The Final Battle - PokemonThe Final Battle - PokemonThe Final Battle - Pokemon4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The crowds are roaring, but I hear nothing. The only sound is the echoing beat of my heart thumping in my chest.
The final battle. It's finally here.
I have defeated the Pokemon Leagues of many regions, becoming the Champion in each.
It is time to begin. My opponent and I stand in the center of the arena. I look straight into his eyes as we shake hands.
I have defeated 32 Gym Leaders, and eight more Frontier Brains.
They are the eyes of my equal.
I have saved the world from numerous attempts at world domination, conquering many criminal organizations along the way.
I stand back, and so does he. I don't even look at my belt to see which Pokeball my hands rest on. I know each one by their place, their feel.
I have gained the powers of fire, ice and lightning from capturing the deities of each.
I send out my Pokemon, and he sends out his. Within moments we are given the signal to begin, and attacks of fire and lightning clash i
GladiatorBeing an artist sometimes feels like being a gladiator.Gladiator2 years ago in Letters More Like This
Though the occasional flowers heal the superficial wounds or boost the ego after an exhausting fight, they do nothing to keep pain at bay when I go back to my cage.
Just like gladiators who die in the arena, spilling their guts out in the concrete and omnipresent dirt, just like the reality of the screams and wails covered by the cheers of the masses... so do I spill everything I feel on paper, for your entertainment.
And just like the cuts of a sword through the flesh, going down with a shriek on the naked bone, are real, so are the nervous strokes of the pencil real, and the words are real, and the pain is real, and the love is real. And this is the only way I can do art, and you have it all, the gore and the sublime.
And I will keep doing it this way until I collapse in the dirt, with my guts spi
The Heir to Courage - storyThe Heir to Courage - story2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The Heir to Courage
The Hero's Shade traveled shroud in the shadows of a thickly wooded trail. Paws nimbly picking their way through fallen branches the wolf silently tread to the secluded home buried deep along the outskirts of Hyrule.
Within the last few hours Shade had found himself once again able to sense the Triforce of Courage.
From the moment the golden relic was split by an unbalanced touch the three pieces of the Triforce were destined to be continually regifted and reborn through generations.
Courage had made its rounds time and time again, each time leading its wielder on an righteous but otherwise uneventful life.
Wisdom was most often reborn within the royal family and earlier this year it had done so yet again, with a new princess, again named Zelda as was tradition...
But what troubled the Sacred Beast is that in all his wanderings he had yet to see anyone bear the mark of Power...
As an ethereal being Shade made his way easily and silently into the dusty old rafters of
MaaheWhen the Maaheseum wore off, Onteia knew she was close to death. Her hair had gone white, her eyes were sunken and glassy, her flesh had receded. Those in her pod were the same: decrepit old men and women, none of them older than twenty-five. Outside, the blueshift had pushed every black hole, every brown dwarf, every burst of cosmic radiation from every pulsar in the Galactic Center into visibility. In hyperspace, even someone who never saw the shining beauty brought out by Maaheseum could see what lay beyond the cursory glance that was their lifelong perspective.Maahe10 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
The pod was nearing its final destination--the spectacular, unmatched glory of a collapsing star. This was what all Travelers longed to see before their inevitable early death from the drug. Onteia reached into the small container at the center of their pod, where there were enough green-tinted black shards to last a hundred Travelers a decade. She took a piece just over an inch long, and set it on her decaying molars, and b
Marriage as StatusWhen marriage is viewed as a sacrament, the one who affirms gay marriage is simply wrong. But this is because the sacrament is clearly (or to some, narrowly) defined. There are those who do not recognize the sacred, however, and there are those who see no value the vocabulary of sacrament. That's fair, and it's also the world/culture we happen to live in. It requires those of us to who see it as both religious and social to further reflect on what we mean by marriage in the social sphere.Marriage as Status1 year ago in Philosophical More Like This
Marriage as a legal concept is a status, and since many have condemned and pushed aside any religion—perhaps justly or unjustly—their main thrust in the arguments surrounding this situation is equal status among heterosexuals. It's not so much that I feel homo- and heterosexuals do not have equal status in the United States insofar as I think good strides have been made to reaffirm that homosexuals (all persons for that matter) are, in fact, human beings and treating them with digni
HaikuStai cu spatele gol la mine.Haiku2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Lumânarea se zbate lângă pat
și aruncă umbre de războinici
pe pielea ta fină.
Părul negru, lung,
îți curge ca cerneala pe spate...
