/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.1255088]

Anybody want to share some of there poems/lyrics/writings?

Pic unrelated.

[Anonymous No.1255091]

I'm not to sure if you guys do this on this board. Thought it was worth a try anyway.

Bump.

[Anonymous No.1255094]

[Anonymous No.1255096]

Anybody?

[Anonymous No.1255095]

Just post that stuff you want to post, we'll rage and sage, then we all can move along.

[Anonymous No.1255097]

>>1255095

I want to read some other peoples, then somewhere just slip mine in.

[Anonymous No.1255116]

pointy bird
oh pointy, pointy
anoint my head
anointy nointy


Your turn OP!

[Anonymous No.1255120]

Move Bitch get out the way! Get out the way! MOVE! (x40)

your turn op

[Anonymous No.1255128]

>>1255120
I got different hoes in different area codes

[Anonymous No.1255130]

I was working at a bullet factory in Lewiston, Idaho. I lived in Moscow, Idaho. I woke up in the afternoon on Saturday and got ready for work. Autumn was turning into winter, and the windshield of my car was coated in thick drops of frozen rain. I jammed the small bike that I rode to and from my car into my trunk and started jabbing at the ice-blotted windshield with the scraper.
I did this every weekend. I turned into a different person. The week was homework, alcohol and girls. The weekend was morning ice scraping, pancakes and making bullets.
I step out of the car—thirty miles and a lifetime away. Now, I’m spinning. The asphalt is wet and there’s people lining up by the turn-style, waiting to swipe their access card. I cannot imagine how dull their lives must be. I’m running from a dream, a fraternity. It’s a nightmare, really, but damn it—if anyone can do this, it’s me. That’s all I know.
>1 / ?

[Anonymous No.1255132]

Danny and I made our way out of the rimfire building and headed for the acetone hut. I pushed the cart, which was piled up with all of the parts from the painting machine that needed to be cleaned. By cleaned, I mean dipped in a tub of acetone and scrubbed with wire brushes until every spackle of red and yellow and green and black was removed. We liked the job. It was worth the choking and gagging when you lifted the lid of the tub. Supervisors never made their way out to check on you. We were pretty damned good at making the ten minute job take twenty.
Danny was short and thick. He had a black goatee and his long hair poked out from under his hat. He walked beside me and pulled out his ear plugs.
“You see that vat over there? He yelled over the sound of machinery.
> 2 / ?

[Anonymous No.1255134]

I looked to my right and saw it: a big, metal tub that turned every color of rust from the bottom to the top. Steel churned around its opening. Cantilevers, crossbars and copper netting stained purple and blue clanked and jolted above. Sensors shot lasers at the metal, and as it clicked and whirred on its rails the entire thing would stop and change direction, then dip into the vat. As the steel sank out of sight, a thick cloud of steam roiled into the air and rose until it was sucked up by a metal hood that loomed in the darkness of the ceiling.
“Yeah, I can smell it, too.”
“Cyanide, it dissolves the copper.”
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a bullet shell and threw it to me. It bounced off my chest and rolled onto the cement floor.
“Watched a poor bastard get some splashed in his eye,” he said, frowning.
I fished around under a conveyor belt for the case. The floor was waxy and black.
“Don’t worry about that; let’s hurry up before Dar-Dar the Barbarian comes out of her cave.”
> 3 / ?

[Anonymous No.1255135]

We looked over at our supervisor’s office. Darcy was staring at us from over her computer monitor. I smiled and pushed the cart out the door. The smell of cyanide faded, and the roar of machinery was replaced with the sound of Casey Kasem’s voice—Now, it’s time for our long distance dedication. This one is about kids, and pets, and a situation we can all understand.
“This is my life, slowly going insane and making bullets.” I said. He turned and looked at me. “Every Sunday, man. Every goddamned Sunday! Twelve hours of this guys’ voice, talking about pets and people’s problems. I’m going to jump into that fucking vat if they vote for this station again.”
“Today, it’s nineteen-seventy-motherfucking-three, and we are treated to the very best of Marvin Gaye, Kris Kristofferson, Stevie Wonder, and my personal favorite—Grand Funk Railroad,” Danny said, imitating Kasem’s voice.
“They are always cramming this bullshit about productivity down our throats, and then we listen to that, that voice! I can’t be productive while he lulls me to sleep.”
“Audible chocolate.” He said, smiling.
> 4 / ?

