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FFM # 10 - She LivedIt’s too bad she won’t live. But then again, who does?
It was hard to kill that question in my mind. After we ran, it lingered like a bad taste from a drink at your favorite bar that usually sold pretty damn good drinks. It’s the middle of the night and I should be sleeping. The flickering light from a huge grid ad spills into the window--some ridiculous commercial with an alien touting about how puny humans will enjoy coke. I’ve seen it a million times from the window and I hate it already. But I watch it anyway, because it’s better than remembering what Gaff said, over and over and over again.
I didn’t want to keep remembering.
I wanted to gather Rachael up right then and there; bruise my mouth against hers desperately to remind myself she’s alive. I’m alive. We’re alive together. I wanted to feel her skin. I wanted to take my fingertips along her hip and tap out words I’d never say: living isn’t pretty, but it&
FFM # 9 - Sleep WatcherHe watched her more than he cared to admit. He watched her when she slept; he didn’t need that much rest given what he was. A few hours spent in meditation and he could regenerate his body then wash the fatigue away. She couldn’t do that, however. She needed at least--so she insisted--eight solid hours of beauty sleep. Which baffled him at times, how anyone could let that much of their lives pass them by.
How anyone could be so...so willingly vulnerable. Openly weak for such a long period of time.
She was weak. She was small and thin with long hair that confused him at best: dark green sprinkled liberally with what seemed like tiny living stars. When she dreamed, they dreamed. When she slept, they dimmed. When she laughed or sang or cried they reflected each of these, dancing slow or fast, twinkling and giggling in between glossy hair that had been his first weakness.
The rest of her became his second.
At times, though he would never tell Haydee--he hated her. Absolutely de
FFM # 8 - Shot down“I can’t right now dad,” he heard the slight hint of annoyance mingling with distraction.
Her father stood in the doorway illuminated by her monitor’s glow. He’d rented the guns from Martin’s Fun Factory in town and the goggles from Amazon.
“Aw, c’mon honey. It’ll be fun. You can shoot me in the face! I’ll go-”
“I can’t. I’ve got a lot of things to do today, o.k? Maybe tomorrow.” She didn’t even look up from her fingers clacking away at the keyboard.
“Jeez, kids today,” he mumbled as he thumped down the hallway. “17 is the new 70!”
FF # 7 - Mother SparrowShe says she talks to birds.
Every since her mother died, Emelia has withdrawn from the world. I watch her carefully every since the incident with the knife one morning--I was still half asleep but she was wide awake. I remember the red of it on my kitchen tile, and her crying. I don’t want to remember it. I want to remember her as she was: my sister’s daughter, brilliant, bright. She’s got my sister’s nose and dark eyes, thick hair. Emelia’s box braids were hopelessly frayed, however. She wouldn’t let me touch her hair since the funeral. I tried, once. It was the only time she snapped out of it enough to scream at me: No! Don’t touch it! Momma braided my hair! Don’t you touch it! Momma did it! You can’t take them from me!
So I left it alone. I left her alone, mostly.
I’m ashamed of that fact, but there’s only so much you can do. It’s been six months and I’ve tried so hard to reach her.
The school keep
Aten in the PalmBeing queen had its moments. The roar of the crowd as she’d ridden on a chariot formed in gold and lapis lazuli had dazzled her mind. Their cries of her name, their reaching hands, their words had been thunder fit for any god, boiling along her veins. Later, when her husband hunched his groaning way off the chariot, drooling and mumbling she did not even seem to care this time. The crowd was still singing in her blood. The danger and the fire still burning. She dared drop a lotus flower, their signal, and run off breathless as a maid away from her Queen’s guard.
He was there waiting. So tall, so dark with eyes as warm as honey. His beautiful face was a adder in disguise, she knew, but she could not help herself. He was everything her King was not. In his mad embrace for wild moments, in between kisses and hungry hands, they spoke of their love, their lust and...their problems.
“And what, he who gladdens my heart, makes you think that he will believe such things?
FF # 5 - Mr. Bitey teaches a Lesson“Master?” A piping question from down below his hip came, the notes in her voice held both curiosity and trepidation. It had only been a few weeks since he had taken her from her home world, her parents, everything she knew and loved. He still remembered the sound of her mother quietly crying. He tried not to dwell upon things he could not change.
“Yes, Nalla?” He reached down to guide her shoulder out of the path of two very busy as well as not paying attention twi’leks, their head tails twitching madly in gossip. Above them, hundreds of lanes of vehicles dotted the sky of Coruscant. Their puttering motors and gleaming metal were as much part of the city as it’s graceful durasteel towers and glittering lights. He caught his Padawan staring agog at them more than once and said nothing. She would grow used to it in time.
He watched her round blue eyes flutter briefly to a couple head to head on a bench facing one of the many gardens that dotted the wa
Red Letter Day - Prologue
So here I am, writing.
I’m writing, I’m writing – just as you told me to.
I’m writing, I’m writing, I’m writing.
Have you ever noticed that when the sun goes down, this flat changes? It does. The walls are white during the day and lingering brown at night. During the day, I’m with you and the light from outside paints the walls that heavenly color. But when that sun goes down, the demons wake and I’m alone again, even though you’re just a room away.
Somehow it seems less threatening tonight, and I think it’s because you’ve given me an assignment to try and fight off the darkness. You gave me a stack of papers and a pen and told me to write everything that comes to mind.
It’s a strange feeling to have complete freedom. These empty pages are mine to do whatever I please – I could even wipe my ass with them – but they’re also terribly intimidating. The blank page has always been a nemesis of man. It&
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