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Literature Text
Think for a moment: Is the sound of rain, truly what you are hearing?
Imagine this, you're sitting there in your underwear (don't try to pretend you're not). It's raining outside and you've been browsing the internet for the past seven hours. It's already 3:13 a.m. in the morning and a sudden hint of nervousness seizes you. It's silly really, you don't have to attend school, nor do you have work in the morning, but somehow you still feel as though you should force yourself into bed.
You crawl under the covers and bring the blanket up to your chin. Your mind runs over all the things you've done today and you stare at the ceiling, trying to find a comfortable spot on the bed, listening to the sound of rain as it goes pitter-patter on your window. Yet, somehow, the rain sounds different tonight. You feel a strange sinking in your chest and a rising sensation of fear.
The pitter-patter no longer sounds like gentle droplets of water hitting the glass. It sounds more like the fingers of hands rattling against your window pane. You lick your lips and try not to look, you turn your head away but curiosity gets the better of you. You turn quickly and stare hard at the window. Nothing, it was only the rain after all. You smile and comfort yourself, thinking your parents are only a room away. If anything happens you could go straight to them couldn't you.
With that thought in mind you begin to drift off to sleep, but something doesn't quite sit right with you. The sound of pitter-patter, didn't it sound more like the rushing of feet?
Oh dear...
-Siddhartha Chen, 18th May 2014
Imagine this, you're sitting there in your underwear (don't try to pretend you're not). It's raining outside and you've been browsing the internet for the past seven hours. It's already 3:13 a.m. in the morning and a sudden hint of nervousness seizes you. It's silly really, you don't have to attend school, nor do you have work in the morning, but somehow you still feel as though you should force yourself into bed.
You crawl under the covers and bring the blanket up to your chin. Your mind runs over all the things you've done today and you stare at the ceiling, trying to find a comfortable spot on the bed, listening to the sound of rain as it goes pitter-patter on your window. Yet, somehow, the rain sounds different tonight. You feel a strange sinking in your chest and a rising sensation of fear.
The pitter-patter no longer sounds like gentle droplets of water hitting the glass. It sounds more like the fingers of hands rattling against your window pane. You lick your lips and try not to look, you turn your head away but curiosity gets the better of you. You turn quickly and stare hard at the window. Nothing, it was only the rain after all. You smile and comfort yourself, thinking your parents are only a room away. If anything happens you could go straight to them couldn't you.
With that thought in mind you begin to drift off to sleep, but something doesn't quite sit right with you. The sound of pitter-patter, didn't it sound more like the rushing of feet?
Oh dear...
-Siddhartha Chen, 18th May 2014
Literature
Awareness.
She writes such lovely poems
But nobody really cares
She hides them all the time
To avoid the judging stares
She wrote one yesterday
About a boy who said he loved her
But to her own dismay
She caught him with another
She wrote one about school
And the words painted on her locker
“No one likes you, stupid bitch.
You’re lucky I’m at soccer.”
She wrote about her parents
And how she wished they were together
But she knows that won’t ever happen
And forgetting’s probably better
Yes, she writes such lovely poems
But there’s so much more to this
See, her pencil is a razor
And the paper is her wrist.
Literature
Stand Against Suicide
I know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe
Literature
My Disease
My fingers bleed words
that my lips cannot say.
When they try to trickle out,
I scowl and turn away.
It may not be contagious,
but it is a disease.
Holding myself deep inside,
it's getting hard to breathe.
Lies come so easy,
to cover up the truth.
It’s like my second nature,
grown from my very youth.
It’s deeper than conviction,
more earnest than a thought.
It’s my way
It’s my life
It is my disease.
Suggested Collections
If you liked it, don't forget to fave it! It's the only way I'll know! (>3<)/
Hello everyone,
Tonight I felt more like prose than poetry so I decided to do a short little horror story. I might write more of these if you end up liking them. ENJOY!
Mini-Challenge (Open for all - Link me when you comment so I can return the view!):
Write a scary story with as few words as possible. It has to invoke some fear. No pregnancy jokes (I'm looking at you Sammy)
-Siddhartha Chen
Stalk me on facebook: www.facebook.com/WordOfChen
Honourable Mentions:
If you haven't seen these artists, you should visit them straight away.
Want your own name up here? Just mention me!
Hello everyone,
Tonight I felt more like prose than poetry so I decided to do a short little horror story. I might write more of these if you end up liking them. ENJOY!
Mini-Challenge (Open for all - Link me when you comment so I can return the view!):
Write a scary story with as few words as possible. It has to invoke some fear. No pregnancy jokes (I'm looking at you Sammy)
-Siddhartha Chen
Stalk me on facebook: www.facebook.com/WordOfChen
Honourable Mentions:
If you haven't seen these artists, you should visit them straight away.
Want your own name up here? Just mention me!
© 2014 - 2024 WordOfChen
Comments34
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Wow! Your story was very good! I especially like the part about the fingers and the window.