Prose
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- Written by: wickedwahine_69
- Category: Prose
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The neighborhood of the hill near the old Hawaiian church named Kamo’ili’ili acquired its name through this story --- Kamo'ili'ili literally translates into “Pebble Lizard”. It is said that one day, long ago, three friends were traveling across this land. Hi’iakaikapolio Pele (the younger sister of Pele the volcano goddess) and two of her friends, Lohiau, and Wahineomao. (Lohiau was a handsome chief from Kauai and Wahineomao was a friend of Hi’iakaikapolio.) They were walking along together, when all of the sudden there was a powerful gust of wind.
Read more: The Legend of Kamo'ili'ili
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- Written by: mr.natural1976
- Category: Prose
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I’ve always hated the night, especially when it thunders outside and the rain comes in cold, hard sheets...and when I am by myself. He always announces his presence when I least expect him to. And, when the lightning glaringly streaks across the midnight sky and strong gusts of wind eerily snuff out the cherry of my cigarette, I know he is nearby. He hates it when I smoke and never bothers to talk to me when I do and comes at the most inopportune moments.
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- Written by: mr.natural1976
- Category: Prose
- Hits: 2160
People who romanticize Van Gogh –like Madness mostly likely have never met
him. He’s not the easiest guy to get along with. And he comes out of the blue, when
you least expect him to. Most sophisticated aficionados praise the insanity…the
intensity…the originality…that’s because they never met Madness…if they did they
would think twice about adoring him. I never adored him, because I know what he's really like.
Read more: The Problem with Madness
Many children do not remember their fourth birthday party. At such a young age, it’s difficult to truly grasp the concept of time and memory without some sort of significant occurrence taking place, whether it be the death of a family member or a trip to Disney World. For me, it was neither of those things, but something that would entirely change the person I would become.
Read more: The Journey of Raf Jennings
The sirens had been howling for nearly twenty minutes. Ten of the twelve windowpanes in the storm door exploded against the porch railing when the door was ripped from Kate’s grasp. Trees leaned in the gust, bowing, kissing the ground in the presence of its eminence: the EF5 twister. A trash can summersaulted down the alley, smashing into a trucks windshield.
Read more: This is Your Something
