When You Wish: Chapter 1When You Wish: Chapter 16 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
Chapter 1: The Fallen Star
Erickson did not want to be a hero. There he lay, face down in the mud, mumbling prayers to the stars to spare his worthless life. Shouts and the unholy clang of steel broke through the shaking hands he clasped over his ears. He never should have left the estate.
So what if he was the black sheep of a wealthy noble family who made it their daily burden to remind him of his inferiority? So what if he'd never amount to anything more than a spineless coward and a weakling? Joining the army was no way to prove himself.
He wasn't about to charge the field with the rest of his company and be hacked to bits by bloody imperial barbarians. There was nothing else for it. He'd drag himself from the bush he'd been hiding in, crawl home and beg mercy. Whimpering, Erickson propped himself upright on his elbows and risked a glance across the battlefield.
Flames were taking to the thatch of the fort. Red clouds rolled across the night sky
Les Petits PrincesLes Petits Princes2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
"James is dying," Nefertiti said, her voice a whisper and barely audible from the balcony. The gray stone was cool beneath her hands, smooth from generations before her, and comforting to support herself on as she stared down to the gardens and gates of their palace below.
Queen Nefertiti was dark haired and tan, with wide eyes and a thin smile. It was her husband their children took after. Both young men with blond hair and blue eyes, both growing tall and strong and moving towards becoming the rulers of their odd-named nation.
Her husband's, Arthur's, breath caught. A short little gasp and snarl as his fists clenched by his side. His curses were so soft that it was difficult to catch them between the night-things and lazy breeze.
"Oswald cannot lead."
"He will have to."
Footsteps, and Arthur was pacing. "Could we find an excuse to appoint a Regent?"
"He is already seventeen," Nefertiti said. "When you die, he will be king."
Arthur cursed again, louder, as Nefertiti left her perch at
Harvest MoonYou remind me of the harvest moonHarvest Moon2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tugging the shore from beneath my feet, of
rowing out to sea in winter with empty nets
till spring, of catching every breath
in crystals on the same forgotten docks,
Where gravity knots my tendons into rope,
my teeth into chalk and ash, and my eyes
into searchlights scanning the horizon
for the first ship that leads to you.
FlyingWe swam through the skyFlying2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and when we landed
we felt higher
than when we almost reached the
You kissed my neck and your lips
and the fire in my hair went out
and you sighed.
I hate this part of the song where I can't hear you anymore.
When you woke me up
I remembered why I used to love you;
why the ash on your tongue
used to taste so sweet.
UntitledWhen we went to Norway we killed slugs.Untitled4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
We ate dinner at midnight as the sun revolved overhead, spinning in slow concentric circles, never dipping beyond the horizon. There was no night.
We looked up at the clouds, and she asked us if we wanted to do her a favor-to justify spending the night in her garage apartment at no cost. We weren't freeloaders, so we said O.K. She told us about the slugs.
There were hundreds of them crawling around the garden area-small families leaving slime trails on rock walls. We collected them one at a time, placing each of them in a huge plastic bag. We saw them pile on top of each other, felt their collective weight tugging on the plastic. Watched them squirm around, looking for any signal of familiarity, their antennae moving this way and that, trying to make sense of their situation.
We went in front of the garage and found some little guys crawling in cracks of asphalt. &
The Monster of Orange JoylingThe Monster of Orange Joyling2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The children had never seen a monster before.
They'd heard the stories, of course. It was impossible to live in the City of Always Nightfall without having huge, cavernous dreams about the bone-pile it digs its roots into. It was a very big and bloody bone-pile, the one crunching underneath Singing City.
There was Glum Rradung, the bulge-eyed sewer-midget who slithered out of water-closets and gulped down children wandering about in the dark. There was Ingalin, the hungrymind which spontaneously formed out of clutter and garbage. There was the Very Practical Man, whose face was just an enormous nose and an even bigger grin, a demon who, they say, could smell out loneliness and loved to torment the heartbroken and the near-suicides.
And there was the Dark Lord in his pyramid, high up in the inner city where no Squatschild could ever go. The climbing, black stain of Tower Myth and Mastery was a brooding reminder that it was a monster who ruled them all.
Singing City's slum-brats had no l
Sweetheart in A-Sharp"You're the knife."Sweetheart in A-Sharp2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Words. Clumsy words. Taught to me by my father, and his before, and worn into my skeleton like a bad habit. This was a bad habit, and still is.
"Be the knife."
A hoarse whisper in the dark against the swinging, hanging light. Ten competitors, thirty spectators; all losers. Two in the middle. All my life I've practiced and trained and pained for something so much greater than this. Means does indeed, unfortunately, make the man.
As I grip the soft leather of the knife handle, circa 1909, I hope these letters find you well. I hope they find me well, too, and I'm sorry for the three of us that it's come to this, cher. I'm sorry that every night for the last eight months I've promised I would come home, but haven't. I can't. Every penny here is ten dollars at home, and ten dollars we need. Every scar over my cheek a simple victory. Every meal is a regret. Every night is goodbye. I miss you. I've never said it, and I can barely think it. Now it's time to set these heavy,
Actinium DreamsY'all have any idea how downright frustrating it is to be the granddaughter of one of the most powerful and celebrated superheroes ever Ulysses Randall Martin, the iconic Mr. Uranium and yet have no special talent of your own?Actinium Dreams2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I mean, it's not like I don't have my own elemental superpower: like almost all of Grandpa's progeny, I do. But how much good is the ability to produce hard-hitting Alpha and destructive Beta rays if you can barely control it and never quite turn it off? At least I'm not as bad off as my son Frankie; I love him to death, but when left alone the poor boy is totally unstable and downright dangerous: the worst possible mix of autism, Alpha rays and ADHD.
