# June 2014 - LM - Choose a Song



## Fin

Click here for the workshop thread


*LITERARY MANEUVERS*​Choose a Song​



The winner will receive a badge pinned to their profile and given a month’s access to FoWF where you’ll have access to hidden forums and use of the chat room.


 I don't even know how I let this one go by. You choose any song you wish, and write a story based off of whatever inspires you based on it. So basically - anything in the world you want to write, I'm sure you'll find a song about it. In any case, leave a link or at the very least the song name somewhere in your post. Above the title, whatever. Doesn't have to be part of the story. Just let us know which song it's based on.


*The judges for this round are:*

*stormageddon*; *thepancreas11*; *Bishop*; *danielstj*


*Rules*


*All forum rules apply.* The LM competition is considered a creative area of the forum. If your story contains inappropriate language or content, do _not_ forget add a disclaimer or it could result in disciplinary actions taken. Click *here* for the full list of rules and guidelines of the forum.
*No Poetry!* Nothing against you poets out there, but this isn’t a place for your poems. Head on over to the poetry challenges for good competition over there. Some of us fiction people wouldn’t be able to understand your work! Click *here* for the poetry challenges.
*No posts that are not entries into the competition are allowed.* If you have any questions, concerns, or wish to take part in discussion please head over to the *LM Coffee Shop. *We’ll be glad to take care of your needs over there.
*Editing your entry after posting isn’t allowed.* You’ll be given a ten minute grace period, but after that your story may not be scored.
*Only one entry per member.*
*No liking entries until the scores go up.*
*The word limit is 650 words not including the title.* If you go over - Your story will not be counted. Microsoft Word and Google Drive are the standard for checking this. If you feel it’s incorrect, send it to the host of the competition and we’ll check it for you and add our approval upon acceptance.




*There are a few ways to post your entry:*


If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you can simply post your entry here in this thread.
You can opt to have your entry posted in the *LM Workshop Thread* which is a special thread just for LM entries. You would put your story there if you wish to protect your first rights, in case you wish to have the story published one day. Note: If you do post it in the workshop thread, you must post a link to it here in this thread otherwise your story may not be counted.
You may post your story anonymously. To do so, send your story to the host of the competition. If you wish to have us post it in the workshop thread then say so. Your name will be revealed upon the release of the score.

Everyone is welcome to participate. A judge's entry will receive a review by their fellow judges, but it will not receive a score.

*This competition will close on:*

Saturday, the 14th of June at 11:59 PM, GMT+1 time.
Click here for the current time.

*Good luck, everyone.*​


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## Erik Fantasia

Iris: by the Goo Goo Dolls



      Ten years had passed and still I had not found her. With each passing sun, I began to feel the insanity taking hold. It was the ninth year that marked my first cutting. That coincided with my first scuicidal thought. The days had been dark since.
      It was on the Day of Most Light, June 21, the Summer Solstice, that my love, Rebecca, stated our destinies would cross in the time of five years. That never happened. Instead, I was left watching lonesome sunsets and the flight of doves. The later was most fitting; my peace was surley flying away. 
    After the sixth year, I began to travel the world, searching for the bandage that would allow healing to my broken heart. Never could I get ov r that girl. She was rotting my mind. I couldn't forget the way she dreamed in a realist's world, the way she had faith in a tested love. I knew she would remain ok in our parting.
    I eventualy heard her voice at night, taunting me. I would always fall asleep in a flood of tears and awake in the shivering of total pain. I often screamed for her, telling the unanswering gods how I needed her to know my presence once more, how I required hrr warmth in my arms once more. To this day, I dwell in my own cold.

- - - Updated - - -


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## Arcopitcairn

Moving Through Time by Angelo Badalamenti


Jigsaw




_Life is like a monkey that…no, that’s stupid._


 Bryan walked slowly down the tree-lined sidewalk, the leaves letting intermittent shafts of morning sun roll over him like little searchlights.  He thought he knew where he got the Styrofoam cooler he was carrying, but he wasn't sure.   


 He was going home with a gift for his father.  The thing in the cooler was the gift, but he couldn’t remember what it was.  He looked again.  Cold marble eyes nestled in locks of red, wavy hair stared back at him from inside the cooler.  A doll.


_Life is like a pretty dolly in a cooler.  No, I can’t find anything to support that._


  His father owned a little toy shop run out of the back of their house. It was practically hidden, facing an alley and surrounded by trees and shrubs, always in the shade.  Bryan thought it was odd to have a store in an alley, bounded on all sides by people’s garages and backyards, but his father never seemed to mind.  


 He saw the little weathered sign, held up by a pile of rocks and weeds around the base. It read *Toy Shop*.  He was finally home and he couldn’t remember how long he’d been gone.  

 The first thing Bryan noticed when he walked into the dark and dusty little shop was the large Blackbird.  It was perched on a counter close to the door and it started to caw.  It cawed at him; it was looking right at him with its dead black eyes.   


 As the bird cawed incessantly, Bryan looked around the store.  The shelves stretched to the ceiling, filled with old toys.  There were tin trucks and rocket ships, glassy eyed dolls staring blankly, old boxes of tinker toys and car models, and unidentifiable novelty gimcracks and gewgaws.  There were glass display counters filled with more expensive items like old Pez dispensers, radio show decoder rings, pens, and badges. It was a smorgasbord of childish delight, waiting to be, but never sold.


 Behind the counter, from behind a tattered curtain, came his father.  He looked exactly like Santa Claus, startling white beard and hair, red nose, and big belly, the whole deal.  He looked at Bryan and his mouth dropped open.  He rushed around the counter and hugged Bryan hard, cracking the Styrofoam cooler. The Blackbird cawed.


 “Jane,” her father said, “where have you been?”


 She was not Bryan.  Jane looked down and noticed that she was a woman, dressed in dirty, ripped clothes.  She wore only one shoe. Bryan. Ha!  She wondered how she could make such a silly mistake.


 “Where have you been?” Her father repeated urgently, and he snapped his fingers at the blackbird, which ceased the animal’s racket instantly.  It still stared at her, its head cocked to one side as if listening. 

Jane thought maybe the bird was there for her.


 She dropped the cooler and ran her hands through her long black hair, “I don't know.”


 He led her around the counter and through the curtain, back into the house, to the kitchen.  He sat her down at the table and rummaged around in a cabinet.  He ran a glass of water and handed it to her, along with a tiny blue pill.


 “Take that Jane,” her father said, “and drink the whole glass of water.”


 She took the pill and drank down the water and she sighed.  She was happy to be home again with father, unsure why she’d ever left in the first place.


 “Where _have_ I been, dad?”


 He sat down at the table and held her hand in his.  It felt like she was grabbing sandpaper.  


_Life is like a model with no instructions.  You know it’s supposed to be something, but there’s nothing to show you the way.  Um, I’m not sure about that one._


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## Ephemeral_One

Seven Devils - Florence + The Machine

A melody of cries for water filled the great garden that stretched endlessly before the mansion; the privacy and amusement the hedge maze had once provided now only hindered would be rescuers. Flames rose high, periodically stained glass windows gave out a battle cry of shattered glass. I passed through the desperate bucket wielding crowd unremarked and unmolested, the grinning white mask upon my face evoking a symphony of silence in each one I passed. They had wished for tonight to come and what had been done could never be undone.


 Though only armed with a dagger, my body felt light as air, as if I might ascend from the heat of the flames as I pushed open the main doors. A thousand armies couldn't have stopped me tonight yet not a single shape rose to blockade me. Instead, what greeted me behind the wooden barriers were corpses, children and adults lay collapsed, a small pool of liquid pouring out of every agape mouth. Empty eyes followed my progress across the grand meeting hall.  


 Stairs lead up to the second floor, I walked up two and sometimes three at a time halting only once when a door on the distant end burst open. Belching fire and hot air like some great dragon, the mask let me hide the smile of endless delight they evoked. I'd come to burn this kingdom down and it was almost complete.  


 Nostalgia covered my gaze as I reached the second floor. Doors parted to let me look upon a hallway where the Royal bedrooms were kept.  Hours spent in the dark here made me alert, passing from one end to the other, attentive to every sound and motion. Rushing to the side of a young girl to guide her to the bathroom or fetching tea for the Queen's weak stomach. A sick sense of irony brought me to my old post, standing watch with my dagger for a moment.


