That Little Storyteller

"The party has begun." - The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald

[thatlittlestoryteller]

House of Cards

Title: House of Cards

Genre: Songfic, Heartbreak, Romance

Word count: 205 words

Damn ok. This is not at all a good fic. I just recently became obsessed with BTS and their song House of Cards got my panties all up in weird knots. Just a little songfic about this. Not been proofread.

What is a House of Cards?

It is us. Two decks of cards, peacefully away from each other with a hand to guide us to each other.

That hand took pride in seeing us leaning on each other, carefully placing a piece from our decks to the other. And we held strong. After a ridiculous amount of time, after thousands of gusts of wind that threatened to shake us, after millions of held breaths, we held strong.

But you see, the more cards you stack on top of each other, the heavier the house gets. The more devastating it would be to see it crumble down. Despite that, we held on.

But it was all too much. As time passes by, we only mess it up even more. We promised to be able to lean on each other for support. It caused our own demise. With shaky hands, we stacked more and more until we can no longer hold on.

Just stay. Just slow time down and stay with me.

But as the last piece has been set, it all crumbles down.

Our cards, mingled against each other. We will always be a part of each other.

In the end, we could not make it.

[thatlittlestoryteller]

One Call Away

Title: One Call Away

Genre: Romance

Word count: 1154 words

Honestly, I do not know if this piece relates to Charlie Puth's song (who is a bae btw js) but when I wrote it, it wasn't my intention at all. All I wanted was to write a piece about my friend and probably about an ex of his idk and you know, probably piss him off haha. And quite frankly I inserted Taron here (because c'mon, who doesn't love Taron and who wouldn't want to be his wife?) but removed it for the sake of my life. I will not be able to handle a piece about someone becoming Taron's wife. And I didn't want this to be a piece about being married to Taron but more on the fact that Taron's wife has an ex that still kinda likes her and-- you know what, I'm not spoiling it :)).

I’ve never received this type of call, never thought I would ever pick up the phone to hear his mother’s voice frantic and asking me to come home. Even if it’s only for a day. We’ll pay for everything. But I can’t do that to her. She says he’s gone. Not physically gone. Mentally gone. Emotionally gone. They can’t bring him back. Nothing could bring him back. But he keeps saying my name. She said he kept saying my name.

They thought we were still in contact. We weren’t. I was happily married. And my books doing very well, flying off the shelves under a pseudonym. I had a steady source of income and my life in London was stable. I only ever travelled back to visit my grandparents and I went back to America to visit my mother. Then that call. That one call.

With all the new movies he was starring in, I didn’t want him to waste time and money doing nothing back home. I wasn’t staying that long anyway.

So I flew alone. And when I landed, the first thing I did was visit him. A little tired and jet-lagged, I came to do what I had to.

People flocked their house, anxious to see the famous author back home. Some wanted pictures. Some wanted autographs. I didn’t have time for either.

His father came out of their house to help, shooing away newly emerged fans who probably never read a thing I’ve written. And I slip in their house, glass windows shining against my eyes, memories flashing at every turn.

His mother comes out and pulls me to his room, not wasting any time. Then I see it. The door. His door. Behind this piece of flattened wood is him, apparently letting himself waste away. It’s locked.

His mother knocks. No answer. I knock. No answer either. Then I speak.

“It’s me.”

And the soft click of the door unlocking met my ears.

His mother made a move to storm into the room. I stop her.

“I know you don’t like me. But if you walk in there when he expects me, he’s going to fall deeper and I don’t know if I would be able to bring him back.” She understands. She steps back.

I cross the line that separates his room from the rest of the world.

Then I see him, sitting on a chair facing the computer, playing video games.

The air is hot, and musty. Signs of someone who didn’t open the door for months.

“You hungry?” I ask. He grunts a no.

“Are you telling the truth?” Another grunt. No.

Then I sit on his bed. He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t look at the computer screen either.

“Why are you here? How are you here?” He whispers.

“Your mom called me.”

“Why?”

“They said you were saying my name. Did you need something from me?”

“I don’t.”

“Why were you calling my name then?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything. I’m trying to finish this.” I say will myself to look at him and see him. See him and understand why he’s like this.

And I see the bags under his eyes. I see his bones peeking from his elbows. His charisma gone. His confidence, gone.

“What happened?” I ask. “I need you to tell me what happened so we can figure out what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Clearly, something is.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

Then he grips his chair.

“I told you, I’m fine. Go back to your life. Go back to London. Go back to your books. Go back to your husband. Why are you wasting your time talking to me? Go back to your perfect husband. Just leave.” He says. Every word said with equal amounts of anger, regret, sadness, and frustration.

“You’re angry with me.” I say, understanding. Or so I thought I did.

“I’m not angry with you.”

“Then why do you want me to leave?”

“Because there’s nothing for you here!” He said with his voice raised. “Why are you here? You’re married. You have a career. Your husband is perfect. He has a job. He takes you on dates. He makes you happy. You won’t be happy here. There’s nothing that can make you happy here! Just go!”

