[x]

Your Move“All I’m saying,” she frowned, uncrossing and recrossing her legs under the table, “is that he should’ve been a man about it. I don’t see why he couldn’t say it to my face. You just don’t do that sort of thing over the phone. Not after eight months! Rook to C8.”

He nodded, readjusting his glasses as she’d found that he was apt to do when she’d made a move he didn’t expect. “That does seem really cheap,” he admitted, peering down at the board like an old man. “Did he give you a reason at all? Rook to C1.”

She let out a huffy breath and tossed one of her long brai

I'll Love YouI haven’t met you yet, or perhaps I have. Perhaps I spoke to you just this morning. Perhaps I won’t meet you for another decade. Perhaps I’ll never meet you. But these are the things I know about you.

I’ll love you for the way you love me. I’ll love you for the way you hold me, as though you must convince yourself that I am real. I’ll love the way my name falls off of your lips, like you can’t bear to part with it. I’ll love the way your face smoothes when you’re asleep and you are as innocent as a child, as open as my heart. I’ll love you for the way you disagree with me and refuse to admit

Downright CriminalA gunshot rang through the air and all movement in the bank ceased.

“Alright everyone, please lie down on the floor and put your hands where I can see them,” the well-dressed young man with the gun said loudly, pleasantly, still holding his weapon aloft. After a moment of glassy-eyed quiet, the dozen or so people in the bank did as they were told. “My friends and I are here to rob this bank. Everyone here will get out unscathed if y’all take great care to not get in the way of the proceedings. Any questions?” Stunned silence. “Great.”

He beckoned to some men in suits and they headed behind the counters, p

Seven Years“Where’s Daddy going?”

“Quiet. Mommy’s busy.” The harsh rake of a metal zipper closing. The girl carefully lays her bear on the bed covers, then picks him up again.

“When will he be back?”

“When he’s finished.”

“Finished what?”

“Finished doing what he’s doing.”

“What is he doing?” Her mother pulls the curtains, shutting out the dull, feeble light of the muted sun.

“So many damn questions.” The squeak of the springs as she lifts the heavy suitcase off of the sagging mattress.

“Will he be back for my birthday?” The timid voice q

Rain Boot“Jon?” she called down the stairs, without looking away from the mirror she leaned towards, carefully applying mascara to neatly curled lashes. She had one stocking on, and a pair of sensible black pumps were tossed haphazardly on the counter, dangerously close to the curling iron. “Jon, is it still raining?” There was the comfortable sound of sock-footed footfalls from downstairs and the creak of the heavy front door being pulled open. A muffled pattering of rain was answer enough.

“Yeah,” Jon called up the stairs. “It’s really coming down. You sure you don’t want me to drive you?”

“Ye

Euclidian GeometryI
This is what plane geometry (Euclidian geometry)
tells me;
it tells me that [a];
(the long, curving line
of your neck, outlined
in the darkest of chestnut curls)
plus [b];
(the swell of your hip
rising from the sheets, the sweet temptation
and the beautiful mystery of the
hidden)
equals [c];
(the wonder that you
perhaps do not see in my gaze
when you catch me
staring)

II
Euclid’s Five Postulates
tell me;
1. Let the following be postulated: to follow
with my fingertips
the flower of your lips
and the swan’s curve of your
jaw

2. To produce [extend] a finite limb with infinite

Love IsLove has been compared to so many things, and so confidently. “Love is like wildflowers,” people say. “Love is like a hurricane.” “Love is like a heat wave.” “Love is like quicksilver in the hand,” “Love is like luck.” It seems so arrogant to believe that just because you label it that way, it is so for everyone.

Our love is not a hurricane, our love is not luck. For us, or perhaps even only for me, our love is like balloons. Brightly colored, fiercely joyful things – party balloons, buoyant and barely restrained, a shock of color in the grey landscape of the sky. Our love is that beauti

ClockworkWe started like clockwork.

