Mod post
I know this is a very quiet community these days, but there are a few minor changes for those who care:

1) I'm now the community owner. I'm changing the info page to include my email address instead of the prior owner's contact information.

2) I'm now moderating posts, mostly to avert Russian spam.

3) Membership is also moderated, for a similar reason. The last spam item which was posted has been deleted and the user responsible has been denied further posting access.

That's all, please return to your regularly scheduled LJ.

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100-word ficlet: Runaway #weblit
Things were getting hot on land, so they took to the water: they stole a small pleasure yacht from an unguarded marina and vanished into the ocean before their pursuers could catch up.

The sea was cruel, but they were fast, and when they couldn’t beat her, they could trick her. She tried to kill them with her wild waves and sharp winds, but they clung to her back, like a cowboy on a bull. She bucked and kicked, but they held tight; in the end, she gave them what they’d come for.

Their pursuers never found them. Nobody did.

Current Mood: Um.

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Poem: Floating
Floating

We slip slowly out to sea,
Riding the waves like little white horses
Riding each one a little higher,
A little further,
Turning to look back at the shore,
Lookit me, Mommy, look
How far I’ve come;
We belly-flop in the salty water,
Let the horses carry us away,
Flapping our arms back at the shore,
Lookit me, Daddy, look
How far I’ve come!
Trip and land sidelong across a wave,
Swish a little further away,
And a little further again,
Until, by the time you realize
We are not waving,
But drowning,
We are too far gone to save.

---

http://addergoole.com
http://lyn.thorne-alder.info

---

Current Mood: thoughtful

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My 100 word tribute to H.P. Lovecraft (Verse the Second)
One escape yet remains.

Two factors propelled me into this tragic investigation; my sense of duty and my (accursed) curiosity.

Three comrades-in-arms selflessly accompanied me in my foolhardy quest for answers. They now piteously reside in the bellies and under the cracked, jaundice-yellow nails of creatures; creatures which had made stew of the contents of a planned-parenthood dumpster.

Four ravenous abominations claw at the door shielding me. I hear the portal shriek beneath their savage, wordless demand for ingress. But the ghouls greet pleas for mercy with indifference, if not outright derision.

Five bullets were wasted.

The sixth is mine.





Ω




© 2010 exilian

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Simplified.

He gave her everything she'd never considered.
He promised things she'd never expected.
He asked her about the future she had no plans for.
He asked "Why not?"
She smiled and replied "Okay. You're on."
She accepted everything she'd never considered, believed all the promises she'd never expected, and answered about the future she had no plans for.

And he took it all back.

She's trying to do the same.




 

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Minotaur's house
We're still at the place where we don't have actual conversations, we just quote ourselves from the imaginary ones we have with each other. Falling and having fallen, I'm malleable, will you be my Daedalus? We grow closer by making each other our ideal audience. Your pyramid eyes are a maelstrom myriad I don't know, will you see me? We delight in unnecessarily touching shoulders. Pleasantly surprised at accidentally evoked unspoken thoughts. I'm estranging my self, will you stay a little longer in every corner of my thoughts? All is fair in love and the warm war of stubborn dreams.

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Refereeing

Woman storms into the room, clutching a half open suitcase, trailing clothes across the landing.

I'm leaving. He's a bastard. I can't take it anymore. (screamed)

Man follows frantically, stuttering protests and insults.

You're a psycho. You're acting like a maniac. You can't do this. (not heard over the screams)

Someone makes a move. He's punched. Her wrists are violently grabbed.

Girl is out of bed, in between them, pushing them apart.

Stop it. Stop it. Please. You're meant to be adults. Stop it please. (pleading, begging)

Boy stands in his doorway, watching. Crying.

 

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A memory and a love

I still dream about your apathetic eyes, don't tell me I'm not suffering the same you are. The thought about you had transformed itself into a painful feeling. I have nowhere to escape. My heart is trapped like a ghost in a bottle, suffocating.. Like hundreds of mixed flowers, my colored feelings are lost in a field, withering under your cold words that you still love me. And I can see nothing but the loneliness behind the last corner I build. And I can feel the grey wind passing through my hair, being kind with me for the last time..

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Sometimes..
Sometimes the pain of loss is much less than enduring and endless, unrequitted love. Life is like a body of water, the gaps left by waning tides are filled with other sources. There will always be new people entering our lives, for those we have to leave behind. It is often painful, but over time.. the need for them fades, and life moves on.

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of course

It's not that I can't find you. On days like today, you are absolutely everywhere for me and I find you in the clouds, at the drive-thru, on the sidewalk like loose change, in my pockets having survived the spin cycle. I find you tangled in the fringe of my eyelashes; I find you wound round the laces of an oldfavorite pair of shoes. I don't miss you, and when I find you, I don't welcome you back. I hear my own words echoing down a long dark mental hallway: Of course I never wanted you. I always had you.

