"Laziness is nothing more than the habit of resting before you get tired." Jules Renard
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“The greatest crimes in the world are not committed by people breaking the rules but by the people following the rules” - Banksy
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“If you focus on results, you will never change. If you focus on change, you will get results.” -Jack Dixon
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"How frail the human heart must be... A mirrored pool of thoughts..." ~ Sylvia Plath
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MY UNREQUITED LOVE
Her mother died in a car accident when she was 5 years old. Her favourite color is turquoise blue, like her eyes. She’s a fan of indie songs. She stuns anyone with her wavy auburn hair matched with her dazzling poise. She adores rainy days. She is bubbly and energetic, with an exquisite smile. She is beautiful. So beautiful.She is the whole essence of the universe-the physical embodiment of heaven. And I love her, I do. I cannot explain the feeling I get whenever she walks into the room, immediately lighting it up with her presence. I can sense her grace from a hundred miles away.And although I know I’ll always love her from afar, I can’t help but sometimes think that I have a chance with her. I mean, why not? I am the one who’s always there for her, the one she confides her secrets in and the one she clings to in times of terrible pain. I thought that somehow, someday she would learn to fall in love with me too.But all of my hope disappeared, when she introduced me to her boyfriend, Axel. That jerk. He’ll never be good enough for her. The moment I met him, I already hated him so much. Imagine the pain in my eyes when she looked so happy with him, letting him tuck her hair behind her precious ear, letting him kiss her alluring lips furiously and probably even letting him touch her in places. It makes me sick to even think about it.It hurts every time I see them together because I know that I should be the one with her, not him. I should be the one to love her. I should be the one to kiss her,to hold her and to touch her.But maybe she was really never meant for me. She’ll always love another, never seeing me as a possibility. Her heart wasn’t destined to be mine. Maybe the only thing I can do is to remain in pure agony whenever she calls me her “father”. I’ll always be just, “her father”.I can fix that.She’s starting to wake up now; I see her eyes slowly opening- they never fail to make my heart flutter. I check her binds, making sure the ropes are extra tight but comfortable enough for her. I don’t want to hurt my baby’s wrists yet at the same time I cannot afford to make mistakes.“D-daddy?” she stammers as she looks at me confusedly. I understand, this must be a lot for her to take in, with me in front of her, and her boyfriend’s mangled and limp body hanging from the ceiling behind me.She screams as she views his torn face, discovering to see that his gouged out eyes would not have the chance to look at hers anymore and his lips sewn shut, for no other man can kiss my daughter’s delectable lips. Only me.I smiled. “It’s okay sweetie, I love you so much.”
@PensivePost #story by poeticpsychopath
Her mother died in a car accident when she was 5 years old. Her favourite color is turquoise blue, like her eyes. She’s a fan of indie songs. She stuns anyone with her wavy auburn hair matched with her dazzling poise. She adores rainy days. She is bubbly and energetic, with an exquisite smile. She is beautiful. So beautiful.She is the whole essence of the universe-the physical embodiment of heaven. And I love her, I do. I cannot explain the feeling I get whenever she walks into the room, immediately lighting it up with her presence. I can sense her grace from a hundred miles away.And although I know I’ll always love her from afar, I can’t help but sometimes think that I have a chance with her. I mean, why not? I am the one who’s always there for her, the one she confides her secrets in and the one she clings to in times of terrible pain. I thought that somehow, someday she would learn to fall in love with me too.But all of my hope disappeared, when she introduced me to her boyfriend, Axel. That jerk. He’ll never be good enough for her. The moment I met him, I already hated him so much. Imagine the pain in my eyes when she looked so happy with him, letting him tuck her hair behind her precious ear, letting him kiss her alluring lips furiously and probably even letting him touch her in places. It makes me sick to even think about it.It hurts every time I see them together because I know that I should be the one with her, not him. I should be the one to love her. I should be the one to kiss her,to hold her and to touch her.But maybe she was really never meant for me. She’ll always love another, never seeing me as a possibility. Her heart wasn’t destined to be mine. Maybe the only thing I can do is to remain in pure agony whenever she calls me her “father”. I’ll always be just, “her father”.I can fix that.She’s starting to wake up now; I see her eyes slowly opening- they never fail to make my heart flutter. I check her binds, making sure the ropes are extra tight but comfortable enough for her. I don’t want to hurt my baby’s wrists yet at the same time I cannot afford to make mistakes.“D-daddy?” she stammers as she looks at me confusedly. I understand, this must be a lot for her to take in, with me in front of her, and her boyfriend’s mangled and limp body hanging from the ceiling behind me.She screams as she views his torn face, discovering to see that his gouged out eyes would not have the chance to look at hers anymore and his lips sewn shut, for no other man can kiss my daughter’s delectable lips. Only me.I smiled. “It’s okay sweetie, I love you so much.”
