If I hugged you,
would you never let go?
If I kissed you,
would you cherish that moment?
If I reached for your hand,
would you take mine gently?
If I needed a shoulder,
would you let me cry on yours?
If I needed to talk,
would you really listen?
If I needed to scream,
would you do it with me?
If I needed to go,
would you come with me?
If I fell for you,
would you catch me?
or just let me hit the pavement?
The bravery of Raki Stu by Greatkingrat88, literature
Literature
The bravery of Raki Stu
Contest entry for Auikimaya's DRUKEN-SPARTANS-FTW challenge.
Subject: Raki, main character from Claymore.
This is my entry to the challenge. If you don't know claymore, you might not get a lot out of reading this.
____________________________
Raki was beyond upset. He was flabbergasted, terrified, filled with deplorable regret that he received such horrible, undeserved treatment- for all of sixty-six godsdamned chapters, he had been separated from his beloved Claire, whom he had attached himself too in a fit of childish emotion some (in-canon, that is) seven years ago.
Considering Clare's stoic nature, an emotional, useless angst-bag had
everyone is a sociopath with a vitamin deficiency by poetic, literature
Literature
everyone is a sociopath with a vitamin deficiency
my parents never beat me
and look how I turned out: cracked ribs
fractured pelvis
blood in my urine
finally lost my baby teeth
but there's no love without blood and you
do not dream in hourglasses
rusty wind and
ferris wheel cages
to watch the gauze fall untaped
on the kitchen floor and
I am itchingscratchingbleeding time
profusely and it falls off me like sawdust with every
turnaround or
shakemyheadno but
I still stand still with knees dovetailed and
head cocked down
to watch the wood shavings
pile at my shins like suitcases
you always want more
so when I felt the fault lines in your wrists
start to tremble
I took that
"You're the knife."
Words. Clumsy words. Taught to me by my father, and his before, and worn into my skeleton like a bad habit. This was a bad habit, and still is.
"Be the knife."
A hoarse whisper in the dark against the swinging, hanging light. Ten competitors, thirty spectators; all losers. Two in the middle. All my life I've practiced and trained and pained for something so much greater than this. Means does indeed, unfortunately, make the man.
As I grip the soft leather of the knife handle, circa 1909, I hope these letters find you well. I hope they find me well, too, and I'm sorry for the three of us that it's come to this, c
anemic, broken, and growing up anyway by aprilwednesday, literature
Literature
anemic, broken, and growing up anyway
when my sister was five, she dictated a letter to me in her strong little voice
while dust drifted in the sunshine
of our creaky old room.
dear me [she said],
barney is the best. i will wear blue all the time even though i'm a girl. my heart beats without me telling it to and that's pretty cool. i think people always feel better if you tell them you love them. i will always smile because i have dimples when i smile.
love,
me.
"did you write it?" she asked, and i told her i did, every word
with the chunky yellow pencil i'd fished out of my school bag.
i handed her the letter, and she folded it up carefully
and she smiled.
when my s
I was nervous when I arrived. Had my information been right? Was she used to trans patients? Would she be supportive and helpful or weirded out? Would this be a waste of time or the freeing experience I hoped it would be?
I looked around the lobby. It was small and well furnished. A large coffee table occupied the center of the room, surrounded on two sides by a small sofa and an armchair, which for some reason made me think of my grandfather. On the opposite side of the room, there was a water cooler and several large unopened refill containers. On a table near the door was the item I was looking
When I was seven, I was diagnosed with emotions.
"Poor girl." I heard them say. "She'll never survive this one."
I laid with my face towards the ceiling on the cold examination table, listening to them discuss my fate. I felt something breaking in my chest and something burning inside my throat. A small tear slipped down my cheek.
"Doctor! Look at this!" Shrieked my mother, "Something is coming out of her eye."
The doctor rushed over to me and wiped the tear from my cheek. He touched the top of my head as he whispered, "I am so sorry." And then he turned to my mother. "It's a tear. It means that she is sad."
"Sad?" My mother asked inquis