M T M

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryThe God Problem The Other Terre...312 years 5 months ago
StoryOverlookers M T M012 years 5 months ago
StoryThe Fox and the Pigeon hole Chapter 6 M T M012 years 5 months ago
StoryThe Fox and the Pigeon hole Chapter 5 M T M012 years 5 months ago
StoryIn Other Words harveyjoseph212 years 6 months ago
StoryScratchy TheGameCat712 years 8 months ago
StoryWild Geese Silver Spun Sand1012 years 8 months ago
StoryVeni, Vidi, Vici Grachamoncha412 years 8 months ago
StoryThe Lords Army L. R. Mosier112 years 8 months ago
StoryTHE KISS J.E.Giffard212 years 8 months ago
Storya lifetime a.lesser.thing312 years 8 months ago
StoryMoon Child Silver Spun Sand1312 years 8 months ago
StoryA Trilogy of connectected poems - Mozart Millais and Me! Part One Music Denzella412 years 8 months ago
StoryLike Montgomery Clift ralph512 years 8 months ago
StoryPostcard Home Silver Spun Sand512 years 8 months ago
Story The Last Cigarette Silver Spun Sand1212 years 8 months ago
StoryThe Puzzle dtwellstead612 years 9 months ago
StoryTyping heartbreak into Google maggyvaneijk1612 years 9 months ago
StoryYou Know Who Constance1312 years 10 months ago
StoryLonie50 celticman612 years 11 months ago
StoryA moth to the flame Parson Thru712 years 11 months ago
StoryTake Flight Savx112 years 11 months ago
StorySwitching Off. ScoZen412 years 11 months ago
StoryHunter's Moon hilary west412 years 11 months ago
StoryThe Fox and the Pigeon hole Chapter 4 M T M312 years 11 months ago

My stories

Cherry

A Glass Winter 6

There was some sense of malice, as if the mirror knew what he had done, laying bare his betrayal. Like Dorian Grays portrait enumerating his sins.
Cherry

stone

i care not like the violent natural onslaught i am rounded smooth as a rock in the torrent All imperfections cast away like sand in a storm Leaving...

Sand

Poem
Cherry

A Glass Winter 5

Looking down at her phone she see’s six missed calls from her mother. Wiping her dewy eye’s, she stows it back in her purse; swapping it for a hip flask full of vodka. She didn’t feel like flirting for drinks tonight.

The Dead Night

Walking along in the hot sunlight, her gaze is beating painfully down onto his rocky brow. The windows are perfect mirrors; endless recurrences of his awkward figure turn and stare at him. Their judgement is cold, unrelenting. They shout, banging their fists; remembering every dark thought, every unfavourable perception; painting him as the picture of inferiority.

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