You've Got Male Models

A 20-year old prodigy heart surgeon, Chris Cahill, did not expect to share her apartment (or her life) with two aspiring male models when she finally gains her independence. A story in the process of their interesting (and equally hilarious!) adventures of three different individuals living in the present.


I write on a whim, and somewhere along the line, I have collected journals full of phrases and ideas that I use to spark a story. Got any ideas, feel free to share them. How would you interpret a JournalWord?


Gladiators, Bad-ass priests, Robots, Demons, Cowboys, Demon-Cowboys, Fast-food cashiers, Ninjas, Butlers, Pirates, Sailors... The list goes on and they all make me swoon! (We are instant best buddies if you feel the same, just saying)


Albeit reluctantly, Sarah finds herself with the responsibility of raising an angel after he crashes from the sky. Sci-fi, supernatural, and a little silly.


I'm a fiend. *cheeky smile*

Monday, 31 December 2012

Fool's Paradise: Chapter4


The sun is high and the humidity is sweltering. Our campsite consists of a towering pile of driftwood, stacked for a fire, and the pile of sandy luggages in the sand where we slept. Angus claims we should be on the open beach where hovercrafts and satellites can see us. 

 A fire isn't lit but Angus claims he'll figure it out for us. We're all too tired from lugging around driftwood and luggages across the beach to argue all of his claims. A breeze sweeps in from the sea and I sigh when it reaches me. Looking up the beach at the trees, I envy their shade. 

Why am I sitting here when I could be in the shade? Will I really survive with this group?

I regard the group. We're all drooped in the sand, laying on our blankets. Angus is laying with us, complaining of hunger. "Hey, you," he kicks out to someone laying by his feet. A head pops up to acknowledge him. "Go to the jet and get something for us to eat."

More heads pop up from their blankets and the same horrified stare on the boy's face is reflected. 

"I can't," he says and he turns to all the other heads, seeking help. 

Angus glares and throws a fistful of sand into the boy's gaping mouth. "You will go into the jet  and you will bring back food for the group."

The boy immediately scrambles to his feet, spitting out the sand as he runs to the jet. No one joins him and we watch him inch closer to the collapsed metal and squawking seagulls. 

I turn away from the retreating figure and stand up, irked by the smirk on Angus's face as he watches the boy trip in the sand. "I'm going to go pee," I announce, heading up the beach. No one stops me and I'm glad. The repressing atmosphere that Angus has created is destructive and this heat is only making it worse.

Instant relief accompanies the cool shade of the trees and I take a moment to regard the slight red tinge of my skin. I lean back on a tree trunk and slide down to sit on the roots. Holding my stomach when it clenches, I tilt my head up and wonder if we'll be able to survive until rescue arrives.

A flash of blonde hair and white shirt catch my eye from between the trunks of the trees and without realizing it, I'm on my feet and walking towards it. I don't have the time to berate myself for following my curiosity because I become momentarily stunned by his appearance.

The rays of the sun that peek from between the palm trees highlight his features, especially his blonde hair, casting a halo around his face. His face is tipped up to the sky, hands by his sides as he stares up at the treetops. His lean, tall figure resembles the tree trunks and I find myself approving the slope of his nose and chin as I study his profile.

"What are you looking at?" I ask softly, and as if I had just broken the illusion, he jumps back. I recognize the fear dancing in his eyes and I instantly apologize. "I'm sorry, I'm not going to hurt you, I swear. I'm just curious as to what you're looking at. I'm not going to hurt you."

I prop up my hands by my face, open palmed to show I don't have anything to throw at him. He still looks visibly frightened, but recognition flits across his eyes.

"I'm picking a tree," he whispers, and I'm surprised by the baritone of his voice. "To climb."

I tilt my head up to regard the trees. "They're really tall and don't have any low branches to climb from," I say and from the corner of my eye I see him tilt his head up as well.

"The Demon!"

We both turn just as a girl picks up a rock and throws it at the boy, impacting his arm. He doesn't move, stone-faced as she picks up another rock.

"Get away from her, you Demon!" she shrieks. "Get away!"

"Calm down! I'm okay!" I yell back at her, but her arm winds back and she lobs the rock in his direction. I call for her to calm down again and dive to intercept the rock. The rock hits the back of my ribs as I grab hold of the boy. Another rock hits me in the back before voices yell for her to stop.

A boy comes running, having heard the yelling and tackles the girl down, wrestling the rock out of her hands and telling her to stop. In quick succession, more people come to see what is happening and they tow away the hysterical girl.

