The outside world reeks of piss, stinks like wet cigarettes, and roasts me like a pork chop under the blistering sun. But on the bright side, there’s no more shower shivving — and whenever I pass out on the bus, I wake up with a few coins in my cap. Not bad.

Eden wasn't paradise, but at least I knew what to expect. That prison was my whole life up until now. I was born and raised alongside mom, J...

What a fascinating specimen!

Third son of the 67th family stared at his great grandfathers leather portfolio inquiringly, holding the old thing with a delicate grip. The book was so worn and battered that he feared a slight brush of wind would disintegrate the pages into the acid air.

Third son turned away from the direction of the wind so it lightly stung his back. He straightened the first pa...

We’ll all go down like empires

And burn to ash and dust,

For nothing is eternal

No matter how robust.

Rome thought they were forever

Standing strong like olive trees,

But as they’d done to Carthage

They burned while they were seized.

Poempii crumbled in a day

When Mount Vesuvius erupt.

Ashes piled on the city and

It was never recunstruct.

Persepolis though themselves mighty

And a mighty ci...

They say time is the best killer. I would argue it's experience.

If I were to shove myself into a hole in the ground and spend the rest of my life there, the only thing killed would be my will to live.

But in the outside world, experience is what kills who you once were. I know this all too well. I've probably died a hundred times.

I died when I left my rural home and joined an orchestra in F...

Beu’s father often warned him, _a boring life is a peaceful one_. A fish that years for the sky becomes a birds prey, a pig that craves freedom withers in hunger, and a boy who seeks the darkness invites his own destruction. But no amount of cautionary tales can sate a growing little boys curiosity.

As Beu worked alongside his father, he peppered him with questions. “Will the paladins stop by?”

...

Arthur sighed, recording the four thousandth street name in his frayed and faded journal.

-‘_Lainerie’_

_-Cobbled, narrow streets _

_-Overgrown vegetation_

_-Weathered stone angels_

_-What are angels?_

Arthur stopped writing, his pens ink flowing like a dark, meandering river across the page.

Angels. He stared at the scribbled phrase, wondering why he had written it. But the answer, like so m...

She wants to know his secret. He hasn’t decided what it is yet.

Eiran’s drunken night out ended with a hangover, a stalker, and a strong contender for the worst life choice he’s ever made: scribbling a prophesy about the end of the world on a bar napkin. When Vera, a wannabe cult leader, stumbled upon the napkin, she became convinced Eiran’s prophecy’s held the key to unlocking the truth behind t...

Under normal circumstances, a scholarship to a prestigious academy would be seen as a good thing. But for Klein Croft, it turned out to be nothing short of a death sentence.

Now, of course if he had known the truth about the Academy of Arcana, he would’ve rather slept in his shabby loft for the rest of his life than apply. The newspapers touted it as a place for “skilled individuals” seeking “ex...

The demon could no longer feel the the tips of the fingers on his stolen body. Burns and blisters climbed up his arms and torso, discoloring his pale complexion and stripping off layers of skin. His fair curls, a refined feature of the carefully chosen corpse he inhabited, now hung lifelessly, speckled with blood and snow.

Movements, he realized with a groan, were out of the question. The effects...

You cannot convince me

That poems have rules

When rhymes are suggested

And forms are just tools.

For all of the history

That poetry holds,

The classical structures

Have seem to grow old.

A free verse is nothing

But a jumbled word bomb,

Mixed with some synonyms

From thesaurus.com.

I could write “I hate my life”

To express my dismay,

While claiming it’s a poem

And you’d all cry and say.

“What...