Short stories & poems

The grandfather clock stuck midnight as the sound echoed throughout the park. Not many people were even out tonight to hear the clock, though some people were.

Cinderella with a beauty that only lasts to midnight, came stumbling and rushing her way out of the park at the sound of the chimes. She ran and ran not even glancing behind her.

She ran to the stairs then down them. And she kept running as the magic of her dress started to fade and reviel her poor looking clothing. Pretty soon, she came across her house which was very hard to spot in the cloak of darkness.

She started to slow down as she approached the house. Catching her breath as she slowly and quietly opened the door and went inside. The house was quiet, and Cinderella only hoped it would stay that way till tomorrow.

“And though Prince Charming will forget about me” She thinks “I’ll never forget him”

“Look, I know you may want to kill me, and I completely understand. A lot of people have wanted to kill me over the years, and you can believe me when I say that I’ve… disposed of every last one of them as necessary. I disposed of them because they were pests, imbeciles who got in the way of my happy life, like you. They all deserved to die in the torturous ways I had them die, so what makes you think that I don’t have a weapon on me right now? For all you know, I could have my trusty switchblade on me at this very moment. What I’m trying to say is that if anyone in the room should be scared, it’s you, not me. You may think you’re a psychopathic killer who could end my life whenever you’d like, but that’s just not true. I’m the psychopath here… and I’m not going to worry about trying to convince you to spare my life, seeing as it should be you down on your knees, begging me for mercy. So… Get down. Now beg…”

"Obedience breeds complacency and stagnation. Anarchy derives from the absence of obedience. So tell me please, what would happen if a crowd would get a hint of freedom?" He drawed out, looking around the room for an answer. No one, of course, had the bravery to speak. "Yes, you," He pointed to a plump man in a purple suit. "Watson if you please."

Watson spoke up, sweat started to bead on his brow, "They would riot." He whimpered out.

"Indeed!" He exclaimed. "This is the essence of my argument!" Watson visibly relaxed. He shouldn't have. "What did you say again? They would riot." The man took a pause. "You are ignorant my friend. The best example of the idiocracy of humankind. No, they would not riot. This speckle of freedom would show them our generosity. We rule with an iron fist, but just enough so that it goes unnoticed." He shot his hands out to the side giving a deranged laugh before continuing. "Give a dog some food and it would feast that night. Later then getting food from another, but give a dog some food and remove it's legs? It will be dependent on you forever. The dog wouldn't dare revolt, because it knows he is in your mercy." He sighed, "So let me ask you again. What happens if we give the people autonomy?"

All the men in the room were silent. What had they just witnessed. This man. This King was out of control. And yet nothing he said were lies.

Only one person had the audacity to speak up. A young lady, perhaps in her twenties, rose as she spoke. No fear were in her eyes, though not one understood why. Especially after what she had dared to say.

"Your crown is made of the people's bones and hunger. And you shall rot in hell for it."

The young lady was never seen again.

The wind blows my hair. I’m standing in the edge again. I look down. I see the vast openness drop down from the cliff. I would what it would be like. The jump. The wind on my body. The rush of adrenaline. The pain of impact. The peace of floating away. Of leaving this world and facing whatever comes next. I’ve wondered it for a while now. But every time, when I’m about to let go, I remember. I remember her. I remember my friends. I remember my parents, my family. I remember all the people who care about me. I can’t bring myself to put them through that. I turn away. One more day. One more day. Slowly, it started becoming two more days, three, four. One more week. One more month. You can make it the rest of the year. The bad days started off frequent and harsh, but slowly, even they started to become few and far between.

Sometimes I look back, I remeber those days. Standing in the edge. I remember how close I was to falling. And how glad I am that I turned away.

