long - 1.3

"This has been our world for countless years now.  You and I, Hero, we do not notice the mortality of those who are... mortal."
"I notice.  I see them die.  I-- wait.  I am mortal."
That smile.  "Well.  That may change."  Don't look, don't look.
"Look."  It was no friendly suggestion.
"Keep... going."
A map slid out from under the table, conveniently into her hand.  The microwave beeped.
"Ah.  After we partake of this innovation I stumbled upon weeks ago."
The package says... Hot Pocket?
"Yes, I believe that is what humans call them."
"And you dragons would eat this?"
"We are wyvern formes, Hero.  And I enjoy this quite a lot.  It says, ground beef.  I quite like a cow."
I laughed.  Why did I do that?
"Thank you."
"You do know though, they are extremely unhealthy."
She gasped.
"Oh, no.  No.  I've been trying to cut down the excess around my chin, here..."
Don't look.
"Yes, don't look."  She blushed.  I looked.


"Sorry."
"No, I don't... do you find it repulsive?"
I stared at her, worrying at the excess fat that clearly wasn't there, pulling at her chin.
"Uh.  No.  I don't."
"You don't like it!"
"No, no, yes, I do!"
She smiled.
Why did I... "Oh.  No."

long - 1.2

The doors swung shut behind me.  This was no time to be caught off-guard.  Sword unsheathed itself.

"Please, put that down."  The wyvern king boldly turned her back to me, gliding towards... a microwave?

The back of her dress was too low-cut.  

"I wore it for you."

Confusion.  I ran my hand through my hair.

"Hold on a minute, I'll just... fry something here."  She placed something in the microwave, turned, smiled.  I blushed.  Hadn't meant to do that.

Okay.  Don't look at her.  "How do... you have microwaves?  That's human technology."

Another smile.  Don't look.  "Look, please.  Well, I call this the heat ray.  It was a gift from one of my generals.  Quite more efficient than using heat spells, mmm?"

"Mmmm.  I see.  And... how many humans did he kill for that?"
She was close.  Too close.  Too... her eyes searched for mine. 

"Right."  No.
"Yes."  She matched my pace as I stepped back.

"No.  Stop.  I can't."

"Can't?"

"You have killed my people.  How can you be you?"  Slender, delicate, sinuous... beautiful.

"Thank you."  She blushed. 

"Oh.  No."

Her lips parted.  "There is reason to this war.  War may destroy some, but it sustains more than it destroys."

"What?"

enka.

      Summer scents waft the air as she reclines against the wicker pillow.  Her hand sweeps down slowly, slowly, dipping into the pool, sending vibrations deep through the crystal black water.  Two silver pins adorn her head, brilliant against the sky and the sun, whose rays and temperaments swirl about across her face, her face: unparalleled.

      Seeing a willow through the water, she casts off her heavy garments, leaving but her raiment, disappearing into the water.  It is dark; but there is much light around her.  Down, spiraling, until she reaches the willow.  She reaches out, faintly brushing the tinged, smooth bark.  The colours meld in a beautiful myriad, red, black, white, gray.  She wonders, why red, today?  Pressing close to the tree, she imagines its sorrow, of why it was named such, named a weeping willow.  There is a chirp.

      Her gaze falls upon a small sparrow.  He is motionless, save his beak.  Blue.  Why is he blue?  Is it not red, black, white, gray?  She smiles.  Something out of place.  Something like her.

"Yo, yo. --"

unthink - 1.0

A pleasant melody wafted through the window as the man sat, striking two sticks together, humming along to the rhythm and the tune.  His crimson cloak rustled as he stood, tossing the sticks aside, and walked slowly toward the door.  The floor creaked.

"One does not go about being an assassin and make the floors creak, boy."  The crimson cloak fluttered softly to the ground after its brooch.  The man's sword gleamed against the boy's dagger.  There was no answer.  The boy's eyes narrowed.  Up.  Left.  He rolled past the man, swiping at his ankles.  Nothing was there.

The floorboards shattered as the boy's body crashed, propelled by one hand between his shoulder blades.  The man bent down, his hand still holding the boy to the ground.  "Neither does one think once his prey is in sight.  Your instincts are right, but unpolished."

