Wednesday, 11 June 2014

I Am...

I am forgotten
I am the shadow on the wall,
The gentle wind,
And insignificant thing no one pays attention too
I live in a world where I am unnoticed,
Where your either born on the top or not
I am a featherless bird in a world of peacocks
I am unquote worthy
And below the others
But what I am not is a push over
I am a musician
I am a writer
I am the one who demands attention
I am the one who deserves respect
I am the one who will earn what I deserve
I am what I have always been
I am a hidden star
A star that will one day outshine the rest

And will be seen and never overlooked again

Wednesday, 21 May 2014

Where colour is Born

The walls are white, like a sterile, cold hospital. White and plain. An everyday occurrence. But if you look deep beyond the plain white walls of everyday, the colours appear.

Within the white walls of these hallowed halls, lies the never ending potential for rainbows, flowers, vivid sunsets, and an array of auroras. Born from right is the softest blues, the warmest oranges, and the brightest yellows. From earthy browns and greens to the obnoxious, bright neons, white is beginning of them all.

Colours live in white. For without each other, there couldn't be images. Images that capture the human mind in such a vivid, an entrancing way.

White walls, like a blank and bare canvas, hold so many endless possibilities.

Wednesday, 4 December 2013


War. War is a horrid thing. It’s like a sport, or even a competition, but the objective of the game is to kill.

I remember when I served in the Second World War. I was deployed to the Netherlands. My goal rid the Netherlands of Nazi was a sorry thing to have to do. Having to shoot all of those young German boys. They may have gone on to live fulfilling lives, had it not been for me squarely placing a bullet in their chests. I soon understood what my grandmother had meat that day.

We sat on her front porch, saying our goodbyes. I was being deployed tomorrow. She gazed at me with her old sunken in eyes, and she gave me a single piece of advice.

“You may kill one person, but the blood of thousands will be on your hands. Remember, my dear boy, they may be the enemy but their still human, just like you. You’ll be killing a piece of yourself too, whenever you kill one of them”.

As I placed a bullet between another Germans eyes, I walked over to where his lifeless body had flopped to the war ravaged earth. I stared into the dead man’s vacant eyes, and I understood. This man, this solider, may have killed thousands of people, but I killed him. I was now responsible for his blood being spilt. His blood was on my hands, and his victim’s blood on his.

He was a human, like me. He may not have wanted to fight in any war, like me. He had been a person with his own mind, a mind that was no longer alive and thinking. I was like him, and he was like me. I shot a man like me. I shot myself.

Scary Story

It was horribly late, later than any person should be anywhere, let alone a library. I had consciously lost track of time, as I so often do. The library was the one safe place I had.

At school I was bullied and picked on every day. It was like a moth to a flame, no matter where I hid, they always found me. Home was no safe haven either. My father is a drunkard who manages the hotel where he, my three sisters, and I live. My mother is dead; she been dead for fourteen years. My three older sisters are not friendly. Each one has her own hotel room. They verbally abuse me, and the hordes of suspicious men that come and go all hours of the night are just as nice. I remember the first time I came to this library, when it became my safe place. I was fleeing from the bullies, desperately trying to avoid a beating, I hid in the library door way; they ran past without noticing me. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. When I came to realize I was in the library, I decided to stop a read a while. As I weaved in and out between the rows of books, my pulse began to steady. When I picked a book and casually flopped into a bean bag, I became so relaxed I dozed off right there. That was as relaxed as I have ever been. I haven’t stopped visiting since.

My father’s drunken rage is what brought me here tonight. The kind old librarian has always been very understanding, and she’s the one who allow me to spend most of my nights locked in here, among all these wonderful books. I have no knowledge of the actual time; there is no clock in the history section. I place my Russian history book on the table having finished it, and grown weary of the subject. I desired something a little less practical. I was hungry for something mystical, fantastical, and utterly make-believe. The fastest way to satisfy my craving for fiction was to cut through the horror section.

I found myself staring down the long row of horror novels and scary stories. Though the lights were dimmed, I could still see the crossing aisle that split the horror section and the rest of the library. Though it was late and the lights were low, I wasn’t afraid. After all, I am the only one here.

I began walking down the aisle at my own leisurely pace. When I reached the beginning of the “B” authors, I heard a noise. A very strange noise. It sounded like deep, heaving breaths. I whirled around; no one was there, but I could still hear the heavy, human breaths. I tried to shake it off, and continued on. As I crossed into the “C’s”, I felt this horrid chill run down the length of my back. It was like a solid chunk of un-melted ice was slowly creeping down my spine. It made me shudder because it felt so real. I began to quicken my pace ever so slightly. I had made it halfway through the “E’s”, when I stopped dead in my tracks. I had a feeling, a terrifying, eerie feeling; I was being watched. I could feel them, eyes staring at me; looking me up and down, examining me. I turned my head to the right, and between the shelves, I could just make out a dark figure, and a pair of bright blue eyes, staring directly at me. I rub my eyes. When I opened them, the eyes weren’t there.  I shook my head, desperately trying to rid my mind of this… this hallucination. I pushed on at a hurried pace. I walked on, and as I did, I could hear an echo. It filled my ears and resonated through the entire room. I glanced around me. I was in the “F’s”. I continued walking. As I walked, the echo grew louder, as if it was all around me.  Thinking it was my own footsteps were the cause of this creepy echo I stopped, but the echo of footsteps didn’t.

I could feel my breath catch in my throat, rendering me unable to speak, unable to scream. There was something… or someone locked in here with me. Without a second thought I began to run down the remainder of the section. Past the “H’s” and “I’s”, the “J’s” and “K’s”, the “O’s” and “P’s”. I stopped somewhere in the “S’s” to catch my breath. Mere seconds later, a horrible, blood curdling shriek of terror split the air. I began sprinting down the aisle, toward the split between the section, where the “T’s” end and the “U’s” begin. I sprinted blindly, only knowing I had to get away from whoever was in here.

As I turned the corner at the end of the “T”s”, my chest was pierced by a knife. I could feel it bury deep into my flesh. I feverishly grabbed at the hilt of the knife, trying to pull it out, but he wouldn’t let me. I could feel the wet ooze of blood trickling from my wounds, the sharp edges of the blade pierce my heart. Then I looked up into the devilish smile and bright blue eyes of the nameless face wielding it.

Really Bad Pastiche

“I cheated on him” she screamed “I can’t believe I cheated on him”

“It’s no big deal” Sarah replied lazily “nothing bad will happen”

“Do you know what people say about cheaters” she screamed hysterically. She closes her eyes as the thoughts of all the horrible names begin to bring back the nausea. Sarah rises from her chair across the room and glides with ease to where Amelia is wobbling. Sarah wraps her arms around her ailing friend, placing Amelia’s head on her shoulder

She whispered in her ear “everything will be alright”

Amelia flops her head into her hands and begins to softly weep. Sarah rocks her gently as the first rays of the rising sun peek through the window. It’s a new day.



Based on a novel by Melissa Marr



100 word story

The snow gingerly falls. Laying a blanket of soft, white, fluff on every surface. It’s a pure white blanket. It’s a beautiful sight to behold. I drive steadily down a quite rural road. The world seems to be at peace for now, as it always is at 3 am. A sprawling, dark forest expands on either side of my car. It’s a beautiful site. As I drive, a large dark figure runs in front of me. I swerve, and then everything is black. My body becomes a piece of the landscape. A pretty accessory on a pretty blanket of snow.