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Title Pending

Original Fiction, started July 2015. In the early morning mists, among the chirping above and the leaf rustling below, the Ranger sits. Almost undetectable, she looks through the foliage, her quarry completely unaware. The fire that roared ...

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An Important Lesson

I don't write Fanfiction. I wrote this fanfiction a while ago (shit, 3 and a half years @[email protected]) for something else. I'm moving it here. This is a DEAD SPACE fic that takes place prior to the game setting. If I weren’t d...

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Bagels and Brimstone

Sunlight licks the edges of my window like flames. I sigh in a mix of contentedness and frustration. It's early. It's really early and I have been awake for some time. As I roll over, I see the sunlight reach his face. That face that I've...

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Untitled

In the cold, crystal light of morning things look different than they did before. That doesn't mean they have actually changed. They may just look different. At this point, one has to decide to move on with a changed perception or investigate the lighting scheme. These days it's easier and safer to accept and move on. Never one to make things easy for myself, I climb the proverbial catwalk and have a look at angles and color films. Sometimes I wish I could just be satisfied with the fact that the lights are on.

I don't really have anywhere to go with this. It's just that first sentence was burning a hole in my brain. Truth be told, I'm feeling pretty shitty all day.

Long Ago

I wrote this poem years ago. I found it in myO archives. I still like it.

My experiences are my own,
you may not have them.
Every person, everything:
They belong to me.

Why must you ask?
Press for things that are not yours?
It is not important for you.
"It is important for us," you say?
Why must you know?
Know thngs I won't even talk about in the dark...

by myself...

What would you like to know?
About my scars, about my tears,
about the people?
How about every gram that I put up my nose?

You flinched.

That is enough to tell me you can not handle my truths.
You cannot handle my lives.

I have had many, you know.
Lives.
You are simply part of one.
The one I live now.
The one that embraces you,
in all you faults,
in all your secrets.
Do you really want to know?

Ask again...