wanting more of morning glory after sleeping in

Fri, 03 Nov 2006 18:45:35 GMT

Title: Necropolis
Vignette
Rating: G
Notes: For the Reflections competition at school; the theme was 'My Favorite Place.' Kill me now.

This is the end of the world, here, or close enough to make no difference. The rain falls quietly, quiet as snow. Everything is quiet here, it seems. There are trees, there is stone, there are butterflies and hummingbirds flitting near the dead flowers, but it's all soft, it's all muted, it's all quiet.

It's quiet, here, as quiet as the grave -- or should that be graves? They dot the mossy grass, stretching out in a tapestry a mile or so long. It feels more like forever.

This place is old, very old, two hundred or three hundred or maybe more years old. They've long stopped planting bodies like bulbs here, the newest marker mossy and cracked.

Maybe it's because of the new land, the neat and sterile cemetary that the city made. But I like to think that the graveyard is like a garden after years and years of overplanting, except instead of dying, it lives, it thrives, and the life is too much for cold, dead things.

This is my place, my place. Outside on blacktops and sidewalks I am short, anxious, a rainbow of insecurities, but I know where I stand, here. I stand on the bones of people long-dead, long-gone, their voices echoing in a forest of gravestones, little stone trees with no branches but roots that reach the sky. I stand on the past, the future, and I listen to the rain fall quietly.

a cariacture of intimacy

Tue, 03 Oct 2006 05:55:37 GMT

a dream once, you know. the kind where it's everything you don't mean and everything you can't remember. the sky was rising, going farther and farther up until finally i couldn't even touch it, not even on my toes with my arms stretching up, up. fingers straining, up, up.

i want to fly, i really do, but my feet are nailed to the bare boards of yesterday. i want to follow but i can't. can you understand that?

it hurts, it hurts, does it ever go away? does anything ever go away?

i miss you. i miss you, i miss you, i miss you.

god, i miss you.

something's calling me, someone, a song of a song of a song of a song, and i can barely hear it. but i can. i can hear it. so please don't leave me behind again, don't leave me behind, don't leave me behind.

i love you. i love you, i love you, i love you.

when i woke up, for a few throat-choking heart-stopping heart-breaking seconds, i thought i was right. i thought that the sky really had finally left, going away to wherever skies go to.

my heart hurts. it hurts. can't you make it

just

stop

and i had

Mon, 14 Aug 2006 04:16:38 GMT

Title; A Ray of Bloody Sun
Fandom; Himitsu No Sensou
Characters; Ash
Rating; PG-13
Notes; Aaaand Ash's life pretty much sucks right now.

The heat of the evening wakes her up, reddish gold light filtering in through the broken windows. She raises a hand to her face, sight blurred with sleep, and slowly rubs at her eyes. Her mouth is drier than the desert and her skin hot to the touch, and after a minute of staring at the ceiling, she sits up, muscles screaming in protest.

The first thing she notices is that she is sitting on the hard floor, her back aching and her legs tangled in her cloak. It's a surprise, to be sure: ever since returning to Razen, she's always made a point to sleep in the bed, a luxury she had missed on assignment in Hanalan. But the backs of her arms are dusted with pale grey sand and her shoulder blades are sore, proof that she had spend the night on the dirt floor. She stretches her rigid muscles, looking up to watch her pale hands reaching to the rafters. The rusty light dances across her fingers, and for a moment, she almost misses their crimson stain.

Her hands drop to eye-level abruptly. The bloodstains are unmistakeable, powdery between her fingers and caked around her nails where some still remains. It's suddenly hard to breathe in the room, the air catching in her throat. She sits, muscles frozen, staring at her hands, for what seems hours and hours. After a moment, a moment that seemed to last forever, the spell is broken, and she is up and running. Bare-feet sliding on the sandy ground, she manages to stop at the doorway, bracing herself on the threshold, and stares wide-eyed into the main room.

The scene is that of an abandoned battleground, a maelstrom of ripped curtains and shattered glass, and the same grey dust and red sun coating everything. The walls themselves are covered with gouges, long gashes leaking woodchips and sawdust onto the floor, and she lets out a choked cry before lurching into the room.