 The golden handle gave only the softest of clicks as I entered. Despite my attempts to be silent, a hoarse voice cried out, “Begone Devil!” I felt a splash across my chest, followed quickly by more damnations and emptied vessels covered in crosses. Hiding behind a chest of drawers that had been pushed to the center of the room was a thin, sickly woman in a sleeping gown. Her pallid complexion telltale matched with dark lines under her eyes. How long had she gone without sleep?


 “Holy water won't help you now,” I sighed trying to brush the excess water from my clothes.


 “Grinning Devil, leave my home! Return to the depths from which you came!” Cried the queen collapsing upon the chest, her feeble strength now spent. Kneeling down so she could see my mask, then lifted it to show her my face. She gasped and flung herself backwards to crawl away. Torture hadn't done much for my face yet it was being alive that struck home for her, that I knew. Peeking over her own shoulder to look at me her voice wavered, “Marshal?”


 “Yes,” I nodded to her.


 “Take whatever you want, please, just let me live,” She pleaded from the fetal position.


 “I don't want your money and I don't want your crown,” I shook my head watching the woman's hands grip each other. I rose to stand before her explaining, “I've come for your heart and to save your soul. You poisoned all of your servants. If you wish to still be Queen, stay and face your people's wrath or come with me.”


 “Will you watch over me once more?” The Queen asked extending a trembling hand.


 Taking her hand to my lips I swore once more, “I was dead when I woke up this morning and shall be dead when the day is done should I ever betray my promise to you.”


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## Elvenswordsman

Home - Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros

The sound of the medical equipment, rhythmically beeping in unison to my heart, had long since been drowned from my consciousness over the weeks. Her hand squeezing mine, the moisture between our link the only barrier between us sharing the same heart.

Remember when we met, my love? She smiles at me, and my heart leaps from my chest. 46 years, and the way her teeth show through her lips still gives me the jitters.

Our life together has been a cinema; from the first time I saw you and fell in love, walking down the halls of our high school. The 3 months it took me, despite sitting across from you every lunch, to open my mouth and say hi.

Our first time together, when we danced at the formal, and I sang every slow song in your ear. The way we let go, and both knew that this was forever.

Finding out a week later you had left your boyfriend, as we sat in a movie theatre together with our friends. Telling you after the movie that I'd wait forever for you, and I would be there whenever you needed me.

The months that followed, full of passion and romance; the departure, and how incomplete the time apart was. My arrival, and how the time flew. The heartbreak, and how it just passed, with you finally back in my arms. With you back in my arms. How it felt when you arrived at the airport, finally back in my arms. How we lived the rest of our life. You were back in my arms. You were.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What's the hardest part of your job?"

My heart stopped, the anxiety building up inside my bones. What do these young, aspiring nurses need to know about this job? Is what I feel relevant to the experiences of these girls and boys? This question never got easier.

"Juggling my responsibilities as a mother." It's not. That part is easy, caring for people is my nature. The hardest part of providing palliative care is the fear of that which lays before me every day.

Take Joseph, as an example. He's been in pc for 3 weeks, and not a single visitor has come. I don't understand his resilience, with no one to live for. My family is my everything. To be so alone, at a time of such pain; I've seen people with so much to live for pass more quickly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In my arms.


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## W.Goepner

Lucille, By Kenny Rogers. 


It was a hot late summers day, as the man walked out of the train station. His destination unknown, his trail forgotten. Glancing up and down the lane in front of him, he spotted the bar across the way.


 Ambling up to the swinging french doors, he looked about before entering. The place was getting busy, though not crowded, in the early evening. Upon entering, he took notice of the woman sitting at the bar. Her dress was clean and plain, no frilly flowers or fancy colors, only a pale blue bordering on gray. She appeared distracted, as she fingered her ring. She nodded to herself, as the ring came off and into her pocket.



 Stepping up to the bar, he ordered a bottle and two glasses. Placing his left boot, on the foot rail he faced her and asked her name. The bottle arrived, he pulled the cork and poured two glasses, sliding her one. Never looking up, she took it and drank it down. The man poured her another.  


 By the third glass, she looked up at him and began to talk, “It is a hard life, living from one day to the next. I have tried, heaven knows, I tried. Close to six years, one crop to the next. Cooking meals, watching the the house and keeping all in order. Every day the same promise of a better life. Now I have decided to go and find that better life, the care free life. I want to laugh, to sing, to dance.”


 Glancing in the mirror, he noticed a big fellow standing in the doorway. The coveralls he wore, still dusty from the fields. The stare of this big one, took in the scene of the room. The place went quiet, as he stepped in, then up to the two sitting at the bar. He stood a moment, staring at nothing. Placing his big callused hands, on the edge of the bar. Gripping it hard, to keep them from shaking, the bar trim gave a groan under his grip. Then he turned to the woman.



 “If this don't beet all.” His calm, quiet voice, broke the silence. “The oldest child comes out to me, as I'm tending the fields. She, her sister and brothers, have not been fed. I ask where you are, she doesn't know. When I get to the house, the stew pot is empty, there's no bread, a few eggs, a potato or two. Damn woman! There ain’t no coming back, this time.” With that the big fella turned, and walked out the place.



 They sat quietly, him watching her, as he poured them both another glass. Thinking, how she said nothing against the big guy. Wen she had enough drink, she took his hand and led him from the bar, across the street to the hotel next to the train station. Not a word was spoken, as they reached the room. Opening the door, she led him inside, then she turned and closed the door.  



 The man stood as he watched her undo the fastenings of the dress, she let it slip to the floor, as she stepped out of it. She stood in her slip and corset, looking every bit the lady. With her hair hanging just below the shoulders, her eyes were a color he never notice back at the bar. All of her features, the picture of desire. A sweeter sight, he has never seen, on any of his travels.



 When she stepped up to him, he could not take her in his arms, nor attempt to love her. No amount of persuasion, could get him to go to her as he realized. She; chose to walk away,  from a man who loved her, let alone her children.


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## TylerMartin

*Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?*

I couldn't choose anything but this song, which has been a nagging earworm of mine for months now: "Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?" from the _Frozen_ soundtrack.

-----------------------------------------------

Annie’s eyes popped open. Excitement welled up inside of her as she flew out of her bed to to look out the window. Just as she had hoped, the large blanket of snow covered everything in sight. The snow was so thick that she could barely see her parents’ cars in the driveway, and the mailbox by the street had completely disappeared. Without even changing out of her pink footy pajamas, Annie darted down the hall as fast as her small legs could carry her.

“Emily!” she screamed. “Emily, come on!” She reached her sister’s door at the end of the hall and knocked exactly six times. “Emliy, are you awake?”

“What-d’you-want?” came a slurred, groggy voice from the other side of the door. “Go-back-to-slee…” Emily’s voice trailed off, leaving a cold silence in the air.

“Go back to sleep?” Annie was shocked. “But the sky’s awake! How can I sleep when the sky’s awake? Get up!”

There was no response.

“Do you wanna build a snowman?” 

No response.

“Come on, Emily! Have you looked out your window? Let’s go and play outside!”

No repsonse.

“I never see you anymore,” the small girl plopped down on the ground in front of her sister’s door and started to cry. Ever since Emily went to the high school, she no longer had any time for Annie. She was too busy with homework, or shopping, or talking to her new friends about boys, and clothes, and a other stuff that Annie didn’t understand. “Please come outside, Emily. It’s like you’ve gone away.”

Emily closed her eyes and remembered when her and her sister were best buddies. They were inseparable. They went everywhere together and they played together all day long. Emily was really the only friend Annie ever had. But now, things were different. Emily barely talked to her sister anymore, and Annie didn’t understand why.

“Do you wanna build a snowman?” she asked again.

No response.

Annie stood and pressed her face against the door and tried to speak through the wood, “It doesn’t have to be a snowman.”

“Go away, Annie!”

The words struck Annie, leaving an ice cold scar on her heart. She stood for a few moments, the tears still flowing down her face. Annie knew her best friend was gone forever. Emily was a different person now.

“Okay,” she managed to say softly. “Bye.” Her head lowered and she slowly walked back down the hall to her bedroom. She shut her door behind her and sat down on the ground, resting the back of her head on her door. What was the point of playing in the snow if she couldn’t be with her best friend?

“Well, Olaf,” she said as she looked at the chair in her room, where she saw in her imagination her invisible friend, Olaf, sitting happily and looking down at her with a big smile. “We only have each other. It’s just the two of us. What are we going to do now?” She waited, listening for a response. “Olaf, that’s a great idea! Yes!” she jumped up ready to burst outside into the fluffy snow, her excitement returning to her. “I would love to build a snowman!”


