Story

The Mythical Wall of Blocks

A tale of warriors on adventures and worries scared to venture.

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There isn’t always a clear path when staring at a journey. Excuses are unacceptable. Walls are no reason. Spilling the ink is the only truth. Yet, warm masks cry reason.
Without aim or direction an image forms itself. Narratives aren’t born, they’re crafted from struggles. Pointless clicks and scribbles grab hold of the ether and drag down the fantasies pleasantly floating about. Shapeless as they may be alone, collections get named. Ink formed into abstract ideas discussing themselves.
Meanwhile cosplay myths and tales of pens run dry strike fear into the hearts of warriors beginning their path. Religions designed to confuse. Fictions more crippling to the wanderer than the stories eager for design.
But the true explorers don’t fall victim. They travel, even with the fear deep…

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The Great War

The great war begins and for those unaware of what’s really going on, it’s not more than confusing chaos and unexplained horrors left and right.

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Black leafless trees as far as the eye can see. Like a forest fire ravaged existence itself. Red skies plague a dark aura over all that is left. Dark daylight is as bright as a moment gets. The dirt beneath my boots crumbles like glass crackling under my weight. The great war merely strolled through here. In less than a week the entire state fell. The bunker managed to keep us safe in the meantime. There’s nothing but the aching screams echoing through the air left lingering. Entire buildings up and vanished into the chaos.

My grandmother always said the rapture would arrive without warning. It would just be here one day. And it seems that’s what took place.

One moment I’m at my first day at the office unpacking my things and getting settled in to the desk of a tragedy passed. The next moment my window view witnesses what I can only described as giant winged people attacking a tiny record store across the street. Within seconds their numbers are in the hundreds, then thousands. They’re popping…

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Schizo Youth

Emotionally abusive parents of schizophrenic children should be sterilized.

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Draped of silhouettes and contorted figures a dim light barely saves the room from the void. Whispers, maddened by guilt claw at strands of sanity to shred and devour. Fetus on the sheets tightly squeezes its life away, hoping the malicious tones drain out. Louder they get when resisted. Sense of self is ever more vague. Creeping away without hope of return if lost. Angry voices across the door weaken the spirit and give way to the whimpering soul that lay broken while innocent. Confused of cause and with no reason to justify loathe. A burning hatred grows for the sun and the shelter. Welcoming becomes the fade across the shadows with no faces. Simplistic the illusion of nothing. Peacefully resting on the other side of action. Long enough assures bravery for cowardice and silence be witness to the collapsed towers of rage and wrath. Forgotten or at least desired to be the whither phase to the ether. And the river of tears run streams of screams and intention.

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Rage Fueled Blindness

We all have demons we struggle with. Fear of them taking control. And sometimes they do. And sometimes it feels good after we’re done with our fear.

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Pained finger. Cracks and snaps. Deep breaths to get over it. Get it over with. Nausea at the pit of my stomach. Monstrous transformation I’ve undergone. Malice I begun with. Could use a gun, but the pop would make it too real. I don’t want to run. Craving the numbness.
Tight grip, I squeeze. Thought bubbles surface. Words in silence. Boiling water hides the violence. Struggles to keep inside. Hopes to hide. Hopes to die. Tears roll down red eyes. Lingering moments that don’t go by. Branded images. Back of the mind. Persistent twists of liquid mist obscuring things. Rage filled. Caged and ill. Killed will power. Standing still, towers, tall build. Showers of blood ripple. Screaming “enough.” Chilled spine. Raised hairs. Tunnel vision. Blinded sight. Regrets but no want to fight. Sensations that feel right to relieve the pint up aggression. Repression released in the middle of…

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Staying Alive IV

Survival and starvation breed insanity in the minds of the weak willed.
The weak don’t last long.
Here’s Alex.

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The voices scramble in my head. Fighting. Striking all the cords. Lighting sparking up my neurons. Causing pain. So on. And so on.

The scent of sulfur squeezes in under the crack of the door. Seductive. Alluring. It could all be over if I give in. A doorknob away.

Pitch black footsteps on the other side. Some drag. Others pace.

A scent which promotes a familiar taste. Iron. Strong. It lingers in this place.

Greed lead the curious cat to Death’s door. Whether or not I want to remain here anymore is no longer a choice I get to make. Best case scenario is to endure.

It’s been days and the daze is setting in. Not many ways this could end. I’ve already debated running outside. And I hate it, knowing I might die. But there’s no other way to…

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The Other Side

He pulls the trigger to take his life. He lives a lifetime waiting to die.

