The Siren's Call.The Siren's Call.The Siren's Call. in Free Verse More Like This
Bright pink lips,
a bikini top.
She gestures wildly,
beckoning every person
to have a dance with her.
Another drink goes down
and I'm pulled into her dance
where hips thrust wildly
and hands roam everywhere.
Yet when lips meet,
it's hollow and broken
sloppy and careless
no spark or real feelings.
I don't walk away
or even pull apart.
Our limbs mesh together more
and even though it's full of sweat
and nothing more than heat
I cannot bring myself to turn away.
This Siren has captured me,
and for the rest of the night
MagicA long time ago, when the world was new,Magic in Free Verse More Like This
and longer than anyone can remember
magic existed in the world.
It healed the sick
and didn't cause anything bad.
Magic was for good
and never harmed the people.
Then one day
a sorcerer broken by pain
and an outcast of society
used his magic
to hurt and cause pain.
He killed with his magic,
and made people suffer
in ways that should never be allowed.
The evil sorcerer went across the land
never sparing a soul and making
curses that could never be broken.
Five of the best magicians were shocked
and banded together
to stop his evil reign over the people.
Nothing the good magicians did worked
and they were faced with a final
completely unspeakable action.
The good magicians joined hands,
bound their power together
and used their life force
to stop his ways of evil.
The evil sorcerer fell,
and after that it was decided
that magic should never be used again
in case someone else decided
to use it the way the sorcerer did.
Now because of pain and a bro
IsHopeless is the man who dwells on what could have beenIs in Free Verse More Like This
instead of what might possibly be.
Cruel is the man who sees everything
and does nothing to stop it.
Vain is the woman who cares only for looks
and not for the feelings of others.
Callous is the child who only wants
and never cares of the words of his mother.
Ignorant is the man who will not listen
yet can only hear himself.
Heartless is the woman
who does nothing for others.
Tragic is a country who mourns for one
when thousands die from something we could prevent.
Hero less is a person
who has no one to idolize.
Horrendous is the person
who hurts those who cannot help themselves.
Desperate is the teen
who cries out only to have the cry on deaf ears.
Lost is the girl
who thinks she only has one path.
Idiotic is the teacher
who thinks there is only one kind of student.
Prideful is the person
who never thinks of others.
Arrogant is the person
who thinks they deserve all that they get,
And eventful will be the day
when the world final
Sunflower KissesSunflower kisses dance across my skinSunflower Kisses in Free Verse More Like This
laying down in a field of wheat in the afternoon.
You appear almost out of nowhere
and lay down next to me as you were meant to be.
The sun hurts my eyes,
as I squint at the clouds and try to make shapes.
You stare at me and I try to think,
yet the more you stare the harder it is to ignore.
Do you want the sun?
Ya, the sun.
Everyone gives the moon as a gift,
but to me, the only thing that can rival your charm
is the suns great shine,
and even then when you emerge outside
the suns grows dark and burnt.
You never were a poet
I couldn't help but laugh
at how long you probably spent
thinking of that one line.
I like the sun.
Then I'll wrangle the sun,
all for you.
We laid in the suns warmth
of sunflower kisses
and the tickles of wheat instead of grass
and nothing else mattered in the world.
I love you.
I love you too.
WindowsThe entry to the soul,Windows in Free Verse More Like This
the objects that always tell the truth.
Eyes that judge.
Eyes that love.
Eyes that hate.
Eyes that wait.
That simple orb,
with an array of color.
Eyes that are cruel.
Eyes that are perfect.
Eyes that are regretful.
Eyes that are broken.
eyes are never the same,
be it emotion or color.
Eyes that close.
Eyes that open.
Eyes that freeze.
Eyes that burn.
That simple color-filled orb,
that shows the soul filled with love,
or that can be cold as ice.
Eyes that are filled with hope.
Eyes that are filled with confusion.
Eyes that are filled with sadness.
Eyes that are filled with nothing.
As bright as day,
but as cold as ice.
Eyes are that small window
into the soul,
that we always try to hide.
I'm a PoetI'm a poet.I'm a Poet in Free Verse More Like This
And because I'm a poet,
I have the pride of a poet,
and the background of an artist.
Yes as a poet.
I am overlooked in the group
for the work that is drawn,
and the art that is colored by the painters
I am a writer
and though my words hold power
they are seen as nothing more than words
and never get brought to their original intent
I am a writer
whose every move is watched
whose art is critiqued harsher than others
who's still unknown as an artist
I am an author,
who wears my heart on my sleeve
who leaves everything bare to judgment
who never asks for more than is due
I am an artist,
but I don't always get treated as such
PendulumThe pendulum swingsPendulum in Free Verse More Like This
back and forth,
back and forth,
the pendulum swings
Click click click
the clock counts forward
simple five note tune
the hands striking forward
The pendulum swings
back and forth,
back and forth,
gently hitting the sides
Midnight tolls the tune
Opheliac dreams capture all
chanting in time with
click and clack of the tolling clock
The pendulum swings
back and forth,
back and forth,
the pendulum swings
The pendulum swings
back and forth,
back and forth,
the pendulum swings
ring and chime of tolling clock
rising bodies of sleepless thoughts
The pendulum swings
back and forth,
back and forth,
the pendulum swings
Lovely AnneI once met a girl named AnneLovely Anne in Free Verse More Like This
and what a lovely girl was she.
She sat in corners and talked
and talked when no one listened.
While lovely Anne was so lovely
no one went near lovely Anne
and her never-ending talking.
Lovely Anne with black hair
and dark skin. Never listened
to the voice of society.
Lovely Anne talked of a world
so unlike our own.
No one went near her,
but everyone listened
to the thoughts of a wonderful world.
Lovely Anne lived in a world
where the clocks struck thirteen
where everyone loved
where everyone smiled
and tears were never shed.
The walls and floors
objects and papers
that she talked to day and night
held to her words
and wished for her world.
Poor Lovely Anne had no friends.
But lived in a world that was entirely her own.
Lovely Anne who never left her world
and thought reality was imaginary.
HistoryThere are momentsHistory in Free Verse More Like This
that you wish never end
Then there are moments
that couldn't go by fast enough.
Through at the times we have seen
and all the lives we have lived.
Time seems to be
the one thing that never changes.
Time likes to repeat itself
going hour by hour, second by second.
They say, today is history
but tomorrow is a mystery.
History likes to repeat itself,
so maybe tomorrow isn't such a mystery.
Brave New WorldClose your eyesBrave New World in Free Verse More Like This
To fight the demons in your mind
It's the moment of truth
The moment to live
In this scary
Brave new world
Fight for your rights
And what you believe in
Shake off your fears
It's a moment to fight
Fight the demons inside
Shake off your foes
Fight for everything
In this scary brave new world
ApplesSweet and sensual,Apples in Free Verse More Like This
The feel of your fingers on my skin.
Slow and longing,
The trail of your hands on my curves.
Languid and helpless,
The pulsing of my veins under your masterful strokes.
My love for you is like my love for apples.
Juicy, crunchy, delicious...
And as dark as a sinner's heart.
City of LightYou are my city.City of Light in Free Verse More Like This
Your eyes are the gates,
Your soul is my transport
Your veins the roads I must travel.
You should never ever be afraid
of my knowing you too well.
Or of my being too close to you.
Can you ever,
Even after living your whole life in it,
Know a city too well?
In ThreesI was armed with half a deck of emotions, two thirds of a heart and eyes of a broken mirror that offered no protection to my soul. I wanted to talk about it often and whenever I needed to, the words would tangle in my mouth, come out as a compliment of a shirt, an idea that had no relevance, a conversation about the weather. I was eighteen. I wanted to be stronger, brilliant, bright like a comet in the sky. Instead, I learnt about how beds could be the most loathed places in the world, bathrooms were meant to be soaked in blood...and men with eyes like knives sometimes used them against people they loved.In Threes in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I was armed with shards of strength, a misplaced sense of determination and the kind of bravery that only the damned can have. Words haunt, especially when all you have to your name is a broken little mind, a need for validation and an honest fear of losing someone you love. I was twenty. I wanted to make sure that the world around me realised I existed, I wanted to shine for my sake,
Hemingway Would Hate ThisThe trouble with the Boy was that he didn't have the heart of Shakespeare, the voice of Poe, nor the soul of Wordsworth, nor the knowledge of Rembrandt in his darkest days. He didn't have a trace of Michaelangelo's spirit nor the angst of Carvaggio and this on its own was enough to dissuade him from understanding that technique was far better than solidarity and possession far more ageless than youth.Hemingway Would Hate This in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He didn't have any of this knowledge because his father hadn't had the courage to tell him that he needed all the qualities of these great men, to win over the heart of a woman who had the dreams of Austen, the ideas of Da Vinci and the scent of a high priestess of Venetian origin.
