The noise was deafening – the stamping of hundreds of feet, the music harsh and abrasive on my ears compared to the poppy Western sugar we’d listened to on the plane. The smell of roasting meet fills the air, hot and sticky enough as it is, and insects crawl on our skin as the dancers’ feet kick up dust, stinging in our eyes.
there is was on my forehead. when she did a double take, I knew that she could see it. I was mortified and relieved at the same. FINALLY! There was someone in the world who could see the real me. But what did that frozen look on her face mean?
FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCK.
What do I do? What do I say?
Run? Babble? Put my hat on?
Maybe if I just ignore it, she’ll just think those shrooms that she ate haven’t quite worn off.
“I’m gonna need you to bite the curb, John.”
“Please, I’m begging you Jess, I didn’t mean to let him go. I’ve got a wife, a kid.”
He looked at Jessie desperately and then turned to me, weeping.
” You see, I just got these new shoes,”
Jessie kicked him hard in the side knocking his face to the curb.
“But they’re a little plain to me, I think what they need is a little -”
Then he practically jumped on his head, red exploding onto him.
“Red.”
Then he continued stomping until there was just a red stamped mush on the curb next to a body. He calmly wiped his feet on the curb and looked back at me, brushing his hair back.
” Oh hey there Buddy! Look at you! Like my new shoes? You look great!”
I stamped the left-hand corner of the envelope with my name and address. This would be the last time. They wouldn’t be receiving any more letters from me.
I had never felt more selfish. The last thing I thought of was my mother’s face.
Stamped out from your heart is how you treat me
Do you care so little about us
About what we shared?
Instead you’re acting like we never met,
two lost little girls finding each other across the country
soul sisters
maybe something more?
but that doesn’t matter anymore since I’m wiped clean from your consciousness
I watched through the heavy binoculars the rush of meat and muscle pour through the valley; grey-brown coats rippling with the exchange of sinew to sinew.
“A beauty isn’t it,” the tour guide remark from beneath his bushy, red mustache, “nature and her uncanny power.”
Acacia walked to the post office. A bell ringed as she opened the door, to the arrival of another customer. The girl working there smiled at her. This had been her 5th time there in a month. She got her letter stamped and it was soon sent off. Another letter to her mysterious friend.
The light embedded in the bottom of her shoes glimmered as her foot met the ground.
“I don’t wanna.” She was adamant.
I shook my head.
“Not even a little?” I shake the airplane shaped sippy cup filled with water.
“I don’t wanna.”
Can’t argue with that.
I can’t believe I just did that…How can someone be so stupid,yet so creative at the same time? I just got done licking the stamp when somehow it caught on my shirt…Getting the idea, I took more of my colorful stamps and started placing them all over my chest. I shall call it…Stamped Art.
I stamped my feet in frustration.
Why can’t he just understand?! This once.
I frowned.. tears pooling at the corner of my eyes.
This is it, screw it, I’m out.
With that thought I put on my shoes and get the heck out of the house.
Stamps go on letters, these seem to be a lost art. Kids no longer know how to address and properly write a letter-instead they know how to text in short hand in all of these abbreviations. I find it so sad that people no longer appreciate the art of writing a letter and sending it somebody. It always makes people feel so special to receive a letter because it means that people have taken the time to write a letter and specially tailor it to you.
Ideas premeated to words.
Words premeated to ink.
Ink premeated to paper
and paper premeated to me.
Stamped inside the envelope.
All my thoughts cloating through it.
The wind takes it away from my hands.
I wonder who will find it.
The man stamped his foot as he threw a fit. He couldn’t believe that they had moderated his post simply over something as simple as two me going on a date. Even more he couldn’t believe that they had chosen not to unlock it. It was looking more and more like oppression and he was getting ready to leave the site and branding it as a place that was not LGBT friendly.
The envelope was hand addressed, smeared with either blood or chocolate and stamped in the bottom corner with a Chinese character. I didn’t want to open it.
It was time stamped. That’s all I could say. Everything else remained almost eerily quiet. Like ticking thoughts settling into a pattern so innate it is almost impossible to break hands, break movement. Yet the opportunities to do so will always remain present, but in the end it’s the path you thoughtfully choose again and again that determines the destination.
