upstairs i hear the noise. is it love? is that what love sounds like? rhythmic. breathy. love? i dont know. i may never know at my pace…I can only keep on listening to someone elses plunge into the only accepted form of insanity…
creaking and crunching sounds
squeaking floorboards and
bogeymen in the dark
or maybe the lights on up there
but it’s dark here
please help
it’s dark here
I looked upstairs, searching for the mysterious noise. Was somebody running? Walking?
Perhaps i’ll never know.
The stair steps fall, collapse, and I disappear in to a black abyss of something i’ll never understand.
We always took the elevator upstairs. That when time we didn’t talk. I thought that was going to be the last time I ever kissed her. The next time we went up in the elevator though, I held her, I kissed her forehead, but I didn’t tell her how much I love her. I am scared that that is going to be the last time I kiss her.
She didn’t want to go. The stairwell looked rickety, and led right to the attic. Cobwebs, dust, and spiders lived there; she was just going to stay where it was safe: the kitchen. Surely, there were too many unpleasantries upstairs.
She paused. In front of her was a rickety-looking stairwell, one she knew would take her directly into the attic. As cobwebs, dust, and suspicious-looking shadows…
I wonder what it will be like upstairs in Heaven when we leave this world behind and eternity begins on a whole new level. What will it look like, smell, like, sound like there? How many people will we know there? Will we be suprised to find that some we knew didn’t make it, or that others we thought wouldn’t did?
The light shone with a play of shadows from the tiny sliver under the door. What was she doing up there to create such a soundless dance of black and white? I crept slowly up for a peek, my heart forgetting to beat when one of the stairs shrieked under foot.
I’m walking up the stairs. There are thirteen steps. Why do I see the window open? Is it meant to be like that? Suddenly I remember, I closed that window to keep them out. If it’s open, that can only mean they managed to get in… I check the fridge, get the sub-machine gun on the nearby shelf and lock the doors. It’s gonna be a bad night again.
I walked up the stairs that I had never been up before. A new experience opened right in front of my eyes. Something I thought had never existed. And I was amazed.
I raced up the stairs, practically flying in my fright. Screaming, I burst into my bedroom and slammed the door behind me, locking it. Seconds later, he smashed into it, roaring in frustration at having met an obstacle.
Growing up in Florida, we didn’t have an upstairs. But back home in Canada we used to have this big huge house that the whole family lived in. My parents room was upstairs, they had a giant water bed. I would jump on it as if I were doing cannon balls and one time I accidentally punched my Dad in the nuts.
She went upstairs, knowing each step took her closer…closer still. The third from the top step creaked, as usual. She paused, almost surprised, how could she of forgotten that?!
the man with the gun didn’t care that she was my sister. he didnt care that she wouldn’t come back from the place his gun sent her. she went away. he came down the stairs.
I saw the upstairs of a store on day, it was pretty awesome. There were adult diapers that I could play with. I pooped and peed in them until they leaked. Then I played in the waste afterwords. They will have a lot to clean this morning.
i walked up the stairs, breathing, thinking about what was to come. i dont know what lies ahead, i don’t know what this new life has in store for me. but it’s something new, something exciting, and all i can ask for is change. just keep walking up the stairs.
The stairs were rickety. The third step from the top was almost worn through; splinters lined the sides of a steadily growing hole. She pretended it was a secret hole, where she could store her secrets and her dreams. And her regrets, but she didn’t like to think about those as much.
I am boycotting this word as it is not properly themed for 9/11.
Oneword.com should be ashamed as should all liberals and deviants who submit entries with this word, forsaking in the process our fallen heroes of 9/11 9 years ago.
“It’s upstairs,” said the owner, tucking away a box of antique postcards. “Third floor, I think. It’s been awhile since someone asked for that.” I nodded, thanked him, and went to find the stairs.
Upstairs there’s a man. He sleeps all day- every day. He decided waking up was much too hard. Too hard. So he sleeps upstairs, and we let him sleep. No time to wake him up. No time at all.
is my bedroom. i recently put my tv up there. i wnat to take my tv to a new room. my new apartment. I hope that the girls I’m talking to today like me and want me to be their roommate. I really can’t stand being here at home with Sam, he’s rude and rude to everyone.
Upstairs at Eric’s-What a great album. That was my junior year of high school, where I spent weekends gyrating to the techno pumping sounds of “Don’t Go” on the darkened dance floor, intermittently splashed with flashes of colored light from the cheap lighting set in the corner next to the DJ.
i go upstairs but how far? ido the stairs lead to heaven? to a new life? where am i going? what does my future hold? will i find him again and be happy? should i begin a new relationship with out him? but what if he comes back and i am happy with someone new? what will i do then? i cant see clearly to the future, this must be the curse of human kind
Upstairs was cold in the winter, and I wanted to leave the register open, so that the warm air from downstairs would drift up. But Dad said no. That it was a waste to heat an area that people only slept in. If they wanted to be warm while they slept, thy could put on more covers. But even with lots of covers, my nose stayed cold. All winter.
