ella-enchanted

Description The train was dimly lit, and his mind wandered. The young woman sitting opposite him captured his attention as she shifted slightly with a rustling of cheap polyester. Her clothes were bright and tacky, seemingly ready to burst at the seams. Her nipples and the curves of her breasts were clearly visible through the flimsy fabric. She exuded overt sexuality unashamedly, a disturbing contradiction to her child-like  features. Her heavy makeup, sloppily applied, failed to hide the fact that she had been crying. She seemed to sense that he was staring at her, and glanced upwards. For a moment, their eyes met - his brown and condescen

I'm no good at poetry. I remain baffled by iambic pentameter, the scansion, the rhyme, those diabolic line breaks which never seem to fit together just right; all the poetic elements which to some treacherous souls are laughably simple - as obvious and natural as a mother and child, as fitting and true as the chiaroscuro shadow-play of a forest floor at twilight. Not me though. Poetry just isn't my forte.

The Morning Star Lucifer was first a star: eternity in a blissful thoughtless void of gas. Then, atoms and consciousness came together to form a new being. There was a sharp, strange, painful feeling of forced awakening, and the newly discovered awareness of a vast, omnipotent, intangible presence. He paused in speechless wonder at his new body. It had no discernible shape, consisting of an aura of blinding light, and yet to Lucifer it brought a previously unknown sense of physical reality. Suddenly a Voice echoed through every fibre of his new form, wrenching him from his wandering fancies. It spoke to him through every sense; it seemed to

The pain hit her like a blow. For a moment she was blinded to all else; her vision was blackened and she could taste acrid iron. Then her eyes began to clear and the world seemed to melt back into focus. She blinked furiously in the suddenly bright light, and struggled to raise her head. Her mouth felt as if it was stuffed with cotton wool, and her ears were filled with a shrill ringing. As her brain slowly began to register her surroundings, she bit her lip, drawing blood, and tried to keep herself from withdrawing into primal fear. She was hunched over an endless plain of dried grass, utterly exposed. Apart from a few vague shapes in the m

The cold feeling of steel against your wrist... The bathroom walls are as cold as ice, and they tower over me like all my regrets. In the corner of my eye, I see shadows, hideous demons – the concoctions of my ugly mind. I can taste tinny fear and know that I have fled long enough. You can't run forever. The taste of his lips, so soft and sweet... Mark is like a drug, and I am an addict. I know that every moment we are together, he makes a part of me his; but I don't care. The colours are bright and the sounds are softer than they have always been, and I am above it all. If this is what dying feels like, I don't want to live. The fresh ai

Boys don't cry, but my father is not a boy. He is a man, and he cries - silent sobs that wrack his soul; his massive body shuddering with emotion. Mum and I are sitting on either side of him, but he is untouchable, unreachable. He is on a journey to a place where we can not follow - a land of grief. What can you say to a man whose world is falling apart? I feel so much love and sorrow for him, with no way to express it but through conforting murmurs, warm hugs... meaningless gestures is all that they are. His cries and suddenly silenced. He straightens his back while I hold my breath and pray. "It is alright. I am alright," he says hoarse