The man stamped the final postcard and as he did he was free. He released his chains and walked out of that room to never look back. Who knew that the one thing that had kept him imprisoned for half an eternity was stamping letters. That’s the thing about an eternity. They aren’t always an eternity and you may end up doing something like stamping letters for half of it.
The machine buzzed through my arms from where the handcuffs, for safety they said, tethered me to the monster. I fed the sheet metal through, pulled back and the press stamped the shoe horns from the feed. Thousands of stamps later, the box was full and an hour had passed.
I still remember how it happened. Standing there with my passport freshly stamped and my bag heavy on my shoulders. Eighteen going on thirty – at least in my mind – and ready to take on the world.
If only I’d known what was coming for me, WHO was coming.
Maybe things would’ve turned out different.
Or, maybe, they’d stay exactly the same.
Stamped. stamped into my head is the image of her face when she lied blatantly and effortlessly. stamped is the draining feeling i hope to never experience again when i heard that lie, but didnt know whether or not to believe it. stamped is how i feel with emotional jealousy, envy, and confusion. i need to rub the ink off of my heart from this wretched stamp because once i do so perhaps i can learn to be free again from that mark.
I stood there for what must have been less than a minute, my heart in my mouth. It seemed longer. With only a cursory glance at me, probably to make sure I was still there, he stamped my passport and scribbled in a date. I had arrived!
Today she took my hand again. hre smile took my heart too. But that’s not where this story is going. It’s going to a much darker place. It’s going deep beneath where the heart lives. Far awy from love and closer to an end. and end for what? You’ll have to see for yourself.
I was permanently stamped with your mark. It was burned into my skin – searing with pain – your mark of ownership. Forever with me, the mark would always lead me back to you – I could not escape.
I don’t really like stamping things, i much prefer to use printers or computers because being stamped is a dirty business, you have to buy the ink and the stamper and it’s just too much to worry about. So for that reason i will stick to modern technology and not like i am in the 1960’s using stamps to stamp things with.
The letter was written, placed in the envelope, signed, sealed, and about to be delivered. Just as soon as she put the stamp on it, as soon as she could find it that is.
She could not wait for this letter to arrive at t;s final destination. It was something that she’d been meaning to say for a while now. And they had to know
I stamped the envelope. This was needed a week ago. It was late. My boss is getting mad. Everything is late or overdue. I don’t know how it happened. I just wish this will be over.
I was about to throw the letter away, toss it in the trash and forget about it forever, but it was to late. I realized it had already been stamped and was on it’s way. No more second guessing. This was it.
what? so like i stamp things like at the post office???????????? i dont really know i have to do this for english and like idk whats going on jfc. it also said to not stop writing so uhh ya this is kinda dumb. stamped. stamps. post office
Despite how hard he may try, he can’t forget that night. The way her hair curled of its own accord around his hand, catching the light in the strangest, most transfixing way. The way she smiled, and how all of her laughs were low, honest, genuine. Not quite the contrived sound she always used to save for when she thought he was watching. Something strange ignited within him then, something that he didn’t think could flicker back to life again. Not after Marie extinguished it, anyway. But somehow, without even realizing it, this girl reached straight into his ribcage and stamped her name into his heart.
Nothing can stop the stamped. Oh I thought it said stampede! Well that completely changes what I was going to write about. You can’t stop a stampede of letter carriers with stamped letters. But soon they won’t be allowed to walk on foot and you’ll have to put a mailbox by the road, if you don’t have one, so they can drive up and drop off your mail. The postal carriers will probably get blood clots in their legs.
With each stamp of his tiny feet, she wanted to cry harder because she couldn’t give her son everything he wanted. When the small boy asked for a simple toy, she knew that if she bought him the toy, they’d both have to skip a meal, maybe even more than one.
As the stamp rises from the paper Sven picks it up with both hands and carries it against his chest as he follows the mobs of immigrants toward the open doors. The light he see flickering in is the first glimpse of the freedom he came here for.
