Short Story

That Girl wont leave my mind

I see this girl walk everyday down my street

Her eyes saddened by the sight

I didnt know what was wrong with her

I saw her every night

Everyday she looks past me like I am thin air

I glare at her hopeing she wil respond to my eyes

She past by me

You can tell she just cried

Wipes away the rushing river tears

I try to say something But i dont speak

She sniffles wipes her face everything was unclear

I approach her so we can meet

She looks at me as I stand

Are you ok?

I grab ahold her hand

She looks at me

Who are you? she turns her face away

I am here to help you through your sturggles

Im sorry i dont know you

She pulls her hand from my firm grip

She walks away fast

Her eyes stil drip

I never find out what was wrong with her

Why does she cry

Why everynight

She keeps on passing by

I try my best to get her attention

She ignores me

I am her wrong selection

I want to help her through her problems

I want to help her solve them

What can I do to make her notice me

I don't her to be like this for eternity

So here I go approach her again

WHo are you?

I want to make your heart mend

She stares at me like i am a mirror

Like I just shocked her with a great terror

Why do you want to help me

I just know that happiness is the key

You don't know me

You wouldn't understand

Why are you crying even before I stand

Please leave me here to die

You don't know why I cry

She trys to move past me

No

You wont go

Please leave me alone

Let me walk you home

She stops

I was suprised she opened up and spoken

Do you know how to live in a house that is broken

My dead flower face droops down

I stay quiet, i don't make a sound

Thats what I thought you would never understand

You don't know how it is to be abused by a grown man

She walks away

Leaves me there

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Well it rhymes. I dont know I just wrote it

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My mission for that girl

As the days go by

She lays down and cries

Hopin everday she dies

Her emotions so mixed

They can't be fixed

She stuck in a state of bliss



What will she do when the world disapears

No one will be there to catch all her tears

She's held back by all her fears

Just cause of her one peer

Everyday she goes to school

Listen to staff, obey all the rules

There is always that group of fools

That put her down

She doesn't say a sound

They treat her like the ground



What shall she do when the world disapears

No one will be there to catch all her tears

She is held back by all her fears

Just cuz of one peer



I lay my eyes upon this girl

My mind does a swirl

How would you feel

To know this is real

That this is her everyday life

Her lifee along lived strife



What shall i do  for her

Can i find a cure

Will she listen to me

Or just stare blankly

I can't comprehend

My goal is to make her heart mend

So she knows she has a friend

Maybe this girl will realize

That there is no reason to die

Over one stuupid guy


Author's Notes/Comments: 

I did this cuz i just wanted to! I just felt like I knew this girl and I just wanted people to hear her Life

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Australian Town Crier - Norman Ness

I have read with interest the fractured versions of the origins of town criers, however I would now like to share with you all the real story……







The first town crier was of course an Australian.



Norman Ness, the first born son or Sacks Ness and Mary Ness. He was appointed to bring news of the happenings in the small hamlet of Ire which is somewhere in Queensland. As he approached the town square to deliver history’s first proclamation, he started to speak. He was distracted by the mutterings of some small children to his right. As Norman called out “Who’s That”, the small children mocked and mimicked him replying “Who’s That”. This great amusement pleased the gathered crowd and Norman commenced all of his proclamations with the calls of “Who’s That”.



Norman was an orator, an adventurer and a warrior. He left Ire to discover the world in his very own hand carved canoe and made his way to the land now known as the United Kingdom.



Norman was bigger, stronger and far better looking than any of the inhabitants that he encountered and he impressed them all with his fine proclamations and fighting ability. He would start his calls with “Who’s That” and the crowd, having difficulty with his superior accent would reply with “Oyez”. This reply stuck and is used by Town criers all over the world today.



The people of this land were so impressed, that their leader approached Norman and asked him as to his heritage. When Norman replied “I am Sacks son” the leader replied “Then we are all Sacks son”. Thus the birth of the Saxon nation.

