Fiction

Brain Matter


A simple idea is formed in my mind every few seconds, I don’t know where they come from, I usually don’t know where they intend to go, yet I appreciate every one so deeply. My mind sometimes feels like a busy New York street, buzzing and beeping! An awful thing here a delightful thing there, an infinite amount of action and not enough time to see it all happen piece by piece.

I kick myself from time to time because I do not sit down and jot anything down, all those thoughts wasted.. erased. So long New York, you talented state, I waste you away and I cannot give you one good reason why, this life is throwing everything at me and I think I have nothing. That’s wrong, I have my writing, my knitting, and a cute little puppy. I find comfort in the negative, again, not sure as to why. Forgetting there are things in my life to be proud of, sure I didn’t send a robot to the moon, or write the latest pop break up song. Yet by simply being me, by simply being here, that is enough to be thankful for. Hope is only a tiny little person walking down Bleecker Street, and one thought will only get ya so far. So here’s to you, you lazy shmuck, don’t forget to live the life you always said you would. There are people out there who are counting on you to fail, for their own feeble minds are ready to dine on your woes.

**Please share feedback, I’m having conflicting thoughts on this one. Thanks!

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Write A Little Love Note.


This is a work of fiction, and nothing more.

Someone once told me that love was the best thing in the world to have.

I wanted to badly to believe that for a very long time

Meeting people, hoping they were my love.

Praying they were my love.

Dreaming they were my love.

They were always my undoing.

I would cling like a leach a sucker on each end.

Sucking one dry of all he had.

I did not understand why they all left.

What wasn’t there to like about me?

Possibly the fact that I am needy, complicated, and obsessive.

I live in a la la land, a beautiful delusional land where hearts are warm and everyone wants the same thing.

Love.

I have warped my mind, obsessing it with one little tiny thing.

I have forgotten about everything else.

No one cares to see me any longer, I cannot blame them.

I am not in touch with reality.

Someone once told me that love was the best thing in the world to have.

I cannot believe Love is real.

One Thousand


I keep having this dream, it’s a rather peculiar dream.

How about I tell you about it.

I am on my way home from dinner with a very nice boy, he is tall and very beautiful, yet the second I saw him that night I knew it would never be. I knew that I would never love that man, and though I knew such a brutal truth so soon, I decided to chance dinner with this fine man, we talk, and laugh, it is a lovely night.

As we approach my apartment on a very busy street in a very busy city, on a very busy night he turned to me and said this:

My dear Veronika, I know you will never love me, believe me I’ve tried to make you love me many times in this life, I always fail. You like me, and you will always be there for me when I need you, you will never love me. Now this may not make sense, but I am here right now because you need me, not right this moment, but things are changing, and you will become an important person in our future.”

I gawk at this beautiful man, and I don’t understand why, but I feel his sincerity. Deep within my soul I know that he is telling me the truth. 

What is your name?” I ask, the curiosity getting the better of me.

The man smiled a smile that made me feel as though I’d lived one thousand lives with him. 

“Well now, you’ve gone an forgotten my name?” he jumped in front of me on the very busy sidewalk, disregarding the very busy people, bowed before me and said,

The names Beval”

and of course that is the very moment I awake every night I have this dream. Somewhere inside my soul I feel that Beval is real, that he is searching for me and finding me in my dreams instead of on this land. This means I must go and find him, I believe he is real. 

Simple Misunderstandings


Understand this and only this.
There is no end to the madness.
Whenever it feels like it may be over
The second you feel like you can breathe
Those are the moments you should fear the most.
No one knows why this is.
And honestly there is no reason to question it.
When you begin to question the things that should remain unknown
You begin to flirt with death.
Situations like that never end well my dear.
I know many things you’ll never care about.
I know many things none of you may never know about.
You notice me when you see me.
But when you notice me it’s only what you can see with those
Shallow eyes.
Never will you see me for what I was intended to be.
Not until I rip this mask from my face, and show you all the demons inside of me.
Even then, when I have everything exposed before you
EVEN THEN
You still just will not see me.
Instead you’ll take a quick peek into yourself and see all the imperfections
The ones you never quite wanted to believe.
I will ruin you, everything you ever loved about yourself
Destroyed.
And what for?
Just so you can hear about my poor lost soul?

A Moment With the Real Me


Usually for the writing done on this blog there is no plan, no outlines, no pre-writing. This is the place where I just write, whatever usually comes into my head, and I never usually share my personal writing because I’m not sure how people would react to it. Some of my more personal work is dark, twisted, morbid, but what the hell, why not.

But please remember, this is all fictional, none of this is real.

She said this time she’s really leaving.

                Sometimes she says that.

                                                                It’s always hard to tell if she’s bluffing.

                She’s got two suitcases packed.

                                                                                                She’s serious.