Angus finally joins the commotion and comes towards me, and I realize I'm still protecting the boy. The boy doesn't say a word and just watches as I retract myself from him.

"Are you alright?" Angus asks, holding me by the shoulders. I nod that I'm fine but he wraps an arm around my shoulders and leads me away from the trees before I can say anything. I turn in his grasp, ignoring his concern for my well-being and find that the boy is gone. "The boy," I start, but Angus interrupts me.

"That weirdo didn't hurt you, did he?" The venom in his voice stuns me. "If he did, I'll make sure he'll pay." I can only shake my head, and when I do, he relaxes and smiles. "Good. I can't have any of my girls hurt by that lunatic." Suddenly the hand rubbing my shoulder feels heavy and his smile looks slimy.


Happy New Year!!!

Sunday, 30 December 2012

Fool's Paradise: Chapter3


Brianna and I pick up any stray luggages on the beach and drag them to a pile where Angus has decided will be our campsite. We were set with the task only because they concluded that we are brave enough to venture close to the plane. 

I'm stuffing spilled clothing back into a bag when I hear Brianna shriek from near the treeline. I abandon the soaked and sandy shirt in my hand and start running towards the sound. The short time I've talked to her has secured her as a friend, surprising me. Friends were not encouraged in our school, seeing as we were all going to be competing with each other in our departments. Although language and medical research  students would never even have a chance to be friends in the first place, nor talk about anything of similar interest. Although making friends on a stranded island isn't typical either. 

"Brianna!" I call as I reach the treeline. "Brianna, where are you?"

"Here, Maria!"

Her voice is close and I find her with the rest of the group. When I catch up to her she smiles. "It's that boy!" she exclaims excitedly. "Remember when he joined the group right after we had all woken up? He spooked me. Came right out of the trees and I thought I saw a ghost!" Her voice hushes to a whisper as she adds, "Who knows where or when he left, but you're not going to believe who he really is."

I don't mention that I don't know who anyone is, but indulge her anyways. "Who?"

"It's the Demon!"

"The what?" I ask, horrified. 

"The Demon! You know, the guy who, on the day of orientation, went on a rampage and beat up twelve students. He hasn't been on campus since, but he still aces all the exams for the biology department." Her eyes sparkle and I realize that she must really be into gossip and the know-how of the student body. 

I nod, as if I already knew. She seems satisfied, and continues her excited chatter. "Who would think that he'd be on the jet with us, I mean, I did hear that someone had to be personally escorted by the Dean's bodyguards to board, but he never comes to classes, much less a national conference."

The huddle in front of us parts slightly and I catch a glimpse of blonde hair. A shout cuts through the air and someone crashes through the group, knocking people out of his way. 

Angus follows after him, addressing him with another shout. "I just want to know where you went! I'm leader of this group so I have to know," he huffs with a malicious grin. "You can't just go off looking for snails. What are you, some lunatic, or something?"

The boy, still in the sand, turns away and, in turn, his eyes meet mine. I remember his frightening eyes and instinctively, I drop my gaze to avoid them. 

A murmur flows through the group as people start persecuting him as well, calling him a weirdo, a demon, and other unjustifiable names. Angus's influence is embedded in this group and now people are forcing their pent-up blame and frustration on the boy. Calls are spat at the boy and when I look up at Angus, the malice and amusement glittering in his expression scares me as it is mirrored on the faces of everyone who is calling names.

 The first pebble hits the sand beside him, having been thrown with poor aim. The boy scrambles to his feet, clutching whatever is in his hand protectively to his chest. More pebbles and some pieces of driftwood and glass are thrown after him. Angus laughs as he throws a broken bottleneck at the retreating back of the boy before he disappears into the jungle. 

The escalation of the anger is startling and I realize I've just witnessed a case of mob mentality. Angus's laughter is joined by others who congratulate each other for chasing out the Demon for what he deserves. When I turn to Brianna, I'm horrified by the smile on her lips as she congratulates a girl beside her with a high-five.


And now things will start to heat up! Let me know what you think (a couple words is all I ask).

Right now, I'm imagining a New Year's Countdown on top of a mountain, seated on toboggans, and watching the sky over the city, deciphering where the city ends and the stars begin.

Just a thought :P

Saturday, 29 December 2012

Fool's Paradise: Chapter2


A groan signifies the first person to wake up. I watch as she pries her hand from the confines of the blankets to rub at her eyes. She lazily blinks, and when she finally opens her eyes, they lock with mine. To my shock, she laughs.

