I was one of the first to fall at Torvean. I had ridden in that first great charge that drove the enemy back from the gates and made us think that victory could be more than just a dream. That’s what finally broke me. I had spent days preparing myself for death. I had convinced myself that I was ready, but when we made that first charge and the enemy fell before us like blades of grass a life-wish rose up inside me and grabbed at my throat. Then an arrow struck my charger mid stride. I remember a sick terror, and then nothing.
When I woke, I was covered in blood. There was a dead body lying across me (to this day I do not know if he was friend or foe) and his blood had covered me. I had landed clear of my horse but my leg was broken and my head throbbed. My first reaction was panicked escape, but when I saw the brutality of the battle raging around me, I froze in terror. I told myself that a man with a broken leg could not make one iota of difference in a battle this large.
I watched for hours, lying under a dead man, as my countrymen died.
Eventually, I could see only death. Then the sounds faded into the distance. Finally I raised my head to look for a way to escape and survive. And I saw them.
There were 12 of them, back-to-back, shoulder-to-shoulder. The city had been breached long ago by siege tower and malvoisin, but these 12 had the gate from attackers within and without. These 12 held the gate against thousands.
I have heard great fighters described as being like dancers, but here was nothing of a dance in what these men did. Over and over, then enemy would press in on them, trying to bury them with sheer numbers and time and again the enemy would hit their line and collapse before it. From where I stood, their swords looked like fire. Nothing could stand before them.
There was no hope this time. No chance at victory. Theirs was not a sprint to a destination, but a journey towards the horizon. They fought only to continue fighting. I lay, with only a broken leg, and I wept.
Searching around me, I was able to find the tools and materials for a splint. I set the bone and passed out again. When I woke, the battle was over. (Actually, I found out later that the twelve had become eight before pushing their way into the gatehouse. Eventually, they passed out of thirst and were taken unawares.) I had plenty of time and space to get the splint to my satisfaction. Then I rose painfully to my feet and roared my challenge.
In retrospect, I must have looked a damn fool. A single man, in so much pain that his run was more hop than hobble, charging across a sea of the dead and dying. I think the first man that I met was more curious than afraid. His death made the second and third cautious. The fourth, fifth, and sixth came together. After that I lost count.
Eventually, I stood surrounded. A ring of incredulous faces around me. I would try to charge, but they would simply move the ring. Then a man with a quarterstaff stepped forward and, blowing past my guard, struck me a rap to my broken leg. I passed out again.
When I awoke I was the honored guest of “the most glorious leader of the fifth legion of the undying armies”. Such bravery, he said, would honor his tent. So I ate him and talked with him and learned his heathen ways. Later, when they retreated back to their homelands, I was returned with all ceremony to my home and kingdom.
Three of the eight men from the gatehouse had survived starvation and thirst and wounds and infection. I told their story to the king and he gave them title and land. Then they told him of my mad charge on the gates of Torvean. Nobody laughed and I was granted title and lands as well.
My leg healed straight and true.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Fly Me to the Moon
John took a leap and drew in a shallow breath. He fucking hated it here. Leap, breath, leap, leap, breath in an endless fucking cycle. He looked around. It was still gray. He fucking hated fucking gray. Everyone else had talked about how beautiful it was, how alien, how untouched, but all he saw was fucking gray sand fucking everywhere.
Back home, people always talked about such and such a place had been really great until the tourists showed up. What this place needed, John decided, was a few fucking tourists. A hotel, a gift show, a fucking bar for Christ's sake.
He stopped, looked up, and shuddered. "Fragile my ass," he muttered. In a picture, maybe. In a picture it MIGHT look fragile, but from up here it looked really fucking intimidating. It looked like you were about to die. Some days it was a monstrosity in the air that was going to fall and crush you, but the worst days were when you realized that YOU were the one in the air. That there was nothing between you and the ground but so many miles of emptiness.
Back home, people always talked about such and such a place had been really great until the tourists showed up. What this place needed, John decided, was a few fucking tourists. A hotel, a gift show, a fucking bar for Christ's sake.
He stopped, looked up, and shuddered. "Fragile my ass," he muttered. In a picture, maybe. In a picture it MIGHT look fragile, but from up here it looked really fucking intimidating. It looked like you were about to die. Some days it was a monstrosity in the air that was going to fall and crush you, but the worst days were when you realized that YOU were the one in the air. That there was nothing between you and the ground but so many miles of emptiness.