Upstairs is scary. I think something is living up there, whether mortal or malicious I know not. But I’ve resolved to avoid those steps until necessity force me.
there was a thick box upstairs, thick as in it had a lot in it, perhaps it was corrugated. i don’t know, i’m fairly certain that my mother had put it up there years ago when she coughed too hard to remember, back then. it was full of, it was empty of everything. i opened it yesterday and i saw a small smile.
And while the wedding ceremony was going on, we were upstairs. His kisses weren’t fantastic, his body wasn’t in rhythm, but it was pure adrenaline none the less
Upstairs, I’m alone now. I can walk around naked if I want to. They have their own kitchen, bathroom, living room, and now I have my own space to myself as well.
I love this.
I grew up in a house with only one level. Playing in the stairwell of my friend’s house was strangely satisfying. Up I would clamber on all fours, and bump bump bump down again.
Upstairs, downstairs, and up again. All day long I do nothing but climb the stairs, errands for the musty old crone in the attic. I hear her call my name again and sigh heavily, as heavily as my footsteps on the stairs.
The stairs creaked. The house groaned. She closed her eyes and moved her feet, but the incline hurt. She peeked open an eye to glare at the door above her. Up the stairs she had to go. Into the dark.
In the attic, there’s a certain box. It’s filled with Christmas decorations and half of a fake tree. It also has a dead body. It’s been there for a few years, and every time the box is taken downstairs to decorate with, the body is left inside. Sometimes we look at it, out of a sort of morbid curiosity, but none of us have the guts to actually take it out and bury it. That would involve actually touching the thing.
its the thing you go up and it leads you to places where other things cant, it will get you to a higher ground if there is a flood, it can also take you to tops of mountains, ive seen ones that go all the way up an entire mountain just going around in circles.
I’m sitting upstairs in my brother’s room watching TV. I can’t even bring myself to look outside. Days like this always remind me of 9 years ago. I’ll be reminded enough. So I’ll just stay upstairs with my cats watching bad TV all day.
upstairs i hear the noise. is it love? is that what love sounds like? rhythmic. breathy. love? i dont know. i may never know at my pace…I can only keep on listening to someone elses plunge into the only accepted form of insanity…
creaking and crunching sounds
squeaking floorboards and
bogeymen in the dark
or maybe the lights on up there
but it’s dark here
please help
it’s dark here
I looked upstairs, searching for the mysterious noise. Was somebody running? Walking?
Perhaps i’ll never know.
The stair steps fall, collapse, and I disappear in to a black abyss of something i’ll never understand.
We always took the elevator upstairs. That when time we didn’t talk. I thought that was going to be the last time I ever kissed her. The next time we went up in the elevator though, I held her, I kissed her forehead, but I didn’t tell her how much I love her. I am scared that that is going to be the last time I kiss her.
She didn’t want to go. The stairwell looked rickety, and led right to the attic. Cobwebs, dust, and spiders lived there; she was just going to stay where it was safe: the kitchen. Surely, there were too many unpleasantries upstairs.
She paused. In front of her was a rickety-looking stairwell, one she knew would take her directly into the attic. As cobwebs, dust, and suspicious-looking shadows…
I wonder what it will be like upstairs in Heaven when we leave this world behind and eternity begins on a whole new level. What will it look like, smell, like, sound like there? How many people will we know there? Will we be suprised to find that some we knew didn’t make it, or that others we thought wouldn’t did?
The light shone with a play of shadows from the tiny sliver under the door. What was she doing up there to create such a soundless dance of black and white? I crept slowly up for a peek, my heart forgetting to beat when one of the stairs shrieked under foot.
I’m walking up the stairs. There are thirteen steps. Why do I see the window open? Is it meant to be like that? Suddenly I remember, I closed that window to keep them out. If it’s open, that can only mean they managed to get in… I check the fridge, get the sub-machine gun on the nearby shelf and lock the doors. It’s gonna be a bad night again.
There’s not an upstairs, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a spectacular view. In our psyche, we can have an upstairs anywhere we’d like.
I walked up the stairs that I had never been up before. A new experience opened right in front of my eyes. Something I thought had never existed. And I was amazed.
upstairs at grandma’s house was one of our favorite places to play. The stairs turned a little at the middle and there was a landing.
I raced up the stairs, practically flying in my fright. Screaming, I burst into my bedroom and slammed the door behind me, locking it. Seconds later, he smashed into it, roaring in frustration at having met an obstacle.
Growing up in Florida, we didn’t have an upstairs. But back home in Canada we used to have this big huge house that the whole family lived in. My parents room was upstairs, they had a giant water bed. I would jump on it as if I were doing cannon balls and one time I accidentally punched my Dad in the nuts.
