Her BirthdayShe was perfect.
But then, that was hardly surprising. He had created her to be.
In scientific terms, she was a marvel of genetic engineering. A manmade wonder, harbinger of a new line of beings who were more than superhuman - they could hardly be called anything resembling human at all. Humans were weak, unreliable, prone to disease and unprofitable mutation. They were slow, practically deaf and blind when compared to any other predator, lacking a sense of smell strong enough to be of any use, lacking the claws and teeth to bring down an enemy when unarmed, lacking and deficient in almost every respect. Soft. Pathetic. Breakable. Prone to unwanted emotion.
She was perfect.
She had not been so when he started work, of course. He had wanted an existing model to base his improvements on, not a test-tube grown creature, and she had fit the bill for that quite admirably. So had many others, at the beginning, but the experiments and augmentation had proven all but her defecti
FearShe sat, huddled up, in the corner of her cage, eyes wide, heart beating wildly. She watched the legs of her captors as they made their way up the rows of cages. Around her were the growls, roars, and whimpers of those who occupied the other cages.More Like This
The legs were still slowly making their way closer, stopping at each cage. Eventually, they made their way to her cage and stopped. They bent down and exposed the faces of one of her captors.
“A young one…Cat? No…Hard to tell…”
A light flashed in her face, she winced, closed her eyes, and turned her head away.
“Looks Dragon. Pupils are not as dilated as a cat. Still not sure though…”
The captor pulled out a remote and punched in a set of numbers. Suddenly an electrical shock assaulted her, causing her to roar out.
“Ah…Yes. Defiantly a Dragon.”
The captor wrote down his observations and walked off, leaving the Dragon curled up in the cage in pain.
ReflectionDear Diary,More Like This
When you look into a mirror, you should see your reflection, right? I - for one - don’t.
As much as I’d like to say I’m disturbed by the fact, I must admit it’s given me a reason to write in this thing for the first time in months, but then again it’s not exactly something I can go around telling people, so this is the only reason I’m writing in you at the moment - that sounded ridiculous.
I’m not exactly sure when it started, which as pathetically stupid as it sounds, is indeed true. I’m not sure when it started, when I noticed it or why it is happening and as I can confront nobody else about it, I suppose I have no other option but you and the depths of my mind.
I assure you there’s nothing different about our mirror than any other mirror, come to think of it, I could probably look into any mirror and see this strange reflection, I’ll have to test that theory out one day, maybe during that shopping trip…Wh
Intangible DreamsMore Like This
The girl sat in her chair.
She sipped her tea.
She read her book.
She was by herself.
Just like always.
She had the nicest clothes, the finest food, everything she needed.
But she had nothing she wanted.
The only thing she ever wanted that her parents would allow her to have was her books.
Her books kept her company.
They were her friends.
Her only way to escape her room.
The book she read was her favorite.
She had read it many times, and knew all of the words.
It was about a little girl, around her age, who went on a grand adventure.
The little girl in the book met talking animals, and fought ferocious monsters.
And in a way, she saw herself as the little girl in the book.
She saw herself going on adventures, making new friends and overcoming evil.
Because when it came down to it, there was only one thing the girl wanted in life.
She wanted to be free.
Freedom meant she would leave her room and do whatever she wanted, not what her parents wanted.
And she knew just what she wanted to d
Safe as Houses 'You can't place trust in what or who you recognise'More Like This
- Death Cab for Cutie.
'The dark never enters, but it also never leaves'
Fire With an Aftertaste of Chocolate“Lily. What are the trees like?”More Like This
The two children sat alone under a great oak tree on the playground. All the other kids were gone. They’d found others to run around and play tag with or build small ‘castles’ that looked rather like mounds of dirt. Ethan couldn’t do any of these things, though. He couldn’t see the sunlight or the trees of the ground beneath his feet, not even his mother’s face when she kissed him on the forehead goodnight.
Ethan was blind.
“Trees are magnificent,” Lily began. She didn’t really know how to start. How do you describe something to a person that’s never seen anything? “They have a thick base, it’s called a trunk, which you know, and it’s grey-brown/ That’s the color of a winter day or the sky when it’s sad, that feeling in the air before it rains.” Lily knew she wasn’t making any sense. Her mother told her so, that blurting out the first thing
FlashFiction: At HelloIt's 3:32 in the morning. He rolls over and looks at his clock. Sighing, he sits up in bed and rubs the palms of his hands in his eyes. Sleeping is proving to be useless for him. He gets up and pulls on his jeans and a gray hoodie. He grabs his beanie and walks out of his bedroom. He's quiet, not wanting to wake his roommate. He walks to the front door and steps outside into the cool, morning air. The world is silent as he walks down the stairs and out to the street. He begins to walk down the sidewalk as his thoughts ring in his head.More Like This
It's 1:17 in the morning. She grabs her phone and looks at the time. She shakes her head, wishing for daylight. Daylight will mean she's made it through the night. She slips on her Converse and reaches for her San Francisco hoodie. She hesitates and decides to not wear that one. That one, he gave her. He broke her heart with some other girl. She just wants the pain she's in to go away. If daylight comes, she knows she'll be able to make it to the next da
Empty Zoey tried to recall a time in her life when she was happy, but the only thing that came to mind was the short and fleeting anecdote of her childhood. It was then that she was happy, because she was naďve and cheerful, and didn’t yet know pain or fear or sadness. Being a child you know nothing of the realities of the world. But again, it was a fleeting period of her life that she was happy, and it ended very abruptly.More Like This
In her youth she was like many other girls she knew. Cute, petite, pretty, and liked to wear dresses and play with toys and games. She played with the boys and girls on her street every day. Some kids moved away and some moved in, but she stayed where she was, saying goodbye and hello to new kids. Her interests changed from dress up and dolls to much more tomboy like interests like comics and action figures. Even hung out with more of the boys she met, and was considered one of them. As she was, it was her naďve and positive attitude that made people l
HomeI woke up wanting to go to the lake. I wanted to see the clear, shimmering water, feel a refreshing breeze whip my hair. I wanted to dip my toes in and sit there a while, without interruption. I was laying in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling as the scenario unfolded in my head. The more I imagined, the more I yearned for it.More Like This
There was no more thought about it. The decision was made. I was going to the lake today.
