The valley was a little slice of hell on Earth. 85% of all the combat sorties in the past three months had been carried out in the Korengal Valley, and a commensurate number of fatalities had occurred there as well.
The ground was coming fast. The Paratrooper didn’t have time to think, only act. His gun was ready in his hands, he was ready. Ready to kill.
matt
My bones ached against my skin as my feet hit the ground. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be–I was supposed to feel comfortable here, and yet my life as I knew it made my body reel in pain. My puzzle piece was ripped from its snug position in the middle and tacked onto the border that no one gave a second glance. My two lives were tearing me apart, but as long as I avoided the transition, I could forget about my depression for long enough.
my humble feet drag across the rough wooden floor, dusted with my sisters memories. as grain turns to rough splintered fragments, i remember her pain and weep for her.
macey
Round with a G in front suddenly makes ’round’ rather flat.
I stared at the ground, waiting. I could hear him breathing a bit faster than normal, obviously stunned. “But… why?” He blurted out. I was afraid to look up, but finally got the courage to do so. The look on his face hurt me more than anything else I could ever imagine.
On Friday the ground shock and shock and i finely fall on the ground and broke my cooler bone and snapped my arm.
brenna
he looked down to the obvious
ground beneath his feet
a simple crack
in a gray sidewalk
so much concrete poured
over the grass that once grew
where deers had once tread
where ants live in infinately small pieces of dirt
and it was all
fighting
against the concrete
and through that crack
it
was
winning
Rock bottom? You could say that. The ground was running at me fast. There comes a point where you can see it coming but there isn’t a damn thing you can do to make it stop.
Natalie
He left the ground like a cannonade. It was a violent, awkward departure – his shoes scraping the ground while gravity restricted his shoulders for those final few seconds before he lifted – and then, shocked, he looked down and realized he’d done it – he’d mastered flight. The thrill, unsurprisingly for a generation plagued by immediacy, wore off quicker than he’d anticipated, and soon he grew tired of flying over the tops of buildings, because, yes, he could fly, but it’s not like he was going anywhere new. So he settled down in a Wal Mart parking lot, walked into the store, purchased a six-pack of triple A batteries, launched from the parking lot (smoother this time) went back to his apartment, inserted the batteries into his electric razor, and he shaved. And that was that.
I like the ground, it’s very earthy. It holds us up, and keeps us from sinking into the core of the earth.
Carl Hornback
fresh earth, trees ripped, roots showing
new earth, new trees, and life growing, still
and there up the tree stump climbing gracefully,
tenaciously
are a family of anties. carrying food for their pantries.
Jenna Sofia
I leaped up off the ground and continued my pursuit across the river. Or rather, continued to be pursued. I threw a glance behind me and saw the man chasing me display some trepidation, when I realized what was before me. I was come to the plinth, and he feared me.
Nonames
These days I keep telling my self: keep your feet on the ground. Recently, I find myself in a permanent state of daydreaming… making up scenarios in which the misterious writer finds me…somehow… and now, time’s up. Story of my life.
The ground shook below me. Buildings swayed. People grabbed on to each other to prevent falling over. It lasted longer than any other quake I had experienced.
tonykeyesjapan
her eyes are glued to skylights, to airplane silhouettes, to stars.
she stumbles over untied shoelaces
and forgets her coffee mug on the apartment table
along with her goodbye kisses.
you’re always looking up,
he whispers, lips on her ear.
i wish you’d look at me instead.
she gives him a ghost of a smile,
dreaming of constellations, meteor showers.
she’s in the air and he’s on the ground,
a balloon on a string,
a match made somewhere in the space between.
featherb
The ground is a fundamentally dualistic concept – we strive to get away from it to reach our dreams (amongst the stars, up in the clouds, etc.) but at the same time, we discuss being realistic and level-headed as being grounded. These concepts are of course connected – but the balance leaves us stretched thin between the ground and the sky, rather than truly comfortable in either setting.
Kevin
the ground had become hard from the winter cold. It wasn’t going to be easy to dig that hole. We had to. The body had to be bury, so we spent the rest of the day and night forcing those shovels into the ground.
