Fictitious World

Emjai; I'm A Writer Hanging Out Somewhere In The Fictitious World. 20 Something. This Blog Is A Community For Writers (And Artists) , By Writers (And Artists) . I'll Be Posting My Work Occasionally. You Can Submit Your Work Too OR Just Enjoy Your Read. (Realistic) Literary Fiction , Poetry, Erotica, Creative Non-Fiction Pretty Much Anything. Original Drawings and Photographs.

Cancelled Flight (Pt. 2)
         I’m not leaving. Why should I leave? So she can come take my place?
            She’s not taking you’re place.
She cleared her throat, threw her head back. She refused to move. Since she wasn’t going to leave I needed to ease her that way. I walked across the room to the closed door, pulled it open and tapped my foot. Another tear fell. She swallowed hard and slid up the wall, arms hugging her slim body. Her heart rate was up. Her chest rose and fell like a pump was attached to it, in and out, in and out. Slowly she eased toward the door; centimeter steps she took. Her back was to me, her brown sugary scent tickling my nose. My hands crawled into the air, hung over her shoulders. When she turned her black hair gently slapped my face. We were millimeters apart, lips a breath from touching.
            Do you really want me to take flight? she asked barely in a whisper.
            Her warm breath melted against my skin. My hands landed on her shoulders. Tension released itself from my body. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I ignored it. She took a step out the door. I pulled her back in like I was afraid the rising sun would burn her delicate skin. She took another step back and once again I pulled her forward.
            I’m ready for lift off, she mouthed.
            I’m not ready. I’m not ready. I. Am not. Ready. I quickly pulled her back in and slammed the door. Then I forced her against the wall, her palms against mine, fingers intertwined. My phone continued to vibrated, now, against her pelvis, gently vibrations gently surging through her body. Our lips grazed, our breath tickled each other’s skin. There was a knock on the door. We had eye contact and refused to break it. I gripped her hands tighter, watched them go from red to pale. I was the mother who suggested her child go to school close to home apposed to the university miles away. The woman on the other side of the door was the stepparent, hoping for just the opposite. I swallowed hard. I would explain it, I’d make it work, but this bird was not going to leave her nest, not yet. I wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready. We were not ready for that sweet flight to freedom for neither of us desired to be free.
Cancelled Flight (Pt. 1)

(Exercise 2)


Wet tears dotted the corners of her eyes. She sat with her back against the wall, crouched over somewhat like a hermit, knees to her chest, chin atop her knees. She looked up at me, expected sympathy, a hand held out to grab hers, save her. I stood against the window pane opposite her, arms folded across my chest, legs crossed, right over left. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, but I needed her to think I didn’t care. This was the time for the bird to leave its nest, to sore across the beautiful dawn sky and get lost somewhere else, anywhere but here. However, my bird refused to fly. Her wings were strong, fully grown, but she only flapped them when she thought I wasn’t looking. She didn’t want to leave me but she needed to.

            Gentle light seeped in through the cracked window to her left, my right. The shade was drawn, but the cool air still eased in and wrapped itself around my arms. She spread her legs, like the extension of her wings, flapped them then closed them again. She willed me toward her. I shook my head. Another tear fell. She licked her lips, parted them, tried to speak but no sound was emitted. I was tempted to speak but I said nothing. I needed her gone, but I didn’t want her gone. The slightest movement she made tugged at my tear ducts but not quite hard enough to cause rain to fall.

            You’re waiting on me to leave so you can call her over. I won’t go. Tell her to come now, while I’m around.

I glared at her. She was testing me, but she knew me well. I wouldn’t do anything while she was around. Just go.
Seventy-Five.

happytobelost:

The darkness of her brown eyes,
Almost seemed to be,
A deep pool of pure black,
Where emotions were floating about,
Never noticeable,
Never cared for. 
It was the illusion,
She had created for herself,
The one she had wandered into,
And lost the way out.  

Seventy-Nine.

happytobelost:

Have you noticed,
The way I no longer look your way?
Have you acknowledged my loss of interest,
When you try to embrace me?
Does it really matter much,
If my feelings have numbed,
When in reality,
You never really cared before?

Mathematics

The equation states:

A soft kiss on the nape

of your neck, plus

five eager fingers

performing a soft

caress, multiplied

by my smooth body pinned

against your pretty skin,

and the square root

of your sweet mango

split upon my knee,

Equals…

Lust and passion

to the tenth degree.

Her Redolence

LYING TOGETHER IN A WORLD OF OUR OWN;
BASKING IN ENDLESS PASSION
SEEPING FROM OUR SKIN. 
TRACING HER FINGERTIPS 
AS SHE CARESSES CIRCLES ON MY BACK.
MY HEAD RESTS JUST ABOVE HER LEFT BREAST,
WHERE I CAN HEAR THE FAINT THUMPING OF HER HEART.
THE RISE AND FALL OF HER CHEST
SHAPES MY BREATHING TO MATCH HERS.
INHALE, EXHALE…
 
FRESH LAVENDER SOAP
AND SECRET DEODORANT FILL MY NASAL CAVITY 
AND MY SOUL IS SOOTHED
BY HER REDOLENCE…
 
FINGERING HER COLLAR BONE
AS SHE TWIRLS MY CURLY LOCS
COMPLETELY LOST IN LOVE,
AS IF THE ARGUMENT WE HAD YESTERDAY CEASES TO EXIST.
RELIEVED THAT THERE IS SUNSHINE AFTER THE RAIN,
OR BETTER YET A FULL MOON AND AN ARRAY OF CONSTELLATIONS
AFTER WEEKS OF STARLESS NIGHTS
I RID MY LUNGS OF YESTERDAY’S TURMOIL.
INHALE, EXHALE…
 