After breakfast, I quickly gathered my phone, wallet and keys. It’s all I’d need for the road. Everything else would be at the house when I got there. I let a couple friends know where I’d be and took off. It was 9:45 on a Tuesday morning in the middle of May and I wasn’t worried about too many people being in the area, they did this kind of thing in the summertime.
The instant I knew where I was headed, I turned on my favorite tunes. The music was mostly of the Indie-Folk genre with strong moving percussion, distinct vocals and lyrics
Of Half-Filled WordsShe is not a flutterbird.More Like This
Her fingers are skittish,
her smile is not.
Do not fear that you will
drive it away.
Sadness is her fumbling limb.
It is unwanted, yet
When it is January
she will tell you,
"I am still struggling.
And I am becoming so many people
all at once.
A conglomeration of beauty that
I have managed to mangle.
Please, do not be sad for me."
Sometimes her sorrow is
meant for you. But mostly her.
Those specks and spots
of ocean storm lulls
reveal her truths:
ones she does not want
to extract from herself.
Her heart is not a rabbit.
When it beats
faster, faster, faster,
you need not
run harder to catch it.
Hades and Persephone"Hades!" she screamed in rage. Silk curtains tore as nails were raked across them. Pillows were swept to the floor and set upon; with a ripping sound there were feathers adrift in the air.More Like This
She collapsed amid the chaos, sobbing. "I hate you. I hate you!" Her voice broke into the motionless air, hung amid the feathers, shivered in its anger.
He stood with shadowed eyes on the other side of the closed door. He knew she thought he couldn't hear her, knew she thought he was elsewhere attending to business as usual--knew what she thought of him. When her furious sobs had given way to shuddering breaths he said quietly, "The door isn't locked," and as a startled silence fell inside the room he swept away down the hall, shoulders bent with the weight of drifting feathers.
The silence of the dining room as he approached was too silent; he didn't bother looking in.
She sat curled on the bed with the remains of the furnishings scattered around her. Her eyes were bloodshot and there was snot on
streetlightsi'm sure there was something more poeticMore Like This
than streetlights shining through your bedroom window.
(but where i'm from, we don't have streetlights
but those streetlights cast the
on your scruffy face.
my head rested on your chest
(and i heard your heartbeat,
daring mine to drum in rhythm.)
and my hands drew an entire landscape
in slow languid strokes
over your collarbones.
"if you keep doing that,"
i heard the grumbly vibrations from deep in your lungs,
"i'm going to have to kiss you."
and my heart
and my mind
(iwantto, ican't, didibrushmyteeth?)
and i couldn't muster enough courage
to even tilt my head up.
not with the streetlights watching.
the places we gohe wrote to me:More Like This
that he sits in the gutter and he
looks up at my window and he is
there and he is not and we're
okay and we are
he wrote to me:
your silence is not enough. and i
think your feet caught the dust as
you walked away. and i think my
mouth was filled with dust
as you walked away. and i couldn't
say wait and i
let you down again and. you just
he wrote to me:
learn the meaning of wait. and tell
it to me. sometimes the flies belong
in the kitchen and sometimes i forget to feed
the cats and sometimes i
forget to lock the
front door and close the windows
when it starts to rain.
he wrote to me:
will your eyes ever stop wandering? will
you ever see your elbows, will you ever
see your face in the light i see it? will
your watch start working again and will you
open your damn eyes and start seeing
what's right in front of you? but my
lack of direction is like a broken
steering wheel. my lack of direction is
a map torn to shreds and sorry mea
MalingerWhy must you malinger here,More Like This
hovering over the bed -
your scent a frail and rattled haunt?
Did I conjure you -
give form and shape,
fashion skin and hair
upon the bed rails
that press my back
like a missing child?
I feel you move everywhere -
in the turn of a book's page,
chafing my fingertip;
the lifting of a glass,
its cool weight
changing the roads on my palm
into a lost decade;
and in the stir of leaves
that wander across the lonely patio
only to to be lost again
in the day's bleak rustle.
I can almost make out your eyes
in every mirror
and the dull polish of the worn desk
you used to sit at
when dusk begged
for your attention.
And the pressure of your fingers
still stains my collar,
their touch a grey wish
lurking in the gallows of my face
where the light no longer goes
and nothing dares
Clear SkiesMore Like This
It extends far beyond hypocrisy
And becomes the fundamental flaw of humanity-
We need to believe in something
We turn our backs on all we have
Or could have had
And justify our actions
As our real blessings turn to dust.
The simplest truth,
The most beautiful truth,
Has now become a lie.
How can we look each other in the eye
When we're staring at the skies?
Each one promising demise,
Telling you to watch the skies,
That they will crack.
Meanwhile their legions
Stab you in the back-
Violent thrusts of knives,
But we're all still watching the skies!
We confuse our cries
Then silence them
To hear the feather-hearted rants
Caught in a trance,
We cannot dance,
We cannot question
We have no hope
When our eyes are on the skies
And all our hearts
Hold a lance.
So let us part
With this romance,
And let us start
A mortal chance.
MeasurementsMeasurementsMore Like This
Today they take you
To measure your strength
Measure your mind
Measure your years---
But the only measure of a man
--of my man
Is the way he speaks to his loved ones
Is the way that he treats his loved ones
And is the way he lives and breathes and dies
Don't let them sum you up
With charts and scans and interns' notes
They will never show you
The ways and means and ends for you
To a busy man in a long white coat.
Don't let them tie you there
Manacled to a mechanical bed
Don't let them keep you there
Get up and rise and heal and stand
Because you love me
Get up because I know you love me.
And I am not allowing your days to be so fleeting
As I count your every breath
As I hear your heart so strongly beating
You are not the stains upon your body
You are not the man to lose your way
But if you do
When you do
I will take you far away
To be with the man
To be with the man
And then we'll be a
Towers, But Not CastlesPlaying with Legos on a living room floor.More Like This
I will build towers – but not castles.
A twenty-first century sentiment
From an American boy, age three.
The case against castles and kingdoms –
In this country,
Was decided in a revolution.
One that gave us –
And though he only knew his own mood –
I was moved.
To think about
Of family structure
And its relation to antiquated architecture.
The aspiration of the tower –
The American skyscraper.
Was once, and still is,
To reach heights.
To stand tall, and stand out.
