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Twenty Ten FourWe never notice.
Our alarm doesn't ring, it sings
Pharell beating our mornings
till we remove from our snooze. We
forgot the tink-tinker or
and emerge the same.
The same commute to work:
Heads sunk, tired eyes drunk by
thumb movements. Our ears dumb
locked into a Will-I-Am trance. Not
a glance of the changing scenes;
the only birds we see are angry.
The same office echoes with
of emails blaming others and smack-talking.
instead of actual talking. We fall for
the hype of Skype and only Siri’s
voice drones narrow answers
we accept as truth.
The same playground, huddled corners;
Children pick a blackberry instead of
picking blackberries, for their late-night
Facebook fights. Words will always hurt see:
no kids to hit with sticks and stones. Unless
there’s an ap for it.
What do we do when stop?
Orwell you're too late
took thirty years to demonstrate your
doublethink and we all cling to
The Beard of intrigueHis beard was fascinating.
It was a loom, woven with intricate detail and so long it would put any wizard to shame. Each pattern in the coarse mound of hair seemed to share a secret. Perhaps they were memories- I’d heard others collect memories in such ways- etchings on their bodies, collecting objects and even journal writing. Maybe this man was his own journal.
The rest of him seemed positively ordinary. He rested in his chair in a blue business suit- albeit a little outdated for fashion, but suited the character I had begun to form in my head for him. His sorrowful eyes narrowed on a frustrated brow of greying features, illuminating a sense of tiredness. Perhaps the beard in all its might was weighting down. His skin was as rough as sandpaper, blotches and scars etching his hands and face with no revelation to the puzzle of his beard.
I wanted to move closer, debating whether it was rude to ask. The very notion excited me as I built up theories as to why his beard had the
Shopping and Wizards.A thousand bags
shuffle down the high street between
clasped hands, scrunched with new purchase.
They’re buggy-dodging the determined mothers,
the rushed businessmen-- a pinball
machine shopping centre.
A green-robed man, tall with wand and hood
must be a wizard. He’s happily
procuring sushi and sparkling water
whilst his companion;
short with her piercings and jeans treats him
as if he wore the same.
Down the high street,
two track-suited parents
zoom past on their children’s scooters—
half-smoked fags between fingers yell
how fucking amazing this is.
spotted teen raps
his love for Jesus on a muffled
He raps for the Father,
He raps for the Son
and Holy Spirit.
He raps for peace, for hope, for you.
In a corner,
Brown eyes, hefty tears,
a snot-ridden face--
four years old.
A train runs through the mall toot-tooting
as grumpy shoppers move out of the way.
Napo 8- SusanWhy did you lock her out of heaven
and throw the key
into the lions land?
A beautiful girl enjoying
a new fantasy to live.
She'd stopped believing, but
faith stays in a heart longer
than a head.
"She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now,
and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age"
Napo 7- Teen of the 90'sI wanted to be Posh Spice because my
hair was brown bobbed and she dated David
Beckham; I wanted to marry him. I
had no internet and recorded songs
on the radio to tape, daring to
pause and knock out the DJ’s droll. I sang
to S Club and thought I was the coolest
in my smiley faced top and my yingyang
friendship necklaces. You had to know the
Macarena not just for weddings but
school discos too and then every steps routine
to fit in. Slow dances with boys made me
wish again that they were David Beckham
and not greasy teens with bad curtains for
hair. They pressed themselves against you before
travelling to the next girl in leopard
print skirt. Viva forever was merely
a fantasy ; one I’d dream the whole of
the nineties, hoping my teenage self could
find her inner strength, her true girl power.
Napo 6- IreneShe left you a letter
outwitting at last the greatest.
A photograph, filched;
a King’s humiliation.
In your eyes she
holds the highest.
Napo 4- Warrior with painted faceThere’s a warrior with a painted face
and streaks of black across his chest; he stands
wild with pride. His merciless eyes ignited by the
echoes of fallen enemies. He slew
two hundred men and just scars mark their defence.
There’s a warrior with a painted face
who prays to gods mightier than he; he kneels
arms open to implore. He calls upon his army
to pray with him; equals once more. He watches
embers burn before retiring to his tent.
There’s a warrior with a painted face
and inside his heart rests a son and daughter
sleeping. There is a reason he is
Napo 3- Leaving the Train Station
Leaving the train station
alone I watch strangers head home.
The waves for yellow cabs and
stench of fresh-lit cigarettes, I let
the cold cloud white breath.
Even at midnight, a long-coated businessman
hurries past with laptop bag bulging and blackberry to ear. Behind me,
a clip-clack of heels and giggles-
their night hasn’t ended.
Across the road, three youths in hooded
tops kick a can whilst eating chips only stopping
as clip-clacks pass them and swoon
immaturity. Swear words exchange.
In the ice-wind rubbish travels as if taking
a commute, tapa-tapping the concrete.
Exhausted I can only wait with
white breath etching blue hands desperate to be
warmed. Eyes fight; tired and
Creepypasta: Under the TreeCreepypasta: Under the Tree
It was Christmas Eve and Reggie was dead bored. Alone in his family’s cavernous, too-empty house, his mind began to wander about as to how he could get back at them for leaving him alone to watch the place during their last-minute shopping. They’d certainly be gone for many more hours. The nerve of them! He’d already gotten their gifts well in advance. It just didn’t seem fair to Reggie that he should have to pay for their thoughtlessness.
And then it hit him. That was it! A gift.
Reggie hauled a two-part oaken box his family used for storing old video games out from its dusty corner. After laboriously dragging both pieces under the tree and clearing them out, he climbed inside one of them with a flashlight in hand so he could see what he was doing. He then hefted the second segment over his head, letting it nestle over the lower half in a perfect fit, and sealed both parts together with a length of duct tape. Wouldn’t they be s
Hallucinatory DreamsHallucinatory Dreams
Who would have thought that simply light dinner and wine would have such an effect?
