The Golden Thread

She sits, quiet, in her corner, her hair as red as the threads wrapped around the man’s fingers. The threads tug him backward, their color fading with every step he takes in the opposite direction from where they want him to go. She makes a note in her thick sheaf of papers.

“Red for romance,” she whispers. There are at least fifteen threads wrapped around him, some almost white, some the fresh red of an open wound. “And red for rage.”

The man pushes forward, seemingly unaware of the threads holding him back, or of the small girl in the corner with her eyes laser focused on him. He passes out of view, and Fala turns her gaze to the next passerby. Her eyes widen in surprise as she takes him in.

A young man, around twenty, with wavy brown hair, lanky limbs, and wire rimmed glasses. She knows his type. Always lurking in bookshops and libraries, thinking they can make a difference. There wouldn’t be anything special about him, but for the the shimmering golden threads covering every inch of his neck.

Fala stumbles to her feet, numb from sitting for so long with her legs tucked underneath her.

“Gold?” She mumbles. “There has never been gold before.”

The young man pauses, tugging at his neck. Her hand leaps to her mouth as she realizes he is tugging not at his scarf, but at the gold threads encasing him. He has stopped right in front of her. What if he looks over at her? He will see a girl staring at something she should not be able to see.

But, the little voice in the back of her head murmurs, he shouldn’t be able to see them either. Or feel them. In fact, feeling them is even worse.

The young man has adjusted his golden threads and begins walking down the street. Fala, after a moment of hesitation, staggers after him.

It is disorienting to be out on the street after the long weeks she has spent in the alley, salvaging food from the trash bins beside her. Her steps are uneven, and she dodges vibrant colored threads with every step.

“Red is romance and rage, blue is sadness and pain, yellow is happiness and joy, green is melancholy and goodbyes, orange is friendship and fighting, purple is panic and pride,” she chants under her breath, winding pieces of yarn around and around her index finger. She almost trips on an aquamarine thread connecting to the woman walking beside her and has to start again.

The young man turns left, and she paces back and forth on the corner, deliberating. Is this worth leaving her safe haven, where she can observe the ties of passerbys’ life in peace?

But you have never seen golden thread before…

She forges on.

He pauses outside a toy shop, gazing at the display in the window, and at a pet store, where several puppies huddle in a corner. His fingers press against the glass, and his breath fogs it up. He waits a long minute before moving on.

After crossing several streets and turning many corners away from Fala’s alleyway, the young man stops.

“Are you going to talk to me, or just skulk behind me for the next three blocks, little girl?” He calls. Fala blushes and ducks her head, slowing until she comes to a complete stop several feet behind him. This is the closest she’s been to him, and her heart rises into her throat, gold glinting tantalizingly at the corners of her vision. “You can stop pretending like you haven’t been following me. We both know you’re there.”

“I’m not a little girl.” The voice that bursts from her mouth is not her own. He laughs.

“Of course you aren’t. No girl with gold like yours could ever be considered ‘little’.” Fala blanches.

“I… I don’t have any… I don’t have any money,” she stammers. He laughs again, and the noise grates across her ears, the sharpness of it a blade pressed against her throat.

“Oh, I’m not talking about money.” Alarms are ringing in her head, the low smoothness of his voice telling her to run away while she still can. “You think you’re the only one who can see them?”

“Excuse me?” Black spots are starting to cover her eyes, and she can’t seem to get enough air no matter how many deep breaths she takes. “I don’t… I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He turns around. His teeth are bared in a vicious smile, and they are pointed sharper than the dagger tucked into the waistband of her pants.

“It’s a blessing and a curse,” he sighs. “Keeping me chained in this mind, this body, but keeping me alive.” His eyes rove over her. “Yes, you have just what I need.”

“I don’t have anything.” That laugh again, rubbing her skin raw.

“These threads connect everything in the universe through emotion and thought, and you think you are exempt from them? You think you’re special at all?” His voice is malicious, and his words hold a hunger she hasn’t heard before. She is too afraid to answer.

“I can see them. Don’t you think I would know, if I had any?” She chokes down a mixture between a laugh and a sob. “I’m alone. Unconnected.” His laugh is tearing her apart.