As parents – we want such things for our children.
We tell them that in this country,
Anything is possible.
But somehow , in our hearts
We build again a case for castles.
As we fill our own homes –
With tiny bold princes,
And discerning little princesses.
Playing with Legos on a living room floor
I will build towers – but not castles.
And I found inspiration.
DoppelgangerTwo blonde heads poked up,More Like This
dandelions in the tall grass.
Light eyes peered at the cars,
the fast paced hurry of grownups,
their worried faces.
We didn't understand worry.
We didn't know heartbreak,
We were each other's doppelgangers,
each a half of one being.
A beast with two hearts.
Then we'd hide down in the field,
licking sour, rhubarb soaked lips,
and talked about the hardships of life.
"My friend is mad."
"My favorite ball popped."
"My goldfish is swimming upside down."
and we thought we understood worry.
As two young girls lay in the grass,
other children in bigger fields were learning.
They were learning heartbreak and loneliness
and the grownups on the street
developed cancer and got divorced,
and the cars on the street
broke down and ran out of gas.
Two blonde heads poked up,
unable to see,
even with their everlasting combined imaginations,
what was in store for them.
The Tale of Tamas LinMore Like This
He met her in the winter
When the wind whipped through the trees,
Beneath the snowfall and the starlight,
Un'ner the shadow of the leaves.
A fair and regal maiden
With hair as black as night,
Pale skin of glowing moonbeams,
And eyes of sapphires bright.
She found him there in winter
Amid the rocks and snow.
His booted leg was twisted;
The brigands struck the blow.
She held him then and kissed him
And nursed his wounds so dire,
And stole him to the fairy court
Beyond the Ross’ shire.
Three days he dined in excess,
Three days he drunk the wine,
Three days he danced with beauties
In courtly green attire.
Yet long were the mornings,
Longer still the nights,
For by the Yuletide’s dawning
Ten years had made their flight.
Aggrieved was dear Seonaidh,
His breast grew ill and tight,
For those that dine with fairy folk
Can ne’er leave their sight.
Twelve years, he passed, then twenty
As servant, then as swain,
But best he served the company
And knighthood did attain.
Bag Of DreamsI once knew a boyMore Like This
Who carried his dreams on his back
And kept them together
In a burlap sack,
Which he hoisted
Usually in the same way
That he came,
With a bag full of dreams
A back full of pain
And with nowhere left to stay.
Though so small
carried it all
Without a single complaint,
While his legs seemed to stall
And continually tried to fall
At every bump in the road.
But on the boy walked
He could not be stopped
On his quest to keep his dreams.
So to help him along
I sang him a song
And so sweet
It became a lullaby
And slowly shut his eyes
So he could finally go to sleep.
And while he slept on the ground
I made not a sound
While I approached the burlap sack,
I made small tear
So some dreams
Could escape, if they dare.
I just wanted to help
That bag was too heavy
For any boy to wear.
I knew this
This I did.
So when he awoke
And started to choke
As he realized
That his dreams were gone
They had long since died,
Lost FlameSudden realization strikesMore Like This
As you watch the match
Burn through your finger,
Straight to your heart.
Reality doesn’t settle in,
Not like it should,
You notice the sting, the burn,
Two seconds too late.
You watch like a ghost,
Trapped outside your mind, your hand
As you drop the match,
And watch the world go up in flames.
Your eyes flicker too much,
And suddenly you feel the inferno rising
To burn away the shame, the fear
Trapped behind your child eyes.
To burn away everything but the pain,
To line your veins with fire and rage.
You can feel the hole, the missing flame,
Where love has moved away.
You can never fill the flame you’ve lost,
But it sure can’t hurt to try.
Abstract RealitiesJackson Pollock’s Number 5, the epitome of my life.More Like This
Various emotions from the heart becomes hurled
Scattered in different directions, each leaving different impressions upon landing.
Liberation occurs when the language of pathos fall from the tongue
But pleasure to the ears of the hearers does not equate to beneficial guidance
Love or chaos, the only two paths of existence.
Roads of equal distance but only one leads to life eternal.
But the true message can quickly get lost in other abstract ideas.
Minds quickly floods, when slanderers lie.
Becoming guilty of the lost ones blood.
A new beginning is near and so is the truth
Soon will be revealed of whom bear evil fruits.
Once they are silenced, we become bliss
Concrete DreamsConcrete jungles overtake ancient forests,More Like This
And choke out all signs of the past.
They slither in behind travelers’ feet
Destroying everything in sight.
That’s the evil of city streets:
They take over like a plague,
And they don’t care if they leave survivors;
There’s nothing alive in them to care anyway.
Cities are built on the grave of nature,
But they are built with a noble medium.
They are built with passion, inspiration, innovation.
Their beauty is their creation,
The work of hundreds, thousands, millions,
Trying to make a life worth living,
Trying to make a better future.
A city built on the death of nature
Can still be an inspiration.
They represent the dreams of our forefathers:
They always hoped we would have a better life.
Stone-dead dreams of the past
Make it so easy to forget
That we have a chance to make a better future.
Winter PactBeneath the firmament of a dull white sky,More Like This
Three sons of the Earth trudged forth to a snowy hilltop,
So that the foremost among them may cry-
“Old Man Winter!”
“Old Man winter!”
“Why must ye be so bitter!?”
“My sons are fatigued and my daughters are cold,”
“They suffer from the wrath of your ire,”
“I would ask that your transgressions against us,”
“Cease if I may be so bold!”
A grey cloud formed in the sky,
Shifting itself into an old man’s face,
That was quick to reply-
“My transgressions shall not cease,”
“And you may not be so bold!”
“For I am the lord of ice and master of cold!”
“I order you to retreat back to your homes,”
“Deep inside the protection of your castle stronghold,”
“For you have made me mad!”
Forever having been the brave warrior amongst his brothers,
A second son of the Earth stepped forward,
To stand in fr
The Ice Queen admits DefeatWhen tiny hands waved Winter goodbyeMore Like This
she didn't much care, she waved back,
laughed, and blew her fog and snow
right back in the air.
But Spring is here, we've met him!
The tiny humans said, pointing at fresh flowers
while the mountaintops were sugary white still,
making it difficult to tell what those two
were fighting about this time.