[Anonymous No.1255138]

>>1255116

I like this too much

[Anonymous No.1255137]

“He could have done his shows with the Shaggy voice. That, I would enjoy.”
We rounded a small shed and made our way down the narrow road that cut between the production buildings. The walls were tall and made out of tin, and every so often a fork lift honked as it passed us. The alley veered left around the last tin building. The acetone hut was dimly lit by a flickering light that dangled by a chain from its ceiling.
“I’ve come prepared,” Danny said.
“How is that?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dust mask and started fumbling with the straps.
“Something to catch your vomit, eh?”
“Let’s get this over with; it’s colder than a witch’s titty out here.”
It was always an event—opening the lid for the first time. Some people couldn’t handle it. I had seen the acetone vat make people cough, gag, choke, wheeze and puke. I went for the classic, closed-eye-breath-held approach.
> 5 / ?

[Anonymous No.1255141]

“Today, junior,” said Danny.
I flipped it open. The gas blasted out from under the lid and fogged my glasses, cooling my face. The acetone quivered and sloshed against the walls of the tank.
“Throw me those gloves,” Danny said.
I reached over to the wall of the hut where the gloves and goggles and wire brushes hung.
“Did you ever go to college?” I asked, throwing him a pair of rubber gloves.
Danny slipped the gloves on and picked up the heavy aluminum pieces and lowered them into the acetone tub. He looked over at me and grinned, wickedly.
“I dropped out of Cornell after I knocked my wife up,” he said in a monotone voice.
“What were you majoring in?”
“Mechanical engineering,” he said, dejectedly.
He picked up another piece of aluminum and dropped it into the tub. I shut the lid and flicked a switch. The tub made a terrible squealing sound and began to vibrate. Danny reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He pulled down his dust mask and put it gingerly in his lips and pulled put his lighter up to the end of the cigarette.
“Are you fucking crazy?” I stepped back and put my hand on one of the support beams. I’m not sure if I really thought that the thin stick of wood would really protect me, but I was ready to duck and cover.
> 6 / ?
>Flood detection .....
>Reply if you want the whole essay?

[Anonymous No.1255142]

Fuck the bright repulsive cold
That seeps into my waking mind
I want to sleep, to creep
Slowly back into the void
Of dark and soothing dream's delight

The safest place
That is shelter from the world
Escaping from the bright and happy lights
That burn my eyes and make the worries
Of my tortured mind seem near

There is no cold wind
Nor sharp and deafening noise
In my lonely refuge of spinning spiral thought
Safe in memory's warm embrace
Safe from the cold and horrible machine of rusty chains that is the truth

I say no to the cold, closing my eyes
Not truth, Lies will warm my soul

[Anonymous No.1255143]

“That’s the problem with you college kids,” he smiled and slipped the lighter and cigarette back into his pocket, “thinking that everyone else in the world is half retarded.”
“Sorry if I am a little weary about you lighting up around the most flammable place on this entire goddamned lot,” I said, laughing nervously.
“Why did you ask if I had gone to college,” Danny said, leaning up against the empty cart.
“It’s just hard, going to college and working forty hours a week. I have to skip classes Mondays just to get some sleep in.”
Danny ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at the sky. The stars were barely visible through the steam of the cyanide vats and the glow of the city.
“Don’t take it for granted, man. I would give anything to go back.”
I stepped outside of the hut and looked up into the sky with Danny. He started humming the chorus to “What’s Going On” by Marvin Gaye.
“Talk to me, talk to me, talk to me so you can see, ohhh, what’s going on,” Danny sang.
The wind swept the cyanide steam away for a moment, and the stars twinkled and shimmered against the dark, orange glow of the city lights.
“I go to college all week long. I learn about Homer and Faulkner and Frost. I learn about writing prose, and how to be rhetorically affective,” I said. “And I come here on the weekends and make bullets.”

[Anonymous No.1255146]

“It pays the bills,” He said.
“Fuck the bills! I work my ass off all weekend so some asshole can get drunk and go out and shoot at cans or birds or squirrels.”
Danny laughed and picked at a blue splotch of paint on the cart with his finger.
“I steal a pocket full of bullets every day,” Danny said, squeezing a chip of paint out from under a fingernail. “I have a ten-gallon jug at home full of them.”
I opened my mouth. I was going to say how wonderful I thought it was, stealing from this shit hole. I was going to tell Danny about the things that I stole. I was going to talk, and then scrub the aluminum parts with a wire brush. I was going to pour fresh acetone all over them and watch the paint melt off and hope that none of it got on my skin. I was going to talk about how I wanted things to be, and how things really were. I was going to finish my conversation, finish my day at work, drive home and get an hour or two of sleep in before I had class. My mouth opened up and I started to say something, when the sky exploded.
8 / ?
>>1255143 7 / ?