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Curious, the thought lingers in the back of his mind. “What will it feel like on the other side?” His tongue massages the steel barrel. Tastes of lead. “I’m over this end. Time for something new.”

Trigger pulled, he feels himself fall to the side at a pace so slow it might not even be happening. Fractions of seconds stretch to feel like hours. 100 million thoughts run through his mind as his eyes crawl the wall to the ceiling.

It seems that days go by watching the bulb on the ceiling dim down.

Lucy, the wife walks into view getting ever slower. Finally fully in sight, the terror trapped in her eyes is visible. Horror. Holding little Suzie, too young to know what’s going on.

Lucy paces her way up to a scream. She’s nearly no more than a silhouette. Swallowed by the dark the remaining specs of light blink away. The everlasting fade goes on for infinities. “Bye,” is his last thought as nothing is left behind.

And his eyes are fixed on a new spot of light left dancing off in the distance.

It’s a million miles away but getting bigger. Coming closer. Blinding it gets. And it overtakes the darkness leaving no trace. White floods the ambience. A perpetual ring in the ears. Muffled voices in an unfamiliar language.

Giant creatures like nothing seen before. Yet there is no recollection of seeing anything before this moment. There is no memory of this mysterious, confusing, terrifying place…

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Throwing Stones

Some of us struggle more than others in facing our demons.
Jack tells of how he faces his own.
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The Glass is foggy. House is half full. Can’t type ‘cause I’m a little groggy. Need it at night so I drool. Not sure whether lying or right. Caught in the pipe. Dream above the clouds. Asleep to escape the night. Bare and weak I see myself. Bleak, a life, hell, shrieks. Got health. Quite wealthy. Still can’t stand my fucking self
So I bury myself, before I die and just wait out the time. Fade out the lines
Color the pages. No one else can see. But, it is what it is. So it’ll be
Rainbows sparked in flames hope to erase the shame. No. They change only the same flow 

”Don’t fool yourself, foolish self. This hell is your prison cell.
Intoxicated, you ain’t well
This isn’t what you wanted is it?
You brought it. Miss it? Listen
You had it. Dissed it. Dip-ship
Put this outfit on. Cluck like a chicken ‘till you get whats going on
Take these feathers if they’re…

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Five Sentences

An entire story summed up in the last paragraph. Only five sentences.

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“Next time a fairy wakes you to go on an adventure into the demon realm, call me,” Adam says playing with the pendant he brought back. Still it glows with the energy of the demon now trapped inside.

“Eliza will love it,” Ralf says. “She wouldn’t have been able to escape without your help. That’s all she cares about.”

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Gone in a Flash

Flash Fiction written in under ten minutes as an exercise. Jack dives into the first person perspective of the last living moments of a kid trying to impress a girl having gone wrong.

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This isn’t how it was supposed to go. There is no way to turn back now and it’s all a waste. Hindsight is 20/20. We only realize our mistakes could have easily been avoided had we given them just a little more thought. But there is no turning back now. There’s no way to save the moment.
All of this for a girl. Who would have imagined the lights would be cut off this way? To prove a point. To show off. Faster than a speeding bullet, yet even the Flash knew when to take a breather. When to take an extra second to think.
Now that it’s going this way, I’m not even sure I get what I was trying to accomplish. How could any of this have played out well?
As if time slowed down, nearly to a halt, this moment goes on forever. I see a second by second breakdown of the last plays of the game and…

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Fighting The Crooks: Part 2

After learning the president has been lying to her for as long as she's known him, Team Leader Rachel Chambers sets out to learn the truth behind this secret facility her and her team have walked into, in this second part to Fighting The Crooks

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As if a veil of lies was lifted from her, team leader Rachel Chambers is frozen. Stuck. Terrified at what her eyes can’t unsee.

Hidden from within the shadows with three of her squad mates they watch as The United States of America’s First Lady directs a heavily armed troop to prep children for slave labor.

This team, self-titled ‘The Patriots’, have been faced with the cold hard truth that their patriotism has been in the name of a corrupt government all along. Their willingness to serves blinded them from what’s been going on under their noses all along.

“What do we do, Cap?” Zack the medic asks for the second time.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I need to think,” Chambers replies. “God! This is so fucked up!” She clenches her fists and jaw fighting back the urge to gun down every guard in the facility. But knowing she’d get killed in exchange is enough to hold her back. There is more than meets the eye going on in this facility and she needs to get to the bottom of it. She needs to get revenge on the corrupt president she’s served for seven years being lied to every step of the way.

