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Literature Text
I knew a girl once who called herself Moon. She was an interesting person. A right bitch, but interesting.
I met her first on a bridge at the end of the world, and only after I saw the boiling sea full of Eldritch abominations below us did I realize I was dreaming. Dreaming, of course, because nobody would start that kind of shit without telling me first. It's stated right there in my contract, right after the clause naming me automatic ruler of Australia after the inevitable revolution.
Moon had a lit Virginia slim in her long black cigarette holder, which she tapped once against the railing to dislodge the drooping column of ash before bringing it up to her lips and inhaling deeply. The ash fell into the open screaming mouth of a slug-monkey, which shriveled and was consumed by its kin. Moon smirked and let the smoke curl up from the corners of her mouth.
"I'm Moon," she told me when I tore my attention away from the water.
"I'm Audrey." I paused to take in a deep breath of night air. "That's a stupid alias, by the way."
Moon laughed, the sound tinged with irritation, and took another drag.
"It's what my mother named me," she replied, and I was inclined to believe her.
I asked her what she was doing in my dream not long after. She played innocent at first, trying to tell me how she was probably a personification of my desire to pick up old habits, but the lies were so transparent they hurt. Besides, I told her as I laughed, I never smelled dream-things and I could smell the cigarette smoke. Slims weren't even my usual type, I added, and she looked uneasy at that.
That was my first indication that she was there on purpose.
The second time I met her, we were in a coffee shop downtown. I could smell the coffee beans and the baked goods they served in the little case next to the counter this time and nothing was melting or on fire, so I figured I was awake. Moon had her feet crossed and propped up on one of the low round tables near the back and was sipping on a tall cup of tea, if the little tag hanging off of it was any indication. I took my cocoa from the counter and made my way over to her.
"Fancy seeing you here," she drawled and gestured to the chair next to her.
I sat down and gave her a hesitant smile.
"I come here every week," I told her, like she didn't already know.
I don't know how we ended up at my apartment, but the next day she commandeered the kitchen and made peach cobbler. I watched her from the table, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
By the third time I met her, I was in love with her. The days had melted into weeks, and the seed she planted in that first dream was now a crawling, strangling vine of need. She smirked over her rum and coke and waited for me to approach.
"Where have you been?" I asked her, and to my shame I couldn't keep the hurt from my voice.
She shrugged and downed her drink, ordered another while I stood awkwardly at her side.
"My work has a tendency to devour my social life," she laughed after the bartender handed her another glass.
I kept to my ginger ale. It was bad enough I loved her; I didn't need inebriation to cloud my head further. She pulled me onto the stool next to her and snickered at my soda, intimating that gorgeous little lightweights like me shouldn't hang around bars alone. Someone could spike my drink, and then where would we be?
She brought a bag of clothes to my apartment the next morning. I rarely saw her; whether it was work or play keeping her away I couldn't tell, but days would go by and she wouldn't so much as check in. It tore at my heart, but when she finally returned with a worn-out smile tacked to her face, I just couldn't bring myself to care. Knowing that my apartment was home was enough.
Until I caught her with an exquisite blonde one morning, of course. Like I said, she was a bitch. Gave me a self-satisfied smirk and didn't so much as apologize. I threw the blonde out, then rounded on Moon with tears and curses and all the usual trappings of a vicious break-up. She didn't say a word, just picked up her bag and left.
I suppose she was expecting it. Everything was packed, even her goddamn toothbrush. She dressed, slipped on her shoes, and disappeared onto the streets. No goodbyes, no well-wishes, no off-hand quips which might have served to fester a slow-burning hate in my guts. Just a smile.
I don't sleep much anymore. Every time I close my eyes, she's waiting for me in some run-down diner or a covered bridge with faded paint. It's only when I've gotten so exhausted I can't function anymore that I know I'll be safe.
I know it's her fault.
I know she snagged my heart for her own dark amusement.
I know she ruined everything.
I know she won't be coming back.
I still love her.
I met her first on a bridge at the end of the world, and only after I saw the boiling sea full of Eldritch abominations below us did I realize I was dreaming. Dreaming, of course, because nobody would start that kind of shit without telling me first. It's stated right there in my contract, right after the clause naming me automatic ruler of Australia after the inevitable revolution.
Moon had a lit Virginia slim in her long black cigarette holder, which she tapped once against the railing to dislodge the drooping column of ash before bringing it up to her lips and inhaling deeply. The ash fell into the open screaming mouth of a slug-monkey, which shriveled and was consumed by its kin. Moon smirked and let the smoke curl up from the corners of her mouth.
"I'm Moon," she told me when I tore my attention away from the water.
"I'm Audrey." I paused to take in a deep breath of night air. "That's a stupid alias, by the way."
Moon laughed, the sound tinged with irritation, and took another drag.
"It's what my mother named me," she replied, and I was inclined to believe her.
I asked her what she was doing in my dream not long after. She played innocent at first, trying to tell me how she was probably a personification of my desire to pick up old habits, but the lies were so transparent they hurt. Besides, I told her as I laughed, I never smelled dream-things and I could smell the cigarette smoke. Slims weren't even my usual type, I added, and she looked uneasy at that.
That was my first indication that she was there on purpose.