“What is it with you and my husband?”

“I can’t look at you and not think about the fact that you’re married!” He stands up. “You come in here, and talk to me. All that you’re doing is reminding me why I shut myself in! Leave!”

“I’m not leaving until I find out why you’re bringing up my husband.”

“Just go to him. Please.”

“Why are you bringing up my husband? He’s not here. I’m here. Talk to me. Let’s talk about why you’re being like this. What happened?”

“You wanna know what happened? You happened!” He points his shaking finger at me. “You are the reason that I’m this kind of person.” He says as tears start pooling around his eyes. Then my hands reach out to him. I couldn’t stop myself. I hug him. And he lets me.

He curls up in my embrace, clutching on to me like a child would.

“I don’t want to see you here.” He says. “But I don’t want to let go.”

And I cry with him.

“I hate myself. For being the dumbest person in the world. I had you. You were willing to be mine. And I took advantage of that. I’m sorry.” He apologizes.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not! Don’t say that!” He says and pulls away from the hug. “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I remember and I couldn’t take care of you▬didn’t take care of you. And you should be angry! You should be punching me and yelling at me! Instead, I’m yelling at you! It’s easier if you hate me because then you’d be the angry one! Being angry and miserable is not a combination that I want to feel. Please. Please be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry with you.”

Then he takes my hands and hits himself with it. “Stop.” I say. “Stop!” And he stops.

His eyes widen at my outburst. He thinks I’ll finally be angry. I’m not.

“I’m not angry. Stop wanting me to be.” I take his hands into mine and plant a kiss on each one. He holds his breath. “You’ve found girls that were better than me in many ways. Go find another one.”

“I always come back to you.” He says. “I always come back to you.”

“Stop thinking about me. Stop thinking that I’ll be waiting for you.”

And he bursts into tears.

“I can’t wait for you anymore. Someone’s waiting for me. I can’t keep them waiting.”

And he releases a pathetic squeak.

“I forgive you.”

“Don’t.”

“Shut up and let me forgive you.” And he let me.

[thatlittlestoryteller]

The Ex

Title: The Ex

Genre: Open letter, romance

Word count: 555 words

Okay, quick confession. I was a little upset with my ex because I'm a bitter old hag ok? This piece was inspired by a prompt that asked me to write about what I would say to my ex and I am so sorry for being so bitter pls don't hate me kthx

A lot of people told me we looked great together.

I never thought that anybody would say that, ever.

We used to never talk unless necessary. The only contact we had was the occasional brush of our hands when we were passing the volleyballs around. And when you told me you noticed every time it happened, I laughed because I noticed it, too.

First of all, I never had a real relationship where the person that means the most to me was right there holding my hand. I’ve never had a real hug minus the ones people give me when they want to congratulate me for a job well done. I’ve never had a hug that said, “I am so proud of you” or “I am here for you” or “I am happy that you are mine to take care of.” Not even from my parents. And you gave me those hugs. You showed me you were there for me when my mother yelled at me from an ocean away and I felt the need to collapse. You caught me and hugged me. I did not feel alone at that moment.

You showed me you were proud of me when I graduated high school and you ran to me as I finished singing the national anthem and gave me a hug that I sank into. You were late. I knew you were. But you were still there. Which was more than what anyone could have ever done for me.

You showed me you were happy to take care of me every single time I went to your house to sleep. We slept together, and that was it. We slept in each other’s arms. People wanted to think that something else happened. And we had fun making them think that. But what mattered the most was what we did behind closed doors and it was nothing short of adorable.

And the last few weeks that I had with you was something that utterly confused me. Maybe it was because we both knew I was going to leave. Maybe you were prepared to see me leave. Maybe our whole relationship was a prolonged goodbye. Maybe we were already saying goodbye before everything even started.

I don’t want to blame you for being able to find other people to give you everything that I couldn’t, but I do. I need someone to blame. And since I don’t want to blame myself, I blame you.

I can’t help it. I’m sorry, I can’t. I showed you how weak I could be and knowing that someone else could easily take my place was something the darker side of me could not accept.

I never felt like royalty. But with the three months I spent with you, I knew what it was like to become just that. I felt like Briar Rose, awakened with your kiss and turned into a princess.

But as it turns out, Sleeping Beauty was not my story.

It’s a reversed version of Cinderella. You made me feel like I was at the top of the world. Then you dragged me down and married the step sister.

You’ve made me taste primacy. And I am addicted.

Now I am a queen.

I became Maleficent.

And you are nastier than the dirt I walk on.

[thatlittlestoryteller]

Where there's smoke, there's fire.

Title: Where there's smoke, there's fire.

Genre: Suspense

Word count: 167 words

Ok now, I hope I don't offend anyone with this kk? I love my daddy and I don't encourage violence but this is fiction after all. Let's all love one another. Everything I write, I write for entertainment.

Heat, smoke, the sweet smell of burning wood.

