35.2

Written by Lilith

The author wrote this as a response to 35.1 by Bobartles, fearing that his first person narrative didn’t do him justice. While we think this piece works fine as a stand alone, she’d like to request that you read 35.1 first for a spot of context.

Love keeps the winter from freezing us all to death. Image courtesy of laura-makabresku on deviantart.


It’s cold, shit, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this cold before. The draft clings to my thighs and I regret not dressing more warmly for January, but it’s too late for that so I clench my legs together, wishing for heat. I cradle my coffee in both unsteady hands and try to stop crying.

I look back at the screen. “It’s cold,” I read aloud. “I don’t notice.” I try to envision the narrator; a man so jaded and dead inside that he can’t comprehend every eddy of cool air snaking across his skin, creeping through his clothes. I know I’m meant to think he can’t feel it because he’s so cold on the inside, but something about it strikes me as wrong. Cold isn’t like that. It creeps in, not out.

I know you better than you think, dear narrator. I know your smile. My shaking hands still as I consider you, and a tiny twinge of warmth makes its way through my body. I sip my coffee, feeling a little more like myself.

How can I possibly tell you that you aren’t this person? I imagine you in his place, standing on the bridge with the harsh winter wind ripping through your immovable body, feeling nothing at all. I see myself at your side, my hand creeping into yours as you stare down at the traffic below.

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The Humanitarian

Written by Dizzy dazzle

humanitarian_aid

Could you do what this woman does? Image courtesy of wikipedia.

The Humanitarian dreams
Not of mansions or swimming pools or plasma TV’s
But the hungry next door
With bread in their hands
And a baby who’s happy, not crying.

The Humanitarian sees
The good and the bad
The right and the wrong
And the things in between
The things that he’ll change, the people he’ll save.

The Humanitarian leads
He treats the poor soldiers of the blood red war fields
The one armed gun man
And the pilot with no legs
He hopes they’ll never fight again.

The Humanitarian believes
That those that are poor, those that are hungry
Those that are frightened, those that are lonely
Will live to see another day
And the Humanitarian smiles.

Simple and with more than a pinch of truth to it, Dizzy’s poem really conveys quite a deep message within. Dizzy has been submitting wonderful poetry for quite some time and I for one hope it continues to be the case.

The Paper is a Stage

Written by Dice

Inspired: The Page is a Stage

There are many things to impress us in this world. The tall mountains that defy time herself and that let us stand and witness the shape of our world. From the rolling hills, the blistering deserts, the icy plains and the tropical forest to name but a few of the delights of this world.

There are many things to amaze us in this world. The great winding rivers who challenge the solid rock to block their route to the endless oceans, oceans that can make you dream of far off worlds. The oceans made the early dreamers dream, what could be beyond the impassable ocean, too large and too deep to cross. Of course today’s dreamers need not dream what is on the other side of the tiny oceans, it is but a boat, plane or a television away. But there is a new ocean, one where we may only paddle near the shores of our home.

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