The Girl was all those things and more, and her value, her estimate in the market of souls was higher than most. She was an angel amongst Gods, and He should never have let her go into the world thinking that it was Keats hearted. Because like all women who live their lives story shaped, she was soon broken by
You call it Judgement, We call it SinEmily needs the words to understand that she isn't being unreasonable. She just wants them to mean something and not be a string of words which flows into itself over and over again.You call it Judgement, We call it Sin in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She doesn't like her name either. Not because Emily isn't a pretty name but because she would rather be called something she feels like. (She has never quite forgiven her parents for choosing her name for her.) If she could, she would call herself Glass, because that is what she wakes up feeling like every morning. As if crystallised pieces of glass are edible and her insides tingle as she swallows them whole.
Emily lets the words call her names sometimes. She writes them on her knees so that she can remember them. Sometimes the words call her a whore, and sometimes stupid, and sometimes a loser and sometimes a tramp (She has never learnt that loving too much is a crime and boys with pretty eyes sometimes lie.). She sits in the bathroom with a pen the colour of blood and writes them carefully
Crayon SoulmatesDear Stars,Crayon Soulmates in Free Verse More Like This
I have a bone to pick with you. You see, when I was six, I called myself the nowhere girl... and I coloured myself a soulmate. I made him on crumpled sheets, with broken pieces of crayon, on a playground that was too busy wondering whether growing up entailed stealing their mother's cigarettes and their father's dirty magazines (I suppose I was already wise enough to know that growing up meant choosing one of the many ways of breaking yourself in two.)
I hope you remember him, stars...he was important to me (My best friend threw that drawing away on my seventh birthday and told me that someone like me was not supposed to have such dreams.).
He had hair as ebony as deep onyx and a smile that never grew up (Peter Pan would have been proud). He was magic in soul form, and smelled like cinnamon and the earth after it has rained. His eyes rivaled a lions on the best of his youth, his words were story shaped. His skin was an ink coloured canvas of wonder and even in crayon
The Past, The FutureDo you remember when you were little and your best friend told you she didn't want to be friends anymore? It hurts like something was nesting on your heart and had clawed its way into your soul. There is an childish elegance to the sadness that you assumed only existed for grown ups when they talk about grown up things. In the glorious contant of humanity, the existence of her will corrode and become a faded memory that you will only remember when you hurt again.The Past, The Future in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And then you will lose your dog, your best friend, your confidant. It will happen suddenly and you will be left with nothing but the hole in your heart of a lost companion who you assumed would be around forever. You will learn at that moment that nothing true or pure lasts forever. A part of your innocence will die as you cradle your companion for the last time. If only you had goldfish and parents who lied to you about him instead.
You will think the worst is over, playgrounds will become a little less magical, danger will b
Online"I have a problem."Online in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"You always were a worrier."
"Don't you want to know what it is?"
"Not if it's going to worry me as well."
"That's precisely why you should know it."
"I really think I'll pass."
"But this time it's a really big deal."
"Oh for the love of- All right. All right. You win. What is it?"
"What did you think the first time you met me?"
"That's not a problem, that's a question."
"How am I supposed to answer it exactly?"
"I don't know if your mother explained this to you, but all you have to do is open your mouth and words-"
"Shut it, smart ass."
"Then answer the question."
"I thought you were beautiful."
"See, now that's impossible."
"And why is that?"
"Because the first time you met me, it was online."
"It wasn't your face I was calling beautiful. It was your anonymity in your words."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that in the vast abyss of the seas that form a web of people, you were the one who sat alone in a life broke
ExcusesHe sleeps like a child without a voice. (And she listens like a child who cannot hear.)Excuses in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He dreams like a stranger on a train. (And she watches like another fixated by his thoughts.)
He sighs like the first whisper of a rainstorm. (And she understands like the eve of the storm.)
He breathes like tomorrow is his last day. (And she reminds him that he will live longer than ever.)
He sings like a bird in the winds of the forest. (And she understands the sweetness of every note.)
He cries like the downpour in the desert. (And she climbs to the ends of the earth to make him smile.)
He loses his way like a deer out of the forest. (And she guides him back each time to the place where he is meant to be.)
He breaks like a fragile flower in the dust and the wind. (And she tells him he is too strong to be fragile ever.)
He fights like the last angel defending heaven. (And she gives him his swords and armor.)
He writes like the blood from the finest writer's heart. (And she reads his words with awe
Nothing Lives Foreveri.Nothing Lives Forever in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When you were a child, we would sit on the porch to talk about your day. And sometimes, we would find a dead bird, or a frog on there. And you would ask me about death and why it happens, looking at the poor creature in my hands, its life cut short and touch it tenderly. I would always say the same thing.
Nothing is meant to live forever, my dear.
The school called me in on your twelfth birthday and asked if I had known how clever you were, that your test scores were the best in the state. They asked me if I knew I had a genius child on my hands who grew bored easily in class and tended to distract others in his classroom, sometimes causing arguments, fistfights and could manipulate his classmates into doing anything.
We don't think this is the school for him. He needs to be challenged appropriately.
You fell in love at seventeen and she was lovely. Kind, caring and beautiful, I couldn't ask for a better girl for you. She was our neighbour
England Is HellI’m lying here on a steel framed bedEngland Is Hell in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Pitch black, solitarily confined
A lost soul living out a sentence
That is appropriate for my crime
My pen once again confiscated
Eyes are closed, they leave me to rot
Confiscate my imagination
Those damn fools most certainly can not
Familiar with the words and grammar
Indeed how to construct a sentence
But I lie here in my six by eight
Unable to convey repentance
See my withered heart lies elsewhere
This island nation suffocates me
May the xenophobic, narrow minds
Sink without trace in to the sea
Daydreamers Amongst UsTo those daydreamers amongst usDaydreamers Amongst Us in Free Verse More Like This
Tomorrow will soon be today
So choose every word carefully
As they might be the last you say
And they will echo through time
After your final shadow is cast
But those words and those emotions
Will have no place in the past
They'll take their place in tomorrow
And every day to the end of time
Your words, your thoughts and your wisdom
Will deviate us from straight lines
And show people there's another way
Peace and love can re-wire our brains
Show us how to avoid hatred
And from negative feelings refrain
Otherwise I can see suffering
But on an unheard of scale
Nations and religions will collide
Peace treaties will continue to fail
So daydreamers amongst us
Please unleash your wildest thoughts
Drop your line into the sea of wisdom
And show us what you have caught
In Love, I RemainI hold the guitar against meIn Love, I Remain in Free Verse More Like This
But I'm afraid it just wont do
No notes that I play could compare
To the symphony that is you
So who is the orchestrator
Of this harmonic elegance
The beauty of which sustains me
With such a lasting resonance
Angels, please sing us a chorus
And paint the clouds so silver lined
May she always dream in colour
And may I always speak in rhyme
One single whispered word from her
Always seems to eclipse my pain
With belief, hope and destiny
Forever in love, I remain
I hold the paintbrush in my hand
Until creative thoughts will cease
But no strokes could ever come close
To your beautiful masterpiece
Each colour is so delicate
So rare and so understated
From a birth and a blank canvas
To potential God created
Angels, please sing us a chorus
And paint the clouds so silver lined
May she always dream in colour
And may I always speak in rhyme
One single whispered word from her
Always seems to eclipse my pain
With belief, hope and destiny
Forever in love, we re
My Master's VoiceI screamed at him "I'm leaving!"My Master's Voice in Free Verse More Like This
He smiled and said "okay"
I said "no, for once I mean it
This time you wont make me stay"
But bags were never really packed
And that night in our bed I lay
The taste of blood on my lips
Still remained there the next day
I screamed at him "please stop this!