They overwhelm my senses as the lingering feel of ash disappears, replaced by the tang of everything else burning.

All I had with me was the wrench covered in father’s blood while strands of his hair slipped between the gaps of my fingers. Then suddenly, everything became magnified.

The room I lived in for the last thirteen years of my live was engulfed in flames.

The porch that had been my outside world is eaten by the heat.

The roof that had been my companion through sleepless nights and battered experiences was crumbling down.

And all I could think about was how happy this sight made me.

I could only think about the burning corpse of my father in the house.

All the blood he made me shed for him, all the scratches and the bruises and the pain is burning away.

And the stench of it swims around me.

I revel in it.

I am free.

[thatlittlestoryteller]

Iced Tea

Title: Iced Tea

Genre: romance, heartbreak

Word count: 395 words

Okay, so I went to a dance and this scene literally happened. Well, except for the whole staring back thing and nodding because I’m a complete creeper and he didn’t see me staring at him at all lol. Okay, here goes...

The music blares in my ears as the people around me flail their limbs around, calling the pathetic movement dancing. I, for one, have been lounging out near the food table and have been munching on the sorry excuse they call chips. And the dip was a little too sour, even for sour cream.

To be honest, I only came for the food. I did not come to dance, to sing, grind on any sort of surface whatsoever. But my motivation to come here had only greatly disappointed me. Plus, one cannot exactly dance the whole night in these monster heels. Why did I even wear them?

Oh yes, it’s because I wanted to feel tall, prettier than my usual everyday facade. Maybe I had wanted to feel regal, royal to all the others.

Then smooth music weaves itself across the room, anchoring couples to each other and making them think they want to wrap their arms around each other, that this is the perfect moment for silent confessions.

Visibly scoffing at the all the sweetness vibrating off these pairs, I literally felt the grease of these people running through me making me run to the farthest corner of the food table.

There, somebody sat. A boy I assumed from the mint green shirt and beige jacket he wore. He was perched on one of the stools intently looking out towards the dancefloor. He wasn’t smiling, in fact when I looked closer it seemed as though he had a tired look on his face. The world seemed to be resting on his eyelids and nobody else saw except for me. His elbow rested on the table with a cup of iced tea on his left hand.

He sees me looking at him, and I made no efforts to try hiding my staring. After all, I wasn’t doing anything wrong. He piqued my interest.

He raises his head in a nod, and stares back at the crowd with the same exhausted face. It amused me how we were alike.  

Then the suave music stops, replaced by an upbeat Justin Bieber song. He drops the iced tea on the trash bin and runs toward his friends, throwing his hands up and banging his head to the music. My friends beckon me to go to them, to throw my hands up and bang my head to the music.

[thatlittlestoryteller]

Calysta

Title: Calysta

Genre: Greek mythology fiction, romance

Word count: 378

So I recently bought an idea book which people thought was a diary (I literally told people 7 times that it was not a diary). A diary is private, my idea book is not. If they want to look at it they can, I don’t care. Sorry, ranting...anyway!

It has this little gold buckle that closes the thing and it just reminded me of wreaths on Greek mythology and I don’t know why but I’m writing a lot of stuff about couples and it’s making me barf on the inside because I’m single and I promote break ups (so sorry for all the couples out there). Some light stuff again, nothing to serious. Let me know if there are any typos because I honestly do not proof read. Enjoy.

A pot, most likely filled with dirt. It could also have been used to store food, or ashes. But frankly, Hermes did not need to know not did he want to know. He only wanted to look at the sculpted woman that was engraved on it.

She wore a face that shed tears but she held up her head confidently, ready to take on the world. Calysta, the goddess people pray to lift up their sadness of grief. If it were another person who looked at this pot, they would feel sorry for this lady, weeping, carrying the weight of the sadness of the world. Hermes should have felt this way too, but he did not.

He felt pride seeing this woman. He felt pride seeing her life the sorrows of the world away.

“Hermes.”

The sudden presence of the goddess did not surprise Hermes, it comforted him.

Without looking away from the vase, he wraps an arm around Calysta while her hand instinctively rest on his chest. Her head gently landed on his shoulder as they looked at the pot together.

“My nose is too big.” She says.

Hermes could only breath out a laugh, afraid to bang his chest against Calysta’s head. With this thought, he looks at her closely.

Her ebony hair was held in place by a golden wreath with a veil trailing behind her gently. Her nose was pointy, not as pointy as what was done on the pot, but just enough to brush against his own when they kiss.

With that thought, he brought his hand up to cup her cheek and reminded himself of what she tasted like.

Pulling away, he saw the grin plastered on her beautiful face.

“Is something the matter, darling?” She says and wraps her arms around Hermes’ neck.

This moment was bliss. Out of all the gods that pined for her, all the gods that wanted her, she wanted him.

“Why me?” He asks.

“Why not you?” She answers.

“Why not them? Why not anyone else but me?”

