by Mona Makram
Look at my Face
The clown stops in the middle of the sumptuous hall in the prince’s palace. He tries to expound on pure laughter, which has not been affected by the illnesses of the city, such as pain and hunger. He spoke about laughter after he presented a show on the occasion of the prince’s ninetieth birthday. He ate delicious food and drank a lot of wine. He laughed and made others laugh. Then all of a sudden, he felt so tired. He usually barely feels full of eating. So he left the palace.
Category: Short story / Cumulative Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 197 / Month's Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 197
After a long observation trip the eagle has returned and landed to its nest. The fellow hawks also that followed the eagle, nested on their places on the branches of the same huge tree placed for them to take the rest.
Category: Short story / Cumulative Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 184 / Month's Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 184
I hang by trees, lost and waiting.
Dinner's down the bin.And the TV's still on: you have the remote in your hand. My life's controlled. Yours is free lance.College life? Remember those days? When we were actually in love?When we had those dreams of becoming rich, and famous together. Settle down, a big house and kids?My life's controlled. Yours is free lance.We got married in the year 1996. A grand wedding in the huge church by that deep cliff. With the red sea. With the evil eye.Driving the car one day, 30 days into our marriage you led to me to that one place.Glass panes, immense streaming light, the shining moon, and those twinkling lights. The sounds of the waves, the leer of the shells, the sway of those trees.On swings each day, you bought us that house near the green box by the beach.My life's controlled, yours is free lance.You had begun wondering. When? When? Now?I'll always decline. You wanted things quick. I told you to wait.Waiting made it too late, I'm sorry.My life's controlled, yours is free lance.Remember, the fights we used to have while in the shower? How I brushed my cool fingers against your hard chest. The kisses in that drizzling rain? The way you made me breakfast each morning, and brought it to my bed.Once upon a time, we were happy.Once upon a time, we were in love.Now you stay out late. I put those pills in my drink.Hail, Hail, swallow.Now we don't talk to each other, lie on the bed with our backs to each other.The space between us is immense.I'm sorry it was too late.My life's controlled, yours is free lance.The morning has arrived, and I bid you farewell.Not a look, not a touch, but a mock goodbye.Claim the woman while you can. Leave happily.The waves might reach the shore, don't know if my hands will finally reach yours again.Run now, escape. Before I let my selfish being trap you in my embrace again.Before I tie you to myself, forbid you from living your life.Run, and claim that wind.We were happy once upon a time.The white-washed walls here don't look that pretty. The flowers in the vase are replaced each day.I'm a snog in the bed. And the smell kills me. Reminds me of you.The green box still resides by my window.It's those climber trees, you know. Huge. One window. With bars.That green box. Streams of light hits the walls of my room.And i still hear the waves in the distance.You did the right thing leaving me here.Here, I'm finding solace.The voices in my head.Once upon a time, we were in love, and you would have never left me, no matter what could or would happen.But time makes us frail, time makes us weak.Once upon a time, you left me here with these people with abnormal minds.I'm climbing the wall: seeing through the window.I hang by trees, lost and waiting.And now as the seconds are ticking by, me railing on that window.I feel you run. Across the hallway somewhere. Thud i hear you, coming closer.I hang by trees, lost and waiting, but now don't say you love me, now that I’m leaving.
Category: Short story / Cumulative Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 111 / Month's Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 111
by Paul Beckman
Gammerman knew that he shouldn’t send the email, he even paused and said to himself, “Gammerman, don’t send that email.” And then he hit the send key. That in a nutshell is the story of Gammerman’s life—he always knew what his choices were and when push came to shove he took the most harmful to himself.
And, like many others in his life, this choice couldn’t be undone even if he wanted to. There was no way to recall the email, not that he considered doing so for even a nanosecond.
Category: Short story / Cumulative Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 18 / Month's Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 9
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