“Are you new here?” he asked, leaning in, smelling strongly of aftershave. “No,” I said, winking. He extended a hand and introduced himself as Albert. “I have a thing for A names. My name is Alison.” I sipped my girly drink to show I was all business. “I see. Should I be intimidated?” “I don’t know. Should you?” He shrugged....
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I am eyes. Only, staring, wanting to see but I’m blind and I reach for the tap and wash my face with a dirty rag and try to think straight but there is only white red and black and my shirt is on backwards. But it doesn’t matter because no one can see me and I can’t see them.
Jenny cracked the code, fell through the sidewalk and was lost in a maze of numbers. “I’m in the fucking Matrix,” she yelled. “Neo? Keanu?” The green lines sped up, swirling around her head, swallowing her whole. She was being digested. It was slow, but painless and the stomach acid smelled like peonies. “I guess I have no one to blame for this but...
I will not disappear. I will not live in between these two spongy white slices any longer. I am jelly and I’m ready to roll. I don’t need you, peanut butter. I don’t need seeds or pits. I am a smoother version of my solid ancestors. I’m not preserves. I’m not jam. I am jelly and I’m ready to slide down your throat in a burst of fruity flavor. I hope you’re...
What happened to the love letter? Lee wanted to find out. He looked under rocks in his backyard, picked between the moss and even questioned the lichen. They didn’t hold the answer. He took it to the street, timing the red-yellow-green, but it was all the same. No hearts. No X. No O. He stumbled out of the crosswalk and followed the sidewalk northeast. There he spotted it. “Love...
No Thank You
I dip my fingers in the gravy, lick them and grab a handful of mashed potatoes. I aim and miss. I go for seconds and thirds. My apartment is trashed, but he’s gone. I always hated my grandpa.
In the Clouds
Mel looked up, put his hands in his coat pockets and stuck out his tongue. It was a small step to recapturing his youth. The snowflakes tasted clean and nothing like water or ice. “I bet this is what clouds taste like,” he thought. “Cloud ice cream.” After 15 minutes of tasting the sky, he got into his car and drove away. He didn’t look back. The house on the hill...
TrainWrite: Thankful for trains, and those who... →
trainwrite: This Thanksgiving, I give you an assignment: if you are taking the train home, take a notebook with you, write about it, and submit the contents of those pages to TrainWrite upon your return. Need inspiration? J.K. Rowling conceived the idea for her Harry Potter series while on a train from Manchester to London in 1990. It’s true. Still not motivated? Send me your address with your...
She’s lost in the spirals, the check marks, the cha-chings. She has no pattern. She’s not houndstooth, argyle or plaid. She’s monotone. Lost out in the sea of blah browns and drafty grays. We can’t paddle this leaf fast enough to stop her. She’s almost there, waiting for the stoplight — tick-tick-tick — and GO and greens and waterfalls and the mystic says...
Hello readers! I’m still on a mission to gain 100 readers before the end of the year. If you enjoy reading Fake Persona, please recommend me for the creative writing directory. Thanks for the support!
My head feels bloated. My thoughts weigh me down. I take a shower, rub my temples with lavender oil and drink a cup of tea. But my head throbs and trembles with its worries. One by one I pluck them. pay the bills grocery shop clean the litter box file papers rewrite resume dust the book shelves vacuum the rug Seven mental check marks. My head shrinks with relief. I’m ready for you,...
This wasn’t a goddamn test. It was torture. Gary wanted to walk away. He wanted to scream and kick and throw things, but he had only one task and that was to endure the pain. Locked up in a metal locker with no light, no windows and no food. There was a circular hole in the side. It opened once a day — two water bottles and a plastic bag filled with pills went in and nothing more. No...
iloveyouletmejumpinyourgame asked: this is not a question but i just wanted to say that I LOVE your blog. LOVELOVELOVELOVELOVELOVE. Thank you for writing. It's awesome.
Dear Anyone, I’m trapped. It started off like any normal night. I brushed my teeth, combed my hair and washed my face. I pulled up the covers, tucked myself in and fluffed my pillow. It was slow at first. A light squeak of the springs. I was just so comfortable. I thought I was dreaming, but I was sinking. Disappearing deeper and deeper into the mattress. I’m trapped in a cozy hell....
“Fear me!” “What? You? But you’re a chipmunk.”
I take a breath. I blow hard. The seeds scatter. My worries attached to those white puffs. I’m letting go and turning my sorrow into weeds.
“I can’t stand it here. Let’s go somewhere else.” Red said, rolling her eyes. “Where?” Robin asked. “Somewhere spooky.” “What about Great Oak Woods?” “Perfect.” So Red and Robin packed a picnic basket and waited till dusk. Best friends always did things together. Even the scariest adventure was safe with your BFF by your...
I don’t care for immediate satisfaction. I like the build up. The tension. I want to beg. I like it just right. Not too hot. Not too cold. I like it in the middle. Warm and comfortable. Not too fast. Not too slow. I like it steady. I am Goldilocks and you’re my bear. Don’t tell your parents I’m here for the night.
Hello new readers! Thanks for following. :) It’s Tuesday, so today I ask for your recommendation for the creative writing directory. I only need 21 more readers to get to my goal of 100 readers before 2011! Thanks for your help!
