Sinestro¿Quién es Estro? Es la personificación del desastre en MagiCWSinestro1 week ago in Introductions & Chapters
¿Cuáles su propósito? Crear problemas en todo el mundo
¿Por qué lo hace? Es parte del equilibrio ahí
Efectivamente, por más irreal, extraño o hasta ilógico que parezca el papel de Estro, o Sinestro en MagiCW es crear un declive cada indeterminado tiempo... para mantener un equilibrio del bien y el mal en MagiCw.
¿Por qué? Simple, MagiCW es una dimensión sin muchas guerras o conflictos entre criaturas, sólo pequeños conflictos que desaparecen en menos de lo que empiezan. Es un mundo pacífico. Hasta que él aparece.
No se puede vivir en desequilibrio, tanto del bien como del mal. Sin mal no hay quienes quieran hacer el bien, y sin bien se puede llegar a lo monótono. Es ahí la extraña misión de este ser.
¿Entonces él es bueno? No, no lo es para los habitantes de MagiCW, no de forma directa. Su
conus: keyinfinite arguments filled with incoherent words & unresolved issues. 'it's better this way' you say, the simple yet afflictive phrase causes me to drown in the sorrows of my broken <& bitter> heart. realizing your love will never return to me as i watch her pale plump fingers softly run through your carnelian hair <from a far>; intense envy rushes over me like the hemimorphite wind waves colliding into the jagged stibnite rocks of a black sand beach. i can't help but feel only contempt for you, quietly wishing for a quick expiry to your 'ethereal' relationship with her. i've never wanted anyone to hurt as much as i do, which leads me to believe that i still love you.conus: key5 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes
RUMINATION #15, FOR THE ANCHOVY (PREVIEW #3)As the Applesauce creature supported him flashes of light circulated, giving Rex the impression that he was lying on the floor of aRUMINATION #15, FOR THE ANCHOVY (PREVIEW #3)1 week ago in Introductions & Chapters
disco. Bob stood on the lower steps, “You got to get out of its way!” signaling the others. It didn’t matter for what reason, the words
compelled the dog to act. He leaned his back on the courageous fuzz ball, and supported himself enough to swing on his toes and fall
forward. Snig-the Emissary was carving off both the arms of a Phibian shock trooper and reducing the appendages to pulpy shredded
bone brittle. The rapier drill burrowed through the protective armor and again through the two others behind the frog. From the right, a
unidentified silver object dashed into the field of battle. Rex received the wayward representative in his open arms. A tightly knit
squadron of Phibs charged up the center, and was removed. Over the sounds of murder and mayhem a voice unlike the Narrators said,
“Sorry kid, those are the breaks!” The
Vital Change - Ch.2 - PurpleVital Change - Ch.2 : PurpleVital Change - Ch.2 - Purple6 days ago in Introductions & Chapters
Some people were lucky in life, some weren’t, some had incredible talents, some didn’t really have, or if they had, they couldn’t spread it. In the new world, everyone had right to make a show off of their talents, but not everyone had the most precious gift: knowledge. Being smart never was easy, but it has many benefits and guarantees many advantages in life.
He was a genius. Being a genius is not easy, since you barely can socialize, because you see less people are in your level, and it’s hard to talk. Being a sassy genius is not equal being a nerd. Laic people won’t understand the difference between the words. He was happy yet not. He was ok being a genius, having so many possibilities, as organizing his own life on a high level, also being on university. The only part of the whole thing to socialize, having as many friends as he wanted.
Dan was sitting on a bench, on the yard, re
WordsIs any part of me authentic?Words2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes
A TV show asked the questions I want answered.
A song told me how I should feel about myself.
A book made me jealous of love.
A video game voiced some of my deepest philosophical thoughts.
Am I just another generic societal offspring? Is it even possible to be more than that? Is anyone really authentic?
Is authenticity liking yourself? Knowing that you're doing the best that you can do.
What if you think that that's really sad?
What's it like to not have the thought of suicide cross your mind every morning?
What's it like not hating yourself for being so dramatic?
There's always someone who's doing worse than I am. But is enough to invalidate my sadness?
