails had been sent, with a friendly but emotionally distant tone.
Hair h
She was running again, running through the downpour and running through the pain but mostly running away, away from him and his lies and his wonderful words and the way he caressed her cheek and breathed her name and the way he broke her in half. Her lungs burned from the effort of running and hatred. Her throat burned from the effort of holding back the tears. And then, as suddenly as they started, her feet stopped and her body lurched from the abruptness. There was a park bench a short two steps away and so she staggered towards it and sat, heavily, as if all of the burdens weighing her down fell onto the bench with her.
And then the tea
To be Wanted, to be Used by blusteryautumnbreeze, literature
Literature
To be Wanted, to be Used
There was something in the way he spoke
Symphony in his words
Magic in his fingertips
Kindness and pain in his eyes
He had felt much
And seen little
He was medicine to her
For a while.
Her broken mind
Her lonely heart
Then he was a parasite
Feeding off of her love
Off of her innocence
There was darkness for a long time
She forgot how to see the light
He tried to teach her, but
She
Didn't
Trust
Him
Anymore.
He didn't understand why she
Was so afraid.
Fear of everything.
Everyone.
Fear of him.
And he couldn't understand.
Another Time, Another Place by blusteryautumnbreeze, literature
Literature
Another Time, Another Place
As they stood at the railing the lined the road, staring out into the water in a graceless cliché, she turned to look at him.
“This has to be the end.” She said quietly. The corners of her eyes were wet, and her throat was raw from the effort of repressing her tears. “We can’t pretend this is nothing anymore.” The waves crashed against the side of the road, rhythmically and relentlessly, but they did not move the road. The tension hung between them like an unspoken injury, curling in and around them; both pulling them together and driving them apart.
“I don’t want to leave you.” He s
Jump City was never quiet, but at three in the morning there was an almost serene background noise that lent itself to the dark sky above. The hum of machinery, the crashing of waves, the stray car alarm, all collaborated for this beautiful night music. It was the perfect time for a run.
She pulled her hood far over her head, with just enough space above her eyes to see. Never mind her lack of peripheral vision- she didn’t need her eyes to have a keen sense of her surroundings. There was no easing into the run, she just set off at a mad sprint, her small, birdlike body cutting through the city streets with the ease of someone who has
Of Coffee and Quantum Mechanics by blusteryautumnbreeze, literature
Literature
Of Coffee and Quantum Mechanics
A calculated risk is often worth the reward, but a foolish risk will leave your life in shambles. If my father were a man who condoned tattoos, I am sure he would have this quote trailing around his bicep, for all the world to see. Unfortunately for the world, my father detested tattoos and the people who sported them, so he settled on a plaque, hung above his desk in his lavishly furnished office. Unfortunately for my father, he was saddled with me: Twenty-one, dead-end job, no degree, and positively rife with tattoos. Sorry, Dad. My life, I’m sure, was the cautionary tale my father used when showing the plaque to his clients. And suc
"I'm waiting."
The note was barely legible; the paper looked as is it had been crumpled up and then smoothed out several times. Those two words, written carefully on the index card, were obviously a source of great inner turmoil for the author.
The phone lay next to the note, as it asking him to end the waiting, to end the suspense, to end all this fighting and to just let be.
But he couldn't do that, not after what she had said. She had hurled those words like throwing knives at him, and she was an incredible shot: each had found its mark.
And as much as he loved her, he couldn't pretend it had never happened. He could not forget that sh
The colors melted together on the asphalt, the bright reds and whites of taillights mingling with the yellows of the divider lines and the greens of the stoplights. There was a small café, tucked in between two apartment buildings, that sold decent coffee and cheap, fresh pastries. It had a long bench that ran under the window along the street and a mix and match of tables and chairs that didn’t, in theory, go together but in the tiny shop somehow created their own eclectic theme. Regular customers referred to it as a gem, some sort of refuge away from the fast pace of the city and harrowing stresses of life.
They went there every day,
Sometimes, you don't know it's there at first. Sometimes, it comes upon you all at once, bubbling, broiling, filling your chest cavity with heat and passion and ferocity you didn't know you possessed.
It takes root in your heart and it spreads it's stalk, then it's leaves, then it's buds, throughout your entire body, and shoots it's tendrils into your arms and legs.
It tangles itself throughout your ribcage, curling and knotting around your bones.
It integrates itself deep into your core. It becomes a part of you.
And you can sit there, quietly, not even knowing the evil that's growing inside you.
Anything c
Current Residence: second star to the right and straight on til morning. :) Favourite genre of music: all. (except country. which should die a slow, painful death.)
Favourite Visual Artist
leonardo da vinci. (he's just plain awesome)
Favourite Writers
gasp! this box isn't nearly big enough to name them all! hmm... i shall have to think about it.
I have been working on the Umbrella for a while now, in journals, in my head, on my laptop, trying to figure out what I want to do with it and how I want it to play out and it just seems so daunting at the moment. So, I have listened to the plot bunnies. For now, I am leaving it as is, and I will work on plot bunnies in order to get some perspective on my characters and learn where it is they want to go Which means, tiny side stories based around the Umbrella. Hurrah! So, go look at those. The first one will be up soon.
Hehe. Anyways. I have realized that my suckishness does not matter. I'm still going to keep writing.
The only real suckishness would be giving up. Gotta keep trying.