Moonlight Serenade: Chp 3. Wolves PrideMoonlight Serenade: Chp 3. Wolves Pride2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Over the day, with Fletcher's notes and lecture, had Norah learned more then she possible could known about the werewolves. Their ways of living was strikingly similar to vampires, just a bit more open with their savagery.
However, even if many questions had been answered, many remains, and even more questions was born from the answers. Made her far more curious, almost an obsession of thinking, and it helped Norah forgetting her pain and hunger, her own misery.
Suddenly she got flickered hard in the forehead and she squeaked in surprised with a hand against her forehead.
"You are not focusing Mouse " Ace sighed and shook his head. Even inside his eyes was hidden behind the sunglasses, as he didn't rely too much on his sight anyways. As well didn't he break a sweat, even if the severe beating and training he had gone through, unlike her that had a thin layer of sweat over her face, panting for air.
"Sorry, I'm just tired."
"You are unbelievable, tired alread
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
TranssexualI am not man.Transsexual5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am a woman.
On the outside,
I appear as a man,
But that is not who I am,
Not who I want to be.
On the inside,
I am a woman,
Who I truly am,
Who I want to be.
Thank goodness for surgery.
So I can express,
So I can become,
What I truly am.
To be freed,
From this male prison.
And enjoy freedom,
Freedom of being female.
The Finest Casket (Complete Story)The chandlers, grocers, butchers, clothiers, and every other merchant in Chantsville was yelling in the streets outside the shop where I was studiously working. Their ruckus combined with the bleats and squawks of livestock wandering underfoot, creating a bustling racket that would drive the unfamiliar ear to distraction.The Finest Casket (Complete Story)2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I was used to the noise, however, and I was so engrossed in my work that I would have sworn the world was silent save for the sound of my chisel biting into the cedar box before me. Delicate curls fell from my worktable, collecting in small drifts upon the dirt floor.
I stopped to wipe sweat from my face. The pause gave me a moment to step back and survey my work.
Yes, the casket was coming along beautifully. I had mitered the joints meticulously. I had planed it smooth as glass before tracing out the panels on each side. I had spent days, chisel in hand, carving the scenes into the wood, and the entire workshop smelled strongly of cedar.
It was almost done, and the c
The Libra HusbandI.The Libra Husband2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they can get you
in East Hampton for wearing red shoes
on a Thursday
I don't know whether you knew
that--I mean--do you know
it's very hot in New York City
I like the terrible noise
you hear at night and all these terrible
drilling sounds--I never go to sleep
unless the whole pavement is jumping
outside and it's a hundred degrees
when I go to New York City I see myself
--Where have you been?
--Where have you been?
--Where have you been?
--Where have you been?
this is the revolutionary costume:
I never wear this
in East Hampton.
I'm not gonna spend another winter
in East Hampton--
in the first place I can't
I just can't
I can't spend another winter
out here in the country
I can't do it
I'm telling you--I can't
I can't get my figure back
unless I hit New York City
any little rat's nest
in New York City
any little mouse hole
any little rat hole
even on Tenth Avenue
I would like better
it's all a question
of who you want to
Chocolate MonsterOnce upon a time there was a little girl named Cecilia. She was very sweet looking and very polite, therefore people were always giving her sweets."Such a sweet girl deserves sweets," they said and patted her on the golden-haired head, smiling at her bright-blue eyes. And as it is the way with people, nobody wasted a thought on what was best for the child, as long as it smiled happily, which it always did.Chocolate Monster5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Cecilia, on the other hand, started to be very vain, because she could not help noticing that she always got more attention and a lot more sweets from the grown-ups than all the other children. "I must be really special," she thought, "like a princess. One day I'll be the queen of them all. But I don't want to wait that long, they should start bowing to me now." But the other children refused to treat her like a princess, or indeed a queen. Instead, they threw mud at her and were told off for it by the adults. After that they laughed at her behind her back and never talked to or play
Chapter 1 : E M A I L I N GChapter 1 : E M A I L I N G2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The sky was high as the children slept and the adults indulged themselves to some rest, but not everyone did the same. Some would sleep, finish work or even just surf the net; of which one person would regret doing.