                                Maybe I should tell her to stay.

                                                                But they said we don’t need her anymore.  

So really she should just go.

                I’m sitting on the floor, I think I can see her crying.

                                And I think she might be yelling.

                                                                                It kind of sounds like she is asking me to try.

 

 

But why?

 

Why would I want to try and make her stay, if we don’t need her anymore?

 

                                                                                The door slammed.

                                No more sweet Allison at night.

I don’t need her, she was crazy.

                                                                               

                                                                                                                                She will be back soon anyhow.

 

I get up off the floor, and move to the bathroom.

I taped a blade to the bottom of the bathroom sink a few months ago.

                                I haven’t seen my own blood in weeks.

                                                                I closed my eyes once the cold blade was in my hand.

And I cut.

                                                                                                I cut deep into my arm, and I inhale sharply.

I don’t open my eyes, but I see my blood.

                                It looks like Allison.

And it looks like my brother.

                                                                                It looks like what has been stolen.

                                                                                                                                                And what I’ve lost.

I crawl into the tub and I lay there, letting my arm bleed.

                                They tell me by doing this, I can see. I can see everything they want me to know.

So I take the blade, and cut once more into my thigh.

                                The blood looks like my stolen childhood.

                                                                                                                                It looks like drugs.

Like sex.

                                                My blood looks like everything I have ever done wrong in my life.

Everything that makes me human.

                                They make me feel as though I’m not human.

                                                Like I’m just a host for them to play around in.

               

 

                                                                                               

 

                                                                                                                They’ve taken everything from me.

When I was nine, my brother told my mom about Stella.

 

Now Stella was not the first one that came to me, but she is the one who started this mess.

                                At first, I did not talk to them aloud. Archie, the first one that came to me, told me if I talked to them with my mouth that someone could hear me, and they would not understand.

                I guess I was the only one who could see them.

Tucker, my brother, once heard me fighting with Stella.

                                We did that a lot.

                                                                                Looking back now, Stella had a lot of passion. She was always getting me to try and do things I knew I shouldn’t do.

 

Like talking to her with my mouth.

Tucker told mom that I was yelling at myself in the bathroom for an hour.

Tucker could tell on me because he was thirteen so he was obviously entitled.

Mom asked me why I was yelling at myself in the bathroom.

                I said I didn’t know what she was talking about.

Mom asked me if Tucker was being a liar.

                I said this time Tucker kind of is a liar.

Mom asked me what I meant.

                I said I was yelling, but not at myself.

That’s when Stella told me to shut my fucking mouth.

Mom asked me who was in the bathroom with me.

                I said I didn’t know what she was talking about.

Mom said, if you weren’t yelling at yourself, someone had to be in there with you.

                I said she was right.

Stella began screaming so loud in my head.

Mom said something but I couldn’t hear her.

                I think I screamed.

Moms lips moved some more, but she didn’t look scared.

Stella was still screaming.

                I dug my fingers into my face and began to scream.

 

I have a scar under my left eye from that day.

                                                Weird how that works out.

 

 

 

He was really good at hiding it, we had no idea what was going on until his brother mentioned he was arguing with himself in the bathroom. 

Inhale the Creativity


This is a work of fiction, and nothing more. 

   He couldn’t remember the last thing she said before she died

But it was probably a lie, about some guy in some place, who made her feel like she was in outer space.

   He couldn’t remember the last thing she said before she died

He wished it would have been something kind, something nice. Then again, she wasn’t a nice girl, she didn’t say the things you wanted to hear, specifically because you wanted to hear it.

She was cold, heartless, but not very old. If she could have been a little nicer, he was sure she would have, it wasn’t her fault. And even though she hurt him in the deepest places, he would always wait for her.

He waited until the day she died, he couldn’t remember the last thing she said to him. It was tearing him apart, had it been a nice comment? Or was it another one of her games? Every day since her death he pondered, but still he had nothing. He supposed it didn’t really matter, he remembered the last thing he’d said to her, and that was enough to keep him awake at night. 

It wasn’t meant to be said, and now she’s dead. With words head that he’ll forever regret. 

Simple Excuses


Take my fingertips, and press them against your

secrets

Take my palms, and press them against your

hopes.

Take my sight, and show me your

soul.

Let’s just make this quick and take every part of me

and show me every part of you.

I want to feel what you’ve felt

I want to hear what you’ve been told

I want to see what you’ve faced.

But I’m blind 

deaf

numb

to everything I’ve ever thought I could love.

So I’m sorry but right now is not a good time.

My fingertips hurt and my palms are too sweaty.

Maybe if you come back I’ll be around to try again.

We both know this is never going to end.

It will always be a dance between our souls.

And do you remember that one time I told you to never let go?

I’m sorry that you did, and I’m sorry I let you.

But this is where we are now, and I don’t mean to offend you, it’s time to let go. 

