Submitted by dorothycolleen on Mon, 2013/01/21 - 5:14pm
Note: This is written by Kylie, not Dorothy. Kylie rendered her account inaccessible, and asked to post it here instead.
Author's note: This is completely true, every word, and it follows my thoughts and actions in what I intended to be my final weeks. Please read with caution.
Kylie smiled her first genuine smile in several weeks, maybe even months. The plan was simple, but genius, and foolproof. An hour later, she set her plan in motion.
I’m moving out on January 4, her text to her case manager read. We can talk about it on Tues, if you want.
The first step was taken; there was no turning back. That simple action -a text message- banished any fears or uncertainty she may have had. She went downstairs to the staff office to add some momentum.
I giggled as I raised the spinning mower blade all the way up and put it into forward. In front of me the Gardener laid vainly trying to roll out of the way. He wouldn’t make it. Absolutely amazing the poisons found in ordinary household products.
Submitted by Tanya Allan on Thu, 2011/12/01 - 5:51pm
What’s Happy about it?
Author’s note: As those of you who are always good enough to read my offerings (and some of you even better for paying for them :) you will know that most of my work relates to nice people often placed in adverse circumstances. My trademark is goodness, justice and mercy prevails, or at least just enough to give us a happy ending. This time I have tried something different, with not so pleasant people in, well, I suppose the only description could be shitty circumstances.
Does it have a happy ending?
Read it and judge for yourselves (assuming more than one person reads it, that is.)
Please note, the dialogue is undertaken in a Scottish accent, so please bear that in mind and dinna (EXAMPLE) pick me up for spelling and grammar, as I’ve tried to write phonetically where appropriate.
Submitted by maggiethekitten on Sat, 2011/09/03 - 10:07am
Fade To Black
A girl's reflections as she prepares to end the last chapter.
And so she stood on the edge of the cliff, tears burning her cheeks and blurring her vision. She was empty now … empty of love … empty of fear … empty of hope … empty of the faith that had carried her through the darkness for so long.
Submitted by JadenSkywalker8 on Fri, 2011/02/04 - 1:35pm
There is a picture of what i look like on their and im afraid i waited too long because of afraid of peoples (my parents, teachers, students ect) reactions. My mom just made a comment about how I make an ugly girl and i'm really considering it right now. It almost always at the corner of my thoughts but right now Im considering on acting on the impulse for the first time in a while.
Submitted by littlerocksilver on Sun, 2010/12/12 - 8:13am
The Redhead and the PM, Chapter 30 & 31
By Portia Bennett
Chapter 30 & 31:
The family spends more and more time together. Sir John has a friend who has an estate on the River Itchen in Berkshire. They love to spend the weekends there trout fishing and communing with nature. After returning home one weekend, they get the word no one ever expected. Musetta is seriously ill, and there is no hope for her recovery. The family visits her in California, and Kate and John return later. Some subject matter may be disturbing to some. It bothered me, and I wrote it. A major handkerchief/tissue warning is being issued. Be warned.
Gee this sounds all too familliar:
"Some students say the problem is the culture of conformity in this city of about 50,000 people: If you're not an athlete or cheerleader, you're not cool. And if you're not cool, you're a prime target for the bullies."
Zach loved the outdoors: the fresh air, the open spaces, the rugged mountains, the sheer diversity of nature. Maybe what he liked most was the fact that there wasn't any of those damn LGBT types out there. Heck, that was why he was out there now, them and their damn Pride parade! Still, storming through the woods and mountain trails helped work off some of the anger, though there was still a lot left. Maybe if he wasn't so angry, he would have paid more attention to where he was going that misty morning, would have been more sure of his footing. Unfortunately, such things are left as afterthoughts of such incidents and looked back on in hindsight.
As I sat there in the church, I thought of how fragile and short life is. My friend Christy had found out she had Cancer and felt the pain would be too much to bear so she ended her life. She had been dealing with Bipolar Disorder all of her life and I guess the added news of her diagnosis proved to be too much. I had even had thoughts of doing the same thing. The stress of living my life to make my family happy was beginning to become too much. I spent twenty three years of my life trying to fit into a role as a son, grandson and brother. I was miserable.
This chapter may not seem like it's talking about Mom at all, but it'll make sense in a while, okay? Her early years were a bit…different to what most probably expect. I wrote this in first person, because that's the way Mom's diaries and journals are written and it just seemed the best way. I've tried to capture her 'voice', and I think it sounds about right. Enjoy!
The crowd in the park, nearly forty stories below, looks like ants running around an ant-hill. The perfectly sunny, spring Saturday had brought many people out from their winter hibernations, releasing their enthusiasm and bringing a nearly euphoric buzz to the park.
The problem for me is that I’m standing at the top of the building, not in the park, and if I move one step farther I’ll quickly enter the street next to it.
Things have gotten pretty bad for Stephanie, what's left but to end it all. But what if....
This story is just that, A story (as in FICTION), but should nonetheless be taken VERY seriously. It's Copyright 2002, by ME (JulieChristine) and was inspired by events in my own life, and the lives of others I know. All characters in this story are completely fictional, as are the events described herein.
In a world of chaos and confusion we all wish to find that one place we can call our sanctuary, but how do we get there and at what cost does it come?
This story is just that, a story, but should none the less be taken VERY seriously. It’s Copyright 2002-2009, by ME (JulieChristine) and was inspired by events in my own, and the lives of others I know. All charecters in this story are completely fictional, as are the events described herein.
Submitted by Amber-Willow on Tue, 2008/12/09 - 3:41pm
Chapter 9: All alone
I stumbled out of bed. I was a wreck. I hadn’t been able to sleep at all, all I’d been able to think about was Joanne. I needed to pull myself together. I got up, brushed my teeth and took my pills. I went through all the motions, but my heart really wasn’t in it.
Driving to work this morning, the traffic sucked, as it usually does in the Metroplex. I made up some time once I got past the inevitable fender-bender that had slowed everybody down; and arrived at work only a few minutes late. Joe, my supervisor, was waiting for me when I walked in.
Submitted by Belladonna on Tue, 2008/07/15 - 5:34am
The Road to Haifa
Chapter 12 – Headstones and Headaches by Alyssa Plant There was a report of gunfire somewhere on the yacht. She wasn’t sure where.
Sarah began to laugh. She was sat on a toilet with her panties around her ankles.
Wondering where the gunfire she just heard came from and what weapon. This week was full of firsts.
This story deeply touched me when I read it a many months ago. I asked JulieChristine for permission to translate it into german, which she kindly enough granted me. You may like or not like that story, so feel free to comment.
Saphira Leonie Gardner
Diese Geschichte ist genau das, eine Geschichte, aber dennoch sollte sie sehr ernst genommen werden. Diese Geschichte wurde inspiriert von Vorfällen in meinem eigenen und den Leben von anderen, die ich kenne. Alle Charaktere in dieser Geschichte sind vollständig erfunden, genau wie die Vorfälle die hier beschrieben werden.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he got to the end of the poorly maintained dirt road with its pandemic of pot holes and twisty ruts. His ancient Chevy's headlights goaded the muggy midsummer night's hoards of flying bugs into maniacal Kamikaze attacks on his rusting piebald vehicle.