She went upstairs, knowing each step took her closer…closer still. The third from the top step creaked, as usual. She paused, almost surprised, how could she of forgotten that?!
there was a door. A door leading nowhere. I used to go there a lot and just stare at the door too shy to open and see what was behind.
the man with the gun didn’t care that she was my sister. he didnt care that she wouldn’t come back from the place his gun sent her. she went away. he came down the stairs.
upstairs is where the wild beds lay
not made from hay this day
but it does make a nice place to stay
I saw the upstairs of a store on day, it was pretty awesome. There were adult diapers that I could play with. I pooped and peed in them until they leaked. Then I played in the waste afterwords. They will have a lot to clean this morning.
i walked up the stairs, breathing, thinking about what was to come. i dont know what lies ahead, i don’t know what this new life has in store for me. but it’s something new, something exciting, and all i can ask for is change. just keep walking up the stairs.
The stairs were rickety. The third step from the top was almost worn through; splinters lined the sides of a steadily growing hole. She pretended it was a secret hole, where she could store her secrets and her dreams. And her regrets, but she didn’t like to think about those as much.
I am boycotting this word as it is not properly themed for 9/11.
Oneword.com should be ashamed as should all liberals and deviants who submit entries with this word, forsaking in the process our fallen heroes of 9/11 9 years ago.
“It’s upstairs,” said the owner, tucking away a box of antique postcards. “Third floor, I think. It’s been awhile since someone asked for that.” I nodded, thanked him, and went to find the stairs.
Upstairs there’s a man. He sleeps all day- every day. He decided waking up was much too hard. Too hard. So he sleeps upstairs, and we let him sleep. No time to wake him up. No time at all.
is my bedroom. i recently put my tv up there. i wnat to take my tv to a new room. my new apartment. I hope that the girls I’m talking to today like me and want me to be their roommate. I really can’t stand being here at home with Sam, he’s rude and rude to everyone.
Upstairs at Eric’s-What a great album. That was my junior year of high school, where I spent weekends gyrating to the techno pumping sounds of “Don’t Go” on the darkened dance floor, intermittently splashed with flashes of colored light from the cheap lighting set in the corner next to the DJ.
i go upstairs but how far? ido the stairs lead to heaven? to a new life? where am i going? what does my future hold? will i find him again and be happy? should i begin a new relationship with out him? but what if he comes back and i am happy with someone new? what will i do then? i cant see clearly to the future, this must be the curse of human kind
Upstairs was cold in the winter, and I wanted to leave the register open, so that the warm air from downstairs would drift up. But Dad said no. That it was a waste to heat an area that people only slept in. If they wanted to be warm while they slept, thy could put on more covers. But even with lots of covers, my nose stayed cold. All winter.
Upstairs is scary. I think something is living up there, whether mortal or malicious I know not. But I’ve resolved to avoid those steps until necessity force me.
i went upstairs and stopped by the window. it was sunny. warm. i felt like going outside but for some reason i couldn’t move.
there was a thick box upstairs, thick as in it had a lot in it, perhaps it was corrugated. i don’t know, i’m fairly certain that my mother had put it up there years ago when she coughed too hard to remember, back then. it was full of, it was empty of everything. i opened it yesterday and i saw a small smile.
And while the wedding ceremony was going on, we were upstairs. His kisses weren’t fantastic, his body wasn’t in rhythm, but it was pure adrenaline none the less
Upstairs, I’m alone now. I can walk around naked if I want to. They have their own kitchen, bathroom, living room, and now I have my own space to myself as well.
I love this.
I grew up in a house with only one level. Playing in the stairwell of my friend’s house was strangely satisfying. Up I would clamber on all fours, and bump bump bump down again.
Upstairs, downstairs, and up again. All day long I do nothing but climb the stairs, errands for the musty old crone in the attic. I hear her call my name again and sigh heavily, as heavily as my footsteps on the stairs.
The stairs creaked. The house groaned. She closed her eyes and moved her feet, but the incline hurt. She peeked open an eye to glare at the door above her. Up the stairs she had to go. Into the dark.
I went upstairs last night to see what was keeping Jim. Turns out he was stuck in the bathtub. I went back down for the butter and got him out.
In the attic, there’s a certain box. It’s filled with Christmas decorations and half of a fake tree. It also has a dead body. It’s been there for a few years, and every time the box is taken downstairs to decorate with, the body is left inside. Sometimes we look at it, out of a sort of morbid curiosity, but none of us have the guts to actually take it out and bury it. That would involve actually touching the thing.
its the thing you go up and it leads you to places where other things cant, it will get you to a higher ground if there is a flood, it can also take you to tops of mountains, ive seen ones that go all the way up an entire mountain just going around in circles.
I’m sitting upstairs in my brother’s room watching TV. I can’t even bring myself to look outside. Days like this always remind me of 9 years ago. I’ll be reminded enough. So I’ll just stay upstairs with my cats watching bad TV all day.