《Bathrooms, Superpowers, and Poetry》 Haikus: Texas Has Them Too With such classics as: Texas Halloween Late night, Halloween Lights off, and still they''re knocking I''ll go grab my gun Texas Christmas This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Snow falls in darkness Reindeers pull a toy-filled sleigh Venison dinner Texas Easter Chocolate provides religious imagery, All ate too much sugar. ''Texas Halloween'' Tanka (Full):
Tankas are a haiku, followed by two 7-sylable lines that contextualize the previous stanza''s image into an identifiable statement.
Late night, Halloween Lights off, and still they''re knocking I''ll go grab my gun No American problem can''t be solved with deadly force. Persona: Trade Dispute Trade Dispute As I scavenge rusted skirmishes, pulling dead wires and lines of men from the bloated hulks of a thousand space-soaked relics, each glimmering in the light of ten thousand nearby stars, Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.I wonder to myself about the cost incurred.
If I had another day and about half as much stress, I think I would have found a way to write this Persona-poem assignment using the voice of Anakin skywalker being denied the rank of master. Because I, am a very serious poet. Short Story: Its About Time William Hendricks, District Attorney for the city of Dallas, rubbed tiredly at his brow, having set down his pen some time halfway through the police officers¡¯ narration of events. ¡°Let me get this straight, Phil¨C you and your partner suspected Arnold Macormand of illegally dumping waste on one of his properties. You could not, however, see this in plain view, owing to the fence that surrounded it. Am I following so far?¡± Phil nodded, and William sucked in a breath to continue. ¡°So, then, rather than putting in a request for a warrant, or even simply waiting for the man to slip up and be caught in the act of transport, you two called officer Rogan and asked him to do a pass-by of the area. Rogan. One of the department¡¯s two federally allotted, superpowered fliers, who just so happens to have been able to see over the property¡¯s fence-line as he flew by in the course of his duties. And who just so happens to have seen said waste, giving you a legally justifiable reason to cite Mr. Macormand for violating city ordinance.¡± Grinning now, Phil nodded again. ¡°That¡¯s correct.¡± William removed his glasses, tapping them on the table before him. ¡°Phil, you¡¯re an idiot.¡± He held up his hand to preclude his friend¡¯s retort. ¡°We¡¯ll get a conviction here, don¡¯t worry about that. Calling in one of the department¡¯s supers in lieu of actual procedure, though? That¡¯s not going to fly in the long term. A judge catches wind, and they¡¯ll be overturning cases left and right.¡± He paused. ¡°And if you piss off that Supe, we¡¯ll all be in hot water.¡± Across from him, Phil made a face. ¡°Aw, lay off it, William. Rogan flies¡ªso what? Superpowers or no, he¡¯s here to do a job the same as the rest of us. No one strayed past the boundaries of the street, and we got this Macormand guy easy as could be. Hells¡ª the Austin precinct does this kind of thing all the time.¡± William frowned but didn¡¯t bother to press the issue. Instead, he shook his head and began to gather his things. ¡°Just keep it in mind, okay? I hear what you¡¯re saying, but Austin¡¯s not the best reference to pull from right now. They¡¯ve got, what, six officers on unpaid leave?¡± "Something like that, sure.¡± Phil chuffed out a breath as he moved to the door. ¡°You gonna¡¯ need a ride today?¡± William waved him off. ¡°Thanks, but the metro¡¯s been doing me fine. I¡¯ll see you around, Phil.¡± He finished packing his briefcase as Phil left, then followed behind a minute later, locking the office behind him. After exiting the courthouse, he trotted down the downtown sidewalk, making good time in spite of the crowds. In just under thirteen minutes, he¡¯d made it to the intersection just before the metro station. It was there, however, that something caught his attention: a supe floating lazily in the sky. He eyed the woman as he waited to cross the road. She wore a costume rather than a uniform¨C a member of a hero team, concealing her identity from the public with a hard-surface mask. She bobbed in place above one of the low-rise buildings, seemingly in the midst of patrolling as she spoke with someone in her ear. It made William uncomfortable, the obvious display. The federal government had a system in place for superhumans ¨C guarantees for schooling and placement in essential jobs. There were places where powers could be used for the public good ¨C effective, controlled environments ¨C and hero work was not a part of that. The teams were private entities. Some, the best of them, were contracted with local bodies. Others tied themselves to large businesses, receiving funds through sponsorship deals and the selling of likeness. Logically, he knew they were a necessary reality; the solution to superpowered criminals¡ª murderers and thieves. Yet still, he disliked them. For what they represented, if not for what they did. William sighed and shook his head, crossing the street before turning to walk down the metro¡¯s stairs. Down below street level, the crowd tapered off, replaced by a short line of individuals waiting to go through the station¡¯s scanners. Another deterrence, though notably less effective. Super scanners were a technology intended to weed out bad actors in the supe population, detecting the use of powers on a person¡¯s body and checking that the individual carried an appropriate ID. It was a good thought. The reality, however, was disappointing. In practical application, the time frame to detect a history of power-usage was measured in minutes, if not less, and the scanners served as little more than a placebo to the public mind. The few people the things did catch were usually children, too young to know when to shut their powers down and having run ahead of their parent¡¯s control. It was, William thought, a frustrating state of affairs for all involved. Stolen novel; please report. Still, the machines were used. William gave a quick nod to the officer operating them as he stepped through, before continuing down another set of stairs. At the bottom was his platform, and William jumped as he realized his train had already arrived. He increased his pace, reaching a set of doors and ducking into the compartment. Once inside, he looked around for a suitable seat. The car was moderately full ¨C a mix of commuters and recently-released teens from the nearby school ¨C and he scooted by them while doing his best to avoid hitting anyone with his briefcase. He¡¯d only just sat down when the station¡¯s alarms began to blare. William¡¯s head snapped around, and he watched, wide-eyed, as people began to stream down the stairs he¡¯d only just left. A crush of bodies, derived from those who¡¯d been waiting in line just above. Panicked and fleeing, some moved further down the platform while others shoved their way into the cars. Behind them, the Scanners¡¯ screaming continued, interrupted by the sound of gunshots, and then an earth-rumbling crash. After a moment, Fel twisted to peer through the window nearest him. Craning his neck upwards, he sucked in a breath. A creature stood at the top of the stairs; a nightmarish construct made flesh. Hunched and skinless, its body interspersed with the white of half-protruded bone, it stood just under six feet in height, with clawed arms that dragged across the ground. Pits replaced where eyes should¡¯ve been¡ªgaping, oozing tears that imitated reality only in thought. Unreal, yet undeniably present; a clear, horrifying result of a super¡¯s power. William watched as it leaped to the station floor below, then darted forwards. In an instant, it''d caught a woman, grabbing hold and tearing as she screamed and tried to turn. Where it touched, the woman¡¯s flesh sloughed