He stamped the young boys passport reluctantly. Sure, all of the paperwork was in order and, true, there was nothing he could do to stop it but Landson had still hoped that he would be able to save this one from going to the place where so few return. That-just this once-he could prevent the loss of an innocent life.
Im not really sure what the word stamped means… I have heard of someone saying, “those letters need to be stamped.” Other than that I don’t know what the word stamped could be used for.
he stamped my passport as I entered the bright lights of a new country. I had no idea who or what was waiting for me on the other side in Australia. What does this stamp even mean? Am I a foreigner or is this my home?
OUCH!!!!! someone had stamped on my foot. It seems like people do not care whether they had hurt someone. He didn’t even bother to say sorry. Well, if sorry can take away the pain probably everyone will be totally grateful. Being stamped on do not have an exact degree of pain it maybe physical or emotional. the thing about sorry is that we can’t determine whether he is sincere or not.
My heart is like a blank page that’s been written on many times in pencil, and then lots of things have been erased. You can see the faint outlines of where the words used to be written, the deeper the remaining indents, the darker the words had been written, the more effort it had taken to erase them. For some reason, I can’t erase your name. I keep trying… Did you use PEN? Dude, I TOLD you to use pencil, only I get to use pen! Only my family is in pen, why would you DO this? Oh god, I can’t be mad at you. I do love your handwriting, and the way the curves of the letters in your name look make me smile for reasons I can’t explain. I just… Wait! Where are you going? No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no you can’t leave you can’t leave you can’t leave, you used PEN! I can’t take this OFF PLEASE COME BACK OH MY GOD
Am I… stuck with this now? Alone with my torn paper heart, with the ink shaping your name running from my tears? How could you do this? How can I do this without you?
The noise was deafening – the stamping of hundreds of feet, the music harsh and abrasive on my ears compared to the poppy Western sugar we’d listened to on the plane. The smell of roasting meet fills the air, hot and sticky enough as it is, and insects crawl on our skin as the dancers’ feet kick up dust, stinging in our eyes.
there is was on my forehead. when she did a double take, I knew that she could see it. I was mortified and relieved at the same. FINALLY! There was someone in the world who could see the real me. But what did that frozen look on her face mean?
FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCK.
What do I do? What do I say?
Run? Babble? Put my hat on?
Maybe if I just ignore it, she’ll just think those shrooms that she ate haven’t quite worn off.
Or maybe we should just eat more shrooms.
Ah yes.
Shrooms.
“I’m gonna need you to bite the curb, John.”
“Please, I’m begging you Jess, I didn’t mean to let him go. I’ve got a wife, a kid.”
He looked at Jessie desperately and then turned to me, weeping.
” You see, I just got these new shoes,”
Jessie kicked him hard in the side knocking his face to the curb.
“But they’re a little plain to me, I think what they need is a little -”
Then he practically jumped on his head, red exploding onto him.
“Red.”
Then he continued stomping until there was just a red stamped mush on the curb next to a body. He calmly wiped his feet on the curb and looked back at me, brushing his hair back.
” Oh hey there Buddy! Look at you! Like my new shoes? You look great!”
I stamped the left-hand corner of the envelope with my name and address. This would be the last time. They wouldn’t be receiving any more letters from me.
I had never felt more selfish. The last thing I thought of was my mother’s face.
Stamped out from your heart is how you treat me
Do you care so little about us
About what we shared?
Instead you’re acting like we never met,
two lost little girls finding each other across the country
soul sisters
maybe something more?
but that doesn’t matter anymore since I’m wiped clean from your consciousness
I watched through the heavy binoculars the rush of meat and muscle pour through the valley; grey-brown coats rippling with the exchange of sinew to sinew.
“A beauty isn’t it,” the tour guide remark from beneath his bushy, red mustache, “nature and her uncanny power.”
Acacia walked to the post office. A bell ringed as she opened the door, to the arrival of another customer. The girl working there smiled at her. This had been her 5th time there in a month. She got her letter stamped and it was soon sent off. Another letter to her mysterious friend.