Chambers’ thoughts are fogged while resisting the tunnel vision to act immediately. “Alexander,” She says.
”Yes, sir?” The stealth recon officer asks.
”Take charge. I can’t even focus,” Chambers tells him.
”Immediately, sir.” Alexander responds. For her entire fifteen year career leading the team she’s had Alexander Paviolla by her side as her right hand. Her better and calmer judgement. Her best friend. Greatest rival. Second in command. No soldier does Chambers trust more.
”Okay, team,” Alexander begins.” We have to get…

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Fighting the Crooks: Part 1

Fighting the Crooks is a Political Narrative of patriots doing what they must for their country to honor the president.

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“This is the moment of truth, guys. This is where we make our stand against this liberal tyranny we continue to see,” The team leader says. “They’re no different than Hitler’s Germany. They feel it’s right to take hostile action against us for having opposing views while asking us to tolerate each action they took similar during the ruling of their leader. We will no longer stand for this!”

She raises her fist to the outcry of the other four team members,“In honor of the President!”

For several weeks they’ve planned out invading this facility to free a hostage held by the President’s opposition. The liberals, angry they’ve not yet gotten their way have begun to take drastic measures in their attempt to manipulate political choices.

This team lead by Senior Officer Chambers dubbed themselves ‘The Patriots’ upon devising a plan to rescue the hostage, the president’s wife. Originally they brought the plans to the president directly, but worried for their lives he…

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Rosemary

Rosemary is a brief comedy telling the story of a director of the same name during an award ceremony.

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Frozen in place Rosemary quivers as it dawns on her, the crowds gaze right through her. They've not yet recognized she's there. All her efforts in becoming a successful director gone to waste as no one knows it's the premiere of her film in the first place.

She isn't the most attractive of women. And this happens at each of her premieres. She goes unnoticed. But this time she's had it. Rosemary came ready to end the night with a bang.

"If they don't remember me now, then it doesn't matter," she whispers speaking to herself. A normal occurrence these days. Her delusive mind has gradually collapsed on itself and her obsessive need for this attention drives her motivations. She can't seem to cope with the fact that her films turn out to be each year's box office top seller yet she remains unknown to the world. "It's the first goddamn credit in…

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Under the Bed

Charlie, a young boy, faces his bedtime fears alone for the first time in this Flash Fiction narrative.

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It sounds like breathing, Charlie thinks. Scared, he pulls the blanket way over his head. Eyes wide open.

He notes that it’s quiet, too quiet. He’s is freaked out at the fact that he can’t hear the breathing anymore and thus can’t determine if the monster is still under the bed. The terror of what it could even be has him paralyzed.

Screaming for mom or dad is Charlie’s first impulse, but he’s more reasonable than that. If the monster is still in the room it might have not yet noticed Charlie which would change if he was too loud. He stays quiet and devises a plan B instead.

Reaching into memory, Charlie remembers any other time a monster found its way into his closet or under his bed dad destroys them by turning the light on. “That’s what I’ll have to do!” he hypes himself up searching for the courage to accept and accomplish the task at hand. Inactivity isn’t a long term solution.

“Turn the light on!” Charlie yells hopping right out of under the blanket and off the bed. The monsters roars giant and breaks from beneath the bed flipping it somewhere behind Charlie.

Charlie’s sprinting like an Olympic track athlete after gold. The monster hot on his tail closing in. They bob and weave around toys scattered across the floor. It suddenly clear why mom always said “pick your toys up!”

The monster begins to open its mouth when Charlie reaches the light switch. He flicks it on just as the monster reaches him and it vanishes from the universe.

Charlie turns to see an empty room. The universe corrected for the monsters actions and put the bed right back where it needed to be.

“I knew that would work!” Charlie assures himself. He felt like a big boy finally. Fighting the monsters without the help of dad.

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Storm The Troops

Flash Fiction story of a lone soldier.

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Collective battle cries, massive as they fall from the sky armed and ready.
Nair drops at hundreds of miles per hour. He watches fellow troops explode into misty clouds and disperse. He swears theirs spirits are visibly rising. “It won’t happen to me… It won’t happen to me,” he says closing his eyes as he nears the ground. Opens his eyes to the realization he’s drifted too far right and lost sight of his squad.

One after the other, millions at a time, troops land. The closer to the bottom the more hopeful Nair is he’ll survive, he won’t be vaporized.

He crashes in the middle of the street and is surrounded by unfamiliar soldiers.

Even down here troops are exploding into ghost like clouds. Nair feels a panic rise in him.

“Save as many as you can! Save as many as you can!” Squad leaders yell through their lung’s capacity.

