We-Write-To-Escape

She sighed as she surveyed the front lawn. So this is how it was, after so many years. Abandoned, left to rot, but it didn't, not really. There wasn't much to rot, but there was a lot to lose. Color, for instance. Everything was grey in her eyes now. She could barely remember, and she rarely wanted to. But now, just once, she'd like to see her childhood home in it's full glory again. She couldn't of course. Her eyes flickered down to the once silver key she held in her hand. Memories reflected in it's dark shine, running through the door to catch the ice cream truck, kicking off her snow boots with her sister, trying, and failing, to catch f

We were entirely different. The same sky-blue lakes rested in our eyes. The same golden sand framed our faces. We even stood equally, like a two-sided mirror had been placed between us. We were exactly the same, but only on the outside. He laughed when I didn't understand, he cried when I saw no reason, and he ran when I was long since tired. We'd had the perfect likeness since birth, or so they said. Twins on the outside, we couldn't have been more of a contradiction to our reflections.

The sun-baked grass is warm beneath my back. The scent of clover and buttercups tinges the air, enveloping me in a delicate, lacy wrap, the kind of perfume that gods must favour. My eyes are closed, but there is no black here...I see nothing but pure, golden light behind my eyelids, the sun begging me to find comfort in its hot, healing rays. I open my eyes, the colour of the sea during a storm, to the skies above. Never has there been a blue so regal. Never have the clouds been washed so white, so puffy and so proud of themselves in their perfection. Yet, despite these bleached cotton patches on the tapestry above, the sun never dulls. Its

I look at her She looks at me An expression of pure, utter glee And asks me what my paradise is Her head tilts along with mine Her expression unchanged A sister estranged That asks me what my paradise is I want to get to know you For what kind of chain you are a link Before you care what others think You should know what your paradise is The old spider in the morning dew The intangible web connecting us all Thunderstorms in the middle of fall Are all parts of my paradise The sound of rain on my windowpane The sound of music and silence and wind The night's shadowy-blueish tint Are all parts of my paradise The scent of old

Darling, where did we fall? When was it over? My suitcase smells musty. Then again, it's been tucked away in the attic, unused and un-thought of. It was one of those things that was purchased for me, before I could even stand on my own two feet...a case bought for a day that I was never told about, and for which I could never truly prepare. I fold my possessions into tiny cubes; all my thoughts, all my dreams, all my childish games of old are tucked into the corners of this dusty, grimy case, and I know they will never unfold in quite the same way. My carefree summer days, running about barefoot in the cool grass...I put those days in this

We were sitting in a tree On the first day of spring, No one was around, There was only you and me. I sat on the bottom branch, Dangling my little feet So far above the ground. You wanted to climb higher, So I stood carefully, But didn't follow you. I could tell From the way you smiled, That you wanted me To climb out on a limb, But I refused. I can't do that anymore. I've done that once before, But branches wore too thin, And the one I climbed with then Didn't reach my hand To catch me when The little tree-fingers snapped And I plummeted to The waiting earth below. So, I will stay right here, Holding on to the tree

Those Lightning Eyes- A Short Story by GothKoala439 Those lightning eyes. The hair on the back of my neck stands up at the thought of them skidding over my face in a way I had never, ever thought possible. I feel so vulnerable, standing in front of you. It's like your glare seeps through my pores and into my heart, cradling it in a way both loving, yet so very terrifying my blood runs cold at the very thought.   I've never felt so exposed. Those lightning eyes. They make my skin tingle and my eyes crawl and my tongue get so twisted I mix up words. They pierce me so that I blush and avert my own, unwilling and unable to meet you

I. It is not written in the soft fingerprints of couples or rings and kisses Falling apart and together as often as tide comes out and in It is written in wagging tails and the whisper of warm breath on your neck And it is told of in an enchantment that only we know It is not found in the places you enter with lust and exit with guilt But in the waking memories of lost voices and the warm nuzzle of a dawn hoof beat II. It is not logical or rational It is not of the mind or the body But the heart And the heart is a four chambered place III. One is for family and the friends that should be a part of it Another is for the hope that