We are forever bound this we know, so do me a favor

Go see the world

Read a book

Meet a girl

Save a life.

Go live this life and I promise you’ll see 

My happiness in every kindness you ever receive. 

I’m not yours but I’m forever there, in that place when everything was simple and fair. 


This is a work of fiction, and nothing more.

I once knew a boy, he was never anything special really. No one ever talked about him, no one picked on him, but no one ever really knew him either.

A quiet kid.

I wouldn’t even say he was a sad kid.

But of course this I don’t know, being that I don’t know him. I didn’t know him, but notice him, yeah I did that. He had this way about him that was always making me watch him. Like I said, nothing special, but something elegant. As if there was a story to tell, but he was too young to tell it, or we were too young to listen.

Come to think about it maybe his silence was all he had, maybe he thought if he was quiet someone would ask him something. But we never did, instead he played alone on the playground, sat alone at lunch, walked home with no one. 

Eventually we grew up, he met people that I guess he felt he fit in with. I still noticed him, every day, we even talked a few times come middle school and high school. Not friends, but we spent some time together.

I remember one random day I asked that boy to walk home with me. I only did it because I knew we walked the same route, so why the hell not. We didn’t go home though, instead to this little pond no one ever went to. He was pleasantly surprised I knew the place, I remember because it was the first time I’d ever seen him smile. He had a pretty smile.

We sat on a log, and put our feet in the warm water. He talked to me about music, and the world. He talked to me about the beauty in nothing, and the ugly in everything else. I didn’t say a whole lot, he did enough talking for the both of us. 

He told me he wasn’t a good person, he told me he’d done bad things.

At that moment I guess I should have been scared, I should have told him I had to be home before my parents started to worry. Instead all I could do was sit there with him, and listen to him tell me about the life no one ever asked about.

This boy, he doesn’t want to live anymore, says he’s done too much bad to ever get anything good. I looked at him, and suddenly the boy no one ever noticed seemed like the only thing in this whole damn world. 

I told him he could change.

He said he’d given up.

I remember then there was this rage that emerged in my chest, I wanted to scream at him. 

I wanted to tell him that even if he didn’t believe that he wouldn’t see good in this life, leaving this life wouldn’t be any better. That killing himself eliminates any chance he could ever have of redeeming himself. I wanted to tell him this was only a moment of weakness.

This boy I didn’t even know.

Write Now.


Take that pen and use it like a knife.

Take that paper, and make it your skin.

Take your knife and engrave all of your thoughts into your pretty white skin.

Do this, as a reminder that you will always be this person.

This person with that memory.

That memory because this happened.

Take that knife and make art upon that skin.

Because your skin is your life, your knife tells a story that no other may tell upon your skin.

No finger tips can press along your skin and sing a glorious song.

No lips can whisper the words of your story. 

Just that knife, as your pen, upon your skin to tell the tale. 

This One is for You


This blog post is completely fiction, but I hope it helps you.

My name is Steven, I’m 14 years old and I hate my parents. I hate my parents because I never get what I want. Last week I asked if I could stay at my friend’s house until 8 and my mom said no and picked me up at 7! I told my parents I wanted a pot roast for dinner and my mom said “That takes too long, I’m just going to make home-made pizza for dinner tonight.” My life is so unfair, sometimes I wish I was never born.

My name is Lia and I’m 17, I was raped and I got pregnant. My parents don’t believe me. I’m not 4 months pregnant, homeless, and scared. I asked my boyfriend if I could stay with him for a while, but he thinks I cheated on him and am now pregnant with someone else’s child. I don’t go to school anymore because I’m ashamed of myself. I know that being raped wasn’t my fault, but why doesn’t anyone else think so either?

My name is Kat and 16.  I’m a straight A student, President of the Senior Class, Aspiring Lawyer, and my parents pride and joy. Everyone likes me and wants to be my friend. My life seems perfect but there’s just one thing: I’m a lesbian. I feel like I can’t tell anyone because everyone will hate me and all my hard work will mean nothing. I feel like I’m not living because I’m not being who I really am.

My name is Zack and I’m 22. I have a wife, 2 kids and 1 dog. I make enough money to keep my family happy and I love my job. It’s taken years to get to this point but I’m glad I finally made it. I couldn’t be happier with my life right now.

My name is Mandy and I’m 91, I’ve lived my life and I’ve watched my kids grow up, it’s been a rough life, but it was all worth it. I’m old, and I can’t do much, but I’m happy with what I’ve done with my life. I’ve changed lives, and inspired many people. In this very moment almost everything is perfect, the one thing missing is my husband Mac, he died 1 year ago and boy do I miss him. His love was what made my world go round. Now that he’s gone.. well… life just isn’t the same anymore.

 

Everyone’s story is different, what’s yours?

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