@PensivePost #story by poeticpsychopath
The patter of raindrops
A soft tapping on the window woke me up. I looked around, my eyes trying to adjust to the darkness as I remembered where I was. I was at home in my new apartment sleeping. At least I had been sleeping.I turned to the window, the sight still unfamiliar. The curtain was partially open, letting in a slither of moonlight. Large raindrops were hitting the glass. Pat, pat, pat.It was just the rain. The sound of the rain on the roof was one of my favourite sounds. Being on the second floor of a six story building I could no longer hear it on the roof but the window had the same effect nevertheless. I closed my eyes and let it help me drift back to sleep.My eyes shot open again. I closed the curtain before I went to bed, of this I was absolutely certain. I couldn’t sleep if the curtains were open, it made me anxious. My nightly ritual began with brushing my teeth, getting dressed for bed, closing the curtain and settling in with a book to read before finally turning in for the night.Yet the curtain was open.I moved into this apartment only three weeks ago. As a struggling writer with barely enough funds to feed myself and my cat my friends helped with all the heavy lifting upstairs. The neighbours were occasionally loud and obnoxious, I could hear the finer details of the couple upstairs arguing on a daily basis and the loud music of those living below me often distracted from my writing, but you get what you pay for.Not sure I paid for curtain ghosts.Lightning flashed followed shortly by thunder. I startled and pulled the blanket up closer. Where the hell was Daisy? Damn cat was never around when I needed her.I took a drink from the glass sitting on my bedside table and tried to close my eyes again.Tap tap.I clenched my eyes tighter. It was just rain.Tap tap tap.I opened my eyes. It was too dark to see anything, just rain sliding down the glass.Tap tap.Boom.I scrambled out of bed, hitting the floor with a loud thud as my feet tangled in the blankets. I crawled forward on my hands and knees and locked the bathroom door behind me.Eyes. The lightning revealed eyes looking in through my window. I didn’t know who’s or what’s but there were eyes and they were looking in my window.Tap tap.That wasn’t rain.My heart was racing. I waited, listening with my heart beating in my chest for what felt like an eternity.Silence, and the pattering of rain drops on the glass.No. Not just the rain.There it was again.Tap tap.Screech.I don’t know how long I sat there listening to the sounds but at some point exhaustion took over and I fell asleep leaning against the bathroom door.The next morning I found my window covered in hundreds of tiny scratches. The key was still sitting in the lock. I live on the second floor, I never seriously thought I would need to keep the windows locked. For once I was glad I was so pedantic about the little things.However the fact remained… who, or what, was looking in my second story bedroom window?
@PensivePost #story by TaraDevlin
A soft tapping on the window woke me up. I looked around, my eyes trying to adjust to the darkness as I remembered where I was. I was at home in my new apartment sleeping. At least I had been sleeping.I turned to the window, the sight still unfamiliar. The curtain was partially open, letting in a slither of moonlight. Large raindrops were hitting the glass. Pat, pat, pat.It was just the rain. The sound of the rain on the roof was one of my favourite sounds. Being on the second floor of a six story building I could no longer hear it on the roof but the window had the same effect nevertheless. I closed my eyes and let it help me drift back to sleep.My eyes shot open again. I closed the curtain before I went to bed, of this I was absolutely certain. I couldn’t sleep if the curtains were open, it made me anxious. My nightly ritual began with brushing my teeth, getting dressed for bed, closing the curtain and settling in with a book to read before finally turning in for the night.Yet the curtain was open.I moved into this apartment only three weeks ago. As a struggling writer with barely enough funds to feed myself and my cat my friends helped with all the heavy lifting upstairs. The neighbours were occasionally loud and obnoxious, I could hear the finer details of the couple upstairs arguing on a daily basis and the loud music of those living below me often distracted from my writing, but you get what you pay for.Not sure I paid for curtain ghosts.Lightning flashed followed shortly by thunder. I startled and pulled the blanket up closer. Where the hell was Daisy? Damn cat was never around when I needed her.I took a drink from the glass sitting on my bedside table and tried to close my eyes again.Tap tap.I clenched my eyes tighter. It was just rain.Tap tap tap.I opened my eyes. It was too dark to see anything, just rain sliding down the glass.Tap tap.Boom.I scrambled out of bed, hitting the floor with a loud thud as my feet tangled in the blankets. I crawled forward on my hands and knees and locked the bathroom door behind me.Eyes. The lightning revealed eyes looking in through my window. I didn’t know who’s or what’s but there were eyes and they were looking in my window.Tap tap.That wasn’t rain.My heart was racing. I waited, listening with my heart beating in my chest for what felt like an eternity.Silence, and the pattering of rain drops on the glass.No. Not just the rain.There it was again.Tap tap.Screech.I don’t know how long I sat there listening to the sounds but at some point exhaustion took over and I fell asleep leaning against the bathroom door.The next morning I found my window covered in hundreds of tiny scratches. The key was still sitting in the lock. I live on the second floor, I never seriously thought I would need to keep the windows locked. For once I was glad I was so pedantic about the little things.However the fact remained… who, or what, was looking in my second story bedroom window?