Winter met Spring again and this year
seemed to have pushed him and his warmth
his overwhelmingly colourful smile
away, tried to hide it behind heavy clouds.
What is it, Winter?, the humans wondered,
Why are you holding onto us this year?
The answer were winds that made them quake
down to their skinny, shivering bones.
Then one day, very suddenly
Spring took Winter's hand in his
and kissed the top of her knuckles,
melting her icy touch on Earth.
"Every year", Winter glared, "you undo me."
But Spring just beamed at her, rolled out
a carpet of flowers for her to walk out on
and replied "No more than you unravel me."
Winter made sure to
CatacombsThis is torture, Pandora's box, a forever maze.More Like This
Praise the days your privileged to inhale sun rays.
For in this place,
the shelter of mummified bones,
unrest the moans of those,
In the Catacombs.
Exteriors, ghostly, vivid and crude.
Spirits shackled by mortal dues,
refuse to sleep in darkened tomb.
Awaiting their horizons, suns of mourning.
While tears and rivers, overflow with pouring.
Bound to their restless beds,
For in the Catacombs
Even the dead, haunt the dead
Mossy, overgrown Catacomb with ancient rocks.
The deep ones climb, these withering locks.
Within these halls, blows a breathless tone.
The soul count here, ten times that of Rome.
Home to charletons, abode to harlotons,
they fallow the seeds in this rotten garden.
Where nettles sprout sin, ivy decays skin.
For under this black unearthly dome,
they sow the fields,
In the Catacomb
No ode, nor score, shall be scribed in allure,
for these dreaded scorned folk, of no remorse.
Their gluttonous crus
Selfish Suicide"People who kill themselves are selfish."More Like This
Well, darling, let me tell you a story,
A story all too true.
A daughter who became a wife, a wife who became a mother.
A mother of three girls...
One just above the age of a toddler,
One at the age of twelve,
And one entering the life of a married adult.
Now, the youngest girl was watching television,
And the oldest at the neighbor's home.
The twelve year old daughter sat at a computer with her closest friend,
When something terrifying happened.
Her mother was in the kitchen, coughing.
The daughter, although unable to see her mother, only could imagine the situation.
The mother walked calmly past the daughter with tears rushing down her face,
And up the stairs she went,
Into her bedroom...
Locking the door behind her.
The daughter, hearing the door lock, didn't bother to check on her mother.
She decided to expect and hope for the best.
Five, maybe ten minutes passed, the daughter still sitting at the computer,
When the mother stumbled down the
10 Things I Wish I Could Tell You1.More Like This
Didn’t you ever find it creepy while we dated?
You were 14 and I was 17 at the time.
That’s a pretty large age gap.
Thinking back, it’s pretty fucking weird that I was ever in love with you in the first place.
A few years older, and I would have been a pedophile.
So I’m kind of glad you dumped me for no reason ‘cause
I don’t have the heart to tell people
Oh it’s not what you think!
It’s not a three year difference – it’s a…2 ½ year difference. Not the same…
Don’t you ever find it weird that we kept our relationship so low-key?
None of our closest friends knew we were ever together.
We would talk a hell of a lot about each other with them
But we never once mentioned we were dating.
We only met with each other after school
And I would tell my parents that I was going to meet up with “frien
On Being Loved By a Transgender PersonThe first time you kissed me with your lips naked andMore Like This
stripped clean like your slim shoulders of all their shields
- nervously layered shirts and vowel sounds -
I felt my body turn convex against yours.
We were like two petals lying complacent on the wet blacktop;
no matter how hard I threw myself against the gravel, I couldn’t make our bodies
graze without feeling myself shriveling a little on the outside.
My heart was bemused.
My skin was dismayed by the goose-bumps you conjured
at your touch: slender and trying to appear strong. There was never
any part of you that I would ever be able to describe correctly,
but I still felt you haunting me,
especially when the Portland sky
erupted down on us, weeping like a willow tree.
It always erupts here;
the rain always comes pouring down
and each time I turn the corner between my dorm room
and the stairwell to go down,
I imagine I see your red rain-boots dripping dry
in that same water-marked place where they used to be.
Red was your sa
Who are you?More Like This
I'm the kind of person who gets depressed over nothing.
Who can't hate anyone, but judges everyone.
Who is always lonely, but never wants company.
Who is always sad, but never wants to be happy.
Who just wants a friend, but doesn't want to approach anyone.
Who has dreams and goals, but no will to achieve them.
Who feels hated by all, but is loved by many.
Who wants answers, but only asks more questions.
Who is self-conscious, but urging others to do things.
Who never gets angry, but always angers those nearby.
Who has a fixed mindset, but still yearns for more.
Who knows their faults, and hates every one of them.
Who is always worried, but hates to worry others.
Who always frowns, but wears a smile.
That's who I am.
Who are you?
In this town called...In a town called ,"Melancholy" I'll be waiting kept together by the strength you left me ,watching the ever aging structures around me fade like a smile soon to go from the worlds cruel gaze...do the eyes seize to stare , or do they keep burning my soul as if it isn't worth the price mother paid to bring me into the world. The gasp of people passing by as they see the boy who died along time ago in a town called ,"Melancholy" nobody admits he's grown since the passing of years and the town receded into obscurity, alas nobody is left to say ,"A boy he once was ,but wisdom did seed in his soil ,in a town called,"Melancholy" he did learn life's lessons well ,while keeping his head up in these dreary seasons passing by like a stranger drifting through ,so once did this boy I knew."More Like This
2. Love.Love can make you happy,More Like This
It can also hurt you.
Tear you apart,
Or even kill you.
Love can make you feel like a bubble floating through the air,
Or sad to the point of no return.
Love can fix things,
But love can ruin everything.
Love is wonderful,
Love is sick.
What's the point in love,
If you only loose everyone anyway?
