Once More (with feeling)Once More (with feeling)Once More (with feeling) by ~WedgeFactor
He wishes his life had a pause button, so he could examine it as he went along. He thinks about his non existant pause button even as he acks the last of the boxes into the van. There aren't very many, and the house stands silent and empty behind him. A young couple will move in next week – he doesn't remember their names but she's pregnant, and they will fill the house with laughter and light and erae his family's story from the halls. Giggle children will dron out the memory of rattling coughs, humming mothers and father's bad jokes will shoo out angry fights and dying old men.His mother left years ago
Lengthening StreetsHe laughed softly, hot air puffing out into the bitter January night. "You never listen do you?" he asked, head cocked.Lengthening Streets by ~WedgeFactor
"I do to," his companion grumbled, skinny shoulders hunched to ward off the cold, nose as red as his hair, "you're the one who doesn't listen."
Dark eyes still flashed amusement even as his smile dropped. "I always listen." he said seriously, "never know when you're going to miss something important."
The red head snorted, shooting him a dirty glance, "I don't think anyone has ever accused me of saying something important," he muttered, before looking around. "It's fucking freezing," he said, glaring up at the sky in a ra
ElegiacSpillElegiac by ~WedgeFactor
"I am a statue," he muttered to himself as the hoards of people rushed around him. "I am a statue, a mountain. Unmoving. Unfeeling." Someone bumped into him, muttering a half-apology under their breath as they continued on.
"Sir are you-"
"We'll be late hun, just leave him."
"I'm a statue," he muttered again as the girl's friend pulled her away. Taking a deep breath he finally looked up aat his suroundings, sky scrapers and people and trees and cars blurring into each other. "I am a statue, a mountina." he said firmly, stepping forward, "I am unmoving, unbreathing, unfeeling." Each step was like a tug on a wound, he didn'
GardensThere is a sadness,Gardens by ~WedgeFactor
to this parting,
like tender green shoots in spring.
But this shoot is black and weeping,
and I do not understand,
why you insist,
on letting it grow,
into a horrible,
I do not,
despite your agricultural habits,
resent this parting,
even as it is overshadowed by,
a dark twisted thing.
Once you are gone,
I, ever looking forward,
will tear your weed from the ground,
something new and green,
and remember you that way.