"Morning," she chimes, a smile straining on her lips as she fights out of her trapped blanket. She rolls out of the group, causing a string of groans from those that she crushes as she rolls from over them. Straightening, she pats herself of the sand, pushing her short black hair over her forehead when she eyes the ocean. She wears the same uniform, a navy, mid-thigh plaid skirt and white blouse with the school crest on her left breast. She's missing the navy vest that I have on, but she pays no mind to it so I assume she doesn't wear it. 

She turns to look at me and I am caught by the fierce stare that accompanies her hazel eyes. "So we survived, holy shit," she whistles and smiles again, and I can't help smiling as well. Holy shit, indeed.

She pulls her arm over her chest to stretch out the limb, alternating after a moment. "Is this all?" she asks, indicating with her foot to the mass in the sand. 

"I hope not," I say and turn to regard the jet. Seagulls flock over the twisted metal shell and squawk as they peck at the soaked debris that didn't get cast to sea. "Did the captain survive?" I whisper. She doesn't answer.

An orchestra of groans start up and we turn our attention back to the mass. A boy kicks out and knocks a girl in the head with his shin. She lets out a string of curses that invokes a muffled snort from me at her vulgar language and a full-on laugh from the girl standing in the sand. 

When everyone eventually wakes, all in moments of each other as they really are entangled, we all blink at our surroundings, quietly trying to recognize each other. A couple girls tearfully clasp onto each other after crawling to each other through the mass. 

"So, where are we?" a boy asks, and we all swivel to look at him. He turns bright red in the ears and attempts to shrink into his blanket. 

"We should be around Hawaii, right?" someone pipes in, hopeful.

Comcasts flip open in hands and a murmur flits through the group as we relay the same message displayed on the screens. 

"Did the captain survive?" someone else adds, repeating my question, and a silence lays over us all as we direct our attention to the metal glinting meters away. 

No one moves so I ask, "What should we do now?"

Everyone looks around to each other for an answer. 

"Food, shelter, water, and fire," someone supplies and we all turn to watch a boy walk towards us. Where did he come from? He's the boy who gave me his blankets, with the blonde hair and the cold eyes. His eyes are still cold as he casually strolls to the group. He doesn't sit, instead he fidgets and paces around us, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

"Right, we should get on that." The girl walks to stand beside me now. Her smile is hopeful and I'm glad there's someone with hope.

Immediate conversation starts as everyone interjects with what we should do, but we are all guessing with speculation. Our school trains for the academically inclined. Survival and physical means are not in our curriculum. We are probably the worst to be suited to be stranded without any technological means. 

A girl clutches at her blanket, her tearful stare directed at the jet and not in the conversation. "We need to get the other survivors," she quietly speaks and suddenly all conversation transforms into bickering. 

"Are there any other survivors?"
"There has to be!"
"I'm sure they'll crawl out..."
"What if they're hurt?"
"What if we're the only ones?"

We all look to each other, hoping for some answer to the questions. Usually someone is there, a teacher, a mentor, a tutor. Someone to supply the answer so all we have to do is apply it and memorize it so we can ace the exam. 

"I'm going to get Meghan," the soft-spoken girl announces and we watch, helpless as she stands up and heads towards the plane. 

We all scramble to follow her, not sure of what we will find. But a nagging feeling knows. 
It was a better sight when I left the jet, only because I wasn't aware what I was leaving behind. We only have to peek in from the gaping hole to realize that we are the only survivors. 

The soft-spoken girl breaks down into tears when she finds her friend, tripping over bodies as she rushes to the body of a blonde haired girl. She clutches at the body, uncovering it from the pile and screaming when the bottom half of the body hangs loosely from a visible section of spine. 

Someone vomits in the sand and all of us have tears in our eyes. No one else makes a move to the bodies and we stare at the horrified screams, like dolls. 

Deciding we need to leave, blindly, I start pushing them out. They easily relent to my efforts and sink to the sand, some burying their heads between their knees to regain breathing.

Going back into the jet, my focus solely on the screaming girl, I tiptoe towards her. Someone follows me to her, and we coax the body out of her hands. She latches herself to the other girl and we drag her out to the rest of the group, marching back to where we all slept. There's a somber silence, with the occasional whimper from the crying girl as she is cooed to sleep, that settles around us for a moment. 