She smiles and rests her hands on his face, gently caressing them and memorizing the delicious curves of his cheekbones and jaw.

“Because they want me to take away their sadness. But you, you. You take away mine.”

[thatlittlestoryteller]

Spirit of Winter

Title: Spirit of Winter

Genre: Winter, Spring, Seasons, Romance

Word count: 225 words

I was at writing club and the teacher was talking about how April was a weird month because it didn’t know if it should be cold for winter or warm for spring. SO I decided to write about the middle ground. The in between of transitioning seasons. And I figured I’d write something...haven’t written in a while. 

Just some light stuff. None of that heavy stuff I write all the time. Haha no. Okay. Enjoy.

The spirit of fun went around the northern hemisphere, making sure every part of land was covered with snow. He smiles and praises himself...until the sight of a blue flower catches his eye. Jack Frost stops his rounds and lands softly on the cotton covered patch of ground and caresses the fragile thing.

“The first bloom” he mutters to himself until the afterthought comes, Spring is here.

He looks around, anxious to find someone else. His heart skips a beat as he sees the small child walking toward him, simultaneously joined by the dripping water from the icicles on the trees. As he looks at her, he sees her shorter than him by a foot, but he’s quite certain she’s been around longer than he has.

She walks up to him with a familiar grin. He longed to touch her, hug her, tell her he missed her. He wanted to ask if she was cold with only her slippers on. She probably knew what he was thinking because she beams her evergreen smile, the spirit of joy warming the winter spirit’s icy heart.

He longed to have her, take her away. But the season’s changed. And just like every year since the world was created, only a nod was exchanged. And with nothing else, he smiled and walked away, staring after her retreating figure.

[thatlittlestoryteller]

The Chemical Garden Trilogy review

Okay. So. I read the first book of this trilogy, Wither, a couple weeks ago. Maybe a month ago. I don’t have a photo which kinda makes me sad because I really wanted a picture and I thought I would get to read the books right after the other but I didn’t #sadface but I do have pictures of the other books so...yay.

I thought I’d just do a review on the whole trilogy all at once because yolo. 

Second book is Fever

And third book is Sever

Which honestly irks me. Like I get the whole “er” concept of the trilogy but I can’t stop staring at the word and can’t help but feel weird about it. Oh well, not complaining that much about it. 

LET’S GET IT ON WITH THE RAVIN’

Oh. My. Freakin. Freakin. Freakin. Goodness.

First of all.

Second of all

Third of all, why. 

Actually I take the third back. I know why. To play with our emotions and make people cry. Yes. And honestly, my emotions are all over the place. I cried and it was not pretty. Like with snot running down my nose and drooling because of my horrible feelings that got in the way of my “professionalism”. 

Okay. Imma start with the characters. 

Cecily. I actually genuinely disliked her from the moment I read the first words she said. She’s like my little sister, so annoying, and she doesn’t even know she’s being annoying. Either she does and she just chooses to play stupid. But just because I don’t like her doesn’t mean I entirely hate her. I actually like her transition from being a spoiled pregnant child to being this strong if not slightly damaged underaged woman. And just like my sister, even after she has annoyed the living soul out of me, I’d still comfort her and love her ew.

Linden. Ugh. I just feel so sooooo bad for him. He went through so much and he’s so kept in the dark and everything is just thrown in his face like “Aww you thought that guy is one of the good guys? BOOM No he’s not.” And it’s not even his fault that he’s so clueless about everything because nobody tells him anything. He doesn’t even know where his freaking wives came from. Like, what even? None of the wives. NONE. And he’s such a sweetheart too. Such a sweetheart that I cried so much I cried with Rhine and Cecily.

Gabriel. Okay. Another total sweetheart. So sweet. Too sweet. He’s so sweet that I’m surprised he only snaps at Rhine (main character) once. Cuz if I were him, I would’ve snapped at that girl like a crocodile being fed with a balloon. 

Vaughn. I am so angry at how he seems to always make his way into every single scene in the trilogy. Like, c’mon man, can’t take a chill pill and relax with the stalking? And can you not be a creepy dad/grandpa to the people around you? Yeah, thanks. 

Last but definitely not the least I wanna smack her in the face so freaking much.

Rhine. I am honestly too conflicted about my emotions with this girl. Like, first of all, she acts on impulse which is the stupidest thing ever. She never plans anything. Not her escape. Not her return. Nothing. And I completely agree when she says something along the lines of danger always seeming to be around her because SHE NEVER PLANS ANYTHING. Love her though. Strong character, stubbornly strong.

Okay. This book has great transition. Even if it does come out at you so quickly it’s nice. Other books show every single detail about where this character goes and what happens to this character bla bla bla. Here, the chapter ends in this place, then the next chapter starts in another place and after quite some time and how DeStefano relays what happens in that delayed amount of time is pretty good. 

Overall, loved it. FYI, I borrowed the last book in the trilogy this morning, finished it tonight woop woop. I recommend people to read it.  

[thatlittlestoryteller]

Fell of Dark book review

Okay, so here’s the deal. 