Her twin swords lie in its center, crossed into an almost perfect 'x' and blades a dull red, but she stumbles past them, stopping in a far corner. Her eyes are locked on a small black mass, dappled with dust and a ray of bloody sun. She drops to her knees when she reaches it, the pain going unregistered, and reaches a trembling hand out. Her fingers brush soft fur.

Aubrecia takes the cat's broken body into her arms and begins to sob.

Sun, 02 Jul 2006 06:02:27 GMT

Title; Departure
Characters; Roxas; Death
Rating; G
Notes; Crossover of sorts with the Sandmanverse. I don't think of it as a crossover because I really don't think of any Sandmanverse crossover as a crossover. I don't know. I'm tired :') Part 1 of a seven-part series, loosely connected.

Silence</small>.

"I'm leaving now."

"Will I see you again?"

"Probably not."

"Oh."

She stands; there is no mark on the bed where she sat.

"Do you miss us?" Sudden. Abrupt.

"Not really. There are so many others, you know."

"Oh."

He blinks back the wetness in his eyes, and Death is gone, leaving him relief at Her departure, a longing for Her return, and a copper rose, glass petals the color of blood.

Tue, 13 Jun 2006 04:00:37 GMT

Title; honeybees and stars
Fandom; Sandman
Characters; Delirium, Death, mention of Barnabus
Rating; G
Notes; SUPPOSED to be a 3 minute piece but eeeh whatever :') Also I swear it has a point. You just can't see it. Really.

~~Delirium knows~~

Delirium feels that there's something in the air, here, a twitchy-squishy-tickling something that tingles and itches as it crawls down her skin. It reminds her of honeybees, the way honeybees feel in her veins, and she wonders if maybe she has honeybees in her veins.

She doesn't think so.

Her hair is blue today, blue with polka-dotted stars, and she runs her fingers through it as she looks around. No honeybees in sight-- no anything in sight. Emptiness, blankness, nothing, as far as the eye can see. It makes her feel cold, so she shivers.

"You okay?" a voice from behind her says, and Delirium turns. Her sister is there, skin as white as the fluffy white clouds, and she walks to her.

"Barnabus said he couldn't find you. He was pretty worried."

"I saw something," Delirium replies, and rubs at her eye. "It tickled." A caterpiller falls out and hits the ground-that-wasn't with a hollow smack. Death smiles and twines her fingers through the younger-but-not's.

"What was it?"

"It was a something."

They walk hand-in-hand to the end of nothing, the end of everything, the caterpiller inching along behind them.

Sat, 03 Jun 2006 21:40:10 GMT

001.	Beginnings.	002.	Middles.	003.	Ends.	004.	Insides.	005.	Outsides.
006.	Hours.	007.	Days.	008.	Weeks.	009.	Months.	010.	Years.
011.	Red.	012.	Orange.	013.	Yellow.	014.	Green.	015.	Blue.
016.	Purple.	017.	Brown.	018.	Black.	019.	White.	020.	Colourless.
021.	Friends.	022.	Enemies.	023.	Lovers.	024.	Family.	025.	Strangers.
026.	Teammates.	027.	Parents.	028.	Children.	029.	Birth.	030.	Death.
031.	Sunrise.	032.	Sunset.	033.	Too Much.	034.	Not Enough.	035.	Sixth Sense.
036.	Smell.	037.	Sound.	038.	Touch.	039.	Taste.	040.	Sight.
041.	Shapes.	042.	Triangle.	043.	Square.	044.	Circle.	045.	Moon.
046.	Star.	047.	Heart.	048.	Diamond.	049.	Club.	050.	Spade.
051.	Water.	052.	Fire.	053.	Earth.	054.	Air.	055.	Spirit.
056.	Breakfast.	057.	Lunch.	058.	Dinner.	059.	Food.	060.	Drink.
061.	Winter.	062.	Spring.	063.	Summer.	064.	Fall.	065.	Passing.
066.	Rain.	067.	Snow.	068.	Lightening.	069.	Thunder.	070.	Storm.
071.	Broken.	072.	Fixed.	073.	Light.	074.	Dark.	075.	Shade.
076.	Who?	077.	What?	078.	Where?	079.	When?	080.	Why?
081.	How?	082.	If.	083.	And.	084.	He.	085.	She.
086.	Choices.	087.	Life.	088.	School.	089.	Work.	090.	Home.
091.	Birthday.	092.	Festival of Leaves.	093.	Day of Everlasting Light.	094.	National Holiday.	095.	Moon Festival.
096.	Writer‘s Choice.	097.	Writer‘s Choice.	098.	Writer‘s Choice.	099.	Writer‘s Choice.	100.	Writer‘s Choice.