away, distorting like putty and collapsing against the concrete below. In seconds, she was unrecognizable¡ªa humanoid mass of organics and synthetic material, twisted and malformed. William blanched, his ears buzzing as the creature turned towards the people on the train. In the background, he could hear the warning for the doors, soon to close. Far, far too slow to stop it. Yet the creature seemed to pause, glancing down at the body, then back up to the people in the cars. A second passed. Then another. At its feet, the slurry of flesh spread further across the floor. Then the warning for the doors sounded again, and the creature moved. A blur, pounding across the concrete of the platform. It reached for the people at the front of William¡¯s car¡ªclawing, grasping, mere meters away-- The car¡¯s pneumatic door buzzed, finally slamming shut. William stared, dazed, as the creature crashed against the metal barrier, its screeches clashing with the screams of those within. On the inside, its crushed, dismembered arm lay twitching against the floor of the car. They¡¯d been saved, all of them, by timing and chance. Yet he could see the arm bubbling, rapidly regrowing flesh as it continued to move ¨C a new creature growing from the severed limb and a wholly temporary reprieve. One man, too close to for comfort, tried kicking the limb towards the opposite wall. It skidded wetly, and William watched as the man dropped, his shoe and foot warped into a mockery of what they¡¯d been. With that, William came to his senses. Pushing people from his path, the middle-aged attorney stood and forced his way into the adjourning car. There were more, now, coming down the stairs from above¡ªtwisted creatures that prowled the platform and clawed at the doors. He felt sick; dazed and woozy. Still, he kept moving, getting further away as blood roared in his ears. One of the Supe teams would come. It¡¯d take some time, but they''d clear the place out. He just needed to get somewhere safe. To hunker down and hide. Terrorist attacks were a known quantity. They¡¯d find the powered individual causing this. He''d be fine. He would. Selfish as it was, he had to believe that. More cars. More people. He brushed them all by. The following car was empty, as was the one after that. No signs of struggle, but the occupants were gone. William barely noticed, continuing forwards and getting further away. Stepping through and into the next one, however, he froze. Bodies littered the interior of the new car. Its loading doors were open¡ª the release lever pulled from the inside. Weeping flesh. Shattered, protruding bones. A nightmarish imitation of a face. Another monster stood in the middle of them all. It twisted to face him, the space where its mouth should''ve been tearing open in a wet, bloody grimace as he tried to back away. He made it a foot before the creature lunged. It grabbed Willaim¡¯s head, and the man felt his face distort. Pain, as his glasses melted into his eyes and his teeth began to merge with bone. He was blinded. Breathless. A thickness as his organs turned to slurry in his chest. He clawed the creature back, even as his hands lost their form. William felt his skull cave, followed by a long, infinite second of nothing. And then his body stopped moving, and the world blipped. In an instant, everything changed. William¡¯s vision snapped back into place, and he collapsed backward with a strangled gasp. There was light again. Air. The chair his body was sitting in rolled and hit the wall. He found himself frozen, his eyes bulging, trapped between terror, confusion, and the need to draw breath. He''d been moved from the train. Shakily, his hand came up to feel at his face, only to fumble against the glasses on his nose. He jerked, then made an effort to calm himself, taking deep, shuddering lungfuls of air as he looked around. He was in his office. In the courthouse, a quarter of an hour from the metro line. His briefcase, which he¡¯d left on the seat of the train, sat on the floor beside him. The lights were on. His laptop was running. William stood and stumbled his way to the door. He¡¯d been moved ¨C saved ¨C but that didn¡¯t make sense. He was whole. His things were with him. The door was unlocked. He fell forwards, into the hallway, and bumped into Phil. The other man steadied him with a laugh. ¡°William¨C hey! I heard you wanted to talk to me about that Macormand case. You got the time? Short Story: Untethered Crack! The sound pierced through the muted clamor of the ritual hall, its initial burst followed by a low, ringing chime. Noah Fel, the instructor on duty, felt something in his neck snap as he twisted around, eyes flickering through the surrounding students in an attempt to locate the source of the noise. He paled as he found it. ¡°Mr. Macormand! Place your orb slowly onto the ground; do not drop it, and do not leave your circle! Everyone else, please stop what you¡¯re doing and exit the hall!¡± He grabbed for his cane and rose, toppling his chair in his rush to stand. There was little reaction from the students at first, light confusion mixing with surprise. Then one of the more observant ones yelped, her arm swinging up towards the north corner of the room. There, Angus Macormand appeared to be frozen in shock. He was a large lad, relative to his age, and was dressed in the brightly colored robes of a mercantile family. In his hands, he held a shining sphere of crystal-- the focal point of the ritual the boy had been attempting to cast. Its polished surface was marred by a growing, sparking crack across its length. ¡°Macormand!¡± Fel called again as the boy remained motionless, shouting to be heard above the now-agitated students and the incessant crackling of the orb. ¡°Angus, focus! What ritual is this? How far has it gotten?¡± The boy flinched, fumbling over his response as Fel arrived at the edge of his circle. ¡°I¡ª I thought it was done! I only looked away for a second, and then¡ª¡± Fel cut him off. ¡°What did you cast?¡± ¡°Growth and permanence! My aunt¡¯s plants keep dying; I just wanted something to help!¡± ¡°Nature, then. When a spattering of time. Good¡ªwe¡¯ll get you out of there yet.¡± Arriving next to Angus¡¯s ritual circle, Fel tapped his cane hard against the floor. In doing so, he pushed a tendril of his mana through the stone, orienting it towards a far older circle deep beneath the room. A warding scheme¡ª used by the school in precisely such occurrences as these. Fel connected to it, allowing the process to jumpstart itself with mana from his reservoir, and watched as a semi-opaque bubble of blue flowed upward from the floor, quarantining the two of them from the rest of the room. ¡°Now, I need you to set the crystal down carefully, Angus. Do you understand?¡± Fel asked. The boy nodded, visibly steeling himself, then squatted slowly. He placed the orb against the ground with only the slightest of clinks, even as the crystal hummed and shifted, its crack growing ever wider. ¡°Good. I''m going to begin siphoning power from your ritual now, and I need you to unlink yourself from it. Start by shutting down your mana feed¡ª I¡¯ll lead you through the rest.¡± Having said as much, Fel probed one of the ritual¡¯s primary flow lines. It was the ending segment, placed just before the dimple that would output Angus¡¯s ritual-altered mana to the degrading crystal. A quick application of will transformed his mana tendril into a needle-like tube, which he unceremoniously jammed into a weak point in the flow. Fel¡¯s makeshift siphon redirected the ritual¡¯s mana towards himself, to be absorbed into his reservoir and expelled later. With the most significant escalation point dealt with, he turned to where Angus was detaching himself from the feeds. