| This is something I'd love lots of helpful advice on. |
Newest
Child LandTaje's brother sees things with eyes like kaleidoscopes; twisted, beautiful, wrong in a nice way. He is a product of child land, because that is the way that this place works - crooked at first, you think in the bad way, but then crooked like the nursery rhyme. A crooked house. Lots of crooked houses. A crooked city.Child Land
Taje's brother is a million years younger than him Taje thinks, a million or four, they're both the same really. It's alright to see things that way when you're six but by ten it's time to be a little more realistic. Today is a day when the others listen to Taje, a whole herd of boys crowding around him, gazing avidl
by *frankieofthehills
PondThe thing with Lissy, was that she always had this look about her of someone ready for the worst. If the world as we know it were to end; if planes fell out of the sky and the internet imploded upon itself and all civilised society fell apart, she looked like the sort of person who would jump on an innocent investment banker like a ferrel cat and scratch his eyes out to get food, or weapons, or whatever it might take to survive an apocalypse. It was an extremely unnerving look and she always had it - when screaming, ranting and fighting, and when dragging a brush through her hair.Pond
Lissy got a liking for brushing her own hair not
by *frankieofthehills
This Rabbit Died RunningToday I see a minor celebrity and laugh at a man with no hair who curses, who punches the air when his train, mine, left at 8:44:45 - fifteen seconds too soon. He was robbed, he will be late for work and in the current economic climate such faux pas are frowned upon.This Rabbit Died Running
I catch the train with plenty of time, only slightly distracted by the familiar face that isn't really real outside of a box in my living room. I catch the train alone. Company is unnecessary on such a hasty trip - I don't need anyone to talk to as I score across the countryside, my head is far too full of fast paced nostalgia. Steam trains, ghost trains, Christmas
by *frankieofthehills
Softly, Softly
Scene Two: The Accident(ANWEN enters, sits on the bed and begins to read the letter CHARLOTTE has left there, first removing it from an envelope. She is plainly dressed but wears a venetian mask that obscures her face from her hairline down to the end of her nose. There is angry red scarring and markings extending from where her mask ends, down to her neck and across her collarbone. After reading the letter for a few moments she begins to look angry and clutches the paper convulsively in her hands before storming from the bed to the front of the stage and brandishing it as she speaks directly to the audience.)Scene Two: The Accident
ANWEN: For the record, this is
by *frankieofthehills
Scene One: The Sister(The stage is dimly lit. There is a small bed in the centre and a desk to the far right that is currently covered with a sheet. CHARLOTTE is sat on the bed with a pad of paper, she is sucking thoughtfully on the end of a pen. She sighs, looks at the paper and begins to write, speaking as she does so.)Scene One: The Sister
CHARLOTTE: Dear…Anwen… (She sighs with frustration and throws down the paper and pen.) No. Scratch that. Dear Sweetheart. Sweetheart. We have never met, although you have attempted to contact me on numerous occasions over these past few weeks. Somehow, sweetheart, I have found myself in the unfamiliar position of wanting
by *frankieofthehills
Break"We cannot fight for love, as men may do; We should be wooed and were not made to woo." - A Midsummer Night's Dream.Break
When you fall in love it doesn't break. When you hope, when you really hope it doesn't break and if it does you mend it, you bind it, you build it back up with glue or bandages or crumbling bricks. You mend it straight away and you keep mending it and repairing it over and over, even if it's breaking faster than you can fix it. Even if all of a sudden it's not the thing it was to start with, it's just a pile of mending...of mended parts. When there is no broken hope or love left, when there's nothing but dust, you
by *frankieofthehills
| The beginnings of a short play. |
Favourites
He was.The skin between your fingers is dark And calloused from carelessly holding those wild cigarettes, and my eyes keep straying to the small round burns that form a constellation on your left arm. "Sometimes I hate myself," you shrug, like its something that anyone would do to themselves.He was.
You taught me to strum out chords on my dad's old guitar with your tough fingers that always knew what to do. I taught you the trick to folding paper stars, the
art in taking something flat, something meaningless, and turning it into something beautiful and real. But you
by ~sirenseranade11
Age of ReasonAge of Reason Joe WorthenAge of Reason
Sammy takes a history quiz, dissects the word Lincoln and is left staring at the hidden ‘L’, clearly existing, like a bone. He looks up from his desk with a blank and ominous expression. The girls can’t all wear make-up yet but Suzie’s mom lets her paint her fingernails and sometimes you can catch her looking at her hands like they are part of someone else, like she’s not quite sure what they’re for.
A boy with a pig nose sits in time out on the perimeter of the playground, his face covered in dust, eyes bright, constructing Rome out of p
by ~Iodinespaceboy
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I get like this in the early hours
OptimismdeviantID
| Frankie of the hills is a very stupid name. I don't live near any hills and I don't really like hills. But I do like high places. I want to write something really long, with lots of guilt in it. My favourite Harry Potter character used to be Hermione, and now it's Sirius Black. I think that says something. |
Devious Info
- Current Residence: we'll say london.
- Interests: smoky lazy shameful things. thinking about writing more than I actually write.
- Favourite movie: Breakfast at Tiffanys, Amelie, Star Wars, The Royal Tenenbaums, I'm not there, Withnail and I.
- Favourite band or musician: Modest Mouse, Manchester Orchestra, Maximo Park, David Bowie, The Cure, Kate Bush, Led Zeppelin.
- Favourite poet or writer: Shakespeare, Jonothan Safran Foer, Dickens, Virginia Woolf, T.S Eliot, James Joyce, G G Marquez.
- Tools of the Trade: camel blue.
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visit my poetry account:
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Life is like photography, we use negatives to develop.
Have a beautiful day
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Poetry is a life line without limit
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This guy is simply TOO awesome--> ~whalelova
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Support Literature! *The-Novelist-Club *Adopt-A-Writer *Prose-R-Us *WordCount *writersunknown *getLIT *litNEWS
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visit my poetry account:
~cheramyn
They called me hyacinth girl.
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