of Stardust and the Beasts

Poetry, prose, stories, and other creative writing experiments.

 

Six Sentence Story #18 | Prompt Word: HELP

Yet another week has passed, and it’s time to share another six-sentence story. However, this week’s prompt word made me derail into a psychologically dark theme. So, a small disclaimer before I let you read: if you are someone who may be triggered by domestic abuse and CPTSD, it might be best to skip this week. For others, dread… tread on—with one eye closed. Musically, nothing much has changed. I did listen to a lot of Type O Negative this week, which is one of those bands I used to listen to in my teens—Life Is Killing Me specifically is the album I was stuck on. The weekly writing challenge is hosted by  GirlieOnTheEdge,  and you can find links to other participants’ work through the  link-up . Please do check out the others too, there are a lot of great writers on…

No Results Found

The page you requested could not be found. Try refining your search, or use the navigation above to locate the post.

No Results Found

The page you requested could not be found. Try refining your search, or use the navigation above to locate the post.

No Results Found

The page you requested could not be found. Try refining your search, or use the navigation above to locate the post.

Poetry On the margins of the First Draft #4 | His Eyes

This piece is part of Margins of the First Draft—a collection of very old poems. This was one of the first poems I ever wrote and published. Considering how young I was when I started writing, this one feels especially strange, because at that age, I knew very little about love. (Authors Note) His Eyes His eyes If that was not poetry Written in two words I. Don’t. Do. Poetry Poetry on the Margins #4 First memory Do you remember your very first love?Or an instance of meeting someone for the very first time?Or meeting a pair of eyes as such,depicted in this poem? I wonder if a poemcould carry the whole essence of a person —like their eyes do. I remember my mother telling methat the eyes are…

No Results Found

The page you requested could not be found. Try refining your search, or use the navigation above to locate the post.

Six Sentence Story #8 | Prompt Word: EXCHANGE

She could feel that something was wrong with the way the wind made her skin crawl as she teetered out from the bar onto the small alleyway leading to her home and she felt almost as if there, in the dark, were a pair of eyes watching her every move.

Short Story | Master of Escapism

I used to believe in something, like stars being the souls of the lost—my father being one of them. I also used to read fairy tales over and over again. I believed that I would spend an eternity loving the same boy I fell for when I was nothing but a child. I had my whole life written in fantasy and laid out in front of me. On some days, I fought dragons; on other days, I cradled the scorching sun in my arms and called it a lover.

Six Sentence Story #7 | Prompt Word: LABYRINTH

At night, when Ember lies down in her bed and listens to the rain softly running down her skylights she travels the worlds unknown to men. 

Tonight was no exception; she was running in a maze to find her prince, a man she hardly knew but a face he had.

Short Story | Lady In-Between

How many times in my life have I felt completely overwhelmed by the tide of emotions and the ensuing silence of a depression that could incapacitate even the strongest of men? Some say it is the natural flow of life. “There is beauty in the ups and downs” —but I feel as if I am in the sea, desperately keeping myself afloat.

Only to be engulfed by the tide behind.

Six Sentence Story #6 | Prompt Word: STRIKE

Ellie found it easier to cope with the world by slowly removing herself from it, she had a superpower of cooking up wonderlands in her head and falling in love with strangers as she built them into magical characters in her stories and poems.

As the reality seemed to shun her out and strike her with a pike into her heart she fell in love with words, as if the blood dripping from the end of it was a pitch-black tint tainting her poetry with pain and sorrow as she crafted her words into bullets that could make a grown man shed a tear.