Welcome to The Young Writers Society (YWS)! Specifically created for young writers ages 13 to 25, we are an online community where we share a common passion for creative writing.
Since registration is free and takes less than a minute, why don't you register?
‘I wonder when she’ll decide to come over,’ the man sitting by the corner thought. He looked particularly extraordinary while he sat tirelessly through the menacing rush hour of Times square; in this case a Spanish café. The reason for the extraordinariness was so excruciatingly obvious: everyone else in the room was so, what’s the proper word? Plain.
Comparing the man with any of the café’s other customers would be simply absurd. For instance, the white American he was so fond of, assumingly from the deep west with her painful accent, waitress. The man couldn’t help but smell the waitress’ dirty blonde hair as it crept over her shoulder while she picked up his third black coffee and refilled it. It didn’t smell as though he would like it to; fresh and fruit-like, but of dirty dish towels and a too rich variety of Spanish spices.
“I can live with that,” the man thought as he stared deeply intro the waitress’ deep blue eyes. If it wasn’t for the fact tha...
The something creature is making wind in its chest. Arth holds onto the bits of soft that cover it as much as his stubby fingers will allow. He buries his face into its warm body to try and make things less. There is no fluffy cloud beneath him now, instead something hard and bumpy in its place, even more solid than that thread he once felt beneath his little feet.
It is too much of everything all at once; the ground beneath him, the screaming sounds in his ears, the sensations he does not know how to process or understand. It scares Arth and he so he clings to the comfort of the something creature, feeling its chest move in and out as it makes wind and storms.
They sit there for a long time, the soft warm creature and the otherling that fell from the sky. Slowly Arth begins to loosen his grip on the creature's soft and it says /caw/ quietly in encouragement.
And so Arth raises up his half-formed misshapen head and opens his pale concaved eyes to see the world of the undersky....
Dark thoughts, hate and violence.
Can’t stop them coming, invading.
Tearing at me from inside my head.
Pulsating, throbbing, aching to be set free.
Shredding apart all reason left within me.
Bursting through my wall of sanity.
Shattering my perceptions of right and wrong.
Until I can control it no more.
Inside me there is nothing.
Nothing is my friend.
Nothing is my savior.
My solitude, my inspiration.
My emptiness and loneliness.
Screaming at me to stop this madness.
Stop the burning fire in my soul.
Until the nothing returns and brings me back to reality.
Inside me there is nothing.
[i] I used to wonder, sometimes, exactly what it was that compelled me to wake every morning and live every day. I often awoke questioning my reasons for breathing another breath, or how my heart continued to drive my blood through my very veins. To be honest, I never wanted myself to go on. I wanted everything to stop, for my blood was poisoned, and my heart was broken. I longed for death.
Whatever it was that kept me alive then, I may never know...[/i]
During the first moments of waking, the same question always crossed his mind: Why?
Why, the definition being: a question, concerning the cause or reason for which something is done. Children ask the question every day “Why is the sky blue?” “Why do we have different colored eyes?” “Why can’t the grass be pink or blue? Why green?” Adults, as it turns out, also ask the question, “Why do we have to spend so much on gasoline these days?”
The word why is riddled throughout ...
Illogical, but it makes sense
Broken Ideas
But they're in tact
It is truly the heart and mind of a psychopath
My blood is ice cold
I don't care about others
My mind has taken control
I can't stop the craziness
But i don't want to stop it
You might call me a psycho
I am just your normal psychopath
People fear me and might even hate me
i just don't care
I don't care about anyone, not even me
I wear the mask of sanity
My name is Calvin Gray
and I'm a kid, I'm also a fugitive, and I'm also superhuman
For as long as I can remember I have been part of an malicious program known as The Fate Institute a place where kids like me come some willingly some by force. The Institute takes you and molds you into a superhuman monster demanding you to kill, steal, and destroy anything that oppress them and their goals this being so nobody has ever stood up to the Fate Program until now.........I'm no longer Calvin Gray and I'm no longer a kid I'm Porter the superhuman fugitive.
[i]This is was just a beginning i was thinking about not sure if i like it or not but i do want to get some other opinions so please feel free>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> thanks
1
~Kristy~
“Nat, you can’t seriously be carrying that everywhere with you,” I said to my best friend. Nat, who had a massive fear of vampires, was wearing a ring of garlic around her neck. She believed that it would protect her.
“The only thing that that’s going to do is make you stink” I said.
Jake, my boyfriend walked past me then,
“I need to talk to you,” he whispered in my ear, and walked out of the park.
“Who was that?” Nat asked.
“I’ll be back,” I said ignoring her question, and followed Jake.
Jake had only been my boyfriend for a couple of months, but I’d known him for a few years, and, because of the way I jump to conclusions with anything to do with superstitions, I believed he was a vampire, which was the exact reason Nat had never met him. I know what you’re thinking, why would I go out with a vampire. Well, here’s my theory, Jake may be a creature that is supposedly evil, but he’s still a person, and he’s a nice guy. There...
