I am not the hero of this story
I have abdicated my own starring role
I will live with that
or otherwise
I have chosen a poor teacher
or I have not made a choice
and that is the worst kind of choosing
She is not the villain of the story
I release her
bye
bye
become what you must, teacher, villain, muse
This is not a test
but I will take it
and pass it
with abandon and lust and glee
But it will not make me a hero
It will make me me
The President, nefarious super-villain, sneered at Immobilus, Triumph City's most paralyzed superhero, and swung the axe over his head, ready to bury the hatchet, so to speak, deep into the chest cavity of Dred-X, Jamaican superhero and reggae star. Immobilus focused, building up a ball of psychic energy he hoped would be big enough to knock The President.
Just as the head of the axe began to fall, Immobilus fired, the ball of energy glancing off of The President's arm, forcing the axe-head to arc downward and plant itself deep in The President's leg. He let out a blood-curdling scream,...
It was a pleasure to burn, in the end. Sarah had known it was coming without being told. Knowing things without being told was all part of being a witch, she supposed.
She hadn't ever chosen, as such - but rather she preferred to let the currents and grooves of the world guide her path through it. And the world had chosen for her to be a witch.
To anybody else, this might have seemed like a state of affairs that could be analysed and considered - weighing up the pros (foresight; cackling) and the cons (burning) - but for...
Leaving was not a new idea.
it was a known fact that it was the Best idea.
but leaving.. was Not the easiest.
it wasn't the packing or the finding-a-new-home
or all of the usual headaches-
it was what was being left behind
this not-so-little conundrum has kept me here for exactly three years to the date.
you see..
it was built here, it can't leave here..
literaly, it cannot fit out the door.
saw it in half and take both pieces? ..no
burn it and save the ashes? but it's full!
stay? i guess so..
It was my day.
Walking down that aisle, feeling the silence of everyone around me - surprised, shocked, the girl scrubs up well. She's beautiful, and we barely realised. We barely noticed.
Well, he did. And that is what matters.
The whispers began when I got to the front, taking up my rightful place, smiling out at everyone from beneath the veil. I wasn't wearing white - well, it wasn't white anymore - but does that really matter these days? Who marries innocent? Who's really pure these days? Impossible.
Of course she was there. Her. That one.
She was wearing...
I'm dead. Really dead. Not in the "There'll be a twist at the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead. I am out of food, out of electricity power for the radio, and abandonded in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness. I do not know how or what happened that led up to the plane crash all I know is that I managed to survive two weeks on the scraps I found in the plane and a nearby pond. This is my last statement to the world if anyone finds this, I am going to travel north...
Half naked and desperate, the child climbed the thin bars of the door, her cage, staring at the world outside. Her right leg crooked over the horizontal bar as she tilted her body, dark eyes staring longingly at the world.
"Get down from there!" her father snapped angrily. "You're gonna hurt yourself."
"When can I go out, Daddy?" she asked, turning to look at him imploringly. "I want to go out! You never let me do anything."
"You don't want to go out there, babygirl," the man said gruffly. "It's a dangerous world. There are mean people out there that...
As I clench the sweet smelling flowers in my hand, I stare into his perfect emerald eyes.
In this moment I remember why I love him so much. Every moment that I am with him, I feel warm, comfortable, free.
The sun smiles at me and the breeze sings a song that calms my racing heart, though I do not know why it is racing. I look down to see his emerald eyes, now staring up at me. I am captured by them, though then I am drawn to something else- his hands. Within them lay a velvet navy box....
Pixie dust. I didn't think it existed before now. Until I experienced it firsthand. I had floated a few feet above the ground, spinning and whirling. Everything was different now. And beautiful. It shimmers and looks like gold sparkles. But it's not, it's so much more special. Fairies are real. Pixie dust is real. Take a closer look around you, you'll see it too.
The Skeleton Key was lying on the dresser, as it had for as long as he could remember. It meant more to him now than it ever had-now that he realized what was in the locked chest. She never even considered that he might wonder what was in the chest.
Now, as he arrived home from the hospital, having suffered a minor heart attack, the skeleton key lying on the dresser piqued his desire to finally open the chest. His own chest had been locked up for so long, enclosing his own heart--not fully experiencing what a heart has the...