We found a firepit, with its circle of charred and broken rocks. A wooden chair for two sat in front of it, surrounded by shards of broken beer bottles. In our mindless state, we began to take slats off of the chair and threw them into the lake.
A few feet off was a damp t-shirt, folded neatly on the ground. Nearby, on a hollow stump, were a dozen wilting roses, out of place with their delicately pale pink petals.
There has to be a story here. I wish I knew what it was.
Do you taste like static? by Triptykant, literature
Literature
Do you taste like static?
I want to say something, as his fingers roam. Nothing but heavy breathing and the slight clicking that I couldn't quite place filled my mind. What's there to say, as I gaze at the ceiling and he gets his pleasure?
It's too claustrophobic in here.
I wanted out. Why did I come here in the first place? I don't know anybody. It's too hot, moist; it smells like beer and pot smoke. The music was too loud, thumping in my chest. Stupid new pop music, too. I hate this party. I wove my way through the crowds, bumping into people and holding my breath.
The doors, there they were. I pushed them open and breathed deeply, savoring the sharp, cold air. I was alone, finally. She was at my fingertips now, at least I imagined her so. Goosebumps rose on my skin, my arms bare. I could almost see her now, with faded scars and fingernails painted blue.
Down to earth we spiral. by Triptykant, literature
Literature
Down to earth we spiral.
The funeral was like a dream.
Her body didn't seem like hers. A key part of her had disappeared. It was as if she was still alive, in his mind. His numb, numb mind. Strangers and close friends put their arms around his shoulders and asked if he was alright. He didn't hear them.
The casket was lowered into the ground. Still not feeling anything, he came up and dropped his handful of dirt. Once it was done, there came a realization. She's dead...six feet under the ground...!
He screamed. It seemed to break the silence around him, shatter his numbness.
He didn't know what happened after that, until he was alone in a bed made for two.
Sobbin
Take comfort in the darkness, my dears.
In the bright lights flashing from the stage.
In the music so loud you can scarce hear it.
In the strangers all around you, their movements exaggerated by intoxication.
The semi-conscious state is when they are truly alive.
You're definitely one of us. by Triptykant, literature
Literature
You're definitely one of us.
Dark streets and puddled orange light from streetlamps.
Shivering, but it's not cold.
In a crowd of strangers, still alone.
I can see the glow from someone's living room window.
I bet they're having dinner together, as a family, right now.
I bet they're all discussing their day and complaining about Steve from marketing, or that annoying third grader Tracy.
I bet there's a teenager who brought home his new girlfriend, smiling shyly to her across the table.
I bet there's two small children fighting over something insignificant, who'll forget it all and make up soon.
I bet there's parents still in love with each other, making plans sile
Landscapes.
Repetitive.
Rippling fields of wheat.
City skylines.
Sandy beaches.
Seen it all before.
You know what stuck?
An alleyway much in need of paving, in the suburbs. Wooden fences, white, red, and blue. Aging trees with their branches overhanging the edge of the alley, the leaves and needles showering collected raindrops.
It was drizzling, and the sky was laden with light-gray clouds. They looked far away, though, not heavy and low like storm-clouds. The clouds and trees looked as if they were from separate dimensions than each other, giving the scene an unreal look. The raindrops landed, tiny splashes in puddles on the cracked
The footprints are still there, albeit fading and indistinct.
What did she look like? I don't know.
The impressions of the drowned girl had been brief. Vague, too. Like smiling faces drawn with fingertips in condensation on a car window, then swiped off with the palm of your hand.
Average height, light brown hair. That's what a human being had been reduced to.
Now all that shows a girl drowned herself here is a bloated body at the bottom of the river, smudged footprints, and a polished rock in my pocket.
Funny, isn't it? Humans think they're so important. Yet they can so easily be snuffed out. Forgotten. It's as if they never existed.
Doesn't anybody ever know? by Triptykant, literature
Literature
Doesn't anybody ever know?
Kayla looked up at the sky, painted with streaks of red and orange. Satsumas in white wine.
"Ever noticed how beautiful the sunset is?"
Julian looked at her for a long moment before answering. "No...not since I was a kid. I never really had the time, I guess. Funny..."
"Yeah...I grew up on a farm. Every day when the sun set, I would sit in one of the wheat fields and watch. The silhouettes of the trees...The strange way I would sense everything rather than see it in the night...Just the emptiness. The loneliness of the wheat field and the sky. I miss that."
"Hah. When we were kids, we wanted to grow up and be important in the world. Now t
Perfection of imperfection. by Triptykant, literature
Literature
Perfection of imperfection.
Harmless white pills, offered by strangers.
Headache-inducing smoke.
A downtown street into a jungle.
The colored lights and signs blur and flash and warp.
Imaged burnt into the back of his eyes in neon.
Fast women. Cheap trains.
From bed to bed, strange showers, strange homes.
Higher and higher.
People turn into animals, suddenly exotic.
Everything is new.
Palest blue ribbon is all he can think about.
