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gift - for CatThe first thing Lance wanted to do as soon as he got home from work was plop down on his bed and have a nice long nap. But Jackqueline wasn't going to let that happen. As soon as he walked through the door of his apartment, she was there in front of him, blue eyes big in her face and hands worrying themselves.
"Uhm . . . Lance . . . "
He blinked at her, unsure of how to respond. "Jackqueline . . . first things first. What are you doing in my apartment? Are you demented?"
"I came to say hello to Rex and drop off some lunch for him. He doesn't usually eat lunch and I wanted him to have a little something. So . . . we ate lunch together and stuff. I talked most of the time and he just sat there. I'm not sure what was going on in his head, but I don't think it was good. I tried to get him to talk to me about it, but he didn't really want to. I suppose that's okay and I should expect it "
"Get to the point." At this rate, he'd never find out what was going on and he had a bad feeling
60 - Rejection: TearsHe hadn't cried since the funeral. No, never mind the funeral, he hadn't cried since the day he'd gotten the phone call telling him his parents had been in a car crash. He'd raced home, been driven to the hospital by his aunt, and then been told both parents had suffered fatal injuries and had no chance of survival.
He'd refused to accept that. He'd begged, pleaded, shouted, and even screamed at the doctors to do something anything. But they couldn't. No one could.
The funeral hadn't made any difference. The impact still hadn't hit him. He felt like all he had to do was make a phone call and his dad would be there on the other end, telling him it had all been some sort of sick joke and everything was going to return to normal.
The day after the funeral he even tried calling his dad's cell phone, fingers trembling over the buttons as he pressed them, heart fluttering in his chest as he lifted the phone to his ear.
His aunt found him frozen like that with his hand pressing the pho
RainWhen all the colors run together
And rainbows trace their fingers
Down my window in drops of
Rainwater, I have to stop and listen.
Listen to the rain making little
Animal footsteps on the roof and
Windows, while the rainbow drops
Chase each other down the glass.
Angels and Shooting Stars - 4"Every life has a choice - to rise above, to fill the void. Every heart has a mission, and we are called to be human."
- "Human" by Jordin Sparks (singer and songwriter)
It was his cellphone ringing that brought Lance out of his thoughts. Three days had passed since the accident, but he hadn't been to visit Rex once due to the fact the boy was in a drug induced coma to ensure minimal brain swelling from his concussion. He'd petitioned one of Rex's nurses to call him if she was able once they brought Rex out of the coma.
Therefore, he answered his phone immediately without even glancing at the screen to see who was calling. It had to be the nurse since people rarely called him.
"Is this Lance Kilkenny?"
"Yes." A knot of worry was forming in his throat, but he forced it down with a swallow.
"We've called the people who looked after Rex at the therapy center, but we were told to call you as well. Rex was slowly brought out of his drug-induced coma, but
b-day gift - for KatiaThe fire crackled and the wood within the hot flames popped loudly, sending sparks toward the starlit sky.
Blade watched them with his head tipped back, a small smile on his face. He looked to be dreaming to himself those blue eyes of his were farther away than the stars. A gentle breeze whispered through the trees and spun the sparks from the fire around and around, sending them into a frenzied dance. The breeze ruffled Blade's pale blonde, almost white, hair and made him close his eyes for a moment before opening them again.
Orethan watched his brother in silence, eyes dark with the intensity of his gaze. He often wondered what drew his brother away like that. What about those sparks entranced him so much that his full attention was on them?
A slight frown crinkled his brow and he reached up to rub it away with his fingers. Sighing softly, he let his eyes wander away from Blade and up to the sparks that seemed to fascinate the boy so much.
After about a minute of wa
Clytie and ApolloShe resides on the river bank,
Never leaving as she waits
For the sunrise, whose rays
She drinks with eyes full of love.
She watches Apollo's chariot
As he traverses the bright blue sky
Toward the western horizon,
Fair skin shining in the sunbeams.
Her heart sinks with the sun.
Eyes watching as the last of the
Light vanishes with the shimmering
Golden head of the sun god.
Apollo never once bends to
Acknowledge small Clytie; but
He is not aware of her passionate
Love for him and his brilliance.
Night after night she waits,
Anxious to see Apollo's chariot
Speeding up over the horizon,
Heading on the same sky-path.
Her love for him never dwindles,
And the gods are inclined to take
Pity on the girl and turn her into
A flower, reflecting Apollo's face.
The sunflower resides on the river bank,
Never leaving as it patiently waits
For the sunrise, whose rays warm its face,
Which its petals soak, trembling with love.
gift - for JennaI found myself chasing stars again last night.
Every time I came upon one I couldn't resist
I traced its outline with my fingertips,
Painting the air afterward with stardust.
It's easier to believe in fairies and magic
Surrounded by the sparkling stars and drifting clouds.
gift - for KatiaAs Lance entered his apartment, he was greeting by an intense silence. Of course, it wasn't usually loud when he got home every night, but he was used to hearing Rex doing something around the place: scrounging around in the kitchen, drawing with his pencils scratching and squeaking across his sketch paper, doing his homework with music playing in the background, or . . . pretty much anything that didn't require such a dead silence.
A frown wrinkled his face as he hung up his jacket and pulled off his shoes. "Rex?"
