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Fishin' Eron stared down at the holodisplay on his lap and waggled his index finger at it. The image on display shook with his movements. He thrust a finger forward, and the screen advanced.
“Give it up, man. There’s nothing here.”
“The whole point of this sport was patience, Ziek. Sometimes ancient anglers would be out all day and not see anything. But they didn’t give up. That’s why they were successful and you’re struggling to pass Basic Particle Physics.”
“Whatever. You’re just jealous.”
Eron didn’t look up from his careful scans of the water. “Of what, your stupid haircut?”
Ziek gave him a hard shove, nearly knocking him into the protective bubble of their fishing unit. “Jealous that I've got a hot date to the saucer show and you're spending the weekend alone.”
the islandyou’re an island
the leaves blow like her hair
the breeze filled with her voice
she haunts whoever hardly lives in you
her image renders on the moon
casted upon your rocks
you’re left alone
in an ocean
I writeThe dam breaks;
and my hand
as I write
smudged to the
trying to keep pace
surging from within
the encased bundle
of neurons, controlling
The rush overwhelms;
as I create
to the construct
of my evanescence
and its countering
But each time,
I fail to capture
the light cast
So I persist;
and write to
I write to
of who I am.
I write to
the hope of
PitfallsFear of falling in too deep
To possibly climb out
Encircle in a silver wire
Girding off past route
Tripping into subterrain
Sight and light all fade to black
Hellish vision, bent
Clutch at useless floor debris
Calcium, brittle, cracked
Desperate grasps at concertine
Despite the pain it wracked
Caught and tangled up in blades
Teased over the void
Thoughtless care brought to the edge
By thinking to avoid
what dreamers never seeShe who dreams of the dreams,
dreamers could never see. Do you
sail the ocean of stars that you
have decreed to give the night peace?
Do you ponder the immoralities of
your own reality fastened to the blue
surreal songs of a wingless dove?
She who dreams of the dreams
Only desires the peace of a wakened
world that rolls along with the tide
of those whose dreams have takened
them beyond the hopes of mortal lives
she who dreams of the dreams, dreamers
cold never see.
she who is basked in radianceI saw her... she who was basked in the radiance,
that brought a certain elegance to the night
with each lusting swoon of a maiden's dance
my eyes were left dumbfounded in a trance.
As her wings carried the glories of a suns light,
i saw her. She who was basked in the radiance
of the sweet morning dew, fading in an instance
of realization, of being watched as tongue slides right
with each lusting swoon of a maiden's dance
she hid away her body from my sinful glance.
Shameful of her performance, as she took flight
I saw her. she who was basked in the radiance
this devilish creature who was forgiven in spite,
of what I saw...she who was basked in the radiance
with each heavenly swoon of this maidens dance.
Star-made eyesWhen the reflection in the mirror plagues my day,
And every inch of me appears so wrong,
I think of cosmos that had made my DNA,
Of shattered stars growing as my bones.
And if the gleam of these unreachable forefathers,
If why we can`t stop looking at the skies,
Why can`t we see that smiting gleam in others,
Ourselves, with our star-made eyes?
My brainThe evening died -
because the night
Would have me dead,
It is my hell
To be in my own head
And listen to my brain
And stare at its inflamed
and maimed face.
Rebellious to space
Confined, it tries to crash
My bone and smolder it to ash.
Each day I live,
It is what I outlive.
A Girl Like ThatA girl like that -
not meant to walk among these weeds -
a girl like that
would rather trample till they’re flat -
and with her heel she crushes seeds
though they were gifts - and so who needs
a girl like that?
fire starterCan’t even walk with you because I’m blind
So be kind
But you already know that I’m fine and
This doesn’t matter, I’m not here for kindness
Not sure where to look, not sure how to find us
You should know me, I was made in your likeness.
And to be honest I’ve been drinking
Skip the glass, take the bottle, no thinking
Just sinking all the hurt like a cruise ship
Don’t slip, shut your lips
Strap a gun on your hip, stop losing
Don’t refuse to win just because it’s by a thin margin.
I should mention that you told me that you’ve got my back
Cut some slack for me while I try to follow your tracks
And pretend I’m not running from the sound of a click clack
Now there’s not enough time in the world for us to figure this out
So where do we stop do we end or do we just go without speaking
Give me a break from apologizing
I’m over the false advertising
You don’t want to play the hero just the victim
august (and everything after)all of my best mistakes
are well intentioned.
when this summer ends
where we'll be.
I'm still dreaming
of those plans
that you once mentioned,
I'm still wondering
if you ever still
dream of me.
and I know
the human heart
has many chambers,
can hope to fill.
like the chance
to earn a little
if you'll let me.
say you will.
(I'll never ask,
just wait to hear
you say you will.)
Alaska Is Waiting for YouMy mother always loved surprises. That’s why our exchange that overcast Saturday afternoon didn’t seem too unusual at the time.
“Lara,” she said, popping her head into my bedroom, “watch your brother, will you? I’ll be gone for about half an hour, but I’ll have a surprise for you both when I get back.” She grinned. In true preteen fashion I rolled my eyes in response.
