He was always late, his train ride was always unpleasant because of it. He always blamed the weather, but really today it wasn’t the weather, it was rather the lack of it. He glanced away from the weather section of the newspaper he was holding, the woman who sat across him on the train smiled, blushed and looked away. Had she noticed, as well,that the last few days the clouds seemed heavy and the rain seemed, well; there didn’t seem to be any, and yet, no one was saying a word about it, even in the newspaper, he had been looking for any mention of it, but was only half looking anymore, he seemed to recall that the last time he had seen rain, sun, or even a temperature spike in the weather was several months ago. Today was the first time he seemed to really think about it. He set down the paper, he looked up again at the woman whose eyes were like the pale blue of the skies he was trying to remember, before the grey. She looked back this time almost as if she knew what he was thinking. Curious, the man thought, have I ever met this woman before? she looks vaguely familiar, but I cant just put my head on it. She placed her hand in his and looked very intently into his eyes now. He did not flinch or even move, the woman’s eyes were like, oceans, “remember when we had oceans of bright blue waters?”, he blurted out even before the words had hardly formed in his brain. She clenched his hand tightly, shook her head and pointed at the paper. He looked down, and pulled the paper up as he did, and noticed in several places things were circled, words, and pictures, but even though it looked like a a coded message to most, and even if right then he didn’t quite understand what exactly it meant, he knew he was to keep his mouth shut. He peered down from the paper again, the woman looking nervously around now, takes out a paper and pen, writing something he couldn’t make out until she was handing it to him; it was a guide to reading the clues, in his newspaper, mostly just arrows; but when the paper was placed in the center would point the words in the correct order.
they are watching. listening. dont speak. the truth is in the tea.
He looked around, there was a single teacup he hadn’t noticed before on the table, in it looked like a dark liquid that did not quite resemble tea, but none the less after looking at his patient companion he drank down the tea hoping at this point maybe he would wake up and not be late for the train all the time, that was the real problem. the weather always made him late.
Suddenly his mind became clear. it was loud, the blaring of the sirens, in his head and outside. He realized he couldn’t even remember getting on the train this morning, and honestly couldn’t even remember the side of the bed he got upon, much less the drive too and from work. He looked up at the woman at this point, in an alarming face she understood and again grasped his hands and he instantly relaxed. Almost as if his body understood before his mind did, he looked at the newspaper again. This time, the pages were not the same, no longer did the page she had given him just simply point to words no the pages seemed to change completely, all across the headlines were reports of nuclear radiation, mass destruction, millions perished. His eyes welled with moisture that he was trying hard to remember the words for, yes, tears. He blinked and the woman held out a handkerchief to help. he wiped the moisture. She looked around nervously and snatched back her handkerchief and shoved it in her purse quickly. She brought out the paper again and scribbled something else.
dont forget to finish your tea.
He glanced down at the tea again and noticed he had only drank about half. sipping more throughout the next few minutes, he listened to the train car, and wondered quite suddenly if he even knew where he was going. He looked down at his tea again, with one last little sip left, he noticed a stain, on the inside of the cup, he tilted the cup so he could see the text more clearly.
I was reading a post on one of my writing blogs the other day about how Ray Bradbury suggests to all writers to write a short story every week for a year. So, I am taking that as a challenge. My first one will be posted Monday. 🙂
I never said your name
Never spoke ill
I just saw the sweetness
The words that you wrote
Just simply wisk me off my feet amazing
But then time started to blur
Was he real?
Was it real?
Was this all a joke played just to see how far i’d go?
Maybe I just wanted a moment.
Maybe I just wanted a friend.
Maybe I just wanted the real you.
You will never know;
Neither will I.
Your picture has faded from my mind
Lost somewhere within the now blurred words.
I am now just like all your other whores played into your games, taken
away somewhere, nowhere.
I only know of Sara so I will speak of her in the nicest of thoughts
as I always should have. I remember Sara and how I know she really did
Am I allowed to admit it now that she was one of the few women I was
ever jealous of?
You ran away scared from her. Just like you did with me. I think after
this I may post some of those writings; if only for histories sake. If
only to have them finally archived.
So that I can move on.
My heart is an ocean and you are but a drop in it now.
Been broken by so many
Played so much it’s not fun anymore
I still go on
This empty soul
I don’t pray for answer anymore
I hope someday it will come to me
A glimpse even will do
So I can deliver my heart
From this prison
I fight everyday
I will still be here.
The screams are released.
The power it displays
In pools of red crimson
I let my heart get away from me
Trusted to too much
Toyed with my emotions.
I played your games
Can’t be myself anywhere else
The nights get lonlier
The nights get longer
I pray he can’t see it
The pain I have
Only with him I see me
It hurts to break in front of him
I hope he returns soon
The wound can’t bleed anymore
It’s already dead
i want him so badly
i can almost taste him
my entire being is craving him
his voice in my ear
him lying next to me
even just to feel this once
even for a moment
i have never craved;
anyone like this
so help me i can barley take it.
i had $$ for a plane ticket to NYC; where he is right now. or even Cali, where he lives. I would be there now.
& yes no comments. you know who you are if your reading this. <3
shes a hot topic
under my thoughts
hot on the rader
channeled by phonography
to bad she cant handle it
to bad the people cant hear her screams
i want her like my drug
kiss her lips
my hands moving
down her leg
into my thoughts
into her skirt
unzipping my pants
caressing her touch
feel her up.
his mere voice made my heart skip a beat.
that summer evening i didn’t even see his face.
but i was intrigued.
the words, that voice, he was talking with another woman,
but i wanted him to whisper into my ear.
all night my thoughts raced, i couldn’t sleep,
i awaited the moment our eyes would meet.
when they finally did. i suddenly wanted him.
more than his voice. i wanted him.
to touch me, my hand, brush my face, my lips.
neither of which ever happened,
for brief moments in time when we were ever alone,
the lust came back … every time
how can someone make me feel this way,
their mere presence, mere voice, excite such a passion in me.
i wanted to tell him, i wanted to run to him and tell him all of my dirty little secrets.
i wanted to be rescued.
but as such in my life with every man that i long for; we never quite get there.
never get to see it played out, i have recently done this with two of the three that i have ever wished i would have the guts to pour my soul to, one which ended in all of my hopes being smashed into little pieces, and the other, i am with. he still feels like a friend though, one of those friends whom you love no matter how many stupid things they do. and then there is the last guy, i feel torn by him,
he propels my imagination to new heights,
he brings everyone of my beliefs to light
I dream about him.
his every word, he speaks or writes etches onto my heart,
and even if these words only fall upon this screen; i want them out there finally….