When I was a child, my brother lulled me to sleep with tales of a long-ago, half familiar land, and I sunk into dreams where I was both princess and knight. Those years of imagination and wonder are long past, and I only wish I were able to slip back into my old role as heroine.
Some of the tales told by the children were indeed scary, monsters, ghosts, strange beasts and the like, but it was good to hear them squealing and laughing, getting beyond the really scary memories.
tonykeyesjapan
Well, when I was eleven I used to go over to my grandfather’s house across the street to sit down and think quietly. You see, at the time I was living at my father’s house and there was never any peace or quite. Always, someone would be yelling or watching tv or yelling and so every so often I would suffer some sort of internal break and leave to go to my grandfather’s house. When I got there I would usually go into his kitchen and read the sports section of the newspaper that he got everyday. Afterwards I would eat something maybe or have a glass of cola and sit at his formica kitchen table that always smelled of smoke and barley. If I was at the house long enough, which was often, and my grandfather was not sleeping I’d go sit with him in the living room and talk to him about his life. Always he’d bring up his time in the army and the women he’d been with and the sports he’d played and the fun he’d had. Yet, every time after he would tell me these tales I would feel sadness in my stomach because I always felt that he was lying and that he was not satisfied with the life he’d lived. I always loved going to my grandfather’s though it was nice; it was quiet.
Robert Wood
stories. rumours. myths and legends. what is true and what is false? tall tales trues stories fact and fiction. everything is so jumbled in the concrete jungle that covers today. what lurks beneath? what hides deep in the dark. the skeletons in the closet….are you sure you want to dig them back up? the quiet before the storm is the most calm and the most deadly. when loose lips start to fly, so will your reputation. yours, mine, ours, everybody’s.
Oh the tales I will live to tell. They will be phenomenal, unimaginable, and beyond a doubt outrageous. The number of times I have nearly encountered death is unfathomable. The amount of waves that have struck me down to the darkest depths of the sea are incredible. Yet whether I’m beaten and bruised, or whether its rain or shine, I’m always the first one awake when a swell rolls in. I’ll get in my car and drive to the roaring sea, because that’s just the place for me.
Everyone gets so wrapped up in tales of their own. Or tales of their ex-lover.
It doesn’t really matter in the end, when everyone is nothing more than dust.
But that’s what I said before I had my own tale to tell.
Well, I guess I didn’t know much back then. I guess I didn’t know how important a tale could really be.
Fairy tails. I know a story about a person up in this hizzle and before that he wasn’t. LOL. Anyways, holla at cha boiiiiii!
Dung
Life is a story we tell ourselves.
Our senses tell our brains to stop, look, and listen…our brains tell our senses to just keep searching…Our hearts tell our brains to shut it, and be happy where we are.
I already did this word. Nig lickin all day….everyday hey now hey now cream of wheat in places I wish it wasn’t
Dung
Everyone here has tails.Wait no, tales. That’s just the way it is. Sad Tales, Happy Tales, Tales of tears.
But what about me? I’m not from here. I don’t have a Tale. Is something wrong with me because of it? Do I really deserve to die?
Mother said I do…
Alydia
Stories lie to children and give them false hopes about life.
Dung
fairies, happy ending princess prince long short childhood happiness fun exciting adventurous fables lies deceit betrayer
lily
Fairytales are not for children. Disney is for children. Which is gross, because Disney, in this incarnation, is anything but child-friendly.
I want to find you and hold you, close, close, closer than I’ve held any story I ever told before because you’re not just a story anymore – you’re a legend, a little weaving of tiny tales of bits of words that maybe create something more and babe, I want to keep you close. Close, closer than anything has ever been to me, or my heart, I wanna be wrapped up in your stars even as you begin to realign and tell me the story of how we first met in some other time.
tales like the tale of the tail of a pail horse galloping through the subconcious of time. the tale wasnt told but lived through the eyes of the wise toad.
Jeff P
Stories told to me by others when I was a child. Oh how sweet they were, full of friendship and romance and mystery and fun, now that I’m older I’ve realized that things aren’t as they seem and that tales, although enticing, will never be my reality. They’re a far off fantasy that I will never reach, a dream I will never again see. They’re what I wish I had, but never will. It makes me feel sad, melancholic even.
Andrea
There were weird tales back in the early part of the 20th century, but not more so than that time he found himself rolling down a river in a shabby canoe, looking at the poor folk staring at him from the shorelines, cooking food and drinking what looked like bad alcohol.
thinking of crouching at your feet, all haunches, knees, and elbowy love. i could be a cat. or a fireplace, listen, i want to go further with you and speak even of the future, the past–
tales of breakups
of chocolate nights
eaten with my silver spoons
of phone calls
where not just me
but both of us cried
wanting to hold onto those fragments
of our relationship
even as they drew the tears from their eyes
as i knew it work
we pleaded with each other
with ourselves
and you turned a blind eye
Going around the table, we all told stories, trying to make everyone laugh harder than the last time. I got so animated, jumping out of my seat to give fuller explanations and leaving nothing to the imagination. I told the tallest of tales because we were all six, and I never knew any better.