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Un-snaking his mana tendrils from the ritual¡¯s lines, the boy was rapidly decreasing the amount of power he¡¯d been pumping into the whole. Skilled, but nervous. A feed sparked as Angus pulled too quickly out of it, and a small burst of mana shot out past the boy¡¯s head. It spiraled for a moment before being sucked into the crystal orb lying on the ground. Almost instantly, the orb split itself near in half as its crack widened. Fel swore. Hurriedly, he spat out a spell-form. The magic flew out from his staff and snagged the two sides of the crystal, crushing them together and sacrificing the orb¡¯s limited durability for a temporary reprieve. Dangerous. Risky. But necessary. So long as Macormand hurried, Fel wouldn¡¯t need to try anything truly drastic. Unfortunately, however, the boy panicked as he heard the fragments of crystal shatter. He ripped his remaining tendrils of mana from the ritual¡¯s feeds in one jagged movement and attempted to dive from the circle. A fool¡¯s move and one every student had been warned against. Fel¡¯s life flashed before his eyes. He shouted, loud enough that his throat crackled. ¡°No! Don¡¯t¡ª¡± His reaction came too late to have mattered. The ritual destabilized. Its input feeds, torn wide by the improper removal of the half-dozen remaining mana tendrils, attempted to suck in the environmental mana of the hall and immediately flooded the ritual¡¯s lines. One feed failure, the lines could¡¯ve handled. Three, even, with a bit of leakage. But six? The chalk-packed engravings exploded from the back-pressure. Fel felt more than saw the resulting wave of power, directed inwards by the warding scheme that protected the students outside. It launched him from his feet and towards the center of the ritual circle, the same as Angus. The crystal, still in the middle of it all, was the third to be hit. Primed by Angus before the boy had begun his casting, the crystal was a container for the completed ritual¡¯s magics. A slow-release carrying case which he would then give to his aunt, to be placed in the woman¡¯s garden. With growth and permanence, it would promote hardiness in her plants for a great many years to come. Said crystal, still yet to be sealed by the proper completion of the ritual, sucked in the oncoming wave of mana and exploded. Shards flickered in and out of visible space as they were launched outwards by the secondary blast. Angus was thoroughly perforated, his body doing little to stop their expansion, and Fel watched as the boy¡¯s body was flung once more to impact the surrounding ward. Where he slumped, moss sprung from the stone and began to cover him. Still more of the shards hit the wards directly, sending ripples of light across their surface. Thankfully, none made it through. The warding scheme¡¯s internalized mana pool could take far larger hits than these and was specifically made to prevent all forms of matter and mana from passing through to the other side. Yet, Fel? He, too, stood inside. No less than six fragments impacted against the man¡¯s own personal shields, shattering against a translucent barrier that stemmed from his cane. Two others made it past. They flickered out of existence, reappearing within the barrier¡¯s scope as the mana within the shards attempted to escape their over-charged bounds. One pierced upwards through the head of his cane, pinning it to him by the meat of his hand. The second thudded into his eye. Fel¡¯s head snapped back as he lost feeling in his right side. He fell, a stumble turning into a graceless collapse. The back of his skull cracked against the stone floor of the ritual hall, and, as the light faded from his remaining eye, a carpet of green grew to claim him. Short Story: Claiming Omniscience Morell Attison groaned as she opened her eyes, rolling to the side to face the room¡¯s bedside table. Her phone buzzed, vibrating on the desk as the clock behind it displayed the time in dim, neon red. 3:34 AM was far too early in the morning. Still, the phone rang again, and Morell grabbed for the device before it could vibrate itself off the desk¡¯s edge. She placed the call on speaker and fell back into the covers. ¡°Hello? Contractor Attison?¡± The phone clicked as it shifted lines, and a man¡¯s voice spoke through the connection. ¡°This is Anthony Cordellas, Assistant-Head of TALOS¡¯s Internal Security Department. My apologies for the late-night call, but we need you to answer some questions for us. It¡¯s urgent.¡± Urgent. Morell frowned at the word, resisting the urge to end the call right then and there. People¡¯s questions were always urgent. Had a hero been mind-controlled, or were they merely refusing to come in? Did Virginia¡¯s second, state-wide blackout stem from man-made causes? Was yet another villain aiming to steal the Hollywood sign? Large matters, small ones ¨C somehow, they all used that word. Urgent. It was why she¡¯d left the Federal Heroes Organization, moving to private consultation. Still, despite the man¡¯s phrasing, Morell found herself coming into focus. The Assistant head? That was new. She¡¯d worked with TALOS for a while now ¨C six months, by next week ¨C and they tended to respect her request for asynchronous contact. That they¡¯d now chosen to call, and through someone in charge no less, spoke to the seriousness of their issue. Morell thought about it a little more, weighing the burden of professional responsibility, before finally groaning and sitting up in the bed. ¡°What¡¯s the question?¡± She asked as she picked up the phone, moving into the kitchen and digging around in one of the cabinet drawers for a pen. Cordellas sighed in audible relief. ¡°Well, there are several, but I¡¯ll start with the largest. One of our sponsored heroes, Flame-Warden? He had his contract released to social media. We¡¯re working to keep things contained, but there''re still documents floating around that include the man¡¯s personal information. Real name, power-details, home address...¡± ¡°You want to know who did it,¡± Morell finished for him as she straightened, setting a pen and coffee bag onto the counter beside her. ¡°Do you have a Claim already written for me, or is this going to be more off the cuff?¡± ¡°A claim? I¡¯m not sure that I¡ª¡± Cordellas paused as someone spoke in the background. There was a short shuffling of papers, followed by muffled conversation before he came back. ¡°My apologies, I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m not following. Your power has been categorized as a form of query-based omniscience, correct?¡± At that, Morell gave a slow blink. His was a clinical, high-level description¡ª the kind that came from a summarization at the bottom of a worker¡¯s file. And he was right, on a technical level at the very least; that was the category her power fell into. It was just a very, very poor description of what that power did. ¡°Not quite.¡± She sighed, resigning herself to giving the run-down as she plugged in her coffee maker. ¡°I write Claims. True or False statements, preferably objective, but my power declares them either way. The more things I¡¯m directly making the Claim about, the more it costs me to use. Conversely, though, a good set of details can decrease the cost of a single-target Claim to practically nothing. Larger is still better than many small ones, and I can do a few dozen moderately vague but well-written Claims in a day.¡± Morell paused, then nodded her head. Having filled the coffee maker as she spoke, she turned it on to brew. ¡°Alright. True or false questions,¡± Cordellas began, his words slow. ¡°We don¡¯t need to know the who of this, then; that sounds outside your scope. How about... whether this was a hack or an internal issue?¡± ¡°Doable, but a bit broad. Your company employs six¡ª no. Seven thousand people?¡± Morel shook her head, not waiting for the man to answer. ¡°Either way, that¡¯s too large of a population. Can you tell me what departments have access to the hero contracts?¡± ¡°Legal, upper-level HR, and about half of the Internal Security team.¡± Cordellas spouted off the names as Morell scrambled to grab a pad of stickies from across the room. ¡°Alright. Got it.