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Fire Dancer Chapter 1
WHOOSH! The thud a hunter learns to recognize sounded as an arrow pierced flesh. A sickly doe, weakened by the merciless winter, fell to the ground amid the fog. Beads of water still dripped from the guard hairs under her chin, now forgotten as her breathing slowed. Something moved into her fading field of vision, causing her to roll her eyes to see. Before she could draw another hitching breath, the face of a young elf youth appeared.
“I am sorry, gentle Aras (deer),” she said softly, looking into her glazing brown eyes, “Forgive me, so your spirit may pass without delay.”
The elf waited until the light left her eyes, then stood and retrieved her arrow from the animal’s chest. It took her only half an hour to clean the meat. Another ten to bundle it in the hide and sling it over her shoulder. Pivoting on her heel, she scanned the area but saw nothing. Her amethyst eyes sensed no movement through the thick mist. Yet her ears twitched; waiting for th
The Spirit of a StarA girl's attention was caught by the sound of the large village gates creaking open, then closing again. She looked to be 12 years old, when really she was 16. The teen had dark brown hair that hung to the middle of her back, with eyes only a shade lighter. Her thin frame gave the illusion of fragility, yet she was as strong as any other Jonin in the village. Her endurance was that of the wolf when she went out on the trail. Her outfit consisted of a simple lightly tanned sundress, black flip-flops, and a dark gray pouch. The pouch hung around her neck from a sinew cord. Obviously, she was of native descent. A blonde haired boy waved as soon as he saw her. "Hey Naruto; you hungry?" she called. "As long as we have ramen!" the boy grinned. She rolled her eyes as they walked to a nearby noodle shop. While they ate, the girl told the boy named Naruto about her mission assigned for the next morning. It was her fifth year as a Jonin; naturally, the mission was long term. “W
Stellara Nagareboshi ProfileName: Stellara Nagareboshi
Village: Hidden Leaf
Weight: 77 lbs
Rank: ANBU trainee
Hair: Coffee brown, occasionally streaked with random colors
Nationality: Half German, half Native American
Branch: Keewaunee Bay
Pets: Abyssinian cat, Waabiishkaa. Siamese twins, both male, Sakima and Namid. One female Dachshund, Twiggy. One male Dachshund, Carmal.
Clothing: A buckskin shirt with removable sleeves and deep blue flower patterns up on the shoulders. Black cotton leggings with matching flowers are worn in cold weather. Makazins(tribal spelling of the word ) are lined inside with snowshoe hare fur, outside are decorated in red, orange, yellow, and black beads. Wears a coyote skin medicine pouch like a necklace. Contains medicine stone, glass beads, and a piece of carved white quartz. It is shaped like a bear-crafted by her grandfather before he died.
Personality: Racial slurs against her make her cold-hearted
What Have I Done? I don't understand
What I did wrong
I used to have so many people
And now they're gone
Was it something I did?
Or something I said?
I take it back...
Just don't leave
Forgotten Realms Ch.6 and 7"I kill ju."
"Ji, with what?" Kiva asked, grinning broadly now that Wain had finally given in and agreed to play a round of the game. He and Stella were walking home with her that day.
Wain thought for a second, then grinned wickedly and said, "Orochimaru."
Stella broke up laughing.
"Ewww! Not the snake bastard!" Kiva squeaked shuddering.
Wain laughed and said, "What? Don't like snakes hmm?"
"No…" Kiva whined, laughing weakly at her own fear, "And you hush!"
"Owwie! What'd I do!?" she yelped.
"Pissed me off," Kiva laughed, "You know I've hated snakes ever since…" She trailed off, looking about with a confused look on her face.
"Ever since what hmm?" Wain prodded.
Kiva looked at him and her confused look deepened. She looked to Stella and shook her head.
"I…I think I was almost s-strangled and bitten by… Mando a while ago…" she stuttered.
"You were hmm?" Wain asked in surprise.
"Wait…you were bitten remember?
Forgotten Realms Ch.5"I still feel horrible," Stella grumbled as Kiva's mom drove them to school.
Kiva nodded but didn't say anything.
"My throat is dry as hell’s eighth circle," she thought.
"At least today will distract us," Stella shrugged.
"Yeah," Kiva agreed
That day was the second day of homecoming week with the theme being movie or TV day. You could dress up like any character you wanted…as long as it wasn't racy, risqué, or skimpy.
Kiva was in a black trench coat with a black duck-tape girdle wrapped tightly around her middle. She also had on white face paint with tragedy spikes over her blacked out eyes and downward angled cracks along her lips. It looked like she was frowning if she kept a straight face. Eric Draven from Brandon Lee's The Crow.
Stella, on the other hand, had high collared black robes and a home woven Chinese style hat. An Akatsuki member from the show Naruto.
