“Hush little baby don’t say a word… They’re looking for us and we don’t want to be heard.”
The sinister whisper sent shivers down my spine. The rough hand against my mouth, the hot breath against my ear, the prickly rope around my wrists. Everything came into sharper focus when the sound of footsteps made the floor above us reverberate. I whimpered quietly, and the hand tightened. The breath at my ear stopped for an endless second.
“Hush little baby don’t make a sound… They’re looking for us and you don’t want to die.”
FFM15 7: The Accurate Tales of Sergeant Scrum by C-A-Harland, literature
Literature
FFM15 7: The Accurate Tales of Sergeant Scrum
Traffic Warden Trev did not enjoy his job. It was difficult to feel needed in one’s career, when one could easily be replaced by a stick with three lights on it. Even so, he returned to the intersection each day. Blow whistle, left palm up, wave traffic through. Blow whistle, right palm up, wave traffic through. No, Traffic Warden Trev did not enjoy his job, but it was necessary.
A woman’s scream came from the road behind Trev. He spun around, causing two motorists to nearly collide. A screech of tyres and the shouts of angry drivers rang out. Trev ignored them. The scream came again.
“Somebody help!”
Traffic Warden
I always
thought it
a sort
of injustice
that all
a kiss requires
is two pairs
of lips
and a willingness
to drown
for the dream
of a raft
you might find nestled
between the hundredth
pair you try;
to
become
even more broken
in the pursuit
of a love that
could finally
fix you.
Remnants (NaPoWriMo - Day 3) by mmihalko13, literature
Literature
Remnants (NaPoWriMo - Day 3)
As the sun fades on a brisk October
The waning autumn breeze calls
Your happiness trapped by years of denial
Your heart bound by turmoil
Everywhere you look, you see despair
Remnants of your soul surround you
The dying fall leaves consuming every stride
Mirroring you moods
The redness of your anger
The greenish hint of serenity
The yellow tints of unanswered desires
Creating a vast sea of chaos to brighten the dull grove
You call to the hidden statues for absolution
Silence befalls reality
Another tainted leaf drops
Another chance at pleasure nears
Try as I might
to keep myself
surrounded
it still
gets quiet
and still
the ghosts float
up to the surface
and still I don't
know what the fuck
I'm doing.
( architecture of loneliness) by papaw, literature
Literature
( architecture of loneliness)
I have died a thousand times, but none of it is comparable to the loss of you.
I know all too well the architecture of loneliness, and I cannot breathe deeply.