Sat, 03 Jun 2006 21:38:08 GMT

Title; Field of Flowers
Character; Davan
Rating; PG-13 for violence
Word Count; 743
Notes; yeah you know what I have no clue :'). REALLY SHITTY DREAM, see.

"It hurts, Davan." The voice is a whisper, and Davan can feel something in his chest splinter. He props up her slender body, padded by layer upon layer of blood-soaked clothing, and brushes long silver threads away from her moonlit face. This isn't right, he thinks desperately, this isn't right, but the snow biting through his clothes is saying it is, it is.

She raises a slender hand

(no gloves where are the pink wool gloves she never took off)

and her fingers brush his own, and it's death to life and ice to flesh, and he flinches.

"Make it--" She coughs, draws in a rattling breath, ignores the flecks of blood at her mouth. "Make it stop." He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out save a crimson butterfly. It lands on her hair, blood on silk, and stares at him accusingly.

Davan squeezes his eyes shut, blocks out the butterfly and the girl and her blood on the snow, but his will is weak and tremulous. He opens them hesitantly, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that there is now an axe embedded in his sister's face. The butterfly perches on its ebony handle. Her throat is ruined, her teeth and skull gleaming out from under ravaged flesh, but her lips move

(no no don't talk you can't talk no no no)

and he can hear her voice.

"It-- it hurts." Davan stands up abruptly, because her body has started to rot-- as he stands up, it falls to the ground with a wet smack. The axe has disappeared, and her face, once smooth and white as alabaster, is peeling away; silver hair turns brittle under the pale moonlight, and her lidless eyes are yellow and unforgiving. She reaches her arm out to him, and her fingers end in blood and bone.

He stumbles backwards, away from the outstretched arm, away from the smell of rot that fills his nose and catches in his throat, away from the horror that was his sister. It curls its fingers; the topmost joint snaps, falling to the ground like a broken bird. The sound pierces through the shock, and he bolts. The snow crunches under his feet like little dead mice, and he looks down to find that they are dead mice, dead mice and dead bats and her blood is everywhere everywhere he'll drown in his sister's blood

(get away get away get away)

Davan surveys the landscape: a field of flowers, poppies and marigolds and snapdragons and primrose as far as the eye could see and more. A memory nags at the back of his mind, something he was forgetting, something, but as he breathes in the perfumed air it falls away like discarded rose petals.

He walks through the flowers; despite his care, they're crushed beneath his feet. His fingers brush a hyacinth, delicately lavender, and the feeling of something

(blood on the snow blood on the snow blood on the snow)

wrong returns. He blinks, and when he opens his eyes, Davan finds himself surrounded by a veritable wall of roses and the endless field blocked from view.

He steps forward and picks one of the roses from the emerald wall: it’s a dark crimson red, the same shade as

(blood)

the poppies outside. The rose falls to the ground as he moves closer to the thicket, looking for a way out. He pushes away thorny vines only to find others replacing them. He finally steps back, only to realize his forearms are dripping with blood. It lazily threads down his arm, spider-webbing the skin into scarlet lace; he surveys it with a kind of numb horror.

Davan blinks again, and the world has gone black. Blink, and it lights up again. Black. Light. Black. Light. Black, light, black, light, black light blacklightblacklight

(dragons i can't breathe)

and he's running, the snow crunching under his feet. He's running as fast as he can, and while he doesn't know where he's going or what he's running from or what the screams from behind him mean, he's running.

Davan runs until he can't run anymore, and then he keeps running until he collapses. There's a sound behind him, a sound promising tears and pain and blood, and he doesn't need to look to know who it is.

He grasps desperately at the horizon, reaches for the blood-stained sky, but he is a lifetime too far away.

