No one sees me counting the stars...

Source A dream so vivid when I woke up seems now so far away. How does a memory fade so easily? A voice, a touch, a smile… It all gets blurry so fast. You can try grabbing the moment, holding it closely in your arms and cherish it, but it will slip through your fingers, stretch its wings and fly away when you don’t pay attention for a second. That’s what moments do. They don’t last an eternity. They’re meant to leave. Instead of convulsively clinging on faded memories you should better focus on the present and cease the day. If you’re lucky your brain won’t delete the whole memory afterwards and if you’re not so lucky… Well, at least you’ve been happy for a while. That’s all what counts at the end anyway: being happy and living your life as you want. You might even end up changing someone else’s life for the good. Or for the bad if you prefer being a bad guy, I don’t judge.  Just remember to be happy. No regrets, never forget and smile. A smile smoothens the pain of ...

"KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" the scream cuts to the bone. "What was that?!"  I run towards the half open door. "I see a shadow!" Dorian blocks my sight.  I can't see a thing.  "A shadow of what?!" I squeal. "An animal or something? I don’t know. It’s moving!" "Let’s light a torch. Maybe we can scare it."  "Great idea." Smoking is terrible for your health, luckely Dorian doesn't give a damn about it. We wrap a handkerchief around a piece of wood. Using his lighter we put the thing on fire.   "Where are we anyway?"   "I haven’t got the foggiest idea…" "Maybe that creature in the other room can help us." "Or it eats us alive."   -_________________________- "Anyhow, we need to get out of here." A huge beam is blocking the door. I can't seem to open the door far enough to escape through. "Move ...

I’ve always wanted to be a pilot. Ever since I was little, I dreamed about flying through that big blue sky. I don’t remember the name my parents gave me. Frankly, I don’t recall them at all. Story goes the Great War separated us when I was five. For the government, I’m just a number. Number 93 to be exact. But the few people who actually care about me, call me Blue. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of my blue eyes, because I felt blue before I met them. Or is it because my hair’s natural colour oddly turned blue through the years? I grew up in the Rajona District Orphanage. We were with lots and food was scarce. The Head Mistress divided us in groups of 10 and let us fight. The winner was allowed one decent meal. The losers had to starve another day. Sharing your food was forbidden. If you were caught, her Slaves would tighten you up on the pole in the middle of the playground, or should I say “fighting arena”. Then they’d fetch her whip. 15 whipping for some water. 25 fo...

Publisher: "You forgot one thing, Sherlock." Me: -re-reads his notes- "What did I forget?" Publisher: "NAMES! Not a single one of your bloody characters has a name!" Me: "Frank is bloody and he has a name. And Charles-" Publisher: -face palm- "Let me rephrase it: no one of your MAIN characters has a name." Me: "So?" Publisher: "You can't keep calling them ' the lady with the black gloves ', ' host ', etc."  (¬_¬) Me: "What if I use capitals like ' the Lady with the Black Gloves '?" Publisher: "No shit, Sherlock. Get me some REAL names!" Me:  -_________________-" Me: "Alright. The host is called....Heathcliff. No comment?" -looks at the publisher- Publisher: "Why are you looking at me? It's your story..."  (¬_¬) Me: "And the lady with the black gloves is Lady Lampoo." Publisher: "OBJECTION!" ...

"Burn in hell, you filthy foreign slut!" the lady with the black gloves laughs. "Why are you doing this?" Snow White cries. The host's wife looses balance. She falls. Her head hits the ground. Her glass with "punch" shatters into pieces... Ok, I lied earlier: this is indeed a murder. But you need to know this to understand the rest, so... The lady with the black gloves rings the bell. "You rang, my lady?" the butler enters the room. "Charles, clean this up. Murdering someone always makes such a mess." "Yes, my lady," he bows. "Oh, and Charles?", the woman says, "If my son asks: his wife ran off with one of the servants.... With Frank." "I'll immediatly pack my things," the poor servant hurries. "That won't be necessary, dear..." The lady with the black gloves grabs the gun hidden under her dress. BANG! "Charles, clean that up as well," she y...

One upon a time... Publisher: "Seriously? Once upon a time?! What are you writing? A freaking fairytale?!" Me: "Why not?" Publisher: "Fairytales don't sell." Me: "Since when?" Publisher: "The 17th century." (¬_¬) Me: -______________________-" Publisher: "Give me some action. Grab me by my balls." Me: "I prefer not..." Publisher: "Stop taking things litteraly! Now go and write me a bestseller." MIDNIGHT MASQUERADE 1856. It's the annual masquerade at the Abalone Mansion. People wear their finest party outfits. They've put on their most decorated masks. Everywhere you look, there is laughter and fun. The ballroom is filled with music. People are dancing. This is the best night ever. Some guests are standing near the punch. "He sure has some excellent booze," Puss in Boots hiccups. "Let's drink to that!" one of Mary's little lambs laughs. A ...