I was reading this book, Fell of Dark, 

which if anybody is curious to know (nobody probably is) I borrowed today at around 2:40. I finished it at 12:15. It is that amazing. And I just realized that maybe, just maybe, I could do an informal book review (because I loved it and it probably is my purpose pahaaa spoiler alert do not listen to me I am stupid.) This is my first review so I have no idea if I’m doing it right or not. I’m just going to state the things that I adored and did not adore in the book.

Okay. First of all, I did not know that this book was not going to be about aliens or supernatural beings heyoooooo see I judged a book by it’s cover too sad. I didn’t see the “Realistic” genre as could be seen:

which on my part is pretty dumb but it was the greatest dumb decision I could’ve done.

I’m not going to go into detail about what happened seeing as I could be ruining the book for those who have not read it yet and I might get beaten up by one of the violent ones. But I will go through some of the stuff.

Okay, so first thing’s first: characters.

Actually there’s just two main characters that I am aware of. Well, two human characters that I am aware of and that would be Erik, and Thorn. Yes, bad ass names for bad ass boys. 

Look, I have a constant obsession with dramatics and damaged people. I think they’re the most interesting people and the author, Patrick Downes, and the way he portrays these two people is just amazing. Before I finished the book, I accidentally read one of the last parts of the book. And for a moment I was confused. But when I read the whole thing and understood what happened to the two characters that made them what they were, the eureka moment just came to me. Erik and Thorn went through so much suffering in their own lives and how they ended up quite different from each other kind of satisfied my thirst for drama. I need to be honest, at first I did not understand what was happening in the book. Was it just going to be a guy complaining about his parents, would he develop some sort of realization, would he ever get out of his situation? Then I read on and understood and appreciated and liked. 

And Erik has this obsession with finding his wife. 

I read somewhere here a thing about people talking about what if there was a book with a character that fell in love with you, the reader. This book gives you that.

It doesn’t really show in the end how the character will fall in love with you, the reader. It was just as if the character thinks you are the ‘future’ wife. Which is another thing I like because there’s that second person narration. 

And oh mah gah, the voice is so clear in this book. Especially Thorn’s parts. 

Readers would be able to tell when the characters are already falling apart, clearly be able to tell when the characters are falling apart. And that is amazing because just like in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, the whole story builds up to the last dramatic scene. And when it comes, it comes and go so fast and you’re just going to be left like “OH MY GOLLY DID THAT JUST HAPPEN OMG THAT JUST HAPPENED”. 

So all in all, I adored the book. I planned on staying up all night to finish it which makes me happy that I finished it earlier because that means I get more sleep yaaaaaaaay.

Okay so I may make more reviews. Who knows? Let’s see how this goes and if not I don’t even know what I’m gonna do. Peace.

[thatlittlestoryteller]

Something is Wrong With Me

Title: Something is Wrong with Me

Genre: suicide

Word count: 184

This is the second part of the first piece that I posted. Once again, I did not write this piece to encourage suicide but rather to encourage seeking help. You are not alone.

Something is wrong with me.

I feel it, running through my veins and taking over my head.

The thumping of my heart racks my whole body. And all I can think about is darkness and anguish mixing together like the rays of the sun at 6:00 of fall. My judgement is clouded by the thoughts of death and I hear myself think that nothing in this world amuses me.

Suddenly, my skin is prickled by the cold air, dry and dangerous. And the breath from my lungs disappear.

Torsos twisting, chest wrenching, lungs hacking and heaving blood in and out of my system. I am choking.

Until all the blood swishing around my body make their way out of my throat, onto my tongue, and out of my lips.

All this, while I still held the empty bottle of migraine relief medicine in my right hand.

And now, all I hear is the muffled screeching of the ambulance, the feel of the metal stretcher as they carried me out of my house, and the lightness of my body as my soul leaves it.

[thatlittlestoryteller]

I Have Given Up

Title: I Have Given Up

Genre: Suicide, depression

Word count: 211 words

I have two separate pieces regarding suicide and depression. I did not create these pieces to encourage suicide, rather to encourage seeking help when you feel alone and on the verge of giving up. Someone wants you here. And you are not alone.

I have given up.

Completely, and utterly helpless, I have given up.

I am sorry.

Your favorite line:

“I can never satisfy your desires.” And you proceed on listing them. I cannot reply because I am clueless as to what to say.

Do I say “I’m sorry”? Or do I say “You are absolutely right to say that”? None of these words contain what I actually want to say.

“No, you are wrong.” I say hiding my voice behind closed lips. “I can never satisfy your desires. When have I ever? Nothing I do is ever good enough, nothing at all.”

It eats my flesh, claws at my innards, tickles my skin, and it breaks my heart. I’ve never been good enough and I never will be. Not now, not ever.

And now, thoughts of death plague my brain; ideas of sadness pick on my mind.

I am sorry.

I am very sorry.

But I need to leave, get away from all the butterflies gathering in my stomach.