When Fire and Ice CollideThere was a girl who was made of ice. She often felt the chill of her own skin and tongue, but unknowingly kept herself from thawing. Maybe somewhere in her subconscious she was afraid of what would happen after the last drop of water ran from her dead skin. But around her were people made of light. Their rays would pierce their skin and shine, spreading happiness and fueling other people's light sources. They always traveled in packs and were drawn to each other, something the girl of ice wished she could be a part of. But alas, she was a girl of ice and they were made of light. They had come from different worlds. This would worry her and make her sad. How much she longed for their freedom and glee, but she could hardly let herself feel anything different that bitter.More Like This
Suddenly, a boy of fire stole her thoughts away and touched her sub-zero skin. His fire melted away a part of the ice and the warm sensation made her feel alive. She was afraid at first of this foreign feeling... She ne
NastyDamn youMore Like This
You sweet, nasty ghost
That has taken up residency
In the corridors of my veins
And played sonatas to the
Wet thud of my heart
I can never love anything so dirty
But I'm breathing you, thinking you
You open up, so I can crawl inside you, too
I won't beg
No, this isn't a democracy
I whisper things you would choke at
Tongues sliding past teeth, teeth sliding on flesh
I arch past the living
I scream, but no tears
You're a poisonous little joy, aren't you?
In the drink, you're called elixir
In my mouth, you're colorful
Oh, don't even start this
Don't even touch that
I won't beg, no
I'm too old to talk to ghosts
Still too old to not believe
What evil really feels like
And how horribly, wonderfully sweet it is
When I hold you in my hands
17. BloodWhy does life always seem to be so messy?More Like This
It doesn't matter how hard one tries to stay clean.
To all the people who want to stay dressy,
Don't kid yourselves, and stop this incessant preen.
You're gonna get dirty eventually.
Some may call it sheer dumb luck.
A serious of unfortunate events, essentially.
Just don't make a scene when you feel struck.
Like my sisters, with their worry and clash of views.
I wonder if this is what I should be doing.
Waiting, ever waiting for that bit of good news.
Heck, I'd much rather be out there wooing.
It's not like the work I do is so bad, really.
It's just not what I imagine the rest of my life to be.
I wish I could go do something else, freely.
Oh, if only it were that simply and up to me.
It can be quite annoying when people fear you.
Why can't they see I'm doing this for them?
The whole time, it seems the world's askew.
I hardly feel anything - do I have a phlegm?
My family has everything, isn't that enough?
It seems not, as look! they're at it aga
The Demon and the Father"Are you lonely?" Alison watched him. Father Christopher liked to think there was some shock in her expression, a brief flash of vulnerability in her eyes. If it was ever there it disappeared instantly. Carefully, seeming to think about each step, Alison walked to the edge of the circle closest to him.More Like This
And then she walked beyond it.
He could feel her breath, cold and faintly smelling of decay, against his lips. Could taste what it was to be dead, to have the Devil's curse running through a false body. This close her eyes were deep, far from soulless but soulful. He fell into a sea of storm grey.
"A foolish woman is calmorous: she is simple, and knoweth nothing. For she sitteth at the door of her house, on a seat in the high places of the city, to call passengers who go right on their ways; whoso is simple, let him turn in hither and as for him that wanteth understanding, she saith to him, stolen water are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant."
He swayed forward. Felt her
Uphill battle "Daughter," she sighed. Why did she not like the word from his lips? She was no daughter of his, was not born of this damned peace that permeated the air and the calm that flowed with it. There was no part of her that came from this light and whiteness—she was the opposite; she was darkness and pain and black. She was the singed stench of flesh in Hell and the crunch of angel wings caught by the flames.More Like This
Sometimes I have to cling onto short passages like these to keep my sanity. Trying to find where this novel went wrong and I'm thinking I need to delete around 10k just to get back to a point where I was happy with it. *sob*
Still, there are moments like this scene where it makes my heart soar, moments where I catch myself grinning and thinking that finally, finally, I've snapped a glimpse of my characters after four long years of knowing them.
In summary: Writing is hard. But it's worth it.
Now back to deleting scenes.
Damn CatholicsStarted off with twelversMore Like This
Beck's, Guinness, Keith's, Phillips,
No amateur shooter starters
Popped the top peeled 'em to the lips.
Can't stop the brau 'til the brau stops you
So I hit up the man bottles, the IPA
The really hardcore brew
And on that couch I meant to stay.
Didn't quite work for me so I hit the street
Bought some shots then went to the shoppe
First I drained absinthe like a calf at the teat
'Til Green Fairy told me I had to rob.
So I tracked down a hobo
And cracked his head for smirnoff
Fucked him up the ass though I'm no homo
Killed his dog and then I made off.
Pigs spotted me at Jasper and ninth,
Through my mickey but I still had a brick
Broke a window and found me more 'sinthe
And I ran, not ready for those lawmaking pricks.
I'm a moral mess, that I admit
Killed a kid with a pipe
To score some good shit
Then ran off, high as a fuckin' kite.
There isn't a moral to this unholy story
I'm back at my house alive and well
I got away now I'm on my couch watching Maury
I Know You Hate Me Now But...I Know You Hate Me Now But...: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
Who Is This Girl?You're fine.. They said, it will be alright.. They insistMore Like This
I close my eyes, I open my eyes.. It's still the same picture, colorless, breathless..
I look at this poor girl, who is this person? How does she know me? Why she does look familiar? ...Ah yes, it's what was left of me, the last pieces of a lost broken soul, why is she glaring at me? Why is this hate stare filled with fire in her eyes? ..She says nothing... Stares followed by silence, silence followed by memories, the present started to fade black, the past rose from the dark deep, my dead conscience begun to move inside of me, trembling like it's gonna rip apart outta me, I felt a hot drop of liquid rolled down my cheek, I started to shed tears, my knees touched the ground, look at my hands, they're shaking, heart is pounding, I lift up my sleeves, and I see.. What are these? ..They can't be? ...Scars? I am the girl who was scared to hold a thorny rose in her hand, how can I hold this nasty bloody sharp piece of metal above my
Reason 00001- KindnessThank you for the silent miracles. Thank you for the kindness that will cause a stranger to give food to a homeless person and for the man who will give his own organs to save his childhood sweetheart. Thank you for the people on the high street that you avoid because they’re trying to talk to you, when all they want is to cheer you up.More Like This
Thanks for the people who pay it forward and the mother who will give the heart of her dead child so that a little boy can live. Thank you for the people who don’t have to care but still do. Thank you for the Good Samaritans and the Flock.
There’s a tradition in Naples, Italy. If you order a caffè sospeso, you pay for two and receive one, and any homeless people who walk in can have a hot drink for free.
Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.
