X-MomMy mother wishes she was Wolverine.She would gladly hook up to those tubes,floating in a clear liquid (which mayor may not be water), succumbto her fear of needles, feeling them pressthrough her,replacing bone with adamantium.They need to discover it, first.
Terra, Riku, LandYou have to wonder where the sand goesafter you kick it up, up, upinto the air. Commonlyit settles back at my feetbut there's always a few grainsthat fly offover the ocean until they'reout of sight.They sink to the bottom andbecome sediment orreduced to an appetizerfor a fish.The island I call homeis surrounded by ocean.No land in sight.My own little world.My name means 'land'so I cannot flylike the grains I kick.Live for me, little rock.I'll always know someonewhose name means 'sky'so they can escape this islandto a world, wings spreadinglike a toddler's art on the fridge.'Sky' flies off into the nighton his fourteenth birthday.Each new star a world to explore.We were supposed to go together.'Water' and I sit, watching himbreak the sound barrier, faster, fasterwarp speed. We snuggle onlybecause it's natural. She fidgetsagainst me; waves drowning me.Even she can leave if shewants to. The water flowswherever it wants, after all,swallowing up that lit
Ch2: A Bishounen's SlumberDisclaimer: Kingdom Hearts belongs to Square Enix and Disney.This chapter includes: SoRiku, Zemyx and light femmeslash. You've been warned.Chapter Two: A Bishounen's SlumberOnce upon a time there was a King and a Queen who had a beautiful baby boy. The King wished to have a grand party to commemorate the birth but the Queen didn't."Something bad is going to happen, I just know it," Zexion said, grasping his husband's sleeves desperately. "Please, trust me on this one. I know I don't usually stop you from throwing your parties, although you know I don't like them, but this time I'm speaking up."Demyx sighed and held Zexion's hands in his. "I trust you," he said, "but if a party isn't held then our people will worry. I'm known for my parties.""I know," Zexion understood his partner's reasoning but still felt uneasy."How about this, then," Demyx stroked Zexion's face lovingly, "we'll invite all of the fairies in the kingdom. That way, if anything goes wrong, at least one of them wi
Law 101: Taking BribesForget the misdemeanor from when you were twelve,wiped from your record when you turned eighteen.Forget the petty larceny.Forget the reckless abandonment; it was partly his fault anyways, right?Forget the white collar crimethe pick pocketing.Forget the manslaughter, involuntaryor not.Forget the negligence,forget the robbery and the subsequent resist of arrest.Forget the homicide:double, triple.Forget the contumacy that leaves you all alone,the perjury you hear but can'tobject to. No one will believe you.Not with your record, at least.Forget your record!Expunge it!No more trouble getting a jobor getting a woman.Expunge it!Forget capital punishment:forget the chair,forget lethal injection.Expunge it shouted like Testifythrough the small office.A life costs much morethan a defense attorney.
SeverBabies drifting in their basketsdown the Liao River,their babbling drowned by the water,mothers say goodbye, only wishingto hear their small voices once more.Terra cotta sand swirlsas wicker scrapes the river's bottom,the lack of movement causesdozens of children to cry, endorphinsstill keeping away the cold.Everyone in the village remembers the daybabies washed up on the shore, tangledin ragweed.Monsoons come and go,counting the years: fourteen. Chantsrival the storm in volume,adults and wards alikewilling away the danger.Half the town screams Confess your sinswhile the others pat him on the shoulder,gently whispering Testify to the court.She had encephalitis, his eyes shift fromprosecution to his attorney.I had to give her her medicineThe prosecution stands up Objection!Why did your parents not give your sister her medicine?He's sweating, he knows. His attorneygives him an encouraging glance.Swallow.We were latchkey that day, Your Honor.Mum and Dad were
The Sad GirlThe bell rings, loud,Wednesday morning, soon silencedby the thunder of footsteps.Holding her books tightagainst her chest,hiding her insecurities.The way her feet rush, faster than anyone elseseems to tell the world how close she is to crying.Distorted sunshineglows through the sunroofssymmetrically placedevery seven feetalong the ceiling.She believes the ceiling is mocking her.Yesterday she spent her timethinking what it would be liketo walk on the ceilinginstead of the floor,leaving laundry unfinished,her collection of black being all that's leftto wear on WednesdayIf only the ceiling would be sympathetic.The girl four rows back and to the rightsees her all in black,her hair in a messy ponytailand wishes to talk to her, to comfort herbut doesn't want to embarrass her.It's journal time in English andthe girl four rows back and to the rightexplains how the sad girl seems so lonelyand feels empathetic. "Everyone feels that way sometimes."But 'she' writes o
Back Terrace At Night"Try again, fail again. Fail better." Samuel BeckettThe first timeshe dipped her chubby fingersinto a small container of the slipperymess, splashed across theshiny paper, making a mish-mashof colours. The excited two-year-oldgets her first work framedto forever juxtapose her grandmother's pristine,white bathroom.The second timebright markers are gripped tightin her anxious right hand,ready to learn simple shapes. People area circle, a neck, a body,two stick arms, likewise for legs.Dots for eyes, mouth stretchingfrom ear to non-existent ear,green hair spikes like the bed-headshe has.The third timegraphite trails tentativelyin the secluded corner of her bedroom,multiple anatomy books askew under the lamp,six erasers strategically placedin anticipation of tryingagain and againto get as closeto perfectas her competence allows.The fourth timewatercolours wash canvas,purifying the fabric,