TemaPup
|
Posted: Tue Jun 26, 2012 10:11 pm
|
|
|
| Welcome to my Literature hub. Here I'll post all types of works. Short stories, poems, and even commissions if I get any! I'm an avid author, so this might fill up fast!
:jab:Hey, you...yeah, you. Wanna request something?
Visit my Shop! Prices from 5 copper!
I offer great prices and I work fast! There's not much I won't do!
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
TemaPup
|
Posted: Tue Jun 26, 2012 11:07 pm
|
|
|
| My Gift and My Curse
*VERY slight language*
She opens her wallet, gives her last dollar to another. She's broke, but she's ok with it. She'll go home, she'll go tutor kids, clean up crap, she'll make that dollar back.
She clenches her teeth, her stomach turning, over, over, over. She lashes out, her fist hitting hard brick. She screams out the pain, the anger.
She hasn't slept in days, but she's up...four, five, six. She resists the pain from the headache building from the noise of her phone, and she feels ok, because she knows there's one less person hurting, because of her.
She hits, hits, hits. It hurts like hell, her head, her stomach. She can't breathe, she's pushing herself so far. At the end of the hour, she goes out the back door, stumbles. She jumps to the ground, barely feeling the pain of the impact. She retches, but nothing comes.
She smiles against the pain, listening to people go on...on...on, about their problems. She wishes, for once, that someone would listen to hers, not interrupt, not put them off as nothing. Pain fills her as the voices inside speak, telling her how little she is. But she's ok, because there are people more important than her.
"LISTEN TO ME!" She screams, gripping the shirt of the one who held her through it all. She can't hold back, and the bruises along her arm, her back, they stand out in contrast to her pale skin, which hides the monster inside. She loves the bruises so much...they tell her why she needs to stay calm, but they mean nothing now. She isn't satisfied until her fists are covered in another's blood, and she's hit, hit so hard, at that spot that stays bruised on the back of her neck, and she drifts away...
She loves the bruises, so much. She ignores the people who tell her it's wrong. She explains how she NEEDS the "Abuse," as they call it. It hides the monster, reminds her so much that she is more, she is more. So she listens as people get angry, trying to explain, trying to explain. She hugs them when they get riled up, when they cry. She knows it's her fault she causes this pain, so she works to stop it.
She's not perfect...She hurts, all the time, but she lives with the burden.
This is her job.
This is her Gift.
This is her Curse.
*A piece about my every day life. Based on My Gift, My Curse by Blood on the Dance Floor.
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
TemaPup
|
Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 4:36 pm
|
|
|
| Vice City
*Rated T for implications and triggers. I'll remove by request.
We're living in a real-life
Vice City,
Where nothing's quite right.
Tommy goes for substance,
Drinking the bottle clean.
Some days he's more persistent,
If you get what I mean.
Cassandra was a "Good girl,"
And now she's something more.
She sometimes wants to hurl
Because she's just a
And then there's the others,
Like little Alex and Andy,
Who push their bodies to the limits.
They're like thrill seekers,
Climbing to the top of the mountain to
Shoot down the pipe, watching the
Trees...
Shoot by their legs.
But that's not really enough.
No...
Alex slices himself open,
Seeing if he'll heal.
Andy presses fire to his skin,
Seeing if it's enough.
They don't want to die,
They're not looking for attention.
No, Vice City's just lured them in
To her sticky, stick grasp.
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
TemaPup
|
Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 4:43 pm
|
|
|
| Unfortunate Meetings 0
Have you ever met someone who changed your life forever?
Well...I have. And this meeting was not pleasant in any way, but lead to so many good things in my life. I guess the question here is whether or not that meeting in itself was a good thing. Could I have lived without knowing? Would the guilt of things left unsaid crush me? Would I instead become strong and successful? Or was that day truly the day it was all going to end?
Have you ever met someone...who made everything ok? Who came in and gave so much to fall to something dark and invincible? Who would have never been taken, unless death seemed absolutely determined to take that person away from you?
If all this happened...what would you do?
"This is the Story of a Girl who cried a river and drowned the whole world."
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
TemaPup
|
Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 4:45 pm
|
|
|
| Concrete Angels 1
*Rated T for Abuse, Triggers, and slight Language
My mom, Elizabeth, and my dad, Frankie, split a couple days ago...He just kinda walked out...That night, my mom threw a lot of our stuff around. She got drunk and I locked my bedroom door, hiding in my closet all night. My mother was always a little...negligent. She had me when she was only 15. I managed, though. It was never really all that bad. There was always food and stuff.
But when dad left, mom got even worse. She smoked and drank in the house. I have Asthma, so I was often up all night coughing. But I had my inhaler, which tended to quiet my coughs. One day, though, my medicine ran out. I coughed harder and harder each night, my pillow staining with small red specks each day. I thought that was the worse I could ever get...