Monday, March 29, 2010
The World Burned
It started in China, far from him, in a place he did not know. In the beginning the flames were cool compared to what they would become. They licked across forests and cities and it was several minutes before the mountains melted down, leaving a flat mass, shimmering in the heat.
He walked outside her house, ignoring the rain. His brain would not work properly for the first several minutes. All he could feel was a weight that seemed to hint at future disaster or pain so great that the body will not accept it.
It moved across the oceans and they were vaporized. By the time it made it to Australia and the eastern reaches of Europe, it had reached its full fury.
He began to replay the last several months in his mind. His jokes and her silence. He had known that something was wrong, but he had not imagined the unimaginable.
It began to pick up speed now. Germany, France, England, and Spain never even saw it coming. They had just enough time to feel a flicker of heat and then nothing at all.
He started to ask himself why and then cursed himself roundly. He knew why. He knew EXACTLY why. He had thought that she was above such things, that he had found someone who could look past it, but he had always sensed his mistake.
In the end, there was a brief moment where the whole of existence was her smallish house, alone on a hulking wreck. She even had time to notice that she had lost power before it all rolled on her. It was done.
He walked outside her house, ignoring the rain. His brain would not work properly for the first several minutes. All he could feel was a weight that seemed to hint at future disaster or pain so great that the body will not accept it.
It moved across the oceans and they were vaporized. By the time it made it to Australia and the eastern reaches of Europe, it had reached its full fury.
He began to replay the last several months in his mind. His jokes and her silence. He had known that something was wrong, but he had not imagined the unimaginable.
It began to pick up speed now. Germany, France, England, and Spain never even saw it coming. They had just enough time to feel a flicker of heat and then nothing at all.
He started to ask himself why and then cursed himself roundly. He knew why. He knew EXACTLY why. He had thought that she was above such things, that he had found someone who could look past it, but he had always sensed his mistake.
In the end, there was a brief moment where the whole of existence was her smallish house, alone on a hulking wreck. She even had time to notice that she had lost power before it all rolled on her. It was done.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Mercy
The five companions moved well together. They had come together only recently, and motivated by purely economic considerations, but they moved with the coordination of a team with years of experience. The elven ranger skipped from shadow to shadow, his arrows singing through the darkness to drop enemies. The Eladrin wizard chanted and flame exploded across the field, scorching enemies and leaving them reeling in confusion. Those who managed to push through, slammed into the shield of the Dwarven warrior and were cut down by the human warlord. The Half-Elven cleric healed his companion’s wounds and boosted their strength. Paid to bring down a tribe of goblins, they had fought they were through a series of caves with a growing sense of dread. There was clearly more at work here than simple goblins.
Nonetheless, their goal was near. The elf appeared suddenly behind the dwarf after scouting the next corridor to report that the leader of the goblins was just ahead and he was asleep. They crept into the room with the sleeping goblin lord. As they moved to position themselves to strike the Dwarf tripped on a rock his armor setting off echoes in the sprawling cave. As the goblin sat up the elf leaped forward, his longsword flicking out faster than the eye could follow only to be blocked by an iron bracer. The other companions sprung to attack and the battle was joined. The goblin fought with speed and fury, but he was badly outnumbered and unprepared. When a strike from the elf left a trail of blood along his cheek he threw down his weapons and raised his hands.
"Please!" he squealed, "I killed, but I just wanted to lead my tribe in the ways of war! To show them that I was a great warrior! Then HE came! I don't want to fight for Him anymore! Please, let me live!"
"Very well," said the wizard. "Swear not to follow us and we will let you go."
The elf spun to face him, astonishment in his eyes. "You can't be serious!"
"What? He surrendered. We can't just kill him!"
"Like Hell we can't! He KILLED people! He ADMITTED to killing people! What we can't do is let him go."
"But he surrendered!"
There followed a hasty debate. The ranger and dwarf (chagrined to find themselves in agreement for once) wanted to see the goblin killed. The warlord and the wizard wanted to let him go. Neither side wanted to back down.
Finally, the cleric stepped in. "We have him in our power. To kill him now would not be an act of justice. Rather, we shall tie him up and leave him here. We can come back for him later, and bring him before the proper authorities."
Though no one was happy with this plan, it was agreed upon. The elf trussed him up and hung him on the wall and left to scout the next room. It was a long hallway with a curtained portal at the end showing light and leaking the sounds of revelry. As the companions moved into position, the wizard turned back and stared at the goblin. He flicked his wrist and muttered under his breath, then turned to the business at hand.