A guy stands up abruptly, straightening his blazer. "We need a leader," he announces, shifting his glasses up his face with a finger. "Until rescue arrives, we need to set ourselves up with a clear hierarchy with a familiar social influence. I say we vote on a leader to direct us in keeping a clear focus on our survival."

Immediately people stand up, claiming they have the traits that would enable our survival. This has become a familiar setting for those specializing in political debate. Persuasion of attributes are announced and a vote occurs with three main contenders speaking animatedly about how they will be helping our survival. 

"This is a great distraction." I turn to the girl beside me, watching her rock the sleeping girl we had dragged out of the jet in her arms like a child. She smiles wearily at me. "The name's Brianna and these kooks think they're running for student council." She scoffs. "You have better leadership sense than they do, I mean, you took control over the situation when we all sat around like ducks."

I shake my head. "No way. I just snapped out of the stupor before everyone else. I'm not leadership material." She raises her eyebrow at me and I add, "I'm Maria. I'm more into medical research than politics."

"Well I'm a language-stud and I'm afraid we're going to have to rely on you more than we think." 

A series of applause breaks us away from our hushed conversation and we watch as the same guy who announced that we needed a leader takes center stage. He's the only one standing and towers over us all as he accepts the applause with a victorious smirk set with the dimple in his chin. "Thank you, survivors, for voting me, Angus Lemark as your leader until rescue arrives. I'm sure it won't be long until we are saved but until then, I promise, with the power invested by you all, to lead us to survival, because we most definitely will be surviving." 

His exuberant voice has enchanted the group and from the whispers around me, Angus is a hot topic to the girls, in terms of academic credibility and visual charm. Brianna rolls her eyes when Angus accepts an imaginary bouquet of flowers and winks at his fan girls. I can't help but hope help arrives before I get sucked into this disillusion the rest of the group is building.


Times are tough and nights are now sleepless. 
Worries are shadowing every decision I make, and I don't have the strength to shut them out anymore.
I'm scared for a future that may never happen.

Friday, 28 December 2012

Fool's Paradise: Chapter1

I have a bunch of chapters already written for this story so let me know what you think. This is my take on the "stranded on an island" theme. It has a slight sci-fi feel (which will be more in depth in the second story, which really depends on this story...), but I'm focusing on human psychology and primal tendencies on a universe where survival tactics is not normally introduced. 

So this is really just a story set in the future where being stranded is never thought to happen (not like it should be, but I'm paranoid and this is outside of the box for me.).

So enjoy and let me know what you think because without your opinion, I'm writing in the dark (with my laptop screen set on very dim...).

Be good,


It's so cold, but my hands reach out to something that slips through my fingers. 'Where's my blanket?' flits through my head and I wrap my arms around myself to fight off a shiver. Something sticks to my face when I turn over onto my side from my stomach and sand falls away when my hand brushes my cheek. 

Groaning, I force myself to sit up, confused as to why my room would be this cold. It's freezing and my whole body throbs in a dull pounding. It's a struggle to open my eyes because there's so much grit to rub off. But when my vision clears, everything comes back to me.

I'm not in my room in the dorms. The tide drawing closer to my feet is testament to that. The hull of the hover-jet I had boarded a couple hours ago is half submerged in the rising tide. The metal is split in half and I can see my seat, meters away from the shiny edges. It's too dark to see anything else except shadows. Torn seats and luggages lay sprawled, as if spewed from the belly of the jet, some succumbing to the waves. 

A shiver ripples through my body and down my legs. My school uniform provides little warmth against this cold and I can see the goosebumps on my legs from the tattered hem of my plaid skirt. My shoes are still on my feet and I feel a little sense of self in seeing the wretched shoes on my person. Urgently, my hand jabs into the pockets of my vest, and pull out my comcast, flipping open the screen with a flick of my thumb. 

The screen is blank so I have to wait for it to wake up, but my hopes die when a clear message pops up: 'No Service Connection'. I don't think I've ever seen this message come up before, so in my disbelief, I press the buttons on the little console, hoping to bypass the message and find my phone book. Nothing works so I flip shut the lid, turning off the device.

Looking around, I don't see any movement besides the tide, and a fear runs up my spine. I call out for help, surprised by the shakiness in my voice. For a moment, I wait, ears straining for the sound of someone calling back and eyes desperate for another survivor. 

I see nothing.  I hear nothing. 

The tide laps at the beach and I fight with the sand to stand up. I waver slightly, wrapping my arms around myself, and the shadows start to creep closer to me as the sun starts to droop lower. The cold wind rips through my blouse and I can't help the cold lump forming in my throat. 

