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Jefferson McNallyJeff enjoyed the quiet solitude of an afternoon escape. The shed roof was his favourite. Normally, he could spend hours doing nothing but watching hawks circling far above. Normally, the sun was shining warmly and the cedar trees that grew beside the shed were alive with birds scolding one another from branch to branch. Normally, a slight breeze stirred his hair, and he could hear his brothers playing in the yard.Jefferson McNally
Today, however, there was absolutely no air movement, even atop the shed. The seven year old could feel the heat radiating off of the shingled roof he was perched on. It was depressingly hot; he felt a cool bead of swea
by ~innovate2live
ArissAriss gagged at the thickly sweet blood stench; twin waves of nausea and pain hammered at her stomach. Ignoring the hot splinters of agony in her abdomen, she forced herself to her feet. Clutching at her stomach, Ariss willed the sheets of white pain to subside. As she surveyed the chamber, her knees nearly gave out. Markus lay dead, prostrate, arms outstretched as though proffering the black sword. Robert and Sybil had died where they sat. Robert slumped forward, sagging slightly towards the other councilor. Sybil’s chest had been lain sickeningly open.Ariss
Ariss stared down blankly. Numb stole through Ariss, mercifully deadening it
by ~innovate2live
Theo's death... The big mercenary roared in the ancient language, a long scream filled with hate that shuddered through the forest. As the harsh syllables thudded into his mind, Theo’s fear hardened, working its way into his stomach. Reuben brandished a blade that matched the pulsing evil of the armour and advanced on Theo. The metallic taste of fear crystallized at the back of his throat. Wren’s limp form flashed into Theo’s mind.Theo's death
Drawing his sword, he twisted around the outcropping and charged. Reuben turned and met the assault, spun and backhanded Theo with an armored fist. Staggering back, Theo wiped blood from his mouth
by ~innovate2live
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Struggleby ~JoeD-rtman
Now You're Gone...I sit at your side You shudder, force a smile I take your hand You squeeze mine, so weakly I brush fingers through your hair You tell me you'll be alright, you feel better I nod and smile You cough and turn your faceNow You're Gone...
I know you're dying You know it too
I watch you get worse You insist you're getting better I watch the wires multiply You tell me the doctors are idiots I watch you start to fade away Your fingers get more loose around my own I watch my world fall apart You swear you'll put it back together, someday I sit here and w
by ~fallenpoeticlover
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: Calgary
- Interests: pubs, sunny afternoons with my laptop, romancing my wife, locally owned coffee shops, sustainability
- Favourite movie: eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, matrix, moulin rouge, crash
- Favourite band or musician: dave matthews band, dream theatre, death cab for a cutie...
- Favourite genre of music: indie
- Favourite artist: still searching...
- Favourite poet or writer: still searching...
- Favourite photographer: my wife
- Favourite style of art: writing, painting, photo
- Personal Quote: i create because i must. if i do not express myself with my pen, i rob the world and make myself ill
- Tools of the Trade: my notebook, pen (laptop, sometimes)
- Email: josh_gordon1985@hotmail.com
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Story is dangerous; it moves inside me, with the inherent power to restructure. Story at its finest always makes me feel alive - more truly my self. Great story can lay open deep seated need or inspire startling emotional response. Story shows me who I can be when I am most human.
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