¡± She tore the top one off, sticking it to the limestone countertop. ¡°And... what about what actually happened? The website used to upload all this? A time scale would be better, but¡ª¡± ¡°The files were uploaded to DropChute at one thirty-eight this morning, and the posts to social media began ten minutes after that,¡± Cordellas interrupted. ¡°If you think the account IDs will help, I can get you those too.¡± Morell blinked. ¡°No, that works.¡± Pulling a mug down from the cupboard, she scratched out a Claim on the pad. Individual(s) employed by TALOS¡¯s Legal, HR, and/or Internal Security departments released contract information regarding Flame Warden to the public between one and two AM this morning. As she finished writing, Morell directed her power out and onto the page. It emerged in the form of an ephemeral glow, flowing from the palm of her hand to cover the paper¡¯s surface before being sucked into the ink. The flow continued for another second, then cut itself off, leaving the ink to shine white on the page. Morell took a deep breath, then moved to sit down, feeling more than a little drained. The cost had remained quite hefty ¡ª a result of checking a Claim against some few thousand individuals ¡ª but she was gratified to have remained on her feet. She poured herself a cup of the still-brewing coffee before reading the Claim off to Cordellas. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. The man¡¯s frown was audible through the phone. ¡°And? Was it correct?¡± ¡°Still waiting to see.¡± Morell eyed the sticky note, watching as the white light contained by the ink flickered within its lines. Edges crisped, then straightened out again, a cycle of power slowly diminishing as the Claim ran its course. The light took twenty-three seconds to die, leaving behind a paper whose ink had been scoured away and replaced with gold. Not real gold, of course; the replacing substance was a power-created material, not truly useful. But it was what the material represented that was important. The Claim was true, according to Morell¡¯s power. There existed at least one individual within any of the defined TALOS departments who had participated in the leak. Morell communicated as much as she sipped from her mug. ¡°That¡¯s as good as I can give you right now; it costs too much to keep doing broad strokes like this. If you get a narrower list together, though, I should be able to help you isolate the people.¡± She sat back in her seat as the man thanked her, then muffled his end of the mic, passing on what she¡¯d said. ¡°Was there anything else?¡± He took a minute to answer. ¡°Yes, actually. Two things. Much smaller in scope. We¡¯ve been trying to reach some other contractors of ours ¡ª a female hero called Flashstep and one of our workers, Cole Barston ¨C but they haven¡¯t responded. It¡¯s been nearly a week, and their lack of communication has people concerned.¡± Morrel frowned, waggling her pen. ¡°Are they related?¡± ¡°Not that we know of. No. The company hires Flashstep for the occasional courier run, and Barston is a technopath working with the IT department. Both are powered, though, and that they¡¯ve both gone missing is... unusual. We¡¯d prefer not to file a missing-persons report, but that¡¯s the next step. More so given recent events.¡± Morell winced, giving a slow nod. Power-related crimes were on the rise again, and though it was hardly as bad as in the decades prior, the whole of the city¡¯s powered population was on edge. ¡°Well, again, I don¡¯t know about finding them, but I can certainly run a sweep and check that they¡¯re okay.¡± She pulled a new sticky note from the stack, scribbling a quick, basic Claim. Flashstep and Cole Barston, contractors of TALOS, are in Kelton City. She leveraged her power against the ink on the page and watched as the words transitioned to gold, integrating themselves with the paper. ¡°Alright, so they¡¯re in the city,¡± Morell murmured, grabbing another sticky from the pad. ¡°Flashstep and Cole... are in fair health.¡± She leaned back as that one burned, flaring up in a harsh, white flame. It was bright but ultimately non-harmful, giving off no actual heat even as the sticky she¡¯d written turned to ash. False, then. A non-true Claim. Morell frowned, brushing off the countertop. ¡°No, they¡¯re not both healthy. As individuals, then?¡± Again, both papers burned, and Morell began to cycle through the possibilities. ¡°Sick.¡± No. ¡°Injured?¡± Also no. ¡°Physically unwell. Mentally unwell.¡± She pushed some additional juice into the last two sets of claims, adjusting for their technical broadness, only to watch them burn false. Baffled, she ran a check to see if the two were dead. They were not. ¡°Well, hell,¡± Morell began. ¡°None of that¡¯s making sense. They can¡¯t not be in fair health, but neither be in poor health. They¡¯re inversions of each other. At least one should have...¡± She trailed off as Cordellas hummed worriedly from the phone. ¡°Power interference, Miss Attison? The circumstances are unfortunate, but I¡¯ve heard that can be an issue regarding powers like yours.¡± Morell wavered. Interference was a reasonable assumption; it just wasn¡¯t... something was off. Her power was still working, but the results weren¡¯t right. She tried a few more Claims before Cordellas waved her down, citing his earlier fallback of filing for missing-persons, even in light of the two¡¯s remaining presence within the city. He thanked her again, and at long last, Morell put down the phone. Looking around, she let out a sigh, feeling disquieted. The time was too late ¨C too early ¨C to go back to bed. She¡¯d already drained one coffee mug and was halfway through another. She was stuck, awake and with nothing to do. Morell left the table and came back with a box of crackers, chewing through them as she rolled the phone call over in her mind. Anxious. Of all that they¡¯d gone over, one line of thought continued to nag at her. A silly thought, it was the kind that told you to check the ceiling or behind the shower curtain when you used the bathroom. A small, uncomfortable niggling in the back of her head that said ¡®what if.¡¯ Two missing, and a leak regarding one of the company¡¯s heroes. How many powered individuals did TALOS contract with? A dozen? A dozen and a half? There couldn¡¯t be many. The thought stuck with her, beginning to roll as Morell crunched down on another cracker. What were the chances that both Flashstep and Barston had dropped off the radar in just one week¡¯s time? She¡¯d only just checked for a security breach. That, mixed with all that was going on around Kelton, gave rise to a set of suspicions she just couldn¡¯t shake. Morell¡¯s reluctance to continue draining her power warred with her suspicion, and after a few seconds eying it, she reached for her pen. My own contract with TALOS has leaked to one or more external parties. The ink sputtered for a moment, and Morell leaned backward in her chair, already letting out an annoyed chuckle as she waited for the paper to burst into flames. She¡¯d let the moment get away from her. And yet, as the seconds dragged on and her chuckling died off, the paper continued to glow. She shifted, a little less comfortable, waiting for the light to end. And end it did. In a rush, the glow sucked away, leaving the sticky unscathed¡ª the ink, golden on the page. Morell froze. There was a brief silence as the information registered, and then she jerked to her feet. The box of crackers fell to the side as her arm hit it and she flew into her bedroom. Pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a tread-worn pair of tennis shoes. Morell pulled open her bedroom¡¯s closet door and shouldered a mid-sized gym bag that hung from the rack across from her. A few changes of clothes were already inside, as were copies of her IDs. All hopefully unnecessary but packed nonetheless. She was moving quickly. Too quickly not to have missed something. And yet, after giving the room a quick look-over and stuffing away anything she felt she couldn¡¯t live without, Morell dialed a number on her phone and headed for the door. Her voice was strained as the person on the other end picked up her call. ¡°Sallas-- hi. I know it¡¯s early. Listen, I was wondering if I could crash at your place for a bit. My contract got leaked; I''m leaving the apartment now.