“You’re wrapped from head to toe, darling.” His smiles stretches ever wider.

“I’m not your darling,” Fala states. “And I’ve told you, I don’t have any. Please leave me alone.” Her voice fades to a whisper. He regards her for a minute, his eyes wide and blank. He looks so empty, so innocent, that she almost relaxes. Then he takes a step forward, and she is frozen in fear.

“I’m not ready to die,” he tells her. “I will never be ready. I have so much left to do, so much left to give to this world. I can’t have that taken from me by something as simple as a weakening body.” He takes another step forward. “You’re going to help me on the way to great things, Fala.”

“I never told you my name.” He ignores her.

“With just a fraction of your gold, I’ll be fresher, younger, stronger. I’ll be able to accomplish great things. I just need some of your threads.” He’s standing right in front of her now, and his hands brush the bare skin of her wrists. She draws back.

“Don’t touch me,” she hisses.

“I’m not ready to die, Fala.” There is a warning in his voice, and her muscles tighten, ready to run, but she is a statue in his gaze.

“No one is.” He steps closer, now inches away from her.

“You should be.” Before she can react his hands close around her throat and-

Fala awakes back in her alley, just in time to see the young man walk by, wrapped entirely in gold.

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the halloween house-a short story by isabel

the halloween house

there is a house, at the corner of candleberry and elm. it is an ordinary house, with a brown shingled roof, red brick walls, and green shutters. most of the time, no one gives it a second glance. their eyes slide right over it, moving from one house to the next. there is nothing special about it.

except there is.

every year, on october first, a halloween decoration appears. sometimes it’s something small, like fake spiders on the shutters. other times it’s enormous, like the projection of the incredible hulk, who raises his brings down on top of you. for a second you think you have died, until you realize it’s only a projection. but they’re always there. and they’re always different. and by halloween, it’s a wonderland of horrors.

the adults think it’s sinister. no one goes into that house, and no one comes out. it would be presumed empty if not for the annual event. they take turns ringing the bell, bringing cookies to make it seem like a friendly visit instead of a reconnaissance mission. no one answers. they try the door. locked. the same thing every time.

the children adore it. they gather at the corner of candleberry and elm, their eyes roving over the structure, desperate to be the first to spot the newest decoration. all of them relish in the mystery of it, the element of surprise that keeps them up at night.

all of them forget it, of course. they grow up, lose interest, head off to bigger and better things. all except for one.

egbert danielson is seven years old. he has curly brown hair, creamy brown skin, and thousands of freckles. he is just like any other child, except for one thing.

egbert is only happy for one month a year-october. it’s as if he saves all his happiness up for this one month, when the house on the corner of candleberry and elm comes alive. he is always the first to spot the latest cobweb, skeleton, or fake headstone. he notices things about the house that no one else does.

he notices the flashes of pale skin through the shutters, as though someone is running through the house. he notices the soft blue light that seems to permeate every crack of the building. he notices the pair of slippers sitting on the roof, right next to the chimney. he notices the cuts running up and down the arms of the woman who opens the door, when he finally gets up the courage to knock.

she doesn’t say anything at first. her eyes speak volumes. they are the same muddy color as ocean water, and they have a shattered quality to them. her skin is translucent, and you can see the outlines of bones through it. finally, she speaks.

“we’ve been waiting for you,” she smiles, her face skeletal as she leans forward and bites him on the neck.

the next morning, there is a new decoration on the halloween house.


hey guys! long time, no see, am i write? 😜 i hope you enjoy this seasonal short story. have a fantastic (spoooooooky) day!

love from,

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kiss away the darkness

another (better) song for my favorite donuts. enjoy!

kiss away the darkness 

there was a girl (you)
who was born broken into a thousand pieces
no one ever cared to pick you up, lift you up
into the stars

and then there was him
he picked up the pieces in
soft summer breezes but
he only tore you apart

at night, in the dark, through the beating of your heart
you think you hear his voice saying “it will be okay”
lies, all lies, and he’s
lying on the couch with your brother in the dark

hands in his hair, in your hair
lips on your mouth, in your mind
prying open secrets like old kitchen cupboards and you’ve
lost your first lover to the world inside your home

then she’s there,with her heart on her sleeve
open mind, scabby knees
kiss away the salty tears
kiss away your deepest fears
kiss away the sadness and the dark


i hope you like it! constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. have a fantabulous day!

love from,

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*photograph*

long time, no see, eh?

i had a crappy song idea today and i wrote it down, and i’m gonna share it with y’all now.  enjoy!