I'm afraid of losing you.I don’t know if you feel it too, the feeling of wanting to break looseMore Like This
And just screaming “I love you” but I’m scared that we might lose
Because just of our age, or the time, or any person that doesn’t want you to be mine
But I know that if this goes wrong I’d be the one who'd cause the crime
I’m a bit afraid; one false move would make everything go away
And I’m always left wondering if what I’m doing is okay
I just want everything to be alright between you and me
Or is there something that I cannot see?
My head is rambling with questions that fear is inventing
Maybe is not fear, maybe it’s because I’m too caring
Am I paranoid? I don’t want to make a mistake
You said I’m doing things right, then why do I always shake?
Sorry...I'm sorry for how I think.More Like This
I'm sorry for the things I've done, said and thought.
I now some of it's wrong. But some of it is right.
I have the feeling that being with you is something good. Something right.
Even if you leave next year because it will be your final year.
I say make the most it.. Because any day could be the last.
They say you don't know what you got till it's gone.
And I don't think I mean anything, but to others I might.
I want to say sorry for being grounded.
Sadly, because of soemthing I didn't do.
I wish I was with you... I really do.
I know sometimes that you wonder why I would.
But then again, don't I wonder why you think I'm worth dating?
I will try to be able to see you, even if once while holidays is going on.
But I don't think anyone would drive to see me.
And I know that I'm not allowed to leave the house for the next 9 or more weeks.
I'm sorry I'm 2 years behind you.
I'm sorry I'm like me, well the disappointing, sad side.
I'm sorry for everything that I've
Body and Soul 1The girl tumbled naked out of the summer blue sky, like a wingless angel. As she plummeted, her hair, long and every shade of darkness, coiled in the rushing air like a separate, living thing. When she hit the ground, the shockwave sent the dark trees that stood around the edge of the meadow bending backwards.More Like This
After a moment, a silhouette shifted, and she sat up and coughed. Her impact had made a crater, and raised a dust cloud. It settled slowly, gently, onto her fair skin, coating it in a fine layer of brown powder.
When the cloud had cleared a little more, she surveyed the world through eyes the prismatic white of diamonds. There were no thoughts in them; there was barely even a consciousness to realise that it was alive. A slim finger unfurled, and brushed carefully against the long fuzzy stem of a poppy.
The air pulsed gently against her ears, and her head snapped round to the source of the rustling. A minute later, the dry stalks of the tall, green-gold grass were parted, and two
Fisheye Placebo Cosplay DerpsI had the honor of derping with these hilarious Fisheye Placebo cosplayers at Sakura-con!More Like This
Good times. Good times.
See you guys again at Fanime! ♥
Frey, Alex, and Vance cosplayed by Shotalicious, Sugarlat, Liarino. I'm cameoing as rabbit ear fingers.
And then I drew them XD
Jen and Cocoa by Haruu-chan and LeekFish
ART MAJORS FTW
Robin and Toby copsplayed by usagi2ranpha and Little-islander
Alex has a plastic gun. Toby is going ARAFDHAJGJ. Robin is confused. Noting makes sense and all is right with the world.
The level of maturity is overwhelming.
They wanted to cosplay outerwear and underwear so they even made Vance and Frey's panties. Not only that, they also made extra ones for me to wear XD
Last but not least, amazing cosplay and photography by KashinoRei and Andy-K. They are in Germany so I wasn't able to meet them at Sakura-con, but hopefully I'll be able to visit a European con in the future
New face of Dea ViventeI haven’t written anything here for a long time, but I continue working hard, and now I’ve made it a rule to take more ‘work-in-progress’ photos that I try to publish at least once a week or two. You can follow my updates using the line of thumbnails at the main page of Dea Vivente site, or at the galleries at Flickr and Facebook.More Like This
Half a year of my works has resulted in this portion of “dollmaker’s soup” – this is how I called this bowl while unloading the kiln after high firing.
In the photo you can see that there are more parts than for one doll, and I have quite much news, but I won’t reveal all the secrets at once – all in good time.
Right now I’m working on a girl that I’ll call Gemma.
In the photo one can note three new elements: new tone
Everything You've Learned About Writing is a LieLiterature Basics WeekMore Like This
Okay, so maybe not everything. But there's a lot of stuff that I remember learning in middle and high school that turned out to not actually work for me -- or for pretty much anybody -- as a writer. I'm hoping that if I can lay these lies out for you, we cans turn it around and unlearn some of these bad habits. Because, man, nothing says "noob" like practicing some of these frequently-taught faux pas.
Lie #1: Be super duper descriptive!
Wait, wait, I know what you're thinking. Descriptive language is good, right? You want your reader to know what you're talking about, and to be able to see, smell it, hear it, touch it, taste it the way you do in your head. The problem is that, when it comes to description, a little bit goes a long wa
Happy Birthday DeviantART! Welcome to WonderlandMore Like This
I find myself delighted to lay my rather large eyes on you. A purrfectly delicious mystery awaits you. Won't you come this way?
I've been a bad kitty-- a very naughty, naughty feline, indeed. You see, today is Alice's Unbirthday, and all the inhabitants of Wonderland had planned to join her and the Mad Hatter for tea and cake. But, the Mad Hatter, being quite a bit off his rocker, is requiring that everyone wear a hat to the party. Anyone without a hat cannot attend.
Whoops! Mysteriously, *smile* all the hats in Wonderland have gone missing. What a shame, what a shame. Whatever shall we do?
I know what we shall do. You and I, stranger, we shall go to the party together. I hear the cake is delicious this year, and there will be plenty for us.
Except, wait! HA! You cannot!!! You have no hat, either! I suppose you'll have to stay here, too, then. Very well. Goodbye.
Coming OutIt's true, I am Chinese and I was born this way.More Like This
At a young age I began to notice this difference. I was attracted to neither boys nor girls. In middle school, I liked math, and in college, I did my homework all night long.
Being Chinese is not a choice, it is genetic. There are risks to being Chinese because society cannot accept the union between a human and a textbook. I have Chinese friends who didn't need sex because they could foreplay instruments and get screwed by O Chem instead. Now, they don't have a social life and are shunned by others.
But fear not, life will get better. I grew up as a Chinese and I am proud of it (just look at my tumblr user name Maid-en-China ). There is the LGBTC (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Chinese) community to help you be comfortable with your Chinese orientation.