Sun, 12 Mar 2006 20:31:29 GMT

character; Acacia Hazard
alignment; Angel
city; London
theme; Epsilon
notes/rating; UNFINISHED

o1; Action

Acacia is constantly moving, constantly thinking, constantly living, because she's afraid that if she stops for even a second, her world will come tumbling around her.

o2; Addiction

As the clock rings out midnight [that time, that one time she visited big ben with mum and dad], she tosses her third bottle at the trash can [she was nine, maybe, awkward and nine] and, taking another, drinks deeply out of it.

o3; Anger

She's going 90 miles per hour on an abandoned street [her mum was so happy the day she gave her old motorbike to her daughter, so proud], and Acacia screams out her fury to the empty night air.

o4; Beauty

Acacia never sees herself as beautiful [my little princess, dad used to call her, my pretty princess] -- when she looks in the mirror, all she sees is a thin, curveless body with freckles and eyes that are too large, too black, or maybe they're just a little too lonely.

o5; Beginning

The sun shines into the room as she opens her email and a new chapter of her life.

o6; Breathe

With a hand on her hip, a hand on waist, and a pair of chapped lips on her own, Acacia breathes in the wind [she remembers being in this park with her dad, remembers the wind in her face and her hand in his] and finishes what she started.

o7; Chaos

Despite the confusion, the pain, the tears in life, Acacia treasures it more than any earthly object.

o8; Clarity

o9; Control

10; Cool

11; Crush

12; Death

13; Delirium

14; Desire

15; Doubt

16; Dream

17; End

18; Envy

19; Faith

Acacia's father was Christian [she remembers going to church with dad, breathing in the incence], her mother an atheist; all it had left her with a strong sense of agnostism.

20; Familiarity

21; Freedom

22; Goodbye

23; Greed

24; Growth

25; Hands
#26 - Harmony #27 - Hatred #28 - Hope #29 - Innocence #30 - Lost
#31 - Love #32 - Lust #33 - Magnetic #34 - Motion #35 - Panic
#36 - Parallel #37 - Pride #38 - Restraint #39 - Return #40 - Safe
#41 - Scent #42 - Sound #43 - Strength #44 - Surrender #45 - Thoughts
#46 - Time #47 - Ugly #48 - Weak #49 - Words #50 - Youth

Fri, 03 Mar 2006 02:00:28 GMT

title; try to see the stars (part two)
characters; hasten / amaeyra
rating; g
notes; second part. not as awesome as before, but whatever.

The grounds of Lireth Castle have changed little over the years. Stone walls overlook a sea of green, an ocean of grass, with islands of trees and flowers. A storm is coming, they say again, as they have said countless times before. The years have taken their toll, but the only evidence lies within the castle walls.

A lone figure stands underneath a tree, watching the twilight sky turn black with clouds. She leans against the tree, face turned upwards. Another joins her, standing next to the woman in solemn silence. It hangs heavy between them, and she finally speaks.

"Good evening, brother," Amaeyra says quietly, continuing to watch the sky. Hasten glances up for a moment, then dismissively turns his gave to the castle and says nothing.

"It was a wonderful service," he says after a minute, when it seems the quiet was too much to bear. "Beautiful."

"You spoke well," she murmurs in response. Her heavy black dress, splendid in its simplicity, rustles gently in the growing wind.

"Better than she deserved."

"Of course. Far better."

The silence returns. A crash of thunder echoes through the dead air between them; a brilliant flash of light arrives seconds later. The sight stirs something in Amaeyra's mind, a bare whisper of a memory. She turns to Hasten.

"Do you--" she begins, then stops. He looks at her.

"Do I what." It's a statement, a command, rather than a question.

"... nothing."

The rain starts to fall; gently at first, but steadily heavier, unforgiving in its chill. After what seems a painful, comfortless eternity, Hasten stirs.

"I need to go back now. Father will be expecting me."

"Give him my love."

"You won't accompany me?" He frowns and turns to her. Amaeyra smiles gently.

"I want to watch the stars come out." She turns her face back to the sky and closes her eyes against the wind.

"They won't be out for a while." She remains motionless, and, shaking his head, he walks to the castle. Amaeyra watches him until he disappears from sight, rain streaming down her face. Her voice is barely a whisper when she speaks, lost in the wind.

"I can wait."

A storm has come, and the rain falls on Lireth.

Wed, 01 Mar 2006 02:24:11 GMT

title; try to see the stars
characters; hasten / amaeyra
rating; g
notes; i really think this is the best thing I've ever ever written. :') it's actually two parts, but the second is still on my laptop.