[Anonymous No.1255147]

The sky turned purple and gold and red and yellow. Peach filaments of fire careened out of the rimfire roof and shot through the cyanide clouds. A concussion knocked against my chest and ears and shoulders and kicked me back a little. It was raining roof. Danny was yelling at me.
“Wake the fuck up! Acetone, man!”
He was running away from the hut. I could see him looking back at me as he ran, his face glowing dimly as the strings of fire and smoke floated down on us. I was hit in the head with a piece of roof. It smacked against my forehead and made me fall down. I was staring at the ground. The wet pavement glowed pink and smelled of rain and rubber. More of the roof showered onto my back. Something was tugging at my arm.
“Get up, man. Acetone, acetone, acetone,” Danny yelled in a high pitched scream.
> 9 / ?

[Anonymous No.1255148]

I scrambled up and we sprinted up the hill, toward the turn-style. The roof had all fallen. Tin and wood littered the alley. I looked back as the last of the peach filament showered down around the acetone hut. Pitter patter, pitter patter. Globs of fire were bouncing off the cart and falling around the tub. Sirens screamed and strobe lights flashed, lighting up the tin walls of the buildings as we passed. Rimfire—centerfire—plating—shipping. The tin monstrosities flickered past us as we ran.

I slid my access card through the reader and pushed the turnstyle. It clanked and spun around as I passed the fence and broke outside of the lot. I looked back down at the rimfire building. The lights of the fire trucks were gleaming off the tin walls and wet pavement. The whole lot flashed red. Danny slipped through the turnstyle behind me.
“So, you’re really done?” he asked.
> 10 / ?

[Anonymous No.1255149]

He took off his hat and shook it in the air.
“Yeah,” I replied, looking into his eyes and pressing the ice pack against my head.
We walked away from the fence with the razor wire and security cameras. I walked over to my car and popped the trunk. I leaned in and searched around in the darkness. I found the spare beer that I kept behind my toolbox. The cans were cold and wet and scratched from months of being sloshed around.
“I could use one of those,” said Danny.
I pulled two out and threw him one. He cracked it and took a loud, long drink.
“And you could use one of these.”
He crammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. We sat and smoked and drank in silence for a while.
“Quit pretending like it didn’t scare you, man.”
“You choked,” he said, laughing.
“I was struck in the skull with a heavy, mobile object,” I said.
I took a long drag off my cigarette and washed down the taste with the beer. Danny was chuckling and taking his boots off.

> 11 / ?

[Anonymous No.1255150]

“Regardless, kid,” he said, “you’re not coming back. So, I guess you don’t have to give a damn about being quick on your feet.”
“I really didn’t think your fat ass could move that fast!”
“It’s a good thing I’m not the one quitting. Shit, I don’t know what you’d do without me, saving your life and all,” he said, flashing his teeth and exhaling a cloud of smoke.
“I’m not going to have to say it, am I?” I asked.
“No. Just throw me another beer.”
We sat for another hour or so and talked and drank and smoked. I dropped him off at his house and watched him walk inside. That was the last time I saw Danny.

> 12 / ?
> I'm done unless someone wants more.
> Hope you liked it

[Anonymous No.1255158]

>>1255150
If there's more to it, I'd like to see it. There are a few punctuation changes I'd make, but they're minor. Considering some of the shit other people post on /lit/, this is good bro.

[Anonymous No.1255159]

>>1255142
>Bad
>>1255130
>Good

[Anonymous No.1255161]

>>1255158
Where's the punctuation errors?
and I'll continue.

[Anonymous No.1255168]

>>1255161
>"Why did you ask if I had gone to college," Danny said
Correct me if I'm mistaken, but this is a question. Shouldn't it be "Danny asked" and have a question mark?

Aside from that though, the other punctuation "errors" I was referring to are really just personal preferences, I'm noticing now. Sorry for misspeaking.

Also:
>“Sorry if I am a little weary about you lighting up around the most flammable place on this entire goddamned lot,” I said, laughing nervously.

I think you mean "wary," not "weary."