I hiccup just when a hand clamps onto my shoulder. A scream strangles itself when it tries to escape past the lump, only allowing a soft shriek to shake the air. I jump out of the person's reach, swiveling around to face whoever it is. The sun's last rays reveal blonde hair and blue eyes set in a darkened glare. 

His demeanor screams frightening and I clear my throat, intending to scream again because he looks like the kind of person who would kill in cold blood. My mouth opens, but before any  sort of sound can form, a shiver wracks through my body again. I'm startled by my body's interruption and don't notice, right away, that something settles around my shoulders.

Confused, I bring up a hand to finger the blanket, surprised by the protection and warmth it holds. I lift my head up to the perpetrator and watch the retreating back of a tall boy as he treks up the beach. 

"Wait!" I call out, clutching the blanket around me as I will my legs to run. I only manage a jog as I kick up sand behind me, trying to catch up to the man who readily gave up his blanket for me. 

Up the beach and on the other side of the collapsed shell of the jet, a group is huddled in the sand. The boy walks to them and my legs muster enough strength to run the few meters to the group. 

My knees fall into the sand as soon as I make it to the group and someone pats my shoulder as I cry. A relief sets into my chest in knowing that others are alive and that's enough to encourage sobs. I'm not alone.

I huddle close to the others, glad for the body heat. Through my blurred vision I recognize the boy who lead me here and gave me his blanket. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and buries me into his chest, wrapping a blanket he had somehow procured around the both of us. 

I'm never this prone to touching, or keen to embracing, but now seems like an appropriate time to let it by. Bringing my blanket to my face, I attempt to choke out the sobs and wipe my face dry, because I'm fairly sure I'm a mucus mess. My efforts prove to no avail and, with his hand rubbing, comfortingly, circles into my back, I drift off into an exhaustive sleep.


Something nudges me in the back and I groan when I feel a muscle protest at the abuse. The nudge repeats its assault and I turn away from the pain maker, blinking my eyes of the crust that had formed when I sobbed myself to sleep. 

I'm facing away from the group, on the edge of the huddle and I can see the sea. The sun is up and the rays bounce off the waves, sparkling as seagulls dive and flutter over the irregular surface.

I push myself up and survey the bodies behind me, recognizing the uniforms of my school on all of them, but realizing that there are only thirty-seven of us here out of the seventy that boarded. My heart lurches at the numbers, hoping that they made the same mistake as I did and crawled out on the other side of the beach. Untangling my legs from the confines of someone else's, I wrap the blankets around myself and stand up.

Looking down at the mess of sleeping teens, I try to find the blonde haired boy midst the group. He isn't any one of these blondes although I can't be sure because I only saw his hair and eyes. His eyes, though, were frightful, almost malicious and cold.

Sitting back down in the sand, but away from the tangle, I wait for them to wake up. I don't want to experience that fear and loneliness again, especially not now. I almost laugh at myself and the irony. For someone who shied away from the other students and holed themselves in the nurse's office to read medical textbooks alone, it sure is ironic how needy I am for the company now. 

I pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them, watching for tell-tale signs of awakening from my fellow students, all of whom I can't name.


Wednesday, 26 December 2012

Anything But Green

JournalWord: Shucking.


The greens of the corn stalks are the only shade to the unrelenting blaze of the flaming ball, tossed into the vast blue and whites of foaming clouds on a cool glass of water. The flat lands of the farm are covered in a stand-still carpet of tall, swooping stalks, heavy with the late summer harvest. The hanging pods of the corn bob like sunflowers dancing to the hum of bumblebees, and wait for the grateful support of a calloused hand twisting the vegetable off it’s precarious cliff. 

I shimmy through the crop, picking, twisting, and placing ears into a basket chaffing my arm. I test the weight of the basket as I walk through the maize, hurriedly loading the wicker until my arm slacks from the picks. The shed is a shabby, worn but steady wooden structure in the middle of the maize. The peeling rustic red paint peeks through the emerald leaves, a sliver of unrequited love on an otherwise dry afternoon. The glitter of tools underneath crusts of mud lead me to the shed, and I take a moment to wipe the sticking sweat off my brow. The brown wheelbarrow beside the shed is half full of bright golden corn, cloaks of husks ripped off and piled beside a crouching girl. 

