Let Happy Digimon LieLet Happy Digimon Lie3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The box said to put the popcorn in for two to four minutes. It never specified that putting it in for two minutes meant it didn't pop at all, and putting it in for four mean it came out like charcoal, stinking out the entire apartment, and halting, rather impressively, the plans Eva and Tom had for the evening.
It was the first time, in days, there hadn't been a Digimon attack, and the first time in days neither of them had been exhausted and wanted to go to bed early, or had already made plans to do something. They had kept the evening free. Eva finished work early, and Tom completed the errands he needed to do, and he was able to pick her up from the bakery.
They'd rented a couple of movies that hadn't been able to see yet, and Tom bought a couple of packets of 'do-it-yourself' popcorn. One had already been demolished by Irbimon and Poemon, and the other Tom had left in Eva's care while he'd set up the DVD. It had filled the apartment with the smell of burning, and Eva's face had fal
Just The Way You Are A blanket of snow met Viximon as she made her way outside the dorms. It had taken her a lot of effort to get this far, especially opening the various doors in the way, but she had her reasons. She was in the process of leaving for the Digital world without her partner, a decision she had made early that morning when she woke up beside him. She’d slept beside him the previous night like she had since their ordeal with the black cloud, but this morning had been… different. She’d been in a bit of a slump ever since their fight the previous day, and her long-awaited Digivolution to the Champion level. Except when it had happened, her Champion form wasn’t what anyone had been expecting. She and Greg had been going around for months explaining how she would digivolve to Kyuubimon, but they’d been wrong, and she felt embarrassed by that fact. Instead of the large yelloJust The Way You Are3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Birds in the Storm“…Mum?”Birds in the Storm2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Somewhere in the darkness a candle coughed and flickered to life—the power was out again, and even if it hadn’t been electric lights weren’t allowed due to the recent rash of bombings. Lillian Grey cradled the little flame with a cupped hand to keep it from going out as she picked her way to a room down the hall. Once there she found a small, tearfully frightened face peeping out from under the shelter of a bedspread. Something that wasn’t thunder rumbled in the distance and the face abruptly disappeared behind the safety of the covers. Somewhere nearby a mechanical banshee began to wail.
“They’re back, mum.” mumbled a snuffling voice.
Lillian carefully set the candle on the bedside table where it wouldn’t spill over and moved to sit on the bed, carefully peeling back the blankets to reveal the little boy who promptly clung to her. “I know, love. They woke me u
:SPOILERS: BBS Vanitas Ending:SPOILERS: BBS Vanitas Ending4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
After the defeat of Aqua, with Ventus there to witness it, Ven is filled with Rage. As he Battles his Other half, tears fill his eyes, with thoughts of his lost friend. Vanitas Only fights untill he is weak enough to Merge together with Ven (just like he did in BBS) but instead of being defeated by the *Last Word* Command, Vanitas Strikes the Beam of Darkness* and knocks Ven into Sleep. Vanitas, now having all control of Ven,(and who has now disappeared from the stain glass window awakening) and wields the fully complete X-Blade in his hand, heads up to Master Xehanort at the top of the cliff where they parted to carry out their plans, but Xehanort is nowhere to be found.
Vanitas then starts a journey to search for Xehanort, destroying worlds in the process. Having all the worlds population surrender to the Dark, Unleashing Unverse, and Recreating the Worlds in the Image of darkness.
When he comes across Xehanort, now Terranort, he duals him in Raident Garden. After only a few Seconds
A Night at Pinetop's TavernSomewhere in the back alleys of the city's older section there was a crumbling brick building that had been around since before ragtime music was popular. Hanging above a faded green door that led down to the building's cellar was a wooden sign, and despite the peeling paint, you could still make out the bar's name: Pinetop's Tavern. Nobody really knew when Pinetop's first opened; local folks would tell you it had been there since time began, and the world had grown up around it. It was one of those places where the lighting was always dim and the cigarette smoke never dissipated and the cloud you were breathing now had probably been around since W. C. Handy was still alive.A Night at Pinetop's Tavern2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Pinetop's Tavern was a blues joint, and it had been around almost as long as blues music itself. Blues music was a lot simpler than most kinds of musicsimpler chords, simpler lyrics, and most blues musicians couldn't read sheet music. The genre was born on some unknown plantation in the forgotten Deep
DisillusionedDisillusioned2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"You girls need a ride?"