I am the Mother to your child
Baby, I know you have a temper
I know my ways make you so wild"
"But I promise I'll try harder
Not to push your buttons so much"
With that the beast resumed control
As I quiver at each stolen touch
They scream at me to leave him
To them it's such a simple choice
But it's been so long since I've heard
Anything but my master's voice
To the point that I no longer know
My own mind or my own heart
But today he said he's sorry again
And tomorrow will be a fresh start
Fear of LifePlease do not fear being beneath the Earth’s soilFear of Life in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
For that is where the seeds of flowers grow
Be patient and life will reveal its mysteries
But only when it is ready to do so
By all means take time to search for the truth
But beware, please do not become obsessed
As we only fear what we don’t understand
And what we don’t understand is but a test
A test of faith in whatever you believe
Now stand up for yourself and you cannot fail
If life is the hammer waiting to fall
Then you must refuse to be the nail
Please do not fear being above the Earth’s soil
For that is where the flowers begin to bloom
Just open your heart as their petals do
And your life will be as sweet as their perfume
You could be the change in someone’s journey
Showing them the path from incomplete to whole
Why not give someone the gift of your love
And watch as they gently unwrap your soul
Suddenly the truth will dawn upon you
To live life without fear and you cannot fail
If life is a sailboa
The BirdsBreathe in and think of loveThe Birds in Free Verse More Like This
Breathe out and think of pain
Listen to the feeling in your heart
Not the voices in your brain
Hark the wind blowing through the trees
Ignore the dirge of modern life
Use your ears to hear the birds
and with them let your worries take flight
Glide upon the pockets of wind
Wherever the breeze shall take you
Make the journey beautiful
Rather than the place you wish to get to
Breathe in and think of the future
Breathe out and forget the past
I know the pain seems never ending
But such dismal days will not last
Hear my whispered words softly
Stirring emotions in your heart
I will offer my hand, my love
As the birds begin to depart
I will show you love and freedom
if you take my hand and stay
There will be no pain or reason
From which you need to run away
Silent School DaysI am refusing to look back fondlySilent School Days in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
On the so-called best days and years of my life
So my memories will not deceive me
With rose tinted reminiscence and hindsight
School was nothing more than a breeding ground
For close minded and close hearted thinking
Education was drip fed like water
But was too contaminated for drinking
We were fenced in along side our ambition
And watched it fade as we were forced to learn
From teachers for whom our best interests
Did not seem to be any of their concern
Most days it felt more like a factory
Than a fertile field of free thought
Manufacturing these children’s futures
With the useless information that they taught
Truth is they were bound by bureaucracy
Their once nurturing hands tied up in red tape
And without any passion for teaching
They began to neglect and humiliate
So I’d go to the library, see spaces on shelves
This told me that there were others like me
Wanting to lose themselves between book covers
Before losing their true identity
I'm Really Not OkayWhen I whisper of my woesI'm Really Not Okay in Free Verse More Like This
How can anyone hear
When the din of their own lives
Is ringing in their ears
Forcing a smile as they glance
Frown as they look away
Please somebody turn around
I'm really not okay
You refuse to see the signs
A deluge of denial
Drowns out my facial features
The absence of a smile
Obliged to ask how I am
Your concerns I allay
But then again I would do
I'm really not okay
Hold back the transparent tears
A dam of repression
I'll be damned if anyone
Sees through my confession
Slowly my world unravels
Life's tapestry will fray
My pain has been tailor made
I'm really not okay
I write poems and stories
Keep a diary with me
Leave it in public places
Hoping someone will see
And tell me how they have read
Up to the present day
Hold me close and say those words
Are you really okay?
Every Time With The Same BrushEvery time with the same brushEvery Time With The Same Brush in Free Verse More Like This
This girl paints so many strokes
Each one speaking of emotions
Louder than the words she wrote
So where does the magic lie,
Allowing this girl's mood to swing?
Is it in the paint or the colours,
The feeling of release it brings?
She lets go of those emotions
That are too painful to express
The open ear of a loved one
Now an empty white canvas
Cathartic is the process
With her dainty little strokes
Thick layers of paint will take us
To land's nobody else knows
Now she paints with love for us
And happiness in her heart
The trees, the flowers, the sunset
The smiles, the eyes, the stars
Every time with same brush
Just different colours and shades
As the white canvas disappears
Her negative thoughts begin to fade
Tidy Little BoxesEverything in tidy little boxesTidy Little Boxes in Free Verse More Like This
All of my memories are pigeon holed
One section left vacant for all the dreams
A million for the dreams that they stole
All the boxes with perfect right angles
Protractor now set to ninety degrees
With such rigid habits I wont survive
Please will you come and make a mess of me
Everything in tidy little boxes
While your dreams remain scattered on the floor
It's best that way, mine are hidden away
And stay so very easily ignored
All the boxes are stacked up together
So high one day they will surely fall down
Either that or they will be stacked so high
They'll encompass, suffocate and surround
Everything in tidy little boxes
You will not box my personality
Multi faceted, three dimensional
Remains the only similarity
All the boxes throughout all of our lives
Restrict our movement, so what irony
The box in which they will lower us down
Is when we will finally be set free
Anomalous Objects Catalogue chapter 1Anomalous Objects Catalogue chapter 1 in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
"I hear Pripyat is pleasant this time of year."
Sniper stood watch, just outside the old travel agency building. Aside from somehow withstanding the rest of the block collapsing around it, the shop was impressive for having reasonably preserved brochures. Captain and Pilot would often amuse themselves by planning trips to countries that no longer existed, and Engineer would gather what they discarded for kindling. Whenever Sniper grew sufficiently bored, he'd call out with something he thought was witty.
It was a bit like that, being on watch; you'd either say something funny and die knowing your sense of humour was too good for this world, or you'd say nothing and die without validating your ego.
"Actually," Engineer spoke up from the Visit Asia section, a finger tracing over dusty advertisements as he moved along the aisle, "One of the last GOOD directorate broadcasts sent out was a list of anomalies brought on by the apocalypse, and apparently Chernobyl became the least radiated pla
Shatterglass by eight 0f heartsShatterglass by eight 0f hearts in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It had survived things that no mug should have had to endure.
It had been dropped off cliffs, plunged into radioactive water, used to hold questionable substances and once travelled several hundred kilometres after Pilot tied a helium balloon to it. It had been thrown at Snippy countless times. It had suffered the indignity of being sat on by Engie after the Captain left it lying on a chair.
It had never been washed in its life.
But in the end, all it took was one little nudge, and the mug the great, glorious mug was reduced to a few shards of broken ceramic and a spatter of sad-looking tea.
It happened like this:
They were seated around the kitchen table in their current place of residence. "Kitchen", of course, is taken very broadly here there was no ceiling, nor were there any kitchen appliances; it was, in fact, merely a ramshackle table in the middle of an empty room.
Today's lunch consisted of cold baked beans which was quite the delicacy considering t
Liason In a LaundromatThere is a scream before time stops. A woman is lifted through heavy doors by gloved hands. Her body cloaked in low murmurs, weighed down with the urgent scream of sirens that split the night.Liason In a Laundromat in Short Stories More Like This
Her fingers lie curled like soft-shelled snails at her thighs. Headlights stream out behind them, gold slug-trails instead of the silver gilt webs of spider-spun lies, and guilt written on the faces of youths loitering ill-spent in half-empty hostels on cracked sidewalks; trying to catch a glimpse of half-naked flesh and trading green paper or little packets of white snow for favours.
Glass litters the road at the man's feet. A man in uniform writes in a notepad, watching him press a damp shirt over the gentle black pool forming in the hollow of his collarbone. Intern street surgeons suturing a new, primitive tattoo on his neck to mark the occasion of virginity taken away. Their toast was premature.
"Tumble and a rumble in the Laundromat, eh?"