We met and everything fell into place. Being in your arms was so easy, and I fit so neatly into the curve of your body. Our lips were magnetic. We disgusted friends and family with the violence of our happiness. Everything was paced as though a mathematician had planned our romance: week after week, month after month, the pinpoints of our love fell as neatly as the marks on a timeline. We meshed like the gears in a watch, moving in harmony, driving onward steadily and beautifully, rhythmically. We came together like a smoothly oiled machine.

Perfect.

We were perfect.

I think perhaps it was that immediate perfect

lie to me.I
am the way a child knows without being told that her father will never return home. (I am the reason why the fatal moment strikes her—she is too young to understand what the hurt means but old enough to feel it.)

I
am the way a husband's heart stops when his wife takes her last breath. (I am the reason why their hearts beat in tandem, why his arrests along with hers.)

I
am the way you felt when your brother died, in a cold hospital bed too many miles away from you. (I am the reason why your heart broke when you realized that your bones and marrow and prayer did not save him.)

I
am nothing like death. Death wants nothing to do wi

It's MagicOnce there was a girl who was born from a stone and she had a star for a heart. One day she met a boy and put her heart in his hands. And it was magic.

Toby didn't get along with the other children at recess. Toby didn't get along with the other children at all. It wasn't that they didn't want to be his friend - children are so accepting at that age - but Toby had no interest in them. So he left them alone, and they him.

At the edge of the playground, just barely within school grounds, there was a little hillock, like the rounded belly of a pregnant woman. The hill bore a massive, gnarled oak. Its branches spread like a canopy, turning the

There's a Body on my TablePaul unlocked, locked, unlocked, locked, unlocked, locked and unlocked the door before pushing it open. He took off his shoes, left one first, and laid them by the door in perfect parallel to each other.

“I’m home,” he called, and from the top of the stairs the fish in his aquarium burbled in response. He counted his steps to the kitchen – one, two, three...fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. He lined up his feet and looked at the digital clock on the microwave - 6:04. He waited patiently, watching, until – ah, 6:05. Letting out the breath he’d been holding, he turned to the kitchen table and-

Oh, God. Paul was sudden

several confessions.i.
I admit that sometimes I want you.

ii.
I admit that sometimes I watch you from the corner of my eye, watch you to make sure you are watching me as I smile at someone else. I laugh effortlessly, stretch, sweep back my hair, and hope that to you it looks real.

On days like this, every movement I make is calculated, designed to taunt you. On days like this I am weak, worthless, easily conquered—one touch, one glance would ruin me. And then I look at you again and want to be conquered.

iii.
I admit that you make me breathe faster. My lungs respond to your nearness with panic because to me you are a threat. You are a predator, you ar

My Prince Rode Past,Forgetful hours spent in lonely beats,
Hopeless moments stretched into eternity.
Crying under the covers,
Asking God why,
Why this could happen to you,
Asking for a replay,
A retry,
A redo,
Just a chance to relive the moments that you ruined.
You want to hate,
But you can’t seem to pull it together enough to find the passion.
Knowing it wasn’t his fault in the first place,
He was just being a friend.
He doesn’t understand how quickly you fall in love,
Or the way he never leaves your thoughts anymore.
How all you can think about is that you’re a mockery,
How they laugh,
How they jeer,
How th

mi, a name I call myselfThe first day you had piano lessons, your older sister cried, because neither of you had been to school yet and the waiting room full of strange children scared her, and so your mother had to take her outside and feed her an orange slice by slice before she would stop. She came back in sticky with juice and tears to find you with a toy keyboard in your lap, tapping gently at it as if every accidental harmony was intended, and as if every clang of wrong notes was secretly a masterpiece.

When your names were called it was you who had to be dragged away into the room where the real piano waited, and where the teacher was polishing her glasses i

yours and mine

At first she hadn't minded how empty the house felt when he was gone. While she stayed up, waiting for him, she would imagine the colors they'd use to paint the blank walls, the pictures they would put on the bare shelves. We will make this a home, she had thought, smiling to herself, and when he came in at last she would put her arms around him and smile for him too.

