Chapter 12

Aalen and Kalen ran for cover.
Finding a fallen tree, they ducked underneath.
"Where's Nomen?" Kalen asked.
"I honestly don't know." Aalen replied
"What? I thought you were writing this story. Where is he?"
"I haven't figured out what happened to him yet. I write along as my thoughts come to me."
"Aalen, look out!" Kalen screamed.
Aalen looked at the arrow protruding from his chest.
"That wasn't supposed to..."


Sora stared at the bird.

We’re running away together…it’s become too much. I can’t stick around to watch you all fail miserably. It’s not in my nature. Ronald will be good to me. It won’t be long before I have a child on the way. I will write then, and only then. No longer will I speak of less important matters. I love you. Stay well. –Elaine

"Shouldn't life be about what you're good at?"

I recently wrote an aricle for a magazine, and the statement above is my main point. I have long since known such, but haven't put it into comprehensible words. Then that hit me, and I was like, "yes!" Isn't that true? Why can't it be true?

    I learned to hate my father from my cradle. It was my mother, Morgan, who taught me that. I have only realized that I never thought of her as my mother. She ceased to be like other women long before I was born.

      She sang to me. I don’t know why she sang, but it is the one thing impossible to forget. She sang me no lullabies, but faery-songs. I can still heard them, thrumming, full of eldritch beauty, and the starless darkness that curses are made of.

Such a smile like the sun.
Blinding the heart
For love is blind
And I love you.

Such beauty as the stars
Sparkling on the ground
For they fell out of the sky
As I fell for you.

Such eyes like a river
Swiftly moving and never
Returning what they have taken;
You took my heart with you.

Such distance like a wall
For we are forever apart.
Though you're within my grasp
I cannot touch you.
 

You cut the words and paste them back
So that the law will give you slack.
The Book, unprecious, becomes a Thing
In which you make a paper string
Of men in your image, conformed to your shape.
You never worshipped; now you try to escape.
And in the end the truth will go,
But you don’t care; you already know.

**Both short, though unrelated.**

{1} Untitled (and possibly unfinished?)

the girl up on the balcony—
it's so dark, she's a shadow, she's unseen
high up in the rafters
she can hear the coughing, she can hear the laughter
she can see the magic and she can see the actors.

she's like a stormcloud up there, waiting
look out, it just might start raining.

{2} "Nightmares"

The girl sat sadly on her seat

as the plane flew towards the land of heat

A place so despicable and hot besides

she wished for home with all her might

The air at home was cool and sweet

so different from the land of heat

And when she finally stepped outside

it was like a part of her had died

For it was like stepping into a bowl of soup

and she couldn't breathe and started to droop

That night she cried for her home and friends

and wished desperately for the summer to end