"Yeah, she got
God's MorticianIt wasn’t as if Thomas had known what to expect; it just that he hadn’t expected, well, this. He read the obituaries every Sunday out of a mixture of habit and morbid curiosity – or as he liked to call it; “professional interest”. At least that’s what he told his wife, anyway, when he noticed her brow furrowing, or her lips puckering into something dangerously close to resembling a pout over breakfast. She didn’t like dead people; his “clients”. She didn’t like hearing about embalming, or caskets, or hilarious anecdotes of “you’ll never believe the cosmetic work I had to do on this corpse today! The man’s accident left him without a face!” and the like. And she never visited him at work. “It’s one step above grave-digging if you ask me. It’s mortifying being married to a mortician!”God's Mortician in Short Stories More Like This
Thomas wasn’t much of a conversationalist. He didn’t much like people, and they didn
Flock Echo PassionThe gentle tone of your fingersFlock Echo Passion in Free Verse More Like This
defly handling my thoughts.
You soften the regrets in my ribs
weaken the bones with love
pressed into my shoes.
You melt my marrow with murmurs
lazily spent in the mornings
rested on the sighs of your breath.
swallow my heartbeats
to keep them warm
and in tune with yours.
You unlock and rob my tongue of words
like a piano with too many keys
spilling its lullabies onto the floor
softly turning the locks of my mind
with the music in you
if I would only stop to listen.
AlienRuby lives in my mind.Alien in Free Verse More Like This
she is the voice between
that chemicals try to silence
the voices the run in streams
"kill the noise
get a gun a gun
kill them all
the government whispers alien
kill the noise
there's an alien in your head, lover killer
duck for cover
mother mary comes for me magdalene
green sleeves all my joy..."
lift my sleeves and you'll find
vertical and deep.
deep lines etched in
that pierce my soul.
Running parallel between
in the hemispheres
instead of heart lines
lines of longitude.
I tried to silence the white noise in my mind
with overdoses of
and emotional crusades
and maelstroms of not wanting stay
of not being sane
of not being able to
hold my crushed body to my chest.
instead I hold crushed pills in my palm
and swallow myself
I did it then to lay claim to a patch of earth
And I do it now to f
Poem For My Twin SisterPoem For My Twin Sister in Free Verse More Like This
She can feel our hearts beat
inside small ribbed hulls in a blue womb
and rests her hands on the shape of us,
lays her head down -
down to that quiet world that harbours revelations waiting to take form,
to draw breath, to be born.
I hum gentle lullabies to the soft untuned melodies of you
lying silent beside me
our hands pressed –
crossed lifelines tangling
palms forming prayers of memory buried somewhere
in the shape of our lips,
untouched in our fragile
(we have the same fingerprints).
We whisper umbilical secrets to each other in the dark
connected by the steady thrum of our infant hearts.
In this hushed world, we are an echo, snowflakes mirrored
off the walls of skeleton key bones.
Two shapes unborn, but already I know you through and through.
And I wonder, just
if you’re the ghost of me
or I’m the ghost of you
A Rose by Any Other NameA Rose by Any Other Name in Biography & Memoir More Like This
In a white hospital bed, pale as the lifeless bones of a decaying skeleton, with my flesh exposed through the backless dress of my hospital gown, I listen to nurses discuss my mental health. I can taste the quiet tap of a pen on paper and their tiny smiles of contempt.
Shame comes in waves. Its not like a scalpel or the cold touch of a surgeons hand. They never tell you that it can eat away at your insides like a virus. (That it eats you alive). Shame is not a symptom of the mentally ill. Its just a side effect.
In my creased hospital dress, I wish for death. The sweetest sleep away from detached, gloved hands and dissociative expressions. The never-ending hostile questions and the silent blame and accusations lying unspoken on dry lips.
You did this. Youre not sick. Youre just a twisted, manipulative lunatic.
Under medication and the slow Novocain drip of sedation, I wish for another disease. I want a tumor in my head something t
Kill the GodsForgotten gods cluster together like constellations of post-mortem scars forming,Kill the Gods in Free Verse More Like This
crystallised ocean remnants,
salt pressed and tattooed on the skin of human history
composing salt crystals and fingerprints and decomposing like dying cells and skeleton leaves.
The tides of us, washed and blurred at the edges,
smoothed like fossilised wood and glass pebbles littering waves of resurrections
reborn and torn asunder
the thunder of their hearts silenced as they
sleep (if gods sleep at all)
in infinity with the fishes on the ocean bed
(the quiet ocean death) of humanity’s collective
I wonder where the ghosts of gods go
where the scales of those sleeping fishes lie on that soft sea bed
without a priest or saint to exorcise the remains
of prayers whispered in those uneasy heads.
In ruined churches or over the mouths of graves
kissed into temple walls that crumble before these dying lords
We kill them in still mornings
when our faith fades under the sunlight, ev
Birthday With CthulhuIt came in the deepest stirrings of my subconscious, a kind of shudder in the recesses of my soul. In a dreamlike state I slept and walked along those dripping, greenish soap-stone monoliths as old as time, dread waking in the pit of my flesh. A voice, eons old trembled in the depths, waking the stars and galaxy dust from their slumber as the heavens shook and sunlight fell away into darkness. He was calling me.Birthday With Cthulhu in Short Stories More Like This
The mad seas rolled in strange lullabies, and mourning-cloak moths flew with hollow eyes towards the moon. I was a helpless puppet at his beckoning, stumbling in a dream towards the terrible eyes, the cruel mouth, the wicked, monstrous head that spoke of strange beings that the dead wept over. Alien things from another world that the earth cloaked to herself like a terrible secret best left forgotten or abandoned to the utterings of mad men.
The ether held its breath, and supernovas swallowed themselves into black holes. The creature lifted a great, swollen hand from the oceani
First NightFirst Night in Biography & Memoir More Like This
Rosie lay across from me in the cold, dark ward. She was agoraphobic; and when she laughed, her hands fluttered and she tapped her feet against the floor.
It was late when they carried me in. I had no name; just a plastic bracelet with a barcode and my patient number, address and date of birth. N447584. But the doctor and nurses just called me the O.D girl.
She smiled at me as they attached wires and a heart monitor; as they dressed me in a white hospital gown with the ties undone, leaving my spine naked and exposed.
Somehow I cant find the strength to tie it up, though Im afraid of the strangers hands on me. A gentle smile that keeps me from shattering.
Rosie, with her tiny, emaciated body; frail and drawn against the pale sheets. I didnt know how shed gotten here. The man next to us had fallen; broken his ribs and injured his mind.
I was falling into nothing; I had nothing to hold me in the freezing hospital but the soft, sweet smile of a str
ReachThe paramedics lift me effortlesslyReach in Free Verse More Like This
and deep in an ocean of sleep
I swallow the tube.
My lungs fill,
my throat as red and raw
as my softly beating heart.
My lips exhale
as soft and pale
as baby's breath
on the white pillow
of the hospital.
Asleep in the deep and gentle
pull of a coma
stirring with the quiet whirr
of machines keeping
My hands shake
weakly for the touch
of my family
25 Days of SPN X-Mas #4 - MistletoeDisclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of these guys.25 Days of SPN X-Mas #4 - Mistletoe in General Fiction More Like This
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Sam?" Kevin asked as he tacked a piece of mistletoe above one of the doorways in the bunker. "What if Dean gets mad?"
Sam snorted, handing Kevin another branch from the bushel he held in his arms. "If he does, it's only because he knows we're right."
A few days ago, Sam and Kevin had hatched a plan to place mistletoe all around the bunker, keeping it especially concentrated in areas they knew Dean and Cas frequented. The two of them knew the hunter and the ex-angel were more than friends, and had been for a long time, but Dean still seemed dead-set on keeping that fact a secret from them somehow. Whatever the reason, they were sick of watching Cas stare at Dean with unadulterated adoration in his eyes only to be discouraged every time Dean ignored
25 Days of SPN X-Mas #25 - Christmas GiftsDisclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of these guys.25 Days of SPN X-Mas #25 - Christmas Gifts in General Fiction More Like This
"Experts still haven't been able to explain the sudden brightness of one of the northern stars last night," said a reporter on the television in the bunker's main room. "But some people are already calling it a 'Christmas Miracle,' a sign of God's continuing love for humanity and His desire to give us hope, and having it happen on Christmas night seems to be a sign of better things to come. Astronomers assert that as of yet there is still no proof of –"
"Well, that's pretty awesome," Charlie Bradbury said as she turned off the news channel to address the other people in the room. "Looks like you guys've been pretty busy while I was gone."