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## Pandora

*Day By Day*

[video=youtube_share;ZtR7xrgZ_Fk]http://youtu.be/ZtR7xrgZ_Fk[/video]
_Day By Day Godspell


Please just make it go away, someone please make this go away._

She stood in the shower while the warm water ran over her shoulders, her tears mixing in on the cement floor. Watching them flow down the drain she wished she could follow. Wished she wasn't there in her world. 
_
My world has disappeared, I can see nothing. I can feel nothing, I don't want any of it. I just want to be alone_.  She was not alone.

The most popular 1972 tunes played loudly from her small transistor radio on the vanity. She was in the rec room, a favorite place to hide.
_
I can't look any of them in the eyes now, not now. They will surely see, they will know._ 

There were few moments she could still forget, precious and few. Wake in the morning like she did a couple weeks before, wake alone. Day by day it became harder to forget she was not alone.

_
LEAVE ME ALONE!_

Screams in her head. She knows she can't be alone. She can't run, she can't hide, she can't wash it away, she can't dream it away.

She thought back to her sister's predicament, as everyone called it, until Phillip was born. He was handed off and a new predicament began. Not so easy as the family thought. No not so easy on her sister. Why she was taken to a mental hospital in a straight jacket, not so easy to betray. 
_
Betray, mine will be the ultimate betrayal._ 

Tears ran harder, snarling her young face, shaking her body. She knelt in the water, knowing it was wrong.
_
I just need to be alone and I am sorry._ 

She put the water on ice cold, put her puffy eyes under the running water.
_
I can't look like I've been crying. I have to look like I've made my choice. I know what I am doing. I am a woman. I am a stupid woman.
_
Wrapped in a towel she stood dripping, going over in her mind the appointment earlier that day. The facts carefully laid out to her, coldly written words in a pamphlet she had hidden away.  Words that should not bring emotion because if they did her plan would not be carried through. 

_Turn it off, put the emotions back down._

Her boyfriend had done that, his life all planned out. Off to one of the best colleges in the country. He knew what he was growing up to be, he had been primed at one of the best Catholic high schools in the area. He knew all this and she knew it was over for them, forgiving themselves wasn't possible.

Now she would to go to her mother. Mom would tell her father and he would pretend she hadn't. They would take her to the airport for the class trip. Dad would pretend not to notice no other students were there for the trip. She would fly to New York City, boarding the plane at sixteen, alone, she was a woman after all, but no not alone. There a cab would pick her up and take her to the clinic. There would be some pain and discomfort, in less than a half hour her problem would be solved. She would return to the airport, board the plane, fly home to her room. She would have a cocktail on the plane, she was a woman. It would be over, it would be history, it would be solved. Then the thought sneaks in again, 
_it's not an it, not an it_, this will echo every day. 

What she didn't know was day by day she would grow to know more, day by day she would beg for forgiveness. That this would never go away, never ever and it should never go away. Day by day life is precious, a gift given and she took one.


648 words


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## Ariel

*Another Button Undone*
_Based off of "Snakeface" by Throwing Muses_

Disclaimer: language, violence, sexual situation

By A. M. Sawtell
-------------------------
Catherine stared out her bedroom window at the oak shifting in the breeze. The dappled light looked like a snake moving through the tree.

"I can't believe Ms. Michaels gave us so much homework, can you?  She's such a bitch," Jon complained as he pulled out his geometry textbook. 

_The snake slithers from the limb, tongue flickering, lidless eyes staring.  Its scales dark green and black. _

"What's wrong with you, Cat?  You've been out of it lately."

Catherine glanced at Jon then turned her head to look back out the window.  Jon came over and leaned on the bed where Catherine sat.  He stared out the window for a moment then shrugged.  _He_ didn't see anything.

_She reaches up to touch the snake's smooth, dry skin. She shivers at the bunching muscles and smiles._

"I know what will cheer you up," Jon said, his hand rested on Catherine's thigh.  He kneaded softly, eased his hand up under her skirt.  Catherine looked down at his hand and back up at him.  Her thin, dark eyebrow arched.

"I hate being called Cat," she said.

"It's just a nickname," Jon said.  Then leaned forward and kissed her. 

Catherine pushed his hand off her leg.  "Don't."

"Come on, baby, play nice for me," Jon said, pushing closer.

_"Have this fruit, this sweet and juicy apple," the snake says._

Jon's hands tangled with the buttons of Catherine's shirt, a button popped loose and hit the floor.  She turned her head from his kiss and stared out the window.

"Jon, I don't want this," she whispered.

_Her teeth sink into the red skin of the fruit; the juice flooding her mouth and running down her chin._

Jon pushed his hands up under Catherine's shirt and his mouth sucked at her neck.  The tree moved and a branch tapped at the window.

_She swallows, gasps, looks up at the snake.  He looks like he's smiling, his eyes unblinking._

Catherine pushed Jon away with her hands on his chest. He sat back, wiped his mouth, and crossed his arms.  She stared at him, her hair wild around her face.

"What's wrong, baby?"

_She starts to take a second bite and the snake says, "you didn't have to say yes."_

"I don't want you here," Catherine's voice was low and steady.  She stood up, her arm shook in anger as she pointed at her door.  "Get out."

Jon grabbed her hips and tugged her back to the bed, "you don't mean it, baby."

"I said, 'get out.'"

Jon leaned over her.  "Shhh, I won't hurt you."

Catherine reached an arm around Jon's neck.  She grabbed a handful of his heavily gelled hair and pulled his head back.  She pulled him away as she slithered out from his hold.

"I was talking, Jon.  I said, 'get out.'"  Catherine shook Jon by her handful of his hair.

_The snake smiles at her, nods his head, and slithers into the tree. The apple in her hand is rotten, full of worms._

Catherine released Jon.  He grabbed his backpack and textbook.  He slammed the door when he left.

Catherine stared out her bedroom window at the tree shifting in the breeze.


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## CosmicGhost

*There is a light that never goes out.*

 There is a light that never goes out.
*by Erlend Oye (The Smiths cover, music is from Poor Leno by Royksopp)*


[video=youtube;BHiPpXaoBDw]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BHiPpXaoBDw[/video]​ 
*---------------------------------------------------------*
**Mild language. Drug use. Sexual.**
*---------------------------------------------------------* 

*
THERE IS A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT*​

Drivers flowing down main street were uninterested in the old furniture store which had exceeded its parking capacity. The building had transformed into a speaker pushing its bass rhythms soft but powerful in all directions. 

    Late attendees were creatively parking at odd angles into any space they could manage, two arrived in a dirty blue van. The van wedged between two shitbox cars. The Driver reached over to his passenger, The Pentax, and hung it around his neck. Neither door capable of opening, the Driver hopped over the doghouse and made his way to the rear barn doors. Without a handle, or panels, The Driver instinctually reached inside the metal guts and freed the latch. 

     The Driver paid the $10 in return for a neon wrist band and a dirty smile from an older man with long stringy hair. The man took 3 steps around the table and opened the door theatrically as if to unveil his creation.  

    The warm night met the furniture store's glowing heat, pushing glycerin smoke from fog machines out the door. The light machines were rotating orbs sending beams in all directions. The music machines were pumping out atmosphere and energy while the DJ cartoonishly bounced to the beat, twisting knobs. Teenagers and young adults were in their own world. Some were dancing _liquid_, smoothly moving their hands, and arms, and fingers in circular inspired geometric loops. Some were sitting against walls and pillars bright eyed with permanent smiles. The rest were bouncing bodies energetically synced to the beat with the DJ.   

    The Driver's hand was grabbed and pulled towards a corner. As The Drivers eyes adjusted, the glowsticks illuminated some flesh and bright colored clothing he recognized as friends caressing and kissing each other. The Driver knew that some of his friends were bisexual, now he had proof. Still grasped, the hand pulled The Driver to the floor to join in. The Driver sat down and girls surrounded him. Some he knew, others wild unknown creatures. He was offered a pink pill with a smiley face etched on it, he declined. He grabbed The Pentax suspended in his lap and rested it on his knees capturing the girls around him, smiling to himself.

    Without a happy pill, and without The Pentax, the remaining six hours of music could have been unbearable. The atmosphere was safe and the girls were nice, but one quickly understand you were not in the same world. There was no sex to be had, every touch was better than sex to them. Sex was undesirable, they were pure. There were no conversations over the music. But one girl leaned into the The Driver just to be held as the night winded down. 

    The Driver was here by request. He was trusted to drive his friend home safely and he obliged with the incentive of experience for him and The Pentax. As the drug wore off and his duty was to be fulfilled, his friend left with others. 

