aeran

What many people – including Vel – didn't know was that the first time Luke saw Wolf his world tipped off its axis. Of course, Luke disapproved. His world was not allowed to tip off its axis as it pleased. He disapproved even more as the scruff-monster – he didn't know his name yet – so casually opened his mouth and stated the obvious as Luke caved to Vel's wheedling. But what had really set him over the edge was how his world seemed to righten a little when the scruff-monster introduced himself as Wolf. Luke hoped he was having a bad nightmare or at least hallucinating. There was no way someone who looked like a half-shav

The sweet sludge at the Bottom of my to-go cup Is what I wanted The entire time I sipped. I hate Sugar In The Raw.

I only put up My umbrella when the rain Falls too hard or cold.

A crumpled piece of Paper unfolds to script. I found a treasure.

Living in the shadow Of her mighty brother She holds power That is known by few others He is a bitter child Who has lost all but one Considered dangerous and wild But to his sister he is a gentle dove By chance they meet Lowly servant, powerful master Thus begins a new dancing beat That only two hear and answer At first, enemies But then, slowly, friends Until one night when One dance ends and another begins A simple banquet All must attend But she is not at it He goes and finds her at the bend Standing near the river Her feet unshod She danced for glory Catching stars in her hair Hearing the music she danced to He ca

Loyal servant to the crown Powerful priestess of the gods Her brother protects her as his own She lives happily against all odds He is duty bound The mighty pharoah To escape he'd go to ground His siter would never tell where though They knew one another Lowly servant Powerful master She sang while he was observant She knew his sister The stories she was told He knew her brother The songs were never old What once was two songs Now becomes a duet With their relationship though Society would not let But one night The pharoah could not sleep Without even a light He wandered about on silent feet Within an abandoned temple

A storm's rolling in. Not just some dinky little rain shower, but one that pours rain, bangs thunder, and tosses lightning. One that causes TV screens to roll their orange tape and white letters across the screen declaring, "Thunderstorm warning for yadda yadda counties until blah blah time." One that I dance in bare-headed and barefoot. Rain quenches my thirst and wets my nose as I inhale. Electricity jumps this way, that, charging the fur of my dog as she sits beside me. My left hand roams over her back to find another itch, running through the thick carpet of fur while in my right hand, a book. I roam and devour page after page, the stack

"Sing for me," she said as she lay in the hospital bed. I brush a stray strand of hair out of her grey eyes. "You know I can't sing," I answer, using our old joke. "Sing for me anyway. It makes me smile." I look in the mirror one last time, adjusting my bowtie, making sure that my tuxedo is perfect. I remember when you used to sit on the dressing room's vanity, small feet swinging underneath your gown in a very childish manner. You'd grin and tell me that something was off or wrinkled and I, being the gullible fool I am, attacked that nonexistent issue. She's here but she doesn't tease me like you did. So I sing, and sing to her until she

Swiftly rippling, Flowing, rolling, A sea as far As the eye can see A clean scent Interlaced with sweetness Seeps into my clothes My very soul Bright colors Attack my sight Blinding me To nothing but beauty I shift Only to drown In another sea Above me Instead of vast emptiness Speckled throughout Islands break The monotony Salvation just An arms Reach away In another world I reach But no Matter what I cannot touch So I lose myself Stuck in limbo Between seas Of blue and green

My lips are chapped. I feel them straining to hold together but splitting to provide themselves with some moisture, even blood. I couldn't lick my lips wet, all my saliva was struggling to keep my vocal cords moist as I shouted orders in the brisk air. My mind briefly wandered to the irony of the conflicts of my body and the ones my body was in. Bullets whiz over my head, making me duck. Even plastic death was still a death and I couldn't afford to die, even to get those few seconds to breathe, reload, drink the water on my back. My death would mean the death of my unit, and I like my guys too damn much to let them down. In my job death isn'