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There were hundreds of us, in every direction. We were brown, green filth. People were crying. Screams off in the distance were apart of the normal ambiance. Those men and women in those clean cut suits stared down at us, smiling those reptile-like smiles. They knew they were better than us. In every way. Somewhere in all our hearts, we knew this to be true. What were we anymore? We were just a number.

Posted By Isabella Pierson On 09.28.2012 @ 6:37 pm

He was pulling, dragging his past behind him. He avoided others at all cost. He might get close to someone. Appearances can be so appealing. Once they ask, delve deeper into who he is, and discover his luggage, his baggage, his past…. they would leave him. Again. It’s a fucking hard, lonely road, dealing with yourself alone.

Posted By Isabella Pierson On 05.12.2012 @ 11:10 am

Millions of shades and tints pass over me. The ground is overrun with color. Everything is a burst of pigment. I lift my head and find a huge mass of color speeding by. Millions of balloons fly into the sky, on a mission. They have a destination.

Posted By Isabella Pierson On 04.27.2012 @ 5:27 pm

I pull at my clothes, staring across the room. He looks over. I look down. My stomach’s in knots… it feels horrible. I hope he didn’t notice me. But then I stir up enough courage to lift my head up, and I see him heading straight for me. And I can just hardly make out the gun hidden under his shirt. Quickly I jump up from my table, almost knocking over my glass of wine. I weave through the sea of tables, couples, and baffled waiters before I finally reach the bathroom. I glance behind me, and I see his eyes locked on mine, and his hand inching towards his weapon. I enter the bathroom, and call out, making sure i’m alone. There’s no windows for me to make an escape. Guess we’ll just have to do this the hard way. I go into one of the stalls and hop on top of the toilet seat. Just then, I hear the bathroom door being opened, and then the click of the lock. “Oh hello?” he calls, and I hear the click of his shoes against the floor. Then the click of his gun. And almost making me jump, there’s a slam of a bathroom stall door, five down from me. This continues until he reaches mine. He pushes open the door, and steps forward, his eyes glinting. I smirk and kick the door back. It slams into his nose and he falls over, dropping the gun. I walk around him as he clutches his face, and broken nose, and grab his gun. He reaches for it, but I place my high heel on his chest. “One move, and you’re dead.” I tell him, pressing the heel down on him. He makes a sound in pain, and I back off, opening the door to the bathroom, and slamming it behind me. I hurriedly leave the restaurant, gun in hand.

Posted By Isabella Pierson On 01.27.2012 @ 12:09 am

I glance behind me, but force myself to keep looking forwards. Never look back. Always ahead. I try not to remember the warm the house I’ve left behind me. The one with the windows that glow a golden yellow. I can smell the cookies and hot coco emitting from the living room. I pull my jacket hood over my head and continue forward, my face frozen against the biting cold.

Posted By Isabella Pierson On 01.21.2012 @ 1:18 pm

An awful gust of wind blows me down. I stumble, and land flat on my back. A hot ball of air sends me tumbling backwards, head over heel. I can’t breathe. The wind is so hot and hard. I try to scream. Finally, I come to a stop, gawking up into the night. My jaw drops and my eyes widen. No sound comes out. Above me, a huge U.F.O. And it’s touching down.

Posted By Isabella Pierson On 12.17.2011 @ 7:45 pm

I don’t obey the whining screaming desire that my legs beg for me to stop, to drop dead tired to the hot pavement I run on. The cement burns the soles of feet as I sprint like a madman is chasing me. Which in fact one is. I run. Run for my life.

Posted By Isabella Pierson On 12.03.2011 @ 6:24 pm

I roll the marble around in my fingers, gazing at how it shines in the light. The little ball of silver glimmers, and I let it drop, landing with a clink, rolling down the hallway, and ending with a small clunk as it knocks against the wall, its journey ended.

Posted By Isabella Pierson On 11.27.2011 @ 9:38 pm

It was a museum of dead. I gaze in horror at the heads of the dead stuffed animals on the wall. I stare into their blank eyes, horrified. How morbid this house is. I don’t understand how they could work up the nerve to get up at night to go to the bathroom with these things staring at them. Jesus.

Posted By Isabella Pierson On 11.26.2011 @ 11:36 pm