But one night, mom was especially drunk. I was sitting at my desk, reading and coughing. She walked into my room and grabbed my book.
"WHAT IS THIS? I TOLD YOU NOT TO READ CRAP LIKE THIS IN MY HOUSE!!"
She slammed the book down on my desk, grabbing my arm and yanking me out of my chair. She hit me in the face, then threw me against a wall. I slumped to the ground as she walked out, sobbing. That was the first time she hit me. Ever.
I was 9 when that happened.
Four years later, it was pretty much the same, but worse. My teachers always gave me these looks, like they wanted to ask me about the black eyes, bruises, the bloody noses. But they didn't.
One day, we were taking an hour to study or read what we wanted. I pulled my book out of my bag, laying it on my desk. As soon as my hand touched the cover, though, I knew what it was. I pushed it off my desk and stared wide-eyed at it, not seeing it. Instead I saw the drunken gaze of my mother, yelling at me and hitting me. I let out a single scream and broke out into sobs. Sobs that racked my entire body with jerking spasms. My breathing became a wheeze, and I gasped for air while someone touched my arm. It was Dillon. He pulled me close to him, holding me and stroking my hair while he called to the teacher.
"She's having a nervous break-down or something!"
The teacher lead Dillon and I into the hall. I stood, gripping Dillon's shirt and burying my face in his chest for a long time.
'I...l...yo...d...lo....e...dil...i....ve...'
I stuttered. And soon, I was calm enough to answer my teacher, who was asking me questions.
"What's wrong?"
"I...my...the book...mom..."
"The book made you upset?"
I nodded.
"Something about your mom?"
I nodded again. He looked at Dillon.
"You two, go to the counselor's office. I'll be there momentarily."
Dillon lead me to the counselor, where we sat in a plush, comfortable chair until the counselor and my teacher walked in, my mom behind them. I nearly panicked, but Dillon's hand found mine and held it firmly, lending me strength. They talked for a while, my mom looking mad. Real mad. She checked me out of school and drove me home in silence. When we got home...She went berserk. She slammed me into the wall, screaming in my face while I cried. She hit me, over and over. She hit me with a beer bottle...and I screamed. Soon, Sirens met the same high pitch as my voice, and I heard someone yell. They grabbed my mom, pulling her off of me. They loaded me onto a stretcher...but I was fading...
It's weird, how they call it fading...Everything got brighter. Then, I was with god, and my Great-Grandma. And now...here I am today...
I had so much to live for...
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
TemaPup
|
Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 4:46 pm
|
|
|
| Concrete Angels 2
*Rated E because this one's a lot simpler and less...painful.
She's more than she thinks, but she refuses to see. Things are bad for her, but she can't let herself see what she could have, what she could BE.
There's so many who love her, so many who care. But the pain blinds her. She can't see through, she can't muster the strength to try...
"Sis, wait up!! Wait!!"
Two girls, one far ahead, one panting to catch up. The one in the back stopped to catch her breath, while the one in front stopped at the end of the sidewalk. Moments later, the second girl runs up to meet her, gasping but still with a big smile on her lips. The other girl simply stared, a frown pressed onto her face.
The two sisters were close, but even that couldn't save her from herself. She had no reason to live, to want to live. But the other always worked to help, but nothing the younger sibling did helped. Her older sister, her mentor, her guide, was impossible to help. Beyond help. The wall of her own fear kept her from believing that she could survive.
The younger sister was there, often behind, but there. She gravitated around her older sister, whether for safety or comfort or just want was unsure to her or any others outside their little circle of family.
Sure, there were ups and downs in that family, bruises shared, tears shed. But they were a family nonetheless.
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
TemaPup
|
Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 4:47 pm
|
|
|
| Bravery: The Story of A Boy.
*Rated T for Bullying
Based on a True Story.
Pound...Gasp...Kick...
Curling on the ground...
pain...
Submitting...
blood...
Giving up...
sweat
Its finally over...for today...
Walking home...
black eye...
Trip and fall...
bruised...
Struggle...Get up...
destroyed...
Home...
Sitting at desk...
writing a letter...
Hand on handle...
pen shaking...
Cant go through...
crumple...
Feeling stupid...
Throw...
Go To Sleep...
Next day...
get out of bed...
Walking to school...
fear...
Hands clenched...
shaking...
Proclamation...
Students...
laughing...
Pushed to ground...
chuckles...
Standing...
gasps...
Fighting back...
wide eyes...
Alive...
Brave.
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
![Reply to topic](templates/subSilver/images/lang_english/reply.png) |
|
|
|
|
|