We Must Not Move OnOn the anniversary of the worst terrorist attack in American history, one can't help but get poignant and reflective. Even denying you have any emotional connection to 9/11 proves that you are at least registering it in your mind. Your mind is registering that it was awful, that it was tragic, and that it was, without a doubt, worth remembering.Nine years ago, three thousand lives were lost in New York City. Nine years seems like an awful long time, doesn't it? To some, a little too long. Browsing around the web, as I am one to do, a sentiment I see repeated quite a lot is "It was nine years ago! Yes, it was tragic, but it's about time you
TV Scene 1: The DollPHRASESChoose your side, plan your missionFun for the whole familyNow you see this right here?It’s not so hard, RickyIt made the Brazilian bikini wax definitely worth itIncoming!The wish that Megan dreamed forNow shake hands.You know what? You people are so selfish.Actually, could you go around? Thank you.Have the fun and sun of summerWhat you need to do is put them together in a romantic situationCall 1-800-425-4507A huge amount of gay sexThey’re already dead insideIt was one of my dreams to see herMaximum portabilityI’m back just for the banquetI don’t want you to be the average woma
QueenTheir lightly-held hands separated by a glove of cotton and silk on her arm, the young king and queen made their way slowly down the aisle of the audience hall. He had a soft smile on his face as he glanced over to her, who soon turned her head slightly to her left to return the favor to him.The king was dressed rather modestly for a man of his stature, a white cotton shirt showing in the opening of his jacket, laced with navy blue silk on the interior, and what appeared to be printed cotton in a soft tan color with a traditional leaf-like pattern sewn into the fabric. Draped on his shoulder and buckled on his collarbone was dark cerulean c
SaviorShe wiped the sweat from her brow again with her left hand as her right hovered six inches over the limp boy's expired body, her entire arm seeming to pulse a soft blue color from the use of her magic. His breath was becoming less shallow as he recovered from his fall, the scrapes on his skin closing rapidly with fresh cells to replace them, though the blood that had dried on his legs, knees and hands stayed where it was. Her concentration was one of an astute focus that none of the other villagers could seem to break for anything, even if they somehow wanted her to.A few more minutes of her magic applied, and the boy sprung up with a sudde
StarsThe observatory sparkled from within with the buzzing of activity, the night sky being studied with every inch of detail. The mages there observed the night sky with little sense of wonder or mystery, many of them having seen it all before. Papers and pads were laid out on tables all around the room's perimeter, pencils and pens moving at miles a minute to record what they saw before it was all too late. The stars, after all, waited for none of the men that seek to study them.Anna was a bit unused to all of this commotion over the stars. But then again, she'd never been in the observatory of the institute before, and found the experience to
KnightShin held the sword's hilt with his right hand, the single-edged blade resting in a small divot in the blood-soaked earth from its weight, standing still for the moment to catch his breath as the conflict in front of him raged on. The body of his fallen opponent laid strewn out before him with a massive slash wound to the neck. The invaders were unknowns, an army that had appeared like rolling fog on a moor, a surprise attack that had left the army of the Middle Ground virtually no chance to prepare. That being said, the wave of bodies was being driven back whence they came by the relentless, dogged persistence of those they attacked.Shin
WhaTiF 1: Rouge SurvivesAlong with Cream, Rouge begins to flee from a possible pursuit by Darth Kryon through a forest. The two get lost along the way, ending up traveling down a path which leads through a swamp. And, as Rouge suspected, the pair is being followed...“I think we're lost,” Cream said, tracing her eyes slowly across the murky and dark landscape that laid out before the both of them. Every one of their senses was encapsulated with at least some sense of disgust in the swamp, the sights, sounds, and smells not helping relieve the tension that was held around them. A slow churn of deep mud and sand underneath what little solid ground there was
Health Kick “Motherfucker.” There, I said it. Motherfucker. I just can't believe I'm going back to Mom's for the Christmas season again. I swore to myself up and down last year that I wouldn't, and here I am again. Crammed in the backseat of this little tiny-ass Ford Taurus, driving four hours to go to a little tiny-ass house. “What?” Rob asks me. He doesn't even look back, but that doesn't surprise me. My brothers don't really talk that much. I bet he thinks it's just to break that awkward silence that we've had for the last ten minutes. “I dunno, man,” I say back. “I just really wish I didn't have to deal with Dad
WaltzA white and brown-tailed falcon flew through light-falling snow, soaring close to a stone tower of a tall castle. A gold band attached to its right leg glowed a soft blue for a fleeting moment, and the falcon darted off to the left at the last moment, cutting through the air with grace normally unseen in this sort of weather.Down on the cold, snowy earth below, the young, elvish king of the land watched the falcon fly through the air, unblinking eyes stinging a bit from the cold. The king, an elf in his mid-twenties, was dressed rather modestly for a man of his stature and the weather of his land. A white cotton shirt showing in the opening
The WriterHe stares at the empty page on the screen that begs him to fill it with words. Begs him to find a way to enchant and enthrall and reflect on the nature of living. To reflect on natures of love, life, hate, humor, rumor, rampant sexuality.All art comes from demons.How does he draw in a reader? How does he not get bored halfway through and call it quits? how to make sure the reader won't? How does he make this work into a work of art? How does he imprint his name on it?All art comes from demons, he thinks again.What demons? He never grew up in the slums. He never had to wonder if he would die coming home. He worried about monsters under
BondI look back up at the clock. It's fifteen minutes until it's time. But they always come early, don't they? I thought they'd be here by now. No worries. They said they'd be here at 5:00 sharp. It's not 5:00 yet, is it?I hope they haven't eaten yet. I really want a burger. I haven't had a good burger from Wendy's in ages. I miss those. They always had the best. But the youngest doesn't like them. Maybe we'll all go out somewhere else instead. As long as we're all happy.I log online. There's one of them. I chat it up with him for what feels like hours. The door knocks. I tell him I'll see him later, and I promise him that. I know not to brea
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