jadetine (joined over 13 years ago)
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Karen is an avid foodie/gamer/SFF reader who, despite existing for several years, has still not decided what she wants to be when she grows up.

Actually, Karen is an aspiring writer with a mysteriously irrelevant past. She spends her days laughing at the people still stuck in law school, ruminating over her engineering degree and coughing at the dust covering her collection of art supplies and musical instruments.

A Jill of all trades, yet master of none. Except for perhaps procrastination and awkward humor.


The winter of 1970 in the Bay Area was not something I ever expected to experience- especially since I was born in 1990. My folks scolded me every night for sneaking into the backyard whenever there was a full moon. It wasn't my fault: grandpa planted the story about the time-well in my head and it sprouted into a maddening obsession.

My hair was now curly instead of wavy and my hands reverted into the pudgy state of toddlerhood. Who was I, in this time, and why was I only a spectator? My new parents talked about the lunar landing...

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I was mesmerized by the number of mirrors it took to cover the surface area. I began calculating in my head, when suddenly my arm was yanked forward by a woman wearing enough hair spray to suffocate the entire discotheque. Her smile was wide and gregarious and I counted the teeth exposed by her ruby red lips. She shouted something at me, leaning her head in a coy yet inviting manner. We stepped on the color-changing tiles and I estimated the surface area by counting the squares on the perimeter. The beat increased and my heart pumped faster to match....

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Lola was a name that grated on my ears. Most people considered it sonorous and calming, but after my teenage years, fraught with rebellion, Lola was a name uttered in exasperation rather than cooed.

THat is why I insisted Spencer call me Lara. It was a close sound so that I would still answer to it, but distant enough from my childhood that I could free myself from my past mistakes. He didn't seem to care either way. Lola, Lara, both names meant love to him and loving me was all he knew to do.

He found me in the...

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monster was close behind, groaning with teh weight of its recent feeding. The awnings above shuddered witht eh raor, the inhuman aching roar of a beast long gone from the mortal realm. The man gripped his shoulder, a wound sputtering orange-red blood. The beast hunted my scent and fear, grasping at the walls of the citadel with its massive tendrils.
A mouth emerged from its muddied hide, screaming with the fuel of nightmares and horrific things. It was the face of a child, crying and in seconds, it was swallowed back into the amorpheous body of the beast. The man...

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The sun seared our backs as we dove hand in hand. We were days from civilization, and it was the happiest we had ever been. The sand invaded every nook and crevice of our lives, but we had no shadows and no secrets, so it was inconsequential.
I looked at my son and saw his mother in him. His eyes were the color of eagle-sky, as if he spent so many hours cloud-gazing that the heavens imbued his irises with their hue.
"What did you learn today, daddy?" He asked me this every evening, knowing I had long been mute....

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My throat ached from a barrage of overpriced, fried abuse. My voice was hoarse, having spent most of the day screaming on children's roller coasters and shouting Marco-Polo in the crowds after my friends. I had waiting 25 years to go to Disneyland, and I was not disappointed. Not yet.

The vengeful sun, gastronomic malfeasance, and hours outside of my normal cubicle-induced sedentary lifestyle decided to wreak havoc. I rushed into familiar territory: a row of screaming toilets and sing-song children. My friends were en queue right outside, leaning against tall hedges.

"What are we waiting for?"

"Something amazing. I...

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Her breath rose from her body in swirls of ash. The air wheezed from her as you would expect the air would travel through a burnt husk of a body. Each night she burned, crumbling into herself, waking in a bright fury with the morning sun. Some called her a phoenix, a goddess of the volcano, Pelée.

I was a lowly stream, trembling, trickling in her wake. The heat of her caused my innards to boil, and the creatures would leave me. The earth heaved with her breath, the tumbling rocks rolling, the sparks floating away with the grace of...

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Rip Van Winkle was a story that I never understood. How could a man that slept for forty years in a forest, aging all the while, just waltz back into town and have such and unremarkable story? Imagine having an absolutely perfect memory of the incidents, the setting and the culture of a time before this. I've always loved history, so I guess I'm just gushing out of a personal fetish, but if I was to lock myself away for years and come out of it, I would like to think that someone would really appreciate my particular knowledge.


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She adjusted her collar, the mic hidden surreptitiously behind the pearly buttons. Her career was waning to the point were SNL parodies portrayed her as a confused old hag and the use of her name was synonymous with the people she had worked hard to objectify. She had once sparred with Palin, but was now firmly under the Madame President's heel.

"I can take you away from here," the apparition wavered into view. The faint scent of lavender and soft scratch of lace on silk pervaded the air. "Ma chèrie, souvenez vous la contracte?"

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The wires passed from hand to hand in the complex trading ritual. THe boy watched raptly, taking his training with the serious concentration of surgeons and chess-masters.

"You wrapped the wrong red and pulled the wrong green," he noted to his papa in mixed Spanish. The wires were then braided into his hair, the auburn hues mixing with the artificial Christmas tones.

"The day your hair grows out of these strands, you will have all there is to desire in this world. On that day, you may cut these colors and move on to the next."

The tea kettle screamed...

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