I must go.

Hopefully we see each other again in green pastures covered with white light.

But all I need you to do is take your time, take as long as you need.

Stay.

People need you more than they need me.

Goodbye.

[thatlittlestoryteller]

...

Title: ... ?

Genre: Fanfiction

Word count: 247

So, in my AP Psych class, we watched Cast Away (I actually have no idea why we did, maybe my teacher just wanted to chill and not teach but, anyway) and there was one package there that contained divorce papers. It may or may not be divorce papers, idk, but yeah, papers. And I thought, “Well, what about the story of the people who were supposed to get the packages?” Then another thought came by I was like “Yoooooo, what if they did get it after Chuck came back woot woot.” So I did this. And I remembered a prompt in creative writing class where we had to write a piece that had no narration, just dialogues. So I tried. Oh, and I do not have a title yet. Person to help me think of one gets a hug hahahahaaaaaaa. Thanks :**

“Did you sign the papers yet?”

“No. They didn’t come in yet.”

“I need those papers signed.”

“You don’t think I want those papers signed as much as you want, too?”

“Call me when you get them.”

“Marissa, it’s been a month.”

“I know. It’s not my fault Fedex can’t deliver a package on time. Look, we need to talk about your child support. The papers can wait, your daughter can’t.”

“Fine. Dinner at 6. I’ll come over. Make sure that the dog is on a leash or I swear to God I’m going to shoot that damned thing.”

“Your daughter wants to go to the movies.”

“Okay. I’ll pick her up today--”

“I’m coming.”

“No, you’re not. I’m taking my daughter out, not you.”

“If you think I’m leaving my daughter alone with someone like you then you must be way more stupid that I thought you were. I am coming, whether you like it or not.”

“Your daughter wants to talk to you-- Hi daddy.”

“Hey sweetie.”

“We need to go out more.”

“I can’t sweetie. Mommy’s not letting you out of the house alone with me.”

“Come over then. Mommy and I will cook for you.”

“No problem. Come over anytime you want...to see your daughter of course. I mean-- why else would you…”

4 years later

“I have the papers.”

“They just came in?”

“...”

“Do you still want to sign them?”

“...no.”

“Can I come home now?”

“...yes.”

[thatlittlestoryteller]

Something is Wrong With Me

Title: Something is Wrong With Me

Genre: Suicide, Sensation Literature

Word count: 184 words

Very new. I was a little terrified to write this and I wrote this when I was feeling very emotional. I guess I can say this was a very personal piece. Although there’s no actual plot in the story, it feels pretty personal. Constructive criticisms about the writing style is welcomed, although judgement about suicide is not. If you are going through suicidal thoughts and depression, you are not alone in this. If anybody needs someone to listen to them, I’ll always be available if they need somebody.

Something is wrong with me.

I feel it, running through my veins and taking over my head.

The thumping of my heart racks my whole body. And all I can think about is darkness and anguish mixing together like the rays of the sun at 6:00 of fall. My judgement is clouded by the thoughts of death and I hear myself think that nothing in this world amuses me.

Suddenly, my skin is prickled by the cold air, dry and dangerous. And the breath from my lungs disappear.

Torsos twisting, chest wrenching, lungs hacking and heaving blood in and out of my system. I am choking.

Until all the blood swishing around my body make their way out of my throat, onto my tongue, and out of my lips.

All this, while I still held the empty bottle of migraine relief medicine in my right hand.

And now, all I hear is the muffled screeching of the ambulance, the feel of the metal stretcher as they carried me out of my house, and the lightness of my body as my soul leaves it.

[thatlittlestoryteller]

What is Love

Title: What is Love

Genre: Suspense

Word count: 568 words

Had this for a while. Had a bunch of criticism for it already but I’m too lazy to fix it. But if the criticism is persistent then I’ll change it. 

There you were, laying on the bed with your hair sprawled all over the place.

The sun streamed through the curtains, illuminating your beautiful face. I never thought that there was a chance that you would be more beautiful than you already are. But I’m wrong. I’m very wrong.

It’s as if there was never a moment where your beauty dulls. Laying here right next to you with our limbs entangled like the roots of a tree feels like the comfort I never even imagined were possible. Because that is what we are. I am connected to you. Every thought, every word, every breath.

I run the back of my hand across your cheek as soft as I possibly can, as if you are the ice on a frozen lake and with one wrong step I would fall and succumb to the coldness which is your entire being. But it’s the comforting sense of cold you experience running on your throat from a cold water on a hot day. You are like the oasis in a sizzling, hot dessert. The pad of my thumb runs across the redness of your lip and I sigh.

God, you’re just so beautiful. And I think to myself, you know what? Screw it. I press my lips against yours and savour the taste. But you remain immobile. You still remain asleep.

I released a chuckle. You are still fast asleep. I’m surprised you’re still knocked out cold amidst all the commotion I’ve been doing right beside you.

