100 Lit Challenge - Tears by CassidyPeterson, literature
Literature
100 Lit Challenge - Tears
Thomas Miller-Alexander Michigan and his wife Lorna were both in their mid-fifties. In the photo, they were both just under thirty, holding their month-old daughter as Lorna smirked and Thomas rolled his eyes (though he too was grinning). Thomas referred to it as a joke gone too far. Lorna called it justice. Thomas had been given free rein to name their firstborn, but had only been able to choose a male name: Seth. When asked what they would do if it were a girl, he jokingly replied "we'll name her Seth anyways!" and Lorna threatened to do just that if he wasn't around for the birth. Thomas didn't make it to the hospital on time, and Lorna ca
Witchblood hunt 2- A New Start In a New Home by natetheninja23, literature
Literature
Witchblood hunt 2- A New Start In a New Home
“Taylor? Taylor, where are you?” I yelled into the woodlands as loud as I could. I could hear the trees and wind respond back with my echo, but not her. (Maybe she treaded deeper into the woods. Or maybe one of the paper demons got to her.) I couldn’t stand the thought of losing her like dad! My angst built up to that thought; my heart cramped up uncomfortably, and I couldn’t breathe. “Come on, Taylor! Answer back! Please!”
“I don’t think she’s here anymore.” Jakob said in a calm demeanor. I could’ve misinterpreted what he meant, but it fully unnerved me regardless.
“Do
Witchblood hunt 1- Fateful Wednesday pt2 by natetheninja23, literature
Literature
Witchblood hunt 1- Fateful Wednesday pt2
(There are those sounds again, the screams from my last nightmare. Why are they coming back? I don’t want to hear them anymore!) But the screams never went away, they only grew louder and louder every second just like last time. But unlike last time, the screams grew to the point where I can clearly recognize their voices. (They sound like…my fellow kinsmen? W-what’s going on?) I hear the grouped screams of everyone trying to fight back an unknown threat, but was silenced one by one. I can hear a familiar women’s voice crying out in fear.
“Nate, get out of here!” she cries out. (W-was that mom?)
Witchblood hunt 1- Fateful Wednesday pt1 by natetheninja23, literature
Literature
Witchblood hunt 1- Fateful Wednesday pt1
I’ve been hearing things in my sleep lately. I keep hearing muffled voices screaming in fear and pain, and crying for their loved ones. I hear the sound of things burning. But I can’t see any of this happen, all I see is black. The sounds grew louder in my head with each passing second, and it frightened me as the dream endures. (No…no; why can’t I wake up? I want to end this! I want to make this dream stop!)
I woke with a gasp. My eyes finally flew open, and I’m relieved from the nightmare. I breathed heavy breaths while I wipe the sweat off my face.
“Are you okay, Nate?” My twin sist
No Amount of Screaming can Suffice by IntracranialColors, literature
Literature
No Amount of Screaming can Suffice
Chizzle and scrape, polish and shape.
Your cards don’t match the starting point. The starting point was the finish line, after all.
Now we’re building off residue. Mixing bruises and plaque, to form a path, off the map-on the map.
You’ll be the one to choose, which roads to cross,
which paths to dodge.
Lets get lost.
Will you let me place my arms inside your sea?
May I be the one to scope your sky?
We slip in and out of specks, to a crest. We’re riding molecules all the way up.
And we're crashing down like waves.
I could write a novel about the way you sway inside my cranium gates. The way you slide through the
“A bit out of town, next to the next village, stands a hill. On that hill stands a house. It is a very, very, very, very….”
–gasp-
“Very big house. Ridiculously big. It has over one hundred rooms, it is over 4 stories high and the garage alone is as bigger than you’ve ever dreamed of.”
–gasp-
“ All for one, filthy rich person. However, it began with just a shack and every new owner built something next to it, or above it. And sometimes even below.” –gasp- “Over the years, the use of the house depends on the owner.”
–gasp-
“One uses it as a priv
Intemperate but Gentle by Liteblue-L13, literature
Literature
Intemperate but Gentle
I'm not a bad guy.
I don't eat people for a living
Or terrorize my town.
I don't even think anyone knows I exist!
I just had to be running around in the woods.
What was I thinking?!
I was bound to get caught
At some point in time.
Now I'm stuck behind this tree
Trying to avoid whoever it is
Hiding a few meters away.
They're probably scared to death;
I would be too.
I'm scared myself!
I can feel them trembling
In this cold night air.
God,
I just hope they didn't see my face.
I just can't believe I let them see me turn back!
I was out hunting
And I just realized that it was time to go home.
I reverted b
Bullying: The Invisible Crime by PPGirl16, literature
Literature
Bullying: The Invisible Crime
It's not funny.
It's not cool.
It's not right.
It leads to low self-esteem, which is necessary for good mental health.
Poor mental health means poor physical health.
The victim feels bad.
The offender, not so much.
Why?
Simple.
The offender craves power.
They feel powerless at home.
They want power, so they get it by making others feel bad at school or at work.
But that feeling of power is temporary.
So they keep doing it, wanting that feeling to last.
But what about how the victim feels?
The offender doesn't know, and if they do, they don't care.
As long as the offender has that power, they won't care.
The victim's self-esteem lowers.
They f
Once was a young boy, lived three nights ago
Crept out of his bed, and climbed through the window.
Stepped onto the rooftop, looked pleasurably down
But regretted his last step as he hit the ground.
Soon sand absorbed him, the dust clouds aware
And so left his consciousness, stayed guilt that he bared.
Plagued by the darkness; blinded by sun
Satan smirked down and had known he had won.
Aye! His young tears have shed
Threatened by sorrow, tomorrow has fled.
And cried out his sister, the only he loved
The young boy peered down from the Hells above.
The scars of the innocent skin of the sinned
Are burnt into ashes and uplifted by wind.
For th
Heartless aggression, heartless oppression
I count thyself out when I see it routBut the depth between me and the air is so short
So it ain't not my fault if I don't build a fort
But as far as now, this isn't my last resort
Don't say I didn't warn ya when I forged
Myself to put it with what I truly absorbed
Cause I never deplored what I explored
Therefore, I think I created a fjord on this floor
The best part about this is that I can't ignore
All of who I am so how can I abhor what I adore?