"Just a little bit, yeah," Gabriel said with a pleased grin. "And I'd say I pulled off last night's plan to perfection, wouldn't you?"
25 Days of SPN X-Mas #1 - Hot CocoaDisclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of these guys.25 Days of SPN X-Mas #1 - Hot Cocoa in General Fiction More Like This
It was about nine o'clock in the morning when Sam wandered into the main room of the bunker, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he sat down at the table and opened the book on demon exorcisms he had been reading the night before. He had meant to finish the current chapter last night but had finally had to give up when he started nodding off and risked falling asleep and drooling all over the pages instead.
Sam had always been more of a morning person than Dean and even Castiel, but he was still recovering from the effects of the trials; even though his health had improved dramatically, he still tired easily and slept late. As a result, Dean, Cas, and Kevin were often already absent by the time he woke up, having made breakfast and left some for him before heading deeper into the
Care for the CarelessDisclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of these guys.Care for the Careless in General Fiction More Like This
A/N: This was written for a prompt on LJ. The prompt was as follows:
"Has anyone else heard of that thing where people with different blood types have different dietary preferences? I don't totally believe in it, but oh man is the idea sure cute. For example... blood type O is very "meat and potatoes", prefers a lot of protein and heavy/savory foods, whereas blood type A is more sensitive and drawn to organic, natural foods (lots of vegetables, nuts, etc.) and is prone to feeling a little sick after eating a lot of processed foods.
Sound familiar? Anyway, I keep thinking about that time in "Dog Dean Afternoon" when Dean made a reference to Sam having a sensitive stomach aaaand, man, I don't have much of an idea on where I'm going with this but maybe if someone wants to play around with the idea... that would be so cool..."
25 Days of SPN X-Mas #6 - CandleDisclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of the characters.25 Days of SPN X-Mas #6 - Candle in General Fiction More Like This
It had been a long time since Sam had slept soundly. In fact, he probably hadn't had a full night's sleep that wasn't drug- or coma-induced since he was a child, curled up in bed with his big brother there to protect him from the things that went bump in the night. Ever since the beginning of the trials, though, his sleeping habits had become even worse, and it was rare that he made it over two hours without waking from a nightmare, silently screaming and panting like he'd just run a marathon.
So when Sam awoke at just past two-thirty in the morning on December sixth, he wasn't at all surprised, or even that annoyed. These days, he'd at least had trouble remembering what his nightmares were about, and that yielded itself to a much faster return to sleep. He was about to close hi
Chase the Wind, Touch the SkyDisclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of these guys.Chase the Wind, Touch the Sky in General Fiction More Like This
"I will ride, I will fly,
Chase the wind and touch the sky,
I will fly,
Chase the wind and touch the sky."
From Disney's Brave: "Touch the Sky" - 2012
Bobby Singer hadn't always been a family man. Sure, he'd been married once, and he had loved Karen like no other woman he had ever known, but they never had any children, and after her death he became a different person, a gruff old drunk who could be extremely intimidating without even meaning to. He simply wasn't the fatherly type, or so he had always thought. His old house just wasn't a very homey place, in his opinion, and he never attempted to make it any more so – he didn't mind having only himself for company, after all.
So how, thirty years later, his house had come to be essentially a home for John Winchester's boys and
Famous Last WordsDisclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of these guys.Famous Last Words in General Fiction More Like This
"If the situation had been reversed – if I'd been the one dying – you'd've done the same for me."
"No, Dean. I wouldn't have."
For a moment after Sam spoke, neither Winchester was sure of what to do next. The words of their exchange hung heavy between them, especially those last three. Sam stared hard at his older brother, his eyes glinting coldly in a way that dared Dean to get angry, lash out at him, something to try and prove Sam wrong. Dean just stood there for a few seconds, blinking in stunned silence at what his little brother – the one he'd risked life and limb for time and time again – had just told him. Sam would rather have let Dean die than work to bring him back.
"I'm gonna head to bed," Sam said quietly, jaw locked firmly in place and not a hin
Life of PieDisclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of these guys.Life of Pie in Humor More Like This
A/N: This was written for a prompt fill on LiveJournal. The prompt was as follows:
"Remember the Changing Channels prompt from tg's meme? This time, they're in a commercial for Biggerson's All-You-Can-Eat Pie Bar. (Like a salad bar, but with pie!) And maybe Dean is so excited - they've been in TV land for awhile, okay? - and he eats so much pie that eventually he makes himself sick."
"S-s-stup-id d-damn trickster a-and his st-stupid damn T-TV land…" Dean grumbled to himself as Sam wrapped a warm blanket around him, averting his eyes while Dean stripped completely out of his sopping wet clothes and huddled down into the warm fleece.
"I know, I know," Sam said gently, trying to rub some warmth into Dean's arms and back through the thick blanket as they huddled close together in
25 Days of SPN X-Mas #11 - Sick DayDisclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of these guys.25 Days of SPN X-Mas #11 - Sick Day in General Fiction More Like This
A/N: I've managed to come down with a head cold that morphed into a chest cold, which combined with asthma, finals week at the university, and almost no sleep, means I'm feeling pretty miserable right now. Since winter is sick season, I've decided to give a couple of these guys a little bug too, so we can suffer together. There's lots of Destiel fluff in this chapter, and I didn't write anything too gross, but maybe don't read while eating if you get squeamish.
One of the things Dean loved most about sharing a room with Castiel was waking up next to him every morning. The ex-angel was clingy when he was asleep, and he always liked to cuddle up to Dean's side and lay his head up against his chest or neck. The hunter used to hate words like "cuddle," but there wasn't really anything e
Don't Worry About Me (I'm Just Bleeding Out)Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of these guys.Don't Worry About Me (I'm Just Bleeding Out) in General Fiction More Like This
A/N: This was written as a fill for a prompt on LJ. The prompt was as follows:
"I want one of the Winchester brothers to donate something to the other. It can be anything from blood or bone marrow to a kidney or something more. Today I started thinking about Dean knowing that he's going to die (at the end of s3) and thinking about how instead of getting ripped apart by hell hounds, he could die a few hours earlier, not go in pain and donate his organs to those that need them. (It was becoming this whole Faith AU where Sam was the one with the bad heart)…"
It wasn't until after they'd finished setting fire to Adam's body – his real body, not the ghoul's – that Dean noticed something wrong with Sam. It barely registered at first: Sam swayed a little on his feet, his
Yeah I'm Stupid!Yeah I'm Stupid!:Yeah I'm Stupid! in Free Verse More Like This
Indeed you are absolutely superior. A divine being, more intelligent,
Learned and completely right in everything you say about me.
However, if I might be permitted to as they say in slang
"Drop the beat", then I'd like to show you my own style of doing things.
Art thou ready for this my sibling from a different parent?
Sir can I have just a moment of your time? I think I lost
My will, let me sit and bust a rhyme rappin' like I'm
Edgar Allan singin' Raven songs, thank god I have a
life and love that keeps me really strong. See I
Understand the fact that you may not like the things I do,
Structure in your brain is wrapped tight like a metal screw.
But this is what you do when you are young
I'm breaking all the rules until I finally get sung!
So pass it on over if you're done with the whiny mic,
I'd like to show the world a new style it's the Chen life;
So everyone go 'Chen boo', this all the 'Chen boo',
The SadistThe Sadist:The Sadist in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I love it most when they scream in pain;
Cliched as that might sound.
Their tearful pleading exhilarates me;
Especially when they are unbound...
I adore the feeling of letting them run
In the knowledge that they won't get away.
I'm afraid that once you enter my lair;
You are simply here to stay...
My greatest joy is in wresting confessions
For in pain they admit to any crime.
How many times have they renounced their devils
Squealing all the time...