We found a firepit, with its circle of charred and broken rocks. A wooden chair for two sat in front of it, surrounded by shards of broken beer bottles. In our mindless state, we began to take slats off of the chair and threw them into the lake.
A few feet off was a damp t-shirt, folded neatly on the ground. Nearby, on a hollow stump, were a dozen wilting roses, out of place with their delicately pale pink petals.
There has to be a story here. I wish I knew what it was.
Do you taste like static? by Triptykant, literature
Literature
Do you taste like static?
I want to say something, as his fingers roam. Nothing but heavy breathing and the slight clicking that I couldn't quite place filled my mind. What's there to say, as I gaze at the ceiling and he gets his pleasure?
It's too claustrophobic in here.
I wanted out. Why did I come here in the first place? I don't know anybody. It's too hot, moist; it smells like beer and pot smoke. The music was too loud, thumping in my chest. Stupid new pop music, too. I hate this party. I wove my way through the crowds, bumping into people and holding my breath.
The doors, there they were. I pushed them open and breathed deeply, savoring the sharp, cold air. I was alone, finally. She was at my fingertips now, at least I imagined her so. Goosebumps rose on my skin, my arms bare. I could almost see her now, with faded scars and fingernails painted blue.
Down to earth we spiral. by Triptykant, literature
Literature
Down to earth we spiral.
The funeral was like a dream.
Her body didn't seem like hers. A key part of her had disappeared. It was as if she was still alive, in his mind. His numb, numb mind. Strangers and close friends put their arms around his shoulders and asked if he was alright. He didn't hear them.
The casket was lowered into the ground. Still not feeling anything, he came up and dropped his handful of dirt. Once it was done, there came a realization. She's dead...six feet under the ground...!
He screamed. It seemed to break the silence around him, shatter his numbness.
He didn't know what happened after that, until he was alone in a bed made for two.
Sobbin
Take comfort in the darkness, my dears.
In the bright lights flashing from the stage.
In the music so loud you can scarce hear it.
In the strangers all around you, their movements exaggerated by intoxication.
The semi-conscious state is when they are truly alive.
You're definitely one of us. by Triptykant, literature
Literature
You're definitely one of us.
Dark streets and puddled orange light from streetlamps.
Shivering, but it's not cold.
In a crowd of strangers, still alone.
I can see the glow from someone's living room window.
I bet they're having dinner together, as a family, right now.
I bet they're all discussing their day and complaining about Steve from marketing, or that annoying third grader Tracy.
I bet there's a teenager who brought home his new girlfriend, smiling shyly to her across the table.
I bet there's two small children fighting over something insignificant, who'll forget it all and make up soon.
I bet there's parents still in love with each other, making plans sile
Landscapes.
Repetitive.
Rippling fields of wheat.
City skylines.
Sandy beaches.
Seen it all before.
You know what stuck?
An alleyway much in need of paving, in the suburbs. Wooden fences, white, red, and blue. Aging trees with their branches overhanging the edge of the alley, the leaves and needles showering collected raindrops.
It was drizzling, and the sky was laden with light-gray clouds. They looked far away, though, not heavy and low like storm-clouds. The clouds and trees looked as if they were from separate dimensions than each other, giving the scene an unreal look. The raindrops landed, tiny splashes in puddles on the cracked
The footprints are still there, albeit fading and indistinct.
What did she look like? I don't know.
The impressions of the drowned girl had been brief. Vague, too. Like smiling faces drawn with fingertips in condensation on a car window, then swiped off with the palm of your hand.
Average height, light brown hair. That's what a human being had been reduced to.
Now all that shows a girl drowned herself here is a bloated body at the bottom of the river, smudged footprints, and a polished rock in my pocket.
Funny, isn't it? Humans think they're so important. Yet they can so easily be snuffed out. Forgotten. It's as if they never existed.
Doesn't anybody ever know? by Triptykant, literature
Literature
Doesn't anybody ever know?
Kayla looked up at the sky, painted with streaks of red and orange. Satsumas in white wine.
"Ever noticed how beautiful the sunset is?"
Julian looked at her for a long moment before answering. "No...not since I was a kid. I never really had the time, I guess. Funny..."
"Yeah...I grew up on a farm. Every day when the sun set, I would sit in one of the wheat fields and watch. The silhouettes of the trees...The strange way I would sense everything rather than see it in the night...Just the emptiness. The loneliness of the wheat field and the sky. I miss that."
"Hah. When we were kids, we wanted to grow up and be important in the world. Now t
Perfection of imperfection. by Triptykant, literature
Literature
Perfection of imperfection.
Harmless white pills, offered by strangers.
Headache-inducing smoke.
A downtown street into a jungle.
The colored lights and signs blur and flash and warp.
Imaged burnt into the back of his eyes in neon.
Fast women. Cheap trains.
From bed to bed, strange showers, strange homes.
Higher and higher.
People turn into animals, suddenly exotic.
Everything is new.
Palest blue ribbon is all he can think about.