It was a cold morning in the middle of winter. The wind blew at a harsh speed, chilling pedestrians to the bone as they walked from place to place in the city of Ninomiya. It was a peaceful city for the most part, not too plagued with crime and not too hectic. At the balcony of a two-floor apartment in the city stood a young woman with several dresses and shirts draped over an arm, others hanging from a clothesline over her head. She wasn‘t all that special to look at, with her slightly boyish looks. Her jet black hair hung just above her shoulders, messy and uncared for. The dark color really popped when compared to her skin, which was

You Don't Deserve It... by CrazyCapricorn, literature

Literature

You Don't Deserve It...

You were the first boy I seriously liked. Many others thought you were good looking, said how lucky I was to work with you. I thought you were OK but slowly, I fell for you like everyone else. I've never been that good at controlling my outgoing personality. If I did, then I'd close myself off from the outside world. Even to this day, my family can't understand why. You tested my ability to keep to myself, but when it came to you, inadvertently, I was an open book. Rumours flew, confused me at whether they were true. And then I found out you 'liked' me back. I couldn't eat or sleep; I was so young, naiive and excited. And undeniably stupid.

Rice-Cakes by CrazyCapricorn, literature

Literature

Rice-Cakes

Rice-cakes. Some like the savory snack, others beg to differ. Not like the ones you get in Vietnamese or Indonesian cuisine. It's the cheap, commercial puffed rice cakes, the ones you get in your local supermarket, that is the focus. How I'd describe them...well, we'll come to that later. But rice-cakes...she must have known what she was doing when she gave you that code name. I meekly agreed, not really caring what name you received, just as long as your real name didn't have be forced out of my throat, rolled off of my tongue. And I hate vomiting. But I can't, and never will, choke it down; I remember the last time. But it's hard, because

Night of Burning by InkedLance, literature

Literature

Night of Burning

That night we had been standing on a silent, shadowy street in Strathfield lit by white street lamps. Across the road, some handymen in blue overalls were quietly marching into a clean, well-lit house as they lugged in their tool boxes. Carly Rae Jepson’s “Call Me Maybe” pounded out from the DJ organised in the two storey house behind us. The front yard was decorated with pebbles that bordered the meandering footpath. Adjacent to this, a blank-eyed Greek statue was frozen mid-bow and a stone fountain stood dry with pebbles at the base. Occasionally, cars would speed past with blindingly white headlights, probably searching f

Una ultima noche by CandyVonBitter, literature

Day's Nap (part 1) by InkedLance, literature

Literature

Day's Nap (part 1)

“It’s alright. There’s no need to be scared.” The little girl hugged the china doll as she shielded its ears from the raucous cawing of crows outside in the storm, her brown curls falling over the doll’s face as she held it to hers. “Don’t worry…” she stroked its shoulder as the crows hit their black, sooty wings on the neighbouring window and flew away at the thunder strike which raged on outside. “Now let’s get something to eat.” Her shining leather slippers made a muffled tapping against red carpet draped over the hollow wooden stairs, echoing through the empty man

Mercy by tea-brain, literature

Literature

Mercy

When I first met her eyes it was out of spite more than anything else. I didn’t dare scowl or glare or make fists of frustration at my side - no, the crowd was too full and too hyped and too wild for that - but to meet her eyes...no one would feel my animosity besides her. What I felt would be hidden but through that one thread, like whispered secrets traveling between two disposable cups. But she would know, and my coming here would not have been a waste. So I sought her out, glancing about as she was escorted through the pulsing mix of rabid supporters who would do anything but to touch her hand, the reporters who battled with each o

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