#writing outlet

[commander-writergirl]

I feel like making Sunday’s, Sinner Sunday. Hmm? Maybe little smut headcanons @outside-the-government @yourtropegirl

[abbyadapts]

Betrayal. What now?

Long for comfort of old days.

But they were not real.

[xxwritteninangstxx]

Well that hurt

"The writing you are doing isn't important. So stop what you're doing and come do this instead."

Yup....family really keeps me motivated to write...

[dearlybelovedly]

Happy Like Me

Remember when you were a kid,

people would tell you, "You can be anything you want when you grow up."

"All it takes it hard work, good grades, and lots of practice."

They told you, "Never stop dreaming, never give up."

  Remember when you worked really hard in school,

you practiced everyday,

and you dreamed of that goal, the thing you wanted more than anything else,

 every night thinking "One day...One day..."

  And then one day, you woke up.

And your older,

With gray hairs, sun spots, and a body that is not your own.

And you think, "Where did the time go?"

  You go to your job ,

You perform your monotonous duties without using your brain.

You are on autopilot.

You are a drone.

People tell you, "You are lucky to have a secure job."

And you think, "Yea, I guess I am."

But inside, it's like treading in tar.

Its hard to feel happy in a place with no sun.

And yet,

You get by.

  You drive home in traffic,

You curse the stranger next to you

For having a nice car,

For cutting you off,

For being alive.

  You walk into your home,

Rest your belongings,

And sigh.

And then an even deeper sigh.

You see the stack of bills on the table,

The messy living room,

The dirty laundry.

  And in the kitchen is your loving wife,

Cooking away,

With your daughter at the table,

Coloring up a storm.

And she seems you,

And jumps up from the table,

And runs up to you, arms opened wide.

"Daddy, I made this for you! All by myself."

And its a picture of you and her.

And she is dressed in a tutu on stage, grinning.

And he is smiling from his seat in the audience.

  And you look at her and you automatically ask,

"What do you want to be when you grow up, sweetie?"

And you feel a strange pain as you ask,

Remembering this question all too well,

Reminiscing of your own response once as a child.

Remembering that you never reached your goal, your dream.

  And she looks up at you, and says,

"I want to be happy like you and mommy."

And you sigh.

And then without warning, there are tears in your eyes.

And you hug her tight, and whisper,

"And so you shall be...happy like me."

  m.L.c.

[dearlybelovedly]

Wednesday

Her world fell to her feet in slow motion. The words lingering in the air like perfume of a stranger, unwelcomed. She swallowed hard, choking back her lunch, threatening to come up. Thoughts racing, she turned to face him in the shadows of what was once their bedroom, a place of love and hope. Dawn approaches, and the darkness can only hide so much. She stands before him, straight but weak. She is  determined to appear stronger than she clearly felt. He stood there, fists tight, eyes shut. His body rigid, shoulder squared as if acting as a wall. A wall that is impermeable to her, to the women he once loved. She saw the somber look on his face, which only made her chest collapse further. Emotions flooded her rational thought process, and caused a hurricane in her heart. It took all her strength to remain standing, when all she wanted to do was sink into the carpet and disappear. Tears welling up in her eyes, she was determined to maintain her stare with the man who ever-so casually ripped her heart out. Head and heart are dueling inside, tormenting, aching, angry. Her body simply couldn't decide who to let speak.

"Why?" she whispered. Heart in throat, it was all she managed to say. Silence. The morning light through the curtains invades the room, illuminating her face. The soft orange glow exposes the tear trails down her cheek and neck. Eyes swollen from hours of crying. Her worst fear come true. He exhales, breaking the silence. He sits on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands that rest on his knees. He waits. For a sound. For a cue. For something to fill the silence. For anything to stop him from speaking. But no noise interrupts, not a sound at all but the steady beat inside his own heart. The orange glow dances around the room, becoming brighter and bolder. It bounces delicately on her hair, resting in the tendrils that fall around her face. The intruding sun, completely unaware of the dire situation at hand. More silence. For what feels like hours, had only been minutes. The world around them began to buzz with life, as the outside world begins their day. Neighbors were heard greeting other neighbors outside, a car roaring to life, children protesting parents about school. It was just another day for everyone else.

Except it wasn't. It was the day that never ended for her. And even though the night came and went, it was still the same day. The day she found out. The day she caught him cheating. Cheating in the very same bed he now sat in. The day that ended the life she knew to be her own.

"I never meant to hurt you," he said.

His voice barely auditable, as if mocking the silence. He sat up and looked at her. For the first time that morning, he saw her face, and the toll it had taken. Mascara, smeared make-up, matted hair, the wet nose and cheeks. He saw the women he fell in love with all those years ago, innocent, sweet, young. The sad, helpless girl he thought he could save. The years proved him wrong, and so did his heart. He knew deep down she couldn't be saved. Not by him, at least. But he believed in the phrase, "The heart wants what the heart wants." And all those years ago, his heart wanted her. Not anymore. 

She inhales sharply, turning her face away from him, as if his words lashed her. The floodgate of fresh tears begin to roll down her face. She doesn't wipe them, there is nopoint. The tears take the last of her strength with them as they hit the floor. All she can do is let her body drop into the chair behind her, and cover her face with her trembling hands. The sobbing begins, consuming the once silent room.

His stare softens. His posture slumps as he watches her, observes her crying. He notices her; how her hands cover her face, her body though seated is curled to form the letter C. He notices her knees, how they press tightly together when she cries, like that of a child.  Even her toes are curled up with pain. He stares at her, remembering the damaged soul she really is.

"Why her!?" She screamed, mid cry. She had startled him from his quiet bed perch. Her eyes wide, cheeks hot with anger. "WHY HER!?" Her voice breaks, exposing her vulnerability. She stands up and lurches for him. Her hand strikes his face so swiftly, it begins stinging upon impact.

As he recovers from the impact, another swing comes his way, this time with a fist. It strikes him clear in the temple, and he hollers in pain. He grabs the side of his face and folds across his thighs, rocking to recovery.

She stands there, inches away from him, ready to strike again. Heavy breathing, whimpering bodies. She filled with rage. And just as she pulls her arm back to strike again, she hears something. Keys jingling.

The front door.

Statues. They are like statues, waiting. Stillness and breathing. Breathing and fear. She turned to door, tense with anticipation. She dared not blinked for fear of missing the perpetrator. That's when it hit her. Wednesday. It was Wednesday. As the footsteps grew louder, she felt the little sanity she once possessed dissipate.

She raced to the door just as the knob turned. She threw her body against the wood frame, blocking the thing on the other side from entering. But it was futile, her fragile state and limited strength proved to be pointless. The door pushed open, exposing the force on the other side.

Her lover.

His brother.

    A short story.

by m.L.c.