*photograph*

I wish I had a photograph
Of each moment
We spend together
Cause it’s the little things that matter
 
I would hold it to my chest
And kiss your
face
And dream that I could ever matter
 
Falling asleep
It’s you I see
Every time
Every dang time
 
I wish I had a photograph
Of each moment
We spend together
 
Cause it’s the little things that
matter
 


hope you liked it!
 
love from,
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make your mark

i traced my fingers over the painted words, inhaling their musty scent. i am surrounded with the hopes and dreams of those who came before me. now, it’s time to make my mark.

i dip my hand into the thick teal paint, allowing it to coat my fingers, painting a single smear upon the wall. it glows among the dim monotony of the black and white letters in my room.

i think over the life-shaking words i am about to write, turning them over in my mind until i’m ready.

slowly, s l o w l y, i paint my legendary declaration.

will turner is baeeeeeeeeee!


just a little something for y’all. 😊😉

love from,

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“all you need is love”

more sad stuff. sorry. to whoever wrote this song, credit for the lyrics goes to you.


“all you need is love.”

a girl, thin with two dark braids, drifts along the sidewalk, singing softly to herself.

“all you need is love.”

she rubs her arms, shivering as she walks into the wind.

“all you need is love,”

a car rounds the corner, red with rust. the driver, intoxicated. the passengers, out cold.

“love…”

the car swerves onto the sidewalk, the driver too drunk to see straight. she doesn’t notice, too focused on the lilting words spilling forth from her.

“all you need is lo-”

her life ends at the same time as her song. 


have a nice day! i feel you still can… 

love from,

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b r o k e n memories

ok, so i know i already posted today, but i’m kind of on a roll, so here’s some more sad stuff to make you and me both cry. 😥

b r o k e n memories

don’t let go

i’m waiting for you

hold me tight

i’m not leaving you

forgive me

no, no, no.

i can’t stay any longer

it’s not time yet

goodbye

i’m not ready

all my love to

don’t break my

y o u

h e a r t

Trevor goes to Jasmine’s funeral, placing a handful of her namesake on her grave.

beautiful blossoms for a beautiful girl, inside and o u t.

He cradles the pictures he took, putting them on the walls and taking them down.

too p a i n f u l to look.

The notes she wrote him are buried deep in a box in the corner of his bedroom.

the flowery scent of her still l i n g e r s.

Tears drip from the tip of his nose onto her yearbook picture.

all these broken memories

just

might

b r e a k me

i’m sorry for your poor feels! trevor ain’t the only one with a broken heart after all this sad stuff i keep posting. 

bye!

love from,

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(answers)

yay, more depressing stuff. joy oh joy. not. guys, your comments are really nice, and i’m sorry i can’t write something less sad for y’all. i’m just not feeling the happy writing vibes, ya know? anyways, let’s get on to our weird poem story thing.

*warning: this story contains character eating disorders, suicidal thoughts, depression, self harm (kind of?), and suicide. if you are under thirteen, do not read this poem without parental permission, unless you’re absolutely SURE you can handle it.*

(answers) 

(if i was prettier, would he like me?)

mai admires him from across the room. her eyes water, because she know he’ll never be hers.

(if i was thinner, would he look my way?)

she goes to take a bite of ice cream, then hesitates and replaces her spoon.

(if i was smarter, would my parents love me?)

she’s on perpetual diets. she waits for someone to notice, to tell her to stop, but no one does.

(does anyone love me?)

her mother snaps at her to finish her lasagna. mai nods, scraping her plate into the trash can when no one is looking.

(has anyone ever loved me?)

mai collapses one day during gym; she’s too thin to run a fast as they’re making her.

(will i ever be loved?)

the school nurse takes one look at her and calls the doctor.

(yes?)

they put a tube in her stomach, forcing her to eat, but she doesn’t want to eat, she’s too fat, she doesn’t deserve to eat.