   On his way to the van alone, The Girl begged him for a ride. The Girl was not scared of his dirty old van, and waited as The Driver stuck his finger in the hole where the lock used to be. Door opened, she crawled in and settled in the passenger seat. The Driver placed The Pentax back in it's bag and tied it down on the floor behind The Girl, then helped The Girl with the old fashioned seat belt overly aware of his hands on her legs. 


Hours before sunrise, the night was perfect. Rattling down the road they talked sparsely but quietly intense. It was thirty minutes to The Girls home they never made it to.


The Girl moved in with The Driver that night. But The Girl left as they always do. The Pentax, is still by The Drivers side.
*

---------------------------------------------------------*​


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## Dictarium

*But he did (546 words)*​

Editing merely for the placement of a [Language] warning on the entry. The original piece I've linked to has not been edited at all.


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## Pidgeon84

The Other Side: Based off Nine Inch Nails- La Mer/The Great Below

I stood on the beach, staring at the ocean. Tonight it seemed to be luminous, Inviting. The warm wind tussled my hair. There wasn't another soul around for miles. At that moment I was alone in the universe. It's almost as though it watched me and me alone.

The waves softly crashed at my feet, pulling me in. I could see my breath despite the warmth, as though my soul were flowing out and dispersing. It was odd, I didn't expect it to be so easy. I didn't expect to feel this good about it, but I reveled in the feeling. There was something inside me that knew where I was going. I wasn't a man of faith but something was drawing me away like I could feel the other side but it was just out of touch

I walked through the soft sand and into the water. The luminescence of the water grew around me as I lied back and started to float. I stared into the starry night sky one last time. The water continued to pull me out into the deep. The waves gently lifted and dropped me lulling me to a dream. Just then the undertow softly pulled me under.

I heard the*beautiful song of a siren as I faded. Resonant and distant, the angelic voice pulled me down. It was calm, getting increasingly colder. The song faded as I hit the ocean's bottom. Only it wasn't sand. It wasn't seaweed or reef. It was wood. I took a breath of stagnant, musty air. I heard water drip and echo. I looked up to see myself surrounded by dark rock walls. The only light coming from the hooded man driving the boat. His lantern hung from bow.

"Where am I?" I asked. I received no response. I let it go. It was chilly and I had goosebumps running up my arms. The hair on my neck was stiff. My eyes were growing heavy as a breeze came through and with it brought a mist. A thick fog rolled in and enveloped us. The hooded man took his lantern and turned to me. His face so black you could feel his empty soul. He blew out the lantern and the cave went dark.

I could feel the water again caress my skin but I soon became numb to*the*feeling as I floated there. The water had no temperature. The dripping went away. The stagnant smell had dissipated. So I floated there. I stayed there for what felt like a millennia. Though my physical senses had been deprived for what I can only assume to be ages, I was overrun by a warm peaceful feeling. After God only knows how long a spot appeared in the distance. A soft white glow. The water became choppy, sucking me towards*the*glow.*The*light became overbearing. It was blinding and hot. Just then an arm reached through, and the warm hand of God caressed my sensitive skin. My skin tingled as if it were numb but my senses had returned greater than before. I felt the cold end become a warm new beginning.


----------



## Emz

Wow, these are amazing... All of them!


----------



## midnightpoet

Fortunate Son -Creedence Clearwater Revival
Warning: language.


“Son, I’m glad you came by.  I hear you’re headed for Afghanistan.”

“Third deployment, dad.”

“Salute when you say that,” the father said, smiling.

The son saluted, standing at attention.

“At ease, soldier. I just wanted to say, the day you graduated from West Point was one of the proudest days of my life.  Your mother would have loved to hear of your latest promotion.  I remember visiting her in the hospital that last time.  She was holding your picture when she...”

“Dad, you don’t have to say it. I miss her too.”

“Damn cancer…”

“Dad…”

“Alright, I got things to say, damn it. I know you know them already, but I need to say them. You remember, you’re a fourth generation soldier.  I slogged in the mud of Vietnam.  Lost both legs, but it didn’t prevent me from giving your mother the spark.”

“I get the picture, Dad.”

“This damn wheelchair hasn’t got me down yet.  Anyway, your grandfather landed at Omaha beach, your great-grandfather fought with Black Jack Pershing.”

“Dad, I realize that…”

“Hush up. I want you to know that everything I’ve done, your family’s done, has been to brighten the colors on the stars and stripes.  When I came back home from Vietnam, it wasn’t easy.  A lot of people didn’t like us.  I was just an NCO, but I felt sorry for the grunts, crawling down in those tunnels going after Charlie.  Different enemies, different times.  Now some are our friends.”

“Dad, I know.”

“You know it was just a last year I was at my first veteran’s day parade.  Saw a couple of old comrades.  We had a great time.  Hah.  A couple of us got drunk, remembered old times.  I was lucky I didn’t have every disease in the world from over there.”       

A few minutes of silence passed.

“Alright, another subject.  I hear I’m becoming a grandfather again.”

“A girl, the doctors say.” the son said, smiling.

“Good, good.  I’m glad you married into a military family, but you waited a long time.”

“Late bloomer, Dad.  I’ll let you know the birth date.”

“I’ll be there.  How’s the ten year old?”

“Tops in his class.”

“Should have known.  When are you coming home for good?”

“Next year, I hope.  I’m scheduled to work on the drone program.  Somewhere in Nevada, top secret.”

“I know you’ll do a great job.  Now go out there and make your old father proud.  Kick some Taliban ass.”

The son grinned.  “Will do, Dad.”

They shook hands, and the son left.  As he drove off, the phone rang.

“Hello?  Oh, senator.  Glad you called.  My son is is on his way to Afghanistan.”

“Your money’s in your account in the Caymans.”

“I appreciate that.  It would be terrible if the press got hold of some of your activities.  Your secrets are safe with me.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Well, I want my grandchild in West Point, I thought that was obvious.  Remember, I gave to your campaigns in the past.  You responded, and my son went to West Point.  Now it’s payback time.  Remember that little village massacre?  Kill them all!  I believe was what you said, Mr. just-out-of-the-academy.  I’ve seen your ads.  War hero, huh?  Right. I was talking with my buddies not long ago about our Vietnam escapades.  We all agreed to keep quiet. Where do you think your money is going?  We heard of your presidential aspirations, and we think it’s about time you really helped veterans.  As I’m sure you’re aware, they’ve been getting short shrift of late.”

“Okay, okay, but there must be more to it.”

“Heh.  You mean you really don’t know? Shit. You were the one who put me in this goddamn wheelchair, you dumb fuck!”

Click.

“Oh beautiful, for spacious skies…”


----------



## Hitotsmami

_Song: Nemo by Nightwish_



*NEMO*​ 
  The back of the covered wagon stunk of manure and rot.

  Blood stained straw was my cushion and skulls, my company. I counted half a dozen before my stomach churned with sickness. I pulled at the thick ropes that bound my hands behind my back to no avail. Even if I did by chance loosen my binds, I knew not what awaited me beyond that tarp.

  My mother and father must have searched half the castle by now, but they wouldn’t find me. It was my own fault for storming out of the castle and all for love.

  My mother told me where I saw true love, she saw youth. I may have been only three and ten, but he was a noble, handsome knight to me. Oh, if only I could see my good mother and father again, I would plead forgiveness and pledge never to love a knight again.

  The wagon stopped and I held my breath and closed my eyes, playing at sleep. The whiney of horses followed boots that sunk in mud. Three, four, five steps and then the back flaps of the tarp flew open.

  “Oi, girl, get up.”

  I didn’t move, but when the man banged a fist on the wagon I jumped, eyes wide open. The man looked a kidnapper, a dirty face and unkempt hair and scars.
  “I’ll drag ye out,” said the man.

  I got to my feet and shuffled forward, shaking with fear. My foot kicked a skull and it rolled to the man. He lifted it, fingers in both empty sockets, and tossed it back with the rest.

  “Will that be me?” I asked.

  The man grabbed the rope that connected to my binds and gave it a tug. “No.” I almost felt relieved, but then he said, “It will be worse if we don’t get what we want.”

###

  The tower was so secure that I doubted even a rat could escape. They locked me at the top with barred windows and not a trace of light.

  I wondered how many hours had passed as I lay on the damp stone floor when a sound of a sword on sword caught my ear. I sat up, fearful, and scooted back into a corner. My eyes locked on the wooden door as screams pierced the air below me.

  I screamed myself when the door swung open, flooding the room with light. So bright it was that I could just barely see the figure of a stride toward me. He knelt down and asked, “Can ya stand, Princess?” His voice was thick with accent.

