Comments Posted By L. A. Smith
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It crept into the corners of her eyes, hugged her head until it fell beneath the heaviness, and then curdled around her wilted remains like a loyal companion. Lunacy loved her, and for that she was lost.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 10.07.2013 @ 1:03 am
The more she learned the more her memory, like her eyes, had to squint at the concepts she tried to recall; things once known, even a day or hour ago, were forgotten for want of space. A brain could only bury so much in its folds before the excess was inevitably forfeited to the air beyond.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 09.28.2013 @ 6:57 am
She tousled her hair, shimmying out the kink, sliding dirty fingers through the sweat-slickened strands. It had been a long day, and was going to be a longer night. She grabbed a pencil, wrapped her hair into a bun, and pinned it in place.There was no point in showering now.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 09.24.2013 @ 10:16 pm
“Ha! Right?” She rubbed her face and instantly regretted it; grease and ink seeped into her pores. She was going to fail the test, and no amount of studying was going to change that.
Eric smiled at her, but it was stiffer than it should’ve been. He knew how hard this was for her, how much she needed to pass this class. But there was nothing else he could do. “Hell is a test without notes.”
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 09.22.2013 @ 8:52 pm
It spat at her, lodging broken signals and sunspots in her ear. The transmission was officially, and irrevocably dead. There was no one left to repair the relay station, and even if there were, all the space suits had been taken out by the flare. The entire north section of the base was lost, and if she was being honest with herself, so was she.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 09.22.2013 @ 12:13 am
What a failure. Months he had been planning, months! And yet here it was, a few dangling parts and a coffee stained blueprint. He was never going to get the research grant for next year; the funding board was far too efficient.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 09.21.2013 @ 12:47 am
She wasn’t as versatile as she had previously thought. To the contrary, she was cracking like over-iced iron. There was too much work to do, too far out of her wheelhouse with way too many distractions. There was too little time, too little motivation, and too little progress. She was doomed.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 09.18.2013 @ 12:32 pm
Computers were beyond him. There complexity was matched only by his confusion when he looked at them. Even the buttons–each with two symbols and several functions beyond those–left him wincing and wallowing in utter ineptitude. Why did they always break right when school started?
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 09.08.2013 @ 10:47 pm
He explained all the different indicator species, pointing out the way the blue spruce was stunted at lower elevations, almost sickly, and how bluegrass in turn lost its bluish hue when you traveled up the moment. However, in between notes she couldn’t help focusing on the way the sun clipped the tree tops and set the needles alight, burning the shadow’s of two distant bunnies into the ground.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 09.08.2013 @ 12:31 am
It extended beyond the means of measurement or comprehension, encompassing all life in and out of the known realities. The aura’s strength suppressed any awareness of its existence, for nothing survived outside of it. As far as they could tell, there was nothing outside of it at all.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 09.07.2013 @ 4:31 am
The railway was deserted. She hated traveling at night, it was a chalk-outline waiting to happen. Where was Frank? So much for waiting for her. She tightened her jacket around her with a gloved hand, taking solace in the soft groan of leather on leather. At least knives would be less of an issue.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 09.05.2013 @ 4:42 pm
Ravenously it roamed the skies, ignoring our paltry physics to fly through absent air, to move farther and faster than one life should allow, and all in the search of a food. But its food was out of reach, for its food forged the end, for its food was the beginning.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 09.04.2013 @ 1:47 am
It rose slowly over the course of several hours, and all the while he stared at it, transfixed by this bizarre injury. He lost count of how many times he had poked the welt, but he had long since stopped wincing in response. No one had ever hit him before.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 09.01.2013 @ 11:03 pm
She stared at it. Should she poke it? Was it safe? Where did it come from? She continued to stare at the small, purple cone sitting on the kitchen floor. It was glowing. She toed it and promptly screamed. It was moving.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.31.2013 @ 2:44 am
Peeling away the pages with a straight razor, strip by strip, column by column, curl by curl, she created rings of ruined literature, confetti from Confucius. With the utmost care she collapsed a hundred of each into classic coke bottles and lined the wall with their light. It was a start.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.29.2013 @ 2:47 pm
She strung the necklaces short atop long, the bracelets wide above narrow, and carefully covered each knuckle with a ring before stepping back and staring at the mirror. Her mask was half way done.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.28.2013 @ 12:24 pm
