Articles written by Alistair Marquise

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About me - Alistair Marquise

We're not so different, you and I.

We both have methods of expressing ourselves, and we both desire, at some level, to be known through those expressions. I choose to express myself through writing.

Well, I say that I "choose" to write, but it's not

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Creative Writing > Flash Fiction Flash fiction: Not guilty: 1 of 28

The bedroom was dark and completely silent except for the sound of the gerbil, Mr. Whiskers, drinking from his water bottle. Lily had finally gone down for a nap, and Jeane crept quietly from the room, taking care to avoid the toys that were scattered about so as not to wake her daughter. "God, if she'll just sleep for...
Creative Writing > Flash Fiction Flash fiction: An Internet romance: 1 of 28

Andrea couldn't believe what she was seeing. Before her stood a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing an expensive suit. He was strikingly handsome, with short golden hair and beautiful green eyes. His name was Jeff. He could have been a model. Andrea was crushed. "I'm sorry." he said. The two first met throug...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Drugs: 4 of 111

Laid out like powdery lengths of pure sex Alabaster javelins on smooth, mirrored fields We summon The Beast, fangs at our necks No use for the truth, no desire for "real" With septums crumbling like walls of ash Weary hearts beat like old, tattered drums And all of our youth, and all of our cash Sacrificed to The Beast, unti...
Creative Writing > Reflections Reflections: Suicide: 2 of 55

Here he was, exactly as he was expected to be, naked in a tub full of warm, red, water. The punctures in his wrists, while unsettling, were nonetheless performed neatly, as was his manner. Yes, wrists pierced with the delicate precision of one of his throwing daggers; in the fashion of someone who not only knew what th...
Creative Writing > Flash Fiction Flash fiction: As time goes by: 1 of 26

He blinks, and then… His eyes open to unfamiliar surroundings. Looking down at his sheet-covered feet, he realizes that he's lying down. Scanning the room through grainy, flickering vision, he is mildly aware of his body’s unwillingness to move.. In the corner, Maryanne sits with her face in her hands.&nbs...
Creative Writing > Flash Fiction Flash fiction: A pirate's tale: 1 of 25

All around him were the sounds of his machinations; the clattering of cutlasses, the wet noises of stomachs being run through, the occasional discharge of a pistol, the screams of dying men. Here and there he could make out the splash of dead weight as it was tossed overboard. Yes, and though he himself made not ...
Creative Writing > Flash Fiction Flash fiction: The only way out: 1 of 24

The bed squeaks as I roll over onto my back and stare up at the dingy white ceiling. It exists as just another blank facet of this boring room. White, white, white. Would it kill them to add a little color to this place? “We could escape,” my roommate says, his voice like splintering wood. ...
Creative Writing > Flash Fiction Flash fiction: Resentment: 1 of 24

Lynch stood at the back of the temple, seething with anger. He looked upon the dais, above the crowd of seated warriors, as two clerics escorted Kohta to the ceremonial platform. “The soft and undeserving Kohta,” Lynch thought darkly. “That should be me up there!” Kohta stood upon th...
Arts & Humanities > Writing at Helium Addicted to Helium: 1 of 22

The sheets of the bed are damp with my sweat, and I alternate between lying under them and on top of them as my body temperature fluctuates from arctic-wind-frigid to Florida-summer-roasting. My stomach is an acid-filled wood chipper compacted into a dense, painful sphere, like I’ve eaten a ball of broken glass.&...
Creative Writing > Reflections Reflections: Solitude: 2 of 43

I haunt this house as an amorphous representation of solitude- a shade without form. Delicately caressing bare walls, I creep into empty rooms and settle into their dark, vacant corners. There used to be furniture and decorations and tools and toys that occupied these rooms, certainly the dead space left behind by their abse...