@PensivePost #story by TaraDevlin
“Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil? Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?” -Epicurus
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Leadership consists of nothing but taking responsibility for everything that goes wrong and giving your subordinates credit for everything that goes well. Dwight D. Eisenhower, 34th US president
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"When your laboratory explodes, lacing your body with a supercharged elixir, what do you do? You don't just lie there. You crawl out of the rubble, hideously scarred, and swear vengeance on the world. You keep going. You keep trying to take over the world.” Soon I Will Be Invincible
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"It is only the constant exertion and working of our sensitive, intellectual, moral, and physical machinery that keep us from rusting." Charles Simmons
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They buried me alive
..with an option.
They place a matchbook in my pocket. "Here it gets dark down there," they laugh sadistically among themselves, tossing me into the wooden box.They drop my coffin into the ground.I hear them shoveling dirt into it, giggling and such. It's pitch black inside, no semblance of light. I reach for the matches in my pocket. Ready to strike one, When I remember, they soaked my clothes in gasoline.
@PensivePost #ss Submitted by RiskyTrier
..with an option.
They place a matchbook in my pocket. "Here it gets dark down there," they laugh sadistically among themselves, tossing me into the wooden box.They drop my coffin into the ground.I hear them shoveling dirt into it, giggling and such. It's pitch black inside, no semblance of light. I reach for the matches in my pocket. Ready to strike one, When I remember, they soaked my clothes in gasoline.
@PensivePost #ss Submitted by RiskyTrier
The Tuck in
It was 8pm and she was tidying her son's room as he brushed his teeth and washed up for the night. She put the toys back in their chest while he raced in and jumped under the covers.
"All done?" She asked smiling.
"Yeah!"
He said it in a tiring voice, crawling into the bed. She walked over and tucked the covers into every corner.
"It's too tight Mom" he said. "It'll help you quickly fall asleep, trust me. I'm going to do exactly the same for your sisters."
she smiled and kissed his forehead.
"Goodnight mom - wait...the closet!?, will you check please?"
"Of course honey", she opened the closet and made a show of peering in and looking around.
"Nope, nothing here" she assured him. He smiled, trusting his mother and closed his eyes. Before she closed the closet door she whispered into it with the shaking tremor.
"He can't move. Take him and leave the other two. Like we agreed. Please."
@PensivePost #ss Submitted by MoGhulisMoProblems
It was 8pm and she was tidying her son's room as he brushed his teeth and washed up for the night. She put the toys back in their chest while he raced in and jumped under the covers.
"All done?" She asked smiling.
"Yeah!"
He said it in a tiring voice, crawling into the bed. She walked over and tucked the covers into every corner.
"It's too tight Mom" he said. "It'll help you quickly fall asleep, trust me. I'm going to do exactly the same for your sisters."
she smiled and kissed his forehead.
"Goodnight mom - wait...the closet!?, will you check please?"
"Of course honey", she opened the closet and made a show of peering in and looking around.
"Nope, nothing here" she assured him. He smiled, trusting his mother and closed his eyes. Before she closed the closet door she whispered into it with the shaking tremor.
"He can't move. Take him and leave the other two. Like we agreed. Please."
