This is a place where you can let yourself free.
You can submit your stories here, and they will be posted for everyone to see. This is a place where we want your ideas to have the chance to be read.
There will also be monthly writing contests, featured writers, reading lists, and other nerdy-type-things.
So Enjoy!
-Sunsetsandsunrises & Toxicmachine
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July 26, 2009
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Nine by Shannon S. (Toxicmachine)
This is part of a story I started a while back. It’s my favorite part, and it just happened to be part nine of the story (but it’s only in chapter 2).
The story is about a girl named Candice, who lives outside of life, instead of in it. She doesn’t talk, she likes to watch people, to decode them and see what they’re really like on the inside. Her sister is 14-year-old Jess who lives on the wrong side of life because she thinks it’s really living. She is the only member of her broken family that is really stable, and even so, just barely. There’s a lot of other characters and plot lines, but on to the story!
-Toxicmachine
Jess trailed her hand along the rough cinder blocks of the wall. Her fingers felt raw. She relished the pain, glad of it. Glad she could break down for a moment without anyone relying on her to be strong. She closed her eyes, savoring the golden sunshine that broke through the day. It was one of those afternoons when kids rode their bikes and the air was cool and crisp with autumn. One of those days when everything glistened and shone brightly in the sun. One of those lazy days where you take sluggish walks through your neighborhood.
One of those days when you cherish everything. It’s just all too beautiful. She smiled to herself, opening her eyes. A crab apple tree hung over the wall, yellow and brown apples scattered on the ground, too ripe and too ugly for the brilliance of the Indian Summer. They were dull and wrinkled, bruised. She looked at it, staring at it with a pained familiarity. It was like her, too ripe and too ugly for life; dull, wrinkled, and bruised from trying to hold up such an appearance. She knelt down to pick one up, holding the warm little thing in her hands as if it were a baby. She continued to walk, examining the apple, trying to understand herself with the help of nature. She turned it in her hands as she sauntered down the sidewalk.
She took a meaty bite out of it, its flesh mealy and brown but sweet like sugar and warm like summer. She let swarthy amber juice dribble down her chin. She swallowed it all, the seeds, the flesh, the dirt caked onto the side of it. And she embraced it, this perfect moment, this understanding. She wiped her face with her forearm, not caring how sticky the juice was. She took another bite, wondering why in the world she had never eaten a brown apple.