Tales. Fairy tales. The wonders of wonders. The imagination of imaginations. The most desirable thoughts.
se
I always loved the tales my grandpa would tell. They were tales of adventure, of bravery, of sorrow, and most of all…tales of love. Those were the ones I liked best. The ones where he met my grandma, in the dance club in Juarez Mexico. He claimed her the second she waked in.
Rebecca Guerrero
This is the second time,
now I have a tale to tell. About how it is that I came to write about something, that is, written.
How strange to put words down about an idea that is in itself a collection of words.
tales of great heroic deeds. he had been a hero. a hero in the hearts and minds of the people. But now she knew the truth, it had all be a lie. Just another pretty tale. A bedtime story. nothing more.
I had encountered many tales in my life. The one I remember the most is the tales of horror. I always remember the dark sides, the secrets, the hidden stuff. I have always been attracted to the questions that had no answer, to the stuff that no one has shared, to the things that have been kept in dark for years and years. I’ve never liked simple answers. Simple answers annoyed me, I felt like someone is underestimating my brain. It’s sad that some of us my think that they’ve got all the answers figured out. People, wake up, it actually makes you miserable.
Hamdy
there are so many different times of tales, tall tales, skinny tales. There are tales about love and loss and dispair and hurt. When we are told to learn something it is usually through some sort of narrative like a story, told from an old man, beside a fire.
bob
tall tales for the fickle heart
art sores tear my hands apart
soar eyes from screen stares
mind like a turtle trying to beat the hear
it doesn’t seem fair
to some it comes so easy
ill keep working though
He told me tales of far off places and adventures we could have and I let myself see it, let myself believe it, like he would actually save me from the boring hell I live in but he didn’t, you see, he didn’t and now I’m here talking to you, about who knows what. About how everything got so fucked up.
My name is Julie.
And I’ve been betrayed.
But I guess it get’s worse from there.
The tales of adventure, the tales of tails. Everything people want, with nothing they don’t. All of it is fake, but all of it ideal. Everything wanted, nothing unwanted, the life dreamed of. The life everybody wants. Everything and anything that could improve life would be just this.
Cantor
When I sit down across from someone new, I know that our conversation is going to take off, I know that I will ended up telling some of my stories or experiences. When I am old I want to be the grey haired man with 1000’s of tales to tell.
Nate
Once upon a time
Things always worked out
Nowadays,
tears, screams, hatred
No more happily ever afters
No more princesses for the prince
There once was a tale about an old man and a young woman. They fell in love, but their love was forbidden. Not much came from their relationship ended in murder. All too often people assume guilty until proven innocent, but tales must end happily.
Gracie Barham
on animals lalalalalala nice tale story fairy tale princess and the frog repunzal doggy tale is tale spelled tale or tail hmmm look at that fine peice of tail. tall trees. sale. talest person in the
emily
there are many kind of tales out there. many tell you different things; some tell you things you dont wanna hear but you must. we hear many tales when we are kids and mostly believe them because of out innocence. I believe that is a beautiful thing to experience and keep forever.
Yamil
Stories I write with my bare hands, ones that I wish you could decipher. Stories of our past; a past we never got to fulfill together. Don’t you remember the good old days, the times when we were carefree. These are the tales I think of all day, but I can only wish that you do the same. Please understand my love for you is eternal, because of all these tales I have to remember.
Michelle
The fire was burning itself out, and the group all had a couple beers in them each. They played one last song on the guitar before Jacob stood up and ended the music.
“Anyone want to hear a story?” he whispered in a low voice that made the girls cuddle closer. The boys all just laughed. They knew what Jacob had planned. They were going to scare the girls so well, but they held them tighter all the same.
“In these woods exactly fifteen years ago today, a girl and her friends were murdered by a man that supposedly lives in these woods. He doesn’t come out unless the fires low, and music drives him crazy.”
“But y’all have been playing for over an hour…” said one of the girls, her voice shaking.
“Will you let me finish? Anyway, He used his rusty old chainsaw, and now whenever people come into his woods, he gets mad and does the same thing. The number of people that have died isn’t really sure. At least twenty, but the cops don’t want to scare any-”
Just then a chainsaw roared to life just outside the light from the embers.
The girls screamed and ran to the truck, and the boys all fell out laughing.
