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Literature
Hidden Away
I sit on our porch, leaving your spot next to me alone.
The night is chilly, and the beautiful sky is clear.
Do you remember how we used to stargaze on nights like these?
Oh how we used to cuddle next to each other and just watch the sky for endless hours.
Life was so much fun back then, wasn't it love?
Sadly, life tried to make different plans for us.
They tried to take you away from me, but we knew you didn't want to leave.
We knew a time like this would come soon.
If only they had seen what you did a fatal mistake like you said.
It wasn't your fault love, but they refused to accept the truth.
It was either them or me my dearest.
I hope you can forgive me for what I did, but it was the best way for you to go out.
They never found you, and they never questioned me.
I still see you every now and then, the same look you had right before I released you from here.
Don't worry my dear, everything is still hidden away like you wanted.
No one will find out what truly happened, no one will ev
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Literature
Zenfeugo
Claire found herself falling. No, it wasn't falling. It was, hanging? Yes. She was hanging from some sort of vine, at her left foot. It was a horrible feeling. She was disoriented and confused. How had she gotten there? Why was she there? As she looked around, she remembered everything. She had been exploring in the forest with her brother, when some sort of green tentacle come out of the ground! Her brother, he was dead. She watched the tentacle bash him against the ground over and over. And next, it had came for her. She was lucky enough to not meet the same fate. But now she found herself here. Not knowing at all where she was. But she smelt blood, and heard animals crying and dying and it was just too much. She threw up, thinking it was over, and threw up again. She felt a little better. There were Vines and more of those horrid tentacles everywhere, birds, animals, almost anything held in their deadly embrace. Everyone of them was either dead or close too it. They're were being, d
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Literature
Tiny Men
"I'm telling you I saw them! Just look outside my window, they're probably still there!"
"So you did buddy, so you did. Now lets get you back to your room while the nurses get your medication ready."
"Guard what are you doing with that patient?"
"Just taking him back to his room so he can claim down."
"Doctor you have to listen to me! I saw them!I really saw them!"
"Saw who?"
"Tiny men! Tiny men with ants! They were right outside me window! I saw them collecting something!"
"Tiny men with ants? Guard when after you deal with him tell the desk to make a note of this."
"Already did sir. Now come on you let get back to your room and then maybe you can show me these tint men of your."
"Follow me!"
"See, see! I there they are! Still on the window! Still collecting something!"
"No, you see. They are nothing but perfectly normal ants. See how they-Hey that odd I never saw an ant move like some of these before. It is almost like they are..No it can't be!"
"See! I told you! I told you!"
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Literature
Hunger Pains
Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong
Between whose endless jar Justice resides,
Should lose their names, and so should Justice too,
Then everything includes itself in power,
Power into will, will into appetite;
And appetite, a universal wolf,
So doubly seconded with will and power,
Must make perforce a universal prey,
And at last eat up himself.”

-William Shakespeare, Macbeth
    Max Dikley locked the door before he started preparing his dinner. He’d been fortunate enough to have holed himself up in a cook’s quarters with a built-in pantry/meat locker. His heavy winter coat and gloved shielded him from the cold. But even with the gloves, Max’s hands were cramped with cold. He squeezed them into fist to keep the blood flowing.
    His little hideaway was deep in the Bifrost section of the Trench. A large sectional compound near its heart used to store food, or whatever else needed to be kept in cold
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Literature
It All Worked Out Like Clockwork
  It was a busy morning in the city of Paris, France. Russell Gautier, a 28-year-old watchmaker, stared at the events unfolding before him down onto the streets below from his workshop on the second floor. The streets were bustling with people going about their daily routines, either working or shopping for groceries. Tourists were exploring the city, their curiosity becoming sparked due to the city’s history and lore. The aroma of freshly baked pastries, coffee, and flowers traveled into the workshop through the open window. After a few moments, the bell on the cathedral tolled ten times signaling the change of the hour.
  Russell turned his back to the open window and began to work. His workshop has wooden flooring and grayish green wallpaper. It consisted of a mahogany desk with a wooden chair, and wooden bookshelves lining the walls, filled to the brim with cogs, springs, screws, and other parts necessary for clocks and watches, along with tools, and written manuals
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Literature
Sympathy for the Devil
Repent.
Repent.
Repent.
That's all that has been grazing my mind lately. Regretting everything I have ever done, will do, will ever have the chance to do. The Devil was once an Angel. I was once a magnificent stained wooden shadowbox coffee table. Puzzles and porcelain dolls can no longer fill me. Just the regrets and sorrows of my years.
Repent.
Repent.
Repent.
Several years, around 19 spilled cups of coffee, and 4 toddlers have ruined my surface, as well as my inside. Deeper than the shadowbox, deeper than the screws, deep enough that all I can feel is
Repent.
Repent.
Repent.
It's not my fault. It never was my fault, it never will be my fault, but they take it out on me anyway. They're walking by. They kick me. They scream. They slam their hands on my glass top, and leave me with the feeling of impending doom. One day, my glass will crack, and I will be replaced. Glass doesn't crack as easily as one's emotions may. Emotions may crack, leaving them with the feeling of
Repent.
Repent.
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Literature
Goats part 1
Goats
There was an orphanage long ago. I remember it so very clearly. Mother and father left me and Ona all alone because they were afraid of something. The ladies who took care of us told me that they didn’t want us to get hurt, but Ona always said that they were lying.
Ona was a very beautiful girl. Her dark hair and clear skin always made me somewhat jealous. Somehow she always looked pretty, unlike me. My hair looked like a bunch of seaweed was just glued to my head. The skin on my body was so thin, even my short nails could make it bleed.
They say twins have a better connection then any other sibling. Ona and I got along really well, but there was a point in my life she was different.
We were nine years old when it started. She was really happy with all the other kids and yet she would cry at night. I thought it was just because mother left us alone, but sometimes the crying would start getting louder. I go to check on her but she doesn’t tell me anything.
Soon, her er
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