October looked up, letting her eyes stray from the gravel beneath her feet. She had been walking along the highway for so long she had started counting her steps to pass the time, hoping that when she finally looked up she would see civilization. Abigail ran to the truck driver's passenger door, haphazardly pushing past October as if she had never ridden in a vehicle before.
October glared at the driver's soiled clothes, greasy hair, and crooked teeth. She imagined his smell which made her gag uncontrollably. It was as if his unkemptness was setting off red flags in her head: "Never talk to strangers. And never accept rides from hillbilly truck drivers in the middle of nowhere."
"Where are you headed?" Abigail questioned playfully. Even though she was a few years older than October, it seemed to make her more reckless than wise. Before the driver had the chance to wheeze whatever location in Kansas he was headed to, October yanked the sultry temptress to
The Blood of the Great WolfThe Blood of the Great Wolf3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Hear the truth if you dare young warriors. It is not pretty, that tale of our origins. It is one of greed and redemption, murder and betrayal, curse and loss.
It begins in the lands of the Far North during the earliest times, after the formation of the worlds. The gods and giants, elves and dwarves, all the worlds were just beginning and the great heroes and villains of our tales came into being. The big dog and the fierce wolf were newly chained, the dragon had not yet gnawed away so much of the tree's roots and the eagle had just nested in the tree's canopy. It was the time of great battles, of heroism never seen after, when it was so much easier to arrive at the banquet through will and deed but too many beings of that age far too often sought power they should not possess, rather than achieve true greatness.
Long ago a clan of humans had adopted the practice of donning the skins of the great beasts of prey and going into battle with great ferocity. They marched with the imag
ImmortalityImmortality2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The year is 10,080 A.D......
A man sits alone at a bar, nursing a drink, as patrons walk in and out of it.
Though he is alone, it's as if he is surrounded by memories of days when he felt alive.
"When was it?" He thought to himself.
The Limiter had broken long ago...the Dragon rampaged...war upon war upon war had been waged.
The face of the man he hated, danced in a distant memory before his eyes.
The man who started everything.
"That Man...who could forget him?"
"You say something, son?" A crusty old bartender, washing his glasses looked at the stranger with long grey hair tied in back, and busted headguard plate that once said "Rock You" now barely bolted together.
Even though his hair had turned a ghostly white...he didn't look a day older than 25.
"Nothing. Just remembering something..."
Though in appearance to anyone else, it looked as though an old man was talking to a younger man nursing a drink...but in reality it was the reverse.
"What's your name, son?"
WillThey used to call it going to church. For about twenty years, just before I was born, they called it going to the mall. That was before the CCTV agencies got connected with the wiretap WATCH agencies in to one big network. They had to stop calling it that because CCTV confirmed none of the folks were at the mall when they said they were. Nowadays they just call it hanging out, but they never say where.Will1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Going to church isn't illegal. And neither is religion or believing in God or reading the Bible. Most everyone is Christian. But Grandpa says people forgot what it means. Grandpa wants me to know what it means. That's why he's going to take me to church.
Grandpa wants a lot for me, and I don't mind it. The only part I mind is keeping it secret. I want to tell my friends but Grandpa doesn't trust them. He tells me things he doesn't tell my brother, and that's the only reason I don't tell nobody, besides the fact that I'm afraid he'll stop his telling if I do, and I like to listen when he
Blank EntryInspector Andel removed her contact screens and allowed herself a small sigh of nostalgia. She had borrowed a tablet from the archives department, and now weathered hands were flicking their way through cold case files. Hand-typed files. She'd almost forgotten that she used to deliver reports just like these.Blank Entry6 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
"It's not the 20s any more, Andel. We don't use tablets."
