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A Cry for HelpYou walk into the room, glancing surreptitiously at the posters that adorn the walls. They’re bright, and eye-catching, but you make a point not to examine them in detail. They mock you, and you glare at them, willing them to vanish. Brochures align the counters. They too irritate you simply with their very presence. You sweep past them and stride up to the counter, asking gruffly to see someone. The lady with the too-big smile and too-fake voice kindly tells you to take a number. So, you take this little piece of paper and find yourself a seat among the throngs of other impatient people that fill the too-small waiting area.A Cry for Help
You
by ~simplecomplexity
A Longing to GrieveI was always told never to cry- it was a sign of weakness, they said. Indeed, pride was a virtue, and I had mountains of it. So, if I’m so bloody virtuous, why do I feel so empty?A Longing to Grieve
Tonight, my son died. The baby I had loved and cherished, the man I fussed over, he’s gone now. Gone to a place in God’s eternal arms- or that’s what they tell me anyways, I never put much stock into all that codswallop. After all, I figure if there is a God, he’s the one that screwed me over. So there.
Anyways, it was an accident- a horrible one at that. But, no sense focusing on that now, they say. Better times will come. Yeah right. But
by ~simplecomplexity
The Joys of TwirlingWhen is it when we stop twirling?The Joys of Twirling
Does anyone remember the days of yore when we were young and innocent? In the summer, we would go out to the beautiful lush field that seemed to extend for miles. We would throw our arms up in the air and spin around and around, until we were so dizzy that we just fell down, amid shrieks of laughter. Our faces would light up and we’d fall together, relishing in the dizziness that seemed so enticing. But, the years passed, and we began to do it less and less, twirling just did not have a place in our lives. Now, we made clubhouses, including some elite people, and excluding those not of our suprem
by ~simplecomplexity
The Eruption of Silence“Why don’t you put some color in your wardrobe? What are you, some kind of homicidal maniac or something?”, the blond cheerleader shouts out at her, as all her followers snicker. Day after day, lunch hour after lunch hour, they sit there, mocking her and pulling her from her silent reverie. She never says a thing as they all torment her, choosing instead to surrender to the insults that engulf her, from all those considered “cool” by this teenage society.The Eruption of Silence
No, even when they move past insults and begin to callously throw objects at her, she stays there wordlessly, never rising to their invective and abuse, not even bothering to sh
by ~simplecomplexity
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- Current Residence: St. John's, Newfieland
- Interests: a lot of different things, including reading, writing, computers, hanging out, etc.
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