I trample through the clearing, sliding over the packed dirt with a conscious ease toward the girl, wicker basket between my sweaty hands. I drop the basket beside her tiny, three legged stool and reach for the empty basket beside her, eyes locked to her frayed pigtails. Her dark hair is frizzing in the heat, curling and sticking to the sides of her neck. She rips off a chunk of husk from an ear, revealing the shock of color hidden under layers of deceitful green. 

The muscles in her arm flexes the tan line on her forearm when she tosses away the corn’s cloak. Her raw, practiced hand grips and rips another portion of the cloak with a sharp yank from the corn, digging green stained fingertips into the layered leaves. The gilded kernels shine in the palm of her hand, a smile to her pressed chapped lips. I watch her cast the cleaned ear into the wheelbarrow with a twist of her faded, jean overalls and the habitual reach for another. 

I grip the handle of the empty wicker basket, shaking my head from the buzzing of the burning crickets. I tread back towards my section of the crop, smiling through the leaves in my face and chuckle.  

“She sure knows how to shuck.”



Your opinions matter, even if it's just a comment that you liked something about the story or if the concept reminded you of something.

I want to know. I strive to know what makes you tick and how I can write to create the tock. 
(Yeah, that sounds weird..)

Just having the knowledge that a story I wrote stirred a thought in your mind, my-oh-my

That is an author's dream.

So read a story and indulge me, if you will.

(and any suggestions are welcome, whether for a topic or general criticism)


Tuesday, 25 December 2012

Fool's Paradise (Prologue)

This is the prologue to a story I've been thinking about. Take a read and tell me what you think. 
The synopsis is at the end of this post.


Fool's Paradise: Prologue

Waves rock against the hover-jet and, disoriented, I push myself up into my seat. My head starts to pound in my skull when my sluggish fingers scrape for the seat belt. I almost fall out of my seat when the latch releases, and it's struggle to stand as everything is spinning. 

I grab hold of a seat as I drag my feet into the aisle, kicking plastic cups and dishes and stepping into the spilled food. Sparks sputter from one of the control boards at someone's tray, but otherwise all the circuit are dark. There are other people around me, some still in seats and some laying in my way. I can't focus on them for very long before my head pulses painfully and all I want is to go towards the light.

The familiar humming of circuits and fans are gone. I can hear the waves crash against the metal of the hover-jet's shell and I have to right myself so I don't fall on someone. They'll get up too, I reason as I step over the person, ignoring the bright puddles around them and the detached limb peeking from under a seat. 

The light is so close and I can smell the salt now. My vision is clearing as my light seeps into the compartment. The end of the aisle leads to the jagged edge where the jet split in half from the impact into the beach. I attempt to jump down onto the sand, but it's more of a fall. 

Lifting my head from the sand, I vaguely hear someone's sharp cry; for help or for God, I don't know. My fingers sink into the sand as I crawl from the metal beast, the grittiness of the sand scratching the cuts on my legs and arms. 

It's so hot and all I want to do is sleep. I'm sure the sleep will get rid of this headache. I'm sure if I sleep I'll wake up from this nightmare. 

So I let my eyelids fall and the light blink out.



A private hover-jet crashes and the people, students from an elite private school, become stranded on an island without any technological means. Maria is left to survive with people she has never met nor care about her. She quickly learns that surviving with these people is as dangerous as the jungle they are in. A boy, one of the passengers, who she learns to be quite strange, saves her from the group and they attempt to survive the trials before they are rescued.

Monday, 24 December 2012

Lesbian Bathroom Fiasco

JournalWord: Bathroom escapades. 


"You thought I was a lesbian?!"

A few steps ahead, Liam's foot skips on a stone and he almost lands headfirst into the pebble path. Boy, is she loud.

"Come on, THREE girls, one shower stall, funny noises.."

Liam's shoulders twitch in a suspicious way and he makes a quiet snorting noise.

 Chela wishes she can just die."I'm not a lesbian! They weren't even girls, it wa-"

Liam stops pretending not to listen to their conversation, looking over his shoulder and gives Chela a secretive smile. Chela turns away quickly, blushing at the memory.

"So when do I meet them? Do I know them?"

"No-no! Kallen's not ga-not a girl!"

"Kallen? Oh, my! I didn't know he was a cross dresser!"

Chela is at the brink of utter frustration. She stares earnestly at the back of Liam's head for some clarification, but is only given an amused smile and mischievous green eyes when he acknowledges her glare. The same expression he gave her when she caught him in the stall.

This is getting so out of her control!

"No! He's not a cross dresser. Lesbian. Thing?" she finishes helplessly. She grips her temples with her hands and shakes her head, cursing the boys for their sexual plots.