I took a dinner of roast chicken with white wine and sat back in my recliner to relax with a poppy cigarette as was my habit. I left all thoughts of my work and my education behind me. Slowly I breathed deeply and closed my eyes as though to sleep. When I dreamed I could not know; but I knew that I was dreaming.
The first thing I saw was a rustic building such as I had heard about in Arkham, Massachusetts. I slowly saw the edifices of some buildings. Then I saw one I vaguely recognized and began to drift inward.
Within seconds, I was in some room and I heard the sounds of scurrying in the walls*. I endeavored to shift my focus and escape. Moments later, I was outdoors again and I headed along the path I took at the start. I believed that it was the only way out to the real, waking world and remained calm. A moment later, I was in my flat and I woke u
Jesabelle A small girl sits on a small bed, a small doll held between her small hands. Her small eyes stare out into the darkness of the small room in which the bed she sits upon is housed. The door to the small room is closed, but she doesn't pay it any mind. The walls are bare, and nothing else but a small table and chair and a small sink are in the room.
The doll in her hands is dirty, chipped and worn, it's tiny painted face fading with age. Its own tiny eyes stare off in the other direction, its tiny head having been twisted to the left too look at the small metal headboard and barren wall beside the girl. The dolls little dress is slightly torn and very dirty, not unlike her companion's own nightgown. Her tiny feet are covered in dirty white socks and fading black shoes, and they dangle over the girls knees limply, like every doll's should.
"Why is it so dark?" A small voice asks, though neither the girl or the doll move their lips.
PlopI heard a crack and a pop, with the music suddenly sounding clearer. I need to buy new headphones, I noted, but first I had to get out of the metro and walk to the mall. When the world spinned around me and I felt something warm seeping out of my ear, I noticed that I wasn't wearing headphones.
Request: The Trouble With Fright NightPeter Vincent continued to pack his clothes and other attire in a suitcase on his bed, despite the time on the clock reading minutes to 1 in the morning. Of course, as a former actor, he was used to staying up late nights, even at his age of 57; in fact, most of the fans of “Fright Night” did exactly that most evenings when it aired.
“Peter Vincent, vampire killer,” he muttered to himself. He tried to catch himself in time before he could finish the phrase, but he failed for about the seventh or eighth time. He caught himself staring at a small and worn promotional photograph for the show, with the slogan that read “There are very good reasons to be afraid of the dark”. The main text: FRIGHT NIGHT, seemed to jump out from the image, followed by the name of the host and time in smaller caption. The photo didn’t seem like something worth taking seriously though, which probably explained the programs poor rating, which ultimately lead to his inevi
Chosen.I couldn't tell if my mind actually began working or not but I heard a voice call out, "Hey! Look over here, you!"
I tried to to look around and find the person but everything was dark. I kept looking when I heard the person call out again, "Not trying hard enough, boy." That's when it flashed into view right in front of me, flashing like a flickering light bulb.
A spotlight shines directly down on a table with this being on the otherside.
I'm at a loss what to call this thing. It has an unnatural human body. No gender defining details at all. Whenever it spoke I became audibly disoriented, each word it spoke it changed everything, tone, accent, pitch... made it hard to pick up on what was being said and the meaning behind what was said.
"Look closely." It said. It held one hand pointing upward, fingers spread out, perfectly flat and vertical so I could see it's palm.
"Chosen?" It asked. It flexed it's fingers, hand, wrist as I looked on mesmerized.
It raised it's hand up as high as it
I don't know where my grandma got this book, but I'm scared of it now. I'm not sure I can say too much here. I'm not safe right now. I'll explain more when I get home, if I do. Right now, Grandpa's driving my brother and I home as quickly as he can.
Last time I told you about a book called "Handson's Book of Strange Games". My grandma bought it at a festival in her home country... I think. Ever heard of a place called Sonin? I sure haven't.
I decided to play one of the games in the book, not really believing it would do anything. The game was called "Run Away". After saying a long incantation, you would make a wish and then a spirit would appear in front of you, telling you that you had activated the game, and that in order to win you would have to keep away from the spirit for three hours, giving the player a 1-hour head start.
Needless to say, it worked.
If you lose the game, something terrible will happen. Grandpa never explained what, but he definitely knows something
door I had stood in front of a door like this before, though I'd never gone in. Today the legend would be revealed to me. I would finally know why these door is so revered.
I look at my hands. They're shaking again, worse than usual. Each finger is quivering independently. I try to ball them into a fist, but they're too weak.
"Never get used to this feeling," the ragged woman tells me, "lest you lose a part of yourself."
I try to swallow the lump in my throat but it's not going anywhere. I grab onto my coat just to give my hands something to do. The door begins to open.
"Take your place now, young one."
A Visit To A CircusSo Ok, here it is,Block B and F(x) Victoria story
I already posted half of it on Asianfanfics but I'm going to re-write ending before putting rest in there.
A Visit To A Circus.
POV : Victoria
“Victoria.” I can hear my mother's voice clearly but still opening my eyes and fully waking up sounds like too much for me.
“Song Victoria wake up already. I promised you that we will go somewhere together, so get dressed because circus is in our town and you were the one begging me to take you to a real circus” - And there went my precious sleep.
“Mom, i don't think that you realised that i'm not five anymore.And to be honest weren't you the one wanting to see the tightrope walkers.”- She laughed and said that for her i'll always be five.After that everything went quickly.It felt like it was just a few blinks of my eyes as we were at the
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