This next room, though, was beyond anything they had faced so far. These goblins were organized and numerous. They were strong and well trained. They were prepared. The wizard let loose a wall of fire the engulfed the entire room in flames. The elf set loose a rain of arrows and the cleric set of bursts of radiant light that burned the wicked and comforted the holy. The dwarf and the warlord charged, the dwarf slamming into enemies and the warlord dancing death with his blade.
Suddenly the cleric spun around, just in time to see the goblin king escaping back the way they had come. None of the companions had ever seen him move so fast. None of them had ever seen ANYONE move so fast. With a shout to his God he sent a blast of holy force at the fleeing goblin's back. The goblin fled, but the cleric followed energy pouring from his fingers in an almost continuous stream.
Cleric and goblin were 50 yards away before the others even noticed. The elf shouted a curse and danced after him. The wizard continued to rain fire and the fighters continued their assault, but without the healing power of the cleric, they were rapidly wearing down. The goblins kept coming, pouring into the room like ants. They fought now, on the retreat, backing slowly into a corner so they could defend.
The wizard was the first to fall. A secret door fell open behind him and his powerful magics were no match for the swarm of steel that rushed at him. On his death, an explosion shot forth from his mangled corpse, incinerating all in its path. The dwarf slammed his enemies aside, bulling toward his fallen comrade, trying desperately to preserve him for a later revival. But even his mighty charge was not invincible. A small slip in a pool of blood left him vulnerable and he was quickly dispatched.
The warlord seemed to slow for a second, and then to explode into motion. His sword was faster than lightning. His feet danced a complicated waltz. He was death incarnate and none could stand before his blade. Warriors came at him and then they died, piling at his feet until they almost seemed to form a wall around him. Then the goblin clerics struck, and he was frozen in mid swing, helpless, as he too was cut down.
The cleric sped after the fleeing goblin king. They were running through territory that the cleric knew, ground that he had already seen, and he ran without hesitation. He caught glimpses of his prey and raw force flowed from his God, to his hands, and then at the goblin. They begun to descend stairs into a lower level when the goblin suddenly turned. He shrugged off a bolt of force, seized a knife from one of his fallen guards and flung it at the cleric. The cleric clutched at his stomach and stumbled backwards from the shock of the blow. The goblin king seized another weapon, a sword this time, and charged at the cleric swinging with all his might. As his sword cleft the cleric’s skull, two arrows seemed to grow out of his chest, sprouting twin red flowers. The elf had avenged his comrade, but with no armor and no companions to guard his back he fell quickly to the mob that now pursued him. The lords of death ruled once more.
Nonetheless, their goal was near. The elf appeared suddenly behind the dwarf after scouting the next corridor to report that the leader of the goblins was just ahead and he was asleep. They crept into the room with the sleeping goblin lord. As they moved to position themselves to strike the Dwarf tripped on a rock his armor setting off echoes in the sprawling cave. As the goblin sat up the elf leaped forward, his longsword flicking out faster than the eye could follow only to be blocked by an iron bracer. The other companions sprung to attack and the battle was joined. The goblin fought with speed and fury, but he was badly outnumbered and unprepared. When a strike from the elf left a trail of blood along his cheek he threw down his weapons and raised his hands.
"Please!" he squealed, "I killed, but I just wanted to lead my tribe in the ways of war! To show them that I was a great warrior! Then HE came! I don't want to fight for Him anymore! Please, let me live!"
"Very well," said the wizard. "Swear not to follow us and we will let you go."
The elf spun to face him, astonishment in his eyes. "You can't be serious!"
"What? He surrendered. We can't just kill him!"
"Like Hell we can't! He KILLED people! He ADMITTED to killing people! What we can't do is let him go."
"But he surrendered!"
There followed a hasty debate. The ranger and dwarf (chagrined to find themselves in agreement for once) wanted to see the goblin killed. The warlord and the wizard wanted to let him go. Neither side wanted to back down.
Finally, the cleric stepped in. "We have him in our power. To kill him now would not be an act of justice. Rather, we shall tie him up and leave him here. We can come back for him later, and bring him before the proper authorities."
Though no one was happy with this plan, it was agreed upon. The elf trussed him up and hung him on the wall and left to scout the next room. It was a long hallway with a curtained portal at the end showing light and leaking the sounds of revelry. As the companions moved into position, the wizard turned back and stared at the goblin. He flicked his wrist and muttered under his breath, then turned to the business at hand.