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Beautiful Disease

I want to preface this..... whatever it is.  If I hadn't been crying already, stunned from witnessing someone else's raw pain, this couldn't have happened.  This is my attempt to show someone, even if only one person, that they aren't alone, aren't the only one suffering in the world.  You aren't a faceless person amidst the masses to me.  If this helps anyone, at any time, it's more than worth my own pain in producing it.  If it effects you and you feel some flicker of recognition, I'd like to help you if I can.









I'll tell you of a time, the time I lived in hell.  Every day they'd come to dig, every day I let it all just slip further away, evertime I let my soul start to die inside.  



Every time I longed to die, every day I pleaded for god to end the lie, all the tears I couldn't cry, all the pain that I kept for you, locked so deep inside.  



All the times they cut me once more, digging for the next solution to this dying catastrophe, every attempt to fix the wreck, as this disease rages forth unchecked.  



Every cough that bent me double, all the blood tinged sputum I had to force out, the endless days of being so numb only my soul could hurt, every piece of me that died, everytime they robbed me of something else.  The months of time where the only place I could run, was in my dreams, but you never can outrun the pain, or truly stop that inner pain, come pouring down, like blood tinged rain.  

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Inspired by a close friend of mine who I think came upon a truly terrifying and beautiful idea with this.

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The tale of a lost boy

There once was a boy

Who did his best he could

He did his best to live

He did his best to love



But as he tried so hard

He only poured regret

He only awaken hate

He only broke even more



He has given up all hope

Can he go back now?

Can he find what he seeks?

Can he get what he longs for?



All this boy wanted was a fairytale

With a happy ending

But his dreams got shattered

And now he lives a nightmare



The tale of the boy

Who wanted to be happy

Comes to an end

And all he hopes for is death



And that boy is me.

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Hurt

She had been hurt, more times then she could count. She was sick of the never ending pain, caused by various boys, some that she had once even called her best friend. That’s how everything started for her, always. It went exactly the same way every time. She’d meet the boy, talk to him for a while, then they’d become friends, so she would be hanging out with them a lot more. They would soon form a bond that tied them as best friends, they were always the people she could tell everything to. Then, they would show her some kind of affection, hint towards her that they were attracted to her, some had even told her strait out. But it always ended in hurt. In pain. The pain that she took away with her one solitary companion. Her razor.



First there was Hunter. He had been staying with his sister for the summer when they met. And he had gained her trust. She could tell him secrets and know that no one else would know the next day. That’s what attracted her to him the most. He ended up going out with her cousin, whom she hated from that moment on. Her cousin knew what her feelings for him were, but still insisted in beating her. To her cousin, it was a sick, twisted game. And she won every time.



It happened that he had to go away for the weekend to visit his father, she called him every day, while his girlfriend didn’t call him at all. When he came back, he told her that he realized his mistake, and broke up with her cousin for her. They went out for about a month, during that time period, he went back home. It wasn’t far, only about a half an hour drive. But he soon stopped answering her calls and returning her messages. She was hurt, and she broke it off. They still talk, but rarely do they ever see each other.

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Tidal Wave Crimson

Folder: 
Night

        No one could see Clayton, almost as if his skin of black silk hid in Hawaii’s night sky, his bright white eyes with their ebony irises matching up perfectly with the constellations, his life rotating around with the rest of the planet, but his heart seasick from the motion of the waves that brushed on shore, a tainted tidal wave of crimson that stained him and his callused hands red, making for a local motion of those who just noticed his typical Molokaian mistake turned tragedy that resulted in him being painted with a magic marker, coloring him invisible.

I could claim the identity of nothing more than that mysterious white girl from mainland, a foreign concept to the sun kissed bronze and brown bodies that crowded around the sea-rusted vehicles cresting the side of the road closest to the beach.  My Californian accent had already slipped from me, as the mahina crept out from its shelter behind the violet clouds in the night sky.  A bonfire blazed near the low tide, roaring up with flame and fury at the countless branches it consumed with its hellish heat.  My eyes glanced to meet his, then strayed to the massive cast that enveloped his leg.

"Hey, how’d you break your leg?"  I ignorantly inquired.

" ‘s not broke, torn tendon, Mon." His Hawaiian Pigeon echoed thick in my ears, comparable to that of a Bob Marley compact disc.

