i don't know what
you want from me
your prickly hands
reaching down
my pants
don't
i'll hide in
closets of
king phallus
and lady godiva
and you do the same
on becoming someone you hate by corrodingkalopsia, literature
Literature
on becoming someone you hate
i knew you
packing up the living room
pulverized lampshade
a dead hamster (you don't care
how much he would bite)
shattered picture frames
and i am laughing
there is so much dying
when there doesn't need
to be
give up while you still
can
ask for deliverance
and then you can live
again
i don't know what
you want from me
your prickly hands
reaching down
my pants
don't
i'll hide in
closets of
king phallus
and lady godiva
and you do the same
on becoming someone you hate by corrodingkalopsia, literature
Literature
on becoming someone you hate
i knew you
packing up the living room
pulverized lampshade
a dead hamster (you don't care
how much he would bite)
shattered picture frames
and i am laughing
there is so much dying
when there doesn't need
to be
give up while you still
can
ask for deliverance
and then you can live
again
At first the incursions were small. A couple of ears of corn here would go missing, or a small patch of potato wouldn't come to crop. Nobody worried overmuch - Mother Nature was always due her share of the harvest. Next, a lamb would go, or a calf. Still, nobody paid it much mind. Nature was ever a thief in the night.
Next, sheep and cows would disappear in the darkest hours. As the barrier weakened, They grew bolder and bolder. Night time disappearances turned to daytime thefts, and the people began to worry. They hustled the sheep in, they hustled the cows in, and they hustled each other inside. The old ways began to come back to them, as
The Memory Thief -- FFM2 by camelopardalisinblue, literature
Literature
The Memory Thief -- FFM2
Hunched and shaking on the end of the bed, Bella Grizzel was a wretched sight. Slight for her age, she seemed almost to fade into the walls - though the walls would have had to be very dirty ones. If one had been able to see past the grime -- for Bella Grizzel was filthy indeed -- they might have noticed an odd assortment of scars. Strings of dark hair hung loosely in a dirty curtain that almost hid a face that was, somehow, dirtier still. The child's grimy fingers held onto an old and tattered bear, sewn together so many times he seemed more stitch than fur. She trembled, fingertip to toe, and the sound of her weeping carried itself through
The Baker -- FFM 1, Challenge by camelopardalisinblue, literature
Literature
The Baker -- FFM 1, Challenge
When they asked his job, Howard told people that he rolled. In fact, he would continue, he rolled, he tumbled, he twisted, and eventually, he wrung. Then Howard would distract his conversation partner by talking about the local beetles, or wander off to "fix his bandage". For Howard rolled something other than himself, and he loathed knowing that. Acrobatics would require far more -- shall we say, flexibility -- than Howard currently possessed. No, Howard rolled, tumbled, twisted and wrung... bread. He dreamed of a different life, one where the tumbles were those of his limbs and torso; one where stars spangled his costume and adoring crowds
Lost in Translation by camelopardalisinblue, literature
Literature
Lost in Translation
Things were not going well. He'd knicked his hand on a sharp edge at the first hotel and had to swap to this one at the last minute. He had also forgotten his lucky pick, and his second set was missing a crucial tool. No, Adrian was definitely not having a smooth run of it today.
He was still jimmying the lock several minutes later, and the noise was attracting attention. A tourist -- recognisable by the wide-brimmed hat and extra large sunglasses she wore -- was staring in his direction. Adrian swore under his breath, affected a grin, and waved at her.
"Locked myself out," he called, bringing forth a slight blush, and thanking the Gods tha
Water! Earth! Fire! Air! by camelopardalisinblue, literature
Literature
Water! Earth! Fire! Air!
Moist droplets clung together in small groupings. The air around him was liquid with their breath and their being.
Nearby, on the ground below, plants stirred. Their thirsty cores dug roots deep into the earth, searching out water.
Directly below, a fire crackled gloriously. Red-gold flames licked at the sky, devouring morsels of breath from its components.
His final moments would be his glory. Hissing down from his home in the sky, Aitch Tou-Owe extinguished himself.
"Tell me, why did the stars die?"
It's the first thing I ever heard, and if I'm lucky, it'll also be the last. If I'm not lucky, I'll die on my spirit journey, or worse, lose the Influence along the way. Only a handful of our people have ever experienced that, and their colourless lives post-Influence were at best, to be pitied. My mother's influence was stolen by a Beetnam warrior on her spirit journey, and they say she has never been the same since.
My name is Jaimerson and the elders say I was Blessed at my birth. I don't know about that - what I do know is that the Influence lays heavily on my shoulders. There are days it feels more lik
Waiting for a Mate by camelopardalisinblue, literature
Literature
Waiting for a Mate
It's late at night and I'm just sat comfortable in front of the idiot box when I hear a commotion outside. I duck my head out to see and before I know it, I'm watching a young bogan crash into a pole, flipping six, seven times. The noise is horrific - grind! Bang! Crash! The stink of smoke and fire. People are sticking their heads out all over the joint, trying to get a squizz of the action, but I'm the only bugger prepared with a camera, so I guess it's up to me.
I'm out there like a shot, ready for the bloke to scupper, but me luck's holding and he's just sat there behind the wheel. The car's smoking, no, it's actually on fire, and the blo
There are no stories left to tell, no theme unexplored. The world is populated by books alone, and I stand here amongst them, no longer triumphant.
I realised what was to come midway into things, but it was already too late. The frenzy was upon me. I devoured my people, spewed forth their stories onto pages nobody will ever read, and I created a new apocalypse as yet unimagined.
My art has betrayed me, and I walk alone through what should have been my piece de resistance - the greatest accomplishment of all.