I need dreadfully need feedback. I made this up on a whim the other day, and I don't know if I should continue or not.
I’m not an evil witch, if that’s what you think I am. I’m just a simple candy maker, nothing more, nothing less. I most definitely do not have a candy cottage in the woods, and I have never, ever eaten a child in my life. I do what I can when a homeless kid shows up at my doorstep, let him or her stay a couple of nights if necessary, and send them on their way. You can’t blame me for children having overactive imaginations.
I had an unsophisticated life before I met Hansel and Gretel. I made candy, sold it at the marketplace, and saved the money I earned. And then what happens? The nasty little beasts steal my life savings and run away with their outrageous story about me being a witch! I still have local villagers banging on my door everyday demanding that I be burned at stake! But I’m getting ahead of myself. Perhaps the best place to start th...
Songs: Permanent -- David Cook, Unintended -- Muse
For Kat's Contest
---
Her name flooded the headlines.
“Gondola Girl is at it again!”
“The Masked Musician Spotted Late Last Night!”
Like she was some sort of twisted super hero, saving little children in strollers and helping old women cross the street? Rubbish.
Elizabeth gathered her skirt in her hands as she hurried toward Holly. When she approached her, she peeked in both directions, making sure her father wasn’t listening in.
“Have you heard?” she whispered scandalously. Elizabeth’s life revolved around gossip, and the trip to Italy was no excuse to be left behind.
“About what, Elizabeth, dear?” Holly asked, her mind distracted. Her eyes were looking at Elizabeth, but they weren’t seeing her corn silk ringlets, her shimmering sapphire eyes, her thin waist and bust. They were seeing the water lapping against the sides of the gondola softly, the silhouette of the houses by the alleys of water. ...
A girl without a father is like a book without covers. In western civilizations, it is suppose to be the father who protects, guides and teaches the girl how to become the kind of women that a man would want to marry.
A fatherless girl is an exception. She doesn't have the kind of love that she needs but somehow, still manages to live out on her own.
My family always told me that I was the special one. I was more loved than all my other cousins. I always got want I wanted. If other kids made me cry, their the once who always got in trouble and not a single child complained. The whole neighborhood knew, everyone that my family knows knew and everyone who knows them knew. My parents divorced when I was only eight month old. I became fatherless before I even knew how to say the word "father".
My mom was a hard worker. It's all she ever did, she worked and worked. I don't blame her, she have to. She have to provide for a family of three and an ill-tempered step-dad. If she...
Lily approached the blade store, after an hour of running. She read the sign above the door to make sure that the address matched that of the card and then went in. She found the shop mostly empty, except for the man behind a counter in front of a wall covered with knifes of all kinds. Lily walked up to the man and he said, “Welcome sweetheart,” he snickered, “to my blade store. I'm Marco Lopez. How may I help you? I'll do anything.” He checked out her slender body with a grin on his face.
“I need to know if a man with black hair was just here,” Lily demanded, taking little notice to the man's gaze.
Marco laughed. “Sorry sweetheart. No can do. That's personal information, but I can satisfy your other needs.” His grin formed again.
Lily was pissed and disgusted at the same time. “Look pal.” She jumped onto the counter and clasped her hands around the Marco's neck. “Tell me what I want to know, you asshole. I want to know the fa...
You know that feeling that sometimes you have when you receive bad news. The one where you’re pissed at the whole world and don’t want to talk to anybody. Yeah, that’s how I feel. And somehow people don’t seem to understand my unhappy face; the one that practically screams fuck off, or I’ll kill you.
I mean, people who ignored me all freaking summer, just suddenly out of thin air wanted to have a chat with me. I was trying mostly to be polite, listen to them, but reality is I have bigger shit going on that some little princess going on at how her life just ended ‘cause her boyfriend cheated on her, plus dumped her sorry ass.
Because, getting dumped and cheat on is the whole freaking end of the world, I mean getting pregnant is nothing. I thought to myself sarcastically.
I meant to give her a good friendly advice, the type I’d give to Emma, but it seemed it didn’t sound that nice. I mean the only thing I told her was: “Hey, see the positive ...
I didn't want to believe it; he's so young. I couldn't let it happen, not to him, I had
to do Something. "NO MOM!" I shouted in despair.
"Nicole, I know you love him." I listened. "I know you guys have been through
allot and I know you don't want to loose him, but could you really let him live like this?"
She sounded irritated.
"But he is not just a stupid cat or hamster! He's my horse, my partner, my
friend." I said with my teeth clenched tight. " I know there's something we can do; there
has to be something!" I said eagerly.
"Look Nicole, there is no way he's going to survive with a broken cannon bone.
You remember Oliver? We tried everything with him and he died young too." She looked
away then glanced back fast.
I started arguing again, "He's stronger then Oliver! Please mom, he's only eight
and he's one of Glacier's last offspring. I'll get a job if I have to pay, whatever it takes."
...
“Good morning, Sir. Is there anything I can help you with?” I said the next morning in the shop.
