Chapter 2 - The TrialChapter 2Chapter 2 - The Trial8 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Jack had barely begun to get his bearings when an angry voice intruded his confused thoughts.
"Now, really, this was a situation between two holidays! Jack apologized for his actions! I've forgiven Jack, there's no need for all the holidays to get involved-"
"Thank you to your take on the case, Mr. Claus, but the accused has arrived." A deep voice rang though the air, though there was no hint of a shout in the voice.
Jack looked around. He was in a gigantic courtroom, built to accommodate vast amounts of people (or others, as the case may be). At the moment, only about a third of the courtroom was filled, all facing a round platform with not but a single chair on it. Jack noticed it was surrounded by a wire-thin fence.
In the rows of seats, obviously the jury, there were various inhabitants of the holiday towns. Elves from Christmas Town, Jack recognized, but none of the others. But the figures in the first row had most of Jack's attention, and for a good reason.
RapunzelThe floor is covered with ribbons of broken hair snapped, dry, dirty hair. She watches it break and die every day; even when it groans from her scalp, she no longer cries for it. It's only hair.Rapunzel6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She sits in the corner, with another of her headaches, closing her unwashed eyes and praying for sleep.
When a man's voice calls to her from outside, she jumps.
No one speaks to her.
She is one hundred feet from the ground and no one can see her face.
Heart quickening - a newborn sparrow that must learn to fly or else succumb to a hungry mouth - she struggles with her locked bones to stand and run to the window. She only moves slowly, however desperate she is, her wasted muscles threatening to fold. Her fragile fingers with their grey, unfiled nails fight with the stone sill to gain purchase and she sways, a stricken willow planted in her own filth.
"Let down your hair," he says.
Why won't he leave her alone? Why won't he go from here?! But still she mechanically heaves her co
Dear Younger ClareDear brand-new Clare:Dear Younger Clare6 years ago in Letters More Like This
Welcome. Live. Cherish.
Aren't you lucky to be allergic to most of the out-doors?
Fractured bones heal. Even if they hurt. Even if they got great big heavy boxes dropped on them. Even if they're your toe bones, and you can't move them right afterwards.
School Yeah, that'll become a theme.
NO! NO NO NO! Eating dirt will NOT make you un-allergic to grass!
Dear 5-Year-Old Clare:
You may be engaged to him, but he'll be cheating on you by the end of the week.
Dear 6-Year-Old Clare:
Try asking nicely first. Boys don't like getting beaten up by girls, especially if they're bigger than them.
Dear 7-Year-Old Clare:
When they tell you you're smart, PLEASE don't start crying. They'll only misread it.
Your parents didn't tell you till now because they thought you didn't need to know. They won't realize how bad it hurts you to find out. Remember t
Sanctuary The Walking Dead Fan FictionSanctuarySanctuary The Walking Dead Fan Fiction1 year ago in General Fiction More Like This
The Walking Dead Fan Fiction
“Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family. Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.” ~Jane Howard
The muffler on the hunter green truck had been broken long before the end of the world started, so the girl hears the roaring cry of the engine several seconds before the battle-scarred vehicle pulls up beside her. It veers into the wrong lane in the process of doing so, but the absence of other motorists on the road renders the traffic violation innocuous and irrelevant. The windows are either tinted dark or extremely dirty, or a combination of both. The girl rests her torn and overstuffed backpack on the steaming asphalt as the driver gradually slows the truck to a halt and rolls down the window closest to the girl, the one on the passenger’s side. The truck has five seats total—two in the front, three smaller ones in the back—and four of them are empty.
“Where you he
Like Drowning In Mid AirNick's breath hitched for a third time as he finally ran his fingers over the wound in his abdomen. The air was coming to him in short gasps as it was, but now his eyes were hazed with water - the world was swimming around him. He could still hear the hoard attacking his 'teammates', his fellow survivors... His friends. Yeah, it had taken him a very long time to think of them that way... But especially when it came to Ellis. More than anything when it came to Ellis.Like Drowning In Mid Air4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
His legs gave way, but the pain barely registered as they scraped against the gravel beneath him. His abdomen was the next thing to give up supporting, and he toppled over onto his side, face hitting the sidewalk wetly as he sprawled in the blood of the Hunter that had finally gotten the better of him. In fact they were facing each other now, eyes on and dear lord he felt sick. His fingers were drenched in red, and he couldn't bear to look down at the thing because sweet lord the pain was so bad.
Where was Lady Luck now?