author’s note- this is not written from personal experience

Willow wrote in her journal the song of her life. 1 year earlier, willow met her biological family for the first time. As she walked to the door to knock nerves bubbling up as she waited for the door to open. She thought why hadn’t they looked for her? , what were they like ? But her thoughts were interrupted by the door opening it was a little girl who had to be about 9 maybe 10 years old. As she was escorted inside the home. She saw other children and dogs . Willow thought wow what a beautiful home just then came her mom came walking out the large kitchen holding out her arms to hug her. As they both hugged and cried together she was introduced to her other brothers and sisters 2 boys and 3girls they shared life updates and a meal and watched a movie together. The evening came to an end and her and her mom hugged again for a long while . Back in the car her adopted sister called Angie wills how did the meeting go she let out a Deep sigh it went well , then why do your words not match your tone and facial expressions? Then the tears started rolling down because she went on to have a great life other children without me she and she couldn’t speak anymore because the reality of her life compared with what she saw hurt to much . Willow had been foster care system for 17years going from family to family home to home state to state she was 24 years old now and Angie was from her second foster home and they got so close that they never lost contact with each other. The reality that her life was filled with anxiety and abandonment and rejection while her mother and father went off to start new lives and families with her they both showed so much care for the children they have now. Willow started remembering meeting her biological father just a few months prior and he was married had 2 children 2 boys. She remembered she was on the phone with her sister and just blurted out they both went on to have successful lives without me as if with me in the picture they couldn’t have a good life and she started crying again oh wills I’m so sorry I’m sure that sucks why don’t you come stay the night with me I don’t think it will be good to be alone . Willow drove to her sisters house and soon as she reached her door she just held her as she cried deeply in her arms that Angie cried too . Willow stopped crying and they just set on the couch holding each other in the pain that was so real and heavy. That was a year ago and now willow in the studio reminiscing on those days and tears rolling down her face she had come such a long way since realizing they just didn’t have the capacity to love her as she needed . As she started writing again her song left and alone went #1 on the indie charts and #5 on the independent charts and she thought about all the dms and paragraph she will receive on her Instagram and on her YouTube Music page of how her raw emotions summed up their hurt souls she realized sometimes your pain can heal others.

“I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” As I read these words, I wonder why? Why can’t I choose it? Why o why? ‘Cause I’m not sure of the difference.

The road more traveled is comfortable now And if I take the road traveled less I will not know the when or how But misfortune will surely make me bow Yes, misfortune will make my life a mess.

If I take that path where few do opt to tread My life might become something crazy It might turn into a life of dread At least that is what some person said But life on the known path has made me lazy.

So perhaps I should look and look some more And take the path covered with rocks and leaves Where so few have ever gone before Who knows? It might lead to some new shore It might be far better than anyone believes.

But dare I dare I take that path? The one where so few have traveled by? It seems it must tempt someone’s wrath To take that much less traveled path Making this decision makes me sigh.

But I’ll take the less traveled path today Even though soon I might get lost Predictable and normal is the way they say But I disagree; I’ll go the other way. Yes, today I will listen to Robert Frost.

The wind blows my hair again. I’m standing on the edge again. Night after night, the same breeze, the same smell, the same sights. After he left I didn’t know what to do with myself. Why did he leave? Was my hair not blonde enough? Were my eyes not as bright a green as he wanted? As I look out at sea, waves, sand, I imagine him now. It makes me sick, imagining him with a bleach blonde woman with big blue eyes. I hear a seagull caw out, it gains my attention, something hard to do these past days. There the seagull stands, tall, proud, unafraid. I am jealous. But then we make eye contact. It’s eyes and mine feel connected, together, one. I feel seen, I feel heard, all at once I feel like a person again. The edge doesn’t feel like an edge, but rather an escape. I leave. The wind blows my hair again. It’s now a different deep blonde color, shorter, how I liked it when I was younger. I’m standing at the edge again. Smiling, looking, the breeze is cool, the smell is simply the beach, the colors fade from blue, to white, to pink, to orange. I feel connected, the edge and me, the wind and me. Together, always and forever.