They're all really minor things, most of which I'd only change because of the way I write. And that doesn't have much to do with you.

[Anonymous No.1255176]

It was two in the morning when I got back to Moscow. I had class in six hours. I got the small bike out of my trunk and pedaled back to my fraternity. The gash on my forehead was sealed up with superglue and ace bandage and I was a little buzzed from the beer. The frigid air stung my face as I pushed on the handlebar and kicked at the pedals. Moscow is different than Lewiston. The air was colder, and the stars were brighter. I was glad to be back. I was glad to be home.
I slipped into bed and sat my glasses down on my nightstand—an empty keystone ice box. I set my alarm for six. Six hours until class. I dreamed about fire and acetone.

[Anonymous No.1255177]

“Right hand on shoulder.”
I clenched at a shoulder.
“Eyes closed!”
I peaked. Down and down we went. Four flights of stairs, a line of shuffling and stomping people.
“Close your eyes!”
He was in front. I could barely see him through my eyelashes. He looked up at the back of the pack through the gap between the stairs. The guy who had his hand on my shoulder gave me a squeeze.
“The fuck, man?” he hissed.
“Close your eyes!” the guy in the gown yelled.
Down and down. I was tripping over pants and bumping into the kid in front of me. The line of people stopped.
“Keep your eyes closed.” He yelled again from the front of the line.
I opened my eyes. He was short, and dressed in a long, black gown. Golden rope and tassel hung around his shoulders. We had descended into the basement. He knocked on the door.

[Anonymous No.1255179]

“Who is it?” someone yelled from behind the door. His voice was muffled.
“Candidates, seeking approval from the knights of the Legion of Honor.”
“Wait!”
“Alright, guys,” he half-whispered, turning back towards the line of blinded kids—each holding a shoulder with their heads bent down, “when you go in there, remember what I taught you.”
The kid in front of me was shivering uncontrollably. He was in his underwear, holding his arm up and clenching at a shoulder, his head bent down and scowling, his eyes shut. The person behind me was squeezing my shoulder, trying to comfort me, I guess. It didn’t work. I was blind and the gash on my forehead was pounding. My glasses had been broke earlier when we were woken up. Ten or fifteen strangers had stormed our sleeping porch and screamed us awake. Some asshole stomped on my Keystone Ice nightstand. My glasses were in two pieces.

[Anonymous No.1255180]

“Come in!”
The door swung open and I watched the front of the line shuffle in. They disappeared one by one into the darkness of the room. The kid in his underwear started to move, and I tried to follow. My right shoulder strained as I tried to drag the remaining line of people behind me. I shut my eyes as we entered the room.
“Sit on the floor,” someone commanded.
“You can open your eyes,” someone else said.
I opened my eyes. The room was dark. The only light was a candle on a table and a gleaming badge that hung on the wall above the candle. The badge was lit by numerous gold light bulbs. The fraternity’s symbol was emblazoned in the middle. I followed the line of people as they shuffled around and sat in the middle of the floor. The kid in his underwear sat next to me and tried to huddle up next to me. The floor was a cold and uncomfortable.
“Stare at the badge!”

[Anonymous No.1255181]

I looked up at the badge. The fringes of light blurred into globs of orange and pink. I couldn’t make out much without my glasses. I was too startled when it happened to be angry, but as I sat on the linoleum, waiting for my half-naked classmates to shuffle their way into the room, the anger started to establish itself. Some asshole had stomped on my glasses so I could be shuffled into a room and yelled at. What bullshit, I thought.
“Tyler, stand up,” a voice from the darkness commanded.
The shivering kid that was huddled up next to me clambered to his feet. I looked up at his face. Through my blindness, I saw his eyes still plastered shut. His knees trembled.
“What is the number one duty of a candidate?” The voice asked.
Tyler squeaked. His jaw was chattering and his hands curled into fists about his naked thighs.

[Anonymous No.1255184]

“Respect,” he murmered.
“What?” Another voice yelled from the other side of the room.
“Respect!” he shouted.
“Sit down, Tyler.”
He sat down and huddled back up next to me. Through the darkness, I could see one face. I peered over the heads of my huddled and shivering classmates. Under the golden glow of the badge sat the president of the chapter. He was dressed in the same dark, flowing gown. On the table where he was sitting, a large book with golden pages was opened half way, and resting atop the book was a long sword.
“Nick, stand up,” another voice commanded.
A tall, gawky looking kid in the front of the huddled mass stood up. He too was in his underwear, and his shoulder blades protruded from his back like stubby wings.
“What is the creed of our fraternity?”

