social-negative

He felt it. He heard it. Twisting along his flesh – intertwining his limbs in contorted night-lights – thrilling his senses and pulling him forward, upward, through the bubbling and sour breaths.  Light played through his fingers as he lay on his back, hand held to the eye of the window. With his teeth he scraped the dirt from his nails. Bare to the night, he shivered; ribs crack-screamed – howling. David ran a nail down the middle of his belly, eyes closed. Hand splayed across his stomach, sweat beads sliding, slipping under and he dragged the nails back up to his chest, digging trails through flesh and hair. Colours pin-bur

He walked slowly down the hall, rifle clutched by his hip, taking a long drag on his cigarette. It'd been three days. Three long days trapped in that house. That god damned house. It was one of those flash ones, like the kind he'd seen on television or in the magazines Glory had wasted their money on, real snobby, a real showoff. With those off white walls, and fancy furniture, really clean as well. Too clean, scary clean, like something was being hidden. He didn't trust it. The walls seemed to ache, groaning, shifting in the dark and Jack hated it. And it wasn't just the noises, he could handle that, but there was something else, something j

The forgotten Pilot By Jennifer Anne At the hospital Alistair leaned against the cool, stark white walls. He hated this place. He felt the death, the sickness, the pain. It was the smell. It burned in his lungs, and gave him a headache. He watched a small boy in the waiting room, the child's mother reading an old and tattered magazine. The child wound himself around her feet, making a quiet vroom sound as he twirled a tiny plastic plane in his pink hands. Alistair watched smiling to himself as the small plane flew higher and higher, diving and ducking around the small boy and his blonde curls. His light blue eyes dancing in the same delig

Sonata The piano now sat dusty and forgotten, lost in the rooms of the old house. Sophie hadn't set foot there in what seemed a life time. Old memories reared their heads, often causing her to stop and stare, the flashes coming in waves, stopping her from her mission. She walked into the piano room, pulling the edges of her coat tighter as she noticed that one of the windows had broken, the snow from outside threatening to enter, breaking her near perfect memory of the room. She sat at the bench, running her gloved hand over the dust covered keys. She couldn't count how many days he'd spent in here, perfecting his craft. It had always been

We're off to the never, ever land, like a moth to the flame, where angels fear to tread, and the devils are to blame. We're off an adventure, finding chaos at every turn, with the blaze of the multi colour, the cigarettes starts to burn. We're off to the never, ever land, gliding on Morpheus's sweet tune, with a finger on the trigger, and a shadow across the moon. We're off to the never, ever land, like a moth to the flame, where angels fear to tread, and the devils are to blame. We're lost in a trance, digging around in the dirt, hiding from the sirens, the zombies start to hurt. We're trapped in the bars, slapped on

The pub of no-hopers Characters: Heath Donald Ignatius Agremanthrea other extras sitting at tables and booths Scene: Set in purgatory, in a dank and dark bar, smoky and with a few people sitting at tables or booths. The sound of a door opening and slamming. There are two visible doors, one behind the bar with a sign "staff only" and the other right next to it, with a sign above which at random intervals numbers(completely out of order) appear.  Enter Ignatius (co-owns the pub with his Wife, Agremanthrea) from off stage, bearded and large, wearing a heavy trench coat and hat. He staggers in, shaking off the rain from 'outside

-2- Cyrus tore himself from the fire, feeling the warmth snaking through his clothes, his skin, muscles and bones, causing a shiver to run through his aged body. He looked to the clock. A large grandfather standing at the end of the elongated room, his gnarled face of bronze and gold showing not only the time of this world, but those of worlds past, of lifetimes gone. Cyrus had had the clock constructed on his three hundredth birthday, and he found the constant count down, the metronome tick of time, comforting. Cyrus was a man of science, he knew a lot about how life is created, how it is sustained, and how it evolves. He knew how life was

A necessary evil -1- Alexander looked over the edge of his desk at the small, wisp of a child trembling before him. And she was tiny too, the orange shapeless hospital gown hung limply over her frame. She refused to look at him. The dark rimmed eyes locked to the floor, head down, hands behind back, she was the picture of obedience sitting in that large chair. She was a ghastly sight, gaunt from hunger, and the stubble on her head barely covering the scars that seemed to map her scalp.       He tore his eyes from the pathetic creature, and looked to the guards at her sides, then to the doctor, his hands like talons on the girl's shoulders

A necessary evil There was a young girl, lost in life and judgments whose father was poor and mother ill. She was a beauty, with wavy red hair and pale shoulders flecked with freckles. She lived on a farm, as green as could be, with a river running true past the white house, from her window she could see the shining water and dipping willows. She would dance under those willows, twirling and twirling, losing herself. Her father would return from the village as the sun began to sleep, walking past those willows, she'd wait for him to pass by, leaping out at him and embracing him. Father would spend all day waiting for her smiles, waiting to

It is interesting the things that make us smile, little moments that would otherwise go unnoticed, little glimpses into other people's lives that leave an unexpected impression. Picture, if you will the scene.   It's a rainy, miserable day. Enter the bus. All aboard! Grumpy faced passengers all sitting visage forward? Backs slumped? Masks on? All in order and away we go. Stop, after stop, the numbers diminish, and then regroup, like the ebb and flow. All of them masked and silent plugged in with small dangling wires connected to pockets, bags, fists. Robotic. Enter, stage left, a small, seemingly frail woman. Large, woolen coat strapped ti