A white hot poker, can work such wonders
The tightest of tongues will turn to slack.
I like to hold it against their flesh;
Until it blisters, chars and goes utterly black...
The smell of flesh that has been branded by iron
Is purer than the air in the highest of peaks.
The kind of refreshment I need to find;
Is something obtained from the weak...
My favourite victims are the witchling girls;
For they are used to calling on magic.
Take that away they are but mewling kittens;
A fate which is r
Why I Hate My LifeWhy I Hate My Life:Why I Hate My Life in Free Verse More Like This
Despite the fact that I'm a trained professional
I have to work odd-jobs making deliveries on a motorcycle
The only girl who I ever loved
was just using me as a replacement
The only girl that actually likes me
runs a bar and took over my house
I don't have the guts to kick her out
so I end up sleeping at an abandoned church
I've recently picked up a strange rash
it hurts and I have to wear sleeves to cover it
My only friends are a guy that never comes out from a forest
and a girl that's always looking to steal the meager possessions I have
Everything sucks really
because the one person who cared about me
is already dead...
He was my army buddy, always cool, always the best
I visit his grave sometimes, in the middle of long deliveries
The worst part about everything though
is the fact that the one guy who made my life hell
The one guy who took everything important away from me
just came back to town a few minutes ago...
And you know what he said the moment
They Told UsThey Told Us:They Told Us in Free Verse More Like This
They told us we weren't artists,
They said that we're just puttin' words on paper...
They told us we wouldn't make it,
Because language isn't unique...
Ta hell with them all I say,
Because I know tha truth they seek ta hide.
We're treated like third-rate artists.
Our hands can't create magical pictures,
We can't create comics ta make people laugh,
Or emotive portraits ta make em cry...
But what they don't see is tha title,
What they don't see is tha description,
They don't even see tha comments or replies!
They look only at themselves,
And at tha talent they seem ta proclaim.
It's like starin' at an old english aristocrat,
Ignorin' us simply because we're farmers.
But what they don't see are the words.
Words used ta give a picture context.
Withou' a title, a picture is just a mix of colours and lines.
Who could understand an image, withou' a title?
If art alone suffices, why not let every piece be nameless?
I'll tell ya the truth, separated from the
I Know You Hate Me Now But...I Know You Hate Me Now But...:I Know You Hate Me Now But... in Free Verse More Like This
Just give me a chance alright, I'll explain
To me, you're the girl that I notice everything about.
The way you laugh, the way you smile;
We got along great back then, even if we don't now.
And to be honest, I miss that...
You had the most lovely silky smooth hair
You'd give me the cutest anime girl smile
I wish I'd talked to you more about Manga,
Hell you got me started on the whole thing.
You were fantastic at drawing too
Man I was always jealous of that talent,
And I loved your drawings, like I once loved you.
I wish that you could have been a professional.
I would have bought your book every month y'know...
You encouraged me to write.
Back when my stories were shit,
Back when my poems were still baby's rhymes.
You taught me not to give in and I was grateful.
Now just let me finish alright?
I know that you won't speak to me.
That's okay, I admit to being an ass,
But the reason that I'm writing this poem to nobod
To The Beautiful YouTo The Beautiful You:To The Beautiful You in Free Verse More Like This
Here we are, sitting behind these screens of glass,
Reading lines of text, yet smiling, laughing and crying.
It's strange to think that I could have this much fun -
Considering that I've never met you before, but then again
Perhaps that's the reason why I don't have to pretend.
Some people might tell me, that what we have is just a fantasy,
I doubt I'll have the chance to actually see you in this life-time.
But even so, in the time that we've spent together - Well,
I feel as though I've connected with you, more than anyone else.
I feel as though I know you better, than those just a few feet away.
You might take this little confession as something silly,
Maybe you'll even forget about it as time passes,
But I for one could never forget about someone like you,
And so I'd like to dedicate this piece, to the beautiful you.
-Chen Yuan Wen, 17th December 2012
To Save A PrincessTo Save A Princess:To Save A Princess in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
In most of the stories, whether old or new
It is usually the knight that saves the maiden
But reality is never as sweet as that
And often the truth gets slightly misshapen
But this is a story about the truth;
A tale of Pirates who aided the King
Though most would credit his honoured knights
We know they didn't do a thing...
Instead what happened is an epic story
For it began on a night when the moon was full
The Pirates slipped from their hallowed ship
Like wolves cloaked in wool
They hid amongst the jagged rocks
And called like birds to communicate
The soldiers thought they were hearing things
Until they began to hallunicate...
Visions of frightening ghosts and shades
Covered their eyes and sent them screaming
They clawed at their faces and toppled to the ground;
They woke the camp with their horrid keening
The ground was alive with running footsteps
Yet soldiers began to fall like snow
In panic their ears could not hear the sound
Of the rifle
Breaking PointBreaking Point:Breaking Point in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Who was I to question you to start?
My reflection now we split apart.
Hate the way your looking at my pain;
I hid my tears in the falling rain.
Forget the way I thought I used to be
I see the man now he isn't me.
He's like a ghost with a shaken past
I don't know how he's gonna last.
Sometimes I feel like I'm giving in
I hit the bottle full of naked sin.
I try to lose the hell I'm living in
But now I'm stuck with my only friend.
I spent nights on the window pane
Look at families playin' family games
Wonder why I'm stickin' outside;
I'm just a monster on the inside...
What happened to the dream I used to feel?
It's like I pushed away the better deal.
I feel the calls of my bitter vice
Spend my nights with a blunt knife...
I used to carve on my dirty skin
I used to feel like I was cleaner then.
Because the only time I feel alive
Is when I let my body take a dive...
The only addicition I could control...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 7th May 2012
Being A Good Person is a CHOICE!Now, imagine this situation for a moment:Being A Good Person is a CHOICE! in Free Verse More Like This
You are a good father, a wonderful husband.
You go 'pray' every Sunday, doing a wonderful lip-service.
You've taken your kids to soccer practice
And you are ready to enjoy your Sunday.
Tui bu qi, ni ke yi pang wo ma?
You turn around and see an old Chinese lady.
She can't speak English and needs assistance.
You pretend you cannot hear her and drive away.
Smooth-stuff dad, you should return that #1 mug...
To me however, there would be no question.
I was late to a part-time job, it would actually cost me money;
And did I mention I can't speak Chinese either?
Instead I communicated with gestures and signs.
She wanted to go to the train station, as I later learned.
With your car it would have taken five minutes.
But we walked and that is also okay.
To be honest, you might think you've done more good than evil.
You might think there is a welcoming committee for you at the pearly gates.
I regret to inform you however, that
Swan SongSwan Song:Swan Song in Free Verse More Like This
Those days we used to spend together
So gentle and so sweet...
Are buried like my sister's corpse
Entombed beneath my feet...
The mornings we spent in the grove of dryads
Braiding each other's hair...
I visit the very same places now;
But I know that she isn't there.
I can hear her voice from time to time
As a dying whisper amongst the trees.
But I can never forget that day;
It festers like disease...
A waking nightmare, so vivid and real
I am lost in the grip of its chilling touch.
You called to me, on that fated morning
Bearing a wound and crutch...
But they came like thunder, these men of steel
They heft their weapons high in the air.
They shrieked and praised their vaunted deity
As they laid her body bare...
At the behest of the robed one, they took her apart.
They chopped her to pieces, and they burned her heart.
And then it was done, like a sprinkling rain.
They left our forest, with a walk of dis
An Unwelcome EncounterWell-Woven Net, Knot 11: An Unwelcome EncounterAn Unwelcome Encounter in Fan Fiction More Like This
Alessar was roaming around the Denerim market, passing time until his companions were to regroup, when he was distracted by a handsome display of daggers for sale. While graceful in design, the weapons were clearly meant to be functional, and their lines seemed somewhat familiar. Trying to recall why, he paused to examine the blades more closely.
"Ah, another customer. Please, feel free to browse my wares, and do let me know if I can help you with anything."
While the voice was unknown to him, the accent was not, and Alessar finally remembered where he'd seen such craftsmanship before. Zevran's original Crow dagger had been like this: elegantly simple, well-balanced, and razor sharp. He glanced up at the Antivan shopkeeper, who was eyeing him intently.