When I was a child, my brother lulled me to sleep with tales of a long-ago, half familiar land, and I sunk into dreams where I was both princess and knight. Those years of imagination and wonder are long past, and I only wish I were able to slip back into my old role as heroine.
Some of the tales told by the children were indeed scary, monsters, ghosts, strange beasts and the like, but it was good to hear them squealing and laughing, getting beyond the really scary memories.
Well, when I was eleven I used to go over to my grandfather’s house across the street to sit down and think quietly. You see, at the time I was living at my father’s house and there was never any peace or quite. Always, someone would be yelling or watching tv or yelling and so every so often I would suffer some sort of internal break and leave to go to my grandfather’s house. When I got there I would usually go into his kitchen and read the sports section of the newspaper that he got everyday. Afterwards I would eat something maybe or have a glass of cola and sit at his formica kitchen table that always smelled of smoke and barley. If I was at the house long enough, which was often, and my grandfather was not sleeping I’d go sit with him in the living room and talk to him about his life. Always he’d bring up his time in the army and the women he’d been with and the sports he’d played and the fun he’d had. Yet, every time after he would tell me these tales I would feel sadness in my stomach because I always felt that he was lying and that he was not satisfied with the life he’d lived. I always loved going to my grandfather’s though it was nice; it was quiet.
stories. rumours. myths and legends. what is true and what is false? tall tales trues stories fact and fiction. everything is so jumbled in the concrete jungle that covers today. what lurks beneath? what hides deep in the dark. the skeletons in the closet….are you sure you want to dig them back up? the quiet before the storm is the most calm and the most deadly. when loose lips start to fly, so will your reputation. yours, mine, ours, everybody’s.
Oh the tales I will live to tell. They will be phenomenal, unimaginable, and beyond a doubt outrageous. The number of times I have nearly encountered death is unfathomable. The amount of waves that have struck me down to the darkest depths of the sea are incredible. Yet whether I’m beaten and bruised, or whether its rain or shine, I’m always the first one awake when a swell rolls in. I’ll get in my car and drive to the roaring sea, because that’s just the place for me.
Everyone gets so wrapped up in tales of their own. Or tales of their ex-lover.
It doesn’t really matter in the end, when everyone is nothing more than dust.
But that’s what I said before I had my own tale to tell.
Well, I guess I didn’t know much back then. I guess I didn’t know how important a tale could really be.
Fairy tails. I know a story about a person up in this hizzle and before that he wasn’t. LOL. Anyways, holla at cha boiiiiii!
Life is a story we tell ourselves.
Our senses tell our brains to stop, look, and listen…our brains tell our senses to just keep searching…Our hearts tell our brains to shut it, and be happy where we are.
I already did this word. Nig lickin all day….everyday hey now hey now cream of wheat in places I wish it wasn’t
Everyone here has tails.Wait no, tales. That’s just the way it is. Sad Tales, Happy Tales, Tales of tears.
But what about me? I’m not from here. I don’t have a Tale. Is something wrong with me because of it? Do I really deserve to die?
Mother said I do…
Stories lie to children and give them false hopes about life.
fairies, happy ending princess prince long short childhood happiness fun exciting adventurous fables lies deceit betrayer
Fairytales are not for children. Disney is for children. Which is gross, because Disney, in this incarnation, is anything but child-friendly.
I want to find you and hold you, close, close, closer than I’ve held any story I ever told before because you’re not just a story anymore – you’re a legend, a little weaving of tiny tales of bits of words that maybe create something more and babe, I want to keep you close. Close, closer than anything has ever been to me, or my heart, I wanna be wrapped up in your stars even as you begin to realign and tell me the story of how we first met in some other time.
tales like the tale of the tail of a pail horse galloping through the subconcious of time. the tale wasnt told but lived through the eyes of the wise toad.
Stories told to me by others when I was a child. Oh how sweet they were, full of friendship and romance and mystery and fun, now that I’m older I’ve realized that things aren’t as they seem and that tales, although enticing, will never be my reality. They’re a far off fantasy that I will never reach, a dream I will never again see. They’re what I wish I had, but never will. It makes me feel sad, melancholic even.
There were weird tales back in the early part of the 20th century, but not more so than that time he found himself rolling down a river in a shabby canoe, looking at the poor folk staring at him from the shorelines, cooking food and drinking what looked like bad alcohol.
thinking of crouching at your feet, all haunches, knees, and elbowy love. i could be a cat. or a fireplace, listen, i want to go further with you and speak even of the future, the past–
tales of breakups
of chocolate nights
eaten with my silver spoons
of phone calls
where not just me
but both of us cried
wanting to hold onto those fragments
of our relationship
even as they drew the tears from their eyes
as i knew it work
we pleaded with each other
with ourselves
and you turned a blind eye
Going around the table, we all told stories, trying to make everyone laugh harder than the last time. I got so animated, jumping out of my seat to give fuller explanations and leaving nothing to the imagination. I told the tallest of tales because we were all six, and I never knew any better.
