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The Dinner Hour"We need a refill on salt shakers at table two, a fresh ketchup bottle on tables three, four, and six, and for god's sake, see if we've got a spare pacifier for the kid at table five." Marcheline's lawyer-like voice rattles off instructions faster than anyone can understand them. Taking over her shift is like diving headfirst into an ocean current traveling at a million miles an hour.
I nod after every ten or so words; after sounding off eight commands in under a breath, Marcheline gasps, "Thank god you always show up for your shift on time." Then she flings off her waiter belt like it was on fire and throws it on the rung. I watch her dash out of the back room like she's being chased.
Poor Marcheline doesn't always do well with the evening rush hours, when anything can happen.
Already in my uniform, I make sure of three final things before I step out into the fray that is Elliot's Diner at 6 PM: 1) my nametag is straight and my name tag, because once I grabbed Pedro's nametag a
A Man.A man is forged by his choices, not as to where he presides
From the depths of damnation, to the quelled of living.
For along the winds of fate, each must ride
And indulge in the gifts, of giving.
A man is forged, such as steel and stone
To be worn, torn and bent.
A man endures until he's ash and bone
Until he realizes, what his life's truly meant.
We are always individual, never the same
Though we're tantalized by love and care.
We find ourselves, in the same game
The same painful realizations, we all must bear.
And bound to this stigma, we tread with our mark
Along the path of demise.
For just as so, the earth falls dark
The dawn must always rise.
If a man is to change today, without 'morrow in mind
Then it makes us all helplessly blind.
Little Red Riding BoyLittle Red Riding Boy
William get's more then he bargains for as he walks through High Park to deliver cookies to Grandma
William Scarlet was not yet a man and not quite a boy anymore. Still, his life was normal, his feelings confusing and his love-life catastrophic. Today however, he wasn't going to worry about how much of a fail he was with the opposite sex; today he was going to go to his grandmother's with a basket filled with his mom's famous cookies for her. Okay, he was going to think about his spectacular fail a little... but honestly there wasn't much else to do when you're walking all the way from one end of High Park to the other just go get to some little old lady's house.
He had left the house in his favourite red sweater, making sure the hood was up so he could hid his scowling face and his trouble green eyes. He didn't really want to mess with his blonde hair; it had taken him forever to get the troublesome locks to form a Justin Bieber lik
The ScribeThe Scribe: Once, we all rode dragons...
In a thousand years, we will not remember these days. What Calla said to Mor, what secret loves were stamped upon trees.
What will be remembered is the scent of daffodils in damp spring ground, the fire of the ship as it burned through the atmosphere and tore pockets of earth. The particular pang of losing our last dragon.
Everyone will say they were there; how they'll remember it! The little dragon, stunted and jewel green, mewling as the Other Men dug it out of its bern and broke its neck. It was placed in a bag and taken back to their ship. No one will remember how we crouched, frightened, with our useless amulets and half-formed prayers in the heaps of our houses. They'll all recollect marching against the interlopers, the dragon thieves. They all bore weapons, but were struck down. Some died. Who? No one recalls.
It is the peculiar trait of our people that stories alone are passed along through the centuries; clipped and emb
Sloth, Wrath, and Greed "I will kill you," whispered the woman into his ear. Her breath was hot, and she watched him squirm as she puffed into his ear. She tugged harder on the piece of cloth around his neck, violently jerking his head upward. He gagged as his face turned red then blue as he choked.
A strong hand yanked the cloth free, and he dropped to his knees, gasping for air. The woman howled, and he half-expected her to jump on him and slam his face into the dirt. But she continued to scream, her wrath lifting birds off the treetops. Was she fighting something? He heard thrashing and halted breaths--yet he could see nothing but earth, grass, and leaves; everything seemed to be happening behind him.
"SHUT UP," another vo
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More