Made of Matches (prose, short story)

By Constance R.

Though her dark eyes appeared to be looking out the window, Jean did not see the scenery outside, nor her reflection. She didn't see the handsom robin that pecked around in the front yard or the small violets that surrounded the house in a purple barrier. The fence, too, was invisible, as well as her own daunting glare. The only thing she registered was the glass itself, that thin, glinting pane that seperated her from the outside air. She continued to observe it with such intense loathing that any onlooker would have expected it to crack and shatter. But alas, there was no such onlooker, so it remained whole and Jean continued to stare.
Now, the fact that no one was there to watch was precisely the problem--Jean hadn't seen or spoken to anyone in over a month. Well, she had seen people, like those she passed in the grocery store and such, but no one had stopped by to visit for quite some time. Everyone was either on vacation, across the country, or too busy, and didn't have the money or the courage to get herself out of the house and visit them instead.
Jean was dying to talk to someone, but was too afraid to call. She had terrible penmanship and felt all her letters were too sappy or had 'pity me' stamped al over them. E-mails felt too pestering and ingenuine, and if she did pick up the phone she knew she'd only get an answering machine, which proved to be poor at engaging in conversation.
At around 2 a.m. every night Jean would jerk awake with the strange hopeful expectation that a certain someone would be lying next to her; But alas, she always awoke with the cold absense of arms about her and resorted to mopping up her tears with the pillow she desperately clung to. The hours of sleep she was able to capture dwindled little by little until she simply curled up by her window at night and stared off into the darkness.
Often she would hold the phone, finger poised above the talk button, ready for it to ring at any moment. When it did and she would answer with an over enthusiastic 'Hello?', an automated voice would come on and request that she take interest in whatever product or scam they were trying to sell. A day or so ago she had resorted to re-listening to voicemails she had saved, cherishing ever word the long-ago caller spoke, hanging on every 'um...' and sobbing at each 'g'bye'.
So there Jean sat, hateful and more lonely than a single violin player in a deserted concert hall. And to make matters worse, it was Sunday. Jean had always said that if she were ever going to kill herself, it'd be on 'The Lord's Day.' Besides, wouldn't that make it more convenient for Him? With all the energy of a herse-driver, Jean rested her forhead against the glass, letting out a long and heartbroken sigh as she glanced down at the cellphone that lay in her lap. It stared mockingly up at her, as if it were trying to tell her that no one would ever call--But she didn't need an inadimate object to tell her that. It was already blatently obvious that the world had ceased to care for her existence.

To be continued

Crazy Couplets (poem, couplet series)

By Icnived

My minds’ in here, right this very here
Stretch the east toward west and steady steer

A Narrow path but it’s wide to roam
Prompt placid pandemonium shown

A lack of marbles, noodles, or nuts
There’s just no substance left to share the cuts

Has the fog become crystal clear yet
Lost in this fun home of mine I bet

I’ll lead the way, now where’s that (trap) door
Left tile from the right of the carpet floor

Do not fear, there’s no want to worry
As you steer the end is near, better hurry

We close ourselves at half past sane
It’s then the madness falls like rain

Now sail, no glide, no time is left to hide
But before you go, in you I must confide

I’m not all here, I’m not all there
In fact I’m not all anywhere

I told you of my substance lack
And my ounce of sanity wants it back

So before you go, within this threshold of sanity
I leave and engrave in you this desperate plea

Adopt this only wish of mine
And search for the marbles of my mind

I do not wish to escape, only to have some control
But look the time is up your stuck, it’s ‘your’ sanity that I stole

Welcome to The Footless Rabbit!

While I'm waiting for you guys to RSVP, I'd like to ask for everyone to please not post or respond to anything on here--still trying to work out kinks and get things set up, but if anyone has any questions or concerns please feel free to email me at erland_lupus@yahoo.com

Also, this post will later be re-made into a general rules reference, so Rules will be posted here for now.

Anyone who'd like to become a member please email me at erland_lupus@yahoo.com

Thanks, guys!


The Rules

1. Since this is a Writer’s Circle, we highly encourage that everyone read as much of everybody else’s submissions as they can, as well as comment and deliver constructive criticism, praise, and other mumbo-jumbo. If you are not contributing to the group enough, we’ll give you a warning—you can’t just post and run! If you continue to not participate, well… maybe this isn’t the place for you. This is a place to share work and help one another in our literary strives and goals, so let’s all join in and pay at least somewhat attention, alright? That doesn’t necessarily mean, though, that if you can’t get around to a few stories we’re going to boot you out. We realize that everyone has a life outside of the computer realm, and we’d like to respect that.

2. Only 1 submission of literary work per week per member. Revisions of the same piece of work can be posted twice during the week, as an exception. This is so that if somebody suddenly has a writing spree and wants to post a million poems and/or prose, they can’t clog up the sight and leave everybody in homework up to their knees. Also, if you have a particularly long piece of prose, (usually more than 15-20 paragraphs is rather extensive), please split it up between weeks. This is just so that everything will stay under control and people won't get too discouraged when they see this huge entry that seems to go forever down the page.

3. At the end of each week (Saturday) you should have something up and ready to post, whether it be revisions or a new piece or a continuation. If you find that you have no inspiration, or life is preventing you from getting around to writing, please email Constance at erland_lupus@yahoo.com so we don’t think you’re just skipping out. If you are unable to get an email to me right away, just do it as soon as you can so I know you didn’t fall off the face of the earth. If you’re going to be absent for a while, please send me an email saying so and an estimated time of absence. We’d hate to be waiting in anxious anticipation for three months while awaiting your next installment of a poem or prose.

4. Always be kind and curtious, and don't take criticism personally! We're here to help one another, not accuse anybody of anything. and HAVE FUN!