Imprinted was the letter left behind,
thinking the deed was done, however never forgotten,
forever marked, stamped “damaged goods” for all eternity.
The light embedded in the bottom of her shoes glimmered as her foot met the ground.
“I don’t wanna.” She was adamant.
I shook my head.
“Not even a little?” I shake the airplane shaped sippy cup filled with water.
“I don’t wanna.”
Can’t argue with that.
I can’t believe I just did that…How can someone be so stupid,yet so creative at the same time? I just got done licking the stamp when somehow it caught on my shirt…Getting the idea, I took more of my colorful stamps and started placing them all over my chest. I shall call it…Stamped Art.
I stamped my feet in frustration.
Why can’t he just understand?! This once.
I frowned.. tears pooling at the corner of my eyes.
This is it, screw it, I’m out.
With that thought I put on my shoes and get the heck out of the house.
Stamps go on letters, these seem to be a lost art. Kids no longer know how to address and properly write a letter-instead they know how to text in short hand in all of these abbreviations. I find it so sad that people no longer appreciate the art of writing a letter and sending it somebody. It always makes people feel so special to receive a letter because it means that people have taken the time to write a letter and specially tailor it to you.
Ideas premeated to words.
Words premeated to ink.
Ink premeated to paper
and paper premeated to me.
Stamped inside the envelope.
All my thoughts cloating through it.
The wind takes it away from my hands.
I wonder who will find it.
The man stamped his foot as he threw a fit. He couldn’t believe that they had moderated his post simply over something as simple as two me going on a date. Even more he couldn’t believe that they had chosen not to unlock it. It was looking more and more like oppression and he was getting ready to leave the site and branding it as a place that was not LGBT friendly.
The envelope was hand addressed, smeared with either blood or chocolate and stamped in the bottom corner with a Chinese character. I didn’t want to open it.
It was time stamped. That’s all I could say. Everything else remained almost eerily quiet. Like ticking thoughts settling into a pattern so innate it is almost impossible to break hands, break movement. Yet the opportunities to do so will always remain present, but in the end it’s the path you thoughtfully choose again and again that determines the destination.
The man stamped the final postcard and as he did he was free. He released his chains and walked out of that room to never look back. Who knew that the one thing that had kept him imprisoned for half an eternity was stamping letters. That’s the thing about an eternity. They aren’t always an eternity and you may end up doing something like stamping letters for half of it.
The machine buzzed through my arms from where the handcuffs, for safety they said, tethered me to the monster. I fed the sheet metal through, pulled back and the press stamped the shoe horns from the feed. Thousands of stamps later, the box was full and an hour had passed.
I still remember how it happened. Standing there with my passport freshly stamped and my bag heavy on my shoulders. Eighteen going on thirty – at least in my mind – and ready to take on the world.
If only I’d known what was coming for me, WHO was coming.
Maybe things would’ve turned out different.
Or, maybe, they’d stay exactly the same.
Stamped. stamped into my head is the image of her face when she lied blatantly and effortlessly. stamped is the draining feeling i hope to never experience again when i heard that lie, but didnt know whether or not to believe it. stamped is how i feel with emotional jealousy, envy, and confusion. i need to rub the ink off of my heart from this wretched stamp because once i do so perhaps i can learn to be free again from that mark.
I stood there for what must have been less than a minute, my heart in my mouth. It seemed longer. With only a cursory glance at me, probably to make sure I was still there, he stamped my passport and scribbled in a date. I had arrived!
Today she took my hand again. hre smile took my heart too. But that’s not where this story is going. It’s going to a much darker place. It’s going deep beneath where the heart lives. Far awy from love and closer to an end. and end for what? You’ll have to see for yourself.
I was permanently stamped with your mark. It was burned into my skin – searing with pain – your mark of ownership. Forever with me, the mark would always lead me back to you – I could not escape.
I don’t really like stamping things, i much prefer to use printers or computers because being stamped is a dirty business, you have to buy the ink and the stamper and it’s just too much to worry about. So for that reason i will stick to modern technology and not like i am in the 1960’s using stamps to stamp things with.