¡± Short Story: Portal to the Bathroom Blam. Blam. Blam. Nell woke to the sound of a fist beating against her bathroom¡¯s rightmost door. She blinked blearily in the fluorescent light of the room before lifting her head from the back of the tub and letting out a groan. ¡°What? What do you want?¡± The knocking paused for a moment, then redoubled in intensity, the person on the other side giving no audible response. Bringing a hand to her face, Nell dragged it down with a long, suffering sigh. Peace and quiet ¡ª two words that were altogether too rare in execution over the last couple of days. There were just too many people getting themselves into trouble, all one after the other. Or perhaps there were just more being sent to her. Grabbing hold of the lip of the tub, Nell heaved herself onto its side. Then, carefully, she stepped out onto the tile floor, ignoring the continued hammering of her door. She¡¯d slipped before, trying to stand more quickly than her body could adjust. Nell shook her head at the memory, pulling down at her shirt before giving herself a cursory check in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, her shirt remained askew, and the dark circles under her eyes had only grown worse. She snorted, then went to open the door; she was decent, and she doubted anyone on the other side would care. Releasing the lock, Nell twisted open the door and blasted herself with a face full of light. She winced, raising a hand in muted exasperation. A massive, orangish-red sun faced her, crested just over the distant horizon. Early-morning. They always seemed to need help right as the sun began to rise. Still blinking the spots from her eyes, Nell scowled around at the immediate space beyond the door¡¯s frame. Two strangers stood before her. The first was young and clad in leathered armor, while the second was old, covered almost entirely by a robe. They gaped at her, then at the brightly lit room behind her frame. Nell took the opportunity to look past them in turn. The wind that blew in from the open door was chill, and beyond the two individuals lay swaths of sand. Hills of it, actually. Nell could see a couple of different plants ¨C short, scraggly things, with shoots more brown than green -- and a half-dozen rocks in the region beyond, but for the most part, everything beyond the door was sand. ¡°A desert. Yeah, that would figure. Never been a fan of those.¡± Flicking her eyes back down to the two people in front of her, Nell waved a hand. ¡°Anywho ¡ª hey! What do you need? Food, water, or ¡ª¡± She cut off as the one in armor tried to dart past her and into the bathroom, only to be stopped cold at the doorway. There was a flash of blue, and Nell cringed as the man¡¯s armor-clad body was flung back against the sand. She never remembered to warn them first. ¡°Fuck, you okay? The door thing got me too, the first time.¡± Her foot tapped against the ground in tired embarrassment. In all fairness, they were unlikely to have understood a warning either way, but the point remained; being slapped back by the doorway was an unpleasant experience. Sputtering out a series of words Nel didn¡¯t understand, the armored man pushed himself back onto his feet. He scrambled forwards, then skid to a stop in front of the door again, causing a small wave of sand to overflow onto the bathroom¡¯s tile floor. Nell made another face at the mess. ¡°Nope. Still don¡¯t know the language.¡± She shrugged, then went through the motions, pretending to have missed the small flash of flames that¡¯d briefly appeared in the robed figure¡¯s palm. Holding up a hand, Nel gestured for both the armored man and the robed woman to wait. Then, making sure she had their full attention, she pointed towards the flask at the man¡¯s waist and mimed drinking. His face went red, and he started yelling again. Somewhat annoyed now, Nell ran a hand through her hair and let out a frustrated sigh. The hotheaded ones were always the most troublesome, but she was glad, at least, that he hadn¡¯t tried unsheathing his sword. Ignoring him for the time being, she pivoted to the older woman and repeated the same set of actions. To her credit, the woman in the robes seemed to make an effort to understand. After a moment, however, she appeared to make the same mistake her companion had. Frowning from beneath the slight shadows of her hood, she unwrapped a water flask¡¯s strap from around her neck and uncorked the bottle. She shrugged helplessly, then tilted it so that the mouth faced the sand. Empty. No water to share. No water to pay with. Nell slumped in relief. ¡°Oh, thank gods.¡± She¡¯d expected it, given the desert behind them, but water issues were always of the easier ones to address. Sometimes it¡¯d be food or specific tools, and her house really wasn¡¯t stocked for that right now. Flipping around, she continued to ignore the armored man¡¯s still-ongoing yelling and reached across to the bathroom sink. She gestured from the flask in the robed woman¡¯s hand back to the tap with deliberate pointedness. Then she turned on the water. There was a brief pause, then finally silence, as the armored man¡¯s mouth closed with a decided click. Nell watched as he straightened, flushed, and stepped away from the door¡¯s frame, seeming to realize what she¡¯d actually been attempting to communicate. Nell did her best to muffle her snort. Things proceeded more quickly from there. With minimum poking and prodding from his older companion, the armored man was convinced to pass his water flask through the door with hers. They nudged the flasks over with their boots, and Nell picked them on the other side, observing the two as she did so. Turning away with both in hand, Nell walked back to the bathroom sink. She twisted the tap, placed the canteen beneath the spout, and crossed her arms to wait. It¡¯d take a minute to fill¡ª drawbacks of the house¡¯s low water pressure. From the corner of her eye, Nell could see the robed woman shuffling around the frame of the door to peer into the bathroom. There wasn¡¯t much to see given its size, but she seemed fairly enthralled by what was there, with the fluorescent lighting and full-length mirror holding the brunt of her attention. Shrugging to herself, Nell tried to avoid blocking the woman¡¯s sight while the two¡¯s flasks filled. Others had had much the same reaction. