It’s as clear as a photograph on a sunny day that you hate me. You say things to shame and devalue me but all I hear with these great, big ears is what you are so desperate to conceal.
Your lame attempts to hide your real motives under a veil of disgust may throw your friends off but I can smell the fear, as potent and rancid as sour milk. It seeps out from every forced chuckle and fake grin.
These big eyes see that behind the macho facade there is a little boy trying his best to mimic a man. So, when I saunter in unapologetically, flaunting my large frame as a feminine triumph, your tiny ego can’t handle it. A large, powerful woman has always been a threat to the manhood of the miniscule.
He timidly offered her his heart. She swallowed it whole.
Some people seem so lovely that we may forget to keep our guard up around them. Many people aren’t actively seeking to exploit us in that situation, thank goodness. The problem is that some of them are. They look at us and see an object to use, abuse, and throw away at their discretion. Those who have never been sucked into their ‘game’ are lucky. I’ve seen people’s lives ruined over trusting those types of conniving vultures.
Have you ever been victimized by such a heartless person? Do you have a story to tell about it? Can you say it in ten words or less? If so, share with me in the comment section!
You can’t walk by a single store without some grotesque pink and red tribute to the vilest holiday ever to be spewed from the festering underbelly of hell. Worse yet, you get to see happy couples frolicking about blissfully unaware that they are making people ill with their toxic cuteness. I’m sure that’s what people must feel when they see Bill with his whore. God knows, it makes me want to retch every time.
Like me, Bill was never big on holidays. I never received so much as a card on Valentine’s Day. Not that it bothered me, mind you. We had plenty of ways of expressing our love without overpriced flowers, crappy chocolates oozing with unidentifiable fillings, and sappy Hallmark cards. Love doesn’t come from a store. All that mattered was that we were happy. Or at least I thought we were.
The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman is the chilling tale of a doctor’s wife being driven mad. The tale is set during an era when conditions like depression were treated with extended periods of bed rest and a pronounced lack of stimulating activities. It’s not hard to fathom how this could have caused many people to fall into a state of psychosis. The story reads as journal entries that become progressively disturbing. This short story is highly recommended for those who like a darker, moody, creepy tale.
English: American feminist poet and writer Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1860–1935) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
While being a conjoined twin was always difficult, nothing prepared her for this. Born in a small village in Africa, her mother was too destitute to pay a hospital to separate them. It had taken ages for a charity to offer their services to the unfortunate teens.
For weeks they dared to dream of living a normal life. Yet, two days before the surgery, Bahati had awoken to a cold and lifeless sister. She was forced to endure being attached to a corpse. There would be no ‘normal’ for her after this. For the first time, she wept alone.