John and I were still on our usual no words basis after our fight the night before. Beth had been trying to reason with him all morning in the back of the shop as they got merchandise ready to put in the shop, but he wouldn’t budge. They tried to talk softly, but I could make out every word. He felt as if he needed to protect me and make sure I don’t go off with Peter too soon before I’m emotionally ready.
“I’m fine thank you ma’am,” The customer said.
“That makes absolutely no since, John. She’s been raised. She knows what she’s doing,” Beth’s muffled words said.
John was silent for a moment knowing the whole fight wasn’t his fault.
“Well maybe your right,” He said finally admitting it after several hours of non-stop bickering, “I just don’t want her to go off on the wrong path.”
Beth stopped her work and moved over to Joh...
I thought, you would always be with me
to the end. I thought,
I'd never have to fear them, again.
I thought, the sun in the sky, shined for us,
but it, turned out that,
this is the way it was supposed to be.
Why can't you see that I, want to be with you.
You're crushing my heart, breaking it in two.
Why don't you know, that I love you so.
Am I that bad, that I just have to go.
You're hurting, my heart,
you're taking my life away.
You touch me, and trust me,
and then throw me away.
You're beating, me out,
of your little fairy tale.
I wish you would know,
of how I am hurting.
I thought I, would feel your lips,
brushing mine forever. I thought you,
would always hug me close.
I thought for, a while now, that you were no good for me.
But I cannot, let go of, the things we did together.
Why can't you let me back, into your bleeding heart.
You're killing me just letting me, look into your sullen eyes.
Why don't you, just take my han...
Chapter One
[spoiler:2fbfdc1178]Why do teachers have to make tests so intense? Kathy wondered; watching her teacher with a nervous look on her face. It was only the first day; but she had to get on the wrong foot with her new teacher; Mr. Lankoff. Rumors said not to make him angry; or else he would set his lank off. Kathy shuddered. So scary. She didn't know what a lank was; or if any such word even exhisted, but the setence had an evil little ring to it.
Sixth graders who had Mr. Lankoff the year before had warned her; Watch out for English class! He's the worst: Mr. Lankoff!
Kathy waited and watched the solemn look on Mr. Lankoff's face. Kathy knew what was happening. She knew that Mr. Lankoff was waiting for her to break out in tears and shout that she knew what she did was wrong; and that she would do anything for him. Then; with a sad look on his face; Mr. Lankoff would give her detention ("It's the least I could do"). Well; Mr. Lankenster; that's not happening to m...
High school. Land of the free. Home of the brave. My own personal Hell. Whatever you want to call it, it’s not fun. You can call prison a tea party. It won’t stop people from hating it.
Trash and bits of food were the focus of my vision as I stared primarily at the dirt-strewn floor of the cafeteria. I gradually made my way around to a table that sat just outside the doors. My tray crashed to the speckled tabletop as I slouched down into a plastic chair.
I shut my eyes and leaned back, inhaling the cool, damp air.
“D’you mind if I sit here?” someone said from across the table.
I opened my eyes reluctantly and glared at the person that had spoken. A teenager probably about my age or younger was smiling down at me; his teeth shockingly white against his deep brown skin. I rolled my eyes.
“Knock yourself out.” I grumbled, expecting him to leave.
He pulled out the chair opposite of me and dropped down into it. Toying with the sleeve of his abnormally dirty ...
Hey, I haven't been on YWS in ages! I was never much of a writer and I'm even worse now! Anyway, critiques are greatly thanked Meg xoxox
Just give it some time
You can't eat, you can't sleep
it's like you're just not there.
You're drowning, you're loosing
all of the hope that's left.
Your begging, your pleading
but no one really cares.
You're screaming, you're shouting
but no one is listening.
I see the tears of pain as they fall down your cheeks.
You hide them well but I can see through your disguise,
because I know you all to well,
you're the girl I used to be, the teenager known as me.
You're crying at night but
nobody can hear you,
because their too busy
with their own private lives.
Your mothers ignoring,
your fathers complaining.
They just don't understand
Why can't they understand?
Believe me when I say this won't last forever.
Your time is coming, just give it some more time,
because I know you all to well.
you're the girl I u...
This is the first half of a prologue. I have the second half written, but I figured it would be better recieved in smaller portions. Anyway, the timeperiod is supposed to be kind of vague, though definitely before the 1900's. As well I'm leaving the location up to your interpretation.
Incidentally, Freeda thought as she rolled over one morning to see a yellow envelope with her name on the front, I’ve nowhere to be.
Invitations such as the one sitting on her armoire seemed to appear at only the most convenient of times, though she figured that wasn’t too much of a surprise, as she never had anywhere to be. But these invitations, unlike the usual ones one might receive bore no addresses, return or otherwise, postage, decoration or R.S.V.P date (Respondez-vous s’il vous plait, if you didn’t know). Not at all. In fact, perhaps invitation was the wrong word to describe them. These invitations were more like scribbled notes, almost like after thoughts, suggestions, left for Fr...
User List:
Anyway, critiques are greatly thanked 
Meg xoxox 