[Anonymous No.1255186]

The gawky kid stood in silence for a moment. My eyes began to adjust, and through the darkness I saw them. They were in dress clothes, and lined the walls of the room, staring at the tall, gawky, half naked kid. Their hands were held in front of their waist and their faces glowered with frowns and solemn stares.
Nick began, “To believe in the life of love,” he took a staggered breath. “To walk in the way of honor.”
“Louder!” one of the people at the side of the room yelled.
“To serve in the light of truth!” Nick shouted. “This is the way—”
“Sit the fuck down!” another shouted.
The tall, gawky kid sat down.

[Anonymous No.1255187]

“You live in my house, and you don’t even care what we’re about?” One of the people in dress clothes moved from the wall and began to circle us. Around and around he went in a frenzied, skipping gait. His voice cracked and squealed in anger. He bent down around the half naked kids on the outer layer of the mass and screamed in their ears. “You think you can fucking disrespect me?” He hunched over with his hands on his knees, screaming in Tyler’s ear. I stared at the badge and felt the tremble in his knees clatter against mine. “You’re not going to answer me?” he screamed.
“I respect you,” Tyler stuttered.

[Anonymous No.1255190]

“Ohhhhh, you say you do, don’t you,” he said, his voice rising and falling and screaming.
Another of the people broke free from the wall and began to circle the mass of half naked kids. Their screams began to meld into one voice. More and more of the people joined in the dance. Around and around they went, screaming and hunching over. The air began to smell of a thick, tangy Copenhagen—Grizzly—Skoal—Wintergreen Snuss. In their lips were lumps of chewing tobacco. It began to sicken me. Their shoulders and heads flashed in the orange glow of the badge as they circled, screaming and stomping and skipping. A slow shower of spit hit the faces and bare skin of the outer layer of kids. I closed my eyes and took in a staggered breath of the minty tobacco.
A door crashed open and they flung themselves out. Without a word, one by one they sprinted out of the room and left us sitting there. Alone and shivering and covered with tobacco spit, we sat and listened to their stomping ascend the stairs. And then, silence. None of us moved. Some kept their eyes closed; some stared forward into the glow of the badge; everyone shivered.
After countless moments of sitting and shifting on the hard, cold tiles, a shoulder jabbed me in the ribs from my left. I looked over and saw my friend sitting beside me, his arms curled around his naked knees and head bent towards me.

[Anonymous No.1255191]

“What happened to your head, man?” he said in a barely audible whisper.
“Explosion at work,” I said.
A chorus of shushes rang out from the huddled mass. Some peered back over their shoulders and scowled at me. I raised my hand up and flipped them off.
“Holy shit, you okay?” he raised his voice as loud as mine. Another round of shushes from the mass. “Oh, fuck off. They’re gone,” he said.
“Yeah, I’m alright,” I said, touching my forehead gingerly and feeling the sting from the gash pound through my head and ring in my ears. I reached over and flicked a speckle of tobacco off his shoulder and shifted on the tile. “I quit.”
“Nice,” he said.
We sat on the tile for countless more moments. Time and space didn’t matter. We shivered together and stared at the glowering symbol on the wall. I closed my eyes and watched the filaments of orange and yellow fire shoot into the clouds of cyanide. Acetone, man. Acetone.

>That's it. I continue with another portion that braids into the beginning two stories but I've no time before class. Hope you enjoyed it.
>Undergrad @ University of Idaho.

[KYLESA No.1255193]

The oral surgeon stuck a long metal hook in her unconscious patient's mouth and scraped agitatedly at his gums. The patient looked like a floating head with the blue bib on, Kyle thought. The surgeon talked excitedly about how this patient’s Alvolar bone was particularly strong. She put some pressure on the long metal hook until she pried out a molar that with a sickly, unreal popping sound was surely added in post-production. The surgeon never stopped talking. She’d comment on how it was weird that her patient's teeth were so small for his age and how this was possibly because he was only 4’8. She then talked about how careful she had to be with the anesthesia. Her nonchalant attitude was ridiculously distracting for Kyle, who was watching the procedure on a long brown couch in his living room. Samantha, sitting next to him, stared at the television screen with wide eyes and shoveled spoonfuls of raisin-bran into her mouth.
“I wish you wouldn’t watch your surgery videos on the living room TV,” Kyle said to his girlfriend. He was hugging a pillow to his stomach in her living room, which was predominantly decorated in red, a display of school spirit. She commuted about 30 miles each day to attend New Mexico University’s Division of Dental Hygiene. Kyle did not. In fact, he’d been working the same warehouse job for years, happy with the steady hours and decent pay. NMU’s blood red flags hung behind the tv, emblazoned with glaring coyotes, whose visage also appeared on a red rug at the center of the room.
“Babe, I’m doing this for my class, it’s not necessarily fun for me either,” Samantha said and turned the volume down just as a particularly vulgar drill began to make its way into a tooth, spraying hard looking bits of calcium and blood everywhere. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to pass this class if I don’t start learning these procedures inside and out,” she said.