Maybe he's afraid I'm going to try to steal one, the elf thought a little sourly. He had gotten plenty of dis
Uncomfortable TruthsWell-Woven Net, Knot 6: Uncomfortable TruthsUncomfortable Truths in Fan Fiction More Like This
It was still almost impossible to believe. Had they really, truly, found the Urn of Sacred Ashes, the last earthly remains of the Prophet Andraste?
Alessar brushed his hand over his belt pouch again, knowing that nestled inside, wrapped a tiny envelope of oilcloth, was a pinch of those ashes. They had seen a High Dragon, they had been questioned by the shades of Andraste's contemporaries... they had somehow fought phantom copies of themselves, and they had even walked through fire. All of that to finally come to Andraste's final resting place. For a short time, their worldly concerns had seemed almost trivial in comparison.
He certainly wasn't the most religious person, but it was the Chantry, and their rules and laws and history, that he had little love for. Like many elves, he had a sense of reverence for Andraste herself, for what she had done and the message she had tried
Unguarded MomentsWell-Woven Net, Knot 7: Unguarded MomentsUnguarded Moments in Fan Fiction More Like This
Alessar kept tugging at the hem of his tunic. It was strange not to be wearing at least part of his armor, and stranger still to be wearing such fine clothes. Not that these were overly ornate or formal, but they were better than pretty much anything he'd ever owned, aside from his ill-fated wedding clothes.
The grey and blue tunic and trousers had been provided by Arl Eamon ("Not even gifts, Grey Warden, just a simple courtesy," the arl had said with a tired smile as he had the Wardens' party presented with clean clothes suited to their status), and were slightly too large -- unsurprising, considering his elven stature, after all. But it was a kind gesture, and it certainly wouldn't hurt to have presentable clothing in the future, especially if they were going to be muddling in politics in Denerim...
There was a quiet knock at the door. That was another odd thing -- having a door, let alone an
Rather UnexpectedWell-Woven Net, Knot 1: Rather UnexpectedRather Unexpected in Fan Fiction More Like This
"You do realize this is probably a trap, right?" Alistair murmured as the companions followed the distressed woman who had begged them for help.
"Could be." Alessar glanced sidelong at his fellow Grey Warden. "If it is, we're ready for it. If it's not, then someone honestly needs help."
"Does this altruism really pay all that well?" Morrigan said in the bored, disparaging tone that she used when she was irritated. "Grey Wardens -- roaming the countryside, finding lost children, fixing broken wagon axles and solving marriage disputes. It's all so very noble."
Alessar ignored the woman's pointed remarks. She seldom saw the value in doing what the others considered "the right thing" for the sake of one's conscience. Of course, she had a point, sometimes, and they did have more important tasks, but this was right in their path, after all.
An Unburied RegretWell-Woven Net, Knot 10: An Unburied RegretAn Unburied Regret in Fan Fiction More Like This
Zevran sat near the fire, as was his habit after supper. Frequently, this time was spent mending his gear or sharpening his blades, sometimes accompanied by a bit of chat, sometimes not. Tonight was one of the rare occasions that he had little to work on while the others went about their business, and he found himself examining the pair of Dalish gloves that Alessar had given to him.
The assassin hadn't understood at first; he was perfectly happy with the light, well-worn leather gloves he already had, and it took time to get a new pair of gloves properly broken in. Given the constant threat of werewolf attacks since they'd entered the forest proper, the story about his mother's gloves that he had told the Grey Warden in the Dalish camp had been last thing on his mind in the past couple of days. It was just another of those personal bits of trivia that he seemed to let slip with unsettling re
Unkind CutsWell-Woven Net, Knot 2: Unkind CutsUnkind Cuts in Fan Fiction More Like This
Alessar stood in front of the campfire, arms crossed, and stared morosely into the flames. Their foray into Denerim had been dismal. He supposed he should be happy that they hadn't been caught and turned in to Teyrn Loghain for the bounty on their heads, but other than that, very little had gone well.
Not only had they not found Brother Genitivi, but it seemed that someone had tried to impersonate his apprentice, to throw any callers off of the trail of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Bloody peculiar business, but at least they had been able to find Genitivi's research. It was going to be a long haul to the Frostbacks, looking for the little town of Haven, however; he figured they could stop at the Mages' Tower on Lake Calenhad on the way. He hoped that recruiting the help of the Circle of Magi would be a relatively simple thing, but nothing had been simple so far...
Not even reunit
Undisclosed FearsWell-Woven Net, Knot 5: Undisclosed FearsUndisclosed Fears in Fan Fiction More Like This
Alessar stood at the fringe of the woods, looking back towards the group's campsite. They had had to spend more time than expected fighting the maddened Havenite cultists, and he had no desire to try to climb halfway up a mountain -- with an injured guide -- near or after nightfall. Who knew who (or what) could be waiting up there? Instead, they reluctantly decided to camp for the night, outside of Haven proper; they would make their way up to the old temple in the morning. Genitivi had chafed at the delay, until Alessar pointed out that breaking his other leg while stumbling about on a mountainside would make it very difficult indeed to study the temple at all, once they got there. The scholar finally relented and was now sleeping soundly, probably for the first time in days.
It was getting late; supper had been several hours ago, and most of the others were talking qu
An Unintended TurnWell-Woven Net, Knot 3: An Unintended TurnAn Unintended Turn in Fan Fiction More Like This
Alessar glanced over as his fellow Grey Warden trudged up next to him. The group walked in a loose formation when they were on the move across the countryside, and the elven Warden was currently taking the lead -- not because he actually needed to lead, but because he wanted some time alone to think.
Of course, by now, Alistair knew exactly why his comrade would isolate himself at the front of the column, and usually he would leave him in peace. But they'd become a little closer since the events at Redcliffe, even if Alistair had been furious at Alessar's decision to let Lady Isolde sacrifice herself. They had discussed it at length, and while Alistair was still unhappy about it, he no longer held it against the other Warden. They had tried to do the best they could to keep the greatest number of people safe. These were wartime decisions, and Alessar privately thought
A Most Unlikely AllyWell-Woven Net, Knot 12: A Most Unlikely AllyA Most Unlikely Ally in Fan Fiction More Like This
The Wardens' party had been to the Gnawed Noble Tavern before, assisting the Denerim city guard with some out-of-control mercenaries; the barmaids recognized them, or at least, they recognized Alessar and Zevran, who stood out as openly armed elves, and the group was immediately offered drinks. Alessar demurred politely, saying that they were there for business, and inquired where they might find the Antivan merchant they were meeting.
The girl who answered seemed nonplussed, if not a little nervous, as she directed the party to the first guest room in the back. They entered cautiously, keeping an eye out for anything as mundane as a mechanical trap or a sneak attack, but the way was clear.
Ignacio waited in the innermost room, two silent guards looming in the corners. Alessar knew Alistair and Zevran would make sure their exit route would not be blocked off -- at least, not from the inside -- so for
Unchecked ReactionsWell-Woven Net, Knot 9: Unchecked ReactionsUnchecked Reactions in Fan Fiction More Like This
Alistair held up his shield against the hail of arrows as he looked around, trying to find his fellow Warden amidst the madness of battle. What had caused Zevran to cry out like that?
He only realized that the elven archer had fallen when he saw Wynne making her way towards his supine form, freezing the single genlock in her path with a focused burst of cold. Alistair couldn't make out her expression clearly at this distance, but she didn't look particularly worried...
Zevran, on the other hand, was fighting like a demon, recklessly chasing down genlock archers and single-handedly dispatching them with brutal slashes of his daggers. He was usually quick enough to evade their blundering counterattacks, the templar knew, but he was going to get himself hurt if he was fighting blindly.
"Zevran! Pull yourself together!" he shouted, wondering if the elf would heed him. After all these month
Elf vs. Orc 5Sings-to-Trees's primary thought through the whole violent encounter was Not the throat again!Elf vs. Orc 5 in Fantasy More Like This
His neck hurt. He felt like a troll had used his esophagus as a dance floor. This could not be healthy. If he lived through this, he swore he would be nice to his throat for the rest of the year. Hot teas. Scarfs during winter. Anything.
