i believe in sherlock holmesHe wasn't a man of strong faith, solid faith, nor any faith for that matter. He didn't believe in a god or multiple deities or pray to the heavens for rain, no. The world was vast and vacant, abandoned by whatever had brought about existence. What other explanation was there for the hopelessness that plagued him day and night, that infested his thoughts and made him cringe?When he was a soldier on the Afghani battlefield, valiantly defending his Queen and country, any small remnant of faith that he might have cradled was shot along with his friends, his fellow comrades at arms. Seeing that much suffering, death, and despair damaged a person beyond words. He returned to the bleak streets of London a broken man, or at least he thought so. Something deep inside of him told him otherwise when he met Sherlock Holmes. (When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield.)Sure, the bloke was incessant. He was always saying the wrong things, constantly picking out flaws and consisten
The Things We Leave Unsaid Common wisdom dictates that meaningful feelings for another ought to be expressed directly and honestly. However, advice is given to be neglected and so too often we are poisoned by our own silence -- the things we leave unsaid.We are fortuitous that the opportunity for the lesson to be followed by the illustration presents itself. Let us use our discretion and semi-omniscience to observe the conversation between the two young men before us. "Oh hi. How are you?" It's him."I'm good. You?""Good." I've been better, but there's no way I'm going to tell him that. "Man, it's been a long time." I haven't seen her in forever. Almost three years."Yeah man, I haven't seen you in forever.""Yeah, so I hear you're dating Rachel now?" He is taller than me, and I know she must like his red-rimmed wayfarers. Family's rich too. Must be nice."Yeah dude.""Good for you. How's she doing?" I know she's fine."She's doing just fine.""I'm sure
That Old LetterThe marching was steady and constant, boots thudding heavily against the hard packed ground. It begged for rain as it cracked under the soldier's feet, splitting in a million pieces like a giant puzzle made of the surface of the Earth. The weather beaten uniforms that stuck out from their ramrod straight bodies were covered in dust, sandy camouflage for the dry conditions. Bullet proof vests and heavy helmets protected them, guns as black as the death they brought held by shaking hands; some eyes were battle hardened and others wide with fear. In their ranks stood a boy just shy of twenty, his own eyes cold and expressionless. He appeared to be a natural born killer.Dear Daniel,It wasn't long ago that he was sitting on his front porch with his best friend, griping that high school should be over by now. With foolhardy grins and wandering minds, the boys were often the center of chaos. But they were "good boys", according to their parents, at least. They had lived three houses
Where?Where is my poeticness gone? I felt its silky gloves slipping from my fingers together with you and my bare, withered skin is torn and whipped by a freezing wind called absence.Where is my will gone? I felt its support fade from under my eyelids together with you and my weak, dry eyes are struggling -but losing- against this overwhelming strength called exhaustion.Where are my songs gone? I felt their As and Bs fall to a clef together with you and my old, ugly voice is strangled and suffocated by this powerful symphony called loneliness.Where is it, my love, where is my happiness? You felt my heart beat beat beat to a bird's rhythm before dying out but your unspoken, painful secrecy just raised its walls more.And where did you take me, my love, where did you take me?I feel shaken and lost, and these lands just echo of an era called you.
Love dA Lit: Issue 63Welcome to the sixty-third issue of my weekly news article, Love dA Lit! Every Sunday this article will aim to promote volunteer opportunities, various resources, prompts, challenges, and workshops, as well as highlighting various contests, interviewing various members of the literature community and spotlighting a specific group every week. This is by no means a complete list of all the literature going-ons, merely a tool to help you get involved and stay informed.This weeks group spotlight is Expose-Lit!LITplease's Community PortalLiterature Links Expose-it, now officially launched, puts up some more guides: Critique, Write Better, and Competitions.
Stargirl I whirl madly with the stars, sing with the planets, frolick with the sun, and chase the moon; a girl of the cosmos. I leap from galaxy to galaxy. I grab hold of a shooting star and ride it to wherever it wants to take me. The Milky Way embraces me, that mind-boggling abyss of light. Out in this darkness there's so much space, so many undiscovered mysteries. I remember one of my favorite books. It said "Star people do not shed tears, but light." Who am I crying for? Is it for me? For you? For the people who are hurting, dying? For the planet that continues its ancient dance around the mighty sun? I cry, creating more falling stars. Where will they land? I think we choose how bright we want that light inside of us to be. I will live in that light. Light to lead the lost through the darkness. Light for those who have given up. Every day, every month, every year is new, unique. Each moment is infinitely precious. Don'
A Little Broken"Oh dear," Worry murmured, "now this is a problem."She hovered over the heart, peering at the jagged pieces. Ever the watchful nurse, she jotted down seemingly inconsequential details with a meticulous hand. "Heart," she started with hesitation, "I'm sure you'll be fine... Unless you won't be... But you most likely will be. I think. Now, it might take a while for you to heal.. and I'm afraid it won't be the last time you break... but let's get you to the recovery unit first."She wheeled the little pieces to the ER room, pausing to check on Sadness. She was sniffling in the corner of the waiting room, painting the wallpaper blue with her tears. "Deary," Worry began, nervously patting her on the back, "please stop crying.""Should I bring Grief in?" the girl asked between gulps, rivers pouring down her face."No," Worry said hastily, patting her the shoulder. "That won't be necessary." She darted back to the ER in a flurry of motion.Sense and Logic chose the moment to enter, bickering
Dyin's Not the Only WayOne day I was just sitting,With my thoughts, all by myself,Wondering what had happened,Why my life had gone to hellI was feeling sick and sorry,Depression was my game,I wondered how I kept living,When every day was just the sameI was staring off into space,As this old lady, she walked by,I wasn't paying enough attention,To see the wisdom in her eyesShe stopped and looked at me,And then she held out to me her hand,She said "Before you can start living,You have to understand,That dyin's not the only way"I screamed "No! I cannot take this!I just want it all to end!"That old lady, she looked at me,And this is what she said:"Dyin's not the only way"She said "If you really want it,If you can make yourself believe,Then you will find the strength,To get up off your knees,Cause dyin's not the only way""No, dyin's not the only way"I was angry and so bitter,I just wanted to lash out,But that lady, she just looked at me,And she took me downShe didn't have touch me,