[KYLESA No.1255194]

“Okay, that’s fine, but do they have to add all these sound effects in? I seriously doubt they shoved a microphone into this person’s mouth, and I can hardly hear that chick over that drill.”
This gave her pause, and Kyle was momentarily pleased with himself. “How would you know what they even sound like,” Samantha finally said and rolled her eyes. “And I don’t really know, to tell you the truth. I guess because it would sell more copies.” She tilted the finished bowl of raisin brain up past her nose and drank the milk from the bottom. When it was empty she placed it on on the glass coffee table at the center of the living room and picked up a laptop.
Kyle winced when he looked back at the screen. The patient’s mouth was harshly lit from all angles, his teeth just looked so alien and misshapen, especially next to the dentist’s own gigantic pearly white smile which she proudly displayed on the DVD’s box sitting on the coffee table. On the TV, she darted in with a long metal spear quickly to make a mark on one of the patient’s front teeth. Kyle felt his molar with his tongue. “I don’t know how you stand this,” he said.
“This isn’t bad. Route canal videos aren’t bad. This is nothing,” Smanatha said a little too hurriedly and jotted something down on her laptop. “Listen, Hun, I really don’t need your constant stream of negativity. We’ve talked about this. I wish you’d just support me,” she snapped.
They sat in silence for a while and watched the procedure. Kyle sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Samantha, but she definitely wasn’t who he’d pictured settling down with. In fact, Kyle hadn’t pictured settling down. He knew all he had to do was walk away from this, go to a bar and start something new, meet someone whose rhythm and routine he didn’t know so intimately, break free from the monotony and nervous conversations where they tried so hard not to offend the other.

[KYLESA No.1255195]

Something seemed to compel him to Samantha, however, and it wasn’t just her promise of relatively stable financial security once she graduated (although he’d be lying if he said that didn’t factor in at all). She reminded him in his weakest moments of his own mother - disapproving, but understanding to a fault. Deeper down still, Kyle knew that he could go to a bar and sleep with someone else, if it all just got to be too much. Samantha would understand after a few days. In fact she had once before, and several times unwittingly.
“Oh, wow, this is really something. Okay, now look at this,” the surgeon on TV said and jabbed a circular mirror on the end of a long metal rod into the patient’s mouth. “Do you see this pale lesion on tonsilliar tissue here? This is an early sign of mouth cancer.”
Kyle threw the pillow he was holding onto couch cushion next to him and stood up to settle the churning in his stomach. He looked out the large window to the right of the TV. It was dusk and the sky was a swirl of pink and purple. There were dark clouds far in the distance, and the TV weathermen had split opinions on whether or not it was actually going to snow in New Mexico tonight. Kyle didn’t believe that, though. He’d always felt like he could feel cold weather coming, and while it was certainly not warm out, the chances of it getting below 32 degrees tonight just seemed improbable. He thought about asking Samantha her thoughts on the subject, but when he looked at her it was obvious she didn’t want her train of thought to be interrupted. She was chewing aggressively on the sleeve of her jacket and watching the video with wide eyes. Kyle stared at her teeth cutting into the nylon of her jacket and imagined the roots that snaked their way deep into her gums.