  I blinked and gave a stiff nod. He lifted me to my feet, pulled a dagger, and split the ropes around my wrists, then he hurried me out the door and down the stone stairs.
  At the bottom, I saw bodies strewn on the floor like feed for chickens. One still lived though, and plunged a sword at the man, but met one in his neck instead. When he fell limp, the man led me over the bodies and out the door where a white steed waited.

  “Are you a knight?” I asked, breathless. He lifted me onto the horse before mounting.

  He laughed from the shadow of his red hood. “No knight, Princess.”

  Fear hit me. A thief could well steal from a thief. “Where are you taking me?”

  “A handsome reward to the one that brings you home. Handsome still to the one that sells you out, but that’s not me. Not no more. Home you go.”

  No, not a knight, perhaps something darker, but I was thankful all the same. “Let me know your name.”

  “Nemo,” he said. “In my tongue, means no-name. Just that.”

  When I returned home, I never loved a knight again, but as I grew, I became particularly fond of no-name vigilantes.


----------



## Pluralized

*Always*​
For whatever reason, I always thought I’d have you around. Thought you’d be there when I found out I got that new job. There to cheer me on. Maybe that’s selfish.


You always made me smile. You should know that. When we somehow made it to Red Rocks for the Rage show back eighteen years ago, and you were on crutches and you moshed your ass off. Not sure how you didn’t die, but always respected you for that. Heard you died from a heroin overdose, then heard it was really heart failure. Either way, probably due to the drugs we ingested. Together. And you died, somehow. 


The first time we met, you captivated me with your aggressive personality. I didn’t know how to take you, honestly. I was just a little kid, in retrospect. When we embarked on our final journey together, bound for Denver, I remember how you smiled at me and pulled that fifth of vodka out from under your coat. I smiled back, so glad we could crush the awkwardness beneath a heavy leaden coat of alcohol. And we did! Showed up in Longmont, drunk as moose, headed for the food counter at a gas station. Grabbed some chick’s butt, you did. Smiled at her, showed her that charismatic Jake. You bastard; she didn’t even get pissed. I think you even got her number. 


We broke through security at the show, yammering on about how we were ‘with the band.’ Zach and Tom didn’t know who the fuck we were, but to this day I’m so glad we did that. Shared that experience, made fools of ourselves. As I got through the ticketing line, showed my stub to the grim-faced woman, you came to my rescue, somehow talking my drunk ass through the pissed-off cops. I grabbed some dude’s ass, or so it goes, thinking it was a chick. Drunk. You fed me a piece of paper towel with speed inside, called a ‘power pellet.’ Immediately I came to, figuring out where I was. 


A few hours later, in the stands, making out with some girl, come to find out she’s Erin from Wyoming. I’m shocked, but happy that it’s at least someone who meant to kiss me. You stepped back, gave me your hand, and vomited in the bushes. I found us some other chicks that we didn’t know. Got their numbers, albeit scratched pager numbers on the back of a pack of Camel Lights.


Later that night, we piled seven deep into a Travelodge on Colfax, right in the heart of shit-town. Smoking Dave’s Lights, the stinkiest cigarettes on earth, and not caring, we made our place in Denver that night. I sat next to you, mouth open, listening in admiration to everything you had to say. I loved it all, I hope you know. The wit, and confidence  you put out there, man. It was so much more powerful than my whispery charm, and I loved you for that. The motel room smelled like hell, felt horribly hot, and even some of the girls that went with us were throwing up in the bathroom.


The scratched numbers into the side of cigarette packs never panned out, despite repeated tries. I never threw up, myself, but watched my intoxication fade as the sun came up, eating breakfast at Denny’s. My friend Travis says to me, “Hey - how do you like your coffee?”


I respond, without even thinking, “Black. Just fucking black.”

[video=youtube;Th-SbwxjgzA]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Th-SbwxjgzA[/video]


----------



## J Anfinson

*Handsome Devil (Language-641 Words)*

Handsome Devil-- Inspired by Black Sabbath's _NIB_
[video=youtube;KGAapQG_EpQ]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGAapQG_EpQ[/video]

He smashed his fist through the wall of his hotel room, rattling the expensive paintings and causing one to fall, the protective glass covering shattering on the thin carpet. It didn’t matter, nobody would say anything about it. Not if they knew what was good for them.

“It’s impossible,” he roared to the empty room. “Nobody denies me. Never!”

From the hall, there was a soft knock on the door. “Sir, please forgive me for intruding but the girl wishes to see you immediately.”

A chunk of drywall fell, landing on the floor next to his shoe. He picked it up and sent it hurling out the window by the bed, raining more glass down to the sidewalk thirteen stories below. Sometimes a little destruction did wonders, he mused. The place felt more like home already. He went to the door and opened it.

Two of his bodyguards stood against the far wall, keeping their eyes lowered. They knew better than to meet his eyes. Those who had made that mistake ended up with their head on a pike. The Prince of Darkness didn’t actually need them, it was all for appearances.

“Let’s go.” He stormed toward the elevator.

***

She was sitting at the dressing table of her room, applying mascara when he kicked the door in. It slammed against the inner wall, tearing the hinges loose and it tumbled across the room where it came to rest against a sofa. In the mirror, he saw her glare up at him.

“You could have knocked. I’d have answered it,” she said.

Lucifer walked calmly through the ruined doorway. “I enter as I see fit.”

She shook her head. “That’s something you’ll have to change.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending. Who did this woman think she was, anyway? First she denied his advances— something that hadn’t happened since the dawn of time— and now she thought she could change him? He would have laughed if her resistance wasn’t so puzzling.

She finished applying the makeup with a final stroke of the brush. “There. Now you can take me shopping. You need a new wardrobe.”

“Excuse me?”

She picked up her purse from the table. “Everything you wear is so outdated. You need to pay better attention to trends.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “Why in the hell should I care? I’m the Lord of the Flies, not Ralph Lauren!”

The woman turned to face him. “You want to know why? I’ll tell you why. Because we’re having dinner with my parents and I’d like to keep from being embarrassed by what you’re wearing.”

He looked down at his faded shirt. It couldn’t be more than a few decades old.

“Then we’ll go to the mall,” she continued. “You can pick out a ring while we’re there.”

A ring? This woman was delusional. She thought she was going to become Satan’s housewife? He needed to get control of this girl. Her resistance had to be some sort of fluke.

“Silence, woman. You need to listen well, or…”

She lashed out and grabbed him by the ear, twisting it. He howled in rage and pain. “No, You need to listen. I don’t give a shit how long you’ve been ruling that pigsty of yours. I’m not going to spread my legs just because you want me to. If you have any hopes of getting intimate with me you’d best learn to give me what I want first.” She let go and he stumbled back.

For the first time ever, Lucifer was scared. Nobody had ever treated him that way. Nobody would dare.

She walked out of the room, calling back to him. “What are you waiting for? I’m not opening doors for myself.”

His bodyguards snickered as he walked past and he hung his head in shame. He was ruined.


----------



## Kepharel

*Inspired by: The Long And **Winding Road*
*The Beatles*​ 
I'm sat in a trendy city-centre bar, about thirty minutes early for a school reunion that, against my better judgement, I was persuaded to attend following a phone call out of the blue from an old classmate, Chris. My hesitance is borne from the fact I'm not a great mixer, and anyhow, these people will be strangers now; well they were even then for the most part, because I had left at sixteen, before the end of second term when my parents moved away.  Then, in rapid succession, new school, seventeenth birthday, college, then a fast track career, marriage with quick-fire twins, and all before my feet could touch the ground.


It’s just before 6.30, and the place feels as if it’s in the dead zone, between departing commuters and incoming Friday night revellers, so I pull up a bar stool to take in the punters.  But even as I put the glass to my lips I hear a girl’s voice just outside of my line of sight, magnetic in its familiarity and disconcerting in its delivery.


“Arwen.”


I turn and take my first look at her. Delyth Hopkins.  She’s hardly changed, but we all know what a deceiver time can be. Tall, with long blonde hair still, and as she sits beside me I recognise again in her movement that easy, graceful manner of hers.  Also still there, written into her face, is the unbounded naivety and innocence that she could not shake free, that had already begun to cast her adrift from those other girls who, at her age, had outgrown those qualities in the headlong rush towards maturity. Most of all I remember the little notes she would place regularly in my satchel. 


Unsettled by the tone of her voice, I play for time. “Sorry, do I know you?”