"Oh, how’d that happen?"  Before he had time to answer, his melancholy coffee eyes danced around wildly in a flurry of frantic memories.

"Car accident."  With those two words, I quit my questioning, detecting more than a simple car accident hidden behind his dark marbles.  But, roaming rumors of the island fulfilled all that I needed to piece together the rest of the jumbled jigsaw puzzle.

"Yea Mon, you best leave dat Clayton ‘lone, he’s some serious issues, Mon."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just another sad example of an island-bound, disadvantaged youth in poverty.

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*~طوق الياسميــــن ~*

 


 


 

نسمات باردة تهيمن على كياني .. تلفني بصقيع محبب يجبرني على الإفاقة من سباتي
إنه فجر يوم جديد , أتبسم وأعيد غمر نفسي بالغطاء جيداً , أغالب ,استيقاظي
ولكن صياح الديك يصر على إعلاني أن الصباح قد حل , في العادة لا أميل للاستيقاظ باكرًاًّ ولكن
,, هنا في منزلنا الجبلي تتغير العادات
. تتغير الأشياء , تصبح أكثر جمالاً , أكثر حيوية , أكثر معنى
,, أبقى مغمضة العينين ,, تمر أمام عيني طقوسي ومشاريعي الي
سأمضي نهاري اليوم وفق مخططاتي التي وضعتها البارحة معه ,, نعم معه, ذلك الحب الحاني , ذلك الحنان العارم والدفء الغامر , والقلب   الكبير
.. الذي يحيطني وأنا معه أو ضمن محيطه بالأمان .. بالسلام بالاطمئنان
أبتسم بفرحة تدثر كياني . لن أنهض من سريري وسابقي عينيٌّ  مغمضتين , سأنتظره لكي يأتي
هو يعلم أني أحب الاستيقاظ بين يديه .. وفي أحضانه
خطواته تعلن عن قدومه.. يرقص قلبي فرحاً .. يجلس بجانبي .. ويبدأ الدفء بالتسلل لجسدي
, لم أعد أشعر ببرودة الصبح . الأمان يسكن بجانبي الآن
, يداعب رأسي بيديه الدافئتين , يطبع على جبيني ووجهي قبلات الصباح , يمسك جديلتي الذهبية ينزع عنها شرائطها الملونة ويفلها , يعرفني , لا أحب شعري مفروداً
أفهم مقصده .. أصر بعناد وراثي الطبع .. ألا أستفيق
.. يعلم أنني أعيش بتصرفاته الحانية أجمل لحظات عمري

ويعلم أني ما زلت مصرة على الاستزادة من كنز دفئه .. يقرأني هو .. أنا معه لا أتكلم
لا أعبر , يعلم ما بي وما أريد من مجرد النظر في  عينيٌّ فقط
,, أحبه
أحب رائحته الممزوجة بالبخور وعطر الياسمين والتي حين أشمها تأخذني إلى ,, أزمنة أسطورية بعيدة
. تحملني إلى عالم الخيال .. والحكايات
أحس بجسده يتململ بجانبي , أنه يهم بالقيام , بالرحيل , أنقبضْْ !! لا أريده أن يذهب
انتظرته أنا ,, لماذا يذهب دون أن أستيقظ .. ؟؟ لماذا..؟
.. هو يعلم أني أنتظر هذه اللحظات
لا.. لا يجب أن يذهب , لم أكتفي منه , من حبه , من حنانه , من لمساته الحانية
,, تجتاحني غصة بكا

