I stared at the blank paper in front of me, wracking my brain, searching for something, ANYTHING to write about, but to no avail. I had nothing to write. Nothing to say.

I looked around my little studio. One chair, one desk, and a computer were the only things in it, so calling it a “studio” is rather generous. Regardless, it was the best studio I had. I stood up and left the pithy room back into my house. I threw a hot dog onto a frying pan, and rolled it around over the heat as I zoned off. What was I going to write about?

she was a girl in a forest with no trees
he was a boy of fire and blind belief.
it was Chicago, planes flew overhead
now she's in bed
fast asleep.

and who will wake her from her dreams?
who dares disturb her restless peace?
everything he knows blazing wild to ash
flames won't catch
eyes won't meet.

in constant noise, she does not speak
through clouds of smoke, he cannot see.
she takes her bitter pills to swallow
forget those hollow
memories.

The Legend of Time

Arvindian Version

In my world, much as on earth, there are certain myths that are common to all the countries, though with noticeable variations. On earth, we have creation and flood 'myths', all stemming of course from the great Truth of the Creation and Flood. We also have 'tales' such as Cinderella, which can be found in many different variations in almost every culture of the world. In just the same way, the legend of Time is found in all the southwestern part of the world dimension of Heszeret, and possibly elsewhere.

**It's short, but there was nothing else to post it with.**


flick, flame
lick, claim
it starts to burn.

sparks fly in empty sky
no stars, no light to see.

we’re starting paper fires
burning bright as supernovas—

sparks find my empty mind
all I want is light to see.

we’re starting paper fires
bright, bright burning—

like supernovas, they don’t leave
anything behind.

After the scrumptious breakfast of scones and sausage that Aunt Monria served me, my first order of business was to return to my room and write a letter to my parents, informing them of my safe arrival. I then had the rest of the day to myself, and decided to spend it familiarizing myself with my new home city. Donning a thick shawl to keep off the chill, I left the mansion and walked across the grounds and out the gate into the town of Havenwing. It was market day, Aunt Monria had told me, which promised more excitement in addition to the pure enjoyment of exploration.

I was too young to remember this city before the wars started. The ones who do remember say it was the greatest city in the world: high education, low crime, good economy. Part of the city—‘The Forgotten Sector’—had already been abandoned during the earlier Technology Boom, when new strides in development made the entire place obsolete. Only the poor, the fugitives, those with nowhere else to go, still lived there.

Finally! Chapter three is here :) Hope ya'll enjoy. I've also fixed the dialogue in the last chapter so you can tell who is talking.
Chapter Three
The Council at Lea Brin

   The next day, exactly a fortnight from when she had come to the manor, she left it, wearing the same blue and green dress. One difference was that Aunt Eldira let her get up later than she had for her first journey. Their goodbye was not exactly affectionate, but it was not as cold as their greeting two weeks ago. "Recent circumstances," as Lady Eldira had put it, allowed for some empathy between the two. Eldira was mourning the loss of a friend, and, in a different way, so was Annica. She'd cried herself to sleep the night before over Alton's shocking behavior.

**A poem of two perspectives. It was written while I thought about the two main characters of my (other) novel. Aida's people are a race descended from Dryads, and... well, I hate to give the plot away, so glean what you will from the poem.**