1,338,299,512 people came out as Chinese. You are not alone.
April fools!!! ... Oh wait...
Update: Yes, this is obviously a j
A Tribute to Robin WilliamsMore Like This
A Tribute to Robin Williams
Robin Williams Tributeby EmilyStepp
The World According to Garp 1982
Moscow on the Hudson 1984
Why I still draw mangaYou know what's the funny thing about getting older and (apparently) more serious with art? People ask you why you don't 'move on' with it.More Like This
Over the last few years, as my interest in art in general grew and I attended more traditional art workshops, the question that was most asked to me was:
"Why don't you move on from that manga style of yours?"
Implying that manga was a childish thing to draw, and that when I wanted to go anywhere more serious with my art, I would better move on to a more mature and realistic style.
Now, as some as you know I have close to no intention to go professional. It would take the fun out of drawing, in my opinion. But it honestly bothers me people see manga in such a negative light nowadays, especially considering we live in an era in which manga artists like yuumei, sakimichan or GENZOMAN (and many others) have build solid careers on their manga drawing skills,
Tea PaintingArtist's ToolboxMore Like This
It smells lovely and gives beautiful sepia tones and great textures - what's not to love about tea and coffee painting?
Different effects and shades can be acquired by using different kinds of tea. Black tea is the easiest to use, since it's also the easiest to make the darkest essence with it, while white tea and green tea are much harder in this manner. I prefer teabags (only for painting though), but using leafy tea can create interesting textures, if you leave the leaves on paper until the whole layer dries. You can use tea bags as stamps!
Painting with coffee is similar, although the differences in shade aren't that significant. You need to be careful with instant coffee - thick layers can get sticky and shiny even after it's dry. Ground coffee and textures go along very well, if you leave the grounds on paper, ju
I Can Has All Your CharactersMore Like This
I Can Has All Your Characters
This artwork was painted by Mickeyby Ry-Spirit
Was the diecast with our discovery that chocolate and peanut butter “works” – that we need never separate one good thing from another?
Can we forever postpone growing up so long as we forever reserve first position to the Anaheim Mouse in defining our responses to all new entertainm
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one.More Like This
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
Anxieties of a Conflicted IntrovertI.More Like This
[i don’t want to
have to tell you i’m
lately it’s been tough.
And i’m stricken with this feeling that
maybe i’m not good enough.]
you see, somewhere out there
birds are looking for nests and birds
are finding them in the ribcages of souls but i
am tired of picking straw from my heart
and strings and hair that wrap around my fingers i’m—
[well sometimes i’m
but i never wanted to tell you that]
--tired of seeing the ball i wind from
those leftover nests grow and grow—
[and i want more, want more, but
sometimes there’s only so much my heart can hold]
my life is a tree c
Looking With Your HandsEveryone’s been there. As a child, your mom would take you to Wal-Mart, Target, or, if you lived near rich people as a kid, Toys-R-Us. Anywhere with toys. And being a child, you wanted to pick them up, play with them, put them in the buggy in hopes that your mom would buy them. Heck, at that age, you didn’t get the concept of money or buying things with money. You just wanted to play with it. And you wanted Mom to let you take it out of the store. If she said no, some of the braver ones among you would sneak it in the buggy anyway. Maybe mom didn’t notice. Maybe she did and bought it anyway.More Like This
But typically, what would happen? Your mom would catch your greedy hands and say what?
“No! You can look, but you don’t look with your hands!”
That phrase has always held a special kind of irony for me.
I can’t remember specifically when it started. Used to be just a feeling. I would pick up something and just have a feeling that it belonged to someone. Or
Black Widow IIawayMore Like This
Mom's rose garden grew beneath the steps, and I did too. They weren't aligned and it bothered me. I always tried to fight it but she would come down and lay her hand on my bare skin and whisper, "They aren't growing."
And I would be red like the roses and blue like the violets.
She grew beneath the steps too.
notlookingforthepastorthe f u t u r e e e e e e
set down the lighter
put it down.
don't make it brighter.
I set the roses on fire.
she never knew I them on fire.
I set them on fire.
her hands on my bare skin and whisper,
they aren't growing
Life Boats for Paper DollsI still throw salt over my shoulder becauseMore Like This
it makes the devil thirsty.
He drinks from an oaken bucket.
We can live our lives without him.
I know a tree in Pennsylvania.
A girl nobody saw leaned against the moss
every day after class.
She wrote in a journal as ants
crawled between her silent fingers.
The summer I turned eighteen she tried to
hang herself from it
Not the journal.
I suppose our words may often feel like gallows.
You never forget the first time you
taste sour milk.
The feeling of time's betrayal.
Some things still have to be taken on faith,
not expiration dates.
Today, I saw her under a tree in Minnesota.
She still writes about damnation but only with a smile.
There is something beautiful about rotting wood.
Let Sleeping Gods Lie ARCHAEOLOGISTS CLAIM TO HAVE FOUND GODMore Like This
Archaeologists revealed in a press conference that they had unearthed an Entity of Unknown Origin (EUO) early Thursday morning when they broke open a sealed structure. Up until the archaeologists cracked it open, the structure had been untouched for nearly two thousand years. Archaeologists were unable to answer how the EUO managed to survive, or why the structure was sealed in the first place.
“This is a major discovery,” says head archaeologist Noland Grace. “Whether you’re a Christian or not, this is going to be a game changer. We found God. It’s not just some controversial myth anymore. I expect a lot of people will be in a hurry to convert once this story gets out.”
Not everyone is so excited. “That place was sealed for a reason,” said a member of the dig crew. He spoke on condition of anonymity, because he was not authorized to disclose information.
Think"So. You started exhibiting abilities…?"More Like This
"Um… three years ago? Yeah, three years, and it was May I think. Fourteenth or maybe sixteenth, I don't remember exactly – I just remember that it was my last semester. Yeah, three years ago, May."
"Fourteenth or sixteenth?"
"Yeah, one or the other. I remember that because I has these huge goddamn exams, you know, one was on fourteenth and other on sixteenth and it was during one of them I heard it for the first time. Can't remember which one though, just remember being a nervous wreck. I studied of course, I mean, hello, you know? But test's a test."
"Right. It started during an exam then? In a large crowd."
