Content: death

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This is an experiment. I want to see if I can write a story and post it without overthinking. I wrote this in a marathon two hours, and I would normally keep it to myself and whittle and perfect it until I got squeamish and deleted it. But I want to try letting go and see what happens. All feedback is appreciated.

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This is meant to be one short piece of flash fiction comprised of 7 short flash pieces that stand on their own as individual stories. It's an experiment I decided to try and I'm very interested to know if you think that it's effective. What would you change in terms of how these stories are presented, the order they are presented, and the 7 themes that create the story. Also, do you feel that each flash piece presents a stand-on-its-own story while also playing into the larger story well? Any feedback is welcome. Thanks.

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These stories will be part of a novel.

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A Message From Those Who Died In One War To Those Who Are Dying Today. The futility of war and power of greed.

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The contortion and control of what we the public see and here by the right winged controlled media. Murdock and his control. Lack of news thats affects us as a nation.

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This is the story of a little boy who refused to give up on his father. In a journey of hope that sweeps across five wars, two continents, and seven generations, one man has 320 days to see his life through a child's eyes - and change history.

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I'm trying to capture a memory, a feeling. What needs smoothing?

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Summary: When his puppy died at the hand of 'Death', Hunz leaves his home in search of someone who could mend his wounded heart. A/N: This is my rough revision thus far.The story was intended for young adult and 10+ audience. I'm still looking for one to two more reviews on story and grammar before I can make another revision. Thank you for your help. I'm really appreciate it. Nasp Semeku, Frolicing under the moon.

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Jeff is a sports-writer in his late twenties living in a town in Connecticut which seems to have been transported straight out of the fifties. The underlying prejudices and feelings of hostility towards the idea of "new things" and "new people" are engrained in his memory from boyhood. Yet as he matures as an adult he comes to see the evils inherent. This story is about two characters evolving into decent human beings, about the intrinsic differences between right and wrong, and the concept of loss. Intertwined is my attempt at satire. I hope you enjoy it.

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Luca’s Lament is a novel about two lifelong buddies, Tim O’Neill and Luca DiAngelo. For the most part, the story plays itself out in the Bronx’s Belmont neighborhood, also known as Little Italy. There, they first meet on the streets as young teens in the early decade of the Sixties - two very different personalities from two very different families. “La Famiglia”, too, is an essential element in the story. For Luca, it is the tie that binds, and for Tim, supports and assists, in both men’s attempts to achieve their versions of the American Dream. Yes, the Mob is alive and well in the plot, but not central to what most concerns the story - the meaning of friendship and loyalty, and sometimes, its heavy price. There is humor and laughter, as well, and of course, there is a woman, Alicia Almeida, an immigrant from Brazil. The syncopated beat and rhythm of her life sambas across the path of both men, intriguing the one and overwhelming the other. She arrives on our shores in search of her American Dream, much like those earlier generations who tramped through the corridors of Ellis Island. Unlike them, the flavors of Alicia's American Dream differ greatly, though the struggles and uncertainties of a new immigrant in a new world are much the same. Enjoy - R A Keen

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Barry faces his truth.

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In an old age home, a man makes some wry observations about life and the possibilities it holds... or doesn't.

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I am not really sad.

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When Ethan Elliot, the prodigal son with a poet’s heart, crosses paths with the eccentric Jules, their trajectories align, hurtling them far from the boroughs of New York City, on a life-changing, cross-country, roller-coaster ride into the bowels of Middle America. After a hap chance meeting on a subway in Manhattan, Ethan and Jules are forever bound by a single self-portrait. However, it’s only after we are introduced to the worldly, mystery drifter, Wolfgang, that their true colors begin to show. The three “lost souls…nbsp; take off in a Chevy Chevelle bound for Boonville, Missouri expecting to find themselves, the world they once knew, and their shared divination. What they don’t expect is to be taken hostage by a family member that they have never met. "Freaks of Nature" is a coming of age story about forgiveness, providence, and our redemption as a human race. It takes the reader through Ethan’s slapdash, and often times frightening, view of today’s America, demanding us to face our gluttonous zeitgeist and nudging us back towards our intended humanity. But more than simply a story about a character’s growth into fruition; at approximately 90,000 words, it’s a commentary on the anomaly, or “freaks†, we’ve become as a society. First round draft. Looking for any advice: creative, technical, what have you.

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An open letter to my brotha is a response to looking around my community and seeing too many young men dying from violence.

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This work is an attempt to explore the emotions and questions that arise from human tragedy. It raises the questions, but not the answers. While the questions raised are specific to a situation, similar questions are eventually asked by all. //God is defined in the broadest sense--and I hope it causes thoughtful introspection only. There is also a bit of "Eastern Philosophy" in this, as we are all affected by our experiences--and I spent 19 years in Japan and four of my seven children were born there.// A thought to consider; either God loves us all(regardless of our specific religion) or he loves none of us.