I sit up straight and look back at you. The daylight illuminates the whole of you and I lay back down. I don’t want to leave your side. I feel a sense of protectiveness wash over me. You are mine. As I am yours.

I stare at the dress you wore, white as the innocence that becomes you. Your face enlightens me, like I know I can do anything, and I will do anything as long as you’re here beside me.

I crawl over you and caress your face once more. I brush off the hair that covers a part of your forehead and I plant my lips on it just because I can. I just cannot get enough of you.

You stir, your eyelashes fluttering as my breath fans against your face.

Then I feel wetness emerge from below.

Drat, I’ve pressed on the wound too hard. Now you’re bleeding again. I roll my eyes at my stupidity and grab a wet rag from the dresser. I stick the cloth in your injury making sure that I plug the bleeding. I just changed your clothes and now I have to wash them again. I’m so stupid.

I looked to the dresser once more and see the knife that plunged in your stomach just a few hours before this moment. The edge shines in the sun like a diamond. Like a piece of jewelry that only deserves to be worn by the most alluring woman who walks the Earth. And you have worn it perfectly. It fit you like a glove.

A whimper escapes your lips and I look up just in time to meet your tear brimmed eyes.

“Please stop” You sob. “Just let me go and I won’t tell anybody. I swear.”

I give you a soft smile and brush your hair.

“I will never let you go. We will be together forever.”

[thatlittlestoryteller]

Vegan Cuisine

Title: Vegan Cuisine

Genre: Suspense, Zombies

Word count: 3,268 words

I’m just reposting all the homework I had from my Creative Writing class. Spelling errors and grammatical errors may be somewhere in between the lines but, you know, just let me know, you know?

Feedback is greatly appreciated, constructive criticism only please unless you want the wrath of a child suffering from depression upon you. 

Thank you and enjoy the piece.

95 days and counting. They have been surviving for 95 days, hoping for 95 more, and 95 more, and 95 more.

Supplies have been running low. Ammo is reduced to merely 3 rounds per gun, and they only had 2 guns left. This is why a man, sporting a tattered blue sweater and greasy hair, was carrying a baseball bat covered with nails. Food has also been big issue. Being the reason why their leader, the aforementioned man, had a quite chaotic fist fight with one of his comrades. This comrade walking slowly behind the group refraining from moving his lips as more blood might seep through. He’s looking guiltily at the floor due to the fact that he almost sacrificed himself going out in the night just to get some chips.

They come up a run down building.

Apparently, it used to be an apartment building. The windows were open and were highlighted with black soot making it seem like there was a fire. Making it seem like the fire was the one that killed everybody. Making it seem like everything was the fire’s fault.

He looked to the five people treading behind him. His brother carrying the backpack half-filled with food and a guitar strap casually sitting on his shoulder. “A blunt weapon” he said. His gaze landed on the nurse that they recently picked up, a male teacher (or so he says he’s a teacher), a teenage mechanic, and the stupid idiot who thought that going out for a midnight snack would do no harm not thinking that he might probably become the midnight snack for all the things lurking out there.

He and his crew walked up the concrete stairs, the teenage mechanic swiftly picking the lock of the door and quickly taking hold of the desert eagle pistol hidden away on his back.

They step inside the lobby, walking as if they’re on paper and with one wrong step the paper would tear and they’ll fall into a dark abyss.

They tread up the stairs, the leader up front and center, baseball bat up and ready to swing as if waiting for the ball to come out for it to make its homerun swing.

“Chuck!”, the nurse yelled.

The leader, chuck, looked to his right and saw a man wearing shorts and a tshirt saying “Best Daddy in the World!” Not anymore Chuck thought.

He raised his bat to swing at this walking rotting corpse. He scrunched his nose at the smell. Four? Five? Six weeks maybe. Six weeks since this “daddy” has been dead.

Black blood surrounded his chin and mouth. His teeth stained black with a few chunks of flesh stuck in between.

It growled hungrily, breaking into a sprint when he saw Chuck.

Anticipation swam in Chuck’s head. He could feel it as the corpse neared him.

Then a gunshot went off. And the corpse stopped on its tracks and plopped on the floor.

Suddenly, they were surrounded by a collection of moans and grunts and gurgles.

They stared at each other for a second before bolting.

It seemed like a million hands were trying to get them. The dead bodies came out of their respective apartments as if to collect their daily food.

A scream from the teacher startled everyone, but they still kept running. Soon, the teenager; next, the nurse; the dumbass; and lastly, his brother. The next thing he knew, Chuck was the only one left that’s running and possibly, alive.

He came upon a door after losing the dead people walking. He locked the door and slid against it, putting his head on his hands with his knees up. He heaved a big sigh and looked up.

It looked like he was in a kitchen. A stove and a sink to his left and some chairs and a table across from him. The ceiling was crumbling and moss covered the wall. The vines running along the cracks of the walls as if running away from the creatures with leaves scattered around the floor. 

In his opinion, this probably looked like a decent kitchen. Fancy even. But after time, everything just rotted and died.