It was November and about a week ago a young girl from the Hitachi High School had tragically died; it had appeared all over the internet, a lot of people convinced that she was murded. For one boy he tried to avoid all the death talk as he was in the same class as the girl. His name was Akoto Hiroshi and was a typical 15 year old trying to get though school, and was doing his normal studies for upcoming exams. But as he surfed the net, something caught his attention; he had received a e-mail from a unknown source. He clicked on it thinking it was a prank e-mail from one of his friends.
Once he opened it, he became confused as the e-mail contained nothing within in. He looked at it again and again, but there was nothing, he sighed and thought that his eyes were tiered from
SomedayJane and Ellis floated parallel to one another across the vast canvas of space, eyeing the marble-like planets that slowly crept past them. Their skin reflected the starlight with a dull orange sheen. Ellis had called it 'planet gazing,' an activity he apparently thought suitable for a date.Someday4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Do you see that one below us?" Ellis said, pointing to a round blue mass.
"Isn't it beautiful?" he asked. "I'll bet it's beautiful on the surface, too. Like the way the dust begins to spiral when a star is forming."
"Something like that," Jane said. She didn't understand his excitement. Planets were nothing interesting. They were just stars without the fire; black holes without the absence of color; asteroids with an atmosphere. They were just specks of light that littered the sky. The only remotely interesting thing she knew about planets was that the gas in their atmosphere were extremely lethal. Big whoop, she thought. Floating, atmospheric rocks of death. Ellis sure knew how to
compareeins.compare2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the smoke pouring out of her mouth,
(misty coils of a vague filth,
dancing to noir jazz, fading with each note)
smudged lipstick on the side of of her mouth,
and the little streak that crawled to her tooth
when she bit her lip in a supposed wonder,
and her eyes threw a faint film over themselves,
(like an elegant lady wraps a silk shawl around herself in a light breeze)
the light feet of a dancer
whose calluses were hidden under tight shoes,
whose toes would arch like Nut over her children,
(and she or you would spin with the earth, holding her frame as if-
as if earth was something of mass, as if it had a shape to hold onto)
whose leg would stretch over her head,
her arms, long, pretty, snakes, her fingers curled, and her wrists tense
(her eyelashes were grazing her cheekbones,
her ballet whisking her like a beaten egg, and the laces of her shoes
caught on a rusty nail, which sliced her ankle open, a wince danced on her lips,
Friendship, Disharmony and Sonic Ch. 1It was just another casual day for Sonic, he was just having one of his runs before Tails bumped into him and invites him to go to the park. Little to Sonic’s knowledge, Tails and the rest of the gang had prepared a surprise party for him. After arriving at the park, Sonic had gotten a specially made chilidog and loved it. While everyone was enjoying the party, a sudden dark pulse exploded out of nowhere and interrupted the party. The force from the sudden blast sent all of the party supplies flying in the air, including Sonic’s chilidog, leaving the hedgehog disappointed after seeing it was gone. Unknown to Sonic at the time, a dark creature had come out of a portal, spreading fear to everyone at the party. The creature then opened up multiple small portals and had sucked all of Sonic’s friends into them. In a futile attempt, Sonic tried to attack the dark creature to save his friends, but the creature swatted Sonic away like a bug, and knocked him out in the processFriendship, Disharmony and Sonic Ch. 13 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Why Spirit Day Is Not EnoughPrefaceWhy Spirit Day Is Not Enough3 years ago in Editorial More Like This
This essay was written in October of 2010 after DeviantART released this article supporting the Spirit Day movement to bring awareness to LGBT bullying.
I wrote it because there were so many comments on the official article that were defaming to one group or another that I felt the true issue had been lost in the rhetoric. The point of Spirit Day is to show solidarity and compassion for your fellow human beings. Not gay or straight or ill or handicapped - those categories don't matter. We're just humans, each flawed and each perfect. Spirit Day was an attempt to remind us of that.