 
أحاول السيطرة عليها , تأبى الطاعة , وتخرج دموعي رغم إحكام إغلاق عينيٌ ,, وأتساءل ببكاء يكاد يقترب من .. النحيب
!!..وتبدأ جيوش علامات الاستفهام والتساؤل بالحضور تباعا
ألم يعد يحبني ..؟
هل أصبحت مصدراً مزعجاً له..؟
هل أغضبته جرعات الغنج التي أمارسها عليه..؟؟
هل إصراري على أن يقص علي حكاياته.. أضجره ..؟؟
هل جلوسي الدائم بأحضانه يزعجه ..؟؟
أم عبثي الدائم بزهور شجيرات ياسمينه يثيره ..؟؟
..أبكي بحرقة ,, تنهمر دموعي بلا إرادة , أمسحها , كي لا تعلن ألمي
وفجأة أشم رائحته من جديد ,, تعود لتملأ المكان ,, وأسمع وقع خطواته تقترب من سريري
يا إلهي سيرى دمعي , سيحس أنيني , ماذا أفعل كي لا يراني..؟
,, لا أريد أن أسبب له ضيقا ًوألماً ..لا يحب أن يراني باكية أو حزينة ,, إنه أكثر من يحزن لحزني ويفرح لفرحي
: كان دائماً , يقول لي
,, إن كنت فعلاً تحبينني وتريدين إسعادي ,, دعيني أراك مبتسمة
,, فرحة ,, مشرقة 
. فبسعادتك فرحي وبحزنك شقائي
. وبحركة سريعة أمسكت غطائي وغطيت به رأسي 
يجلس على طرف سريري ,, يمسك الغطاء ليكشف عن وجهي ,, أعاند بنزعه ,, ينتصر على عنادي
يمسح وجهي بيديه الحنونتين , وبحركة طفولية ساذجة وبريئة , أزيد
!!.. من إغماض عيني
يقهقه كمن فهم ما يجري ,, يزرع وجهي بقبلاته
.. عندها تصر دموعي على الخروج غير آبهة بتوسلات أعصابي
لحظات قليلة وتصل لأنفي رائحة محببة لي , تقترب من وجهي تلفحني لمساتها وتغمرني بعبقها تمسح دمعي وباقي وجهي , وأشعر بيديه ترفع رأسي و تحاول الوصول إلى عنقي .. أساعده دون إرادتي , يرفعني إلى صدره يحضنني بحنان ويطوق عنقي بتلك الرائحة العطرة
ويقول : أحببت أن تستيقظي على شيء محبب لديك فأحضرت طوق الياسمين
وكمن صعقت .. أفتح عيني
انظر إليه بعيون مليئة بحب لا يوصف
وأسأله : لهذا تركتني وذهبت..؟؟ لتحضر لي طوق الياسمين ..؟؟
قال : أجل أحضرت طوق الياسمين .. لعاشقة الياسمين
فصباح الياسمين .. يا عبق الياسمين
وبحنان الكون كله .. وبحركة لا إرادية
لففت ذراعي حول عنقه غمرته بالقبلات
وقلت له :صباح الخير والحب والجمال والأمان
صباح الياسمين وكل الحنان
صباح الخير
,
,
,
يا
جدي

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

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. لا بد أن الشتاء قاس ..على من لا يملكون ذكريات دافئة




 

 

 

 

 

 

  

  

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Syrupy Sweet

Folder: 
Short Stories



Syrupy Sweet

By Michael Feuerstein





“William, come off that goddamn roof and fix the sink, I think one of the pipes has is leaking all over the kitchen floor” Said Anne, Williams wife.



“Ill be down in a minute”



William smoothed the soil out around the plant, press his finger down into the dirt surrounding the last tulip. He then pulled himself off his knees, took a couple of steps back to look at the work he had completed. It was finally finished.



“I’m done” he said in calm raspy voice.



He smiled from ear to ear, and it was warm and inviting. He lifted his dirt covered hand and wiped the sweat from his brow, as he starred at his accomplishment. He had just finished making a garden on the roof of the apartment building he lived in, in the city of Harlem. The owner said he could as long as he tended to the maintenances work that needed to be done around his building. It had taken him 7 months to make construct plant and tend to, and the garden was finally in full bloom, it Full of grape vines, and tomatoes, tulips, and roses, daffodils and herbs. A sense of pride filled him, that he had not felt in a longtime.



“William David Floyster, please come down stairs NOW!” yelled a voice from the bottom of the stairs of the roof.



“I’m coming, I’m coming” said William as he turned to the roof door and made his way across the small pieces of gravel that covered it.



“She sounds more like my mother everyday” he muttered under his breathe.



He turned his head towards garden as he walked for the door and said “ill be coming back soon” with smile.

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