The second time I met her, we were in a coffee shop downtown. I could smell the coffee beans and the baked goods they served in the little case next to the counter this time and nothing was melting or on fire, so I figured I was awake. Moon had her feet crossed and propped up on one of the low round tables near the back and was sipping on a tall cup of tea, if the little tag hanging off of it was any indication. I took my cocoa from the counter and made my way over to her.
"Fancy seeing you here," she drawled and gestured to the chair next to her.
I sat down and gave her a hesitant smile.
"I come here every week," I told her, like she didn't already know.
I don't know how we ended up at my apartment, but the next day she commandeered the kitchen and made peach cobbler. I watched her from the table, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
By the third time I met her, I was in love with her. The days had melted into weeks, and the seed she planted in that first dream was now a crawling, strangling vine of need. She smirked over her rum and coke and waited for me to approach.
"Where have you been?" I asked her, and to my shame I couldn't keep the hurt from my voice.
She shrugged and downed her drink, ordered another while I stood awkwardly at her side.
"My work has a tendency to devour my social life," she laughed after the bartender handed her another glass.
I kept to my ginger ale. It was bad enough I loved her; I didn't need inebriation to cloud my head further. She pulled me onto the stool next to her and snickered at my soda, intimating that gorgeous little lightweights like me shouldn't hang around bars alone. Someone could spike my drink, and then where would we be?
She brought a bag of clothes to my apartment the next morning. I rarely saw her; whether it was work or play keeping her away I couldn't tell, but days would go by and she wouldn't so much as check in. It tore at my heart, but when she finally returned with a worn-out smile tacked to her face, I just couldn't bring myself to care. Knowing that my apartment was home was enough.
Until I caught her with an exquisite blonde one morning, of course. Like I said, she was a bitch. Gave me a self-satisfied smirk and didn't so much as apologize. I threw the blonde out, then rounded on Moon with tears and curses and all the usual trappings of a vicious break-up. She didn't say a word, just picked up her bag and left.
I suppose she was expecting it. Everything was packed, even her goddamn toothbrush. She dressed, slipped on her shoes, and disappeared onto the streets. No goodbyes, no well-wishes, no off-hand quips which might have served to fester a slow-burning hate in my guts. Just a smile.
I don't sleep much anymore. Every time I close my eyes, she's waiting for me in some run-down diner or a covered bridge with faded paint. It's only when I've gotten so exhausted I can't function anymore that I know I'll be safe.
I know it's her fault.
I know she snagged my heart for her own dark amusement.
I know she ruined everything.
I know she won't be coming back.
I still love her.
Literature
Ensayo
¿Quién le enseña a la gente que no sabe querer, a querer?
No sé si es que el ser humano trae consigo al nacer esta extraordinaria virtud –la de querer-, y los que no sabemos, y nunca aprendemos, somos la mancha que eclipsa el normal funcionamiento de la sociedad; o si es una habilidad aprendida que simplemente no hemos logrado dominar con el paso del tiempo como el resto de nosotros. En verdad no sé, pero tampoco me interesa mucho que se me sea confirmado que estoy en lo correcto; es suficiente desasosiego con la suposición de ser un error, no creo poder con la certeza de ser uno.
Literature
on distance
this is how the distance kills you
and this is how the kilometres stretch
across your skin like little scales on a map
too uniform to measure out
your longing. they run down your hands
that are always empty and across
the spaces to someone whose hands
may or may not be collecting
the moments you couldn't be bothered
to count. you only know that
they all fall under the category of
another time when i was alone.
you take walks. or try to.
you end up sitting
by your front door, shoes half-laced,
and you tell yourself that this is only
the first time, that you are allowed
time to dissipate and wonder
how many synonyms there are for
lost.
you
Literature
Rise
The essence I feel is so real,
I must say just how I feel.
My pain is what it is to all,
To know what it is to call.
To be among the ones who rise,
To be the spark to catalyze.
To be the reason for the might,
That must start to alight tonight.
To fail no more and do no less,
To help us rise above the stress.
To stand in honor and believe,
To no longer just stall and grieve.
Be filled with blessed grace,
That we will win this human race.
That our pain is not in vain,
And our truth we will attain.
In honor of those who fell before,
Those who gave from their very core.
To be why we are here today,
To honor those who paved our
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Comments19
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Nice voice. I like the flow. Overall I totally dig the piece.
I loved the structure up until the change in format for the last five lines. Your voice came loud and clear, and I expect that perhaps my eyes want to see what my brain "hears" -- almost as if your fading away, smaller font perhaps.
The only other thing that comes to mind regarding any additions or changes (as I would not take anything away), is perhaps another set of verbal exchanges towards the end. The first two really helped me /get/ Moon as separate from the speaker.
Loved the imagery, and pretty much echo what others have commented. I believe the only thing I could add to the praise would be "I can see it in my head when I read what you wrote."
I loved the structure up until the change in format for the last five lines. Your voice came loud and clear, and I expect that perhaps my eyes want to see what my brain "hears" -- almost as if your fading away, smaller font perhaps.
The only other thing that comes to mind regarding any additions or changes (as I would not take anything away), is perhaps another set of verbal exchanges towards the end. The first two really helped me /get/ Moon as separate from the speaker.
Loved the imagery, and pretty much echo what others have commented. I believe the only thing I could add to the praise would be "I can see it in my head when I read what you wrote."