- Coming Home -It was raining again, and you despised it.- Coming Home -1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
The dreary gray world beyond the glass frame of your window seat perch made you feel melancholic and weepy, the pouring tempest mirroring the wailing of heartbroken emotions within. Normally though you liked the rain, liked the way it soothed you with the gentle pitter-patter of droplets on pavement, the rolling rumbles of thunder, and the fresh clean scent it bore afterwards. On any other day this would have been the case, yet this particular afternoon was anything but ordinary.
Fluttering eyelashes drifted shut and you exhaled in a long sigh, absently twirling long strands of silky hair around delicate fingers, letting your forehead rest against the cool transparent glass of the window pane. Today should have been a happy day, a celebration of your second wedding anniversary to the other half of your soul, the only one in the world who made you complete.
Except, on this day exactly one year ago, you had also lost that large irreplaceab
You were a mistakeYou were vodkaYou were a mistake1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
to my lips,
UntitledThe clock sounds, sounds, sounds.Untitled1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's a soft wood, like a weathered plank for a playground seesaw.
Is there really deafening silence?
Does it not make a difference if you can't hear it?
Sure, you can feel it,
But can't you always?
The last marble from my ancient Newton's cradle fell
From my desk to the tile overlay floor.
Rat. Tat, tat tat-tat-tat.
Dun is the smoke the hellfire exhales,
And indefatigable is the man at the bellows.
Let the darkest seal shut my eyes.
It's too much for a quarter of my brain to handle.
Why, then, do my eyes sting at night?
Hey, what's that green thing across the room? If that's
The Boogeyman, I'm running to the preschool.
Little nose-pickers will eat him for me.
That exercise ball could be a good instrument;
It reverberates and resonates within itself.
I'm licking the screen door; it's metal
But doesn't taste like it. It's fresh outside.
Rubbing my tongue against the screen makes it feel hairy.
I hope there's no bug juice on it.
Water Weight 2Lacy had awoke in what looked like a hospital, but before long she understood that she was in a military instillation. The main give away was all the uniform-wearing guys posted just outside of her door. The fact that she was also handcuffed to her bed was also a little bit of a clue. After a couple of days her doctor and a very angry looking man in full military dress came into her room together.Water Weight 22 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The doctor began the meeting by trying to explain what happened and how she had gotten there. “ The other night it seems that you got overly drunk and staggered out into a pouring rain. The first officers on scene noted that you were roughly the size of a mini-van and still expanding. They tried in vain to help you but not know what was wrong or even what was happening they were unable to help you. You continued to expand until the military and the Department personal got on site and by then you had leveled the better part of a block; cars, trucks, buildings, even a few people trapped i
Little Noises - Day 102“Hello?”Little Noises - Day 10210 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Lizzie gazed down the hall fearfully. She had heard something. A creak, as if someone was walking around her house. Was someone in her house? The thought of it paralysed her. Jesus, she didn't know how to defend herself, she had bodyguards for that!
Of course she never let them near her home. Oh god how she wished that one with the stubble was here. Yes, he was cute, but he could down someone twice his size in seconds without breaking a sweat. He was her favourite! Maybe she should learn his name.
She meekly took a step forward. She leaned to one side to see if maybe someone was hiding in one of the adjoining corridors in this maze of a dwelling. She couldn't see anything. She strained her ears to hear just the slightest thing.
She heard someone take a breath.
Her heart started beating out of her chest. Someone was in her house! She tried to breath deeply and reached out for the nearest thing she could call a weapon. She picked up an Eiffel tower statue off of the
Mad 'Magination - Day 110“How could you kill that poor little termite?!”Mad 'Magination - Day 11010 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“What? Was a bug!”
“That termite had a life! It had a itty-bitty termite life!”
“We don't know that it had a life. It could've been depressed for all we know. Did it a favour.”
“Oh! My! God! Did you just say that? He totally just said that, can you believe he said that?”
“That termite could've had an amazing little life! He could've been an rich and handsome little termite doctor, with a beautiful little wife who was just as little-y affectionate as he was, with three cute little termite kids! He could've had awesome little termite bros who he hung out with at the bar sometimes, but he'd always leave a little early cause he was a little family termite man! He could've been doing that just now, going to his little termite house in the little termite suburb, cause he's doesn't want a little mansion, he wants a cosy little house! And then you crushed him! After h
The Struggle Is Real - Day 100I just, I just can't do it anymore, man! This god damn class is so boring. It drains me. So much so that my mind simply won't allow me to go through with it. The lack of sleep doesn't exactly help, I guess.The Struggle Is Real - Day 10010 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Miss Hawkface, her legit name, believe me, I wish I could think of something better, screeched at the class about maths. She was cawing on about something to do with numbers, and triangles. Was it trigonometry, maybe? Or geometry? I couldn't care less.