This next room, though, was beyond anything they had faced so far. These goblins were organized and numerous. They were strong and well trained. They were prepared. The wizard let loose a wall of fire the engulfed the entire room in flames. The elf set loose a rain of arrows and the cleric set of bursts of radiant light that burned the wicked and comforted the holy. The dwarf and the warlord charged, the dwarf slamming into enemies and the warlord dancing death with his blade.
Suddenly the cleric spun around, just in time to see the goblin king escaping back the way they had come. None of the companions had ever seen him move so fast. None of them had ever seen ANYONE move so fast. With a shout to his God he sent a blast of holy force at the fleeing goblin's back. The goblin fled, but the cleric followed energy pouring from his fingers in an almost continuous stream.
Cleric and goblin were 50 yards away before the others even noticed. The elf shouted a curse and danced after him. The wizard continued to rain fire and the fighters continued their assault, but without the healing power of the cleric, they were rapidly wearing down. The goblins kept coming, pouring into the room like ants. They fought now, on the retreat, backing slowly into a corner so they could defend.
The wizard was the first to fall. A secret door fell open behind him and his powerful magics were no match for the swarm of steel that rushed at him. On his death, an explosion shot forth from his mangled corpse, incinerating all in its path. The dwarf slammed his enemies aside, bulling toward his fallen comrade, trying desperately to preserve him for a later revival. But even his mighty charge was not invincible. A small slip in a pool of blood left him vulnerable and he was quickly dispatched.
The warlord seemed to slow for a second, and then to explode into motion. His sword was faster than lightning. His feet danced a complicated waltz. He was death incarnate and none could stand before his blade. Warriors came at him and then they died, piling at his feet until they almost seemed to form a wall around him. Then the goblin clerics struck, and he was frozen in mid swing, helpless, as he too was cut down.
The cleric sped after the fleeing goblin king. They were running through territory that the cleric knew, ground that he had already seen, and he ran without hesitation. He caught glimpses of his prey and raw force flowed from his God, to his hands, and then at the goblin. They begun to descend stairs into a lower level when the goblin suddenly turned. He shrugged off a bolt of force, seized a knife from one of his fallen guards and flung it at the cleric. The cleric clutched at his stomach and stumbled backwards from the shock of the blow. The goblin king seized another weapon, a sword this time, and charged at the cleric swinging with all his might. As his sword cleft the cleric’s skull, two arrows seemed to grow out of his chest, sprouting twin red flowers. The elf had avenged his comrade, but with no armor and no companions to guard his back he fell quickly to the mob that now pursued him. The lords of death ruled once more.
Friday, March 26, 2010
The Pool
I have always liked heat on my feat. The sand, gravel, anything that gives me a little hop in my step from the warmth. Today, it was whitewashed concrete that made hop. I had just moved up to DC from Blacksburg, VA and was still very much caught up in the culture shock. I was about to discover that I was allergic to air pollution.
I had been living in cheap duplexes of one kind or another for about 8 years, most recently as part of a real estate venture with my dad, so the reality of apartment buildings with on location weight rooms and swimming pools had just set in for me. As hot as it was, it seemed like the perfect time to try out the pool. Had donned a bathing suit, thrown off my shirt and minced my way toward the pool.
I have always empathized with children, so as I got closer to the pool and the screams and shouts began to fill the air my heart started to beat a little faster. I knew that reality would bring me down but I let myself get carried away in the excitement of it all. Until the security guard stopped me.
The pool, he explained, was only for residents.
I replied cheerfully that I had just moved up yesterday and was looking forward to a good swim to de-stress.
The security guard looked me up and down once and explained that he would be happy to let me in if I came back with a drivers license showing my current address.
The lifeguard was much younger than me and very pretty. She was beginning to watch the excitement.
I exclaimed to the guard that only an idiot brings his drivers license to a community pool, and anyway I hadn't gotten around to changing my address yet. The guard was unsympathetic.
Over the next few hours I made no less than six attempts to sneak into the pool room. They ranged from the simple (slipping in while the guard was in the john) to the absurd (the super market was out of jello for a week). Finally, the guard called the police. The police called the rental agency, who verified my story and fired the guard for harassing the tenants.