DrownEveryday I waited for you I drowned a little further into despair. Soon came the time when I knew nobody were there. Every day I wanted you that little piece of me,to be smiling and happy and for us to be together endlessly. Looking around now I wanted to say that its was alright to leave me again.However I will drown alone.Drown1 week ago in Short Stories
The Moriarty Principle pt. 1Upon hearing the term ‘the Moriarty Principle’, one might assume that the idea’s origin lies in the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but they would be wrong. The first inkling of it appears in the writings of Plato, who believed that humans were originally born with twice as many limbs and faces, and Zeus, fearing their power, split them in two. The popular interpretation of this concept is that it speaks of the idea of soul mates: that each living person has a missing piece to them found in another human being. Once again, most would be wrong.The Moriarty Principle pt. 12 days ago in Short Stories
No, the beings described by Plato were only an elite few paragons of humanity. They were the only ones with the potential to dethrone the gods, and they were punished for it. But their separation wasn’t the end of it. In splitting them, Zeus ensured that each individual would have someone else on the planet their exact equal, someone who, if the moment called for, would be perfectly qualified to destroy them. The perfect
The Softly Stinging ThornsThe Softly Stinging Thorns.The Softly Stinging Thorns6 days ago in Short Stories
An Analogy on humankind, by Apple
Audio program is spooling
Audio program is preparing to record
Some would say that to be human, one would need to look human and act human. I’ve heard this from books, movies and even documentaries. But, I’ve come to wonder why any human would say this. I’ve recorded my experiences with my creators for further interpretation. This is my findings on the subject through my experiences with humankind.
Let me start with some background information.
I am named Apple. I am fifteen years old, and female in gender. Let me start this off with one simple enlightening fact. I am not a regular human. Most would say that I am not even a human at all. I do not look like a human, nor do I want to look like a human. Daddy says I shouldn’t. I follow his advice. He said that it’s better that I be unique.
Anyway, I am a Rapidly Evolving Organism (REO for short). This means my
Zenosyne (or The Art Curator)Well this Monet piece is obviously a fake.”Zenosyne (or The Art Curator)2 days ago in Short Stories
Startled, I turned toward the voice. An old man snuck up next to me to also admire the painting. He had thick plastic glasses that hid his eyes and a scraggily beard with severe looking muttonchops. Lines of age and laughter and something else covered his face. He looked more like an ancient hobo than an art expert, but who am I to judge?
“How can you tell?”
He grinned; I counted nine teeth. “Because the real one uses more blue.” He lifted a liver spotted hand and pointed at a patch of lily pads. “These are too green. But it’s a good attempt.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “If they are going to put something in a museum, they should know if it’s real or not. What ignorant bastards. What fools! Pah!”
I looked at the fake Monet again before fully turning toward the man. “Why don’t you just tell the museum they’ve displayed a fake?”
He warbled, a raspy sou
Black Room The smell of laundry detergent melts into the air so still it could stalk a rabbit. The color of the haunting hour’s sky is plastered across the bare and pulse-free walls. Against that wall a bed is leaning, and on that bed a girl with a soft face and sunken heart opens her fading green eyes. Her name is Allegro. She turns her head to a glance out her dusty window and sees that although the sky is still dark, it is now morning. Things around her have been dark for a while now, but she is used to this and doesn’t appear to mind.Black Room3 days ago in Short Stories
Allegro moves her heavy blanket from her body and sighs as her eyes meet her feet. Once again, her feet are chained to her bed. This was happening to her more and more, and she was getting tired of it. They’re tied up with heavy chains and make her feel tired before the day has even began. It’s tedious, but she still reaches for the chains and unties herself. She wishes she knew how and why this keeps