Întind mâna, șovăitor,
și, cu grijă,
Îți întorci capul spre mine
și pentru un moment
iluzia lumii plutitoare
dar colțurile ascuțite ale ochilor tăi
în Țara Soarelui Răsare.
Cu răbdarea unui samurai
în audiență imperială
aștept, ca o stâncă, un ordin:
să îmi dau viața în luptă
sau să cad în propriul cuțit...
Dar sunt cruțat,
în noaptea asta
tu mă vrei
Protection Of The Enemy Part 3Protection Of The Enemy Part 36 months ago in General Fiction More Like This
Part Three - Understanding
Ganondorf tossed and turned in his sleep, his fingers seizing the covers of the bed. Link awoke softly and raised his head off his pillow, watching his brother fight in his sleep. He furrowed his brow and pulled back the thin covers, placing his lightly tanned feet on the floor.
“Ganny?” he whispered coming closer, Ganondorf turned over with a moan, the blankets curling around him.
“Get away! Run!” Ganondorf mumbled, scrunching his eyes tightly. Link clambered onto the bed, pulling himself up with his arms
“Ganny?” Link ushered again, shaking Ganondorf’s shoulder with his eight year old hand, Ganondorf turned fully over, narrowly smacking Link in the face.
He moaned louder, almost whining “I don’t want to hurt you!”
Link scratched his chin; nightmares were plaguing his brother’s nights more than ever, giving him about as much energy as a Redead in the morning. He wondered if there
Morning haikuA burning sunriseMorning haiku1 year ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
The eyes catch fire
Wash my face in the pond
Don't Give me a Reason to Sell My SoulDon't give me a reason to sell my soul, she should have said.Don't Give me a Reason to Sell My Soul4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Instead, she just stared at the man on the screen in front of her, the man with his long, drooping skin, tired eyes, haggard face and balding head. He was hardly the admiral we had once known. She said "I don't have any desire to do it," and then quickly, "but I'll follow my orders, if you give them to me."
There was fright in her eyes. She gripped the edges of the captain's chair and bit her cheek, fighting off inevitable tears. But not here. She couldn't cry now. People relied on her to be strong. What people she wasn’t sure, but someone, somewhere, surely. She had to believe that.
"Those are your orders," the man said, sinking heavily into his chair. "I trust you'll carry them out."
She snapped off communications with ill-hid despair. Her blonde hair, thin and almost colorless, hung around her face like a fallen halo, fading with every sin. Her lips were tight, her cheeks drawn, and her eyes stared out of bru
Metamorphobiait is a wonder all the changesMetamorphobia2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
that one endures in a day
at dawn, in fear, desperation,
then words pull you from the abyss,
your lungs inhale a swift elation,
the eyes perceive a kind of bliss,
then clouds, dark clouds, again in silence
the rain, the wind, the sun again
at last the dark, the taste of violence,
the sensual rhythm of a train
and like emerging as imago
you exchange fear for delight
you are a thing of many faces
depressed by day, a god by night
CapriciousWords have becomeCapricious1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
tasteless to me,
like rotten apples
fit for the worms.
it feels as
though I am
pirouetting my way through
a ballroom full of
tongues made for poetry.
wicked witch when
you need one?
All I seem to do is
dream while I'm awake and,
if we're being honest,
I was never much of an alluring tale
in the first place.
From an English TeacherWhen you're forced to read just to pass English classFrom an English Teacher4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And you don't know what to do
Because novels are dull and dramas are daft,
And none of the stories sound true....
Our existence is a story told with schemes and different themes
And we live through them most every single hour,
You'd see if you just took a little look, it's like a book,
And as we grow up the plot begins to flower
Our lives unfold in stages, and are written down on pages
in a book that's hidden deep within our souls.
This dear town is just a setting and the people that you're getting
to know well are only characters and roles.
Every victory or failure can be thought of as a tale you're
gonna tell when asked "what happened to you today?"
And the funny little bits that happen when you use your wits
can be the funny things in dramas or in plays.
When you're doubting why we read, then here's something you should heed:
Your life is like a story, told in days.
And if that's just not enough, then, dea
Heartbeat BoxHeartbeat Box3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I have a single heartbeat
locked and boxed in glass
It's tucked beside my window
and sheltered from the past
I water it quite often
with honeydew and milk
It reaches for the sunshine
with petals pruned of silk
At night It whispers softly
and dances for the moon
It beats in gentle hiccups
and wakes me in the noon
I've bound it on a kite-wire
I've watched it fly away
Too many times it's broken
I should leave it on display