Young Writers Society

Come in dear, child do come in, to thePlace where all your nightmares beginWhere all the horrors made are saidTo dance around inside your headThey never leave their always thereFor ...

Cemetery Heart Opening the gateway to buried mortality. A landscape of serenity, freedom from agony. Our despair and misery now remain deceased, Living souls awaiting death to bring us peace. ...

The Happiest Days of my LifeFeet sticking out round every cornerShrewd comments from behind every doorName calling on the way to EnglishAs they walk behind, need I say more?These are ...

Let's get this ball rolling. Metaphorically, and as you will see, quite literally. A gargantuan boulder bore down the same mountainside that TripTik Flotesyerbote had just so happened to stop ...

-------------------------------------HAMSTRING’S FIRST BIRTHDAY-------------------------------------------------- A family of cats lived in the sunroom of a quaint white bungalow on a dry brown road

My trigger finger is set. I’ve got it aimed at your head. One pull, and I can finally begin to forget. I swear to you it wont hurt. I promise ...

He says don’t worry as she says goodbye. Her pace is hurried while his is denied. His look is his last and her look was her own. His hair is ...

First things first lads n lasses, I would like to give a quick sum-up of what the Hamstring series of stories entails (no pun intended). Quite near the beginning of ...

Petrified. Those lids refuse to close Perhaps, they will cease to open once more? I’m I beholding my final scenery of life? Soon to become another haunting memory floating between ...

Hey all. I posted this a while ago but I'm posting it again, for good reason. Theres this writing competition run by a local university that I'm entering soon in ...

Hehe. To me, it pretty much was just a load of pants up until the last line: 'you see, the truth is, I don't have a basement or clay jars ...

-

This is the end of a story I am writing. The last two lines from the two main characters Jess and Joanie and the poem. Here in Gethsemane “We okay ...

beautiful guitars and mesmeric music taught you the ninetyseventytwo style, and since you could only afford unlicensed radio time you refused to cut your hair and a lovechild was born ...

already your face has become blurred. a static image, faltering in my minds eye. even as i write this, the shape of your mouth is fading from my mind. but ...