As the months wore on, the walls were painted one by one, and the frames were gradually filled, and she began to believe that they would be alright. But still he worked late, and still she waited for him, staring at the rows of pictures while her coffee grew cold in her hands.&

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Yours and Mine

by ~Ginnabean, Jan 14, 2009, 10:40:01 AM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction

We never got those towels – ‘his and hers’. Those matching pajamas. Our pillows didn’t even match, which I know irked you. Sometimes I wonder if you woke up every morning and immediately felt cross because of my pillow, and yours. Yours and mine.

But if you did, you never showed it. You woke me with a kiss and a smile more radiant than the sunrise that we never saw, nestled deeply as we were in the jungle of apartment buildings. Perhaps, then, you were cross about many things. The way I never put away my shoes, so you always were tripping over them; the way I didn’t replace the toilet paper when we ran out; the way I wouldn’t write ‘mustard’ on the grocery list when I used the last of it. If it bothered you, you never said it. I had my flaws, and you had yours. Yours and mine.

I suppose it’s best we didn’t get those towels, those pajamas, matching pillows. Even now little things remind me of you, things that didn’t used to have any significance. I can’t even drink coffee anymore. I’ve never again attempted to make meringue cookies, not so much afraid that they’d turn out wrong as afraid that they’d turn out right. Two months afterward I found your shirt that I used to sleep in, the one you won at that office party that we crashed. Sometimes I wonder if that bothered you, the way that I did things like that. Like when I decided that instead of planting real flowers in our window box, I would plant little whirligigs; bright, sparkling beacons of what real flowers could never be, beautiful in their artificiality.

And now, months and months afterward, I wonder why I thought I could stay here. After all, this place will never be mine, just like it could never be yours. It was ours. Yours and mine.

Yours and Mineby ~Ginnabean

Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction

Another one of ~austheke and I's prompts. I really like this one, actually. I think it's good because I was trying to imitate Aus's style a little. XD Although she got really upset when I said that.

That girl doesn't understand what a good writer she is. Go tell her; here is her 'Yours and Mine' which is infinitely more beautiful than anything I could write: [link]

<3333 LOVE GINNY~

love 1 1

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~midnightsunsetmusica Dec 30, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

This is really pretty. I read your's and ~austheke 's and I loved them both. Though, I, well, got lsot a bit.

Oh well. I loved them both. It's really good.

~Ginnabean Jan 1, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Thank you so much!

~austheke Jan 16, 2010 Writer

Ohgod, this is like a... punch of tragedy and loveliness and everything that a piece of short fiction should be. I absolutely, absolutely love this piece, and I don't understand why you haven't gotten a DD for it yet. XP

~Ginnabean Jan 17, 2010 Hobbyist General Artist

Ahaha, because you're biased. ;D No one else thinks it's that brilliant.

~austheke Jan 17, 2010 Writer

LIES.

~Fusion-of-Fantasy Sep 8, 2009 Hobbyist Photographer

Very beautiful, it even made my heart ache a little..

~Ginnabean Sep 8, 2009 Hobbyist General Artist

Aww, thank you so much!!

~austheke Apr 12, 2009 Writer

_{Dear God I'm an idiot.

Heyso, I finally recommended this for a DD, and will continue to do so until they get sick of me and ban me or give it to you. I love you, and I love this piece, and you sure as hell deserve a DD for it.

The idiot part is because I forgot to change the title and just called it "Re: what i'm sending the GDs", and then I got a note back from the person I sent it to--she noted to tell me she wasn't a GD anymore and hadn't been since February. I didn't check. She had to forward it to ^StJoan for me. -facepalm-

At any rate, you will get that DD, and it will be my name in the "suggested by" line. Even if my stupidity sets us back a bit. All my love~}

~Ginnabean Apr 12, 2009 Hobbyist General Artist

Bahhhh you are so kind. ;____; What did I do to deserve you?!

~austheke Apr 13, 2009 Writer

I WANT THEM TO REPLY NOWWWWW
I WANT THEM TO TELL ME THEY'RE GIVING YOU A DD
AUGHHHHHH
-frets-

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