Scarlet Bailey and Kevin Cooper were not married. They were just a perfect couple that seemed very much in love. At least that was the impression they left on the Griffins; a family made up of a wife, husband and teenage son who had all helped Miss Bailey and Mr Cooper move in to their new house. Kevin didn't speak much and he seemed rather withdrawn, but Scarlet was always willing to welcome everyone, prepare all sorts of food for them and talk about whichever subject they may have chosen. She was perfect. But somehow, sometimes when she smiled, the 15-year-old boy of the Griffin family felt a trail of ice cubes slide down his bac
I can tell you one thing about me. Something I'll always be sure of. I'm not very clean. Never have been. But I love him anyway.
He was sitting on a bench in the underground station, reading, when I caught my first glimpse of him. Hidden in the shadows, I watched him turn each consecutive page, his eyes skimming over the writing ever so gently as he occasionally passed a hand through his soft, light-colored hair. His skin glowed; he was slender, tall and young. I'd seen many of his kind before, but never one as beautiful as him.
I followed him into the train carriage, then all the way home. It was the first time I had ever allowed myself to
Take them, dress them up in white
Take them to the cliff-side.
Leave them holding hands as one
Proud beneath the sun.
Playing "Mother, may I?" with
The sea in full blind faith.
They are told but to recede, as the world's end falls away.
Here's to more nights just like this one,
With drunk muses strewn on carpets
Singing eulogies for dearly departed
Synaptic suicides
Here's to more nights just like this one,
Of rivers flowing pregnant with desire
Down constitutional craters to finally retire
In a shallow, salty sea with a cotton underbelly.
Here's to more nights just like this one,
Filled with howls at self induced solitude
Followed by bouts of indescribable gratitude.
Rearing mania by night lamp on the damp surface of a sheet.
"You've got ten minutes. That's five minutes each. Amaze me."
They stared at her miserably. The two victims seemed to be floating, in awkward positions, in some sort of a transparent state. One of them still had a metal pole running through his middle, while the other could swear he still felt his darned useless airbag crushing his ribs.
They assumed it was a 'her' because of the sound of her voice. She was wearing a white, baggy leather jumpsuit with a zip across the front, and a helmet with a darkened visor. Crossing her arms, she began tapping her foot. The victims however weren't too sure what surface she was tapping it against.
It just wouldn't do. How was it that he had the upper hand solely based on the fact that he was less developed than she was? Surely the principle of evolution favoured those with greater mental capacity. Those who could think, feel, rationalize. Those who had come up with the principle of evolution in the first place.
Who was he to defy the greatness claimed by her species? To assume the role of survivor without so much as asking for permission? She watched him, lying on his back, limbs suspended in midair, twitching every so often. That scrawny, copper coloured abdomen could withstand extremely high levels of radiation, apparently. Those lo
The Avatar State:
Just as there are four elements
Existing in harmony with one another
So too are there four states of poetry:
[Air:]
Air is the element of freedom
Exemplified by the use of free verse
It has no structure and no true shape
But allows us creative control
Through the use of air as a poetic medium
We allow our emotions a freedom to be
We allow them to soar upon worded wings
Gliding freely through the skies of literature
[Water:]
Water is the element of the changing flow
It can be hard as ice or as soft as snow.
Its nature resembles the power of rhyme
Which grants us order and a structured mind
By pushing and pul