Dog Days I love my master so much, and things were always beautiful back in the days when I was younger and it was only the two of us. He used to give all of his attention to me and actually wanted to be close to me. We used to go on walks every day and, at night, we would snuggle into the warm bed and go to sleep together. He used to love it when I greeted him, as he walked through the door, often joining in with his own loud enthusiasm as a greeting back to me. He never seemed to forget to feed me and often shared some of what he was eating with me, knowing how much I loved human food over my own bland and very dry pellet food. What I loved most was our relaxation times when we would curl up on the couch and watch television, as he would rub my belly and scratch all of the itchy spots which I could never reach with my foot. Those were the times when I thought he loved me as much as I loved him. Oh, how I miss those days and wish they could have lasted; I wish that everything had nDog Days4 days ago in Short Stories
The FayOnce upon a time, there was a beautiful fairie. She had wings of silver and gold, and could fly faster than a hummingbird, more gracefully than a hawk, and higher than an eagle. She was funny, remarkably intelligent, and amiable. All of the other fairies would have loved her, had it not been for one incredibly obvious deformity: the fairie had no legs.The Fay5 days ago in Short Stories
And so, the other fairies did one of three things. Most of them mocked her, or even went out of their way to make her life miserable by hiding the crutches the fairie had fashioned for herself out of Birch twigs, so that she had to fly for hours straight as she searched desperately for the supports. Other fairies pretended to be her ally, only to turn around and join the fairies previously mentioned in tormenting her. The last group of fairies ignored the beautiful fairie's struggles, or made ignorant comments as to how she should deal with her impairment. "Have you tried drinking nectar twice daily?" "How about applying snail slime once
TempsSigne du destin ou simple maladresse, d'un faux pas j'échappai ma montre.Temps3 hours ago in Short Stories
À cet instant je me dit "Le temps fuit. Il fil entre mes doigts."
Et je le vis se fracasser sur le sol et se fendre, se fissurer, s'arrêter.
Les yeux fixés sur ses aiguilles immobiles, je pensai "Et si tout s'arrêtait maintenant ? Si, à cet instant, le temps cessait d'être, qu'aurais-je été ?"
Comme les douze coups finaux d'une horloge à pendule, ce sentiment résonna en mon être.
"Qu'aurais-je été jusqu'à présent ?"
Je ramassai ma montre et m'en allai, un lourd silence dans l'âme.
SnowflakeShe told him that she was a snowflake, one of a kind. He'll never find another quite like her.Snowflake7 hours ago in Short Stories
He smirked, “When all the snow has fallen down a snowflake is hardly distinguishable. Being unique doesn't make you special. But I guess just like the snowflake you're also lacking a brain.”
BreezeFlicking her hands about as the breeze swept her into the air, the circulating air cleanses that of the surrondings, and making her soon one with whats around her, as in the earth.Breeze2 days ago in Short Stories
HERE COMES GRACIE!Gracie McKeane was floating in deep black. She was sinking, but strangely enough, she was not afraid. „Mum´s calling“ she thought. „She finished cooking dinner. I have to get downstairs.“HERE COMES GRACIE!4 days ago in Short Stories
But she didn´t move an inch. „Mum´s calling“ she thought. „But I can´t go down just yet. I have to stay here just for a bit longer.“
Opening her mouth and breathing out the breath she wasn´t even aware of holding, she watched as the bubbles floated up above her head. She reached out her hand to grab one of those silvery stars, she emptied her lungs further and further, until she felt as though not a single bit of air was left in her.
And suddenly, her halfways closed eyes shot wide open. With her arms, she reached out, trying to find something, anything she could hold on to. Her legs kicked around, unable to find something to stand on. She tried to breath. She had to breath, but everywhere was water! As it began filling her lungs
the fall of Mr. LeafSitting one dreary late afternoon, the only companion of an isolated park bench, I quietly sat captivated by the vignette of a lone falling leaf.the fall of Mr. Leaf5 days ago in Short Stories
Delicately swirling as it danced toward reunion with the earth from which it came; I was struck by the absolute simplicity of the act. “We are much alike you and I, my dear Mr. Leaf,” I found myself addressing this profound new friend as he fell. “Born to unfold, the season of birth, our glorious bloom; followed closely by a bold and vibrant season of youth; once mature, strong and secure, a season of labor to weather the storms; transitioning into the sunset season of age and wither, in preparation ultimately of letting go in faithful completion of our solitary journey.”
