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Literature Text
We're laid out on the porch, breathing in cool air and watching the sky slowly drown in its own fire. There's a silence between us, but somehow it feels different: sticky and caught up, like the words in her throat. She's been running over the creases of the paper in her hands as though in prayer, folding and unfolding, but never quite finding the courage to lay the whole thing bare between us. It ain't like one of those trashy bits of paper spiralling on the breath of the wind. No. This one's different. I get the sense that even if we tossed it, it'd be way too heavy to travel further than the spaces between our ribs.
"Dear Mrs. [surname],"
Ain't even kidding. That's how this chapter of her life begun. No Mrs. Scott, No Mrs. This-or-that. Simply, Mrs. [surname]. She bore the law her memories, her heart: heck, a truckload of courage, at that. The system took it in, chewed it up, and decided from hence onwards, she was Mrs. [surname]. Risk versus reward. Money in, money out. After all, a generic letter's always more cost effective than a heartfelt one. Mail merge is always cheaper than a warm, living, breathing person.
She couldn't continue. Her voice wavered and cracked, leaving only a terrible emptiness to well up: flowing like something colder than the dusk air, into the space between us. I couldn't decipher the emotions distorting her face, but something wasn't right. She wasn't right. Ink smeared across her fingertips and palms like blood, words seeping into her veins and wounding her in ways knives or bullets never could.
Gently, I pried the paper from her trembling hands. Stared for a long time, feeling hope dull in my heart while something far more grotesque began to stab, stab, stab with each beat.
PRIVATE Case T936126/JR
Dear Mrs. [Surname]...
"Dear Mrs. [surname],"
Ain't even kidding. That's how this chapter of her life begun. No Mrs. Scott, No Mrs. This-or-that. Simply, Mrs. [surname]. She bore the law her memories, her heart: heck, a truckload of courage, at that. The system took it in, chewed it up, and decided from hence onwards, she was Mrs. [surname]. Risk versus reward. Money in, money out. After all, a generic letter's always more cost effective than a heartfelt one. Mail merge is always cheaper than a warm, living, breathing person.
She couldn't continue. Her voice wavered and cracked, leaving only a terrible emptiness to well up: flowing like something colder than the dusk air, into the space between us. I couldn't decipher the emotions distorting her face, but something wasn't right. She wasn't right. Ink smeared across her fingertips and palms like blood, words seeping into her veins and wounding her in ways knives or bullets never could.
Gently, I pried the paper from her trembling hands. Stared for a long time, feeling hope dull in my heart while something far more grotesque began to stab, stab, stab with each beat.
PRIVATE Case T936126/JR
Dear Mrs. [Surname]...
Literature
Never Forgotten
You are pushing...
Trying to erase...
But you refuse to wipe away those words that rest gentle on the lines.
You can't do it.
They are written in pen.
You won't rip the well designed paper either.
You will have to paint over those honest words.
You will always know that underneath those vibrant colours lies a hidden script.
A secret code that whispers in your sleep.
You have become a spy.
Undercover, in your own world.
What are you searching for?
Is it your treasure which you have tucked away?
Hopefully you will find that which you have intentionally lost,
And at its appearance,
You will forget the tears you shed,
And once again remember
Literature
Dream #1
So this dreams starts off that I went to a store with Jamie (friend) and his dad, but there was no significant dialogue to remember. We went to a small shop that sold all kinds of things, from soap to used "ds" games. I didn't know the name of the store, but I did know that my art teacher and my teacher from fifth, sixth, and seventh grade was working there with someone else that didn't look familiar. For some odd reason I was really tired and was unable to keep my eyes open, but after awhile I had infinite energy but by then Jamie and his dad had bought what they came here for.
After that I don't remember seeing their vehicle, it just tr
Literature
the ghost
I don't know what I'm waiting for,
because I am a ghost and yet
I sit on my hands and wonder
where you've been -
I walk the forest in circles,
the methodical crunch
of leaves beneath my feet
and I remember
that you made me feel small,
and alone. here I am, facing
this brilliant hue that is me and myself
and I am the ghost but somehow
you are haunting me.
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Not sure whether to leave this as it is or not.
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Comments5
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The title really piqued my interest, and I enjoyed reading the piece itself. If you do add more, I'd love to read it!