My eyelids felt so heavy. I really should have stopped playing Advanced Warfare after midnight, maybe that would have helped. But noooo! I just had to get prestige, didn't I? Didn't I?! GYAH!
The heating was on in the room. It was so warm, like my blankets when I wake up on a cold morning, engulfed by the friendly heat trapped within my sheets. So soothing, so comforting. I asked Miss at the start of class if she could leave the door open but she refused. She said it was too . . . cold.
This chic was crazy if she thought it was
Secret Garden I blink my eyes in attempt to adjust to the dim light to no avail. Alone and shackled I sit in the dark waiting for someone to happen by and free me. I try and stand up but my limbs are weighed down by the wrought iron chains that have been doubled across my body. I slide my hands along each rust coated link, my flesh tasting the coarse metal ridges as I work my way around their curves. The faint light that scarcely illuminates the chamber only serves as a distraction to my mind and I find my eyes falling shut to embrace the serenity of darkness. I let consume me those senses that I take for granted every day, breathing in though my hands and seeing the echoes of my chains as the sound of their clatter brushing against one another washes over me. My fingers glide along the keyhole that rests over my heart and I take a deep breath, feeling the lock rise with my chest, falling as I exhale. I sense warmth above me and lift my chin to bask in its glow gradually opening my eyes.Secret Garden 10 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
The Lovely and the LonelyShe laughed in flowersThe Lovely and the Lonely1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
He smiled with Death
Her hair was a tangle of vibrant blossoms
And his heart was slowly decaying
Until he found her awash in her garden of summer
His actions where feared and misunderstood
But her greetings of radiant happiness
Began to warm his frozen heart in a chest of fire
Every year when she goes to visit him
The trees wait patiently for her to return their leaves
Birds journey the Earth searching for stories to tell her
And the Sun lessens his glow until she emerges
She laughs in flowers
He smiles with Life
Her hair is tangled with vibrant blossoms
But now his heart is tended to like her favorite garden
10 Misinterpretations Of Songs Disclaimer: This article is purely meant for satirical purposes and to make you laugh. In fact, I love all these songs and their artists.10 Misinterpretations Of Songs10 months ago in Humor More Like This
Now, songs are meant to be poetic, yet conveying some kind of deep meaning. However, what if we analyze the lyrics of the song from a scientific perspective? And what exactly are the “deep” meanings of some of these songs? Well, let’s do a countdown!
10. Eurythmics – Sweet Dreams
Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world
And the seven seas,
Everybody's looking for something.
Some of them want to use you
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you
Some of them want to be abused.
So we start off with sweet dreams and traveling but end up in sadomachistic sex. Am I the only one thinking we’re losing the connection between the two verses?
9. Elton John – Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word
What do I do when lightning strikes me?
How to Pocket a Man's HumanityFirst, convince him to adoptHow to Pocket a Man's Humanity2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a rescue cat, fat, days away
from slaughter. Find one mis-
sing half his tail. The pair
will purr in tune; this step
is important. Next, rush him,
him and his rescue, to their
home, and then keep them dry
and healthy. Move deliberate-
ly, with articulation. Shape
the sound. Watch cat and man
sup together, sleep together.
Spring happens upon them, as
it does, and the man and his
rescue walk along the bridge-
less route to the forest and
grove without wind. Convince
him to let rescue race aloft,
to the distant hill-top. And
he will, and he does, and he
is gone. The man screams out-
ward into the meadow, scream
after scream weaving through
stalks of wheat, but nothing.
No clicks or mews. A nothing
against the rust of night on
the horizon. Help the man to-
ward his doorstep. Help keep
him apprised of the treeline
and its shadows. Finally, he,
rescue, appears, and the man
grabs your collar and shouts
and walks and runs and stops.
Rescue has brought home life
This Addiction - Day 179I don't need it.This Addiction - Day 1797 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I don't need it.
I don't need it.
These words whirled around Brian's head as he rocked back and forth in the motel bed. He was doing his best to stay away from it. He needed to stay clean. He knew he had a problem, and he knew he needed to get off of it.
But the temptation was so strong. He wanted it so bad. He felt like he was dying without it. He felt like his brain was breaking and his body was falling apart. It would glue it all back together, it would fix him, fix him right up and make him feel good.
But it wouldn't, would it? It would just fill the cracks in his soul with lies upon lies to fool him, to make sure he would keep coming back for more. Then when the lies faded, it would create new ones. It would turn into an endless cycle of deception that this drug would spin to keep him using it. He didn't want his life to be consumed by this thing.