He heard footsteps from outside the door. A series of moans and grunts and growls with it. He looked to the window right across from him. Seeing a bright white light protruding through the curtains as if beckoning him to come closer.

Then the door beside him breaks.

And only one thing pops into his head.

“It’s been a nice life.”

[thatlittlestoryteller]

Drip, drip, drip

Title: Drip, drip, drip

Genre: Horror, suspense

Word count: 1,923 words

For lack of a better title. I’m so sorry if the title sucks. Wasn’t quite sure if I already had this in here. And this is my horrible attempt at writing a horror piece. So sorry. Oh well. 

This is based off of the video game “The Evil Within” btw. I got the idea from one of the first scenes so....Here we go. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

My head feels heavy.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Why is everything upside down?

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I try lifting my head up, but it feels like something pulls it back down. My feet are tied up and a small layer of blood seeps through the ropes.

The humidity makes my skin crawl. Sweat covers every part of my body, until I realize that it’s not just sweat that makes everything tacky. The crimson liquid thickens and I could feel it everywhere. My pants stick to my legs and my shirt pools around my neck. Only then do I notice that my arms are dangling above my head. My legs feel like a thousand needles were pushing their way through. I’ve lost all feeling in them.

Classical music echoes through the walls. Beethoven’s Symphony no. 9. At least I think it is. The familiar melody swims in my ears that it almost makes me fall unconscious again. But despite the struggle, I keep my eyes open.

A light straight ahead brings me back to where I was before this.

It came out of nowhere. All of a sudden, a beam of light meets my eyes. The next thing I know, the hood of my car is split in two and a tree is wedged in between.

I force my head up, now clearly seeing everything. The rope that clutches my ankles are hanging from a metal beam. I am hanging from a metal beam. After a few moments, I jiggle my hands and try to reach up to untie the ropes that have kept my feet immobile. But then a sting of pain comes from my sides making me drop back to my original position with a gasp. I press my hand against my side and almost throw up at the sight of how much blood is leaking from my body.

The clang of a knife reverberates around the room. It resounds simultaneously with Beethoven’s song that it makes my heart pound.

Someone else hangs from the ceiling when I looked to my right. I tried calling out, “Hello?”

It was safe to assume that he was dead. Trying my luck at the left side, I was met by another body. Gasping, I found a bulk of a torso. Just the torso. Blood runs down the stump of his legs and arms and with what is left of his neck impaled on a hook.

I try to reach for the rope again, more motivated than ever to get out, only to end up with the same result. But this time, I wheeze louder unintentionally.

The music stops.

The clanging stops.

It is quiet for a few seconds.

Until the sound of heavy breathing and boots pounding on the floor breaks the silence.

[thatlittlestoryteller]

Mimes

For lack of a better title, Mimes. This piece may be blech idk. 

Title: Mimes

Genre: Sci fi

Word count: 2,057 words

I hear them suffer and I am not permitted to utter a single word.

I see their despair and I am not permitted to intervene.

--

She was only a little girl, yet she was trapped in the endless cycle of an invisible barrier. And he put her there, and he is disgusted at himself. Being a subordinate was all he could ever dream of, and doing what he can to ensure the safety of his race would bring satisfaction and glory to his family. But now that he’s done it, why does he feel like everything he has done has been a complete lie?

The black tears of the human girl ran down her face, in contrast to his perfectly kempt black eyeliner. Her lips were sore from crying while his red lips were straight in frustration. He used to enjoy seeing humans suffer, but why does he feel a tug on his heart?

A close friend of his decided to play around with their prisoner and minimize the box that girl occupied. Her legs cramped beneath her and her face splat against the invisible box. And he could almost hear them laugh. He could almost hear the enjoyment that they seem to have.

‘This is too much’ he thinks. ‘I can’t do this anymore’. Then he walks away.

His friend notices and sees his back turned towards the excitement.

They catch up to him and ask if the torture was too bland, too boring from what he usually does. And what he does make them lose their bearings and fear for their own lives.

“Stop” he says as clear as day.

--

“Fuck man, did he really say that?”

“Yeah. It got him fired from his post and disowned by his parents.”

The two young men sporting a black jumpsuit clad with guns and grenades walked along the hallway of an abandoned mansion. Their feet rubbed against the carpet and they knew about the static building up in their bodies. But at the moment they just really didn’t care. A new recruit had to be told the story, he needs to know the truth.

“Maybe it’s a blessing for us humans. Without him, we probably haven’t done anything that we have. He has all the information about them. Their strengths, weaknesses, obsessions. And he helps us. He gave us weapons, funding. I don’t know what the rebellion is going to do without him.”

They reach a pair of tall, wooden doors and began to open them. Until a voice makes them lose their bearings and fear for their own lives.

“Stop”

And they do. They stare at the man’s white make-up stained by his black eyeliner and the red lips that used to be so kempt and neat now running wild on the edges. What used to be a mime full of authority is now a traitor.

“You all talk too much.”