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I wrote this sonnet to go with a novella I finished a few months ago. Any comments or suggestions for improvement would be appreciated.

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What do you get for a Mother who has everything?

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What legacy will you leave behind?

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A young girl finds comfort from Grandmother on the lost of her cat. ( To any readers, I have tried to get this poem to publish in the correct form over 20 times and it won't do it. So as much as it shows that the sentances do not indent and it all runs together I stll want your feed back) I have tried to edit and will not let me.

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Once again i am not sure where to put this. it is a love story..it is the truth A true love story that we all would hope to experience. I know both parties and dearly loved them both. They taught me what love should be and I have never experienced. We lost one of my heroes to ALS not so long ago. I wrote this as a tribute to this beautiful man. I tried to climb into his soul and tell him what he wanted to say to those he left behind. especially his partner. I only pray I did him juctice.

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Life in the South circles and swarms me.

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This work is from the novel, Corporate Samurai "love begets hate, trust begets betrayal, lust leads to death". It attempts to convey the emotions and thoughts, in song form, of a woman Samurai to the one true love of her life--who is also a Samurai. This song is written at a time when she suspects their relationship will not be sustainable, as her lover comes from a much inferior heritage than her own--something her family will not accept.

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This piece is presented solely to encourage thought. The questions asked-I suspect, have been asked since the emergence of conscience, thinking mankind. Obviously there are no definitive answers to these questions. However, as death is truly the only inevitable, universal experience that all creation experiences, perhaps it's worth asking these and many other questions. If nothing else realizing that your questions are shared is of value, isn't it? At least that is the motivation that prompted this poem. It is the last in a series of five poems that started with 'Why God?'

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Sonny always comes up with the fun ideas. Here's my chaiku vs. haiku. Both forms feature my murderous cats.

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This piece is only an attempt to explore some of the continuing, unanswerable questions that face mankind. The stated answers are only intended to cause the reader to think. Obviously these questions have faced mankind since conscience thought became possible.

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1-4-08 - Rewrote this after editing with the CARES guide. I think the emotion and development are there but I'm still a little unsure that I have shown enough to connect the reader and that the resolution feels natural enough. I'm so close to it as a real event that I have trouble stepping outside my own memory.

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This suicide poem of a Samurai is an attempt to underscore the cultural differences between western culture and eastern culture. The west is largely Christian. In Japan Christians amount to less than 3%. The culture is largely agnostic--Buddhism and Shintoism are the primary 'religions' although they are more philosophies than religions.//Imagine not believing in a supreme being and contemplating the end of your life as an absolute ending, by your own hand?//This poem is the creation of the author's imagination and is not at all authentic. I'm not Japanese but I've lived in Japan for nineteen years over a thirty five year period from the mid fifties to the late eighties. I graduated from a Japanese grade school in 1964.//The Japanese have a deep sense of honor. They are particularly sensitive to anything that reflects negatively on themselves, their family or their company. Most suicides in Japan are over issues of honor.//Personally, I'll never forget receiving a hand delivered wedding invitation on Monday, only to have it have it retrieved the following Monday, because the father of the bride opposed the marriage, and executed his wife, son and daughter with a Samurai sword, and then took his own life. The groom was the President of a large Japanese distribution company.//This poem, and many other cultural differences and nuances, are what inspired me to write the novel Corporate Samurai.

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A poem.

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I wrote this the night my husband's father asked us to take him off the ventilator. We could not do anything legally. My husband's step-mother had power of attorney and over rode Daddy's advanced directive. This may not rhyme, but putting into prose was the only way I knew how to tell the story. Please understand that she made him suffer. He had been bed ridden for 3 years. He was never negative about his situation,but she didn't care for him. At the end it was about keeping him alive long enough to get his last Social Security check. She kept him on Dopamine, and morphine, until he drowned in his own fluids. I know this probably does not flow that well, but I hope you will read this for the meaning not the grammer or punctuation and ect...Thank for all of the feedback.

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Ok guys and gals, this is my first attempt to write an on going story. I hope that I have followed some advice given from past pieces on the formating. All feedback is appriciated. Just please remember that this is a new thing for me.

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Second Chapter of now published novel 42. The protagonist has recently passed, and now is in a bar with God, a God that strangely looks like Bill Murray. As of this chapter, he is married to the Virgin Mary with whom he had Jesus with.