For awhile, he didn't think he was going to live to see sunrise, let alone winter.
Then she'd apologized. The orc had stood there, with a distinctly sheepish expression on her face, and she'd apologized.
None of his patients ever apologized. Most of them couldn't talk, and it didn't seem to occur to the ones who could.
Half of him wanted to reply automatically—No, it's okay, these things happen, don't worry about it—and the other half was jumping up and down screaming You just tried to kill me, you green-faced lunatic! You can't just apologize for trying to kill people!
Perhaps fortunately, his throat was aching too badly
Elf vs. Orc 9Sings-to-Trees' head shot up. He knew Fleabane's barks like the back of his hand. Short, rapid barks, not grating, hysterical ones--somewhere between a greeting and a warning. Fleabane knew the person approaching, but he didn't really like them.Elf vs. Orc 9 in Fantasy More Like This
That meant it was either one of the humans from down the road (excepting Matilda, who brought cheeses and always had a tidbit for a hungry coyote) or the rangers.
"Shit!" Sings-to-Trees leapt to his feet and began kicking Celadon's armor under the bed, followed by the extra blankets.
Celadon got unsteadily to her feet. "What is it?"
"Company. Might be rangers."
She could have asked questions, like "Are you going to turn me in?" or "Why are you panicking, if they're your people?" but Celadon was not inclined to waste time on stupid questions. She looked around hurriedly for a hiding place.
Sings-to-Trees caught her elbow. "Do you trust me?"
"Does it matter?"
"I suppose not."
Getting her into the hiding place was awkward, but Celadon took it in s
An Evening With Sings-to-TreesAn Evening With Sings-to-Trees in Fantasy More Like This
Sings-to-Trees had hair the color of sunlight and ashes, delicately pointed ears, and eyes the translucent green of new leaves. His shirt was off, revealing the sort of tanned muscle acquired from years of healthy outdoor living, and you could have sharpened a sword on his cheekbones.
He was saved from being a young maiden's fantasy—unless she was a very peculiar young maiden—by the fact that he was buried up to the shoulder in the unpleasant end of a heavily pregnant unicorn. Bits of unicorn dung, which was not noticeably more ethereal than horse dung, were sliding down his arm, and every time the mare had a contraction, he lost feeling in his hand.
It had been nearly two hours, the ground was hard and cold and his knees felt like live coals wrapped in ice. She'd kicked him twice, and if Sings-to-Trees hadn't known that it was impossible, he'd have begun to suspect that the unicorn had arranged a breech birth out of spite.
No, he was being unfair. It couldn't be any more fun for her t
Elf vs. Orc 3Sings-to-Trees was being strangled.Elf vs. Orc 3 in Fantasy More Like This
He'd always expected a patient to kill him some day, but he'd thought he would be a lot older, and it would be an angry bull or a careless moment with a manticore or something along those lines, with an outside chance of being crushed under a nearsighted troll. He really hadn't anticipated anything like this.
The orc had been giggling to herself for a few minutes, and when he tried to talk to her, she only giggled harder. He didn't know if she could speak any of the languages, or if she was so delirious that she wasn't even hearing him. He had no real idea what the normal temperature for an orc was, but her skin burned against his fingers, and if he had to guess, he'd say she was running quite a high fever.
There was something very surreal about a giggling orc. It wasn't malicious, like when pixies left flaming piles of pixie-crap on your doorstep and hid to watch you step in it. This was a throaty, genuinely amused chuckle—reduced to a s
Elf vs. Orc 7This was easier said than done.Elf vs. Orc 7 in Fantasy More Like This
She gave him some very practical suggestions about how to tie the ropes. A bit of slack between the feet, enough to shuffle, not enough to run. A rope around the neck as a kind of leash in case she attacked him. He could tell she'd done this sort of thing before.
Sings-to-Trees, at that point, would have been happy just untying her completely and pointing her in the direction of the outhouse, but he had a horrible feeling he'd disappoint her if he didn't at least try to hold up his end. So he steeled himself to stay awake a bit longer and got the ropes set up, and hauled her out of the bed.
Then she wound up needing to use him as a crutch anyway, since her knees kept buckling, so it was a bit of a moot point.
"Can you hold this?" he asked, handing her the leash rope after a few brutal hops toward the door.
"What if I try to escape?"
He sighed. "Just yank it if you feel yourself getting any ideas."
She started laughing, then they took another step and the
Elf vs. Orc 4She let him go. She couldn't do much else. He was an elf, sure, but there were rules, and you didn't kill healers and you didn't kill priests.Elf vs. Orc 4 in Fantasy More Like This
The rage had to go somewhere. You couldn't go from halfway to gnawing your shield back to normal just like that. Celadon swallowed it, bitterly, the stone shattering, the red sea pouring through the wreckage. She threw her head back and snarled with the pain.
The elf lay sprawled on the ground beside the bed, holding his throat, his eyes closed. He was breathing in tight little gasps. She could have stomped on his head, but of course she wouldn't.
She was furious. Mostly at herself, truth be told. It had been so obvious. He'd checked her bandages, he hadn't been wearing armor, and this was as far from a cell as you could get. What more did she need, a sign saying "Non-combatant, please do not throttle," in several languages? But she'd been so mad—and scared, yes, let's be honest with ourselves—that she hadn't seen past the Enemy.
Elf vs. Orc 2Celadon Toadstool was delirious.Elf vs. Orc 2 in Fantasy More Like This
The funny bit—uproariously funny, it seemed to her—was that she knew she was delirious. The world was billowing around her. It looked as if someone had meticulously painted the inside of a cottage on silk, and then hung it in a gentle breeze. The corners floated inward and collapsed back out again with a sigh.
That someone would go to all that trouble, painting a cottage on silk, was hilarious.
She knew she was wounded. She couldn't quite remember how she'd been wounded. Imagine not remembering a thing like that!
This also struck her as hilarious.
Her name, in Orcish, was Urrsharruk-gah, and she had skin the delicate gray-green of the gills of cave mushrooms, and eyes the color of stolen gold. Her hair was thick and dark and she wore it tucked under her helmet to keep enemies from being able to grab it, which was problematic, because she'd lost her helmet somewhere along the way, and she wasn't in the best of shape anyway.
Even in her immense good humor
Elf vs. Orc 6He got a nasty start a few hours later, when he came in to check on her.Elf vs. Orc 6 in Fantasy More Like This
He'd tied her hands, her feet, thrown a loop or two around her waist, and roped everything to the bed, the chair, and the fire iron, just for good measure, He'd done everything short of hog-tying. She wasn't going to get loose in a hurry.
He wasn't sure why he was bothering, really, since he had a horrible feeling that if she said "Will you untie me?" he might do it, and if she said "please," he'd definitely do it.
Still, she didn't seem to be a threat conscious, so maybe that was okay.
Then, because his feelings were still churning and there was nothing for emotional turmoil like hard work, he'd gone off, fed the chickens and the gargoyle, picked peas, turned the compost heap, washed his hands and made soup. By the end, he was really quite exhausted, and ready for at least a nap in his chair.
Then he came back in to discover that her fever had vanished and she was shivering violently with cold.
Elf vs. Orc 8Celadon woke up in the elf's arms.Elf vs. Orc 8 in Fantasy More Like This
This sounded a lot more romantic than it actually was.
For one thing, learning to sleep in proximity to another person is an acquired skill. You learn what to do with the arm that always seems to get stuck between you and where to put your feet and whether they mind having a leg draped over theirs and who can use whose arm as a pillow without nerve damage or a sore neck. Then there's the whole complex negotiation of blanket treaties and sheets and who gets what and who needs layers and who has to stick their feet out.
Without acquiring these vital habits, you wake up pretty much like Celadon—stiff, sore, with a knee wedged into your ribs and blankets tangled around both of them like sleeping anacondas.
While it's traditional when parties of the opposite sex find themselves entangled for someone's hands to be in an embarrassing position, that actually wasn't the case. She was pretty much in the elf's lap, where one of his knees was up and digging into