Call for Help

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I need your help people! I’m in The Writer’s Arena this week, and I need votes. Go here: http://bit.ly/1xkxLNO Read, (My story is unfortunately under the name Lu Whitney) and vote at the bottom there if you think my story is the best. Comments there help too!

Please share away!

Thanks in advance!

Lu

“I don’t want to change you”…

Thanks EyeWillNotCry for including me.

Eye Will Not Cry

Blujaybynight came up with this brilliant poem for the Poetry Challenge

Check out more over on : https://theoddlu.wordpress.com/2014/11/11/unchanging/

Cheers

J

heart

he is once worn
and twice shed
she brings him out of the cabinet
on special occasions
like fine china
but he never breaks
he is just what she needs
never takes more
than she will give
she threads his needle
in the dark night
punches right through him
and leaves before the
stitches have healed
he sews his fragile heart
to his shirtsleeves
hers for the taking
but she will wrap it up
in her white apathy
and watch it bleed away

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Unchanging

In response to Eye Will Not Cry’s post here: http://eyewillnotcry.wordpress.com/2014/11/11/she-had-me-losing-my-mind/

he is once worn
and twice shed
she brings him out of the cabinet
on special occasions
like fine china
but he never breaks
he is just what she needs
never takes more
than she will give
she threads his needle
in the dark night
punches right through him
and leaves before the
stitches have healed
he sews his fragile heart
to his shirtsleeves
hers for the taking
but she will wrap it up
in her white apathy
and watch it bleed away

#FBF Alphabet Soup (Circa 2012)

When I was young,
A stood for Apple.
Apathy hadn’t entered the equation.
Each stroke on the line was a victory,
not this gutless retreat into myself.
I scrawl my letters
on anything that will hold ink.
In a combination of print and cursive
the teachers tried to alter,
but never could.
They didn’t understand
this is how the letters come out.
Jumbled and scarred.
With
stops.
Starts.
With no sense of rhythm.
Now, I put my letters on the page
for you instead of me.
But sometimes A is just for Apple,
and you’ve misunderstood.
The letters drip from me,
like the slow leak before a pipe bursts.
As and Bs.
Xs and Os.
Like Alphabet Soup
and just as sensible.

 

 

Copyright © Louisa Whitley 2014 All Rights Reserved. No part of this website may be reproduced without the author’s express consent. Backlinks are allowed.

Dry Heat – Short Fiction

It’s the dry heat that flattens your shirt to the back of your neck. Leaves you breathless, like you just sucked down a pack of Marlboro’s. All at once. No filters.

Out here, the desert sands scour over the invading blacktop, waiting for the chance to regain that lost piece of ground. The sun slowly melts my cheap, plastic sunglasses to the bridge of my nose.

I gotta catch a break soon, or I just might lose it here. Better men have become buzzard food out in the endless dunes. My black heart might just turn their stomachs.

I’d taken position behind the only piece of junk large enough to hide a man of my size: a rusted out dumpster that was once blue, judging by the flakes of lead paint that flutter around every time I draw a searing breath. I shift positions for probably the fiftieth time. My 6’4” frame just does not do scrunched up well. Wonder why. But I’d wait here ten years, if I had to, for a shot like this.

Evan Tyrell: small-time crook, big-time thorn in my side.

What seems like a lifetime ago, Roy Ambrose, my idiot brother, had been working a high profile undercover case that quickly became not quite so undercover. A rookie mistake. One he paid for with his life. Big boss man, Cordova ordered a hit, and Tyrell cordially introduced my brother to the business end of his silenced Beretta.

Now, don’t get me wrong, my brother wasn’t going to be up for any sibling of the year awards any time soon, but, for the most part, he was a good cop. And good cops are a dying breed. So for two years, I’ve been itching for a crack at Tyrell.

He was good. I had to give it to him. I’d been hot on the bastard’s heels, but always a step behind. He faked me out at every turn. That would all end today. Here and now. Continue reading