“Of course you do. Our last day; remember telling me you would love me forever, and that you would come back for me one day.  I heard about the reunion, kind of hoped you would be here.  Hey, don’t worry, I’ll not stay long.”


The tension of the silence that followed charged the air between us, ionised it with the expectation and foreboding of my having to acknowledge my final memory of her.


“So, what happened to forever, Arwen? Did it stop the moment you used me?  Is that how long forever is for you, and why did you have to go and say you would come back for me?” 

Her hurt takes her voice; a single tear, then her words desert her, reducing her to mime. “Why didn’t you come back for me?”

I splutter, incredulous,” Ah! Delyth, don’t. We were what, sixteen? That’s just children, innocents, kids. Look, it happened, but it shouldn't have happened.”

She is already walking away though, back through the door onto the street, avoiding a loud, chattering crowd of men and women coming in the other way. I kind of recognise some faces so I guess it’s the Reunion.  I try to join in, but my encounter with Delyth preoccupies me so, leaving out the detail, I mention seeing her to Rachael, a girl in my class at the time.

“Delyth, you saw Delyth? I don’t think so love.”

“How come?” I ask.

“Of course, you had left by then, wouldn't know, would you? Got pregnant just after you moved away. Wouldn't tell anyone who the father was, but she really wanted to keep it. Parents finally persuaded her have an abortion though, but she couldn't live with the idea that she was somehow to blame for killing her baby; it’s all she talked about. Anyhow, her parents came home and found her on the kitchen floor one day, cut her wrists and bled out on the floor by all accounts. It was in all the local papers.”

*The End*​


----------



## apple

*Dark Hell Swarm*

inspiration: Witchy Woman by The Eagles

Dark Hell Swarm



_         "Too long," he say.  I say," Not long enough."  He know my ways.  He scratch deep in expected fear and tangly man stuff.  Yet he come back.  He like my honey.  I keep bees to give me sweet.  I give him  sticky tongue.  Oh, he like my honey.  He like my long black hair dat tickle and strangle and pull  him down into dirty swamp .  I tease, I tickle. "Shall I call out to my bees?"  His eyes, ah, his eyes, plead, yes, no, and I smile, soft as silk, and say "don' be so 'fraid." as I pat, pat, pat his cheek. Then dark hell swarm, 'round, 'round, and sting him hard all over.  I laugh and say, "run bohboh, run, boy."_

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

         Cece never invites, yet she beckons. Her dark hair clawing the wind and prowling her shoulders, a  rippling of flimsy skirt against the sun. She walks with purpose and blistering anger, betraying a face too beautiful to resist. But, to some who know, she exudes an essence of fair game, as if she was marked by a pack of wild dogs. Cece never invites. Still they intrude. They always come for her.

         Inside her room, hundreds of shiny tin cans hang on the walls, from ceiling to floor, and when the sun is setting the room is cast in gold and the walls become an eerie prism to her reflection. Many of one.  An army you should not battle.

        When entering those confines, don't knock.  Cece won't answer. You must invade. Intoxicating aromas of oranges and moss meet you and stir urges of what you know is to come. She forces you onto a mattress piled with pillows and faded quilts that still hint of colors and patterns, then she straddles your world and shakes you like she's choking a snow globe filled with razors, feathers and erotic smells, that cut, swirl and suffocate.  You revel to be so helpless in her theater; in the story she writes in her head. She forces you to kiss the scar across her throat; to kiss her feet.  She slaps you hard and makes you say, " I'm sorry." over and over. A threat is implied if you resist. Her implacable hatred enhances your thrill.

         Abandon your will if you've come for the ride. Crazy, blessed Cece. Never less than terrifying. More than addicting.

        The times, when she's darker, more shadowed, and the moon shines pinpoints of light across the room , you catch the orbs in her eyes. You feel the vibration of bees buzzing.

        "So smoothe the pearl." she says, as she strokes the handle of a small pistol. "So cold, like a bebe's skin."

        You tense as she drags the pistol down your body before she presses it to your head and squeezes the trigger.

        "Ah, too bad." she says, "Maybe next time, boy."

        Then, Cece is done. You no longer exist. She pulls a paper bag from beneath the bed and unwraps the pink blanket inside. Carefully she arranges tiny bones into their proper places. The little skull at the top, four loose toes and six little finger bones, two on the left hand and four on the right.

        "Mari, me sweetie bebe, you be so plump and pretty." 

        A breeze blows through, and the walls come to life, clanking, pinging, and shooting sparks like silver bullets.

        "Dat's right, me titi, no one hurt us again."

        She cradles the pink blanket and rocks back the goodness. She rocks sweet Mari, and the prism walls reflect the soft face of a girl in love with her child. Their pieces become whole. CeCe before the bees.

        In fascination and fear you watch, a voyeur who prays the wind doesn't kick up and disturb the walls or rattle the bees again,  before you can slip the ten dollars under the pillow and sneak away.


----------



## Virye Lerbern

[video=youtube;y0s7ycdUcHk]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y0s7ycdUcHk&amp;list=PLwHG0t8IyDjO0JM-qUQuck8n6PLU4_WjG&amp;index=1[/video]

Title: _*Pull Me Out *_

Through the window, rays of sunlight shined down into the young mans face. He turned on his side closing his eyes tighter. His body curling into itself as if he held onto himself long enough his existence would diminish into nothing. The sound of his worn shoes skidding across the pavement grated his ears just as much as the birds chirping. He nulled most of it out by cupping his hands over his ears. 


What he couldn’t ignore was the officer tapping his baton across his cell. The young man used the weight of his elbow to thrust himself into a sitting position. He swung his head to look over his shoulder with sleepy eyes and saw the sneer on the officers face show no sympathy as he unlocked the door waiting for the man to step out from his ‘cage’. 


Saying nothing, the man dug under his bunk which he hardly used to grab a bar of soap and a small bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner. The officer gave enough indication of his impatience by continuously tapping his baton across the young man’s cell. Taking the hint, he quickly joined the line of orange jumpsuited men. 


The scuffle of shoes echoed loudly as they were lead out to where the showers were located. Hundreds of men stood outside while officers chaperoned groups of fifteen in then after ten minutes another group would go in until the young man was taken inside. He was forced to stand still as they searched him. He lifted his arms as instructed and spread his legs as they patted him down. Once he was given the okay a completely different officer ushered him away. 


Four and a half minutes was all the man had to wash his hair and scrub his body. He had longed forgotten what a real shower meant yet the lukewarm water beading down his back comforted him nonetheless. Perhaps it was the memory of when he used to pull his girlfriend out into the rain to give her a wet kiss. He smirked as he could almost picture the frustrated expression on Judith’s face slowly turn into a smile as she’d usually cave in by wrapping her arms around his neck . 


Although, a jab in the stomach brought the young man swiftly back to his senses. Dripping wet still, he hid back his scowl from the guard while walking off to grab a towel that was handed to him along with his belongings and a supposedly fresh jumpsuit. As for the rest of the day he couldn’t remember other than when he ate or took a crap. Every day was pretty much the same with only slight variations. 


When the day winded down he walked up a fleet of stairs, waved at a couple acquaintances, and even managed to save a moth from a spiders clutches. All in all, he couldn’t escape the thoughts of Judith which was why he turned a corner to walk straight into his cell. He lowered himself to feel for that same piece of limestone. It had fallen from the ceiling ages ago but he now used it as chalk. 


His eyes darted to a wall covered in tally marks. Seven hundred and eight little lines should be up there and several more would follow in the next six consecutive days. He sprawled out on the ground then allowed his thoughts to waver to Judith and their last conversation on the phone. He focused on the last few words they exchanged before hanging up.


“Are you ready?” Judith asked.


“I’m ready.”


“Are you--” He cut her off. “I am fine.”


“Okay.” She said softly, a smile in her voice.


“I love you Judith.”


“I love you too Brice.”


----------



## aj47

Roads to Moscow by Al Stewart

Forever. It is the length of the sky and the length of my “stay” in this place. Home is a memory; a dream of mother, warmth, and springtime. Piotr believes it will end any day. Soon, someone will uncover lost paperwork and he will find redemption. And a ticket home.

I know better. I knew better the day in the transit camp when we were told we were being “relocated” somewhere I’d never heard of. My fate was pronounced in a way so casual that it had to be important.

It is so cold here. Colder than I remember winter ever being. I wonder if it is winter here. There seem to be no seasons and we don’t have the luxury of calendars. 