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. For her own interests, however, Nell took the time to observe the two travelers. It was an activity she¡¯d grown to enjoy. While the man in the armor was an evident variation of a soldier or knight, the older woman was something of a mystery. Or, if not a mystery, she was at least a bit of a challenge. Cocking her head to the side, Nell squinted at the other woman¡¯s robe. Were she to hazard a guess, she¡¯d assume the woman to be a mage rather than a priestess. Her sleeves¡¯ ends were burnt, and while that wasn¡¯t a sure thing, it was usually a pretty reliable tell. The mages had a thing about fire. Still, other possibilities included the woman being a shaman or a weaver, but Nell figured those options to be less likely by more than a few degrees. Shamans didn¡¯t usually have issues in conjuring up a bit of water, and compared to the few weavers she¡¯d had the chance to help or see, the woman here was more... contained. More put together and sane, one might say. Nell nodded sagely to herself as the first flask began to overflow. Switching it for the second one, she corked the top and brought it back to the door, holding it carefully to ensure that the leather strap dangled past the door frame without actually moving past it herself. The barrier didn¡¯t tend to react as strongly when she brushed against it, but it still hurt like hell. Taking hold of the canteen¡¯s strap, the robed woman clapped her hands together and smiled, spitting out a stream of words Nell didn¡¯t understand. Nell returned her smile and threw a quick thumbs-up. As much as she could assume their thanks, the language barrier still made things somewhat awkward. Frankly speaking, Nell wasn¡¯t sure if the different people she¡¯d helped spoke the same language. Or even if any two languages had been shared. She¡¯d been spoken to often and in similar ways, but the words never quite lined up, with their meaning warped before she could make sense of them. Still, it hardly mattered. Verbal communication would make Nell¡¯s work easier, but it was rarely an issue for things as simple as this. More than anything else, the real lifeblood of her activities with these people was pantomime, gestures, and¡ª Nell blinked, spinning around. And her journal, which she¡¯d put¡­ there! Keeping an eye on the second water flask, still only a third full in the sink, Nell picked her journal off the floor and flipped to an ear-marked page. After procuring a pen from one of her pockets, she scribbled down the main points of the encounter so far. Early Morning. Desert Hills. Two travelers in need of water. Knight and Mage(?) ¨C unclear but likely. Conflict encountered: ¡­ Nell paused at that, tapping the pen in thought before shooting a quick glance at the armored individual still standing in front of her door. Conflict encountered: None. It hadn¡¯t been anything serious: an accident and some blustering from the man. Difficulty of request: Trivial. Resupply necessary: None. Familiar territory? No. There. Nell put down the pen and shut the book. They weren¡¯t intended to be much, just short notes to help her remember¡ªbrief descriptions of who she¡¯d helped, for whatever reason she was able to do so. Though it had to be said, not many were as easy and straightforward as this. Nell grinned toothily, then shook her head back into focus. The second flask was overflowing in her sink. Plucking the bag of treated leather out and turning off the tap, she corked the container before passing it to the man on the other side. He was careful, this time, not to pass by the boundary of the door. And with that, Nell¡¯s job was done. She smiled brightly as the robed woman offered her a coin through the doorframe, then proceeded to wince as the two bowed in thanks. Nell bobbed her head by way of reply. Of all the customs these people had, bowing was still not something she was particularly used to. Finally, though, Nell watched the two as they walked away. They were heading... North, judging by the sun. Not that that meant much to her. For all that she was used to the situation, she was pretty sure the door had never landed here before. She¡¯d acted as a signal at the top of mountains, passed people candles deep underground, handed out food aboard numerous different ships, and appeared in quite a few other deserts. This one specifically, though? No, probably not. Stretching and then cracking her neck, Nell eyed the coin the two had given her. It was silvery ¡ª probably a coating ¡ª and had an engraving of a tree that sprouted from its center, only to curl around to the opposite side. She smiled briefly, then stacked it onto a pile with the others, all lined up across the bathroom¡¯s counter. They were friendly people, generally speaking. Some were a bit rash, like the man in armor, but by and large, she enjoyed the opportunity to help those who found the door when it moved. Rocking against the back of her heels, Nell let her eyes roam the desert outside again. It looked nice out there. Sand-swept dunes, rocky outcroppings, and ¨C now that she had the time to look for them -- several flourishing plants beyond the scraggles she¡¯d already identified. Foreign. Interesting. And cold. Nell shivered and shut the door. She needed to turn up the house¡¯s temperature. Probably grab a couple of Tylenol too. Her neck hurt from falling asleep while she waited in the tub; she¡¯d be sure to bring a pillow the next time that seemed like a good idea. Shaking herself loose, Nell looked around at the bathroom and sighed. The tile floor was covered in sand again. It was better than the few instances of when she¡¯d appeared in a swamp but altogether equally painful to clean. Slouching in on herself, Nell left the bathroom to grab a broom. Next time, perhaps, the door would show up in another flower field, where all the people needed was a shovel. Or maybe a greenwood forest ¡ª for those had been particularly nice. Nell bent back her head and let out a contented sigh. Trips to places outside the norm, with interesting people and things to see. It wasn¡¯t always pretty, and there wasn¡¯t a whole lot she could actually do to interact with the places, but things were impressive nonetheless. After walking down the main hallway, Nell passed by the kitchen and opened a closet near the front door. She peeked outside as she fumbled with a dustpan. Things in the neighborhood were normal. Very, very, normal. There were no knights in armor, no mages in robes, and really... not a lot going on. Children were biking down the block, and there were more than a few different joggers and at least one dog, but still. It was tamer and plain in a way that almost felt¡­ disappointing. But perhaps that was a good thing. Nell frowned as she made her way back to the bathroom, kneeling to begin sweeping up the sand. The world beyond the door wasn¡¯t so safe as she liked to imagine, whether the magic barrier was there to separate it from her or not. Everyday objects still passed through the doorway, letting her provide her help, but so did weapons, liquids, projectiles¡­ Nell shivered and relaxed her grip on the dustpan, rubbing at her shoulder. Not everyone on the other side was open to communication, and she¡¯d had her fair share of negative encounters to go with the good. Tilting her head towards the journal on the counter, Nell winced, thinking back to one of the first entries on the list. Midday. Open plains. City in the background. Three men, two injured and bleeding. Merchant Class¡ªon edge and desperate. Offered support. Threatened for additional help. Unable to supply more than what I had on hand. Shot by crossbow before the door could close. She¡¯d written the entry a few days after the fact, with it being one of the first things she¡¯d done after being released from the hospital, but for a while, the experience had put her off responding to the door. She had turned her back to check below the sink for additional medical supplies, and one of the men had taken the opportunity to shoot her, perhaps thinking they¡¯d be able to get inside the room if she died. They¡¯d missed their shot, fortunately, and only hit her upper shoulder. She¡¯d managed to kick closed the door after that, and while the arrow had been difficult to explain when paramedics arrived, it ultimately hadn¡¯t been life-threatening. Nell snorted, returning to the sand on the floor. There were dangers, helping out people from another world-- not exactly unexpected. Still, her situation was a good one, and she enjoyed what she did. She¡¯d leave to buy food in another hour or two. Just in case the next group to find the door needed the supplies. Flash Fiction: Learning the Loop I sucked in a breath as my neck popped back into place, blinking at the sudden return of feeling and light. It was as unpleasant as always ¡ª prodding needles and tickling hairs. Snorting softly, I shook myself off. I was fine, and the timer was ticking. I needed to stay on schedule. Hopping down the last couple of steps, I exited the apartment building¡¯s stairwell. The smell of the city pushed against me, and