|Current Residence: Kansas|
freudian slipsWhat I should have said wasfreudian slips by SocraticSynapses
Hello, you are gorgeous.
You were walking the corridors and I was leaning against a table and putting pressure on the screws and smiles holding up your defenses. You had no words spilling from your eager mouth, and my lips were all too happy to toe the line between suave and smug. There was something in the way you blushed when you divulged your name that made my heart skitter with nostalgia and optimism for tomorrow, but my larynx was conspiring to condemn me, drinking deep from the fountain of cynicism.
What I said was
What I should have said was
Your smile is contagious.
In the corners of my eyes, on the corner of a street, I watched your smile disappear behind teasing fingers, the curve of your mouth timid and hesitant to turn. You laughed at every stitch-and-scab sentence that I managed to produce, and every time my tongue began to twitch I gnashed my teeth to hold back my words. I prayed that I
31 writing prompts.I created a little list of 31 writing prompts (because thirty is even, and I don't fancy even numbers, though they were necessary to create the list below... /shudder/). feel free to try it out! challenge yourself. it's a good way to spark creativity. I'll be doing it as well (:31 writing prompts. by bailey--elizabeth
02. sticks and stones
08. mother [or father, or both]
17. white noise
24. first kiss
27. fog [or mist]
i was inspired by the one-hundred themes challenge: http://100themeschallenge.deviantart.com/journal/17895307/
telling a sad story backwards-17.telling a sad story backwards- by estallidos
it smells like grief and sterilized metal.
i climb into andrews bed, though the nurses have strictly forbidden it. he closes his eyes and holds me tightly, because he says when he cant see me, it is easier to pretend i never happened to him.
he pushes the cart aggressively down the aisle, pretending to mow over old ladies doing their sunday shopping.
"stop," i say giggling, lobbing a can of ravioli at him.
for a moment i think he simply didn't see me throw the can; it glances off his chest and falls to the floor, exploding in a pattern of red arrows. i don't notice his eyes rolling back in his head or the graceful way his body collapses to the floor.
the only thing i notice is the distinct thudding sound as his head hits the metal shelf and the screaming that may or may not be mine.
later in the hospital he calls for me and says he wants to apologize for keeping secrets, and the doctors launch into a medical explanation of his cancer.
their eyes are sad.