EtherAn oceanic silenceEther by MirandaDay
Crushes the sounds
Threaten to close
Against the last sliver of radiance
In the twilit air.
Quicksilver memories flash
Through the dark gray
And I wait,
Wait for the ether
To descend and surround me.
PhotonsPhotons scrape the atmospherePhotons by MirandaDay
And I sit,
Crosslegged in the grass
While the heather dances delicately
Like the twinkling flames
Flickering faintly inside me.
Tears smolder on my face,
Tiny flecks of ash
I know what I’m waiting for,
But I know that delusion
Is the pastime of fools.
Am I the fool?
For letting my heart soar
To the ceiling of the glistening heavens
Rocketing into space,
The purest form of freedom
Until meteorites collided and
Tore my spirit to shreds
Under the atmosphere, full of photons
Scraping against the fresh wounds in my soul.
TantalizeSaturday, 11:00 amTantalize by MirandaDay
The sunlight was dull and cold that morning, but it was enough to drag me from the recesses of sleep that I clung to. My eyelids were heavy and my head was pounding, my body drowning in the deepest hangover I'd ever experienced. I felt disgusting. I didn't even remember coming home last night, much less getting into bed.
The house was quiet, somber. Mom was probably out buying the week's groceries. My sisters were downstairs watching cartoons: I could barely hear the faint rumble of animated voices from below. I rolled over groggily, wincing at my sore muscles and wondering what the hell had happened the night before.
I'd been at Kyle's. A party. Graduation party. On the back deck, the pool filled with bikini-clad girls and the ice chests stocked with beer... But that was the extent of my memory. The rest was a drunken blur.
I tried to remember. Ella hadn't been there. She was a junior, not graduating yet. Not to mention her parents were aware of Kyle's reputation as
Firebird The radio was the last thing Gwen packed.Firebird by MirandaDay
It was an afterthought, an act of impulse. She’d been in the pantry, raiding every scrap of non-perishable food she could get her hands on. She shoved granola bars and bags of pretzels into the folds of the clothing that was already taking up the majority of the space in her beat-up purple backpack. She’d had the backpack since she started Kindergarten. Joel had never cared enough to buy her a new one.
When her bag was bursting at the seams, Gwen jerked the zipper closed, using her knee and the side of the washing machine as a makeshift clamp to hold the bag shut. Just as she tugged the zipper into place, though, a blush of pink caught her eye from behind the dryer. She set the bag down quietly on the stained linoleum and tried to get a better look at the object. It was small, pink, and probably plastic, but tha