The young man, a plough boy judging from the callouses on his hands and the traces of leather straps on his wrist from leading the horse, was startled by the question, but before he could confirm the wise woman's wager she turned away.
Her right big toe - the one she had given to the King of the Fey as payment for 'services rendered' decades ago - had begun to ache. Something (someone?) not quite evil, not quite wicked, and not quite powerful was coming. Not yet. But soon. Her throbbing toe a warning that an 'undecided' power was abroad....
I'm not sure what's wrong with the site today, but it doesn't seem to be working for me. When I click for the prompt, the clock doesn't appear. Talk about a pile of rotten potatoes.
A Sad State of Affairs
It is three o’clock in the afternoon and she has kept the same position since breakfast, writing in her journal, nursing each fresh drink, drawing it out so that her budget (small) will see her through until she is forced to give up her seat. She is in no hurry to leave, having nowhere else to go, no pressing appointment – except with home, and the house is depressingly quiet and yet still too full, inhabited by a long line of hours waiting impatiently to be filled, the space between now and then too vast...
Green cover holds me. Oak Tree stands guard behind me. Sun warms me. Stream sings me to sleep. Sleep meets with Dream and carries me into the depths of Imagination where everything is what nothing ever was or will be.
Dog house ha! Who can actually successfully lie to themselves so well that they believe I'm actually fine out here in the snow while they're right there in the house warm and dry and not... what's that word? Lonely.
Each time the girl comes out, I waggle and lick her face to let her know the business about "heaven" written on my dog house is not exactly accurate.
She won't be back for a long time. I'll wait, and hope she figures out soon that I can't protect her from out here. I wish the man would let me help...
He stares into her bloodshot eyes, her glaring furious and terrified back.
She has not slept in over 24 hours and it is by sheer will-power that she manages to remain erect and alert. He must not win.
It must be over soon, she dreams, hallucinates, cries to heaven and God and all her nightmarish waking hells.
Freshman Biology.
First it was the night sweats. Then the spontaneous attacks of anxiety. Her boyfriend left after the sleep talking began, screaming about failing and nonsense and the like.
A test? No, more than a test. This was it.
Her delusions extended...
"You're here because someone recommended you to me. Someone who passed the test. Someone who promised you that you'd be a better financial trader."
The Banker nodded. "Peter. Pete sugg…"
"No names. No pack drill. Only one condition. If…"
"When… When, surely?"
"If… you pass the test, you have to recommend someone to go after you. Someone you think needs to be a better banker. And you DON'T tell them about the test."
"Agreed."
"Ok then. I'd hate to have to kill you." I smiled conspiratorially.
"During the day this park is full of dog walkers. And dogs. And shit."...
The disco ball was turning.
The Mighty Fwarriors turned in shock. Their ambush on the Gold Chain Club had been going well - too well. Now they watched, as the disco ball slowly turned...into Disco Bull.
"Curses!" shouted Melissa, leader of the Fwarriors. She'd hoped that just once, just this one time, they could have a successful ambush, but she knew that it was probably too much to ask for.
Superheroes, supervillains - these are normally pretty clear cut terms. One group fight on the side of good, the other on the side of "evil". But in the real world,...
The gate closed behind them. It was a screen door, really. The three stairs led up to the kitchen; they stood and talked for a few minutes. His hand brushed her neck, in his ever-so-charming way. She wanted to believe him this time, that this time he wasn't the boy who held scissors to her neck, or threatened her so many times before. She wanted to be friendly, and not kick him out that night in February. He was charming, and deadly. Forceful, and mean. With her ponytail in his hand, he covered her mouth, her parents just upstairs. His...
The contours of her form were clear under the light shining through my window. She was laying there nude on my couch as I drew her. My eyes, flicking back and forth from the paper to her. My hand, gliding wildly across the paper in motions similar to a snake whipping it's way across a desert. I had asked her to model for me. Not because I have a crush on her. Not because I'm trying to date her. But because her body is so gorgeous. It flows with every move she makes, twisting and bending and flowing. She lays...