He grabs her wrists and pushes her against the wall. Her heart beats faster. He kisses her. Rough, but tender. Passionate. His body against hers. Her body against his. She feels his every muscle moving. He feels her breasts going up and down. His hand slips under her skirt. She... Nah. This ain't going to work. If you want to read porn, I advice you "50 Shades of Grey"....or "Make out Paradise", that's also a nice one, if you may believe Kakashi-sensei....He's that white haired cool looking ninja instructor from Naruto.The manga/anime? It's something Japanese. Anyway, this isn't going to be one of those books. This is "Eyes so blue 2.0". Yeah, the first version kinda sucked... Publisher: -after reading my first manuscript- "You're a pussy." Me: "No, I'm a rabbit." ^w^ Publisher: (¬_¬) Me: -realises what the publisher means- "Oh."  -____________________-" Publisher: -facepalm- ...

The puppet Alone in the darkness, I long for you. Open the suit case, pick me up, dance with me. Let me see your smile. Strike through my hair, kiss my forehead, whisper in my ear. The nights get longer, the suit case colder. Days pass by without your light. Days turn into weeks. Weeks into months... The strings around my wrists get tighter. It now hurts when you yank them. You don't free me from this darkness. You put me in it! And you keep putting me in it whenever it suits you. Sadly it took me this long to realise... I need to break free. Cut the strings. (image found at:  http://rainbowrandomness.deviantart.com/art/She-Was-But-A-Puppet-308899455 )

Valentine From all the people I've met, you're the one stuck in my head. No matter what I do, I'll always love you. And it's killing me we're apart, because you're forever in my heart. Please, hug me real tight. Stay forever by my side. I can't come up with anything else to rhyme, so I'll end this poem, asking: "Will you be mine?" (image found at:  tenchithoughts.blogspot.com )

Hey, I need to tell you something. Can we meet? This is my last chance. It's now or never. My whole body is revolting. Tick Tock. I still have three hours left... I need to calm down. Maybe a shower can help? Music on, clothes off. The water doesn't flush away the fear, though. I'm still trembling... All of a sudden our song echoes through the room. I'm not afraid anymore. I get dressed an hop on the bus. Destination: you. You're not there yet, so I wait. I wait for hours. You're still not here. I check my phone. No messages. I text you. No answer. Not even a call... Earphones in, hoodie on, reality off. I go home. All I wanted to tell you is "I love you", but I already know your answer. (Image found at:  www.iwakuroleplay.com )

Elisabeth STOP IT! Just stop it. Every time I'm this close to being over you, you wave at me. You smile at me with your deadly lips. With that cute little sparkle in your eyes. And I'm lost. I fall in love with you all over again. Why can't I get you out of my mind? Just get out of my head! Please, I beg you. You're killing me with every word never spoken, every moment you're not in my arms. I want you so badly. Stop playing with my heart. Either you want me, either I mean nothing to you. What is it you're feeling? Tell me. I want to know. Do you love me? (image made by yours truly)

The china vase was shattered into a thousand pieces. "Think fast, think fast..." The boy looked around the room. He couldn't blame the falling of the vase on a single thing. "Maybe a sudden gust of wind?" Storm opened the window. "No wind..." About to surrender, the boy saw a ginger cat walking down the street. He picked it up, dropped it next to the vase and jumped back onto the sofa. "Right on time," the boy sighed reliefed. A few seconds later, Roxanne opened the door. "What happened?" "I opened the window to get some air. He must have entered the room when I didn't watch. Before I knew, he knocked over the vase." Storm pointed at the cat. "Oh no! Are you alright, D'Artagnan?" The girl petted the scapegoat. "I'm so sorry," the boy signed. "Don't worry about it. You couldn't have predicted this. Hold our little cat burglar while I'm fetching the dustpan." ...

"I have to be careful to not get caught snooping around." The boy closed his eyes and focused on the sounds surrounding him. A sharp knife swiftly cut through cucumber, the blade hitting the wooden plank underneath. Rice gently cooked in a pot on the stove. "Roxanne isn't that far from this room." He opened his eyes and checked all entrances. There were three doors: two on his right and one behind him. Door number one led to a hallway. Behind door number two seemed to be a closet. Roxanne had left the room through door number three. He had to make sure the coast was clear, but his gutts told him to not open the third door. "If she notices me, game's over." He jumped back into the sofa. Keeping an eye on the huge grandfather's clock, the boy rang the bell she'd given him. Roxanne rushed in. "What's wrong?" she asked concerned. "Nothing. Just checking," Storm signed joking. The girl playfully swinged he...

Storm's dream started off sweet, but soon turned into a nightmare. The faceless shadow haunted him. It finally revealed its true colours. The background turned scarlet. The dark figure rose up. Its eyes were filled with hatered. The shadow held the photograph in its hand. When Storm tried to reach out for it, he fell down a black hole. Suddenly bullets flew past him. A bom exploded nearby. Body parts were raining from the sky. Little Storm was drenched in blood, surrounded by corpses. Five of them had been decapitated and put on for display. The boy stared into their lifeless eyes. Storm woke up, bathed in sweat. "I need to see that picture. Now!" But how could he ever explain Roxanne he knew where that photograph was? How could he explain her why he needed to see it? All he had, were some vague memories, a terrible feeling and a bad dream. He could wait for the old man to come back, just like he first planned. The boy was way too curious, though. And after that...

