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Julian Pacheco Sep 2021
As I sit here reminiscing about my life, Knife in hand, I just ask myself as to how I’ve gotten as far as I have. Twenty years old and so absent of life. I have never had a partner nor friends, or any kind of near and dear human interaction for that matter.

I was raised in foster care from the age of nine.

When I was seven, my mother was tethered to a life support machine.
At the age of nine, my father, fragile and weak committed suicide.

The note went something like this:

“I know you may never understand and I’m not sorry, but you may thank me some day…”

I never understood the message until now, sitting here, slicing into the tender skin within the confines of my hand looking over the horizon.

A gentle drip follows…

I’m glad my father did what he did…

I’ve been taught and invaluable lesson…

That the human soul, albeit intangible, is not infallible.

The same holds true for the will.
Both have yet to be seen much less heard, by a being that breathes the same air as you and I, foolishly we continue to live our lives and ignore these facts so we may keep faith that they exist.

A cool sensation begins to overwhelm me...

Perhaps their intangibility is what has kept them pure and free of human kinds’ seemingly instinctual want to poke, ****, and risk possibly destroying something they do not understand until it is understood…

I mean let’s take a look at love.

Love, likewise to the will and the soul is also intangible.

What would love be if you can do what I have done to this very moment and take a sharpened steel blade and tear beneath the skin to understand what truly lies below it surface.
Short story
Midas Aug 2021
“I don't think I could ever write anything again. Maybe I can write about you?” I carefully peeked through the book I was reading just to barely see a couple emotions passed by your beautiful face while you watched television. Then, before you'd even meet my eyes, I have went back into reading the book you've recommended me on one hot afternoon during our chat in telegram. “Don't just focus about me. As I've told you before you are a great writer and everything you make will always be beautiful no matter the subject.” The tone of your voice sounded as firm as your belief like always and even at the face of uncertainty towards my writing career, it made me smile no less. ‘You never come short of giving me the boost I needed.’ I have finally set the book down after I confessed to my woes and just like when you knew there was something that bothered me before we went to bed, your slender fingers have found their way to my face and gently nestled there. “I know what you're capable of and I believe in your talent. I am always a fan of your works.” I felt like a kid under your warm gaze that I easily melt further inside when you planted a soft kiss on my forehead. I chuckled though, right after I saw your adorable puckered lips which was the sign that I must return your little gift. So, with my full height towering over, I pulled you in a brief but sweet kiss.
Jason Jan 2021
"I look like a melting gargoyle when I cry."

She laughed, like wind-chimes in sunlight, soothing and warm. She replied, "You don't have to show me."

"Will this really work? I feel silly."

"Well you won't know unless you try, now will you?" She smiled.

"Okay, okay. Like this?" I asked, crossing my hands over my chest.

"Kinda," She reached out and adjusted my hands slightly, "Like that, gently, like you're holding a baby bird against your heart."

She let go of my hands and floated backwards a pace, watching me encouragingly.

Still feeling silly, I tried to clear my mind, while remembering her instructions;

Focus, stay relaxed...

OK.

Think of hope, I told myself, and as I did I began to bring my cupped hands down away from my chest and hold them facing the sky.

"*******!" She exclaimed, leaning in, her face alight with - something.  

I started to lower my hands, thinking as I do, that she was poking fun.

Her face fell, and her hands shot out like lightning, gently bracing my hands and preventing me from lowering them. "Don't be shy," she smiled softly.

I looked up into her eyes, wary, but her face showed only concern.  I looked down again, ashamed of my reaction, and she ducked her head to maintain eye contact.  "You're a squirmy one, aren'cha?"

I felt my face flush, but I laughed, despite my anxiety.

She nodded towards my hands, "Don'cha wanna know what I see?"

I saw nothing. "Sure," I said, trying not to sound skeptical.

Apparently I failed because she let out another peal of chiming laughter.  She seemed to sober a bit, without losing her carefree smile and leaned in a bit more closely.  She peered into the bowl formed by my cupped hands like it was filled with stars instead of empty air.

She remained like that for what seemed an eternity.  I held as still as I could, awaiting her judgment.  She straightened and looked at me, very seriously.  Her face was not hard, exactly, it was like a waterfall that had just stopped falling, all trace of humor was gone.