Allie blinks innocently. "Transsexual?"

"Yes-no! He's not! He's one hundred percent man. He-they were just-it was their idea of fun. Dressing up as girls. In the shower. With me.."

Allie claps her hands excitedly, eyes bright. "Oooh! Things totally make sense now!" 

Chela exhales a huge sigh of relief. Finally! She would really like to bite off both their heads right now and bury them in a deep, smelly hole.

And just when the torture wasn't enough as it was..

"By the way, who was the other person?"


And Liam just can't hold back the laughter. Wait until he tells Kallen their plan proved to be exceptionally successful.


I've a mind in the Random Gutter. And I'm drowning.

Sunday, 23 December 2012


JournalWord: Beyond the black hole.


She dreams of lying on a hill on a fall night, grass blinking at the stars in sprinkled dew. She would be cold, and she’d shiver and shake at every rustle of the wind, but maybe, for once, she’d be happy and painless. 

It would be dark and quiet, as if the world was suspended on tight, thin wires, with only her light breath disturbing the peace. She would spend the night counting the shattered galaxies, the shimmering atmospheres, in whispers meant only for the moon. It would feel intimate and infinite, like a satisfied wholeness to one’s being. 

It’s a dream where she doesn't feel exhausted every time she inhales. It’s nothing more than a wish to reach out with steady hands and pluck the glitter before her. It’s a dream, an illusion, far beyond any point of reach, however, beyond her closed, bruised eyes, she’s stuck on a mattress that’s sucking her body into its collapsing foam. 

She would burst out crying every time it feels like her ribs are ripping through her skin when she breathes. There is no silence in her white washed room; the beeps and hush of alien machines would tilt and snap the wires of her suspended world and send it crashing into the other planets. 

Her whispers to the moon are unheard through the brick walls and sealed window. She just wants to fall into her sky, into the quiet constellations, and finally feel beautiful. She only wants to lie in the cold, and numb reality in a revolving, never-ending, silence.


I really want to know which stories you like, so please read and review :)
Awaiting your comments, 

Saturday, 22 December 2012

Noises In Our Rib Cages

JournalWord: Sounds in a tent.


He pours a portion of his coffee into a cup from his thermos and smiles.

"Thanks," she says, reaching for the steaming cup.

He screws the lid back on and leans forward as she blows at the steam. He smiles. She twitches.

"Y'know," he says, abruptly sitting up, "You're very relaxed in this situation."

She looks up at his ever-happy expression, not clueing in. "What situation?"

"Oh, just the situation where you're alone with a guy who's interested in you."

She stares at his pleased smile and all she can muster in response is an unintelligent "Uh..". The words start to form in her head, adding up to the small tent, the close proximity, and the man sitting and smiling to himself before her. She's still staring blankly at him when he hops up to his feet and walks around the small space of the tent, shrugging off his jacket.

And all she can think is the fact that she's alone in a tent with him. And now she's freaking.

"What's wrong?" he asks conversationally, "Do you really want to watch me change?" 

His humor startles her and she blushes furiously. "You don't care if there's a girl here, do you?" she points out, indicating his casual manner.

"I was just taking my coat off." He reassures, but his smile remains. "It's not like I was going to take everything off."

She turns her face away from his humored eyes. "Of course," she sputters. "I'd run if you started stripping."

He feigns a hurt expression, however, his eyes still sing. "Aw, you'd run away?" He crouches in front of her, elbows on his knees and arms crossed. "So, you're conscious of me then?"

She fails at a retort and her face reddens at how close he is. She grabs the pillow at her side and clutches it to her chest.

He leans even closer, unnerving her into a frozen and speechless state. "You won't be able to run away. I won't let you." His face is all she can see now, and it's so close. "I love you." And suddenly he has her hands in his, and he's closing his eyes, and he's so close he can kiss her.

And he is going to kiss her! "You're wrong!" she yells abruptly. He pulls back to meet her eyes.

He smiles. "Really? How so?"

"You don't love me!" she shouts, pulling free from his grasp and inching her way from him.
He seems taken aback and surprised. "Why?" he asks, and pauses momentarily. "But I do love you," he finally says, smiling reassuringly.

"You might like me, but it's not love."

He sits down and thinks about it. "I just long to be with someone," he says, staring meaningfully into her eyes. "Like you, an outsider."

"Is being an outsider that important? I don't think that there is much of a difference."

