Posts tagged Fiction

She Is Mine

ecririons_post7She Is Mine

You can see it in his eyes.

You can sense it in his words. 

I know what is on his mind when he says “I don’t know what’s wrong”.

You can hear his regret when he says his goodbyes.

Another man fell for her like I did time ago.


Pig, Basted, Son of a gun.

Calling him half-hearted insults won’t gain me much.

I could put myself in his shoes and I should hold no grudge.

But my heart only yields one thing.

She Is Mine.

She Is Mine.

But in the end he is just another man like me


I feel for the man yet I can’t take that his eyes are on my pride.

Call me selfish but the fact she makes someone else’s heart pound makes my feet cramp. 

He should have stayed in the shadows.

He should have been strong and kept it to himself.

He knew ain’t got no right but he did it anyway.


Pig, Basted, Son of a gun.

Calling him half-hearted insults won’t gain me much.

I could put myself in his shoes and I should hold no grudge.

But my heart only yields one thing.

She Is Mine.

She Is Mine.

But in the end he is just another man like me


I saw her first, I loved her first.

I made her laugh and wiped away her tears.

I brought her flowers and sweets, I wrote her kind words.

So what do he think he got that can possibly win her heart?

It doesn’t matter anyway because he ain’t got any chance!


Pig, Basted, Son of a gun.

Calling him half-hearted insults won’t gain me much.

I could put myself in his shoes and I should hold no grudge.

But my heart only yields one thing.

She Is Mine.

She Is Mine.

But in the end he is just another man like me


He is just another man on the same train I traveled on most of my life.

He stands just three stops apart waiting for the same train and wishing for my seat

I know he never meant to go down this road, most certainly don’t. 

Now that we are here anyways let’s get it over with.

Shake each other’s hand, nod our heads and walk away.


Pig, Basted, Son of a gun.

Calling him half-hearted insults won’t gain me much.

I could put myself in his shoes and I should hold no grudge.

But my heart only yields one thing.

She Is Mine.

She Is Mine.

She Is Mine.

But in the end he is just another man like me.

Just another man like me.

Another man like me.

Just another man like me.

The Life That Is – Chapter 3 – The Boy with the Hat

ecririons_post6A little down the road, when my mind was in its right place again and I was ready to start on a fresh. In an ordinary school just like so many others, to me too it ended as so much more. The place I learned who the boy in the mirror really were. The place I grew into something else, something new. To me it is the place where I started to think of all the things I am, instead of the things I’ll never be.

The story starts out small. I was a kid with a hat and big dreams but little knowledge of the world I had been thrown into and the things to come. Tough times lied ahead but with time I earned friends and being safe started to feel a little safer and with those odds there isn’t much that can’t be overcome.

However as it would conveniently show, my old friend and nemesis wouldn’t offer me much of a break before striking down upon me once more. Only this time it hit right where it stings the most. She opened my eyes on a regular Wednesday.

The bell had rung and the classrooms had been abandoned. It had been her turn to have the job of swiping the classrooms floor clean. I was simply late at packing but when I finally stood in the door ready to go home, I suddenly didn’t feel so ready to leave just yet. I looked at her and realized that the ugly duckling from my visit last summer, didn’t quite seem like an ugly duckling no more.  A first move would be made in from of an offering of help with the floors. What seemed like a perfect start on grand love story, but unfortunately she replied “No I’m good”.

What was to follow is a far forgotten story, yet still floating around in the back of our minds along with the myths and what ifs that it created. Once in a while we all stand still for a moment and think back to that time, wondering what actually went down. All I can say is that it was a long walk home.

Although I had lost twice or more to my old nemesis I can’t say I never gained, they do say third time is the charm. One wet windy winter I did finally get that one kiss I had been drying to have for so long. Her hair was black with a strip of blood-red, only a mere glimpse of a burning fire to come. I wouldn’t say nothing good came to us but as humans we tend to only remember the things that hurt, just like the first time you came too close and burned yourself on the fireplace.  In the end her hair and all turned to the unforgettable red and she cut my heart out and stepped on it but there are enough stories about such things to last you till next winter.

They say you never quite forget a true love no matter how small of a high school flirt it might have been. They also say the first one is the one you’ll always hold dear in your mind, for me that was never the case. Sometimes I think to myself why it is like that? I guess that is a question that takes a bigger man than me to answer. Deep inside I know I loved her then, now and always, never quite in the same way but never quite gone either. All because of that crazy stupid thing called love.