A month later the guard kicked my door down in a drunken furor. In the ensuing struggle, I stabbed him to death with a kitchen knife. I was cleared at trial, but only after first having to hear a cancer-stricken girl explain how I had first gotten her daddy fired and had then killed him. In my guilt, I turned first to drink and then later to heroin. I lost my job and was evicted from my apartment. With no residency the pool was denied to me forever more.
I took a deep breath, let it slide through my pursed lips, and unclenched my jaw. Maybe I could wait till Monday, I thought, to go swimming.
I had been living in cheap duplexes of one kind or another for about 8 years, most recently as part of a real estate venture with my dad, so the reality of apartment buildings with on location weight rooms and swimming pools had just set in for me. As hot as it was, it seemed like the perfect time to try out the pool. Had donned a bathing suit, thrown off my shirt and minced my way toward the pool.
I have always empathized with children, so as I got closer to the pool and the screams and shouts began to fill the air my heart started to beat a little faster. I knew that reality would bring me down but I let myself get carried away in the excitement of it all. Until the security guard stopped me.
The pool, he explained, was only for residents.
I replied cheerfully that I had just moved up yesterday and was looking forward to a good swim to de-stress.
The security guard looked me up and down once and explained that he would be happy to let me in if I came back with a drivers license showing my current address.
The lifeguard was much younger than me and very pretty. She was beginning to watch the excitement.
I exclaimed to the guard that only an idiot brings his drivers license to a community pool, and anyway I hadn't gotten around to changing my address yet. The guard was unsympathetic.
Over the next few hours I made no less than six attempts to sneak into the pool room. They ranged from the simple (slipping in while the guard was in the john) to the absurd (the super market was out of jello for a week). Finally, the guard called the police. The police called the rental agency, who verified my story and fired the guard for harassing the tenants.
A month later the guard kicked my door down in a drunken furor. In the ensuing struggle, I stabbed him to death with a kitchen knife. I was cleared at trial, but only after first having to hear a cancer-stricken girl explain how I had first gotten her daddy fired and had then killed him. In my guilt, I turned first to drink and then later to heroin. I lost my job and was evicted from my apartment. With no residency the pool was denied to me forever more.
I took a deep breath, let it slide through my pursed lips, and unclenched my jaw. Maybe I could wait till Monday, I thought, to go swimming.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
The Dragon of Southwick
Delevar peered around the corner of the house again and sighed. "Never in thirteen years..." he muttered to himself, but he knew it was wishful thinking. It had happened in Smithfield and in Candlewick and... well, it happened a lot. He looked around the side of the house again.
Southwick was a small village, just a dozen houses along an old road, with a lawn in the center for livestock. Currently that livestock consisted of about a dozen sheep who were running back and forth across the lawn. The lawn had a luxurious growth of grass, clover, and heather that was only broken in a few places by small burnt out circles where the greenery still smoldered.
The source of this disturbances was a small dragon, about six inches tall and a foot long from the tip of his snout to his forked tail. As Delevar watched, the dragon gave a cry and leaped at one of the sheep. The dragon clung to its back and tried to secure a grip with his teeth, but the thick wool stymied his efforts. With a startled bleat, the sheep shock off the dragon and ran to the other side of the lawn. The dragon hit the ground with enough force to knock away his wind, but with the wind came a puff of flame and another smoldering section of greenery.
Delevar sighed again. He had gotten into the dragon slaying businnes for the glory, but nine jobs out of ten were clearing out a dragon the size of a pig and at least once a year you got a call like this. "Still," he thought, "they all pay the bills." The bills were certainly piling up, so Delevar drew his sword and strode purposefully toward the lawn.
Usually dragons this size stayed away from people. Dragon's were physically mature from the time they left the egg, but they wouldn't reach a size where they would be a threat to humans until they were at least two centuries old and they wouldn't get a human level intelligence for twice that long.
THIS dragon had apparently been caught in the woods by someone's cat. The cat had brought the dragon as a present to a pair of newly weds. The newly weds were less than pleased, especially since their new house was now a burnt shell.
"Maybe I can get this over quick."
Delevar lunged for the dragon, but the dragon skipped away at the last second and launched itself at another sheep. This dance continued for 30 minutes: Delevar chasing the dragon, who was chasing the sheep. Finally Delevar, out of breath, leaned against the fence and slid down to the ground. Dragon slaying was a job for the young, and maybe 35 was just too old. He laid his head back against the fence post and closed his eyes. He hadn't been there for much more than a minute when he heard a chirrup near his hand. The dragon had managed to pull loosed a mass of wool and mud and was tearing off chunks and swallowing them whole.