FRESH LAVENDER SOAP
AND SECRET DEODORANT FILL MY NASAL CAVITY 
AND MY SOUL IS SOOTHED
BY HER REDOLENCE…
 
LYING TOGETHER IN A WORLD OF OUR OWN;
DRIFTING INTO A SERENE SLEEP,
STILL LISTENING TO HER HEART BEAT.
HER HAND NOW RESTING ON MY BACK.
EYES SLOWLY LOWERING,
THE RISE AND FALL OF HER CHEST
PUTTING ME TO SLEEP.
MY BREATHING MATCHES HERS
INHALE, EXHALE…
 
FRESH LAVENDER SOAP
AND SECRET DEODORANT FILL MY NASAL CAVITY 
AND MY SOUL IS SOOTHED
BY HER REDOLENCE…
Liza’s Song

At midnight most children are fast asleep, the comforts of a sweet dream enveloping them until the morning sun rises and wakes them. At midnight, if a child is up, it isn’t for long. Merely long enough to yawn, check the time, turn over, and drift back off, maybe long enough for a potty break. But most kids aren’t Liza. Most kids don’t have parents who either spend their night sexing, those sounds of love leaking through her walls, or worse, fighting, the crashing sound of glass stabbing her ears. Liza’s parents were bipolar in her opinion. They didn’t know what they wanted to do. One minute they loved each other, the next they’re signing divorce papers. Legally they divorced three years prior, when Liza was nine, but that was only on paper.

            This particular night they were at each other’s throats because Liza’s father had gone out drinking and stayed too long. It didn’t matter that the path he walked was something like that a snake slithered down. No, what Liza’s mother cared about was the fact that he was gone so long he could’ve easily been with another woman. It wouldn’t have been the first time, and her mother was sure that the last time wasn’t actually the last time.

            Liza lay with her hands behind her head staring at the glowing stars on her ceiling. She tried to block out the constant stream of curses that left her mothers mouth, and the slurred words that slipped out of her father’s like slob. Instead she focused on a melody that she’d developed on her keyboard earlier that day. It contained many flats to produce a somber melancholy tune, one that matched her daily mood. However, when she heard a loud thud against the wall, she realized she’d never get that melody out of her head unless she played it out. So she stepped out of bed, her feet nearly frozen by the coolness of the wooden floor. With each slow, careful step she felt her heart pounding something like the pounding from the other room, though she couldn’t be sure of what that was. She took a seat in front of her keyboard and ran her skinny pale fingers over the keys. She placed the thumb of her right hand on middle C, sighed, and pressed the note below it.

            You’re hurting me, Carl. All you ever do is hurt me. Her mother’s voice was faint. It was no longer loud and angry, no longer held a raspy growl. It was weak, gentle, fading.

            Liza closed her eyes then found the position for her left hand. She played the Dchord then continued her somber melody. In her mind she pictured the night sky, a deep velvet with tiny diamonds and a gigantic stone shining down on the lost ones of the world like her parents, like herself. That little piece of heavenly peace was unreachable until death did every miserable person part from the world. She imagined her mother in the other room, back pressed against the tawny wall, her tiny hands around her father’s thick wrist, that meaningless diamond in her wedding ring reflecting their every move. She imagined the darkness of her father’s eyes, the quivering of his lips, clenching of his teeth. He’d hold her until her grip loosened, and when it was almost nonexistent, he would release her to pool on the wooden floor. Slowly like an inflatable doll she’d come back to life, rub her neck, walk around him, and lie in the bed. He’d come to her, kiss the red bruises, tell her I love you and I apologize.

            Not once would their minds go to Liza in the other room. Not once would anyone come to see if she was alright. No one calmed her fear, no one wiped her eyes. No one even had the decency to peep into her room to see if she’d awaken. So as Liza played her song, not once did she stop to peep out of her door to see if everything was okay, not once did she think to dial 911 and call for help, not once did she even make a mistake on her keyboard as her father called her mother’s name and cursed under his breath.

            Shit, shit, Carol wake up. Wake up damn it! Fuck.Carol…baby…Carol…

            Liza’s song wasn’t long, but she played it as if it were on a paper filled with repeats. Her song didn’t end until she felt a tap on her shoulder, and saw two men in blue standing over her. She took her hands off the keyboard and wrapped her arms around her bare legs. All she had on were her panties, not jama pants. They brought coldness into her room. The outside had entered. They talked, she didn’t listen. She saw her father in handcuffs pass her room. His head was down, his walk slow, shamed. Never once did he look at her. Liza sighed, ignored the officers and went back to her song. The officers looked at one another but didn’t say a word. As Liza began to hum, her mother’s body was rolled through, a sheet covering her frame. Liza never looked her way. She simply closed her eyes and hummed along to her tune.

Lovers in Paris.

thebusyworm:

We blacked out the city of lights
and shrouded it in blankets
and fingers
and tongues.

We loved under those pitch black lights
tangled in the blankets
invading with our fingers
seducing with our tongues. 

In her world, he who holds the dick is the bastard villain..In mine, never trust the bearer of the clit.

Eric Jerome Dickey

genevieve


(via iamjerves)



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