Teresa Warner
Days like today make me want to dig myself a hole in the ground and crawl into it and stay there for the rest of eternity. I know that’s a pretty cliche image, but it’s really not too much of an exaggeration. I want to be left alone with my own thoughts and my own feelings and my own opinions and for once I don’t want anyone to feel like I need them to COMMENT on them.
when I was a boy, I had a bully. Like any other bully he was a coward and would attack me from behind. I was much smaller than him and his brute strangth would over power any of my efforts to deffend myself. His favorite move was to get me on the ground face down and he would grab me by my hair. Slaming my nose into the ground over and over.
Abraham
When I SEE THIS, I immediately think GROUND ZERO and all that the images entail and what that means to this nation. On the eve of Election Day, I hope are we grounded enough in our decisions to elect the right person, dear God, I do hope so.
Kelly
Feeling the ground beneath my feet. Feeling it press against me as I press against it. Standing in Shakespeare’s Globe – 1601 – I am a Groundling.
Ground hamburger. I know some people don’t like it, but ground beef was such a staple part of my childhood diet, and hamburger is usually the first cut of meat in our freezer to get used up. I hate the way it slimes around while it’s raw, and sometimes the smell of it cooking can be a bit much, but when it’s cooked, with a bit of cheese . . . yum.
rachelzana
There was a resounding thud as he landed on his back. He lay there on the ground, breath knocked from him. Sometime during the fall, the noted dully, he had lost a shoe. He tried to call for help, but no sound came out.
Sometime during the fall, he had lost his voice, too.
I ground the healing root into a bowl of water, releasing its healing juices. After 5 minutes of nonstop arm movement, I pour the mixture into a cup and heat it over the fire. When the mixture is at a boil I bring it to the old man of the tree to drink, hoping it brings the color back to his cheeks.
I look at the ground because the eye contact is too hard to handle. Its too much, I have to look away. They can see right through me with their hatred questioning my presence like I am some kind of imposter.
Flat on the ground, my chin was in the grass. You were sitting on top of me, pinning my shoulders together, giggling like a maniac. I could barely breathe, and it made him worse that I was laughing and hiccuping and most likely turning sixteen different shades of purple.
“Okay. Get off. Get off get off get off get off get oooooff.”
The air rushes back into my chest as you roll beside me, clinging to my hands on the way down.
Belinda Roddie
the grass was dewy between her toes, which she wiggled back and forth. the dewy droplets caught the suns rays and spread little rays of light all over the ground
Teresa Warner
What if I could open the ground, walk down the spiral staircase to the center of the Earth, past the layers of forgotten ages littered with the spoils of empty wars. What if I reach the exact center, with all time pressing around me? Would I find the answer then?
He hit the ground hard. His brain went numb and everything felt white and numb. The dirt dug into his cheek and it went with him as he slowly lifted his pounding head. The sky turned black and blue, and clouds a sick green. It was over. The earth slowly leveled and he closed his eyes.
alex
The ground rushed up to meet him, faster than he had expected.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. In fact, It wasn’t supposed to end at all. He was smart. He was successful. There was, really, nothing wrong with his life. Except this end.
He had hit rock bottom. He had hit the ground, hard.
But slowly, very slowly, he made his way back up.
To the sky, to the heavens, to happiness and all that is good in the world.
For on the ground, there is nowhere else to look but up.
It was cold. That was the first thing he noticed after he came to: the ground was hard, and cold, and smooth, as though made of glass or marble. And yet he clearly remembered how he had fallen–tripping over his teammate’s foot as they raced down the field. He could see in his mind’s eye the grass, sharp and green, the tangy, oily smell of the lawnmower still stinging his nose. And yet the ground beneath him prickled coldly, as though he had fallen on ice.
Tired. Depressed. He feels like he’s hit the ground, hard. Rock bottom.
But slowly, very slowly, he makes his way back up.
To the sky, to the heavens, to happiness and all that is good in the world.
But for now, he is stuck on the ground.
The valley was a little slice of hell on Earth. 85% of all the combat sorties in the past three months had been carried out in the Korengal Valley, and a commensurate number of fatalities had occurred there as well.