“Fine, Mom.” I closed the book I had been reading and stuck it under my arm.
It wasn’t uncommon for my mother to take off like that. Maybe it should have been. I was, after all, only eleven or twelve then—my brother eight or nine. My dad spent all his time at the office, including on weekends, so I was used to being on my own. I liked it. I liked how quiet it got in the house, quiet enough for me to lose myself in the stories I read. I wanted to be lost all the time.
I hopped into the living room, where my brother Max was sprawled on the couch and wat
Quentin Explains the Synthetic EmeraldThis new little box she places on the nightstand, traces the grooves between the smooth glossy lines of indigo and turquoise paint and thinks, you need a purpose, but places nothing inside it that keeps.
First, coins, but it fills too fast. Then, rings, but only the ones she wears every day so that lasts only two nights before she instead places them beside the lamp where she always does.
In the dim bright of an overcast sunrise, she asks, "What do you think?"
Quentin looks up from the pH strip stuck in the soil where he plans to grow hydrangeas. He says, "I don't know. I think things like that just happen eventually. I mean, what about your other boxes?"
"What color do you want?" Margot asks instead.
"Blue," Quentin answers, glancing again at the seed packet, and lets her drift away even as she sinks onto the damp grass beside him, their cold knees touching.
Grandma died alone in her car, that red convertible she always wanted. The top was down, and her arm was full again. Margot
Ignition, Book 1: Tinderbox, Chapter 5Love is In the Air?
It had been a week since Justin fought the vampire that had shown up around campus. Things had continued on as they had before, including Justin’s harsh teaching methods and heavy workloads he’d been assigning. Some of them decided to meet with each other for a study session, but things had gotten a little off subject.
“Ugh, so much homework,” Adelle sighed. “Monsieur Orario wasn’t kidding when he said this class would be tough.”
“I talked with some of the people in other chemistry classes yesterday,” George began. “It sounds like they’re not even getting to stoichiometry for a couple weeks.”
Grumbles and murmurs went around the group as the statement sunk in. The class had finished stoichiometry a week and a half ago.
“Eh, it’s not too bad,” Larry
Ignition Book 1: Tinderbox, Chapter 4Going Bump In the Night
People typically don’t believe stories about things like magic and vampires even if they’re their printed in a newspaper. Some people, however, notice when someone goes around asking about such articles. Reporters, especially those who have written such stories, tend to be the first to notice, much like Claire did. Thinking that this was odd, she decided to discuss it with Nancy in the dorm room they shared.
“Well this makes things a bit interesting,” Nancy said holding her hand to her chin. “Jake said that he managed to beat several guys while making it look like he was a klutz, so he’s a skilled fighter. Eugene insists he’s older than he looks. Chinmoku texted that he managed to stop a car on the road, and I don’t see how that’s humanly possible. I can’t seem to find out anything about his past. And now you tell me he’s s
Ignition, Book 1: Tinderbox, Chapter 3Secrets of the Dark
A week had passed since Caitlyn had been attacked by a vampire. Nancy had managed to put out a brief article about Professor Orario to introduce him to the school. Classes had since started and the class was already starting to feel the weight of their new chemistry professor’s harsh tutelage. After one such class, Luke approached the professor at his desk as the class was leaving.
“Is something bothering you. Professor?”, Luke cautiously asked.
“Right now, only you,” Professor Orario tersely replied.
“Are you sure, because I can…” Luke trailed off as his professor glared back at him. He still hadn’t explained it to anyone, partially because he didn’t understand it himself, and wasn’t sure how to explain that it wasn’t him being crazy. “Er, nevermind. I
1. Introduction (Black Roses)She’s smaller than he expects, somehow.
Logically he knows how big a newborn is – even if he’d not helped deliver a few back in the desert, he still remembers the sudden shock of seeing his own smallest sister for the first time. But, logic or no, the tiny shape nestled in the crook of his elbow still seems somehow mis-sized for the world she’s fallen into: when he holds her, he’s half afraid that even the slightest touch might shatter her fragile form.
It won’t, of course. He knows that, just as much as he knows that here, in the heart of the Duke’s power, is by far and away the safest place in Dusk for two outlanders to raise a child. Just as much as he knows that whatever power brought them here did so for a reason, and that, if that’s the case, it probably knows enough to stay the hells away from their daughter. And just as much as he knows that, despite all that, they’ve brought a child into the world in the middle of a warzone
ChimeraIn nothingness I hear blood cascading down the ravine. I feel safe within silken webs, my bony limbs covered in sand. A tail and twenty claws, spine wound like a snake.
I still exist, against all odds, thriving after the purge, infiltrating the cracks with my famished roots, curled under the metal wire floor. I am a mirage, a mistake, an illusion, waiting in a circle of teeth.
Carve an image of me and call yourself a hunter. Tear off my scales and devour the dark flesh. Soil the yellowed pages of my story with your blood-stained fingers, kill to cleanse yourself.
One night you will follow a trail to the woods and become scattered by the stars. Fires will be lit amid your ribs and circles of gold will be drawn around the remains.