The grounds of Lireth Castle mirror the family within: cold and proud, with every leaf in line and every petal in place. Above the sea of grass looms the castle, its oppressive shadow darkening everything it touched. But not even Lireth, with its lords of stone and ladies of ice, dares defy nature. A storm is coming, whispers the trees and grass. A storm is coming, says the moon, hidden by clouds heavy with rain. A storm is coming, the rustling wind echoes. A storm is coming, and everything is still.

They huddle next to each other under the sparse shelter of a tree, fingers clumsily entwined, and watch the darkening sky.

"Do you hear that, 'Maeyra?" asks the boy nervously. "Do you hear the thunder and everything?"

The blonde haired girl, Amaeyra, smiles and squeezes his hand reassuringly. She's beautiful, but young; of the age where beauty lies ignored and forgotten, to be picked up and clung to when older.

"It's okay Hasten! It's just thunder. That's all!" A sudden streak of lightning lights up the sky, and Hasten jumps and moves closer.

"Is it gonna hit us?" He, too, is beautiful; more handsome, with large eyes and light brown hair that would darken with age.

"Nope!" she replies confidently, and shakes her head.

"How do you know?"

"'Cause we're from Lireth, No lightning would ever hit us."

Hasten sighs and loosens his vice-grip on her hand.

"Oh."

They sit in silence, watching the sky for a hint of light. The rain starts to fall; lightly first, and then harder. Sheltered by the tree's thick branches, they watch it fall. Amaeyra shivers slightly.

"Are you cold, 'Maeyra?" he asks worriedly. "Do you want to go in?"

"No, I'm okay!" She turns and smiles at him again. "I want to see the stars come out."

"It's gonna be a while..." he says uncertainly. She turns back to the sky and closes her eyes.

"I can wait."

The two sit under their shelter against the world and watch the rain come down. A storm is here, say the weeping clouds. A storm is here. The two sit and watch the storm.

Sat, 24 Dec 2005 00:05:03 GMT

Title: 20 Facts about Acacia Hazard
Character/s: Acacia
Rating: PG
Word Count: 806

1. Acacia Hazard likes to tell people she was born in the middle of a vicious storm (it was really only a normal drizzly London night when you couldn't see the stars or the moon for the clouds overhead).

2. Her parents learnt about her powers on her fifth birthday (she had always known she was special), when she convinced all the other children to give her their cake and icecream. She threw up after they went home.

3. The years before she turned ten are blurry to her, but she almost (almost but not quite) remembers desperately wanting a little sister or older brother.

4. Acacia met her first friend when she was thirteen. He was fourteen with brown hair longer than hers and a nice smile. It seems like forever since Drake moved to the States.

5. There are various scars on her body; she only remembers where a few of them came from. The one on her knee is from falling out of a tree; the faded one on her arm is a mark from her first fight, after a boy threw a rock at her. She can't remember how many fights she's been in. (she lost track at fifty-six)

6. Acacia's back is against the wall (her keys are by her foot on her crumpled coat) when she wonders if this is how life is going to be, how it's always going to be; a new boy every week (she tried to remember their names at first, but then she gave up). The thought makes her uncomfortable, and she tries to focus on the arm around her waist.

7. There's a stuffed cat under her bed that she pulls out whenever she's upset. His name is Lucky, and she's had him since she was eight. He's worn and has a patch on the end of this tail, but is still grey and green-eyed.

8. If it wasn't for her parents, she doesn't think she could have survived high school. Sometimes, she doesn't think she ever did.

9. Acacia can't stand crying; she can't be sad, because anger is much better and more productive than sadness. She likes the adrenaline rush from screaming at someone, but feels slightly sick after they yell back.

10. The first time Acacia had alcohol, she was eleven and hated it. The next time, she was thirteen and she had stolen a bottle of vodka and a pack of fags. She got incredibly drunk, ended up throwing it all back up, and woke up with what felt like knives stabbing her brain. She did it again the next night (and the next).

11. Acacia's first time was when she was fifteen. She can't remember who it was with anymore, and doesn't really care (but when she tries she sees long brown hair and blue eyes).

12. She wants to be a psychologist because she cares about people, and she knows she'll never be one, anyway.

13. She wonders sometimes if she'll ever really fall in love, want to give up everything she's ever had just so one person could be happy. If she'll have a happy ending. If she has a chance to. If even she wants to.

