I've been trying to write, but it's like the phrases that once flowed from my fingertips like molten gold have crystallized into ice. I've been trying to write, but it's like I'm the pyramids and finally, Egypt has become my succubus, who I submit to with...
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incaendo
Over 90 days ago
United States
Stories
Stalking the essences of a dream, I meander throughout the streets that have become rubble. It is quiet, unsettlingly so, but there is beauty in ruin. I dream of the little things. The way fiery sunlight glows against the sand-dusted buildings, the way so...
Land of the brave… home of the free?That’s not quite right, but he’s not a mind for details. The whiskey slurs and slops in his stomach like a bad dream. American flag shorts. Unemployment lines color his future.The men America left behind sit huddled in...
Disclaimer: For all of those reading this who do not identify as heterosexual, this poem is about you too. Just replace the pronouns with whatever is relevant to you, and hopefully, enjoy. when a girl meets a boy there is a moment when they are truly equ...
War is not beautiful. The reality of true hopelessness, of true fear, of the way a man turns when he’s faced with his own mortality has almost no redeeming qualities. The way God only appears within His soldiers at the moment they die, the tan sandy color...
“Are you afraid of the dawn?” she asks, watching him with a half-smile on her face as he scrambles around the room, frantically pulling down the curtains. The new darkness bathes them both in soft candlelight. It smoothes out her angular lines and eases t...
Half-Lives
A story written because some stories need to be toldIt’s kind of quiet and peaceful, but not a good quiet. Not like a tranquil, Japanese garden kind of quiet. This is the eye of the hurricane, the calm before the storm; like the calm before everything you know disintegrates into ash and vanishes before you...
I have a little sister – she’s eleven. She’s not really my sister, but, you know how these things are. Stepsister, half-sister, it all merges into one. We don’t share the same mother or father, but I love her as if we did. She’s darker than me, and her ha...
Because what’s more cliché than the best friend? She’s unthinkable, untouchable until the December night she’s not. And you hate yourself for every second you spend with her, learning the curves of her body, but there’s almost nothing better than somethin...
This is the story of a boy who loved too much and a girl who loved too little.Which sounds like the opposite of what it should be, because you already know the outcome; he cheats, she dies, he dies. But it is what it is, and I will do my best to tell you...
“Riley! You didn’t actually, did you?” she asks incredulously. There’s shock in her face, but a sort of pride too. She’s fighting back a smile and her dark blonde hair waves behind her as she attempts to stop her shoulders shaking with laughter. “Yes, yes...
The cursor on the blank spread of a Word document seems to taunt me as it clicks backwards, forwards, off and on. I heard that back in the day, the same kind of mocking dance would have been played with a typewriter whose ink drips, waiting for words. The...