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Judgement :iconsandara:sandara 21,043 1,449
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Literature
Breaking In
A small, domestic bathroom.  TIM, a young and unimposing man, is unconscious on the floor, leaning against the bath, hands and wrists tied, a bloody wound on his forehead.  He starts to wake up, looks around, and then realises his predicament.
TIM
Hey!  (Pause.)  HEEEEEEEY!
The door opens.  KAREN, a young woman, enters.  She has a necklace in her hand, which she clutches throughout the scene.  She looks at TIM, aggressive and defiant.
KAREN
Yes?
TIM
You shouldn’t have done that.  It was really dangerous.
KAREN
I’ve called the police.
TIM
I thought you probably had.  I mean, you’ve got me now.  But I just wanted to say… next time, I wouldn’t tackle them like that.  You might not have been so lucky.
KAREN
Right, because you’re so tough.  Anyway, I was
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Literature
I'll meet her again...
It’s Samhain. The line between the spirit
world and our own is a ray of moonlight.  
It’s the night when the reluctant soul sticks
to our plane, hovering - a withered rose
whose beauty is the figment of a dream;
a gleam gilding the surface of the lake.
For long hours of idyll would the Lake
poets revel in letting their spirit
soar free on the nightingale’s wings, and dream  
of glimpsing their Muse clad in pure moonlight –
but tonight magic’s afoot: clouds just rose
to blur the moon like fumes from incense sticks.
The Romantics’ habit of rambling sticks
to mind tonight, as I stroll to the lake
and sit down to recall the violent rows
we’d have every night, before her spirit
gave itself over to the bland moonlight
and chose to rest and die, not live and dream.
But perhaps ‘tis I that’s strayed in a dream?
For in that small nest, fashioned out of sticks,
I see her visage, painted in moonlight.
I glimpse a lady traversing the
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