Other than my voice, there was no reply as the precious leaf gently settled at my feet. I reverently gathered the corpse, folding his remains into the pages of my mind, while closing the forgotten book that only mere moments before had commanded my ra
The Dawning- A Short Story ((This is my intellectual property. Copyright 2015. ))The Dawning- A Short Story4 days ago in Short Stories
Dawn is finally breaking, come to slay the night. I watched as the sun broke free from the restraints set upon it at night. Breaking away from the horizon it rose into the sky. Higher, higher, as if it would never stop. The clouds raced each other across the great blue racetrack that was the sky. They gaily frolic, playing with the sun. They were free. They were forever free. They could never be chained. Never. But I am not a cloud. I am human. That means I can fear. I do Fear. They have made me live in fear.
They. Them. All of them. All of they.
No matter how many times I re-arranged the words in my head they melted together to make a face.
UntitledThe sun slowly sank into the distant hills. The orange rays tickled the window of the small room, exposing a large pure white bed. The bare walls were utilitarian in design. Wooden beams in the ceiling supported a sturdy roof and plaster walls kept the elements at bay. The eagerness of the of the middle aged man at the base of the bed was unmistakable. He almost salivated at the events he surely knew would take place. Before him, locks of golden yellow glistened in the sun. On the other side of the bed, quivering in the sunlight, eager for touch, lay an almost perfect mirror of the golden locks, though this time a fiery red.Untitled5 days ago in Short Stories
He gently caressed the fiery red form as the last vestiges of light vanished into the distance. Each stroke of his and built more anticipation as his eagerness was met with a cooing sound. The cooing was replaced by a purring as he plunged deep into the red form. Grunting with excitement he began to work feverishly until he could fe
Zen punishment'What's that? You stopped paying attention to what you were doing as you were doing it? You let your mind go on automatic? Tssk Tssk! That will be 2 hours, my dear student, 2 hours' worth of meditation - a punishment sitting, oh yes!'Zen punishment3 days ago in Short Stories
'Yes, master,' groans the student.
'Well, how did it go this week?'
'Umm, master, it happened again. I don't know, I just tuned out; my mind was on automatic pilot...again!'
‘Hmm. very well, that’ll be 2 days of sitting meditation, after everyone finishes normal sitting, you’ll be staying in the hall even longer; understood?’
‘Yes, master,’ groans the student.
‘And if I hear a groan again, my boy, it’s the stick!’
(Ulp) ‘Yes, master!’
The week passes.
‘Sorry, master; it happened again. I – .’
Weeks pass by.
‘You look very alert, student; I am pleased!’
‘Yes, master, all the m
Whisp of the pastI ast in the dark,cold room,the loud,harmonios and misterious tunes of the organ makes the air vibrate with music as i sat playing thinking at the past and how many things changed over the ages.I feel like yesterday the gentlemens with theyr ladyes where walking on stone roads,carriages with horses on the roads,busy people at the windows dusting theyr rugs and putting clothe sto dry.Or how street venders where trying to atract buyesrs to theyr little shops,inns full of travelers and sailors telling theyr adventures be a lie or not,the great booze and rum in the old over used mugs and the smell of the old wood,mold,ciggar snad a little of the free,wild sea.Good times.Soon stronger ships of the navy appeared,the age of pirates ending,putting some of us to our eternal sleep.Or so they thaught.I watched how the world evolved and elarned,soon the beautiful,gracious wooden ships where rep[laced by the heavy,hunky metal ones.MAy they be spacious inside and even powerful they are a tumorWhisp of the past4 days ago in Short Stories
On ForgivenessIn the cool shade of a persimmon tree, a prophet sat cross-legged and silent, deep in thought. His breaths in were long. His breaths out were long. The moments between each breath in and breath out were longer still.On Forgiveness3 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes
The prophet had been meditating like this for many hours. Then a young man with a deep pain in his heart approached and unburdened himself to him. There followed a lengthy silence, broken only by the rustling of the persimmon's leaves. At last the prophet said:
Over the course of your life, have you changed? If you have, then forgive. For if you, yourself, are capable of change, then so is the other person. You both came from the same earth, and will both return to it. Not to forgive someone is to believe that he cannot change; and you, yourself, cannot change, but must always be as unhappy as you are, if you do not forgive.
The young man bowed and departed. The prophet returned to his breathing.