"Just kill me."

The sword pierced through.  The boy's eyes widened, his breath pushed out suddenly, but then closed in resignation, a smile on his face.  Waiting for the pain to start.

"Get up, boy.  You've got some guts in you."  The sword had missed his throat, leaving only a small cut.  The boy lay still.

"Get up."

epiphany.

The rhythmic ticking of the murmuring clock

Supplemented my irresolution and apathy

Life was a chugging along

Like an long-forgotten train traversing the prairie

A mere echo to the clamor of the highway.

But as I watched -

The train seemed to grow larger, brighter

As the sun glinted off the charcoal and green finish

Like a stallion rearing on a battlefield

Fast, faster, faster

It soared like a jet-black crow rising from a lonely tower

Reviving strength filled its systematic churning.

It was an epiphany of confidence:

Hope flooded my veins.

this day is mine - 1.1

"'ARRGGHH' I screamed. For as I learned from the whale, dolphins become confused when they hear a scream, since their main form of communication is echolocation.......and violence. Basically when I screamed, the dolphins heard, 'hey Bob, pass the pancakes, I put way too much maple syrup.' (this is a rough translation of course, since the language of Dolphin - or flabber as they call it - and English are very far apart).  Now, in dolphin circles, the the words 'syrup', and 'pass' don't mean much. However, there are a few dolphins named Bob here and there. And they do love a good pancake. But the reason why the dolphins were so confused was that the Bobs normally worked in the financial department of the LVD, and they don't get off from work 'till around 6ish. How can they possibly be having pancakes at this time of the day? With this scream, I dove into the murky depths of the LVD cove. Armed with a trident, sandwich, and a picture of Morgan Freeman, I quickly found myself unable to breathe, so I came back to the surface, grabbed another picture of Morgan Freeman, then dove into the murky depths once again. What terrors lay before me? What trials of endurance must I face? Why in the world do I only have two pictures of Morgan Freeman instead of 10? All these questions and more will be answered next time, on...........eeeeehhhggghh.....!!"

long - 1.1

"Well... You can't just tell me that and expect me to answer you."
I eased Sword gently out of its sheath, but I was still quite a long way away.
She was still long away.  "Wha-" Inches.  Just inches?
"How did you... get here?  How did I...?"  Her hand pressed on mine, seating Sword back in its sheath.
"Questions will have answers.  But for now, come to the palace of the wyvern king."
I'd thought this was the palace.
"It's not, really, just the reception area for visitors, which I unfortunately don't get very often."
"You can read my mind?"
"Also unfortunately.  It's a bad habit I picked up."
The doors fell open, stretching long into the distance.  Or, it was just a step's length.
"This is quite, em... interesting."  Confusing.
"It does seem quite confusing at first, but my wish is that it will grow on you."
"Sorry."
"It's alright.  I've been waiting.  A bit of hesitance, I don't mind.  But, the Hero... You are much braver than I'd imagined.  I saw the fight with my wyvern Guard."
"You couldn't have just called them off, since you were planning... this?"
"Well, you know, it's uh... I don't make rational decisions when I'm in love.  I'm just a wyvern."
In love with someone she'd never met...
"Well, I've dreamed."
"I can't even think."

long - 1.0

[Read:: in a Bristol accent ::Read]

Reclining at the end of the wyvern hall was a long woman.  Everything was wrong.  Long.  My hands tensed; I began walking down the oddly light blue carpet, seemingly unaware of its non-place among the deep red decor of the wyvern's eyes.  The pale colours remained undiminished against my caked, muddied boots.  The hall stretched... stretched.  Long.  How many seconds had it been?  Sweat beaded on my chin, dropped.  Looked down... it was still dropping.  Long.  A long way down.  

I reached the woman.  Everything was long.

"He will say yes to anything you ask of him because he loves like you love: sometimes too eagerly, sometimes too early, but always deeply."
Something was wrong.  This wasn't... exactly what I had come for...?  Why was the king a woman anyway.
"I'm sorry?  Are you not the wyvern king?"
"I am the wyvern king.  Welcome.  I am the wyvern king.  And you are finally here.  My Hero."
"Excuse me?  I came to... to defeat you!"
"I am here to be defeated, Hero.  By you."
"I can't.  I do-I don't hit women."  Stuttering.  This is not what Heroes are made of.
"Then marry me."

give up.