But it already had, hadn't it? His family disowned him, his girlfriend left him, and now he was s
UTAU CV Japanese ReclistI don't have an UTAUloid of my own, but I know that there are many people out there who want to make their own, and Japanese is one of the easiest to use in, not to mention the original language of, the UTAU software. This list of recordings are for consonant-vowel voicebanks of the Japanese language.UTAU CV Japanese Reclist3 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
a, i, u, e, o
ka, ki, ku, ke, ko
kya, kyi, kyu, kye, kyo
ga, gi, gu, ge, go
gya, gyi, gyu, gye, gyo
sa, shi, su, se, so
CultistOne day, we’ll worship rustCultist1 week ago in Free Verse More Like This
and marvel how it claimed
the world of industrious metal,
leaving nothing but slowing
reddening struts, half-hearted
angles reaching outward.
We’ll dive into the wrecks
looking for half-sparking wonders
that, when properly restored, gleam
into sputtering song or splitting
pictures of different worlds
and the faces of old Gods.
BreakingOne day, you will open the cupboardBreaking4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to find a wine glass or some Tupperware
and the world will, without warning
or alarm, roll off the edge of the shelf
and coming crashing down.
The oceans will splash onto the linoleum,
onto the rug. All the dust in all the deserts
will rain down onto the couch and coffee table,
the hills will crumble, the mountains will break,
all the windows in all the cities will shatter
and fall, a thousand dangerous miles of glass
glittering on your kitchen floor.
Everything will hush.
Exhale the breath you are holding,
and go look for a dust pan, for a broom.
Birth MarkedGrandpa used to tell storiesBirth Marked1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
about the night I was born,
said a lost sparrow with cockeyed feathers
hopped across my right shoulder
and left its mark.
Shifting the sheaf of hair
mom refused to cut short
and craning my neck,
I could just see the cluster
of sharp-edged W's etched like tattoos
across the scalloped scoop of my bones.
In summer heat waves,
I learned to weave my dark tangles into braids
and let the claw strokes breathe,
the thin straps of feather-print shirts
pushed out of the way.
On those days,
Grandpa claimed I could lift my arms, wing-like,
and fly myself into something new.
though the sun is high
and summer nears again,
Grandpa is gone
and I am weighted by dark moods
and black mascara.
Standing at his graveside,
I tell him stories about the parts of him I miss
and the parts of me I hate
but cannot change;
the parts I was born into.
A phantom breeze clutches
the fresh bob of my wayward hair
and for a moment,
I can feel his work-calloused fingers
BlackoutA dark sheen descendsBlackout10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
over her eyes. Her hands
grip the porch’s railing
and she thinks, “This’ll
pass. I just have to
wait it out.”
But her vision dims
until she’s blinded;
and dizziness set in.
She risks releasing
the railing with one
hand as she attempts
to go back into the
house, and that’s
the last thing she
remembers when she
wakes, lying back-down,
on the porch,
a puddle of drool
next to her face.
Sitting up, disoriented,
there’s a rancid taste
in her mouth—like
vomit—and she scrambles
to her feet, leans over
the railing, and spits.
Then she turns, righting
herself, and walks through
the front door.
Unique? Pathetic.You say that you are unique? Pathetic.Unique? Pathetic.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
You are not, nor will you ever be unique. There are 7 billion people in the world- people just like you.
The same hair color, the same hair style; the same eye color, the same crooked smile.
The same jacked up teeth that you forget to brush, and the same chipped nails you pick at when you're in a rush.
The same chapped lips- which you never stop biting; the same non-pierced ears that you never stop tugging.
The same exact skin color, even when you tan; the same exact tan lines seen on every woman.
The same exact figure, whether you lose or gain weight; the same exact death sentence, this is your fate.
A fate to always want to look like that girl in 3rd;
to be as funny as that guy in 6th;
to be as smart as the transfer in 2nd;
and definitely be as happy as your teacher in 1st.
You can't say that you're unique when you have this fate. You can't be unique when you're just made of different people, and
I am standingIt's been months since I wanted to break out of my body. Okay, that's a lie. But it's been days. Days since I've felt static scorch underneath my skin, felt colours cutting into my eyes, had to explain that these aren't metaphors. There are so many ways you can get used to living. I wonder if anyone else feels empty when they don't have creatures clawing up through their throat.I am standing1 year ago in Emotional More Like This
I don't know what art is, or what okay is. I like to believe I know it when I feel it, but I'm not so sure I would. I think people expect me to be a lot more insightful than I am right now. I don't think they take into account that boredom is stressful, and stress can shatter you like roots in concrete. Maybe I'm growing. But I don't even know if I'm bored. I feel like a lot of different people, or a lot of aspects of different people, all trying to learn how to stand one another.
It's been days since I wanted to break out of my body. I'm watching the sunrise from the wrong side, but I did sleep. I'm not curlin