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The Dracona Society Ch1
Three people, a raven haired young woman, a blonde one that appeared to be slightly older, and a blonde teenage girl, all ran to the end of a hallway. To their right was a simple wooden door, to their left and in front of them, a wall. "Where's..." the raven haired one started. "I've hidden him. Give me Astrid, I'll protect her too." The teen said.
"No,no I can't." The raven haired said. "This. Is. Happening. Anne. Give Astrid to Tarine." The older blonde said to Anne. "There they are!" Someone shouted. "Now, Anne!" the older blonde said.
"Take them to their father," "There's not enough time to take them both! One will have to live with never knowing!" The older said. Anne reluctantly handed the child she had been holding close over to Tarine. As soon as Astrid was in her arms, Tarine ran past the soldiers that had been coming her way. Before they could grab her she disappeared through a door and into a hidden passage way.
"Where did she go
A Place called ParadiseMaybe he should blame Annabelle. After all, if she hadn't left and broken his heart, he wouldn't have been to upset to watch the road. Then again, he was the one who proposed at only nineteen years old. They were together for three years, they met when he was eighteen. He's twenty one now, she's gone and he's dead. Wait, dead? Then why is he thinking to himself? You can't think when you're dead right? Or did he actually make it to paradise? No, not possible. You can't feel pain when you're in Heaven right? Heaven was supposed to be pain free. Mathias was aware of pain, of course, and of a steady beeping sound. A hospital, of course. Where else would you go after you've been in a motorcycle accident? It was raining outside, he could hear it all more clearly now. He opened his eyes; the room was small and dark. The lights were turned off except the bedside lamp, light flooded the doorway from the hallway. It was relatively quiet, except for a few people outside the room. Nurses were ta
THINGS MY WIFE SAYS THAT STICK WITH ME.You may be wondering what the socks are for in my artwork. Well, in the movie, my wife tells me that she has packed 'some black socks' for me in my bag as I am about to go hunt the shark. The thing is, I do not like black socks. Do you think she was trying to tell me something? The whole trip on that boat, I couldn't get those black socks out of my head. People were dying and all I could think about were those black socks.
The book.Diana Grey walked down the darkened stairway of the library. All she had to do was go down to the basement and prove her friend wrong about this certain type of book. It was once said that the elders of the town had hidden a book in the basement, keeping it away from prying eyes of the public. Diana believed that this was just a rumor the town’s people thought of. She couldn’t wait to tell her about this book not being there.
Her footsteps echoed off the hallways, making large slapping noises as the bottoms of her shoes hit the stairs. She kept telling herself that she was almost there, just a few more steps then she was there.
Book chapter 2.Mr. Grey's eyes went wide, he turned to look at Diana then back at his wife, his mouth opened as if he had something to say, and then shut. “What do you mean, 'she's pregnant'?”
“We all believe she was raped, but there is no evidence that she had sex, other then, you know, her being pregnant. All the doctors are stumped on this.”
After the conversation with her father, she decided it was time for bed. She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes burned for sleep, she rolled over and looked at her clock, and the numbers flashed 10:03 PM. She sighed and closed her eyes; slowly she started to picture herself on
Plague (Flash Fiction)Plague masks bobbing in a sea of tangible shadow
Delirium courses through me like tides of madness
The scent of burning bodies stings my nostrils
Phasing in and out
A needle sliding into my veins
Fading, fading, fading
InsomniaStrange sounds on sleepless nights
Silver bells, tolling bright
Sing me something sad and slow
Slip into the undertow
Seeing sights that are not there
Seeing sunlight everywhere
Silent sleeper, not a peep
Surely, I just need some sleep
More GhostsGhosts drift up from the cellar floor
Hiding secrets old as dust, old as bones
Their screams, now only whispers
Won't keep me awake for even a single night
Ghosts beckon from the forest
Deep in the trees I find their graves,
Their forgotten stone homes
I can feel them in my teeth, such old souls
And yet they remember everything
Ghosts visit me in my dreams
Far away, in space they come to me
Nobody remembers the dead
A P M T A LAmphetamine Pushes Me Toward A Light
This document, either in your hands or displayed upon the screen of your computer, is perhaps the first of its kind. It is written in a format that I created, and therefore, I cannot simply launch into what I have written without having provided this brief explanation of how this book was written. And so, here is what you need to know before you begin your ambitious attempt to traverse the dark, dense forest that is my mind: The first and most important thing that you need to understand about my writing is that no matter how you categorize it, it that you should NEVER assume that what I have written is fa
You See a Wineglass, I See a BridgeSlender glass expressions,
Like the ghost of particle momentum,
Lost somewhere between space and time.
An echo of a scream from another universe
Hidden far beyond the cosmos, yet very nearly here.
Quantum light can leap between home
And a dimension just beyond our perception
Manifested in crystal glass mathematics.
GhostNot a single fingerprint was left behind.
It was the perfect crime.
They never saw it coming; nor did they see me go.
High Noon's SongA clean syringe.
The traintrack hatchback left from stash spots top shelf.
You know what else? Stay smile sing! See the sun join the fun,
Dawn long gone with high noon's song.
Do you remember me?
Ghosts and memories, the truth you'll never see.
The world is all just god's bad dream.
Sky Iron Mantis KingI am washing away beneath a flood of mechanical insects.
Mantises hewn from meteoric iron race about around me.
Each is a masterpiece of engineering, exactingly shaped by the right hand of the cosmos.
I know each one by name. I sing to them; the words are ancient, foreign, and deep.
I serenade the scuttling masses in a tongue long lost to the mind but native to the soul.
After years of searching, I know I have discovered my heartsong.
The sky-iron marvels dance in precise unison; my song calls them to live within me forever.
I smile as they slip under my skin and into my veins.
I sigh as they transfigure dirty blood into electric str
Nobody DreamsEverything will be okay; I am in the pursuit of happier things. Sometimes it seems black, and endless, and the darkness swallows up everything. But everything is shining; an illusion. None of this is real, but that's okay. Is this a dream? Maybe I am sleepwalking. Maybe I am wakewalking. Real? Try unimportant. Questioning my own existance is only a game; just another paradox to marvel at. Time? the clock says midnight on the dot. I say five in the morning. But by then, its been a week. You are not dying; you are a wave. You build up like a mighty tsunami, gaining strength with experience. It is not time spent; it is life lived. I close my eye