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St RainI called him St Rain. He didn't go by any other name; he was as nameless as a baby in the Middle Ages and he didn't seem to care. He came to school in bare feet but wore his school uniform with pride. Even as the dust of the desert came sweeping over from the plains, dirtying the white of our school shirts, he would smile and simply turn to the clouds.St Rain by julietcaesar
That's when I thought he had something to do with the rain.
The drought had been going on for more than ten years now and the dam levels were reaching critical levels never seen before. Five years ago, we could still skip stones across the plummeting water but now they just go plop in the ooze, or sank into white crystals that were spilling from the earth as the waters fell. Someone pointed out it was free salt and we didn't have to go rummaging the city stores for our ever diminishing supplies but we all knew this was the type of sodium chloride we should avoid.
St Rain didn't care.
When the sun popped over the horizon and the kangaroos
as i cry sanctuary.the world is ending; i am borne in the bloodshed. i am stretching awake from the locked arms of the corpses, the froth of the raging sea dripping from the ends of my hair. i am naming myself death and sleeping in graves, molding sprawling metropolitan dreams from the loose sand behind the tombstones. the timeline of my hourglass is a snake swallowing its own tail. i am infinite; in this finite world, i am nothing. i watch the maddeningly swirling chaos of human destruction below the soles of my feet without a shudder. i touch the mirror and see wormholes in space. i press frayed emotion against the base of my skull and pray to science in the name of osmosis. i am whole and beautiful. i see everything; i feel nothing.as i cry sanctuary. by thefireflyliberation
i am the night sky thief. i burglarize the heavens and paint them on my bones. during the day, i feel the morningstar dripping down to splatter on my pelvis, drawing forth warmth with a liquid pull from the sprawling roots in my belly. i am a statue caught forever in a m
Freud and Broken Christmas TreesShe spilled the news on me before I even had the chance to react. And what would you even say to that, anyways? I'm sorry? Geez, that sucks? How's it feel to be an only child now? No. Never. You don't say that kind of stuff. You will never be able to find the words to say until it happens to you, too. God forbid.
And she just kind of stared at me. That look was piercing, haunting. It froze my tendons and turned my thoughts to dust. I was a nothing, I was worse than the dirt under her shoes. Because I couldn't solve anything. Because I couldn't make it better. Because I was just as helpless as she was, and she hated me for it.
The feeling wasn't a red, or a black. It wasn't any colour I could really name, but it wasn't a gray either. It was a block of things, a puzzle, the outline of a crumpled soda can. Edges poking inside to spill the remains out through the tiny pinpricks, the fractures in the metal. I could go on and on into metaphors but she – I don't have words to describe her eye
Odyssea AbstititWhen the blue jacaranda mocked the sky
Sleep bound was she, the drowsy brilliance
below the whispering branch.
Her Caño Cristales hair,
strewn amongst wild blue and green;
Partially over her wanderer, like a warm
crash of wave.
"Your laurel tells of death
but I still need you."
And he,understanding, wept.
"Your garland speaks of the flowers, streams
and the meadows which is our home."
"Here, is where I still love you
this place, where arms renounce arms
with care, warmth and adoration."
"My arms tangle in shadows, and
my mind only imagines; night falls
on my face within the whirlpool."
(She in a dream)
"Kalypso; she cannot keep you.
Our fire was kindled
in the glorious Springtime,
and stays in all the places in
which we played. Wherein,
you loved me and I you.
The flames stay, waiting,
in the marital bed that you made."
-Once more, awake from the immensity-
The depths they spake in choirs
The Final PunishmentNo thoughts could enter his mind, but if he could wish for something, it would be for nothing at all. There was no longer any desire in his heart, for at last it's flame had dissolved in streams of blood it had ignored. The monster inside him was gone, as too himself.
Their grip tighten around his wrist, and they pulled him forward deeper against the stone pavement. He could feel the glares of the imperial guard intense with hatred run across his browned bare back and almost singe his white speckled wings to pieces. Their powder white uniform were purelessly clean, the buttons reflecting the high noon sun also evilly.
Thrown onto the silver platform, guards surrounded his busily clicking chains around his feet, hands, and finally his neck. Ropes rubbed angrily against his feathers, and a few fell to the ground sparingly. He looked up into the face of his undiscovered equal.
People of White called him their steel hero; People of Red called him the brutal monster. His eyes were black as
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My name is Kate, and I'm a writer.
I'm a native New Yorker, but I moved to Washington, DC, and got a BA in English and Creative Writing from The George Washington University in 2013. I now live and work full-time as an editor in Arlington, VA. In between fixing people's grammar, I write short stories.
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