Hey, there. I’m Disease. I bet you didn’t even know I lived here, huh? Yup, right inside. It doesn’t matter how many apples you eat now. Yeah, I know, no symptoms. I’m shy. I don’t like to introduce myself right away, but I’m super friendly once you get to know me. Just don’t make me mad. I can get aggressive when I’m drunk. Yeah, drug up and...
me plus you equals
I fell in love with a mathematician. Equations are sentences with numbers. A complex dance of decimals and percentages and I’m lost in the middle. I only read words, but I miss the numbers. I only get half the story. It’s like visiting Italy all over again. I’m spinning in the square alone wanting nothing more than a pretty boy to find me, feed me cake and whisper sweet nothings...
Sometimes life isn’t as complex as ordering Starbucks lattes. It’s sitting in a comfortable chair, reading your favorite book; the one with the crease down the cover and the pages falling out, and thinking about the day you’ll finally be able to hug your wife and kids again. It’s not always about the metal bars, lunchroom brawls and making jokes about dropping the soap....
The seams never ending. I rip you open. I dive inside. I am you. In you. Then you strut past, stocking seams dissolving in the distance. Hands on your hair, mouth to your clavicle and leaving bruises. You wince. I let go. I pick up your purse and you thank me and walk away, looking over your shoulder, once. Eyes meeting but it’s fleeting. One moment. I dip into your thighs. I burrow....
She fainted. Face to the ground, lipstick smudging the soil like a love letter. It wasn’t goodbye, but a wake up call. Sometimes your deepest desires becomes truths. Sometimes you go to sleep a rat and wake up a girl. There are no takebacks.
“For science!” Then Jenny jumped from the roof of her office building. Forty two floors flew past her eyes as she scrambled with the knobs. Moments before crashing into the ground, she rose high above the sidewalk and didn’t stop till she was miles above the city. She laughed. “Trapped no more,” she thought. An hour later, her body was found on a beach, her lungs...
It wasn’t hard living on the streets, eating ramen noodles for dinner and crashing on a friend’s couch at night. No one knew. I still went to work. McDonald’s. I had an address. Thanks, mom! I just didn’t have a home. I had a bed, but no home. What did I do with my wages? I went to the arcade. You’re going down, Steve Wiebe.
Hello FP readers! If you enjoy reading my stories, please recommend me for the creative writing directory. I’m nearly at my goal of 100 readers before the end of the year! Thanks for your help!
The Cafe on 8th Street
Henry was sitting at the table when Jezebel walked in, her legs see-sawed across the floor in the highest heels he had ever seen. She didn’t see him. She ordered a latte and he watched her. She reached into her purse to pay the cashier. The cashier nodded and no money was exchanged. How did she get away with it? Good looks probably. Jezebel didn’t pay for much, which was good, because...
Sometimes life is a knock knock joke. You’re always asking the same question — Who’s there? The answer isn’t always clear. Sometimes it’s not the pun. It’s not funny. It often doesn’t make sense. I’m a child going down the slide. Rinse. Repeat. I flash backwards and I relive parts of my past. The good. The bad. The mundane. I’m 54...
Not Real Heroes Meet-up
“My name is Sean.” “Hello, Sean.” “I smoke. Not cigarettes. My jacket goes up in flames, there are gasps, screams and startled glances, but it’s all just a trick. A mind trick. Like a jedi. I can’t read minds. I don’t turn invisible. I just have a dusty old jacket that goes poof and I’M STILL HERE and that’s it. Nothing fancy. It...
It Never Gets Old
Her words are like a record. They make my head spin. Dizzy like a dance floor. I’m sweaty with anticipation watching her lips drip ink. My pen to paper. My fingers to keys. I watch the pages fill up. The air is full and heavy and intoxicating. I’m drunk with text. I’m adjectives. You’re verbs. We move this into the bedroom. Your quill dripping on the white sheets. My...
The road is blinding. Stop signs. Left turns. Green lights. Red lights. Yield. Pedestrians crossing. Slow children. Railroad crossing. I’m hypnotized. Lost in those signs. I’m not a person. I’m an automobile. I go-go-go and never stop-stop-stop. I crash cars. I burn. I’m alive. I’m not Dead.
Lukas didn’t talk smack. He was known as The Slap. A nickname that was more embarrassing than vindictive. When he stepped in the room, people moved out of his way. His reputation was exaggeration. Five slaps and overnight you’re Jackie Chan. His ethnicity was the closest thing he was to the man. Lukas wasn’t violent. He was ice cream with rage. He was sweet but sought revenge...
“It’s not a life you want, kid.” Larry said, pushing the kid away. “Leave me alone.” Larry walked away. John stood up, dusting the grit from his pants and followed Larry. He didn’t say a word. He sidestepped, jitterbugged and waltzed behind Larry. “It’s not gonna work, kid. Scram!” “But mister, I can do it.” He moonwalked. ...
Hello new followers! Thanks for reading! If you enjoy Fake Persona, please recommend me for the creative writing directory. I have a personal goal to reach 100 followers before the end of the year, I’m a little over half way there. If you like my little stories, please spread the word! I really appreciate it.
I can’t smoke straight. My puffs come out spirals, spheres and octagons. It impresses strangers on the street, work colleagues and my bar mates. It disappoints my girlfriend. She tells me I have a crooked soul. That I can’t think straight. My cursive is slanted, my hair is forever cowlicked and my toes point when I walk. My girlfriend is constantly correcting. You did this. Do that....