"Well, large enough. I didn't go to a big school – hell you should know, you probably have my files and everything. Don't you? I mean, don't people like you have files on everything, even someone like me? Or should that be especially someone like me…"
"How large was the crowd?"
"I don't know. Twenty f
i had an out-of-body experience.I had an out-of-body experience at the age of thirty-one.More Like This
Every year between the ages of ten and eighteen, I sent a letter to NASA. I told them a little bit about myself, the same general description year after year, and always insisted that despite my medical condition, I would one day love to sail through the stars. My dream was to be out there in the universal abyss, exploring every unknown corner until we knew all that we could.
Art would taunt, “Sick kids don’t go to space” before Mom slapped the back of his shoulder with a spatula.
NASA was as nice as they could be, but the bottom line was that we all knew I couldn’t do it. The spaceship would need to have extra space just for the amount of medication and equipment I’d have to bring along, and that was if I could even survive the zero-gravity environment. Whoever wrote the responses encouraged me to keep dreaming, and boasted about donations the association made to various sickle cell charities.
DisposophobiaDisposophobiaMore Like This
She had always kept everything. Ticket stubs, receipts, the torn-off edges of notebook paper. Any doodles or scribbled ideas, and any note afforded her by a friend were kept and saved. Not everything received the honor, but particular things from specific events did. She wanted to keep track of each and every thing she had ever done. She did so, on a corkboard encircling her room from floor to ceiling; each day had its spot, and one could trace her life along the wall with the zigzagging strings of yarn that connected each day.
She didn't often invite others into her room, for fear they might displace something, either by accident or purpose. A fear of forgetting had encircled her heart, and she did this as her blatant struggle to hold on to everything. Thus, apart from the walls, her room was clean and ordered. Her bookshelf was neatly ordered (alphabetically, of course) and each bauble sat proudly in its place. Her c
genieblue's a nice color on you genie.More Like This
it's my favorite, too.
i heard you haven't been in shape. i mean -
all that hype around eternity,
who needs it really?
lamps aren't cozy, for sure.
lamps distort our reasoning.
grant wishes in a blink of an eye...
that makes for a good laugh, doesn't it?
as of late, i can't
recall if your eyes were blue.
© august 15, 2014
MedusaI lost my virginity on the train tracks to a girl named Arietty. It had been her idea to do it in the shadow of an old factory where a weathered word on the back wall mumbled MEDUSA. One day after three glasses of scotch, my dad told me that in his day a whore that went by Polly Pocket used to operate there. She’d give all the boys handjobs over their pants; she was the real MedusaMore Like This
Arietty was the kind of girl who put on her lip gloss in class but wore sneakers year-round. We swore to each other that we would get married after going away to college—I was going north and she was going west—and live in the big city. I was naive back then, but I’d convinced myself that the orange-haired girl from second period math was the only one.
“I wonder how many trains have gone by this spot,” she whispered beneath me as I fumbled with my zipper. I was wondering how long I could last, but I didn’t tell her that.
The Talking Dead “If you thought it was alright to be a zombie...” Bruce pumped his shotgun for emphasis, “you were dead wrong.”More Like This
“Aaah!” yelled the zombie. “Not the face! Not the face!”
Bruce jumped in surprise, accidentally pulling the trigger, but only after he had also made an ungainly flailing motion with the shotgun. The result was that he not only missed the zombie, but the recoil caught him completely by surprise, prompting further flailing. All in all, it didn’t really fit with the badass action hero persona he had been trying to cultivate since the start of the zombie apocalypse.
“Stop! I’m not a zombie!”
Whether or not this was true, the slightly-rotten figure in front of Bruce was cowering, and since he had already ticked “shoot first” off his mental list, this seemed like a good time
these words could never fill me upyou see me with myMore Like This
napkin at the ready,
fists clenched with fork and knife,
so you bring out the appetizer
and then conveniently
desert the kitchen.
This Little Thing I Have Will Save Us All.The first round of patient zeroes came out of Fiji or Vanuatu or one of those other atolls in the middle of the Pacific, but it wasn’t more than an hour later that flesh was being eaten in Australia, Indonesia and China, and it continued spreading west. People in Montreal didn’t begin to panic at first because all air traffic was halted and the coastlines were fiercely guarded for any ships coming our way. We all thought that the east would be lost forever, but we would continue to thrive.More Like This
Then they washed up in the surf, eating their way through Florida and spreading from there. The zeroes seemed to take better to the Americas than the rest of the world, probably because all of the trees were the perfect cover from the sun. That was their one weakness, after all. The government began to endorse setting up UV lamps everywhere, harping that they only come out at night. We all changed our sleeping habits within a week, keeping watch
bipolar.after they diagnosed my father,More Like This
my mother told me,
if she had known,
she would have never had children.
it scares me to think that,
one day i could hear a small voice saying,
“mommy, i don’t feel right.”
“you don’t look sick,”
they say, noticing that i’m not dragging around
an i.v. stand.
noticing that my sweatshirt is black
and not a white hospital gown
swinging around marbled, knocking knees.
“but i’m still unwell,” i say
in a voice that doesn’t shake
and they just look disappointed,
like i don’t fit.
like i’m the skewed painting
on the fucked-up-person wall.
“but,” they say, “don’t bipolar people
usually kill themselves?”
“but i tried,” i say
with my wrists unmarked
and they just shake their heads
almost as if to say
not hard enough.
“poor girl,” they say, looking right at me,
sitting next to my dad as he laughs too loud.
*I asked God about heavenMore Like This
and he showed me emptiness.
I met the Devil
and he revealed hell to me.
(I think it was our earth)
there was trouble in the forestMost of the highways that carved out the west were still clear of trees and vegetation, though I still felt as if I was being watched as we passed the dense temperate forests. A shadow would occasionally run past, deep within the confines of the canopy, and I had to keep myself from gasping each time.More Like This
“They can’t hurt us,” Stephen reminded me. “It’s too bright for them to come out.”
“Which is odd for this place,” I said. “It rains a lot in the west, and they can come out then if they want.”
“But they don’t,” Hodge said form behind the steering wheel. “The trees are theirs, and the rest is ours. That’s how things are now, ever since the first zeros came around.” There were too many instances of a patient zero when the outbreak began; sometimes ten or twelve appeared in packs in the same city. Zeros has stuck since. “We’ll spend the n