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Sugar Valley The oranges fell all around him. Succulent, sweet, ripe to the point of bursting. He threw one to her and she caught it clumsily. She bit down through the skin, juice dripping down her chin.
"Good, isn't it?" he said absently. The scent in the air was thick, making it hard to breathe in the valley.
"It's amazing. Don't you want any?"
"I've had enough oranges in my day." He kicked a tree, catching one of the fallen oranges and crushing it in his hand.
"What did you call this place again?" Her mouth was full of orange juice as she spoke. It would make her lips sticky but sweet like sugar.
"It's so beautiful. I can't believe..."
"I know." He looked her in the eyes. They were amber; rare and precious. "I know. You can't believe this place can exist."
She looked back in hesitation. Her lips opened and closed. The orange dripped on the ground from her
Blue Saltwater in his face, wind in his beard and the stench of sweat and man. Yes, Robert Westley was sailing once again. And though it was midnight, it did not mean the beauties of the ocean were gone. Moonlight shone in the waves and wherever you looked, all you could see was blue.
Except for a single silhouette in the distance. "Captain," Robert yelled out. He didn't mind if he woke the sleepers, he was paying them after all. "Stern. In the distance."
The Captain turned around, bewildered as he fumbled for his looking glass. He was an old man with a belly that made it difficult for him to walk. He'd been cheap though.
The Captain stood for a moment paralyzed. "Everyone wake up! Raise all sails. Goddamn it, if I find one sleeping sailor down there I swear to the Gods I'll throw you off the ship myself."
Robert ran up and picked up the Captain's l
The Boy That Couldn't Tell the Truth This is the story of Jonathan Stone. Jonathan lived in England, Birmingham on Templefield St. the fifth in the little red house with the shutters on the windows. He seemed like a normal child, brown-haired, freckle-faced with a big nose and small ears. He was tall for his age, but not tall enough to stand out, just tall enough to reach up and wash his own hands in the tall sink. Jonathan Stone lived with his mother Lilian Stone, his father Hank Stone and his little sister Margery Stone. They were a happy, family that loved swimming and sending silly holiday cards to all their relatives. To the naked eye, the Stone family lived a normal life there on Templefield St. the fifth in the little red house with the shutters on the windows.
But if you observed their daily routine, you would notice something was a little bit off about little Jonathan Stone. You see, ever since Jonathan began to talk, he'd had a terrible condition. Jonathan Stone couldn't tell the trut
Divine Thief Eliza looked up, droplets of rain falling on her nose. They slid down her cheeks and hung to her chin before dropping to soil her sandals. The Gods are crying, she realized. They would burn the figures today and the Four would be banished from Silver Harbor. Forever.
She walked through the Divine District as the rain got stronger and thunder began to roar in the distance. When she saw the Cathedral tower in the distance, she darted into the nearest alleyway, making sure no one was watching her. She took deep breaths, trying to get her hands to stop shaking. When you take that step inside the Cathedral, you become a criminal. Eliza looked around once more before she casted the spell. "Dro'gar," she whispered, so low she wasn't even sure the spell would complete. But then she saw her hands dissolve, and there was the rain patting on the ground before her. Eliza was invisible.
The rain stopped her from walking out in t
Escaping the Circus She show had just started when I decided to run away.
”Welcome to Circus Aries grand performance!” the Headmaster was announcing inside the tent. And though I was supposed to be watching the animals while the show was going on, no one was watching me.
”Take care of the bloody animals, and make sure they don't run away. No one must spoil our performance, understood boy?” The Headmaster had warned as he cracked his whip, making me flinch.
No more. The horses whickered as I walked past them, all but one. Lola had always been my favorite, the only horse that didn't despise my guts. I fed her a carrot before letting her out, shush'ing her as we walked out the stable. No one will notice we're gone until the show is over, and by then I'll be miles away.
”What do you think you're doing, boy?” The master of elephants was standing before me in his black
Daddy Came Back ”Look, it's Daddy. He came back!” Bill screamed, running to get his mother. He tugged her sleeve and urged her outside. It was true. Out there was a man who resembled Bill's father perfectly. His beard may be a bit fuzzier than it used to be and his clothes a bit more torn, but his smile sure looked the same as it had when Ann married him.
You died years ago. We buried you.
”Daddy!” Bill ran towards the man, hugging his leg. ”You're back. You came back!”
”I sure did, my friend.” The man sat down to fuzz Bill's hair. You're not him.
”Bill get away from that man.” There was fear in Ann's voice. John died two years ago in a traffic accident. She'd seen the body herself. She'd closed his eyes. This was not the man she'd once loved.
”Ann.” A shiver went through her body as the m
The Death of A World Hundreds of thousands had come to watch the death of Endema. The ship was filled with noise and music from on end to another. The richer had luxurious rooms on the top floor with close-up video of the planet, while the poor scrammed for room beneath. It was a haven for thieves as most were far too concerned with watching the planet than their wallets.
Frazier had been put in the middle of everything. In his polo and cowboy pants he looked like just another fool come to watch the blinding lights of Endema imploding. He'd act like one, too. Frazier had even bought himself a hot dog. It lay sloppily in his hand, dripping ketchup on his newly polished shoes.
"Ten minutes until decimation," a speaker announced. The shields were booting up as Astral Dancer prepared for the explosion of another planet. It would weigh down their shields so much that they would need replacement afterwards. About eight hundred million in total the nigh
The Boy and The Bull The sun was setting as William Walker decided to confront The Bull.
"He's been drinking all night," Will said to his friends, feeling clever. "Look at how he sways, struggling to keep his eyes open. He's drunk and tired. The Bull's getting old, boys. That thousand will be mine."
"You're out of your mind," his friends might have said, but the town was in much need of some excitement. Besides, Will wasn't exactly the prize friend. He might have won a few lucky games at the casino and bought a few rounds, but apart from that he wasn't much fun. His death wouldn't do much difference, so they let him do it.
It's a shame no one's thought about this before, Will thought to himself. Many had tried to cash in those thousand dollars, but none had succeeded. In the end, The Bull wasn't deemed worth the trouble. But waiting til' he's drunk, that would make him an easy kill. Dead or alive, Will Walker thought.
Charred First it smoked so you think he'd felt cold and lighted the fireplace. But it was July, and warmth was in the air. Then the house started burning, suddenly and violently. The roof fell apart and crashed into the foundation and the walls charred and cracked.
It's all made of wood, he realized. Another thing that makes this house bad. He wasn't smiling. But though the house homed so much pain for him, he'd never stopped to think about the good things.
When his father wasn't hitting him, they would play. Sometimes they would play cowboys and Indians and he would always be the cowboy. Father would let him win and fake a death as he shot him in the chest. Other times, he would make pancakes for them all. He remembered the smell distinctly, sweetness filling the entire house from top to bottom. Slightly burnt, but tasty nonetheless. He would bury them in sugar and Mother would laugh. "All that sugar isn't good for you," s
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
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