I gave the darkened streets an absent-minded scan. It was an act of habit more than anything else, but I enjoyed it. Repetition helped track the time. The sidewalks were empty, and the roads were quiet, with less than a dozen cars in the intersection. I puffed out another breath and started walking. Skyscrapers surrounded me. The city throbbed with muffled sounds. It was five in the morning, and the sun wasn¡¯t yet out. Twelve blocks separated me from the metro, and It¡¯d be four blocks before I needed to adjust what I did. I smiled, keeping to my measured pace. It took fifty-six seconds to cross the first one. I patted down my pockets from under a street lamp, making sure I had what I¡¯d need. ID, credit card, hearing-aids, cash, and pepper spray. I nodded to myself and continued on. Three minutes more. I refocused my attention as I crossed onto the fourth block, stepping past the entrance to an alleyway and peering around. I was looking for an ice cream shop. Or at least, for its sign. There was a faint buzzing feeling in the air, growing steadily in intensity as I neared the corner-most stores. My gaze flickered. Not it. Nope. Also not... ah! I stopped beneath a pale pink sign: Tim and John¡¯s Ice-cream. Blue lettering. I made better note of the colors, then turned and jogged across the street. As I stepped onto the opposite sidewalk to continue, I craned my head back towards where I¡¯d left. My fingers started counting down. Five... four... three... two¡ª A speedster whipped around the corner of the intersection before I could finish, causing me to wince. It was a small mistake, but I increased my pace. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. As the woman burst past the sign I¡¯d used to mark my progress, the sources of the muted buzzing made themselves known. A half-dozen unmarked drones flew around the corner, not thirty meters behind her. Their guns rose, and they opened fire as they completed their turns, pelting the ground around the woman with bolts of plasma that turned the sidewalk I¡¯d evacuated into slag. I rubbed my leg as the drones passed me. A few seconds more and both parties were gone, vanishing in the opposite direction. None of the shots had hit the speedster, with the event ending as fast as it¡¯d begun. As fast as it always did. Eight blocks left to the metro. It¡¯d be another two before I¡¯d need to adjust again. Crossing over the intersection that the group had come from, I waved to the drivers who¡¯d stopped for the conflict, then eyed the road¡¯s reforming tarmac, stepping around where the surface still bubbled with heat. It didn¡¯t look like the drone¡¯s attacks had broken past the outer surface ¡ª the street would be repaired by the time I came back for the night. I pulled my arms back into a stretch, and the shops blurred in my mind as I went through the motions. I needed to be warmed up before I hit the next block. Fifty seconds more, and I was just seven blocks from the metro. I shrugged my shoulders, then pulled out the pepper spray as I crossed over the fifth intersection of the trip. Half a block left until the next event¡ª I hesitated, thinking back, then passed the item into my left hand. Direct encounters were trickier, but I was pretty sure I could get this one right. I took a slow, deep breath, then started counting. Thirty. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight ¡ª The high-pitched screech of a car alarm broke through the city¡¯s quiet, followed by a dozen more. Each was closer than the last. I headed steadily towards the noise. Twenty-three. Twenty-two. Above me, I could see the flickering of figures on the rooftops: one flier and two agility-based. I ignored the one who tried to wave me down, moving instead into an alleyway as the ground began to shake. Sixteen. Fifteen. A car flipped across the road, heaved from where it was parked. I stepped out onto the street again and took in the scene. Ten. Nine. There was one strong-man with a bag, pursued by two heroes I couldn¡¯t place. His eyes locked onto me as I appeared, and he turned to run my way. Six. Five. He leaped forwards as I counted and pulled at my arm, placing me between himself and the heroes. The bones at my elbow creaked where he gripped them, but I kept my other hand¡¯s grip tight while the heroes yelled. Two. One. My left hand came up, and I pepper-sprayed the strong man''s face. He dropped me, and I fell to the street. My shoulder crunched as I landed on it. The man flailed, screaming as the liquid dripped into his eyes. I rolled to the side, dodging a fist that cracked the street where it hit. Time was up. I was past what I knew. I scrambled to exit the event as the heroes rushed by me, two from the rooftop coming down to assist. Behind me, the man roared. I took a shaky breath and¡ª The back of his hand slammed against the side of my head. The road flipped. The world went dark, and I ¡ª I sucked in a breath as my skull reformed, blinking at the sudden return of feeling and light. It was as unpleasant as always. I blinked again, then groaned. It was a stupid death; I¡¯d had him beat. Still, I hopped down the last couple of steps and exited my building¡¯s stairwell. The timer was back to ticking ¡ª no time to stop. Classical Ode: To the Man Who Raised Me From a crypt beneath the earth, you retrieved my bones. Dark powers with malign intent spent to lift my soul. With pseudo-life then given, you sent me forth to raze. Though just one of many hundreds, Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.for raising me, I give you praise. Each body fallen, stood again-- their soul controlled, protected. To escape the grasping of the void, ourselves, proffered, to be directed. And so you stand, atop the hill. You watch from safety as we fight. The burning homes, the toppled walls, this town will fall tonight. Political Witness: Visiting Cancç…¤n While Texas implodes With Its power failing, the water stopped, And homes iced over inside and out, Our senator visits Canc¨²n. Eighty degrees to our negative two, Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.He wears shorts and an unbuttoned shirt, Blaming his daughters for the trip as the death toll rises. Our representative. In Canc¨²n. Voice of the people. Champion of cause. The man elected to do right by us all. He flees. He flies to Canc¨²n. The State sits dark at its lowest of points, Its constituents suffering, the face of them fled, Leaving leadership to be a voice disconnected. How can we trust a man who won¡¯t stick with us? How can we trust the voice in Canc¨²n? Sonnet: I Forgot to Write It ¡°Not one of the clocks I own appear to work.¡± It¡¯s an assumption, written, that I claim. Their cogs and wheels fail, each by obscure quirk I¡¯d think it unfair to shoulder the blame. Their hands are each present, and yet none move; Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.Decorations on boards with no function. Assignments labored, but what can I do When professors deny the malfunction. I¡¯ve panicked. Slaved. Done writing for hours. (I started after the draft became due.) Written a sonnet, it¡¯s about flowers, And every claim since spoken is true. But now it¡¯s too late. I¡¯ve failed to submit. And now none will read this poem I''ve writ. Sonnets: Very Serious Emails Email Sonnet #1: Shakespearean (Rule-following) Dear Professor, I must apologize-- I will be late to class today. Against my best wishes, I find my home beset by bees. I wait inside, in fear of their yellow militias. Let it be known there are dozens -- of swarms, not single bees -- but should the opportun- ity come, I''ll leap between the sills like storm and fury to arrive in class at noon. And so, I do beseech you not to mark me tardy; another will have me fail. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.This is no humor-filled missive or lark I''ve sent, but an explanatory mail. Regards, your student, still beset by bees within a cage of his own making, Reese.
