When Dreams Become RealityI had risen early, just as the day had begun to dawn, in hopes of reaching the privies before the morning lines grew. All was silent as I walked the dried mud path up the hill. On the return journey, I could not help but to pause a moment. I turned, and headed further up the hill, pausing only when I had reached the top. Standing in nothing but a long chemise, nightcap and my cloak, I must have presented quite a sight, but before me lay quite another.
To the East lay the encampment- a sea of tents and pavilions stretching for what must have been at least two miles, and a half besides. To the North and South lay a great expanse of birch and aspen forest, quietly murmuring to itself in an unseen breeze. To the West lay the open fields that would become a battleground in the coming days. For now though, it remained empty, quietly biding it's time.
As the light fog moved through the fields, drifting away from the camps, the faint, yet unmistakable sound of slow-motio
Favourite Brands"You've got to be kidding me," Theresa said with a drawn-out groan. "You're really bring that up again?"
Tawnya grinned mischievously from behind the heap of fabric that was slowly beginning to resemble the multi-layered skirt that it was intended to be. "I see no reason why not to," she retorted.
Mariah laughed pausing in her pinning for a moment as she stretched her cramping hands. "What on earth are you two going on about?"
"The old favorite brands joke," Tawnya replied immediately.
At Mariah's slightly bewildered expression, Theresa finally gave in and explained the years' old teasing, and within three minutes, all three girls had abandoned their sewing projects, laughing too hard to see their needles.
"You really asked the manager of the store?" Mariah gasped, "What on earth were you thinking?"
"I have no idea," Theresa replied, forcing herself to remember to breathe. "All I know is that it's a good thing he's forgotten my face. That store has some of the bes
Of Arms and HorsesThere was a certain look of resignation on his face as he knelt at the river's side, meticulously washing the blood from his hands. Downstream, the peacefully flowing river flowed crimson, stained with the blood that still dripped steadily from the fingers devoid of life, attached to the arm devoid of a body.
"So, you've done it then."
Gaiden barely stirred in response to the familiar voice of his companion and friend until the last specks of dried blood were gone from his hands and arms. As he stood, he slid the gleaming blade back into the sheath at his side with one smooth gesture.
"It had to be done." Gaiden replied, "He knew too much. He had spoken at great length of what could only be the touch of what we seek to keep hidden."
"And so you destroyed what evidence of that there was left," Lorthon said, slowly, "but it seems that you've forgotten that such evidence can be rendered anew by those with the power to do so."
"I knew that you followed, and so left t
Should Have BeenShould have been
You should have been there, it was sight to see, or so I've been told. I, thankfully, had been out cold since the pallet of scrap metal had fallen from the top shelf. Within minutes of the spill, the entire after-hours staff had gathered in the storage warehouse, already assessing the damage and counting the number of their colleagues, hoping that no one had been there when the shelf finally gave in.
It was not until the shift boss arrived did any notice the limp arm that was barely visible from around the corner.
Though the majority of the large metal scraps had fallen forward off the shelf, rather then to the side, a good number still did.
By the time anyone noticed, it was too late. My hand was shattered, and as many thought while the paramedics carted me out to the ambulance, impossible that I'd ever be able to use it again.
You should have been there, at the grueling six hour long surgery as the team of the best surgeons in the state
Ripped StockingsRipped Stockings
They hung, empty, from the end of the empty bed, a reminder of seasons long past, and the many bittersweet seasons that lay before us yet. They were, of course, her stockings. Threadbare, ripped, but above all, loved. They had been the stockings that she wore on her final night with us- just three short years to the day. Had any outsider seen the row of children's stockings hanging from each of their beds, no one would have guessed the weight that the empty pair of gaily colored stockings meant to us. Hers was a life taken far too soon, the reason we fled our old home to come here, where there was at least a hope for safety and protection from the armies that would claim the lands beneath our feet.
There was once a time when we'd leave our shoes out at the foot of the bed, left empty in hopes of the treasures that we might find stuffed in them the next morning, but even that tradition fell beneath the marching feet of the relentless arm