"I can't wait to see what everyone else is doing," Kiva chuckled.
Stella nodded a
A message to the brokenYou drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
Stand Against SuicideI know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
If I didn’t feel so left alone.
And finally, do it for one other person,
The person in front of these words.
Because you’ll never know how it gets better
When focusing on pain and hurt.
Live one more day, dear, for them and for you,
And I swear to you, problems will fade.
I know, for right now, it’s p
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
Pretty metaphors are for pretty girlsI told you to stop
spewing pretty metaphors at me,
for with each elaborate comparison,
I feel a bit more
detached from this world
And maybe I don’t feel so strong at the moment,
but would you be
if you felt like the entire universe
was resting upon your shoulders,
and someone was just there saying:
But you’re stronger than the powerful beats
of a butterfly’s wings
And maybe I do need more confidence,
but would you exuberate it
when the part you hated most about yourself
were the freckles that have speckled your face for years,
and someone was just there muttering:
They’re not flaws,
but rather stars that form constellations
Yes, I can’t help but hate
all those unrealistic metaphors
you choose to pelt at me when I’m low,
yet the irony is,
I know that those beautiful words
are realistic in your eyes,
So I can’t hate you.
Clear WristA clear wrist, barren of scars,
as opposed to skin sauntered in marks,
tells a trickier story than it's soiled and raw,
uncaring, unkempt counter part.
Bravery, I think it holds,
the strength to bare unimaginable loads
of pain and suffering through endless times,
and withstanding the agony of sleepless nights.
Some think it is fear, the reluctance to cut,
but I believe it opposite, it show courage and guts.
To bear your pain without a nick on your wrist,
is like a solider braving his terrain while being torn limb from limb.
Agonizing as it is, to hide your pain,
you do it so well, and no attention you'll gain.
At the end of the day, it's not cry for attention,
rather a cry for the victory that's silently mentioned.
Your scars are those not self inflicted,
and despite the gnawing intention,
to harm yourself and ease your pain,
the scars you earn are rightfully gained.
In a room of those who have jumped the gun,
and left traces of blood deep in their arms,
do not be tempted to do the sam
dark circlesi haven't slept well in 14 days
my eyes droop pretty colors
'50 shades of purple and grey,
they're bags and they're designer'
making jokes is how i cope
with chapped lips and constant chap-stick
it tastes like honey and mint
i laugh and say i'm addicted.
hooded lids and sleepy smiles
during lunch at subway
my friends ask if I'm okay
I say that I'm just tired.
but really when I see him with her
my heart sinks to the tiles
she's pretty and witty and sure as hell she can sing
and i'm just a loud bone-collector.
when I see her with him,
dancing and laughing and grinning,
the ring on her finger
laughs at my singularity.
for as much as i lie and as much as i try
my loneliness still creeps in,
because no matter how much they protest,
i'm still the lowly fifth-wheel.
walking behind them on sidewalks
that are wide, but built for four
smiles and laughs when they look back
but the frown creeps evermore.
pelvis peaks through paper-thin skin
and knuckles white and pale
my ribs are empty, my bo
WeakI pride myself
on being strong
"I'm over him...
for good this time."
He pops back
into my life
Even a dream
Can send me spiraling
And I realize
How weak he makes me
My heart beats like a drum,
my mind buzzes
He lingers more than smoke
And I breathe him in
But forget to exhale
Then he fades...
and I'm me again
Until I think
[transmissions of a dead girl]i am the
moon: i am
the silver pill
to weigh down
into leaden eyes--
i am the
of the dark.
the stars are
all dead in their
you'll be safe, dear,
as i am the moon,
with all of your
(i am good bye and yet,
you think only of romantic
i am the moon.
i am the crescent
and dead altogether,
i still die.
All Here For A ReasonI turned onto a shady, well-manicured driveway that, for all intents and purposes, looked harmless enough. Maple trees lined both sides of the street, and a parade of Canadian geese marched across the road to a wide duck pond with a flamboyant fountain. There were blooming crepe myrtles and rose-of-sharons, and as I grew closer to my destination, neatly trimmed gardens with neatly trimmed bushes.
I stopped to let the geese pass. They looked at me; one hissed. I honked my horn and moved around them.
At the end of the road sat a collection of grayish buildings and a number of signs directing me to the appropriate parking lot. "Welcome to Ten Creeks Hospital," said one of them. "Please enjoy your stay." I parked in the visitor's lot. Surely I wouldn't be staying.
I was shaking when I got out of my car. I had spent the morning getting high. One foot in front of the other, flip-flop noises, hot sidewalk. Mulberry and magnolia trees, freshly shaved grass. A bench and pan for smokers. A set o
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