(Header: Unsplash.com)

Thank You For The Scar


ecririons_post4I am cold, wet and dripping from recent shower, as I stand here, looking at myself in the foggy mirror.

I feel the lust to take a good look at myself, glaze and view my scars from over the years.

These scars are not the ones under my chain or the long one on my right leg, they are ones I can see in my eyes.

The ones none visible to the naked eye, yet the ones that run deepest and left the most damage.

However theses scars should not be hidden in shame, after all they are the ones that makes me who I am.

As I stand here looking at these scars I think about the people who caused them, not with hate but with a desire to thank.

I think about the friend from the dark ages who sparked a lust but created a nightmare, she was the first and the hardest fall.

I wish to thank her for destroying me, only for me to be rebuilt with a greater and wider vision.

I will never forget the girl who had me chasing her on and off for so long, that even we can’t quite agree on how the story goes.

I want to thank her for teaching me a lesson on behavior and let her know, she has an eternity place in my heart.

Someday I’ll raise a glass to the golden, yet crazy butterfly for giving me a great time as long as it lasted.

I will thank the butterfly for showing me good from bad and letting me move on.

I must not forget the many flowers I passed by before I found the right one, each and every gave me a new advice to live by.

If I ever met one of them again, I’ll shake their hand and say my thanks for preparing me for the one that counts.

I hope one day I will meet the black sheep again under different terms in a different time, until then I will always have what she said to thing about.

I would like to thank her for giving me insight in what to judge on and when to back off, may all luck be with her.

As I stand here dry and cozy, I think about all the others that I never addressed but know they have my thanks too.

Thank you for these scars.

(Header: pixabay.com)

Crazy Stupid Love By J. Bjerre



Once there was a young boy who just wanted to be taken seriously.

He knew this girl and feeling felt for her but she already gone and caught feelings for someone.

Someone else with their own feelings caught in a completely chaotic mess.

They all chasing something and they don’t entirely know why.

But ain’t we all chasing that someone?

Because of this damn love.

It got us all mixed up.

It got us all looking like a fool.

It got us all going crazy for reasons we quite don’t understand.

All because of that crazy love.

Teen girl on her way to becoming a woman, got herself stuck in classic love roulette.

The man she loves, loves someone else and both fight everyday for that special one.

But she’s isn’t it for him, that she knows but I bet it still hurts like a son of a gun.

She still wonders why things went as they went instead of something else.

But don’t ask ourselves that?

Because of this damn love.

It got us all going in circles.

It got us all hung up and blinded.

It got us all doing stupid things we regret and we will do all it.

All because of that stupid love.

A lovely couple which had their magic starting to fade for mistake they both regret.

Picture perfect love story would become a bitter fight for air for both of they.

In the end neither of them never stopped loving so why were “we” so close to be an “I”.

Once the figure out their mayhem, they can wonder what happened.

But I guess we all wonder that sometimes.

Because of this damn love.

It got us all going mad.

It got us all on our knees.

It got us all forgetting everything else than what we see.

All because of that.




(Header image: unsplash.com)


Journal Story - Quintin by G.B. Gillean

I found a note from the professor when I woke up this morning. In it he laid out a series of mind numbingly inane tasks to complete before he returned, without then informing me when that will be.

Either way I completed his chores before lunch and, since he hadn’t returned yet, I set to tinkering with my flying cameras. They fly perfectly fine now, although with limited range. I sent one straight up as high as I could trying to get a full circle of landscape. Honestly, I think the camera is broken. It would be impossible for the image to be true. Some trick of the light or glitch. Either way, I’m thrilled with the results. I’ll just have to ask the professor for a better camera.

I drew up a quick map of the area, kinda rough, but I’ll add to and improve it as needed. I labeled the three paths trying to determine some reason behind the things, but failed. Maybe getting a better idea of what number three looks like will help.

From the hill to the quarry I think this world ranks around a size 3. Surprisingly large and far more then I should have been given were I not just some political pawn.

Still, if I succeed at doing something here, maybe I can make enough of a name for myself that I can have some sort of career.

It’s well into evening now and he has not returned. I spent a fair amount of the afternoon labeling his equipment on my map and deciding where I should place mine. There are a few blackout spots in his design, I’m not sure he really updated after his initial plans.

Without knowing what he has been getting, I’ll just fill in the gaps and hope for the best.

I threw up two recorders before bed. These late nights are brutal. Field work is so much harder than school. Maybe I’ll sleep in tomorrow.

Copyright G.B. Gillean 2015

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