Precipice
Precipice
The sharp click of the switch
reverberates through the air
as you turn off the light in the laundry room
and step into the kitchen.
Your steps stutter to a stop
on the cool laminate sticking to your soles
when your mind catches on
the sliding glass door
in your peripheral. There is a man,
standing on the precipice
of where the porch light’s glow
is swallowed by the dark.
Balaclava and clothes carved from obsidian
tempt the night to draw him in. The dying
bulb above the door is just strong enough
to drag his silhouette into its illumination.
Your gaze latches on
where his should be, instead
two brimming pools of black abyss
stare back, looking through you.
Your head is screaming,
“Don’t look too closely!
He might be real
this time.”
Wind wails against the walls outside,
the house creaks and groans in protest
and leaves scrape bark branches
as their trees bend with the gust.
The sudden sounds steal
air from your chest in
a sharp gasp. Muscles tense
and your eyes slam shut.
Dissipating
in the darkness,
the vision is gone
when they snap open again.
Your recurring apparition
leaves less fear
lingering in your blood now.
So,
Push your shoulders back
and wrench the weight
of anxious paranoia
off your chest.
You'll finish getting
ready for bed but
even though you know
there’s nothing there,
the shadows still seem
to whisper your name
and cling to you
in the night.
- A. Yenzer
More Posts from Writtenacrossthestars and Others
It will develop like everything else through time, care, and effort.
it’s okay if your prose is ugly right now. it’s just pre-gorgeous.
Overstimulated
A rumbling, thundering storm
Of sunshine and perfume.
Bright light that feels like daggers
in your eyes and temples;
While you suffocate in the scent of
Flames and fruit.
A tidal wave
Of loud noise and pin pricks.
Swollen eardrums
Throbbing in time to
the sound of blood pounding past them
As needles burn your skin
Taste the only safe space
To harbor love for sweet
And sour, too.
Where bitter and umami,
Break through the pain
To you.
- A. Yenzer
“Burn.”
The power of a spell is inversely proportional to the amount of words in its name. You, hated and exiled, invented the first single word spell:
to my fellow writers:
i hope you find the strength to finish that chapter, to finish your outline, to edit a bit more, to be kind to yourself
"I know adverbs are controversial, but "said softly" means something different than 'whispered' and this is the hill I will die on."
Me! It’s for me! Thank you very much!
you ever start describing a character and accidentally give them an entire anthropology backstory? like, why does this random baker suddenly have a tragic past involving forbidden love, a war, and a cursed necklace? who is this for?
You will delve into the depths of your emotional dumpster fire and gorge the rodents on the remnants of your imagination, suffering for inspiration with the rest of us.
You will not use AI to get ideas for your story. You will lie on the floor and have wretched visions like god intended
The Duties of The Older Brother Of A Magical Girl:
1. Do not get in her way while she’s fighting monsters.
2. Do get in the way when humans don’t know boundaries
3. Do kill the men who put hands on her without permission
Magical girls kill monsters all the time, but they're not allowed to kill humans. But you're not a magical girl; you're her older brother.
reblog if you believe fanfics are as valid as books that were published and sold by authors who write as their main careers. I'm trying to prove a point
World of Pain
Kingdom of the sick;
Where chronic illness reigns supreme
and suffering is everyday
but we peasants manage anyway.
A sea of pain and patience
Pumping through our veins.
Saltwater heals but gives us strife,
and infects just like a dirty knife.
A hollow tree
Once full of life;
Now infested.
Drained by self-made
Parasites.
- A. Yenzer