The letter was written, placed in the envelope, signed, sealed, and about to be delivered. Just as soon as she put the stamp on it, as soon as she could find it that is.
She could not wait for this letter to arrive at t;s final destination. It was something that she’d been meaning to say for a while now. And they had to know
I stamped the envelope. This was needed a week ago. It was late. My boss is getting mad. Everything is late or overdue. I don’t know how it happened. I just wish this will be over.
He designed the stamped art for Her to show the World that She was His and He was Hers.
I was about to throw the letter away, toss it in the trash and forget about it forever, but it was to late. I realized it had already been stamped and was on it’s way. No more second guessing. This was it.
what? so like i stamp things like at the post office???????????? i dont really know i have to do this for english and like idk whats going on jfc. it also said to not stop writing so uhh ya this is kinda dumb. stamped. stamps. post office
Despite how hard he may try, he can’t forget that night. The way her hair curled of its own accord around his hand, catching the light in the strangest, most transfixing way. The way she smiled, and how all of her laughs were low, honest, genuine. Not quite the contrived sound she always used to save for when she thought he was watching. Something strange ignited within him then, something that he didn’t think could flicker back to life again. Not after Marie extinguished it, anyway. But somehow, without even realizing it, this girl reached straight into his ribcage and stamped her name into his heart.
The letter was stamped. It was going to be sent to her adress.
I left a nervous man. Hopefully, she’ll receive it and read it and get back together with me.
As I walk, a flash of red.
Nothing.
Nothing can stop the stamped. Oh I thought it said stampede! Well that completely changes what I was going to write about. You can’t stop a stampede of letter carriers with stamped letters. But soon they won’t be allowed to walk on foot and you’ll have to put a mailbox by the road, if you don’t have one, so they can drive up and drop off your mail. The postal carriers will probably get blood clots in their legs.
So, I guess you CAN stop the stampede!
One time I took a stamp.
I looked at it.
I put it down.
I don’t really need stamps anymore, it’s 2013.
Sorry stamp.
With each stamp of his tiny feet, she wanted to cry harder because she couldn’t give her son everything he wanted. When the small boy asked for a simple toy, she knew that if she bought him the toy, they’d both have to skip a meal, maybe even more than one.
As the stamp rises from the paper Sven picks it up with both hands and carries it against his chest as he follows the mobs of immigrants toward the open doors. The light he see flickering in is the first glimpse of the freedom he came here for.
He stamped the young boys passport reluctantly. Sure, all of the paperwork was in order and, true, there was nothing he could do to stop it but Landson had still hoped that he would be able to save this one from going to the place where so few return. That-just this once-he could prevent the loss of an innocent life.
Im not really sure what the word stamped means… I have heard of someone saying, “those letters need to be stamped.” Other than that I don’t know what the word stamped could be used for.
he stamped my passport as I entered the bright lights of a new country. I had no idea who or what was waiting for me on the other side in Australia. What does this stamp even mean? Am I a foreigner or is this my home?
OUCH!!!!! someone had stamped on my foot. It seems like people do not care whether they had hurt someone. He didn’t even bother to say sorry. Well, if sorry can take away the pain probably everyone will be totally grateful. Being stamped on do not have an exact degree of pain it maybe physical or emotional. the thing about sorry is that we can’t determine whether he is sincere or not.
My heart is like a blank page that’s been written on many times in pencil, and then lots of things have been erased. You can see the faint outlines of where the words used to be written, the deeper the remaining indents, the darker the words had been written, the more effort it had taken to erase them. For some reason, I can’t erase your name. I keep trying… Did you use PEN? Dude, I TOLD you to use pencil, only I get to use pen! Only my family is in pen, why would you DO this? Oh god, I can’t be mad at you. I do love your handwriting, and the way the curves of the letters in your name look make me smile for reasons I can’t explain. I just… Wait! Where are you going? No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no you can’t leave you can’t leave you can’t leave, you used PEN! I can’t take this OFF PLEASE COME BACK OH MY GOD
Am I… stuck with this now? Alone with my torn paper heart, with the ink shaping your name running from my tears? How could you do this? How can I do this without you?