And I do at least have my own nemesis, of sorts: the cadre of good ol' boys who call themselves DOTA, whose main ability seems to be workin' together to nullify and trap super-powered elementals. But t'be honest, they don't seem to have anything against me personally; I think they just have a ge
StigmaStigma3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
1 John 4:1
"Dear friends, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, because many false prophets have gone out into the world."
People have a habit of trying to hide their thoughts. Staring has always been a taboo; at least, when you are caught. Being armed with this knowledge did little to ease the sting she felt every time someone quickly looked away. Crowds parted around her and reformed several feet behind her back. It cut down on travel time, but she could not help feeling isolated. She had heard stories of strangers bumping elbows but that sensation was lost in her own memory. Christiana knew how she looked to outsiders. Ice blue eyes and pale freckles on her cheeks, all framed by long black hair. The only abnormality in her list of physical features was a tuft of solid white hair nestled into the black of her bangs. So how did they know to stay away?
Despite the uncanny ability of strangers to sense there w
Nightmare UMVC3 MovesetNightmare UMVC3 Moveset2 years ago in Profiles More Like This
Ultimate Marvel vs. Capcom 3 Moveset:
Species: Evil Spirit/Sword
Game Series: Soul Series
First Appearance: Soul Edge (1995)
Health: 1,050,000 HP Points
Voice Actor: Patrick Ryan
Power Ranking (Out of 7)
Energy Projection: 5
Fighting Ability: 7
Assist Alpha: Soul Edge Guillotine (Direct, Tilt Down)
Assist HC: Soul Explosion
Assist Beta: Soul Edge Spear (Direct, Front)
Assist HC: Soul Explosion
Assist Gamma: Soul Wave (Direct, Instant)
Assist HC: Soul Explosion
There was a time when a man named Siegfried Schtauffen took control of the Soul Edge, becoming powerless under the power of the blade. He eventually was able to retrieve his mentality and used the power of the holy blade Soul Calibur in order to save his body. He was separated from his Nightmare form and became the new wielder of Soul Calibur, while Inferno made a pact with Zasalmel, who made him a new body of his own. Thus Nightmare was born
The Ballad of Eiy'ra HaizThe Ballad of Eiy'ra Haiz3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he don't answer any more.
Not the whiskey drinking Indian, the marine who went to war.
A beaten up jukebox played old country songs in the corner of the bar. Outside, the mid-afternoon sun beat down on the cracked clay floor. The rocks surrounding the small mining town of Cripple Creek almost seemed to glow in the heat, and the horizon was half-hidden by haze. The township went about its business under the watchful eye of the local Dominion garrison.
But those in the Pink Moon sheltered from that world. The barman, Townes, was an old war veteran with only one arm. In place of the other was a crude robotic substitute. He served up drinks with little more than a vice, powered by a handful of servos which were connected to his arm just below the elbow. He was strangely proud of the device he'd often joke that he'd never play piano again, but his sex-life had improved tremendously.
Old Ma Haggard sat at the other side of the bar, smoking. She, like alm
Caught DrowningFirst I notice her hair: dark and longer than any girl I've met, pulled back in a high ponytail and still past her waist. Since I'm following the line of her hair, I see her hips next, round and smooth like a bright red apple, picked fresh and rubbed against t-shirts, ready for biting. Attached there and growing like slender trunks from her hemline are two long, smooth legs. She smells like green grass and old wood.Caught Drowning2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
We exchange the normal pleasantries. She is subtle and graceful; demure and polite. She speaks like an orchestra, her tones long and smooth, but there's a hiss there, like steam from a radiator. It works for her, and I've never done this before.
She laughs at that, a sound like a sour note that tugs somewhere at my stomach. "Exotic," I say; and she laughs at that too.
I realize she's waiting for a sign, so I imagine a flare between my lips and blow it out, a slow exhale. I wobble in the breath, but she catches me with her eyes. Black eyes, I notice, all the way through, but
TraumaIt was apparent that my sense of danger was lacking by the age of three. That year, we were on one of our many plane rides home from my grandparent's home in northern Canada. Close to arrival, we became entangled in an unexpected snowstorm. Visibility was poor and the wind had a mind of its own. The flight attendant tried to sound calm as she alerted us of the "unexpected turbulence" (in case we didn't already know) but it was clear that landing safely would be a challenge. Movement sickness came in the form of 300 foot drops in a millisecond. Some held brown paper bags tightly around their lips while others silently prayed, but not me. I loved the feeling of my body being pressed into the scratchy blue seats during take-off and the thrill of bumpy rides. When the plane finally touched the runway and slowed to a halt, passengers released a collective sigh of relief. My pupils were dilated with excitement and my grin could not get any wider. Surrounded by irritable, green-faced passengeTrauma2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
tavros: heart nepetatavros: heart nepeta2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
▼: uH, hELLO,,,
Horror Movies ListTOP TEN THINGS KILLING THE HORROR GENREHorror Movies List2 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
10) Poor acting in non-campy horror movies
Reason: Out of all the movies I've seen and critiqued the thing most frequent is the amount of bad actors/actresses in non-campy horror based movies. Hostel part one and two fit this because of the over glorified gore and violence doesn't sell for crap acting.
9) The obvious clichés
Reason: All horror has clichés but it seems more repetitive in New Age horror; overly violent, gory, stupid heroes/heroines, explicit scripts, and poor execution. Rob Zombie's remake of 1978 Halloween is an example because the beginning starts out great but towards the end it drifts off and I loose touch of the atmosphere. Lori Strode from Carpenter's version she was strong and smart, in the remake she lacked in strength and seem more defenseless. Strange isn't it.
Reason: You know a bad movie for having a massive budget but a horrible script. Plot-holes are what lessen