TheAmateurWriter

Confession

Confession was at the beach today. I sat on the shoreline cross-legged and penned into the sand. I wrote a word for every moment that tore the happiness from my eyes. I watched them wash away with the tide—forever free. Regret, worry and hatred washed away. The more I wrote, the worse the memories got and it was hard to let go. The first steps without a crutch are terrifying. Salvation is not always a happy place; though, relief washed over me as often as the tides. A cleansed soul is beautiful.

Home is where you are.

I’m everything I am,

Because you love me.

First Short Story - PLEASE READ!

theamateurwriter: ALMOST

               Screaming resonated in the hollow drywall for the fifth time that day. I remember feeling helpless. They say adrenaline is empowering, but four months ago, I cowered in the corner. I remember, wanting to leap to the rescue like a prince charming on his steed; to save the day and convince myself of my own worth. I wished that I had roomed with her. The day I came to look at the available apartments in the building she had offered, but I chose the one next to hers instead. Since then we’ve never really talked. I mean, apart from neighborly hello’s and the frequent passing’s, that’s all we saw of each other. Stacy had thick red hair that draped down to her lower back. With light brown eyes, she was beautiful. But to me, was more reminiscent of a sister figure. She was always so full of spirit, teeming with smiles and joy until… it happened. That day, she was deprived of everything sacred. Worst of all, her determination—that fire she once held in her eyes began to smoulder. Maybe if I had roomed with her, at least my curiosity would be fed. Instead, I’ve suffered not knowing what went on that day. She’d never mention anything, though I’ve always been one for worst case scenarios.
               I withdrew from the past as I chopped onions for this night’s stir-fry. The steady pulsing of my knife on the cutting board was a soothing sound in contrast to the rain. It had been pouring down terribly all weekend but I didn’t mind. The rain will wash away everything if you let it, so I surrendered to optimism for the day.
               As I finished preparing the vegetables I heard a firm knock on the door.
“One minute!” I called to the vacant space. I placed the remaining ingredients into the pan, and turned the burner on high. The constant rapping filled my flat with the sound of hollow wood.
“I’m coming!” I exclaimed, slightly frustrated with the disturbance. I paced towards the annoyance and placed my fingertips on the handle. The sharp squeak of an old door followed. It was then that I noticed the knocking was not upon my door, but my neighbour’s—Stacy’s door.
               I flung my door wide open as hers slammed shut. She began screaming the same screams I had heard four months ago. I decided in that moment, that fear would not subdue me. I had to save her. The sound of breaking glass and painful thuds were drowned in screaming as I kicked down her apartment door.
               As I stepped through I witnessed a large man, almost twice my size holding Stacy by her throat. He held her up against the wall with one hand, as he violently swung at her with the other. She had deep purple bruises that lined the structure of her face and blood covered the length of her hair. With his final impact to the side of her head, Stacy fell limp against the wall—unconscious. I leapt towards the man with the determination of a predator. He responded by knocking me hard to the ground. My next move: breathing. My lungs took in the only familiar thing they knew as my vision went blank. The pain followed shortly afterward.
               My eyes rolled open and scanned the apartment for Stacy’s assailant. It seemed to be clear. I managed to get to my knees and locate where Stacy had fallen. She lay unconscious against the drywall that connected our two flats.
“Stacy!” I called with a shaken voice. Gaining consciousness she turned towards me. I wished so dearly to see that same fire in her eyes reborn again.
“Daniel…” She managed to—the wall exploded into flames consuming all within its path. It took her hair first and as it moved down her forehead I saw her eyes. The only fire within them was the reflection of the burning apartment.
               She screamed one last scream. The same one I heard four months ago. I remember feeling…helpless.

(via theamateurwriter)

Almost

               Screaming resonated in the hollow drywall for the fifth time that day. I remember feeling helpless. They say adrenaline is empowering, but four months ago, I cowered in the corner. I remember, wanting to leap to the rescue like a prince charming on his steed; to save the day and convince myself of my own worth. I wished that I had roomed with her. The day I came to look at the available apartments in the building she had offered, but I chose the one next to hers instead. Since then we’ve never really talked. I mean, apart from neighborly hello’s and the frequent passing’s, that’s all we saw of each other. Stacy had thick red hair that draped down to her lower back. With light brown eyes, she was beautiful. But to me, was more reminiscent of a sister figure. She was always so full of spirit, teeming with smiles and joy until… it happened. That day, she was deprived of everything sacred. Worst of all, her determination—that fire she once held in her eyes began to smoulder. Maybe if I had roomed with her, at least my curiosity would be fed. Instead, I’ve suffered not knowing what went on that day. She’d never mention anything, though I’ve always been one for worst case scenarios.
               I withdrew from the past as I chopped onions for this night’s stir-fry. The steady pulsing of my knife on the cutting board was a soothing sound in contrast to the rain. It had been pouring down terribly all weekend but I didn’t mind. The rain will wash away everything if you let it, so I surrendered to optimism for the day.
               As I finished preparing the vegetables I heard a firm knock on the door.
“One minute!” I called to the vacant space. I placed the remaining ingredients into the pan, and turned the burner on high. The constant rapping filled my flat with the sound of hollow wood.
“I’m coming!” I exclaimed, slightly frustrated with the disturbance. I paced towards the annoyance and placed my fingertips on the handle. The sharp squeak of an old door followed. It was then that I noticed the knocking was not upon my door, but my neighbour’s—Stacy’s door.
               I flung my door wide open as hers slammed shut. She began screaming the same screams I had heard four months ago. I decided in that moment, that fear would not subdue me. I had to save her. The sound of breaking glass and painful thuds were drowned in screaming as I kicked down her apartment door.
               As I stepped through I witnessed a large man, almost twice my size holding Stacy by her throat. He held her up against the wall with one hand, as he violently swung at her with the other. She had deep purple bruises that lined the structure of her face and blood covered the length of her hair. With his final impact to the side of her head, Stacy fell limp against the wall—unconscious. I leapt towards the man with the determination of a predator. He responded by knocking me hard to the ground. My next move: breathing. My lungs took in the only familiar thing they knew as my vision went blank. The pain followed shortly afterward.
               My eyes rolled open and scanned the apartment for Stacy’s assailant. It seemed to be clear. I managed to get to my knees and locate where Stacy had fallen. She lay unconscious against the drywall that connected our two flats.
“Stacy!” I called with a shaken voice. Gaining consciousness she turned towards me. I wished so dearly to see that same fire in her eyes reborn again.
“Daniel…” She managed to—the wall exploded into flames consuming all within its path. It took her hair first and as it moved down her forehead I saw her eyes. The only fire within them was the reflection of the burning apartment.
               She screamed one last scream. The same one I heard four months ago. I remember feeling…helpless.

The Haunting

theamateurwriter:

A morbid silence echoes in the dark,
It chokes upon a stifled sob of fear.
From subtle whispers spurs a claim to hark:
“To the discrete conscience you must adhere.”
For death himself is guised in robes of joy,
As captivating as the setting sun.
Though like spewing venom he shall employ,
His wits upon the hearts of those he’s won.
Death resides in the echoes of silence,
Lingers on the summit of repressed tears,
He knows not surrender but violence,
Though teems with the oblivion of years.
His charm conveys an enticing abyss,
A concealed chaos united with bliss.