"That was Benedict." The girl's hair jumped up with excitement. "He's the best detective in the whole wide world! One day, I'll be as good as he," she dreamed out loud. "I still need to learn a lot, though." "A detective? Why was I at a detective's place back then?" It didn't matter how hard he tried, all Storm remembered was that faceless shadow and that photograph... "Why do I feel I've forgotten something important?" He wanted to ask Roxanne about it, but she didn't act like they'd already met: why would she call him 'Storm', if she knew his real name? The old man is the only one who holds the key to this mystery. "I'll wait untill he comes back." "Do you like it?" Roxanne interrupted his train of thoughts. "Wait? What?" The boy hadn't got a clue what she just asked. Seeing his confused face, the girl repeated the question: "I'm going t...

"I'm home", a loud voice echoed through the house. A tall old man entered the room. "And who's this?" he asked, taking of a fake nose. "He can't speak, so I call him Storm," Roxanne cheerfully greeted the man with the hawk-like eyes. "Storm, ehm? You look rather familiar... Have we met before?" "The old man indeed looks familiar. Now that you mention: this whole room looks familiar." Flashbacks suddenly crossed the boy's mind. Storm had been here before. He was accompagnied by someone... "Who was I with?" His head hurt trying to remember. It felt like his memories about this place were blocked. Storm wasn't a guy who forgot things. He remembered the tiniest details. He easily recited conversations happening five years ago. But all he could recall of his previous visit was a faceless shadow and a blurry recollection of a picture in that drawer over there. "Oh well," the old man said not...

"People only help you if they somehow can use you." He stared at the girl with the caramel hair. "I wonder what her end game is..." "You really don't trust people, now do you?" Roxanne seemed to answer his thoughts. "How did she-?!" "I'm not a mind reader," she said slightly amused by his busted-face. "I just see it in your eyes and I noticed the-" she pointed at his arms. Ashamed, he pulled down his sleeves to hide his wrists. He felt a bandage. She nursed the new-?! "I saw the blood. I hope you don't mind," she hesitated. He shook his head: "No." "Why is she so nice to me?" Storm couldn't seem to figure her out. (Image made by yours truly)

"I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. My mind finally gets some peace. This feels great. My pain isn't completely gone, but it's hurting less. Was I wrong? Can I really be healed? This music sure has a calming effect on me. It's been a while since I could see everything so clear. Wait a second.... That's.... A radio?" He slowly opened his eyes. "Ceiling... Wall.... HUMAN?! I need to get out of here A.S.A.P! Before sh-" The girl came closer. "Too late. She spotted me." "Are you hungry? I made you a meal. Do you want some water?" she shifted the plate a bit more to his side."If she went through all the trouble making me a meal, it would be rude to refuse", he thought. The boy reached out for the food and started to eat."Do you like it?", she stared at him with her big blue eyes. He nodded. "I'm Roxanne. What's your name?" He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. "You can...

He was barely alive when she found him. The girl with the white dress brought him inside. He lay down on the sofa while she gently covered his broken body with some fluffy sheets. She prepared a meal in case he would wake up and get hungry. She guessed she couldn't do anything wrong by giving him some water as well. After putting the food within reach, she softly kissed his forehead. "Stay with me," she whispered. (Image found at  www.lioden.com  )

Did it stop raining? No, I still hear the water splashing... Then why don't I feel it anymore? Is this what dying feels like? Becoming all numb? No longer being able to feel the rain on your face? But I like the rain... My limbs may have become numb, my feelings didn't. It still hurts inside. I don't think it will ever go away. Ha! Not even Death can release me from this suffering. If I knew sooner... If I had one more chance I wouldn't let them defeat me. I'd fight back. I'd show them they can't hurt me. But I was so stupid to believe their every word. I let them inside my head. If I only had one more chance to prove them wrong.... But it's too late. There's no turning back. I'm so stupid. (Image found at  www.f-covers.com  )

They laughed at him. They banished him. He had enough of it. He was going to end this. For once and for all! He found himself a nice spot in the middle of gang territory. If he got killed during a robbery, then at least he wouldn't die alone. "Where are those stupid robbers when you need them?! Don't they want easy money? I look like the perfect victim, right? So why don't they come and get me?" The guy waited for hours, but still no agressors. "I'm not even good enough to be robbed," the seventeen year old thought. It started to rain. His hoodie got soaked. He wasn't going to give up, though. He was ready to meet his destiny, no matter how long it would take. "I'm no longer going to be the laughingstock! I'm ready to die! AAAA-CHOOOOO!" The poor boy got sick. His temperature rose. Consciousness made room for ever increasing unconsciousness. He balanced on the thin line between life and dead. It was now only a matte...