My tendrils reach into the empty space beside your shoulders. I learned the secret to happiness the moment I turned mute. If you steal me away from here I will disappear.
Damned Kids"You wanna see something cool, Peter?"
Marnie's hair was long, shaggy. She peered at me through it. Shy. Brown eyes behind black curtains.
Every time she said that, it was an adventure. Danny'd snicker at me. "Where'd she drag you off to this time, Pete? Catch a chicken and kill it? Pull the wings off butterflies?"
The whole town thought Marnie and her family were strange. Marnie was bullied at school. One time Danny shoved a cup of worms into her locker. Everybody thought that was real funny.
I didn’t. It was stupid. Marnie was just quiet. Her mom drank a lot, didn’t leave the house much. Her dad, well. He wasn't around.
Marnie drummed threadbare sneakers on my porch. One of her knees was scabbed.
"Sure," I said. We grabbed our bikes.
Marnie led me down a dirt road. She stopped, skidded up dust. I did the same. "There," she said, "We're going under the fence." She slipped her thumbs under the barbed wire and scooted under it like a raccoon. She held the wire up for me.
What Alice Said The girl wore black, but if you looked closely, you could still see the blood. She was your roommate at the dorm. That's where you saw her that night. She came in so late, you turned on the light to ask why. She looked pale against her black coat and jeans. More pale than you'd ever seen her; she usually had a dark complexion. Now only her dark eyes remained dark, and they looked huge. Her face was almost gray.
"My god," you said. "What happened? Where have you been?" She didn't answer.
You tried again. "Alice? What happened? Are you okay?"
She slumped on her narrow bed. She looked at you and sighed. "Leona is dead."
"Leona, from down the hall," Alice said. "I found her. She's dead."
"That can't be!" you said. "We did homework together yesterday."
"Maura, she's dead. I have to get rid of these clothes. Will you help me?"
"But how did she die?" you asked,
Prompt Challenge: The forgotten shoreI must relay what happened to me. Much happened to change me into what I am now, you see
I was once just a simple sailor. But now I’ve seen and heard far too much, I know now that the parts of the map marked blank, should stay blank.
It all started when we were sailing into the unexplored archipelagos of the Far East. My heart had swelled with the thought of being an exploring, laying bare the mysteries of the world and filling the blank spaces with knowledge.
The voyage started off well enough, but then a violent storm fell upon us without warning. Our barometers failed to warn us, one second it was smooth sailing, the next we were being lashed with rain and waves. Lightning split the sky and the wind howled like evil spirits.
I did my part as a member of the crew, battening down hatches and securing lines. We reefed sails, the pumps worked tirelessly to keep the tiny vessel afloat. Alas it was all for naught, a shadow fell upon us and I saw a wave like the fist of some great gi
The Bus Trip So it was like this, see. We were all on a big old converted school bus, heading to California, but there was this paradigm at work, you know? I was caught in the middle, or at least it felt that way. I was having an affair with a Native American, an Arapaho, and he was on the bus as well as everyone from the Red Rocks commune. It was to be one of the adventures of a life-time.
But the Arapaho went silent on me, lying on one of the bunks in the back of the bus.
The others, very good old friends, were all noisily in the front, gathered around tables and seats near the driver.
For a while I tried to get the Arapaho to join us, all the commune members.
I said, "Come on, we can talk with everyone!" He said nothing and simply shook his head "no." I hadn't seen him be so obstinate before. It's true that I didn't know him really well, but I liked him a lot. Until this p
6/19 - When the Flower Blooms - Week 4, Day 30
Her middle name is Rose. She's my daughter and only "child." We haven't spoken for years, which is her wish, not mine. I still text now and then, to tell her she's loved and not alone. She never replies. And well, of course she's not alone - she's a married woman and very much an adult. The U.S. state she lives in borders the state where I reside. She used to visit a lot, and I'd see her at her various places, but I've never seen the one she lives in now.
In my opinion, she's quite old enough to appear to have no living parent if she wishes. I moved well away from my parents at a much younger age, though I always wrote them letters, even when they tried to "disown" me. I wanted them to be proud of me. My parents and I reunited in a big way after Rose was born. They loved their grandchild and made it evident in many ways. All was well.
Life happened, the way it always does. Th
Night Visions II The girl drove too fast through the darkest hour of the night. She was fifteen years old, pushing a car almost twice that age to near eighty miles per hour. The motor whined under the pressure of her foot on the accelerator. It was a motor held together with baling wire and a shade-tree mechanic's blessing, her cousin's usual tools.
Adeleine felt free, like the car was her own body speeding forward. She wanted to drive forever. She felt both younger and older, like she was the night itself and all it held. The car was her means to move faster than she'd ever done before.
The girl hurried to get herself and her cousin to meet Uncle at Four Corners on time for breakfast. At least, that was the excuse she'd give her cousin if he ever woke up. She glanced at him, a dark shape asleep on the passenger side, head cushioned by his jacket on the window. She'd let him sleep while she forged ahea