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From Where I Stand
This is what I want to tell you, as I strain to keep track of the sound of your fading footsteps on this rainy Saturday evening: that I am fine, that I shall find strength, hope, and love in something else. In someone else. That life that does not end when we do.

This is what I want to tell you: that I can be happy without you. That I will be happy without you. But the moment I muster enough courage to speak, you are already too far away from me to hear. My words disappear into the night.

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Its the end of the world as we know it.
“Ping! Ping!” the bottle said, “Ping!” As the trees bowed, and the winds cried, the bottle said, “Ping!” Slave to its destiny and fated to die in the unending darkness, there were no words or loves left.

“Ping! Ping!”

Swirling, twirling, blowing, bending. Stars whirled past crying hosannas. The wild, circling madness funneled into the mouth at the outstretched neck of the screaming bottle. “PING!”

As the whole became the one. And the one became the hole, the entirety vanished with a faint, echoing “ping”.

And then, blazing through the darkness- a large, echoing voice burst forth. It sang’ “Ping.”

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excuse me, the boat said. I’m lost. the space glittered. the sand dunes
spoke taciturnly, dear boat, we’re sorry. even if someone knew how
to fall in love with the ocean, the ocean could never follow. the insipid
stars would light off, and no one would care. the wilder blue yonder
gathered her children, a widow, the sand dunes told. the maple tree
that didn’t belong to the story took the boat’s hands intrepidly, they
walked in front of people and dared to challenge the world. not alone,
birds told yet still lonely sullen racoons continued. dear boat. we’re sorry.

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Wherever she went, whatever she did, he was there:
That shadowy figure in the back of her mind, haunting all her thoughts, all her actions, all her words.
And one day, she'll snap, she'll shake him away, and she'll be free once and for all.

But for now, she sobs at her reflection, begging it, 
"Please, just let it be over, 
let him go, 
let yourself live again."
"Please, " she whispers through the tears, 
"Just let it be a year from now, please..."

Because they say that only time can heal a broken heart.

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The light at the end of the tunnel is steadily fading away.  The comfort I once derived from the sound of the click of her heels on the marble floor has also died a slow death.  This time, she’s not coming back.  This time, she doesn’t intend to catch me.  My task is clear.  There’s no turning back.  I pray somebody hears the door creak as I push it open.  Blood begins to pound in my ears.  I position the ladder carefully and begin my ascent.  I’m almost there, my fingers are about to close in…..”Drop the cookie jar!”

Current Mood: blah

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new
This started out as a 50 word story, but I added to it.

He came running to her, for advice, like so many times in the past. She always welcomed him with open arms and a friendly smile, but not tonight, not right now. Her apartment was dark and lifeless, like an abandoned part of a building that no one dares to trespass on. Where could she be? She's always been here for me, and now, when I need her most...I'm all alone tonight. Thoughts racing through his head, his head practically spinning off his neck, trying to walk faster when he collapses to the cold ground. Now, he too, is lifeless.

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I have never made love to a body but always to the soul inhabiting it. Once, in a curious effort to defile myself, I set out to fuck a willing, gorgeous body that hosted an ugly soul...only to be flaccidly denied at the penultimate moment. Drunk and self destructive as I was, my dick didn’t believe my own lies. And the girl...as drunk and vapid as was possible, I’m sure she had an inkling of why things turned out as they did. I regretted hurting her feelings, and I suppose that’s why she laughed so cruelly and cried so quietly.

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the music here has been attacking me all day with memories of different times. cleaning empty houses with ryn and gwen in a city I'd never been to. ryn belting about walking in cities far away. driving south with mom from our hideaway in the north, singing loudly about the best kinds of friendship, through the almost-too-hot summer afternoon. erick and I on our way home the night I'd decided to leave. I'd already started to die inside, even knowing it was the right choice, I was hardly able to stand the thought.

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My 100 word tribute to H.P. Lovecraft
Jack’s girlfriend had unfettered herself from the blasphemous and Orphic wisdom she uncovered in his beaten and sweat-dyed notebook by imbibing a cocktail she’d mixed using household cleaning products.

His brother had escaped the debased and profane images that had branded themselves onto his cerebrum via the battered and overused videotape Jack had sent by perforating them almost relentlessly with a nail gun.

Reaching the lofty rooftop, Jack wept with joy.

Soon gravity would deliver him to a place where the fetid claws of even the loathsome dimensional shamblers could not reach him.

And with one bound, Jack was free.





[X-posted to exilian




Copyright Exilian 2008

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