A Ritual of Three: A Magic for Happy, Revitalized Spirits
An opening of our ritual minds: I am ready for magic to be done upon me. Hear that, all you good witches of the world?…
Tag: writing
The Strid
It would be a dangerous thing. Dangerous in that it would convince me, perhaps convince others who might take me as an object lesson, that…
Maggots: Mass Effect 3 Shenko Drabble
That boy had followed her into the stars, was haunting her. A blur of dead, so many little boys and their mothers, their brothers and sisters. All of them dishonored and left for the maggots who seemed to be the only other winners on the field – save the Reapers. The Reapers didn’t even have the decency to make use of what they killed, to feed. There was no meaning but annihilation. Arran needed to make sense of the terror that had become the very boundaries of her life. So maybe her unconscious fixated on a child, on what could have been if she’d never been ordered on that fateful shakedown cruise to Eden Prime, and twisted him, left him to the fire. It made a shitty kind of sense.
I Was Just a Stone: Mass Effect 2 Shenko Drabble
It felt half-punishment, half-mercy because he didn’t want to know what was on the other side of the bender, when the reel ended and she was just dead.
Heliotrope
What I need and want to write about these days is not our best china, put out only for company. It is vacuous, dropped sentence-ridden, whirling dervishes, mean and sad, and hopeful and bracing. It is Maria at the start of the Sound of Music, just feeling herself in the air. Both the good and the ill in equal measure.
Over Chamomile
Your scar captivates me, the soft bridge on your flexing, fleshy, whipped cream arm, the scar from falling that interminable distance from the apple tree bough’s own break to the ground. I know that much. What captivated you there? Dragged you like a bonded prisoner into heights unknown. Made you taste danger like sharp, unripened blackberries.
Hard Livin’ in Bitch City
So mad they have chase me, they have to catch me, hold me down to screw my jaws shut and then I want to scream so hard I pull the wires apart like some kind of maniac. Break out of there like metal is paper. Like Aeolian gusts are taking hold of my throat. Banshees’ll need earplugs. Like I want to break out of a straitjacket and roam the streets howling and kicking soft things in their faces.
Elan Vitae
A muffled noise, the feeling of sheets being draped over and pulled away from his body inch by inch, one by one until the darkness…
At the End of the Day (For Peter)
It feels somehow, at 11:30 p.m. like you are sitting on the day’s windowsill as the earthly set designers change the scenes around you. Draw in a tree and drape blue and purple leaves on its arms, pull out a curtain of evening sky and stud it with zirconia, paint the middle distance until it pulls the eye into infinity.
Grace Under Fire
I just have to get back into the groove. Of everything. So the gross details of my absence are thus: I think I haven’t thrown…