fluffythemonkey

Atop a hill not far from home Brought here before   by guidance of roam. `Still in sight was church and road beyond which folk just never go'ed:  there hedge and hall and heart e'er grow'ed. "But what abroad? But what abounds in places no man ever found?" No answer would I ever get a smile and polite "forget":  those questions who still linger yet! So climbed I that hill once again: Ahead lay naught but tree and fen, rivers wide and cold and deep which ran from hills and mountains steep  wherein none know what creatures creep. Then: Lo! I cried, and down I dove What journey awaits? What treasure trove? Not heedi

The message is that I'm eating my body until I've worn away    from blunt gnawing        the cubic centimetres, leaving behind a raw landscape with strings of muscle sticking out and so sensitive as glass    caught between the          nail and its bed.    Against the howling breath of Winter, around an autumnal fire in the middle of the cavern:       the Echoing expounds like                 hands         on a drum  a story of Light that didn't have the courage to reflect upwards through indigo currents,  buried beneath gallons of Ocean,  alone                                                           below rippling

Over the crescent bobbed a little head—not necessarily little, but by its distance it seemed small—that was soon shown to be accompanied by two other little heads. Sticking the blade in the stump, Kjeld Jens shifted his weight onto his father's old axe, straining his eyes to see past the poinsettian rays tiptoeing over the tops and through the branches of thinning-leaved trees lining the horizon. To his left sat his small wooden abode, adorned with two happy circular windows with oaken shutters he had fashioned himself; to his right ran the Long Road, along which the proprietors of the little bobbing heads were traveling. He adjusted the brim

Justin felt a grip as a vice tighten around his neck-- he gasped. The lights flickered back into life; three men surrounded him: one, the librarian, who seemed much more dark and terrifying in this moment, though his hard stare relented once he recognized Justin's face; the second was about Justin's height, with a mop of dark hair and a trimmed goatee; the third and final was currently hidden behind Justin's neck, and for this reason could not be seen.    'Speak,' snarled the man harshly into his right ear, 'who are you? Why are you here-- what did you hear?'    'He's the man who sits in the back...' the librarian grunted; he stepped forwar

    'Meow.'     Justin's eyebrows drooped. 'I hate you, stupid cat' he hissed through gritted teeth, concealed by a forced grin (lest anyone be watching). The cat strolled up to him, waving its stubby tail arrogantly from side to side, and began purring and rubbing against his leg.     Justin walked across the stained pavement to the front of his trailer; the motionless air was still nippy, though First Quarter was several weeks past. Pulling open the wooden door bound by recently greased hinges, the cat jumped in before Justin could object. Inside, one was not to be impressed-- not by our standards, at least. The room of entry was the kitc

    Clank.     Justin Carey looked down at his feet. His right steel-toed boot had made contact with a rectangular piece of metal lying on the road. While the road in itself wasn't the greatest piece of artwork-- what with the large (confusable with artwork) series of cracks running from Halber all the way down to Elb and such-- it hardly seemed the right place to leave a piece of metal. Someone's liable to trip on this and break their neck, Justin mumbled as he picked it up. Its coldness shot straight into the areas of flesh it met on his fingers and thumb. Scanning the dark street, he located a waste receptacle under a streetlight and marc