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World OutsideWorld Outside.
"Open the doors, and let's see what the world out there has to offer us this time," Caravi said exuberantly as he strode across the control room to the main room, barely pausing to let the others catch up to him. It was a remarkably abrupt change in his personality- something the others immediately noticed but said nothing of. Instead, they exchanged bemused expressions, each wondering the same thought: where in the universe would they find themselves this time? "Who's ready for this?" he asked curiously. In return, he received barely more then blank expressions. "Oh, come off it," he exclaimed. "It's one of the most peaceful planets out there."
"And what happened the last time you visited Thalio?" Thristal said. "You came back with a herth-pole at your heels, rearing up to do away with your head, if I recall correctly."
Caravi shrugged off the comment easily. "Different circumstances. I swear this time will be nothing short of a vacation for all of us. &
Slip AwaySlip Away.
Slip away. That's all that he really wanted to do. Whether by sleep, for some short amount of time, or a much longer rest, Caravi no longer cared, so long as it happened, and without the known universe falling to bits in his absence. He was tired. Tired to his core of everything single thing that had happened to him. Some days, the weight of the universe was too much for him to be able to carry, and he wanted no more of it. The rest of the universe, of course, disagreed. It, along with all of it's inhabitants need him. Little good that would do them, he scoffed to himself. There was little good that he could do anyone or anything if he remained this exhausted with no respite. It wasn't that his body was tired- no, the artificial stimulants he practically relied on now made sure that he was on his toes, no matter what time of day it was- no matter what the definition of 'day' even was. No, Caravi was exhausted in mind and soul. Too long had he carried the guilt and
We'll Get ByWe'll Get By
"We'll get by," Gravor said, "One way or the other."
Frethia shook her head in an almost angry retort. "Caravi's basically out of commission for the next several days, in case you haven't noticed." she replied sharply. "Without him, there's little else we can do."
"There has to be a way." Gravor said. "From the little sense that he did make while still conscious, it sounded like the plan was still in effect. Who are we to go against his orders?"
Zimot looked up from the notebook full of scribbles that no one else had been able to decipher. "He wanted us to keep going," he said softly, his disbelief clear in his tone. "To lie in this language- his birth language, I might add- is a fatal sin. It's written as clear as the first day we saw the Grath sun rising over the horizon. No matter what happened to him on Avarkeen, he wanted us to go on."
Both Gravor and Frethia looked up at him in silence before Gravor spoke. "The way that you're saying that... it's almost as if he..."
A Touch of ConcreteI've tried writing. I'm something like six days behind in my prompts now, but each time I look to the list of daily prompt challenges, I find myself faltering, the potential ideas seizing up and dying before I can even reach them. I've discovered the reason now, thankfully, though I'm not yet sure how to go about fixing it. Maybe this letter will help. I can only hope.
The reason. I'm filled with apathy for the prompts. They mean nothing to me when I'm either emotionally drained or mentally crying out against the culture that I'm forced to live in. Friendships are one thing, and for the most part, I can deal with it. Sure, the need to vent was building for the past week or so, but I can do something about that. What I can do nothing about though, is what has really started to get under my skin. A one time drawing of a penis on my whiteboard in pen was alright. Irritating, but alright. The following drawing on the door-frame itself in sharpie was not alright. That's vandalism
Cracks in the Crystal BallCracks in a Crystal Ball.
The tubes running to and fro across her son's face as he lay limply on the seemingly oversize hotel bed distantly reminded her of the cracks in a crystal ball. It was ironic really, as the cause of the extended hospital stay had been a eerily swirling gas- much like what one always imagined to fill the inside of a crystal ball. His breathing was shallow, but at least it was steady. The first hours after the ambulance team found him had been touch and go as he periodically stopped breathing. They had later determined that it was because of the damage that the poisonous gas had already caused within his lungs- collapsing some cells as they exploded while utterly burning out others at the same time.
No one knew where the gas had originated from, or who had made it, but she could not make herself care right now. Her young son had now missed nearly a week's worth of school, and still had not woken from the induced coma, nor could he be r
Clock SmithClock Smith
It was only a matter of time, they insisted on telling him after each visit to his comatose daughter. It had been two weeks since the grandfather clock had fallen from it's shelf and knocked her to the floor, leaving her in a state of unconsciousness. Despite all that they said, he knew that he had not imagined their whisperings behind his back, blaming him for not being careful enough; and in the process, only adding to the layers of guilt that he, as a father already had heaped onto himself.
While his wife took over his job at the clock shop, he remained at home, watching over his only daughter with a diligent perseverance, if only to prevent himself from thinking about the incident. He could not return to the shop. To do so- to return to the work that he had once loved, would be to stir up the memories and the guilt that nearly crushed him when he allowed himself to think of it. Days passed, and the broken- nearly shattered- grandfather clock was
The Rat CatcherThe rat catcher. It was all he had ever been, and all that he ever planned to be. It was more t hen just a name for him though, he personified the title- he knew rats, where they they lived, and he understood their perspective of life. He knew the dirt, the smell of dirty air, and the sound of the busy streets. He knew when it was safe to be out, and when it was not- just as the rats and rodents of the streets did. He knew which streets where safe. He knew which faces were friendly, and which ones where to avoid at the cost of his life. He, the rat catcher, would always be the rat catcher, even when the tides of change slowly ebbed away from the facts of history and closer to the myths and dreams of legends instead. He would be there, humbly pointed a finger to redirect the sightseer's attention back the times they had turned their backs on.
Perfect RoadThe road was lined with low underbrush and strong trees in the summer, the air laced with the heady scents of unseen flowers. In the autumn, the forest was quiet, the crisp leaves crunching underfoot and whispering in the still warm breeze. In the winter, all fell into a deep slumber, and only the pine branches murmured in the cold wind. It was never a bitter, painful cold, but cold enough to be clear that it was indeed winter. Only the occasional bird could be heard in the distance, and all else was still. This is the path that lurks in the depths of my mind- sometimes in the back, and more often then not, vying for my immediate attention. And you wonder why I have a hard time staying in the 'right' century when adventure, full length dresses and my own characters linger so close?
Monetary FoolsMonetary Fools
I'm sorry that I ever doubted you. I'm sorry that I underestimated your intelligence. I'm sorry that it came down to this being my fault. Sorry never cuts it though, does it? I'm sorry that it had to be that way. I never should have laughed at your ships- pieces of shipwrecked junk that they appeared to be. That was my first mistake. The second was calling you a fool because of it. Now, I really wonder- how much *did* you spend on them? They certainly proved themselves to be more then what they appeared, that's for sure. I know this, and I know it was that that undermined us. We underestimated you because of their outwardly appearance, and we fell for the trap that you so cleverly created for us. You lured us into a sense of safety, and I felt no need to be worried- just as you wanted. It was my fault that we were unprepared for the attacks on the planet. A piece of floating space junk didn't seem all that harmless, nor did any of the t
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