Email ''Sonnet'' #2: In which the poem is terrible and I respect no rules. Dear Poetry Professor, Poetry makes so little sense, for an accumulation of words steeped in meaning. Every pause so chosen, every sentence so dense, and yet it sounds of gibberish convening. Let the first line rhyme with the third, but the second must do so a paragraph down. "My hands down my throat¡ª" Well, my feet to a bird. It''s two in the morning; just what did they say? It''s of an experience lived, of emotions important... I get it. I do! But when I just look around¡ª There''s beauty in simplicity. In explanations discordant. Hell¡ª sometimes, I just want the sounds. So please, let''s stop with the complex poetry homework. Let''s write a haiku. Sincerely, Turkey Block Sent from my iPhone Free Verse: Victims of the Heart Victims of the Heart Not fireflies but lightning-bugs, lonesomely flickering in the dark. Their static-charged wings cursing them This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.to forever be apart. But for the few that fail to heed cruel Nature¡¯s warning bolts, paired bodies fall to cratered grass. Victims of the heart.
There''s a character minimum ¡ª 500 letters? I don''t know. I''m adding words until I hit it, but in a spoiler so it won''t show. Because I am a very serious poet. Ghazal: The Modern Contract The Modern Contract Would you like to make a contract? It¡¯s but a modern contract. Come be provided all you need, You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.and pour what you wish into this contract. Come tell us of your deepest greed, but be satisfied when you sign this contract. Come spend your life learning what you¡¯re owed to gain, along with the rest, who have each signed this contract. All it costs is your time and your hopes and your dreams¡­ Yes, Turkey. Let us sign the modern contract. Pantoum: Impenetrable City Impenetrable City There is no war in the city of dreams. Though you look to distant shores, you¡¯ll see no better queens! In the city of dreams when you walk, you and yours, you¡¯ll see no better queens when you wave to men who knock on doors. When you walk, you and yours, speaking loudly, like machines, when you wave to men who knock on doors¡­ No. You have not the means. Speaking loudly, like machines¡ª ¡±There is no war!¡± Know you have not the means, though you look to distant shores.
Poem ''Breakdown'':
Impenetrable City Large, Bold, and Underlined, like a wall that protects (or overshadows) the poem that follows. Also, it''s a massive Ba Sing Se reference. Because I''m a bloody nerd.
There is no war in the city of dreams. Though you look to distant shores, you¡¯ll see no better queens! These lines are pure set-up. It starts the reader off in a pleasant tone so that the rest of the poem can counter that. - ''Queens'' set you into a more fantastical setting compared to modern day, but may be off-beat or distracting for this piece. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
In the city of dreams when you walk, you and yours, you¡¯ll see no better queens when you wave to men who knock on doors. - ''when you walk, you and yours,'' Is a fine, lead-in line, but it''s not pulling its weight. It''s slow and it could be replaced with more helpful imagery. ''When you wave to men who knock on doors.'' is used to prelude the next stanza''s turn. On re-read, however, it is hoped that "you¡¯ll see no better queens when you wave to men who knock on doors." reads more so in the form of: "You see the bad/evil/corruption of your city when you wave to the men who knock on doors."
When you walk, you and yours, speaking loudly, like machines, when you wave to men who knock on doors¡­ No. You have not the means. -In this segment ''when you walk, you and yours,'' is doing what I want as it elongates the scene and ''you'' think and ponder. Still, it could likely be better. The next three lines here introduce the turning point of the poem. ''Speaking loudly, like machines'' is sharp and mechanical, as if the words that will come are memorized rather than felt. And because you do so ''when you wave to men who knock on doors'', the intent is that these men are called into question. Gangs? No-- you wouldn''t wave. City enforcers? Either way, ''the men who knock on doors'' is very much a euphimism. ^(That portion could use some clarification on my end.) When ''you'' trail off on the third line, ''you'' realize that ''You have not the means.'' to interfere.
Speaking loudly, like machines¡ª ¡±There is no war!¡± Know you have not the means, though you look to distant shores. ''Speaking loudly, like machines¡ª ¡±There is no war!¡± '' This segment locks in the idea of propaganda, and of ''you'' repeating it. (Out of fear?) ''Know you have not the means, though you look to distant shores.'' This is a fun little segment. It brings the poem back around to the opening stanza and (hopefully) invites the reader to reinterpret the piece after being given the rest of the information.
Villanelle: Denied the Rank of Master Star Wars: Denied the Rank of Master My face could not have fallen any faster. This was outrageous¡ªit was unfair. How could I be on the council and not be a master? I expressed my displeasure and was quickly told after-- ¡°Take a seat, young Skywalker;¡± take your place in your chair. My face could not have fallen any faster. ¡°¡­forgive me, master.¡± I pushed down my fluster, bowing to Windu while still sending out glares. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.How could I be on the council and not be a master? After the session, I was told of the issue. The Chancellor and I¡¯s friendship? A contentious affair. My face could not have fallen any faster. Yet even that was not enough of a disaster. They asked of me treason; to spy on Palpatine unaware. How could I be on the council and not be a master? Too much. Too fast. Insulted and told after that the honor bestowed demanded acting their traitor. My face could not have fallen any faster. How could I be on the council and not be a master? Inventive Erasure: (Fifty Shades of) Grey Pages 1-2 Beep bop boop, these are words. Coffee is a nice word too. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.Character minimums are the bane of my existence.
??Dear Dragon-man, Penguin, and scary-moderator John, Fight me. Sincerly, ChickenCircle
Ekphrastic: Lobster Heirloom Lobster heirloom If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The lobster speaks with the voice of my mother. She¡¯s cold, at first, but slowly, she warms, as I hold her to my ear. We speak for a while of nothing except life. Her tail cups my chin and her legs hug my skull, and true to familial form I find myself unable to end the call. Free Verse: Our Souls Are Sad to Death Our Souls Are Sad to Death In the first month of the year ?our bodies wasted. Skin hugging close to pebble-studded livers, sucking in toward holes ?where stomachs once resided. We tried to remedy. We called for transplantation. When that failed, ?we bought the bodies ourselves. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Egyptian boy from 212 CE. ?We pulled ourselves apart and filled the gaps with rubbing fat; with tendon strands and powdered caps of ?moss, plucked from flesh made wet by travel. Through sympathetic connection ?we healed our gouted phalanges and replaced our waifish blood with strangers¡¯ pitch. Coated our faces with hemlock and opium, ?before, enlightened and preserved, we ground the boy down, selling remnants to apothecaries and making ?gifts of once-worn wrappings. Now we tend to our health. ?Keep up our carcasses, broken with ??restless nights and unquiet days. We take the king¡¯s drops and drink ???the chocolate, and when our souls are sad to death, we run and we play with the children.