Andel had been too absorbed to notice Dieter sneaking up on her until the overbearing git had pulled up a chair opposite. Dieter was tall, young, charismatic, and by all accounts was everything Andel was not.
"Cold cases," she said, with a lot less venom than she had intended, "It's the only way to view the reports."
Dieter leaned back and propped his feet up on her desk. "Ah yes, cold cases. Well I suppose you have to do something while your officers are out with the response teams."
She ignored the feet bouncing obtrusively at her. It was too late to say anything now – she had to pretend they never bothered h
FlutterDash: The Bear.FlutterDash: The Bear.3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The crowds cheering. The bullies shocked. The wind blowing
through my mane. All of it was as much of a rush as the adrenaline pumping
through my veins. I finally managed to slow myself before landing near the
finish line, where the bullies were busy trying to wake up the one that crashed
into a pillar near the start of the race. I've never felt so smug as I nearly
prance to them.
"Oh no, she's coming" one of them moan.
"Just act busy. Let her have it this time." The other
attempts to see of Dash.
"So fellas, did I do awesome or did I do awesome?" Rainbow
Dash asks as she reaches them.
The bullies try to look busy waking up their friend. Rainbow
Dash sees this and just wanders right up to the unconscious one. She takes one
flick at his face with her tail and he jumps up, wings a flutter.
"Dont worry coach! Happens all the time. I can make it" He
exclaims as he tries flying again, only to crash into a nearby wall. Rainbow
Dash turns to the remaining 2.
"So guys, ready to apologise to Flu
The Belly of a WhaleThe belly of a whale is cleaner than you'd think. It's the seashore on a wet day: a red beach with red clouds and red sand. And the voice of the whale is the voice of God.The Belly of a Whale2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
God sings, "You were delicious."
"Spit me out." I'm on my knees, though my god cannot see inside itself to find my supplication satisfying. "I'm a wicked man. You don't want to devour wickedness, oh Lord. You'll be disgusted when you know you've devoured such a polluted thing."
"I will not," sings God.
"I've murdered a man."
"So have I."
"I've murdered a woman, too."
"So have I."
"She was pregnant."
God laughs. "The ship I sank held hundreds."
This calls for humility. I prostrate myself in the direction of God's mouth. "Oh Lord," I cry. "I can't compete with you. Truly you are a great tyrant, fearful and merciless. Had I only been given your bulk, oh Lord, I might have devoured whole ships as you have done."
God lurches. God rolls. God grumbles and coughs and hurls. I fly from his mouth in one heaving mess of kelp an
Carnivorous“I’m not one of them” she said.Carnivorous1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
He didn't reply. He only looked at her in a disdainful way, a branch of celery hanging from his mouth. Far from making the atmosphere lighter, the comical image of him crunching on vegetables while insulting her with his stare made her cringe.
“I’m not!” she said again.
“You know” he started - then took at moment to swallow his bite of celery - “I really don’t see why you’re trying to make excuses up.”
“Because you tied me to a chair!”
Her wrists hurt, and the plastic thread was cutting into her skin. She had been there for two hours, watching him eat celery, and trying to attract his attention to the fact she was not one of them.
“I swear to anything holy to you” she said, trying to move her hands – not because she hoped she could wriggle free, but because she needed to find a less painful position for them - “I am not one of them.”
For My DaughterDear daughter-I-do-not-have-yet,For My Daughter2 years ago in Letters More Like This
You will be my perfect. You will be my proudest moments in one small person. You will be made in love, or maybe anger, or maybe even desperation. But that won't matter. What matters is what you will be made into.
You will have Daddy's hair and his nose, and my eyes and my smile, the smile that happens not because someone with a camera told you to, but because you're genuinely happy. But you will have your very own heart and will be full of all the things that give you your you-ness. Whether you sing in the bath or make Valentines for everyone in your class or give your last homemade chocolate chip cookie to the boy sitting alone at recess.
