Entries By WearyWater
Displaying 1 To 30 Of 457 Entries
casting
It fell away from his healed arm in large flakes. Grimacing, I tried to pick my way around the piles of casting material laying on the floor.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.21.2013 @ 11:08 pm
catapult
He practically catapulted himself over the furniture in his eagerness to greet me.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.20.2013 @ 9:56 pm
lullaby
signed
He signed the contract with a swooping stroke of his pen. “There,” he spat, angry furrow deepening between his brows. “Are you happy now?”
Posted By WearyWater On 05.18.2013 @ 10:24 pm
airstream
The earth cracked beneath our feet, emitting a thin, powerful airstream hot enough to scald our skin.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.17.2013 @ 11:24 pm
manhattan
I was lost on the winding intestinal tract of the the streets of Manhattan, wandering aimlessly for most of the night.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.16.2013 @ 10:04 pm
rocker
The room was in pieces. The mantle was hanging by a few splinters of wood and the contents of every drawer were scattered across the floor. A stack of muddied, crumpled papers lay haphazardly on top of the upended rocker. She had come in behind me. “My god, what happened in here?” She saw the papers and gave a piercing shriek. “My sketches!”
Posted By WearyWater On 05.15.2013 @ 9:06 pm
taboo
I didn’t want to dwell on it any longer than I had to. Without thinking of the long-term repercussions for breaking the taboo, I tore off my shoes and socks and waded knee-high into the swirling water.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.14.2013 @ 9:23 pm
I knew that it was some sort of strange, incomprehensible cultural taboo, but I couldn’t stop myself. I kissed her. It was short and sharp, but we both knew that it had happened. Just as quickly, she shoved me away. Her eyes were dark and fearful. “What have you done?”
Posted By WearyWater On 05.13.2013 @ 9:49 pm
auburn
In her hurry to leave, her shoulder collided with a thin, angular auburn haired boy. He whipped around faster than she thought was possible. “Watch it,” he snarled. His eyebrows cast deep shadows over his eyes, which were more of an unsettling yellow than hazel.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.12.2013 @ 9:46 pm
celestial
Sometimes I wish I had blue eyes. Or green, or hazel, or black, or anything else. Every other option is more interesting than brown. But blue is magnificent, mystical… The color of incredibly hot flames, of celestial, star-studded canopies of night, or the rumbling wash of the ocean. It all comes back to genetics, I suppose. Like so many others, I’ve gotten the short end of the stick.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.11.2013 @ 10:47 pm
loom
Her fingers picked threads numbly. There was hardly any light left now, just strange, slanted rays of dirty purple dusk leaking in through the barred windows in stripes. The sun would set completely soon. The loom creaked as she wove the threads faster, not noticing the slices in her fingertips from the tightening strings.
She wouldn’t be able to finish before nightfall.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.10.2013 @ 10:35 pm
soap
There wasn’t any soap in the shower, so I merely washed myself with the putrid lavender shampoo. The picture on the front featured a woman running through a waist-deep field of the purple flowers, arms flung out and carefree. I took a sniff of the contents, and immediately my eyes began to itch. It had most definitely been abandoned in there for a reason.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.09.2013 @ 9:56 pm
beer
That summer was synonymous with sour beer and the ashy remains of cigarettes. It was my first summer as an adult, and I hardly knew how to handle myself.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.07.2013 @ 9:35 pm
stories
I let his stories whisper me to sleep under dark skies starred with city lights.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.06.2013 @ 9:43 pm
simplify
“Wait. Stop.” She held out an aggressive hand to me, brows furrowed. “Simplify. What were you doing there?”
“Well,” I manage, tasting blood. “You could say that I had a few debts I needed to repay…”
Posted By WearyWater On 05.08.2013 @ 9:39 pm
burning
The tears traced burning paths from his eyes–strange, scalding fluid that he had never experienced before. He tentatively named the emotion he was experiencing ‘sorrow’.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.05.2013 @ 9:41 pm
credibility
“Give me some credibility here, sweetheart,” he tells me, all perfectly coiffed hair and cocky smirks. “It’s not like I’ve never broken into a bank before.”
Posted By WearyWater On 05.04.2013 @ 1:12 pm
rating
There are days when all he can think about are the confines of his house. Like it’s an aquarium, and he is just a dead fish, floating insignificant and belly-up at the top of the murky water. His parents are on the outside, a distorted babble of angry voices and loud, urgent thumps–the sound of eager fingers on a tank.
He’s tired. If he could, he’d lay all day long on his bed. He’d drown in the sheets and never have to worry about coming up for air again. He’s tired of having to hide when they fight. He’s tired of all the fighting and paperwork, the choice of whom he’d rather have as parent. He’d like to launch his bed out to sea and simply drift away into peaceful oblivion.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.03.2013 @ 10:08 pm
timeline
His life stretched out before him like some mysterious timeline of failures, a collection of flaws and embarrassments that he had accumulated over the past painful twenty years.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.02.2013 @ 9:05 pm
dissolve
The words scatter in the air like a fistful of dust. The wind lashes them away, making them dissolve before I get the chance to properly hear them.
Posted By WearyWater On 05.01.2013 @ 8:14 pm
ensue
The nurse had a brusque, no-nonsense manner of accomplishing her tasks. “No matter,” she said, pulling off the bedgown that I had just spilled my lunch all over in a movement so fast I couldn’t have avoided it. “We’ll just have to walk down and get you a clean one.”
Extreme awkwardness and discomfort ensued.
Posted By WearyWater On 04.30.2013 @ 9:26 pm
enemies
I recall a time, so much longer ago, when we could make eye contact from across a crowded room and not turn away in disgust. We weren’t always enemies. I still hardly know how it happened myself.
Posted By WearyWater On 04.29.2013 @ 9:13 pm
crow
I am met with curious, beady eyes when I open the blinds. Crows—at least six of them. They’re all ruffled black feathers and indignant posturing, huddled together inharmoniously on my windowsill and out of the rain.
Posted By WearyWater On 04.28.2013 @ 10:53 pm
clasp
One short, sharp tug was all it took to separate the necklace from her body. The ornate golden clasp shattered, scattering thin needles of metal in every direction.
Posted By WearyWater On 04.27.2013 @ 10:57 pm
electrocute
Her morning hair was fluffed, erratic, strongly resembling the electrocuted remains of someone unwise enough to stick a fork in a socket.
Posted By WearyWater On 04.26.2013 @ 10:39 pm
bowling
Dark-soled, squeaky, used. I try not to think of where they have been before they’ve touched my feet. Bowling alley shoes are questionable at best.
Posted By WearyWater On 04.25.2013 @ 8:24 pm
planter
His fingers scrabbled through the dirt of the upended planter, searching fruitlessly for any kind of clue as to his wife’s whereabouts.
Posted By WearyWater On 04.24.2013 @ 9:09 pm
checkmate
He runs his hands over the rooks, the bowed heads of the pawns and the eternally screaming visage of the knight’s horse. He knows he has the upper hand. It was checkmate before he even made his first move.
Posted By WearyWater On 04.23.2013 @ 9:07 pm
