Stootle

- It's four AM and she's going through the gutters for spare change again. There's usually a few quarters or nickels hidden beneath the garbage and the sludge. She's not so fortunate today; her hang holds only six pennies and a dime. Not even enough for a lollipop. Sunlight meets her eyes, razor sharp and clean, not yet tainted by the smog of the city. She searches for a few more minutes. Finding nothing, she gives up and wipes her hands on her pants (they're almost to old to wear anymore). She's going to be late for work. Maybe she'll take the day off. Navigating the alleyways, dodging the hands and please of the needier, she mentally ca

Killing is not so easy as the innocent believe. Sometimes he wishes he had a sword, or a dagger, spear, anything sharp. Anything that could cut flesh and stab and find veins an arteries and vital organs. Something that ends it fast. Instead he beats and beats and beats until the life fades out of the eyes. It's the first time he's killed something human and the blood is all over him, all over him, what will they think if he walks around in clothes all covered in blood? and the clothes are ruined what will mother think and oh oh mother's dead. Lyon says passed away, Aunt Sialeeds winces, and Georg doesn't say. Father's dead, too. He wond

secrets hidden under trees     smeared fingerprints tell a story of pain  and disgust  and things less shallow than want or   need story of what never happened wrapped in red thread   red like roses     red            like                       blood again, the paranoia  reaches the mind    stimulation is not so pleasant this               time lying on the decaying needles    is another story one that doesn't or won't or might    end in happily ever after and ballgowns innocent objects become     tools in the unforgivable    the disgusting   the       unaccepted                     but since when h

Well, looks as if little Shirou-chan came all the way out here to greet me himself. What an honour. Toushirou looks up at the man descending from heaven, from the hollow world; the man who is king of heaven and hell and all that is in between. For the third time in his life, he is scared. The first time was when Aizen had faked his death. The second time was when Hinamori was killed. The third time is now, realizing that he will not live through this. His fellow captains and co-workers lie in a bloody heap all around him, completely unrecognizeable. He thinks he sees Mastumoto's ridiculous pink scarf somewhere in the mass of flesh and i

playground schoolbells ring again a metallic smell; face pressed against the cold metal of a swingset. creaky joints are far away, grating slowly at the mind. eyes seeing pieces of metal and plastic, not registering their purpose and function. hands forever stained by the dirt of the playground. rain clouds come to play again huge dark titans; masters of sky coming to dominate the land; to drown it, to nuture it with it's whole being. merciless cycle of tedium; repition of three steps. crescendo to the never-ending piece. has no one told she's not breathing? batteries expire; people do too, yet no fuss is made when a battery dies. chemic

Sometimes you have to wonder if it is all really necessary. It seems like such a huge endeavor to walk around on eggshells and then suddenly drop the habit and talk, because that's what normal people do. Sometimes you consider just throwing it all to hell, because it's all going to end sometime, anyway. You'll move, get into a fight, or just drift apart. Your life is composed of artificial flavouring. Nobody really knows who you are, because you know that what you are isn't something you're proud of. So you made someone else to be you. You let her live your life while you sit back and watch. She is a happy girl, and she is smart, kind, pret