14. Acacia really did have a good time in New York City. She thinks Rachel (the little bitch) should be more grateful for Cody; in a way, she views him as a younger brother (not the same way as Ashley, whom she loves for his innocence and naiveté, but very similar).

15. When no one else is working in the cafe, she'll sit at a table, sipping coffee and singing at the top of her lungs (she doesn't think she's too bad, personally). A customer who was there at the time once tipped her a pound, so she does it even more often.

16. Acacia is terrified of the people she loves being hurt (she's protecting them so why, why did they get hurt). It would be easier if she didn't love so freely.

17. She knows people switch sides in the war. She knows she'd make a better Seal. But giving up is death. But people will die no matter what. But she's an Angel, and will always be one.

18. Her favorite food is sugar cookies. She once made them into little cat-shapes and did a play with them to amuse herself.

19. When it feels like the world is breaking down around her, and there's nothing she can do (there's never anything she can do), she goes out and gets drunk. She meets a lot of her boys that way.

20. Acacia believes in God.

Acacia believes God died a long time ago.

Sun, 30 Oct 2005 12:58:31 GMT

001.	Beginnings.	002.	Middles.	003.	Ends.	004.	Insides.	005.	Outsides.
006.	Hours.	007.	Days.	008.	Weeks.	009.	Months.	010.	Years.
011.	Red.	012.	Orange.	013.	Yellow.	014.	Green.	015.	Blue.
016.	Purple.	017.	Brown.	018.	Black.	019.	White.	020.	Colourless.
021.	Friends.	022.	Enemies.	023.	Lovers.	024.	Family.	025.	Strangers.
026.	Teammates.	027.	Parents.	028.	Children.	029.	Birth.	030.	Death.
031.	Sunrise.	032.	Sunset.	033.	Too Much.	034.	Not Enough.	035.	Sixth Sense.
036.	Smell.	037.	Sound.	038.	Touch.	039.	Taste.	040.	Sight.
041.	Shapes.	042.	Triangle.	043.	Square.	044.	Circle.	045.	Moon.
046.	Star.	047.	Heart.	048.	Diamond.	049.	Club.	050.	Spade.
051.	Water.	052.	Fire.	053.	Earth.	054.	Air.	055.	Spirit.
056.	Breakfast.	057.	Lunch.	058.	Dinner.	059.	Food.	060.	Drink.
061.	Winter.	062.	Spring.	063.	Summer.	064.	Fall.	065.	Passing.
066.	Rain.	067.	Snow.	068.	Lightening.	069.	Thunder.	070.	Storm.
071.	Broken.	072.	Fixed.	073.	Light.	074.	Dark.	075.	Shade.
076.	Who?	077.	What?	078.	Where?	079.	When?	080.	Why?
081.	How?	082.	If.	083.	And.	084.	He.	085.	She.
086.	Choices.	087.	Life.	088.	School.	089.	Work.	090.	Home.
091.	Birthday.	092.	Festival of Leaves.	093.	Day of Everlasting Light.	094.	National Holiday.	095.	Moon Festival.
096.	Writer‘s Choice.	097.	Writer‘s Choice.	098.	Writer‘s Choice.	099.	Writer‘s Choice.	100.	Writer‘s Choice.

Sun, 30 Oct 2005 12:46:05 GMT

Title: After the Sunset
Fandom: [info]himitsu_sensou
Characters: Crow
Rating: light PG
Date Written: 10/30/05 EDIT: 11/23/05
Notes: First piece here. Whoo. Written between 3-4 am today. bed now k

When Crow dreamed, it was never simple, true, easy, painless. It was never an escape (go away he wakes up screaming go away go away leave me alone). It was the melding of everything from the day and the days before and the days to come and the days that hadn't come and weren't going to, weren't ever, ever going to.

Crow dreamed of darkened hallways lined with shattered glass, dripping closets and spiralling hallways and empty forests that echoed with flashes of laughter. He dreamed about faceless figures with blood on their hands and scars on their skin. He dreamed about running, screaming, getting away, and about raven black hair and a grin never more than a glance away. He dreamed of suffocation, of being swallowed by lukewarm sea water.

Crow never dreamed he was flying.

Crow dreamed he was falling.