"Why are you ashamed of me?" She asked softly, no anger or hurt, just concern.

"I..." I didn't actually know how to answer.  I thought for a moment, the both of us standing there, with her holding my hands like a fortune teller.

"I think I have just been convinced, over and over, that I should be." I said somberly.

"Silly boy," she replied, her face once again alive with that same ephemeral light.  "Don't you know?  People will tell themselves all kinds of things when they're hurting.  Don't you go and let hurt steal your hope, your light!"  

I hung my head a bit, somewhere, deep down, I did know.

She shook her head slightly, and smiling a bemused little smirk, she glided closer.  With her left hand she began to push my hands back up towards my chest, and brought her right hand around to cup the back of my neck, simultaneously drawing our foreheads together.

Her eyes drifted nearly closed, as if she was falling into a trance, and as my hands reached my chest she whispered something I could not quite understand.

I saw it first in her eyes, a faint glow, and as she finished her short silent prayer the tiny glow flared into uproarious brilliance!  The blinding light suffused us, filling my vision with blue/white fire.  

Hope's warm countenance floated before me now in the heart of a star, and just before I awoke, I realized that the light was coming not from her eyes, but from beneath my cradled hands.
©01/29/2021 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved

I had previously tagged this short story with "dreams" so it would show up under that tag, but I don't want people to get the impression this was an actual dream.  Just a story.  Keep Hope alive! <3  :)
Jason Oct 2020
_

I tore my hand from hers and I stumbled backwards feeling disgusted.  Feeling disgusting.  

Soiled, oily.

Five bottom-shelf screwdrivers and a pitcher-and-a-half of cheap beer briskly informed me that my stomach was a little too happenin, and they were gonna go ahead and go.  

Like, NOW.

I ran towards the bathroom, elbowing several people out of the way as I went.

Several much larger, and leather-clad Mowhawkians.

Moshers who had been standing in line for at least 15 minutes.

How I didn't get punched I will never know...

I careened into the stall like a methhead pinball and got ready to lose my liquid lunch.  

The watery hi-***** and natty light must have seen the same sight I did, because they decided they didn't really have anywhere to be after all.

I propelled myself away from the nightmare cesspool masquerading as a toilet, mostly by force of horror.

Luckily my legs wanted the **** out of there as badly as the rest of me, and they shakily complied.

Rocking side-to-side like a punch-drunk prize-fighter in Round-9, I bulled past an eight-foot-tall stick-figure goth-person, and it hit me:

I am going to have to tell her....

I was suddenly alone in the club.

...I am going to have to tell the love of my life that another woman kissed me.

The electricity went out.

Not in the seedy South East D.C. nightclub, but inside me.

The room was still, full of the life-like statues of dancers.

Lasers, frozen-fire, suspended in darkness and smoke.

The color had drained, like a rerun on a black & white TV...

I could only watch as my life crumbled in my mind's eye.

In the midst of this noisy, noxious, overcrowded *******.

In deafening, rhythmic silence.

What passed for air was sweaty-*****, and midsummer dank even in winter.

But the air around me became crisp.

Not crisp like the wind in February,

Crisp like the silence in a tomb.

Fitting.

Because I won't survive this.

I didn't know it yet, but this $5 cover open-bar might as well have been my tomb.

Sealed as tightly as my fate.

With a kiss.
© 10/20/2020 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved
For the prequel story, go to:
https://jmichie.medium.com/pre-sealed-c223e064443
Allesha Eman Oct 2020
“How do you feel?” I ask again. I, knowing the answer, poke my head into the lion's den. I feel the ghost of your frustrations floating about in the confined space. It haunts the room as our shadows strangle each other.

“What is the opposite of homesick?“ You ask.

“Homesick, ” I answer.
A 53 word short story
Dresden Aug 2020
As we sat in the car and the sun declined, the world turned to a peach hue and dimmed. The pouring rain from not only an hour before still felt as if it lingered in the air, sticking to my skin. A car joined us in the parking lot and started staring to the East, we both turned our gaze to align with theirs and saw a perfect rainbow accompanied by a faded second. And as we sat there and reflected on the topic of the human perseption of light, I found a moment to ask, "Can I kiss you so we can remember this moment forever?"
They replied, "of course".
Romantic or cheesy? I see no difference
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