I will write you poems and stories about how you are my miracle. I will read them to you sometimes, just to remind you. As you grow, not a day will go by that I'm not thankful for everything you are. You will be dazzling and beautiful and brilliant and compassionate and playful and curious and all of the things
bleeding ink-throats_c.I'm forgetting how to pump these rotting thoughts through my grasping, skeletal fingertips. I'm a well run dry and the only thing left is the bucket at my feet, cracked and aging; blank, broken pages with nothing left to say. And all my body's wishing for is a way to spell the words that will write you back into my arms. Because you're a thousand miles and a million wishes away and I'm starting to believe I've just got no words left to say.bleeding ink-throats_c.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I am bleeding syllables and pulling phrases from between my teeth, but they're broken and empty. I know if I breathe my poisoned sorrow into your mouth, your lips will dry and your flesh will crack and the beauty of your wordless joy will turn vile with the hopelessness of my wordy existence. Perhaps we should live in silence and bury my words under the porch. Perhaps we should turn our cheeks to the strung-together sentences of my questions. Perhaps we should just run into muted existence and forget how with each separate vowel, I am digging up
Complex 57The slick of black, heady oil rolled across the floor, staining the raw surface of the clinic, and the young boy collapsed back into the examination table. He was pale, even for someone who had never seen sunlight, with milky eyes and black spittle hanging from cracked lips.Complex 572 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Of those we've seen, the virus has spread most quickly in this patient." Doctor Ripnar was a tall man who tended to sway when he walked, but had hands as deft and precise as any surgeon and he used them now to steady and restrain the boy. "His blood is turning into the same substance you see at your feet." he continued, "We might have been able to keep him alive long enough to find a cure, but we don't have the resources for everyone."
Adjudicator Lawrence nervously straightened his tie; his pink and sweaty face bulbous with stress. "Everyone?" he asked, "How many have been infected?"
"It's in the air supply, Adjudicator. We're all infected."
The Adjudicator lurched, virulent juices churning in his stomach. He hat
I Am A TherianthropeSomeone asked me the other day what my definition of therianthropy is.I Am A Therianthrope6 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
Whenever I hear this question, I am sure that I am about to be ridiculed and rejected. But then again, I usually think Im about to be ridiculed and rejected, so I suppose thats not relevant.
Firstly, theres really no way to explain the way I feel when Ive shifted. I am not thinking in English, my mind doesnt form words like culture says it should. I dont think about what I am, or whats happened earlier, or whats happening later. I think about whatsthatsmell or iseesomethingmoving. And nothing else really matters because thisisnow and iamhere.
Mind you, of course I know that I am never fully animal or fully human. Its my sliding bar of life. Now Im 30% animal, 70% human. Yesterday I was 80% animal, 20% human. Roughly, you know.
Im struggling to put my definition into words right now, because it seems so complex and yet so simple
The IdolI once saw a man on the television who was so afraid of fruits that when presented with a bowl of them, he fled the stage, knocking over the host and several other guests. Though I openly pitied the man for his obvious malady of the mind, inside, the small bit of sadism buried within all humans laughed at his bizarre affliction. How can one not find cruel amusement in the cowering of a grown man who has been confronted by nothing more than a bowl of peaches? But now I understand fear like no other. I now no longer find amusement in the terror of others, no matter how illogical.The Idol3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Now, let me tell you the story of why the sound of wind whistling through the trees in Autumn strikes me with a fear so immense that I can do little more than shake uncontrollably.
A good friend of mine, a young and upcoming anthropologist by the name of Henry Byrne, contacted me eight weeks ago. Though he refused to go into details, he excitedly explained t
Captive Hearts Chapter 3Captive Hearts Chapter 32 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Weeks passed since then. Time seemed to drag on and on, everyone's spirits had since been doused. No one was chipped anymore. Except for Gregory d'Quincy, that is. However, Xavier had long since formed the idea that they would never escape. It had been several months since he was captured by is old Master; weeks since Jason was also taken No one was coming to get them. It was all an empty hope He had thought several times over about just ending it all. But he simply couldn't bring himself to do so. Not because he wasn't strong enough to do it. No, no. But because of his one special person.
