The Abstract Art Gallery
A writing gallery created by writers from around the world. From poetry to song lyrics, from essays to entire novels and short stories.
There was a guy I knew who didn’t feel well. He knew something was wrong, but his doctor kept telling him there wasn’t. Later he discovered he had cancer, much too late. Death came soon after. His son, now, experiences the same symptoms. The boy’s mother takes him to the same doctor.
By Anonymous Writer
Read MoreA packed party and too much alcohol turn my stomach on me. The fear is embarrassment and humiliation. The bathroom is occupied. I can either revisit the day’s meals and the night’s alcohol in the sink or over the balcony. The kitchen is packed with people ready to watch. The balcony it is. Regretful decision. Poor girl’s night is ruined.
By Seth McAllister
Read MoreAlexander wiped his wet face and tried to smile. Tried to hide the regret and hopelessness that came with seeing his dream get away. He knew this would be his only chance and he wasn’t good enough. He felt the moment of his sadness was unescapable. Like it stretched, and stretched, and stretched, but never snapped. It’d only get thinner and stringier the more stretched it became. Eventually indistinguishable from a fishing line.
Back at home, Alexander told Lisa how it went. She held his hand with watered eyes, sympathetic to his lost cause. Alex told Lisa, “It’s not important. I still get to come...
By Matthew Strobe
Read MoreEyes and teeth, faintly visible reflecting jumping neon glow sticks and glow paint in a nearly pitch black room. The bass in the music vibrates alongside heartbeats and dancing colors. Intoxication fills everyone’s veins regardless of the form taken. Smoke clouds, dilated eyes, downers, uppers, injections, pills, tabs and drinks all show up to the party. The purple pills roll across my tongue and slide down my throat before a stranger’s hand grabs my own and we find ourselves in an intoxicated pretzel in a grey lifeless bathroom. No regrets exist when neon colored red cherry condoms come into play. Lights off, clothes off, wrists, ankles and neck wrapped in glow tubes so this faceless stranger can find what he searches for...
By Amber Black
Read MoreThe plane lands. We’re driving by the windows. He said the shirt would be an impossibly bright neon red. He’d stand out. I hadn’t yet looked when I found him in the crowd.
There was no resisting the smile that overtook me.
Leaving the plane I began to hear a familiar melody.
One that played faint in the background of when we met.
Like a bad romance movie he stood there, behind his guitar and cheesy grin.
By Amber Black
Read MoreHer problem began after letting him in. She was just being friendly. She had made a huge mistake. Her new friend became her greatest nightmare. She had gotten herself a stalker. Her and her sister had became fearful of the outside world. He was out there. He was waiting. He knew where they lived. He had her phone number and pictures of her that he found on her online profile. They were just three little girls and he was the big bad wolf waiting outside their door.
By Jenny Roberts
Read MoreMy grandmother told me of the time a terrible man ran for office. There was fear that he was going to take us back to when things were bad. Fear that he’d change the way the system was run. I always thought those stories were myths until my mother told me the same story of a different man. Another person who would destroy life as we know it and take us back to when things were worse than her present. Now I’m realizing they were in fact myths. There will always be fear that the next leader isn’t right and will take us to a darker place than our current, but it’ll never happen. We the people would never allow it. The government is there to serve the people and when its services are no longer required, we’ll assure its absence.
By Bradley Anderson
Read MoreMother Sloth is always sluggish, always worn out, and always in pain. She is always complaining about her day. Mother Sloth always has had the worst day. Little Sloth doesn’t always understand but she knows that she can be the same way. She is called for coffee and as she gets her cup, Mother Sloth tells her how sleepy she is. All she wants is to go back to bed. That’s the same thought Little Sloth thinks of when she gets home from work every day. Little Sloth is embarrassed by that thought. She doesn’t want to be a sloth anymore. How do you change what you are? How do you change who you are? Little Sloth tries her best not to live on her bed. Little Sloth tries to be more active in life. She tries to be more social. She tries to eat right and exercise. She tries to jog more often. She tries to read instead of watch tv. Little Sloth tries many things but she ends up playing video games all day instead.
By Cristina Wilcraft
Read MoreThe DJ throws himself into the throng.
Everyone’s arms are up in the air. They’re jumping to the music. The crowd’s too huge. Everybody’s too close.
The tune’s too loud. But they’re all still having fun. Tripping out. Losing their minds. You’re never drunk enough. You’re in your own world. Dancing alone until you become two then you become three.
You’re not scared. You don’t even notice, the world has transformed into something else. You’ve changed to someone else.
By Rose Cohen
Read MoreThe bitter winter’s blizzard wasn’t a quitter. The storm was fiercer than the unhappy young woman expected. She had woken up from her slumber earlier than she wanted to when she heard a roar from the oncoming storm and felt the trembling of her small, weak cottage. She was home all alone and famished...
By Cristina WilCraft
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