I know when it will end; it will end with my death. I sometimes wish I could hasten death somehow but without actually taking my own life. I don’t want to be one of those who hang themselves. I’ve heard of tongue-swallowing but am afraid to try it.
When men talk, they say many things. Today I heard that when the cold takes you, you feel warm. That you nod off to sleep with that warmth. As if you have a fire within your spirit that gives you peace in your last moments. 

I think I will do that. I must give myself to the cold in the night when no one will see. Because it takes hours for it to warm you in its embrace. When I hear the snoring, I will divest myself of all covering and shiver until the warmth comes. And think of springtime and my mother.


----------



## dvspec

Leaving


----------



## kilroy214

Long Coole Woman - by Philip James (Language Warning)
(646 words, inspired by "Long Cool Woman (in a black dress) by The Hollies)


Agent Harvey Coole stared longingly at the sweating highball glasses of whiskey over ice and felt his tongue ache for reprieve. 
“Let’s get a drink.” He shouted over the din. His partner, Edison Lee, gave him a hard look. 
“It’s against the law, Harvey.”
“Look around, Ed, we’re the only two _not_ drinking. We’re going to get pegged for cops sure as shit.”
“Who cares? We aren’t here to raid the place.”
“They don’t know that.” Harvey said, flagging down a waitress.
“You have a drink and it’s going in my report.”
Harvey turned to the girl, “Two whiskey doubles, sweetheart, on the rocks.”
“I don’t want any alcohol.” Edison grumbled.
“Who said I was ordering for you?”

Harvey gave the waitress a wink and a fiver when she returned with his libations. 
“Crowd’s getting restless. You think she’ll be here?” Edison asked.
“I think a lot of people will be pissed if the great Anna Hetrick is a no show.” Harvey savored his drink. If she’s here, we call the D.A. and wait.”
The stage lit up with a spot light, and suddenly she was there, like an apparition conjured from the dark. Tall, blonde and gorgeous, the long black dress she wore with the slit up the thigh exposed one long, silky white leg.
Agent Coole was transfixed. “Holy shit.” He breathed as she started to sing
Edison stood.
“What are you doing?” Harvey whispered, pulling him down.
“Making the call.”
“Hey! Shut up!” Someone shouted from the back of the room.
“Wait for her to finish the set, for Christ sake.” Harvey spat.
“Let go of my goddamn arm.” Edison said. He pushed Harvey’s hand away and stood straight into a hulk of a man. 
“You,” the man stuck a beefy finger into Edison’s chest, “and you,” the finger went to Harvey, “Out! Now!” The bouncer shouted.

Harvey watched with wide eyes as the bouncer tossed Edison in the direction of the door like a ragdoll. His partner hit the floor, and the FBI credentials and badge skipped out across the hard wood.
“Shit!” Harvey spat.
“Raid!” Someone screamed, and suddenly everyone was on their feet and headed for the exits. Guns came out of several guest’s coats. Harvey stood and flipped the table over on its side. His Colt .38 was already in his hand. When the bouncer turned to him, all the man saw was a blur as the Colt’s butt connected with his nose. The bouncer hit the floor as Harvey ducked behind his overturned table as Edison scrambled towards him after scooping up his badge.
“My drinking goes in your report, this shit’s going into mine!” Harvey yelled as two men with a pair of .45’s perforated the table.
“How the hell do we get out of here?”
Harvey looked towards the stage. It was empty, now, but where was she?
“Through the stage, we go out the back.” Harvey stood and fired blindly as he and Edison raced for the curtains and ducked into blackness. They moved down a corridor that exited into the back alley. A black Dodge Touring sat near a dumpster, and Harvey ducked inside. 
“Keys are here, let’s boogie.”
Edison jumped into the passenger seat as Harvey stomped the pedal.

“Are you two the police?” The voice made them jump.
Harvey looked in the rearview mirror. Tall, blonde and gorgeous, the great Anna Hetrick sat in the middle of the bench seat in the back smoking a cigarette.
“Yes ma’am, we are.” Edison said when he found his voice.
“Then I’d like to report that two men have stolen my car.”
“We’ll take you to the station so you can make it a formal report. By the way, you’re under arrest.”
Harvey looked at her in the mirror once more, “Miss Hetrick, I’ve just got to tell you, you look stunning in that dress.”


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## Plasticweld

*The End, 650 words violence, languge,  listen to the music as you read it fits*

This is the end, The Doors
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JSUIQgEVDM4

Every muscle ached, no matter how hard I tried I could not break free.  The shackles cut into my wrists and ankles, though the room was cold and damp I was soaked in sweat. 

Jack sat there stooped over, panting, sweat dripped from the bridge of his nose on to the floor.   It was a small thing but at least he had to work at beating me. I watched his chest heave up and down.

 “You little fucker.” I managed past my cracked lips. Looking up from the floor he gave me a wry little smile and wiped the sweat from his face. 

“I’m just gettin started, you old fuck!”

“Jack you don’t need to do this.” I was disgusted at how pathetic it came out, I was tougher than this, or at least I thought so.

The hard table was taking its toll on my back, my bones ached, I am not sure how long I have been here, I lay there in a puddle of piss and sweat.  My clothes clung to me and I stunk, the smell of sweat, fear and urine filled the dank cellar. 

”I’m not going to sign.”

 Jack for the first time since this started, looked almost sane. “Sure you will” He said it as if it were as simple as “Oh yeah on your way home stop and get milk.” 

“I got something special for you Bub!”  Bub was what I called him while we were growing up, he loved the touch of sarcasm, turning the tables in a twisted way.
He got up slowly from the bench, biting his lip, I expected some sort of smart ass remark, the kind little brothers give you when they beat you for the first time at checkers [none came]

He closed the door behind him, I could hear the lock click as he turned the key.  A smile crossed my lips, where did he think I was going? If this weren’t really happening, this would have been funny. 

The quiet of the cellar gave me time to think, not much of this does make sense, I am living it and it doesn’t make any sense.  Jack my little brother, really a half-brother that is 16 years younger me.  Growing up, this made for some interesting dynamics as kids.  Jack had said that when he was in therapy that he both loved me and hated me, I am figuring today he pretty much hates me. 

Our parents are, or should I say used to be wealthy, now they’re just dead. That makes Jack and I both wealthy, things are still in probate so right now we both have the pretense of wealth with none of the money.  Jack maybe crazy but 100 percent of the money is better than 50 percent and he keeps mumbling something about how he earned it. 

I heard the lock click and watched as the door opened.  Jack came in all smiles he was carrying a large box covered in black cloth. 

“How ya doin Bub?” 
I was caught off guard and had no answer. 

“Ya sure do stink.”

“Asshole” was the best I could come up with.

He placed the box on the bench, with his best Al Pacino imitation “Say hello to my little friend.” He then ripped the black cover off of the box, revealing a very large but frighten rat. sat there blinking it’s eyes to the light. 

“Hasn’t eaten in weeks, Bub”
Jack picked up the cage, holding it high, in the bottom of the box was a hole covered with a door just large enough for a man’s head.  He placed the cage next to my head, I could smell the rat.

I strained to get away, I felt a searing pain as part of my ear now became dinner for the rat.
“I’ll sign, I’ll sign.”
“Sure you will.”


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## J.T. Chris

Let's Live For Today


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## InstituteMan

*Turtles All the Way Down (650 words) (inspired by Sturgill Simpson's song w same name*

In the workshop here.

If I can make the video thing work, here is the song that I used:

[video=youtube;LWx6csgGkg4]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWx6csgGkg4&amp;feature=kp[/video]


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## Ari

Song: Shout, by Camel
641 words

Shout

He still hasn't taken her coat off the piano. 
It lies there, empty, a skin no longer needed. The zip gleams silver, threatening to scratch the wood. Twice he goes to move it and cannot, like his heart believes that touching her things will chase her memory away. 
His hands always follow his heart. They pick up his red guitar and start to tune.

Once, she covered the piano with a myriad of things. Lipstick, glittery scarves and bangles, a copy of Othello resting on the keys. He asked the ceiling what had he done to deserve such a daughter. He banged on her door and shouted, “Izzy! Don’t put things on the piano!”
Once thought that wood was so precious.
_Izzy… when I said ‘don’t put things on the piano’ I didn’t mean ‘don’t put things on the piano.’ Can you hear me, Iz? Do you understand?   _
When she was tiny, he made her the fairytale princess of his music. A hundred songs, just for her. 

No matter how many tunes he creates, there are always more. He strings harmonies together like pearls on a thread. Notes strike him at night like sparks of splendour. The only thing he can’t do is give them lyrics. But that’s okay. He does the music, Adrian does words, and the others play backup when they come to record. What if, though, just for once...
_If I had found the words to say..._
Something better than ‘don't put things on the piano.’