The ground was coming fast. The Paratrooper didn’t have time to think, only act. His gun was ready in his hands, he was ready. Ready to kill.
My bones ached against my skin as my feet hit the ground. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be–I was supposed to feel comfortable here, and yet my life as I knew it made my body reel in pain. My puzzle piece was ripped from its snug position in the middle and tacked onto the border that no one gave a second glance. My two lives were tearing me apart, but as long as I avoided the transition, I could forget about my depression for long enough.
some pour salt line running blue in the ground under the dirt power of my socks
Today I met someone so precious I don’t want to meet her again until I really ground myself. I start to float away just by saying her name.
my humble feet drag across the rough wooden floor, dusted with my sisters memories. as grain turns to rough splintered fragments, i remember her pain and weep for her.
Round with a G in front suddenly makes ’round’ rather flat.
I stared at the ground, waiting. I could hear him breathing a bit faster than normal, obviously stunned. “But… why?” He blurted out. I was afraid to look up, but finally got the courage to do so. The look on his face hurt me more than anything else I could ever imagine.
On Friday the ground shock and shock and i finely fall on the ground and broke my cooler bone and snapped my arm.
he looked down to the obvious
ground beneath his feet
a simple crack
in a gray sidewalk
so much concrete poured
over the grass that once grew
where deers had once tread
where ants live in infinately small pieces of dirt
and it was all
fighting
against the concrete
and through that crack
it
was
winning
And so he stood, his head in the sky and his feet on the ground, both fantasy and reality coexisting perfectly in his mind.
Sitting here. Guess it’s one of my favourites words. I don’t care. In here. I’ll be the one who defeats the king.
Rock bottom? You could say that. The ground was running at me fast. There comes a point where you can see it coming but there isn’t a damn thing you can do to make it stop.
He left the ground like a cannonade. It was a violent, awkward departure – his shoes scraping the ground while gravity restricted his shoulders for those final few seconds before he lifted – and then, shocked, he looked down and realized he’d done it – he’d mastered flight. The thrill, unsurprisingly for a generation plagued by immediacy, wore off quicker than he’d anticipated, and soon he grew tired of flying over the tops of buildings, because, yes, he could fly, but it’s not like he was going anywhere new. So he settled down in a Wal Mart parking lot, walked into the store, purchased a six-pack of triple A batteries, launched from the parking lot (smoother this time) went back to his apartment, inserted the batteries into his electric razor, and he shaved. And that was that.
I like the ground, it’s very earthy. It holds us up, and keeps us from sinking into the core of the earth.
fresh earth, trees ripped, roots showing
new earth, new trees, and life growing, still
and there up the tree stump climbing gracefully,
tenaciously
are a family of anties. carrying food for their pantries.
I leaped up off the ground and continued my pursuit across the river. Or rather, continued to be pursued. I threw a glance behind me and saw the man chasing me display some trepidation, when I realized what was before me. I was come to the plinth, and he feared me.
These days I keep telling my self: keep your feet on the ground. Recently, I find myself in a permanent state of daydreaming… making up scenarios in which the misterious writer finds me…somehow… and now, time’s up. Story of my life.
The ground shook below me. Buildings swayed. People grabbed on to each other to prevent falling over. It lasted longer than any other quake I had experienced.
her eyes are glued to skylights, to airplane silhouettes, to stars.
she stumbles over untied shoelaces
and forgets her coffee mug on the apartment table
along with her goodbye kisses.
you’re always looking up,
he whispers, lips on her ear.
i wish you’d look at me instead.
she gives him a ghost of a smile,
dreaming of constellations, meteor showers.
she’s in the air and he’s on the ground,
a balloon on a string,
a match made somewhere in the space between.
The ground is a fundamentally dualistic concept – we strive to get away from it to reach our dreams (amongst the stars, up in the clouds, etc.) but at the same time, we discuss being realistic and level-headed as being grounded. These concepts are of course connected – but the balance leaves us stretched thin between the ground and the sky, rather than truly comfortable in either setting.
the ground had become hard from the winter cold. It wasn’t going to be easy to dig that hole. We had to. The body had to be bury, so we spent the rest of the day and night forcing those shovels into the ground.
