Person fiction is writing with a normal setting and an emphasis on individuals and their lives.
Wax Poet by Konnono, literature
Literature
Wax Poet
They used to put me in debate teams because I could speak.
On good days, I could wax poetics as lyrical as to rival Apollo, and I could make the world go round with the sound of my voice. On bad days, I still spoke better than others around me; a ragged sort of truth machine, graceless and splintered, but with flawed beauty in its words.
Good days or bad, they used to put me in debate teams because I could speak.
What they did not realise was that I could not argue.
I’m waiting for my macchiato in a sidewalk coffee shop, where chairs and tables are laid out on walkways and corridors. They’re inviting, offering the promise of rest after a long day trudging through the murky sea of faces. That’s probably why this shop is so popular.
My macchiato has arrived. It’s small, much smaller than what Starbucks has led me to expect. It’s a testament to what kind of coffee shop this is - a real coffee shop, untainted by consumer capitalism. There are three tiny leaves made of milk froth in my coffee; it’s a novel experience.
I take a sip and try my hardest not to grimace. I don&
We were all born on that winding path. It snakes out over calm waters that hide demons and whirlpools in its depths, its very foundations rotted and weakened by the passing of time. Its floorboards have fallen and sunk into the water, and we would follow it in time. We would go along that winding path over the cloudy turquoise lake that stretches out as far as the eye can see, and we would follow it until its end. That, or else we fall and sink into the water, and let the demons take us and the whirlpools drown us.
That or the other? It's a question nobody really knows the answer to.
Some of us, we are abandoned halfway to stand in the sett
Quick character exploration for Elance. Fair warning, it's dark--parental alcoholism and the fallout thereof, implied suicide, large amounts of guilt...
~o0o~
The thing was... the thing was, his father had been happiest when drinking. It was the only time he'd ever seem carefree. He'd invite people over and make a night of it, or recline by the fire because he was relaxed, rather than overwhelmed. He'd talk to Elance and the household staff, relate stories and snippets of knowledge; he'd make plans, even if they were discarded or forgotten by morning. If he was in a good mood during the day or even the morning, it was because he was sne
Yarr!
The seas are always rough. They pitch and toss ships about. A pirate’s life is vastly overrated. On a ship, day after day, swabbing decks, hoisting sails, and then looking for ways to pass the rest of the time. There is always something to do, but fist fights were only amusing until the entire crew had ranked themselves, from top to bottom, rematched one another and confirmed their placing’s. Gambling was also amusing, until a small group of men held all the money and refused to play anymore, knowing they could lose it all based on a bad roll of dice or deal of cards. The fun and exciting things lost their amusement when th
Never Gonna Be Alone (1310 Words) by dtb84, literature
Literature
Never Gonna Be Alone (1310 Words)
Walking down the aisle was surreal. It’s like living the end of a fairytale. Nothing could ever have prepared Amanda for the steps she was taking, nothing would ever compare to them. Each and every step, each and every person sitting along her walk, everything about the moment is etched into her mind with laser precision.
The church she had chosen was perfect. An old building that she remembered from her youth, it seemed to be a relic of an older time. The pews held no cushions, the arches were barren and pure, the entire building reminded her of a period when life made more sense.
Amanda could see the man waiting for her to finish h
I couldn’t say when I first realised I was in love. Was it the time when we went to the lake after Manning’s funeral, when she stood there in the gently, gently drizzling rain, like the heavens were crying for our loss - for her loss? Was it when the skies were crying and the winds were sobbing but all she did was stare out at the middle of the lake as if she was waiting for something, anything, to reach out from the depths and take her pull her drag her down into the cold murky green water?
Or was it when the rain became cold air and the wind ceased to blow and she finally let herself go, finally let herself cry, and I realised