@PensivePost #ss Submitted by MoGhulisMoProblems
My Daughter Is a Sensitive Child
She's such a socially awkward child, my daughter. And sensitive too. I can never come right out and tell her to do or not to do something. It makes her too upset, as if I've scolded her. I've recently tried to go the old-fashioned story telling route. Before bed every night, I tell her a story with a moral. Maybe it's a story about a lonely teddy bear who wouldn't share or a story about a pony who wouldn't speak up in class. This seems to be the gentlest way of getting the point across to her.Last night I made a mistake. All day long as I talked to her, I watched in growing frustration as her eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but at me. That night I scooped her up in my arms and carried her to bed. I tucked her in tight and sat down next to her on the bed.
"Daddy, what's my story tonight?"
"Well, once upon a time there was a little girl.”
"Like me?" She asked excitedly.
“Yes, just like you honey.”
Now, this little girl was a very smart girl. But, she had a problem.
"What was it?"
"Well, I'll tell you. Whenever people spoke to this little girl, she wouldn't look at them. She'd look at the ceiling, or at the floor, or at a spot on the wall. One day, she was walking along in the woods when she came upon a witch. The witch said, oh what a good and smart girl! The girl said thank you, but she was looking up at the tops of the trees. This made the witch very angry. She grabbed the girl and too into a hut.”
“Why won't you look me in the eye, asked the witch?”
The girl said that she didn't know. She was very scared. Finally, the witch got so angry that she went around the forest, scooping out the eyes of the woodland creatures. She made a crown of eyes and placed it on the girl's head, so that no matter where the witch stood, the girl could always be looking at her.
I looked down at my daughter, who was looking back at me with wide opened eyes. I knew it then--I'd screwed up.
"But, of course, in real life, witches don't exist," I said, feeling ashamed of myself.
She only nodded. I went to bed, fully expecting my daughter to come running into my room in the middle of the night, scared by nightmares that I'd fueled with my story. To my surprise, she didn't. I found out the reason in the morning when I woke up. There, on the kitchen table was a crown. The eyes were different colors and sizes, all woven together by a pink band of optic nerves. My daughter stood next to them, looking proud and fearful at the same time. She lifted her blood-stained hands toward me.
"I made it so that I can always look at you, Daddy."
@PensivePost #ss Submitted by Middlenameredundant
She's such a socially awkward child, my daughter. And sensitive too. I can never come right out and tell her to do or not to do something. It makes her too upset, as if I've scolded her. I've recently tried to go the old-fashioned story telling route. Before bed every night, I tell her a story with a moral. Maybe it's a story about a lonely teddy bear who wouldn't share or a story about a pony who wouldn't speak up in class. This seems to be the gentlest way of getting the point across to her.Last night I made a mistake. All day long as I talked to her, I watched in growing frustration as her eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but at me. That night I scooped her up in my arms and carried her to bed. I tucked her in tight and sat down next to her on the bed.
"Daddy, what's my story tonight?"
"Well, once upon a time there was a little girl.”
"Like me?" She asked excitedly.
“Yes, just like you honey.”
Now, this little girl was a very smart girl. But, she had a problem.
"What was it?"
"Well, I'll tell you. Whenever people spoke to this little girl, she wouldn't look at them. She'd look at the ceiling, or at the floor, or at a spot on the wall. One day, she was walking along in the woods when she came upon a witch. The witch said, oh what a good and smart girl! The girl said thank you, but she was looking up at the tops of the trees. This made the witch very angry. She grabbed the girl and too into a hut.”
“Why won't you look me in the eye, asked the witch?”
The girl said that she didn't know. She was very scared. Finally, the witch got so angry that she went around the forest, scooping out the eyes of the woodland creatures. She made a crown of eyes and placed it on the girl's head, so that no matter where the witch stood, the girl could always be looking at her.
I looked down at my daughter, who was looking back at me with wide opened eyes. I knew it then--I'd screwed up.
"But, of course, in real life, witches don't exist," I said, feeling ashamed of myself.
She only nodded. I went to bed, fully expecting my daughter to come running into my room in the middle of the night, scared by nightmares that I'd fueled with my story. To my surprise, she didn't. I found out the reason in the morning when I woke up. There, on the kitchen table was a crown. The eyes were different colors and sizes, all woven together by a pink band of optic nerves. My daughter stood next to them, looking proud and fearful at the same time. She lifted her blood-stained hands toward me.