Days like today make me want to dig myself a hole in the ground and crawl into it and stay there for the rest of eternity. I know that’s a pretty cliche image, but it’s really not too much of an exaggeration. I want to be left alone with my own thoughts and my own feelings and my own opinions and for once I don’t want anyone to feel like I need them to COMMENT on them.
when I was a boy, I had a bully. Like any other bully he was a coward and would attack me from behind. I was much smaller than him and his brute strangth would over power any of my efforts to deffend myself. His favorite move was to get me on the ground face down and he would grab me by my hair. Slaming my nose into the ground over and over.
When I SEE THIS, I immediately think GROUND ZERO and all that the images entail and what that means to this nation. On the eve of Election Day, I hope are we grounded enough in our decisions to elect the right person, dear God, I do hope so.
Feeling the ground beneath my feet. Feeling it press against me as I press against it. Standing in Shakespeare’s Globe – 1601 – I am a Groundling.
Ground hamburger. I know some people don’t like it, but ground beef was such a staple part of my childhood diet, and hamburger is usually the first cut of meat in our freezer to get used up. I hate the way it slimes around while it’s raw, and sometimes the smell of it cooking can be a bit much, but when it’s cooked, with a bit of cheese . . . yum.
There was a resounding thud as he landed on his back. He lay there on the ground, breath knocked from him. Sometime during the fall, the noted dully, he had lost a shoe. He tried to call for help, but no sound came out.
Sometime during the fall, he had lost his voice, too.
I ground the healing root into a bowl of water, releasing its healing juices. After 5 minutes of nonstop arm movement, I pour the mixture into a cup and heat it over the fire. When the mixture is at a boil I bring it to the old man of the tree to drink, hoping it brings the color back to his cheeks.
I look at the ground because the eye contact is too hard to handle. Its too much, I have to look away. They can see right through me with their hatred questioning my presence like I am some kind of imposter.
Flat on the ground, my chin was in the grass. You were sitting on top of me, pinning my shoulders together, giggling like a maniac. I could barely breathe, and it made him worse that I was laughing and hiccuping and most likely turning sixteen different shades of purple.
“Okay. Get off. Get off get off get off get off get oooooff.”
The air rushes back into my chest as you roll beside me, clinging to my hands on the way down.
the grass was dewy between her toes, which she wiggled back and forth. the dewy droplets caught the suns rays and spread little rays of light all over the ground
What if I could open the ground, walk down the spiral staircase to the center of the Earth, past the layers of forgotten ages littered with the spoils of empty wars. What if I reach the exact center, with all time pressing around me? Would I find the answer then?
He hit the ground hard. His brain went numb and everything felt white and numb. The dirt dug into his cheek and it went with him as he slowly lifted his pounding head. The sky turned black and blue, and clouds a sick green. It was over. The earth slowly leveled and he closed his eyes.
The ground rushed up to meet him, faster than he had expected.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. In fact, It wasn’t supposed to end at all. He was smart. He was successful. There was, really, nothing wrong with his life. Except this end.
“Any last words?” He asked.
His cringing subconscious answered:
“No.”
He had hit rock bottom. He had hit the ground, hard.
But slowly, very slowly, he made his way back up.
To the sky, to the heavens, to happiness and all that is good in the world.
For on the ground, there is nowhere else to look but up.
It was cold. That was the first thing he noticed after he came to: the ground was hard, and cold, and smooth, as though made of glass or marble. And yet he clearly remembered how he had fallen–tripping over his teammate’s foot as they raced down the field. He could see in his mind’s eye the grass, sharp and green, the tangy, oily smell of the lawnmower still stinging his nose. And yet the ground beneath him prickled coldly, as though he had fallen on ice.
Her every step ground shards on loss into his arm and her stiletto heels jabbed hols to let the pain seep in.
the glass in the ground
illuminated her face
making the lines bright
shimmering shards of last night’s
last year’s lazy walker
she lay there like a dart fallen off of the board
Tired. Depressed. He feels like he’s hit the ground, hard. Rock bottom.
But slowly, very slowly, he makes his way back up.
To the sky, to the heavens, to happiness and all that is good in the world.
But for now, he is stuck on the ground.