"You're smart, but you don't quite understand."

She pauses to retort, however, he grabs the pillow resting protectively against her chest and tosses it away. Before she can think, he's already trapped her wrists in his hands and pulling her to the floor.

She scrambles to sit up, flushed and embarrassed. "Wa-wait!" 

She pulls herself into a semi-sitting position and shakes, unnerved by his head buried against her chest. She freezes; all that is running through her head is the position they're in and his head pressed against her body.

"This sound," he starts, surprising her into another round of blushes. "I long for this sound," he explains, twisting his head to look up at her.

"S-sound," she stutters, staring at his face in hopes of an answer. "I don't believe my heartbeat is special."

He gently sits back up, nodding to himself with a faltering smile. He places her right hand lovingly onto the space where his heart should be. "This is the sound of my heart."

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

She stares at his chest, so warm, but ticking like a machine. "What-what is your heart?"

"In this world, people cannot change, no matter how much we try. I believed that I could stay near the sound that doesn't exist in this world," he explains, hand curling tighter around her hand. He stares hopefully into her eyes. "I thought only if I could change." He smiles, all evidence of somber disappeared. "But it seems that it isn't as simple as I hoped it would be.
As you've said, there is a lot more to it than 'liking'."

All she hears is the first of truth from his voice and the resonating sound of his mechanical heart.

"It's not love that I feel for you now, but I can say for sure that I like you." 

She smiles in return because she isn't sure what to say. For now? she thinks, but her thoughts, and the conversation, are interrupted as the fire in the lantern burns out.

"Don't worry," he reassures, as he reaches for the burnt out lantern so it's not in her way. His voice is soothing despite the utter darkness. "It's time to sleep. There is a blanket at your side."

And just so she knows where it is, he rustles it closer to her side, making sure not to startle or touch her. She doesn't remember there being a blanket in the tent, but quickly banishes the thought when a high shriek of wind rattles the tent.

He must somehow notice her tense and frozen state of fear, for he nudges her leg with the pillow he had tossed, to encourage her to sleep. She settles down in the pitch black, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blanket. 

"Goodnight," he yawns from his side of the tent, seemingly farther away than the tent should extend. And through the night, all she can think and hear is the light tick-tock of his heart, somewhere in the far reaches of the tent, ticking like the clocks he makes.


This is sort of from the same plot line from yesterday's dialogue. My mind is still on that, hahaha :) 


Friday, 21 December 2012

Through The Chest

JournalWord: Listening to a heart.


"You have a heartbeat?"

"You can hear it really well if you press your ear against her chest."

"You let him touch you?!"

"No, I didn't!"

"You promised that I could listen again."

"No, I did not." 

"That's not fair! I want to listen too!"

"Get off me! Let go-"

"I want to listen too. It's only fair."

"Wow. That's quite aggressive."

"Stop him! It's your fault that this is happening!"

"That looks fun. Can I join in?"



"Of course not! It's my turn!"

"How about I hold her down for you and then we can switch-"

"Hello! I've got a message for my pretty princess-what is the meaning of this?"



"Get your filthy hands off her!"

"Calm down. We were just trying to touch her chest."

"Well than, you deserve an execution!"

"That guy was doing it too."

"Hey! You sell-out!"

"I see. But you'll go first and then I'll kill him!"

"You guys, enough!"


A dialogue between 4 people. Could you follow?


Thursday, 20 December 2012

Blown Out Star

JournalWord: Burned out from revenge.


The sky is a sea filled with stars, and he is the one fading sparkle in the depths, drowning in his own ambitions. The fire of his bitter regrets creep higher and higher, burning his flesh and blackening the edges of what little twisted soul he has been trying to salvage. 

It’s too beautiful a sight for something so tragic. Gazes are drawn away, in frequent intervals to document the destruction’s progress. The focus is on the tip of the blind side, just enough to watch the spectacular show. 

There is no applause, much less a sound to forgive. The crackling of the embers is enough to convey any last words. The flames welcome back their devil, releasing fireworks to the lowering sun as a reward. 

The horizon blinks it’s last wink of sunshine for the day and everything disperses. Coals glow, in solemn satisfaction, and the ashes flutter in the dead air, floating upwards toward the stars. They spend the night searching for a star that has burned itself out.


What others would see of a man after he has accomplished his revenge.

I'm also on FictionPress now, so if you're on there as well, I'd love to read your stories :)

I'll be posting the stories from here there, but all my stories will originate from here (this is my original home and I'm not straying!).

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