"I made it so that I can always look at you, Daddy."
@PensivePost #ss Submitted by Middlenameredundant
To be a leaf
It was always nice, days like those. The park was beautiful that time of year. It was so freeing to just relax and drift away a little. To get away from the constant struggles of every day life. The wind melted the leaves, sky, and grass into one. The occasional yelling from the playground was the only thing drawing me away from feeling like I was just one of the leaves on the trees, dancing with the wind. It must be nice, I thought. To be a leaf. Not a care in the world. Not knowing that having a care was even something I could do. Just existing. Being alive. All there is to experience, is the light and warmth from the sun, and the beautiful wind that makes me dance. I would never call it a dance myself... more just, flopping around without any ability to control it. It's great though. Just being here. A leaf.I wonder if I could hear if I were a leaf. I imagine it would sound muffled. Or perhaps more clear than anything I could comprehend. Either way.. I wouldn't care what the sounds were. Even if I were a leaf that could hear. Or a leaf that knew I what dancing is. I still wouldn't care. I don't think anything could bother me if I were a leaf. The screams from the playground wouldn't bother me. The birds wouldn't bother me. I think, even if something happened and it caused me to fall from my tree, I still wouldn't care. The fall would be magnificent. I would be even more free, even if it were for a collection of moments. Imagine that. Being a leaf, without a care for your entire life. A life that by itself, is already that of a dream. But then you fall. And it should be horrible, but instead it eclipses every beautiful day you've spent in this park. You're not tied to anything. Life was beautiful before.. but this is an entire new life. You were a leaf who could dance, and could hear.. but now you can laugh. And you laugh so loudly that you don't hear any of the screams, or the wind, or the sirens. Just you, a free leaf, laughing and dancing.When I woke up, I was in this hospital. I wasn't sure why I was here at first, but I knew how insanely happy I was. I knew that I was a leaf. This hospital is my tree now. I just exist. I'm alive. All there is to experience, is the light and warmth from these lights, and the beautiful wind from the fan, that makes me dance. Some people wouldn't call it a dance, but I do. I tell them it's my beautiful leaf dance, and I laugh at them. And it's really great. Just being here. A leaf. Someday I'll fall again, and it will be even more beautiful than before.
@PensivePost #story by -0-O-
It was always nice, days like those. The park was beautiful that time of year. It was so freeing to just relax and drift away a little. To get away from the constant struggles of every day life. The wind melted the leaves, sky, and grass into one. The occasional yelling from the playground was the only thing drawing me away from feeling like I was just one of the leaves on the trees, dancing with the wind. It must be nice, I thought. To be a leaf. Not a care in the world. Not knowing that having a care was even something I could do. Just existing. Being alive. All there is to experience, is the light and warmth from the sun, and the beautiful wind that makes me dance. I would never call it a dance myself... more just, flopping around without any ability to control it. It's great though. Just being here. A leaf.I wonder if I could hear if I were a leaf. I imagine it would sound muffled. Or perhaps more clear than anything I could comprehend. Either way.. I wouldn't care what the sounds were. Even if I were a leaf that could hear. Or a leaf that knew I what dancing is. I still wouldn't care. I don't think anything could bother me if I were a leaf. The screams from the playground wouldn't bother me. The birds wouldn't bother me. I think, even if something happened and it caused me to fall from my tree, I still wouldn't care. The fall would be magnificent. I would be even more free, even if it were for a collection of moments. Imagine that. Being a leaf, without a care for your entire life. A life that by itself, is already that of a dream. But then you fall. And it should be horrible, but instead it eclipses every beautiful day you've spent in this park. You're not tied to anything. Life was beautiful before.. but this is an entire new life. You were a leaf who could dance, and could hear.. but now you can laugh. And you laugh so loudly that you don't hear any of the screams, or the wind, or the sirens. Just you, a free leaf, laughing and dancing.When I woke up, I was in this hospital. I wasn't sure why I was here at first, but I knew how insanely happy I was. I knew that I was a leaf. This hospital is my tree now. I just exist. I'm alive. All there is to experience, is the light and warmth from these lights, and the beautiful wind from the fan, that makes me dance. Some people wouldn't call it a dance, but I do. I tell them it's my beautiful leaf dance, and I laugh at them. And it's really great. Just being here. A leaf. Someday I'll fall again, and it will be even more beautiful than before.
@PensivePost #story by -0-O-