The house is so empty without her. Even the sound of his red guitar cannot fill it. Its music brushes the silence under the carpet like dust, but he knows that it’s still there, heavy and dark, ready to flood the place again the moment he stops playing.
So he doesn't stop playing.
He goes through every tune he knows.
His neck stiffens and his back aches. His fingers grow sleepy and slow. He shifts the guitar, tries to get comfortable without losing the tune. His mouth is dry but he will not stop for coffee. 
Silence has become a thing to fear.

A new song is born between the last star falling and the sunrise. It is gossamer and flickering, like something snatched from a dream. He must pin it down with ink and paper before it can escape. 
Tentatively, he sets the guitar aside. The song in his head keeps the silence at bay. He scribbles it over three sheets of paper, sits at the piano, tries a few notes and scribbles again. 
_I’ll write another song for you, the only way I know to wish you peace._
He takes a fresh sheet of paper and for the first time in his life, words flick from his pen as easily as notes.
_Another day… if I had found the words to say... _
_All the things I meant to say..._

She was so happy as a child. He taught her guitar, thinking like father like daughter, but it was the violin she really loved. When she was seven, they hailed her as a prodigy. At nine, she played with her first symphony orchestra. He loved her with a fierce, burning pride. She laughed and smiled. 
Happy.
And when her skirts got shorter and her breath smelled of peppermint mingled with smoke, he turned a blind eye. When her violin grew dusty in a corner he made excuses to her teachers. She was just going through a stage.
_A self-effacing prodigy, you gave it up for infamy...  _
When she took to locking herself in her room, he tried not to worry. He gave her the space he thought she needed. He told her not to put things on the piano. He believed everything would be okay in the end.

Now he knows that nothing will ever be okay again.




https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GU1Y2X1bQ1Y


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## garza

*McRae County Man Charged with Arson*

The song prompt chosen for this story can be found here.
A reply to the song prompt can be found here.

1.

Hattiesburg (6th July)  Forrest County authorities have charged 44-year-old Wilbur McInnes with second degree arson. The charges are in connection with a fire early Tuesday that destroyed the County Line Tavern, a roadside bar located some 100 yards inside Forrest County on the Fairweather Road. The bar is reported to have been popular with residents of McRae County, a dry county where the sale of alcohol is prohitited. McInnes, a resident of the Seven Mile Community in McRae County, was taken into custody at the scene by officers of the Forrest County Sheriff's Department and is detained in the Forrest County Jail in Hattiesburg. Bail has not been set and it is not known whether McInnes has retained an attorney.  A Deputy Fire Marshal from the State Fire Marshal's Office is in Hattiesburg to investigate the fire. 

2.

'For the record, tell the court your name.

Corporal Raymond Lockett of the Forrest County Sheriff's Department.

'Tell us what happened the morning of July fourth, this year. You may refer to your notes.

'The dispatch operator at the Sheriff's office received a call at about oh-four-forty-five from a resident on Fairweather Road near the McRae County line. The resident reported flames and smoke in the vicinity of County Line Tavern. Deputy Frank Harris and I were on patrol in the area and proceeded to the location.

'What did you see when you arrived?

'A small frame building, known as the County Line Tavern, fully involved in flame.

'Did you see any other vehicles near the fire?

'Yes. Two. A U-S Forest Service pickup in the parking area in front of the building, and a private pickup on the side of the road a little ways past the parking area.

'Did you see anyone in the area?

'Yes. Two Forest Service personnel were using backpack spray tanks to wet down the undergrowth near the sides and back of the building. A third man was in the vicinity of the private pickup. He was carrying a large bucket, like a feed bucket, and was running towards the fire.  .

'What did the man do with the bucket?

'When he reached the fire, he poured liquid from the bucket into the flames.

'What happened?

'There was a flare-up, as though an accelerant had been poured on the fire. That's when Deputy Harris and I moved forward and took the man into custody. He identified himself as Wilbur McInnes of McRae County.

'What happened to the bucket?

'Deputy Harris, the two Forest Service personnel, and I all examined it and agreed there remained a strong odour of Diesel fuel in the bucket. We've since turned it over to an investigator from the State Fire Marshall's Office.

3. 

'Members of the Jury, have you reached a verdict?'

'We have, your honour. On the single charge of Arson in the Second Degree, we find the defendent, Wilber McInnes, gulity as charged.'

4.

'I'm tellin you Tammy, it was beautiful. I forgot and left th'ol' bucket I hauled the gas in sittin' there by the place and Wilbur come slidin' up in his truck, jumped out, picked up the bucket, and scooped water from Turkey Creek and dumped it on the fire. Well of course there was still gas in the bucket and it made the fire blaze hotter just as the police drove up and saw Wilbur with the bucket. So now he's gone, the bar's gone, and I'm hooked up with a new man.'

'Ain't you lonely without him?'

'I was lonely with him. He was at that bar near ever night anyways. Now I'm shut of him with no more aggravation and my new feller hangs around me instead of sittin' in a bar.'


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## EmmaSohan

*Assignment*

*Assignment*

I reread Mr. Stone's assignment again, praying I misunderstood something. Nope. Pick my favorite song. Find things in the newspaper that go with song. I hope I don't find anything. Really, I could have left school four months ago, and no one would have noticed if it wasn't for homeroom. Oh well, fifteen days to graduation. I can make it.

_eh-o, eh-o, eh-eh-o, eh-o, eh-eh-o, eh-o, eh-eh-o, eh-o._

I wish my favorite song was ..... I don't know. Anything but Pompeii.

June 1. In Colorado, a man ate a marijuana-infused candy bar, raved about the end of the world, then pulled out a gun and killed his wife. Veterans, who risked their lives for our country, can't get treatment at the hospitals we built for them because it takes too long. Oh my God, I'm reading about the Rohingya Muslims in Myanmar. Abuse, abuse, abuse. I can't even talk about it.

I can't think about Rohingya without getting sick. I should go to Colorado and forget I ever read about that.

_We were caught up and lost in all of our vices_

June 2. President Obama is trying to reduce greenhouse gas emissions. Why will that make him unpopular? And India and China won't go along, so what good does it do for us to stop? Oops, we're not stopping, we're just reducing 17%. Big deal. Let's just ruin the whole earth. 140 million girls and females in the world have suffered female-genital mutilation/cutting. Stopping here. Mr. Stone, I HATE you.

_And the walls kept tumbling down_
_In the city that we love_

June 3. Obama's plan to cut carbon emission might work. But, it says - I am going to quote here, Mr. Stone, I deserve extra credit -- "The greenhouse gas reductions required by the Obama administations' proposed rule on power plants will not get the world to where it has to go to avert the worst consequences of climate change."

Am I really understanding this right? Everyone's all excited by this new plan, which might not even happen....and it isn't enough? When do we start doing what is enough?

I mean, if the people of Pompeii  knew the volcano was coming, they would have left. We don't have any place to go. Hello?

_Great clouds roll over the hills_
_Bringing darkness from above_

June 4. People have stopped cutting down the Amazon rain forest. Scientists have discovered that the ozone layer is getting larger, and no species are going extinct because of warming, destruction of their land, or overhunting. The coral reefs are not shrinking.

Just joking, Mr. Stone! I hope your day sucks.

_And if you close your eyes, you can almost feel like, nothing's changed at all._

June 9. Ebola is worse in Africa. "The consequences will be terrible if we don't take quick action to limit carbon emissions."

June 10. The major lake in the center of Cambodia is dying. The ecosystems of the world are worth 142 trillion dollars. Um, they would be worth 165 trillion except for the damage in the last 16 years. Do the math for when they aren't worth any anything.

Really, what I like most about the song Pompeii is the drums. This really sucks.

June 11. American girls are sent to Africa for genital cutting. There's war in Iraq, and we're losing. The Taliban are attacking in Pakistan. MERS is spreading.

_How am I a-gonna be an optimist about this?_

Dear Mr. Stone. We are letting horrible things happen to people. We are ignoring dangers. And -- little thing here -- we are destroying our world. I mean, the people in Pompeii didn't know the volcano was coming. We _know _it's coming. We're making our _own effing volcano_.

I'm going to stop thinking about it now.


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## thepancreas11

CONTROL by thepancreas11


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## godofwine

Song: _Night Moves_ by Bob Segar

*Night Moves - by Godofwine (650 Words)*
http://www.writingforums.com/thread...ong-Workshop?p=1743716&viewfull=1#post1743716


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