(no?)

her parents don’t even feel sorry for mai-instead, they’re mad at her. It’s her fault, she should’ve just eaten.

(maybe?)

she believes them.

(i just want answers.)

mai rips the tube out. it hurts, but she deserves this pain and suffering. she deserves to die.

(can you help me?)

her breaths rattle in her chest. mai rubs her hands together for warmth, but there is no warmth left.

(no one can.)

“i just want someone to care about me.”

(it’s too late.)

//oh poor girl who just wanted to be loved//

//you’re in a better place now//

//up above//

so that’s that. have a nice day!

love from,

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p.s. i’m finally getting the hang of this whole graphics thing! yay! 

//choices//

hello, friends! today i have another sad, depressing poem for y’all, but at least it’s not about me this time. it also has anaphora. it’s about two characters, sonya and ethan, and the choices the make. there’s a story on each side of the poem, and a different choice. 

*warning: this story contains character suicide, suicidal thoughts, depression, self harm, and child abuse. if you are under thirteen, do not read this poem without parental permission.* 

//choices//

 

sonya stumbles in the dark. she is night. she is pain.

ethan hits his sister, who hits back. he is light. he is pain.

sonya rubs her bruises and cries. she is night. she is pain.

ethan rolls over in bed and dreams of endless sleep. he is light. he is pain.

sonya curls up in a ball. she is night. she is pain.

ethan wonders why he is alive. he is light. he is pain.

sonya hides from him and his punching fists. she is night. she is pain.

ethan finds the pills and prepares to end it all. he is light. he is pain.

sonya thinks that life is not worth living. she is night. she is pain.

ethan imagines his sister crying at his funeral. he is light. he is pain.

sonya presses the gun against her forehead. she is night. she is pain.

ethan thinks of a life of happiness, a life he could still have. he is light. he is pain.

sonya slips through the cracks. she was night. she was pain.

ethan disposes of the pills. he is light. he is alive.

sonya’s baby brother cries for a sister who will never return. she was night. she was pain.

he walks his little sister to school and kisses her goodbye. he is light. he is alive.

he arrives home drunk, laughing until they tell him. she was night. she was pain.

he wears long sleeves to hide the cuts. he is light. he is alive.

the school learns of her loss and shake their heads sadly. she was night. she was pain.

he learns of the death of a girl he’s known since birth. he is light. he is alive.

she had so much more to give. she was night. she was pain.

he leaves flowers and tears upon sonya’s grave. he is light. he is alive.

so much more life left to live. she was night. she was pain.

he prays it will be many years until he joins her. he is light. he is alive.

she lost it all. she was night. she was pain.

ethan returns home and bakes cookies with his family. he is light. he is alive.

“goodbye.” she was night. she was p a i n.

“i love you.” he is light. he is a l i v e.

thanks for reading! and remember, comments encourage & inspire me.

love from, 

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p.s. yay, me! i managed a cute graphic. for once. 

a.n.a.p.h.o.r.a.

hello! today i’m going to share a poem that uses symbolism and anaphora. it’s about me, and it’s kind of depressing, soooooooo… sorry. but first, i’ll tell you what anaphora is.

anaphora: the repetition of a word or phrase, usually at the beginning of a stanza in a poem or song.

anyway, here’s my poem. it doesn’t really have a title, so i call it a.n.a.p.h.o.r.a.

a.n.a.p.h.o.r.a.

{i am an apple-colorful, quick to bruise, and quick to go bad}

{i am a penguin-clumsy, fun-loving, a tad naive, and slightly adorable}

{i am a calendar, with a changing demeanor and changing emotions each day}

{i am a cloud-above the others, sometimes with company, sometimes stranded}

{i am an old marker, used accidentally, unwanted, eventually thrown out}

{i am a set of new gel pens, glittery, bright, and frank with the world}

{i am a dandelion, towering above grass, first beautiful, then blown away}

{i am a new binder-shiny and special and empty inside}

{i am a down comforter, full of fluff}

{i am america, wanting change and fearing it at the same time}

anyhoo… have a nice day! comments and constructive criticism are welcome and wanted. also, does anyone have any good book recommendations? i need something to read.

i love y’all!

love from,

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