The dragon dropped a sizeable chunk by Delevar's hand and stared expectantly at him. It chirped again.
"What am I going to do with you?" Delevar sighed.
Southwick was a small village, just a dozen houses along an old road, with a lawn in the center for livestock. Currently that livestock consisted of about a dozen sheep who were running back and forth across the lawn. The lawn had a luxurious growth of grass, clover, and heather that was only broken in a few places by small burnt out circles where the greenery still smoldered.
The source of this disturbances was a small dragon, about six inches tall and a foot long from the tip of his snout to his forked tail. As Delevar watched, the dragon gave a cry and leaped at one of the sheep. The dragon clung to its back and tried to secure a grip with his teeth, but the thick wool stymied his efforts. With a startled bleat, the sheep shock off the dragon and ran to the other side of the lawn. The dragon hit the ground with enough force to knock away his wind, but with the wind came a puff of flame and another smoldering section of greenery.
Delevar sighed again. He had gotten into the dragon slaying businnes for the glory, but nine jobs out of ten were clearing out a dragon the size of a pig and at least once a year you got a call like this. "Still," he thought, "they all pay the bills." The bills were certainly piling up, so Delevar drew his sword and strode purposefully toward the lawn.
Usually dragons this size stayed away from people. Dragon's were physically mature from the time they left the egg, but they wouldn't reach a size where they would be a threat to humans until they were at least two centuries old and they wouldn't get a human level intelligence for twice that long.
THIS dragon had apparently been caught in the woods by someone's cat. The cat had brought the dragon as a present to a pair of newly weds. The newly weds were less than pleased, especially since their new house was now a burnt shell.
"Maybe I can get this over quick."
Delevar lunged for the dragon, but the dragon skipped away at the last second and launched itself at another sheep. This dance continued for 30 minutes: Delevar chasing the dragon, who was chasing the sheep. Finally Delevar, out of breath, leaned against the fence and slid down to the ground. Dragon slaying was a job for the young, and maybe 35 was just too old. He laid his head back against the fence post and closed his eyes. He hadn't been there for much more than a minute when he heard a chirrup near his hand. The dragon had managed to pull loosed a mass of wool and mud and was tearing off chunks and swallowing them whole.
The dragon dropped a sizeable chunk by Delevar's hand and stared expectantly at him. It chirped again.
"What am I going to do with you?" Delevar sighed.
Democracy in Failure
Recently read this:
http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5gcjZtRmovjWgMk7ejIoMmap6aN-AD9EL64EO0
It may be cliched but:
"We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break the bonds of our affection. The mystic cords of memory stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land will yet swell the chorus of the union when again touched as surely they will be by the better angels of our nature."
-Abraham Lincoln
The cost of our political opinions must not outweigh the gains. We must not tear ourselves apart to make a point.
http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5gcjZtRmovjWgMk7ejIoMmap6aN-AD9EL64EO0
It may be cliched but:
"We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break the bonds of our affection. The mystic cords of memory stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land will yet swell the chorus of the union when again touched as surely they will be by the better angels of our nature."
-Abraham Lincoln
The cost of our political opinions must not outweigh the gains. We must not tear ourselves apart to make a point.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Vengeful Felines
Three cats strolled into an alley. A girl in a short red dress tried to fight off a man with a scar above his left eye.
Three cats strolled into a house. A young girl tried to look away from the man who was not her father.
Three cats strolled down a dusty street. A Jewish man looked at a gun and saw only his daughter.
Three cats strolled out of an alley. A man with deep cuts on his arms and face slumped against a dumpster. The blood covered the scar above his eye.
Three cats strolled out of a house. A young girl tried to stroke the last one, but he scornfully skipped away. The man who was not her father tried to stop the bleeding from a bite on his neck.
Three cats strolled down a dusty street. A Jewish man muttered prayers to himself and tried not to see what was behind him.
Three cats strolled into a house. A young girl tried to look away from the man who was not her father.
Three cats strolled down a dusty street. A Jewish man looked at a gun and saw only his daughter.
Three cats strolled out of an alley. A man with deep cuts on his arms and face slumped against a dumpster. The blood covered the scar above his eye.
Three cats strolled out of a house. A young girl tried to stroke the last one, but he scornfully skipped away. The man who was not her father tried to stop the bleeding from a bite on his neck.
Three cats strolled down a dusty street. A Jewish man muttered prayers to himself and tried not to see what was behind him.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)