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Green Snake by CrassPip Green Snake :iconcrasspip:CrassPip 1 0
Literature
The Cauldron of Cymru: Scene 1
    The man in black snapped the strap firmly onto his buckle. Safety first. Getting to the roof had been the hard part. The ride down on the scaffolding should be easy. But it's during those easy times when accidents can happen; lose vigilance for one moment, and suddenly all can be lost.
    Not this time. The platform skidded to a halt as the man released the control. One expert glance told him the window was not locked.
    Most people don't realize that over 90% of a museum's collections are not on display. They are housed in drawers and cabinets on the floors above, floors that often have an astounding lack of security. Such was the case this time. While motion sensors and cameras peppered the main floors, only the occasional perfunctory jaunt by the $9 an hour security guard protected the treasures above; that and the inaccessibility of being five floors above ground level.
    The window opened only a few inches, but the man had planned f
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Literature
Cabin Fly
The buzzing fly is less infuriating here in the woods. It's as if I'm invading his territory instead of vice versa. I know it's called a "house" fly, but back home the bugger's presence feels like a huge intrusion. His fly-bys sound like a dentist drill and cause nearly as much pain, and I fill with a murderous rage that only grows as I repeat my ineffectual attempts to squash him dead.
But out in a remote cabin, it's not so annoying. Perhaps that's because his jackhammer-on-helium wings are less pronounced against the backdrop of chirping birds, crickets, and frogs. Maybe I'm just more relaxed being surrounded by nature.
Instead of going on a swatting rampage, I watch the fly. It lands on a Monster can and cleans itself, its tiny little hands flicking from mouth up over bulging eyes. I can see the whiskers on its legs and the etching on its body. The wings shimmer like a sun-infused stained glass window, throwing off a rainbow of iridescent colors, the black veins contrasting like the
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Literature
Dream of Fields
Last night I played baseball. I played baseball in a dream.
It was near the end of batting practice. I stood in shallow center field waiting for a ball, but nothing was coming my way. Then a left-handed hitter came up, so I jogged over toward shallow right field. As I ran, the fluidity of my pumping legs, the miracle of movement, amazed me as it had never done before the accident. I knew I'd been crippled, and now I was cured, but my dream self didn't ponder the details.
Suddenly, the lefty hit a choppy grounder past the second baseman. I lacked the lateral motion to get to it, but I flung out my arm anyway. Astonishingly I made the grab. I skipped forward and launched the ball toward home plate. It had been so long, but my body remembered the motion from the thousands, perhaps millions of times I had performed it in the past. The throw was off target, but did it ever fly! Mediocre though it had been, that was the most satisfying play I could remember.
The practice ended, and Mr Ritz,
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Literature
A Most Unusual Death
The situation seemed perfectly normal. I had done it dozens of times before; arrive home from my parents' house, sling the backpack care package onto my back, grab my cane, and limp into the house. Only this time was different.
The backpack was new. I hadn't worn it before. As I hefted it over my shoulders, I realized that the straps were far too small, so small that I couldn't pull it on all the way. No problem, I reversed course and tried to take it off. It wouldn't budge. I couldn't get it on, I couldn't get it off. I stood there like a deformed chicken with my scrawny, ineffectual wings contorted behind my back, unable to move.
Some physicists postulate that every time two possibilities arise, the universe splits, and both things do happen in alternate realities. In this world, I struggled, shook, and danced for a few harrowing minutes. Eventually I managed to free myself, but my mind watched in horrified bemusement as the other universe's tragedy played out.
I'm stuck. No matter h
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Literature
Two Men
The man shuffled along noisily, no longer bothering to suppress the slap of his bare feet against the hardened dirt floor. Free at last. It had been a long captivity, but this tunnel definitely led out.
"Halt!"
The effeminate bark broke the man's revery and his stride. Ahead down the corridor stood a lone soldier, rifle aimed in the man's direction.
The soldier couldn't have been more than eighteen years old. A ginger fuzz lightly coated his chin, and his standard issue uniform hung loosely over his immature frame. He stood on a tiptoed foot, leaning slightly against the wall. The calf of his right leg was exposed in a festering, dirty wound.
The man continued his approach slowly, deliberately. He got within 20 feet before the soldier shouted again. "St-stop, or I'll s-shoot!" echoed off the dirt walls.
"I don't think you really want to do that," coaxed the man soothingly. He took a few tentative steps forward.
"Orders is orders. None can pass!"
"What are you gonna do, bleed on me?" re
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Literature
Finding David
"Knock, knock!" she trilled. "Are you here?" It was unusual that he hadn't responded to her text. Unusual but not unheard of. The key scraped in the lock, and the latch clicked. A gentle gust disrupted the stagnant air as the door swung open.
The stink hit her nostrils before her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness. Then she saw it on the nearby floor. The body seemed so small; little more than a crumpled set of discarded clothes. A step closer, another look, and panic enveloped her. It was indeed her son, lying disheveled in a pool of discharge. He was pale and inanimate. Rationality fled. She threw herself beside him. "David!" she cursed, implored. She clutched the fragile heap of lifeless limbs. "Davey!!" He did not respond.
Then a sliver of thought entered the blankness: 911. Yes, phone. 911. The filament of hope expanded. Get the phone, call 911. Her numb, shaking hand lurched toward her pocket, adding momentum to the optimism. It fought against the sea of despair, the represse
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Fruity Basket by CrassPip Fruity Basket :iconcrasspip:CrassPip 1 0

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