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Cowards and Sheds
I made myself go. I reached down inside of me to a very dark place and used the tar-slick coils of hate that had grown inside of me to shove myself in the backyard's direction, one foot in front of the other, wooden and ghastly. I imagine I might have looked like a cookie-cutter B horror grade zombie to the neighbors that day, who politely pretended to not be looking out sheer gauzy curtains every time I slid a pained glance out of the corners of my eyes. Had I not been grinding my teeth together I might have grinned, but it would have been a rictus sort of death's head grin anyway--no need to give the neighbors anything more to talk about. My family had given them enough these past few years.
Still in mourning black as I shuffled across the yard, long ago abandoning the heels which had gone with the simple cut skirt and blouse I'd chosen at sunset. More than he deserved, too, I thought as my heart skipped several beats, skittered down to my stomach and took a lurchin
Worthy of Kings
"Hey, man! Long time no see!" Nirtastasael gave a horned-headed upnod toward the gliding figure of Zoxstet, who bedecked in golden robe spun from the tear-stained hair of thousands of angels, looked glorious as ever. The flickering touch of several warmly bobbing braziers hung from stalagmite littered ceiling. Zoxstet's faint clicks of taloned feet slowed from their usual gait as the blue-skinned demon tipped his head to the side and then lowered chin regally.
"Nirtastasael," Zoxstet dripped, (or was it oozed?) charm. "How good of you to finally make it up so very far from your usual haunt, hm?" Nirtastasael, a typical hunch-backed, red scaled monstrosity--one of the very young and thus, not yet powerful enough to control or choose his own shape hung his head a bit lower than usual.
"You know how it is, Zox. So many souls, so little time despite the centuries."
Zoxstet unfurled claw tipped dark blue hands which shimmered as if the most delicate, most refined scales were his and
She did not know why she carried such a thing.
Small enough to fit into the silvered, scarred palm a lighter shade of gray than the black of her hands--she twisted it over and over inside the cradle of hand while she pondered things. Why she carried it. Why she kept carrying it, for example. In truth, what need did she have for it? She knew that she was, of course, perfect in every way. That her imperfections only flattered her and made her a unique creature which should be worshiped and complimented. So why, that little voice which is often silent within her, did she bring it no matter where she went?
The female drow opened her fingers so that the dying light of sun caught the edges of the glass and burned slightly into her own eyes. While it had been a decade or more since the light truly blinded, it would always burn. While her eyes adjusted the shadowy outline of her own reflection in the broken mirror blinked almond shaped eyes back at her. Further, Suliss'urn lifted the mirror un
A Sword Cuts Both Ways
Summer's orange-y red sun had long dipped past the streaked horizon, darkening the sky to blue-black. Stars jovially winked to life one by one, twinkling bright silver almost as pearls woven in darkest hair. Melody had snuggled down into her princess pink sheets and waited patiently for the night to bloom. When it did and the house settled in sleeping sounds she threw her sheets from her and pitter-pattered to bedroom window.
Still in her cotton nightgown, appropriately pink with ruff as well as frill, Melody shimmied through the window on knees then swung legs over. Experienced tree-climbers hand grabbed the branch of oak growing stately-wild beside her window. It was a bit more difficult in cotton nightgown with her heart beating fiercely, but she made it eventually to the cool dew-touched grass below.
A picturesque backyard bordering on green forest, the night made the trees look like tall soldiers standing tightly together to protect something. Fists in nightgown to keep the edges
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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