I was confronted with two major arguments to this editorial in the original posting. One was that singling out LGBT suicides meant that I was putting more importance on that group than any other. For the purpose of the article, I suppose that's true. Spirit Day focused on LGBT issues, so the article (
Beautiful Today, you are beautiful.Beautiful2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Your parents tell you that you’re beautiful on every other day, too, but no one else ever does. The only time you matter to the world is at your shows. When you’re not beautiful, you’re nothing.
Today, though, you are shining. At least, you think you are, but you’re not feeling great. Your stomach hurts, just like it does before every pageant. Your dress is brand new, and you haven’t gotten used to the way it itches yet. You’re sure your wig is gorgeous, even though the hairspray smells bad.
Your teeth, though, are hurting the most. You know your flipper is a good one, but it doesn’t fit anymore.
The other girls are all beautiful too, crammed here in this
story of a disappointmentSome days I just don't understand the world at all.story of a disappointment2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When the low pressure system conspires
with my decreasingly adequate spectacle prescription
and the fact that I haven't eaten
any sufficient protein in over 24 hours,
I stumble around the house,
in front of a glaring computer screen,
over a hungry cat,
and I spill Whiskas milk on a freshly washed mat.
I try to read Nabokov
while the letters dance all over the page,
I drink three more coffees than usual,
eat two more steaks than usual,
and every sound at the front door
(a postman! a delivery man! a Jehovah's Witness!!)
sends my palpitating heart into the depths of my womb.
I'll hide on the sofa until it
(the heart) claws its way back
into my mediastinum.
I am not summer personifiedDo not compare me to a summers day,I am not summer personified2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm an autumn baby, with fallen leaves,
Printed in gold and amber across my skin,
With the deepest red sunset lips,
Offset by snowy skin.
I am the crisp breath of wind,
On oxygen starved lungs.
Forget the call of the heat,
And fall into my mist embrace.
BryceHe always stands very close to people when he speaks to them, staring with those huge golden eyes and leaning in ever so slightly, as if he is craving their touch and the feel of their breath and their hands more than anything. This is the first thing you notice when you meet him, the closeness. You ache, for a reason you don't know, to bridge the gap. To touch him. Your fingers twitch towards him but you keep your hands beside you.Bryce2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And then you hear him speak, and everything else seems loud and bright and harsh compared to the gentleness of him. His lips are chapped and his big galaxy earrings glitter and his hair stands straight up and his freckles are like kisses, and you think he will sound like all the others and then he speaks; he speaks and something shifts inside you and a little storm begins to crackle and swell inside your chest and suddenly you love him more than anything.
And then he finishes asking you the time, and you tell him, and he walks on.
WhitewashWhen you're five years old you set a promise in the dark, your sister's ice-queen eyes witness. Millie is sitting straight-backed against the headboard, face wide and earnest, and it seems as if the world has heaped itself on her shoulders, or maybe it's the strangeness of midnight.Whitewash4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"We can't make our wills or anything like that until we're eighteen," she says fiercely. "But I might forget this by then."
In later years you will find time to reflect that you're not as whimsical as Millie; young, you only think then that you could never forget something this important. But you can't argue with the three-years-older she holds above your head (the wisest bestest elder sister in the world.)
Your love for her borders on hero-worship, and looking back, you sometimes wonder if that's healthy.
The door bangs shut. "Jodie!"
How strange, the way it works: your hand is frozen to the table in the way it should have been on the phone, but that was minutes ago and maybe it was delayed-reaction, becau
the PassingThe Passingthe Passing2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
(Please see Artist's Comments for warnings and disclaimers)
Bumblebee sat in silence by the bedside, on the cold linoleum floor, looking to his hands, clasped on his lap. He prayed to Primus. He prayed that his friend wouldn't suffer when... when the time came.
'Bee?' An aged, tired voice called him. 'You there?'
'I'm here!' Bumblebee jumped to his feet and clasped his friend's hand when the other reached out, looking for him. 'How're you feeling?'
'Tired.' Spike replied, opening his eyes. 'How long have I been out?'
'Its almost... eleven in the day.' Bumblebee checked his internal chronometers and converted the time for Spike to understand. 'Do you want anything-'
'Where's Carly?' Spike asked.
