BlueBlueFox

One of the first things they did when they were free from the woes of a world's end... was run to a park. One of the first things, that is, since the real first things that happened were eating actual food until they were full, showering under hot water, and sleeping in actual beds with the hum of air conditioning accompanying their soft breaths of rest. They found the park a few days after settling in this little corner of a city bustling with people. Suburbs were always rife with life, and yet quiet and distance from the screeches of car tires and smell of smog -- more when they found this little serene spot of green in amidst the building

Sit at the computer, stare at the screen Look at how it blinks, hiding the words unseen Hover the fingers toward the keys Stop, pause, tilt of the head, sigh and walk away. Try again, try again, try again. Writing something on command isn't easy It's unlike drawing doodles in a notebook where stick figures fight and notes are lost because words can't just flow by opening those floodgates. Try again, try again, try again. Smelling of oil, sopping wet plop back in the computer chair and flick on the screen stare at the blinking light, the poetry yet to write, yet to be seen. Write for another, write by this date Do it this way, do it that

Getting almost physically kicked out of Callie's house was worth it. Some time after his graduation, there was a sense of quiet disdain when the end of summer started to approach. The happy vacations as he had to figure out his future (and pushed it off) began to grow somber, a hint of blueness to them as obvious as the streak through his friend's hair. Though she was good at hiding it for the most part, the partings they had nightly when he had to return home was full of her crossed arms and a pout... with a trembling bottom lip. He'd known her all these years, all this time -- and he knew the thoughts that went through her mind. Curse thei

The arena smelled putrid. A toxic had successfully landed on Kirk at the start of the battle, and even when he was in the skies, it was obvious to tell that his body was rotting from the inside because of it. The battle was one-sided from the moment it began like this, with Kirk diving in alone as Aten surrounded herself in the tall grass, her sleek body hidden as she trotted around, analyzing the situation. The Sylveon glared with a bright blue gaze up at the giant chicken in the sky -- if they were going to lose the fight, it would be due to his rashness. Who will protect Kineta now, when you die? Though it was obvious Aten should have t

He had her fooled for a long time. Surely it was probably his memory that aided him in how easily he moved across their little apartment... and how he knew the order his clothes were always put away, so that what he wore was never mismatched. His touch had to have gotten stronger as his sight got worse and worse, and yet he never seemed the worse for wear about it. Always, an effortless smile came to his face, his head turning to the direction down to the perfect centimeter of where her voice filtered. Always, his movements were practiced to give up the ruse that he was looking at what he did, that he saw where his hands went and what was p

Imagine a place so alive it must be a paradise. First, picture the trees. Tall columns of dark, slickened bark like undergrown giants, large beyond all reason. Every space is filled with life: the croaks of little frogs from nearly every pad of green, the ripples on the puddles or hidden spots of water as they leap into the safety of underbrush. Above and between, vines and branches clutch to each other, reaching for a shaft of sky’s light. The songs of birds. A twitch of fur at a trunk hole. Single file ants biting at the giant’s feet and peeling it away in miniscule pieces to rebuild and feed their hungry queen. But, in reply, s

For a creature that fed off ... well, they'd learned it could be just about anything in order to stave off the Second Hunger... one may think Autumn's first stumble into the lush area of the Fae Realms would be to devour the spread of food that would await them. However, in spite of how delicious it all looked (cooked meats! Steamed veggies! SPOONS.), they wanted to experience something much more different. Exploration brought the wormie to a door pressed a bit into the trunk of a tree, just a tad shorter than they were. Judging by how tall the gnarled trunk of the tree was, however, they'd probably be able to stand fully once inside -- and

Please don't remind me. The pain in my jaw is enough of a reminder as are the crescent-shapes carved into my skin and the way my heart throbs in my head and drowns out the noise except for those bells. The alarm bells. Please don't remind me. It's a faulty system built into the mind and bones of a faulty person. A small thing, a tiny thing is a trigger Punctuation where it never is, or snide remarks about "You're being irrational." It sets off the bells faster than you can blink-- Before I know it, I can't swallow I can't see or hear and I most definitely Cannot breathe. The world shrinks to a pinprick while thoughts collide and crash wi

He waited a long time, watching her hair grow a little bit more every day. She probably didn't notice the growth going on. After all, she was the one who dealt with it most as the days went by -- washing it, combing it, styling it just so that the feathered ends kept their texture, and she could leave with a confident smile on her face... even if she didn't quite like how it looked. "I want it long again," she said out of the blue one day. It had been a pretty humid day, and the result turned her usually-compliant gold strands into a mess of static on her head. She'd grown frustrated, a trait he'd never thought she'd display over something

Tap. Tap. Tap. "Have you ever thought you didn't belong?" Tap. Tap. Ta-Tap. The boot fell in rhythm on the scuffed floor. A flickering candle light cast shadows along their faces, dancing images on the walls. Sleeping figures on cots, chests rising and shifting in the small orb around them. Some movements, the slip of a hand off the side of a bed, snorts and sighs in sleep. Tap. Tap. Ta-tap. "I haven't actually made friends, if that's what you mean?" Tap... tap... tap tap. "It's not what you mean, is it?" "Kind of..." Tap tap. Tap. Ta-tap. Gloved hands pushed through snarled short hair, a mess of a jagged sword-cut through a braid.