[KYLESA No.1255197]

“Well, I’m gonna head back to my place. Come get me when you’re ready to go to dinner.”
“Alright. You still wanna go to that Indian restaurant later?” She looked up, rubbing her eyes with one hand, and hitting ‘pause’ on the remote with the other.
“Yeah, for sure. You still wanna go? You look tired is all.”
“Yes, I want to go. Why would you even ask that? I just suggested it,” Samantha snapped.
Kyle shrugged. She’s bound to go into one of her comatose states of sleep tonight, he thought.
“Gimme a hug and a kiss before you go,” she said. Kyle rolled his eyes, but walked over to her and did both. She pushed play as soon as he turned around.
“There’s a lot of blood here - I’m gonna have to stop this gushing by applying pressure with my finger,” the tv said.
----------------------------------
The Indian place wasn’t exactly popular, but after the meal she’d just had, Samantha was sure it would be described that way very soon. The inescapable smell of spices filled the place with a slightly mysterious, foreign air. Bold furniture from the newly opened IKEA was in the waiting room and clashed with the heavy wooden chairs and tables the rest of the restaurant was furnished with. The review she’d write later on Yelp was already forming in her head.
Samantha and Kyle sat in a daze behind a small stack of used plates and empty glasses. Kyle looked beautiful, but she knew that he’d just get flustered if she told him that.

[KYLESA No.1255199]

“That was so good,” Samantha said and drank the last of her black tea. Kyle smiled and nodded in agreement. Samantha looked at his teeth when he smiled at her, and she picked out all the flaws in their construction. She’d attempted to explain to him that his overbite wasn’t slight anymore, but he hadn’t listened - He just put on that bored looking face and nodded. It was a better response than the death-stare he’d given her when she’d brought up proper flossing methods. She thought about the procedure it would take to fix his overbite, and how easy it would really be, honestly. Maybe once she opened her own practice. . . in fifteen years or whenever she had enough money for that. Maybe longer, she worried, her thoughts drifting to the exponentially growing student loans taken out in her name.
They paid the bill and walked outside toward Kyle’s car, an old black sports car he’d had for years. His parents had given it to him when he turned 20, and through ingenuity, dumb luck and, according to Kyle, just solid American construction, the thing still ran.
The air was sharp and cut right through the couples’ jackets. They clung to each other as Kyle fumbled in his pocket for his keys.
“I can’t believe it got so cold so fast,” he said. “And dark.”
“Oh, yeah. I can’t believe you didn’t hear about this. It’s going to snow tonight,” Samantha said excitedly and hopped up and down.
“I had. . . I was going to ask you about it earlier, actually. Anyway, it’s all wishful thinking if you ask me,” Kyle said and finally unlocked the door. “I can tell when it’s going to snow out here, and tonight is not one of those nights.”

[Anonymous No.1255200]

>>1255191
And I did, at that.

[KYLESA No.1255201]

A family of 5 drove slowly past, and all of the passengers glared out fogged windows at the couple as they drifted by.
“That’s weird. I felt like they were staring at me,” Kyle said and sat down on a springy, velvet red seat. He brushed wadded up newspapers and junk mail from the dash onto the floor.
“Probably were. People riding in cars get free reign to stare at just about anyone walking around,” Samantha said. Kyle looked at her with a sideways glance. “No, really! What’s to stop them? The car is armor. I bet you couldn’t pick that family out of a lineup at this exact moment even,” Samantha said and aimed an air-conditioning vent at her face.
“Yeah, probably not. All I remember is that the kid in the back was sucking down a soda, and he definitely didn’t need it,” Kyle said and caught Samantha’s eye. They both laughed.
“I don’t feel like I do that. You know, stare out windows at people,” Kyle said and swung the car out of the parking spot without even looking behind him. “That’s just rude.” Across some incomprehensible distance, but probably about 12 miles according to Kyle’s rough estimation, cell-phone towers blinked in unison.
Samantha just shook her head. “Trust me, I’ve seen you do it, in fact. Everybody does it. It’s okay.” She yawned took out a stick of gum from her pocket and began chewing. “It’s not like anyone really cares.” The smell of curry in the car couldn’t compete with the sharp wintergreen gum, approved by the ADA for strengthening teeth if eaten fifteen minutes following a meal. In addition, Samantha thought, it was just so cold out. Samantha had always believed that smell didn’t travel as well in the cold, that it couldn’t find as many places to cling to, but was afraid to tell anyone this because she was sure she was just crazy.

[Anonymous No.1255296]

With the non-existant ticking of the clock
the anticipation slowly increases
We, the ones in the corners and under the benches
watch on as the lemmings scurry along their path
We, the ones who monitor the Great Clock
but have no sense of time
But we know
that with each silent click in the clock,
the moment draws near
Here in our despair,
we wait for the calling of the sky

Please post your opinion on this. I just started writing and I want to know if I have any hope of getting better.

[Anonymous No.1255342]

bump