This snaps Nair back to reality and he sprints into action. If one life is saved before getting vaporized his life was meaningful.

He hops over the giant craters in the grounds leading down to nowhere. Dodges the quicksand-like dirt.

All the loners are dying, but squads don’t seem to be harmed. “The weak are being picked off. I need to make it to the woods before It’s me!” he tells himself.

The heat on his arms begins to build up, but the woods are right ahead. He can make it. Sprint on.

Alongside thousands of other soldiers Nair makes a final reach for the woods but evaporates shy of the grass.

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Moment In Time

Narrative Driven Romance Poem on a Brief Encounter

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Across the counter. Soundless, so profound how she stares through my soul. Accompanying smile and green eyes locked lips with mine, frozen in time.

I stare back stuck still, unable to peel away. Frail to what her eyes are trying to say.

She just stares.

Frozen in time.

She just stares.

And I’m frozen in time.

She questions why she doesn’t open her mouth. A subtle unsure smile. Asks if she making the right choice in keeping her mouth shut, but she’ll never know. Eventually, she’ll move on and wonder what would have been had she given it a try, given in when the…

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Female Sex Problems

 

 Struggling seems pointless when ‘no’ doesn’t work. My wrists pinned over my head, “no, please, stop!”

He keeps going.

One of his knees pins one of my legs down. His body stands in the way of the other leg, heavy, sweaty, nasty.

And it hurts. It hurts so much. My voice screeches to scream but his hand is around my throat. I’m digging my nails into his arm hoping he lets go. He won’t.

I retreat into the back of my psyche. A moment playing with a Barbie when I was a young girl. Combing her hair gently and fair. Barbie the princess, the way every lady should be treated or whatever.

It’s over.

As if I wasn’t even there it appears as a foggy memory in the back of my mind.

He storms out of the room as if doing this was the punchline to a joke, the point sending an argument home.

There’s no way to know how to react right now.

We all know about the untested rape kits. Going to the police would be a waste. My family has been waiting for the smoking gun to tell me they were right about this asshole being an asshole all along. That’s a no go. No friends because work.

Well shit, who the fuck do I tell? Does it even matter? I suddenly realize I’m a piece of shit with no one to turn to. I’m sure I’m somehow responsible for that too.

I’ll pray god meant for this to happen in some way and go on with my day… I guess. What else can I do?

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This Might Become A Story

Swerving to dodge the pillars of ice as they fall. Giant, like street lamps raining down on the city. Like ants we scramble for cover wherever it might show. Tall buildings have to be the safest. The higher floors might shield the lower ones long enough to think, but we all had the same idea. Buildings are full and barricaded to stop more people from squeezing into already packed places.

Looking at the street you’d believe everyone was outside hoping to get hit.

Heaven’s carpet bombing rattles the ground into an earthquake. Cracks form on the street and gradually tears it apart from the inside.
I’m barely dodging this ice nightmare from second to second. Five whole blocks of repeated close calls lead my old mustang crashing through the glass double doors of the local corporate soap company. It’s just empty enough to hit no one as I end what once was a beautiful lobby.

Safe and alive, I’m unhappily welcomed to the building. Behind me, a swarm of people begin to flood in through the gap left…

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The Calm Before The Fall

Don’t know how long it’s been. Feels like months. Perhaps years.

I’ve… not starved. What does it mean? Am I even alive?

At the beginning the pain of starvation felt as though it would never end. Lost consciousness many times but always woke up. And then all sensation receded allowing me to enjoy the prison.

This ever stretching electric funhouse, is it hell? Was I a monster in my previous life? Was there a previous life? This might be the universe. A wall of concrete on one end and a wall of copies of me on the other.

They’ve never talked. The only ones out of their tanks are dead. The hall never ends. Either wall never ends.

And I can’t die. For weeks I attempted to cause trauma to my head. The blunt force of the concrete wall was excruciating at first, but that too faded until no sensation remained.

Now I just walk. I don’t know how long it’s been, but I walk. A Straight line down the hall of infinity. I step around the bodies of the dead copies.

I’m the only copy alive as far as I know.


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Kate's Hobby

Kate lays in the corner, syringe dug deep into the purple bruise she calls her vein. The vacant body is alive but its host is elsewhere. Her gaze travels through the walls off into infinity. Indistinguishable from the dead. She might as well be a zombie.

It wears and clarity arrives. Memories of the accident in which they all died. She once had a husband and children, but that’s in the past.

The syringe makes it all a lie. Nothing exists and neither does she.

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