A figure has collapsed on this gray-black sand of this endless seeming desert. The sun scorching him, blisters having formed on the exposed skin of his hands and face. It was apparent that he has been through horrific torture and debilitating agony; cuts and slashes through his clothes, deep gashes to the bone and it seemed as if part of his face was caved in. One could not imagine this person to be alive. He...no, it should not be alive with all these things having happened to its body. Whilst the wounds on this wretched corpse were heartstopping, it was positively heartrending to see that this corpse, this thing that once was called a man,

The Rot of Flowers by themagpiepoet, literature

Literature

The Rot of Flowers

I am so bored of flowers. I dream in wounds Root-deep, And I am bored of trees Stretching to heaven; They'll never reach. I want to see the rot within, Scrambling insects gnawing on the insides, I want to taste the pollution, The city's poison To distill, bottle, and sell - humanity for consumption I want to scrape off the makeup, Turn the flesh inside out And lick the rot. Only then will flowers be beautiful. © 2013 themagpiepoet

Luring the Nightmare (excerpt) by MrWootton, literature

Literature

Luring the Nightmare (excerpt)

Nightmares are insidious, ethereal creatures. They dwell within the mind, a soul inside a soul – parasitic, extremely short-lived, and almost always too weak to do any noticeable or lasting harm to their hosts. But sometimes, if aided by traumatic experiences or malicious magic, a nightmare can grow strong enough to consume its host's mind. “This,” the Professor explained, “is what every nightmare wants, of course – to terrify and bewilder its host into a kind of... um... an abdication of its body, so that the nightmare can live out its own life while the host mind has trapped itself in the sensation of endless

The lily in the lake by NotenSMSK, literature

Literature

The lily in the lake

There was grief in the air. The old mansion resonated with whimpers and cries. The staircase shook while the railing rattled. Floorboards groaned while the doorways moaned in agony. But alas it was the fate of those who lived in the house. And this fate had been determined years ago… In the main living room, a young couple collapsed on the marble floor, tears flooding their eyes, as they grasped tightly onto a picture of a little blonde girl wearing thick glasses and smiling widely, showing off her braces. People around them tried to lighten their whimpers but it was in vain. The sky cried that day. It too was sorrowful. It was due

Dead Bodies Don't Cry by QuirkyCuriousBex, literature

Literature

Dead Bodies Don't Cry

i. You are born with twisted feet and a pockmark on your chest. Your poor mother is drenched in sweat, straining to breathe, thanking God that it's over. She cradles you in her arms and kisses your forehead with curved lips. Your father reaches out to hold you but has to pause because your mother will not release you yet. The family pays a visit, hovering in awe, praising, laughing. You look around for someone to blame. ii. When you learn to write you use all the wrong letters because you feel sorry for the ones that get left out, like X and Z. And you wear mismatched clothes because you don't like the idea that only certain colors "go t

Land Mine by S-E-Mercury, literature

Literature

Land Mine

Click We both froze at the sound of the land mine. My comrade looked at me, his eyes wide. No words were needed; we both knew whose foot was above the mine. We both knew who would get to walk away alive, limbs intact. It wasn’t going to be me. Not that either of us was going to admit that out loud. This isn’t the kind of thing that happens to you; it always happens to someone else. You hear stories about people going across the mine fields and never coming back. You never become part of the stories. It is always someone else who doesn’t get to take another step. But this time it was me. “Maybe,” he started,

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