She stared. There would never be enough would there? No matter how much she accomplished, how many awards she won, how far she traveled, or how long she lived, it would never satisfy. She would always be far too keenly aware of how much more there was out there.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.18.2013 @ 11:46 pm
Rotten, spoiled, tainted; the grain gave off a faint greenish glow in the light leaking from the crack in the silo, the same crack that had let the late summer storm leak in last week. The entire harvest was gone, but he couldn’t help marveling at fuzzy mounds, the miniature mountains, verdant and sprawling across his once golden crop. Life goes on, even if it doesn’t always take the form one expects.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.17.2013 @ 12:43 am
To sleep or not to sleep, that was the question that was moments away from deciding itself as she teetered above the counter, rocking herself on heels unintentionally. She needed a full night. A long, sweet, full night of dog-bark-free, child-proof, weather-indifferent sleep. But…there was so much to do…
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.17.2013 @ 10:59 pm
With a steely grimace of determination the boy twisted the fine focus knob, sharpening the resolution and devastating the solidarity of his booger, transforming one lump of snot into sprawling world populated by gross. He left the masterpiece on the slide, securely fitted in his brother’s microscope before dashing back out of the room. This was gonna be good.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.20.2013 @ 1:29 am
It was a savage schedule: six classes in one semester. The only blessing was that three started in September, and five involved literature.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.20.2013 @ 7:17 pm
Her beliefs rode the line between dogmatic and diligent, enforcing habits and opinions upon any who stepped into her sphere of awareness. But then she was a teacher, so it wasn’t entirely inappropriate.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.21.2013 @ 12:05 pm
Her life was littered with words unwritten, and worse with those that were half way there, barely held onto the page by a sentence or six. But such was the way of evolution; there would always be more bits and babies than would beget bits and babies of their own. It was a sad, to be sure, but it ensured that only the strongest narratives would survive.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.24.2013 @ 5:05 am
The life unled rolled out before bleary eyes, beyond the crust that clunk to greasy lashes. She was thirty, still at home, still unknown. Her work hadn’t even really failed, worse, it hadn’t been. She alternated between too little and too much, with never enough moderation to make something of her work. The extremes comprised such a massive extent of the film that most people thought the footage had been spliced, edited together to create the constant highs and lows–maybe as some art school commentary on the way we take the plateaus for granted or maybe never notice them–because they couldn’t comprehend that anyone could actually live like that.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.25.2013 @ 10:02 pm
Something in her flipped, flipped over, like a switch snapped up too hard and sent spinning through the air, useless. She was jammed, and thus, for all intents and purposes, broken. It was too much pressure, too much force, too much, too much, too much.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.16.2013 @ 9:55 am
Destiny was a whore. She flaunted possibility at people, rubbing up against them until their potential quivered and quaked, shuddering with want of what she alone could give. She was always beckoning, whispering of the future, of what everyone desired, describing to the last lacy detail where they saw themselves in five, ten, twenty years. Yes, Destiny was a whore, but though she flirted with everyone, she only rarely put out.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.13.2013 @ 4:18 am
A full-time student: the seemingly innocuous title was beyond distressing. She hadn’t taken more than three courses a semester since high school, and now she intended to not only tackle five, but to bury herself in the antithesis of her passion: the hard sciences.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.11.2013 @ 10:50 pm
The ruddy stretch of once pallid flesh had firmed into a sundried sheath, concealing her contempt for summer in obvious exposure. Peeling back the cucumber over a tired eye, she glanced at her friend and began to plan a wintery revenge. It would come soon enough, for now, she would just lay on the beach in weary silence.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.08.2013 @ 4:08 pm
She knew her goals were worthwhile, but she also knew that they were going to take a stretch longer than a while to complete, and that if she didn’t get started soon, she’d never get there. “There” had become an all consuming concept, so much so that the repetition of it turned it into an abstraction. Even if she got “there” she likely wouldn’t know it for years to come.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.07.2013 @ 11:53 pm
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She eyed the patch warily. Margret had ignored her pleas, doubt, reluctance and even one last-ditch, open-hearted confession: Casey was a plant killer. She had more desiccated, maimed, and missing plants under her belt than Jack Frost. Why did Margret think she could handle tending to a prize pepper patch? “It’s only watering, you’ll be fine,” she said. Sure, that’s what they all say before seeing the flooded plant patches and chasing Casey around, flailing surprisingly menacing drowned vegetables.
» Posted By L. A. Smith On 08.01.2013 @ 4:48 pm