My breath doesn’t take long to become steady after the air finally fills my lungs. My hands were tied—far too loose, I might add—behind the rickety wooden chair I had been sat in. An annoying fluorescent light shone into my eyes as I continue to work on breathing steadily. If my body wasn’t calm, my mind certainly wouldn’t be, and a scatter-brain is a recipe for disaster whilst being kidnapped. The man who kidnapped me was eerily tall and he had blonde, swooped-back hair. This man had on a tuxedo—oddly formal, maybe he disguised himself as some sort of businessman?—and a tie that was tied too perfectly. It was weird. His grin was crooked and his teeth were too shiny to be true. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he wasn’t human. “The self-esteemed Ava Blackwood has been, finally, taken down. How humiliating,” he mutters, chuckling darkly at his words. I knew a thing or two about self-defense, so I knew my chances of being found were slim. Considering the fact that I was already at the 2nd location. I would have to either charm my way out, or fight until my last breath. I smirk to hide the chills running down my body. “And who might you be?” I struggle to hide the venom dripping in my voice. He leans in, his breath smelling like literal shit, as his crooked, shiny grin blinds me. “My identity will remain hidden to you,” he hisses, his eyes narrowing with malice. I resist the urge to break out of these too-loose ropes and punch him in the nose. He straightens back up, towering over me with his odd height, and crosses his hands behind his back. I watch as he paces in front of my chair. I groan in annoyance as his figure covers and uncovers the fluorescent light, making it flash. “You see, I am well aware of the abilites you have, most everyone is.” He clears his throat. “That is why I will not be easy on you, whether you are a girl or not.” I struggle not roll my eyes at the way he said the word ‘girl,’ like it was an insult. “And who is to say I won’t use my abilities against you?” I question, my eyes narrowing with fury I so terribly hid. “Who is stopping you?” My eyes widen at his question. He chuckles at my surprise. “I am simply a businessman, I know nothing of the survival instincts you have except for the fact that they are there.” I open my mouth to speak. Finding no words, my mouth shuts again. He was right. Why hadn’t I busted out of these ropes already and bolted out of that door behind him? My hair was down and I had clothes on that clung to my figure, nothing easy to grab if I bolted past him. He sees me eyeing the open window behind him and steps in front of it. “Look at you, already planning on making your daring escape. I’m offended.” He holds a hand to his heart—like he took my glances at the window as an insult—before doing another one of his disturbingly dark chuckles. “Why would you care? It isn’t like you.. want me here. You are just doing this so the whole world knows that the extraordinary Ava Blackwood has been toppled,” I snarl, my eyes narrowing with my no-longer contained rage. He simply laughs faintly and glances over his shoulder at the window curtly before turning back to me. I wanted to slap that crooked grin right off of his face. After my rage subsided, I slide the rope off of my small wrists and stretch it out by opening and closing my hands. I had learned—and successfully completed—this trick and knew it was my only hope; I was right. The rope slides off of my hands silently and I hold back the twitch in my lips that was trying to make them shoot upwards. In the blink of an eye, I have kicked the man in unspeakable places and have leaped out of the window like a hurdler. I immediately look for street signs and landmarks so I could figure out where I was at, sprinting for my life as I do so.

                               *A few hours later*

I groan in annoyance as I see another newspaper headline, featuring my name. ‘The almighty Ava Blackwood… escapes capture..?’ I roll my eyes as one after another newspaper gets handed to me as I walk the streets. I couldn’t help but notice a crowd around a few policemen. A man in a tuxedo with blonde, swoopy hair catches my attention. His face had wrinkles that looked like he smiled quite crookedly. My eyes widen as he looks at me, his eyes burning with rage. Then, as he flashes that crooked grin I knew my captor had been caught. Too easy.

If victory had a taste it would be similar to ecstasy. If I had to describe it I would say it’s like an orgasm, instant gratification. Maybe a bit like sweets melting in your mouth. A delicacy.

Thats what I could describe it as I couldn’t imagine victory could be as relishing as this. I have a hunger for this

I conquered him, a long time awaiting 10 years and I couldn’t win. Triumph? Oh it’s sweet

in JANUARY, I know my goals I will achieve. the air smells fresh. new year, same me. in FEBRUARY all I know is heart love, yay. But me? nah, at my room I will stay. with MARCH there's not much things to say. just school, work, sleep. and a new day. When APRIL comes, damn life is fast. the rain and pain, cause school? it's dumb. Then here comes MAY, the pressure of the finals day, your mom, the friend, Oh. my. days. JUNE. The only month I blast my music, enjoy my bed, and haircuts don''t turn out ok. In JULY... I need new shorts and short sleeve shirt cause damn it's hot, but the AC is not. AUGUST and tears are basically the same. the hottest month, wake up at 6, I'm not ok. SEPTEMBER starts to fell like those chicken tenders. One day closer to December. YAY! Oh my, but OCTOBER hits different. I just want the candy, and laugh at the goofy costumes. NOVEMBER! Sweater season is almost here, the weather's chill, I basically have my life figured out. In DECEMBER I gain some pounds, but what's better than ending the year eating your favorite meals.