Left.  Right.  Her shoulder popped.  Screams.  She powered down the wall, dragging her with her and leaving a cavity in the face of the wall, her breaking body tossed to the side as she touched the ground.

Dark, red drips fell slowly off the edge of the wall, pooling beside her legs.

"Wake.  Wake."

She was standing over her, hand outstretched, the tips of her fingers still tinged red.  The other hand clasped a black towel.  Faint sensation came back.

She opened her eyes, hands cracking as they returned to their former positions.  The blood trickled down her throat.

"Again."

She stood.

this day is mine - 1.0

"But David, how are you so sure you own this day? Can it be you found the tear?"

"Why yes, oh nameless one to whom I give my love. You see, in this world, there are people who would take much enjoyment in testing the efficiency of different various objects. I call these people the scum of the Earth. I shall beat up one of them in real time for you now.  Oh, he ran away. That's sad for my body. Let me explain the tear. When a dolphin cries, his intelligence gets leaked out into each individual tear. Now as you know, the dolphin contains within itself the souls of the damned. Every day they plot to kill us all with their minds, but they cannot do so without opposable thumbs. This is a problem for them. One day, as I was taking my daily stroll along the beaches of Maui, I came across a beached whale. He told me the secret coven of the League of villanous dolphins. LVD for short. I set out on my journey..."

imagine.

Pulling up her knees onto the seat, she peered out through the clear bus stop walls. In between posters of advertisements and graffiti, she could see the busy road and behind it –

Closing her eyes, she envisioned the possibilities. Maybe a theater, a train station, or a London apartment building….

Her thoughts were interrupted abruptly by an elderly gentleman stopping in front of the bench, apparently for a rest. “Uh, hello… do you mind if I sit here?”

Shaking her head with an absent-minded “Not at all,” she stood up and looked around, only to see across the street the buildings that had always been there – an ophthalmologist’s office and now vacant hair salon. Her inspiration for the moment was lost, but someday soon she’d explore the unknown.

filler.

"Goh is dead.  Goh... Goh is gone."

      The whitened hair stood out stark against the black wall.  His pupils dilated.  A thin dribble of saliva, running down his chin.  This was insanity.  This was -- hhh.  The picture -- The picture.  Mr. Goh.  This was insanity.

      "Mr. Goh?"  The hand clenched.

"Goh is dead.  Goh... Goh is gone."  The sign of the cross.  I was unwelcome here.  Here was the man of the Eight Faces.  Trapped in a theatre of his mind after the war, trapped in this theatre.  I offered my hand.

      "What's your name?"

closure.

A flutter of hair out the fourth story window | I have to see her again.  No matter what happens, I'll keep on moving.  Until this life runs out of me, I'll keep on walking.  I could never say that out loud.

Adam put down his pen and sighed.  There --

      She was there.  In the fourth story window.

The pen fell, a blazing epithet of untold greatness in its own world.  The last Footstep echoed in the corridor as he ran.

      She was there.

discipline.

Ink.
            work harder
     
      The rush of thoughts was unpleasant.  A rush of blood.

Kill all the lawyers.  She's coming up the stair- | Give her the key. | How many hours has it been?

A fade of blood.  

King sat on the framework, waiting for Female Knight to wade her way through the pressing throng.  Four fingers tapped nervously against the rough craftsmanship.  | wine | The glass rattled as the fist knocked on the wood impatiently.  

      "I'm home, King."

invisible.

Sometimes you feel like there's a red string pulling you towards an event you can't avoid.  An event that will shape your death.  The people who run along the train platform to wave goodbye to their best friends.  The people who walk use the stairs and not the elevator.  That red string always feels like it's there -- but you never know what other strings might be pulling at your heart: threatening to dismember you into a grotesque mannequin of your own self.  Self-image.

      Wind chill.  This trench coat is quite handy.

            Morgan shuddered and stalked down 61st, violently aggravating the peaceful snow fallen onto the sidewalk.