Fairy Tail! :D
I like when people tell me stuff. It shows that they trust me.
Tales. Fairy tales. The wonders of wonders. The imagination of imaginations. The most desirable thoughts.
I always loved the tales my grandpa would tell. They were tales of adventure, of bravery, of sorrow, and most of all…tales of love. Those were the ones I liked best. The ones where he met my grandma, in the dance club in Juarez Mexico. He claimed her the second she waked in.
This is the second time,
now I have a tale to tell. About how it is that I came to write about something, that is, written.
How strange to put words down about an idea that is in itself a collection of words.
tales of great heroic deeds. he had been a hero. a hero in the hearts and minds of the people. But now she knew the truth, it had all be a lie. Just another pretty tale. A bedtime story. nothing more.
I had encountered many tales in my life. The one I remember the most is the tales of horror. I always remember the dark sides, the secrets, the hidden stuff. I have always been attracted to the questions that had no answer, to the stuff that no one has shared, to the things that have been kept in dark for years and years. I’ve never liked simple answers. Simple answers annoyed me, I felt like someone is underestimating my brain. It’s sad that some of us my think that they’ve got all the answers figured out. People, wake up, it actually makes you miserable.
there are so many different times of tales, tall tales, skinny tales. There are tales about love and loss and dispair and hurt. When we are told to learn something it is usually through some sort of narrative like a story, told from an old man, beside a fire.
tall tales for the fickle heart
art sores tear my hands apart
soar eyes from screen stares
mind like a turtle trying to beat the hear
it doesn’t seem fair
to some it comes so easy
ill keep working though
He told me tales of far off places and adventures we could have and I let myself see it, let myself believe it, like he would actually save me from the boring hell I live in but he didn’t, you see, he didn’t and now I’m here talking to you, about who knows what. About how everything got so fucked up.
My name is Julie.
And I’ve been betrayed.
But I guess it get’s worse from there.
There have been many tales that have inspired people in the world. Humanity passes its knowledge through writing and it will continue to do so.
Heads, or tales? It’s one or the other. Yes, or no. You want him, or you don’t. Why is it so hard to choose?
The tales of adventure, the tales of tails. Everything people want, with nothing they don’t. All of it is fake, but all of it ideal. Everything wanted, nothing unwanted, the life dreamed of. The life everybody wants. Everything and anything that could improve life would be just this.
When I sit down across from someone new, I know that our conversation is going to take off, I know that I will ended up telling some of my stories or experiences. When I am old I want to be the grey haired man with 1000’s of tales to tell.
Once upon a time
Things always worked out
Nowadays,
tears, screams, hatred
No more happily ever afters
No more princesses for the prince
Fairy tales! :D
I like when people tell me stuff.
There once was a tale about an old man and a young woman. They fell in love, but their love was forbidden. Not much came from their relationship ended in murder. All too often people assume guilty until proven innocent, but tales must end happily.
on animals lalalalalala nice tale story fairy tale princess and the frog repunzal doggy tale is tale spelled tale or tail hmmm look at that fine peice of tail. tall trees. sale. talest person in the
there are many kind of tales out there. many tell you different things; some tell you things you dont wanna hear but you must. we hear many tales when we are kids and mostly believe them because of out innocence. I believe that is a beautiful thing to experience and keep forever.
Stories I write with my bare hands, ones that I wish you could decipher. Stories of our past; a past we never got to fulfill together. Don’t you remember the good old days, the times when we were carefree. These are the tales I think of all day, but I can only wish that you do the same. Please understand my love for you is eternal, because of all these tales I have to remember.
The fire was burning itself out, and the group all had a couple beers in them each. They played one last song on the guitar before Jacob stood up and ended the music.
“Anyone want to hear a story?” he whispered in a low voice that made the girls cuddle closer. The boys all just laughed. They knew what Jacob had planned. They were going to scare the girls so well, but they held them tighter all the same.
“In these woods exactly fifteen years ago today, a girl and her friends were murdered by a man that supposedly lives in these woods. He doesn’t come out unless the fires low, and music drives him crazy.”
“But y’all have been playing for over an hour…” said one of the girls, her voice shaking.
“Will you let me finish? Anyway, He used his rusty old chainsaw, and now whenever people come into his woods, he gets mad and does the same thing. The number of people that have died isn’t really sure. At least twenty, but the cops don’t want to scare any-”
Just then a chainsaw roared to life just outside the light from the embers.
The girls screamed and ran to the truck, and the boys all fell out laughing.