Every time the thought of suicide crossed his mind, every time he told himself he was going to do it, Jason always stopped him. However, the purple-haired male wasn't even aware he was doing anything. All Xavier had to do was look at him, or think of him, or hear his voice, and it would take all of his power not to burst into tears and apologize over and over for even thin
Okami vs OkamidenOkami vs Okamiden4 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Okami will forever be one of my most cherished videogames in my collection. There were so many aspects to be admired--a huge map that could be roamed around freely, giant intimidating bosses that actually required effort to defeat, and a unique and absolutely beautiful design.
As an artist, the entire watercolor/ink painting feel of the graphics is what really made the game win my heart. Even as you play, you are literally granted the power of a brush. You paint symbols directly on the screen that represent elements or attacks that may be used outside and inside the battlefield.
Of course, you're given a variety of weapons as well. Each one you find or purchase is a work of art in itself. They're all different in their own way and look magnificent. You have your choice of Rosaries (beads), Glaives (swords), and Reflectors (mirrors). Other than the looks, the performance of each weapon is slightly different but they're all quite balanced. Reflectors are swung around in a circular motion
FloodgatesWe’re lined up as we enter Year Seven.Floodgates2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Rulers are pulled out, skirts inspected. Three inches above the knee, no more.
Our skirts are millimeters too short. We hope to pass. If we pass, we’re allowed into the house. Those who don’t are sent home so their mothers can mend what’s broken.
They scour for torn hems, loose stitches, and find none. But Marissa filled out over the summer, and the back of her skirt rises up her thigh nearly an inch above an appropriate level. We share a knowing glance as she flows out of our line, thrust back into the office where someone will call her mother to gather her. Our mothers taught us to lean back when the ruler passed, to let the hem dip down to the creases of our knees. No one would know. When we pass, we share a silent victory.
When they can’t hear us, we whisper about Marissa’s chest, how red splotches cover her nose and cheekbones. We think she won’t come back, girls like her never do, and seventh years a
Reflection Chapter 1Reflection Chapter 13 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The night air was cool on this late-winter evening. Though it was only seven p.m. the sun had already set, and a blanket of dark had covered the town of Ponyville.
Derpy hooves hovered unsteadily down the street, both of her wings failing to maintain any practical rhythm with the other. This generally caused her to fly diagonally in either direction; she would often switch the direction at random times without precise control.
The Pegasus could in fact fly quite gracefully. For some reason she felt it necessary to do otherwise.
Woozy bats, she had once reasoned, woozy bats like bulls stubborn. Such was the sort of logic she used to contemplate most things.
In the corner of her vision she noticed movement. She looked in the direction of said movement to find a group of birds. "Ants!" She called at them. "Eggs all scrambled and gravel from sand!"
When the flock hit the center of her vision the flock seemed to dissipate. Every time she ever saw a flock of birds they always looked
Dead NoirSo some dame walks through my door, and I start to do the whole 'of all of the offices in all of New York' thing - because I'm a private eye, and that's how we do things - but then I recognize her: Miss B J Broad, dynamite on legs and owing me a favor or two after the fiasco with her late husband. Only the last time I saw her she wasn't carrying a tommy gun. So she's saying "Larry, darling." as she points this thing at me, and her voice is soft, tender, beautiful. Then it's all fireworks - nothing but noise and flashes of light - and I find myself looking down at my own bullet riddled corpse, tongue hanging out like a sweating dog. Miss Broad's looting me for the lint in my pockets and all I can think is, 'Hey, Larry. How about you at least try and die with a little dignity?'Dead Noir2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Miss Broad obviously doesn't find what she's after because she's storming off cursing my name, and I start to feel kind of worthless. Kind of like I'm sorry to disappoint, you know? Like I hope m