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THIS IS A DEDICATION TO THE MEN AND WOMEN WHO MAKE THE FINAL SACRAFICE TO PROTECT US ALL and especially to one man who inspired me to write this poem, you will never be forgotten.

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Xuxiki you have inspired me again with your piece "together forever."

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This is a story about my mother who died two years ago. I had a difficult time writing this and Whatta spent a great deal of time helping me improve it. Thank you, Mitch.

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I spent a lot of time on the ocean for a resident of Kansas. The ocean can bring a lot of beneficial things. Sometimes it can bring death.

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The poem recounts the events of my suicide attempt in 2004 (I'm fine now). I'm open to any feedback, but you needn't refer me to any psych services (no, really...I'm fine). I would not recommend it for children or immature teens. I hope any who consider such an irrational act will reconsider, as I've attempted twice and survived to live a new and happier life.

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This is the first draft of The Erstwhile Hearts Guild Chapter 3. This story is coming to me sort of haphazardly,(hence no Chapter 2 yet) but I take it with me everywhere. Any feedback is helpful. Thank you in advance

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Taking a page from Poe...shades of The Tell-Tale Heart and The Black Cat.

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There's a tree outside my bedroom window. Betwixt Fall and Winter, when it has lost all its leaves, it projects quite the horrific image...this is my attempt to capture what I imagine.

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Reflections on death...What will your legacy be?

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How death or distance is no barrier for some to love. Kate Bush prancing around the foggy moors in red chiffon to the sound of her 'Wuthering Heights' on Youtube inspired me.

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Well, I made some changes and edited this piece up a bit, and I actually submitted it to the New Yorker. Love it if they'd publish it, but who knows. Let me know what you think!

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Thinking about the plight of soldiers in battle and how that must feel. I have shamefully neglected to do that very deeply until now and am indebted to the person who has inspired it of me.

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This had been a sad two days for Virginia Tech University where precious lives were snuffed out yesterday, Monday, the 16th of April, 2007. This is a day to be long remembered.

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The free world they came to find turns out to be something else.

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Is there ever a good reason for war? Why do we spend so much on weapons? Who are the ones who create those weapons to destroy our very own sons and daughters?

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Love comes in many shapes and forms, one day it came in the form of a little black and white cat. Today is the 4th anniversary of the death of KERA, my little feline friend that touched my heart profoundly

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Little do we know how our lives will turn out.

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It's a story of a woman that gave up on life. She goes from the depths of despair to wanting happiness. Her Faith is renewed in both God and life.

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Birth/Death

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All about the certainty of life and the force behind it. First poem in ages. Thought I would try each stanza as a Haiku.

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We have control over our lives, why not our deaths? Seven friends confront the notion. My mother's idea for a novel. This is a work in progress.

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A premature lamb has died on our sheep farm. Every birth and death is a lesson, a story which adds to our life. This one seemed a metaphor.

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This a poem to be placed into an Elbuon novel at some point during the long saga. Thanks for any feedback you can give.

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Another pondering on the eternal bond of love between mother and child...

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Nothing is more important than feeding your children.... I reworked the ending a bit, it's a tad longer, but I think it's better.

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Reconciling a death of a loved one - it will always be a deficit in the book of your life. Somehow we learn to live with it, and understand that it's not really for understanding, just accepting and having faith in somewhere that is not here.

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I normally don't approve of qualifying a poem, but because this was a rather large departure from my normal approach, I thought I'd say a few words about its genesis. This poem chose to write itself (my pen tends to have a mind of its own sometimes). It veered away from the very personal to explore what major elements make up life's experience; the impact birth, dreams, and dawns can have on one's anticipation of death one day; and the way endings beget beginnings in the ever repeating cycle of life.

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A poem.

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This really came out of nowhere. I was just letting my mind wander, and thoughts of my past floated through my head, along with thoughts of a situation that has been my companion for the last 17 months. I had to reach out to my family, from whom I have been estranged for the last few years, for some possible assistance. I guess this sort of echoes my life with my sisters.

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SWEET WILLIAM AND ROSEMARY views the world from a child’s perspective, but with its own unique slant. A young girl raised on a literal interpretation of the Bible has her beliefs tested by a skeptical death-obsessed cousin who has been taught that religion is a hoax. He lures her into his morbid and progressively more dangerous "funeral games" and he shares his belief that his violent father has murdered his mother. Together the two conspire to learn the truth. It is a story about adaptation and survival and the evolution of a moral awareness beyond the strict religious code Izzy has been taught. In a climactic scene, she faces danger, even death, and learns the meaning of true courage.

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If that wasn't bad enough, he'd headed back home, only to find his best friend Walter, that no good son of a bitch, running around the living room playing a game of naked pin the tail on the donkey with his wife, Sissy.

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