'She's gone out.' Bumblebee replied, 'she should be back soon.'
It hurt to Bumblebee's very spark to lie to his friend, but he didn't want to hurt him with the truth. Carly had passed on five years ago. The entire Autobot team had been present at her funeral, just as they
Gargan and Humon Gargan and Humon were giants. In fact, they were bigger than giants. They were titans. They were so big that, when they stood up, they blotted out the sunlight beneath them and made it as dark as night for miles around. In fact, so big were they that people who saw them often mistook them for mountains. This was understandable, as neither of them washed that frequently and they often ended up with trees growing from the dirt in the deep crevices in their skin that on us would be mere lines or pores.Gargan and Humon2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Gargan and Humon were the last of the titans to walk the earth’s surface. All the others had been destroyed in the war with the gods, or had fled to dwell in the dark places beneath the world, but the gods had long since given up trying to kill the last two. Lightning bolts barely caused itches on such massive creatures. Plagues just passed their immune systems by without even causing a sniffle. The gods once sent a mighty dragon, plucked from the surface of the moon, to devour th
Open SeaIOpen Sea2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
fawn caught in
boulder on the
shoreline - a ghost in my dreams that's still breathing
I a &
He's Wearing EyeshadowHe's Wearing Eye ShadowHe's Wearing Eyeshadow3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He's got a pretty face, it's staring off into space
With his make up on, he can show the world who he is
But out on the street, the fear that he keeps
If anyone knew, he was a man
He's wearing eyeshadow, and it brightens his face
It gives him confidence, but takes it away
FatherFatherFather3 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
That's one word
In one breath it can carry the world
With His hands in mine
I know God who is divine
will lead me to straight paths
Words of wisdom You carry through the birds in the morning
the breeze that cuddles me briefly as it waltzes by
O Father of Heaven my soul cries
Mighty the deeds of the Father
High above high all the earth
Sing songs of sweet justice to the Father
For nothing compares to His awesomeness
Skip by the sidewalk and watch the trees sway
If you press your ears close to the ground
You can hear them sing
a song of victory
How the Lord devoured hopelessness and brought light to the world
O how glorious Your name and Your deeds
The leaves which sprung from the trees they sway
from back to the front all day
Flowers bloom and bow their heads
worshiping You as the clouds above say
Mighty the deeds of the Father
High above high all the earth
sing songs of sweet justice to the Father
sing songs of sweet justice to Jesus
sing songs of sweet justice to the Holy Ghost
My SaraIf anyone survives the world's ending, I only want them to hear the truth. I know, if there is any history after this is over, she will not be remembered fondly. I cannot blame them. They didn't know her as I did.My Sara4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The moment we entered the world, we were engaged, tied to one another body and soul. We grew up together on the castle grounds, exploring, laughing, getting into trouble, just as all children do. My Sara had an all-consuming love of science, and of discovering the inner machinery of the world. She would take me through the castle courtyard, and show me the delicate spider-webs covered with dew, and the lacey wings she had plucked from a great fat bumblebee. Finches would build nests in the trees, and my Sara would carefully break open their eggs to examine the stages of the chicks' development. Many people would be pained to destroy innocent life for something as apparently trivial as knowledge for its own sake, but not my Sara. She looked beyond a single, pitiful life in sea
What Am I? Lingering in that photo...What Am I?2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In that simple shot
I look, and I see a woman.
I am not a woman.
I have never worked for a lifestyle,
given birth for an allowance
I have never truly loved a man.
I am not a woman.
I do not have the means to
to wake, feel the calling..(oh, it calls, but I do not answer)
and move, move, move
until I reach a place of
I am not a woman.
Sometimes, I still take the
of my childhood and
place it on shoulders of
Sometimes, I remember the way
lifting builds me up.
But I am not a woman.
Lingering in that photo...
A wisdom of some sort
has trickled into my features
I see glimpses of it now.
In that momentary shot,
I look, and see memories there
In the darkness of my eyes.
In the taming of my smile.
In the strain stretched over my brow.
I am not a child.
And I am not a woman.