A knot of worry began to form in the pit of his stomach. Had Rex gone out of the apartment without his knowledge? Not that it would be wrong of him if he had, it just wasn't something he usually did. Taking a breath in hopes it would calm the speeding up of his heart, he let his gaze wander down to where he'd placed his own shoes. Rex's were in their usual spot, so he obviously hadn't gone for a walk or anything.
His frown turned into one of confusion as he headed
gift - for ZepheliaThe soft flakes of snow drifted down to rest on Shym's upturned face and he let out a faint sigh, his breath coming out in a puff of warm air against the cold. The moon set the snow to glittering in a seemingly endless blanket of immaculate white. His eyes flickered shut and he felt snowflakes accumulating on his eyelashes.
A moment later, all his breath was forced from his lungs as something cannoned into his stomach. He instantly knew what that "something" was and his eyes snapped open to focus on Uketim. Thankfully, his stomach had been slightly padded by his winter clothes.
He gasped, desperately trying to get his breath back as he mustered up a feeble glare. It wasn't very effective with him lying on the ground in a deep drift of snow and with his triplet sitting comfortably on his chest, arms folded, mouth curled up in a smirk.
Finally, he began to breathe normally, and he also registered the snow melting down his neck. He sniffed, nose running from the cold. "Uketim, get off."
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
LullabyHush, my baby,
Be still, don't cry.
Lay with me
A little while.
Close your eyes,
Slow your breath.
Hear your heart
Inside your chest?
Your heart is strong,
It guides you well.
Be sure to listen
To what it tells.
I hear him now,
Outside the room.
It won't be long,
He'll find us soon.
Now close your eyes,
Slow your breath,
And rest your head
Upon my chest.
Darkest MoonI celebrate my right to live;
To the dismay of some, perhaps
It should be noted
These words I write, however true
Are only portions of the moon
I’ve decide to shine light upon.
But who am I to preach respect?
Who Am I to preach equality?
An advocate for re-personification
Of the female gender
But exhibits cannibalistic characteristics
Within dark spaces.
I am a shadow
Hidden within an Eggshell, painted pink,
Waiting to hatch.
Is the darkness
The night brought upon us.
You Were Born Missing SomethingYour skin is glazed with crystals of frost
and your heart's valves are close to
freezing shut tight
from being devoid of something
Though I am torrents of hail, whirling storms,
warm tears streaking,and tornadoes of rage
that flow uncontrollably through my veins
and out of my mouth,
every breath near you is warm
because your words are so cold
I am a natural disaster at its finest
with bones twisted in painful angles
and a crooked spine
you were born spineless
Predators of the nightA gust of wind
Blowing through our hair
The dead leaves
Cracking under our feet
The night sky
A blanket over our heads
And the full moon
Blessing us with its silver light
A perfect night for us hunters
To look for our prey
it was a broken sense of beautifulhis smile was like dust caught
in sunlight; more like a dreamy state
of being than reality, like the half-
remembered yesterday that still haunts your
memories because you
didn't want to forget how it
we'd lie on the floor with
slats of light shot across the ceiling, drinking
in the atmosphere
with windows propped open by
books and yellowed pages,
and by the time
we wandered into sleep, we were drunk instead
smell of roses --
he was a broken kind of beautiful, a
beautiful kind of flawed; love-letters, anonymous
and never sent littered
the dusty floorboards beneath his
of what we were before
love found it's way
back around; hours passed in a sunset haze
as my fingers ghosted over words
he'd written half-asleep, ink smudged on his fingers --
they say the music
comes when your heart's about to break, more
like a whimper than a bang; but i've
never heard a song so
sweet, and this sense of lovely has found it's home
inside my bones --
may as well buy another packcollapse, and breathe into the carpet:
sunday mornings are not
for falling apart, but damn
the amphorics, this
is not an atmosphere.
you fell in love like you always
wish you didn't, made all their
smiles replaceable, interchangeable,
fell asleep with shadows and kept
drinking, just letting yourself sleep
with blue pills
and tried not to scream.
(keep this image in your head:
fire and nectarines, a sudden jerk
of realization, inspiration
breaking your neck and leaving you forever
breaking bones is not so different
from breaking hearts - it's all about
the leverage, the angle, the mode
(and at least it wasn't personal;
it can color in your own guilt
for starting lines and never ending
A Turning Point in the Clockwork WarA war of attrition
depends on supply and drawdown,
how much you have and how much you use up.
With personnel, the balance concerns
the influx of recruitment versus
the outflow of casualties, deserters, invalids.
There is only so much loss
that a fighting force can sustain
and still fight.
Pilot Claude Archer was the first
to challenge his invalid discharge.
"I don't need legs to fly," he said,
patting the healed stumps of his thighs.
"My Osprey runs on elbow grease."
The members of the discharge board
paused and looked at each other.
What he said was true.
The Osprey-class fighter jets
relied on hand controls,
and a sharp eye and iron nerve.
Fingers flicked through the stack
of discharge papers -- so many, many pages.
So many soldiers lost, never to fight again.
They could not afford to let slip even one
who might be retained, somehow,
to face the front line once more.
Far less could the war effort spare
one of its best pilots.
So they put Pilot Archer back on the roster,
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