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Literature Text
The last thing I took for my own on any raid was a mirror. It was huge, with a gilt frame and runes in a language I couldn’t find to translate. I hung it proudly in the entryway of my home, a reminder of the glory days.
But some nights I feel like there’s something in there, using my face to stare out at me. The worst was last night. It was storming, and I came in to find the mirror fogged over and while I watched, a message wrote itself: RELEASE ME.
That’s why I’m here.
I need your help.
But some nights I feel like there’s something in there, using my face to stare out at me. The worst was last night. It was storming, and I came in to find the mirror fogged over and while I watched, a message wrote itself: RELEASE ME.
That’s why I’m here.
I need your help.
Literature
What Lurks in the Woods?
They called him Dagon.
A third-tier mage, he could reduce entire villages to ash with a snap of his fingers. Yet here he was, stumbling blindly down a muddy hill in the dark. His majik was useless here; he would have to take care of this demon the old-fashioned way.
Dagon could hear his quarry breathing heavily, somewhere up ahead. The succubus had cut a swath through his village, killing every young man she could get her claws into. Only Dagon was immune to her powers, but it took all his majik to hold off her demonic influence. Hence his stalking of the monster like a hunter pursuing a deer.
Slowly now, he crept up on her, the d
Literature
Panhassett
in my mind is another country running wide-open in the snow, sun, and rain it's old to us in the world but it's new just the same vibrant vintage melodies of laughter, love, and pain tall grass grows at the edge of town hiding the rails that run away forever a whitewashed shack stands by a sycamore grove exuding straw-strewn silence from its dusty heart a water tower stands at the east end of town a windmill stands at the west the blades carve the sun going down loneliness runs like blood on the ground on Friday afternoon the wind came around rawboned and dry wending mid the pines hello old son it's been many moons since last we spoke- said the wind as he caressed a longhorn skull bleached white from the sun yes it has I replied- my voice a scarf of blue grey smoke the wind spoke in shadows- of dappled Iowa poplars of Kansas City railheads of Powder River coal drags of empty two-lane blacktop in Nevada of an abandoned farmhouse on the
Literature
Reorient
I don't need to self-abandon To chase some dream of peace with you. You will find your peace At your own pace, or not. I will never know peace, Unless I stop running And sit here, alone, with me.
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I finally did one of the challenges! In order, they go:
object: a mirror
column a: 101 words
column b: Ghost story
column c: Retired Pirate
column d: extreme weather (Thunderstorms totally count.)
I have fulfilled all of these, at least as far as my word processor's word count is concerned.
object: a mirror
column a: 101 words
column b: Ghost story
column c: Retired Pirate
column d: extreme weather (Thunderstorms totally count.)
I have fulfilled all of these, at least as far as my word processor's word count is concerned.
© 2015 - 2024 Tobaeus
Comments5
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This is awesome. It leaves just enough to the imagination and gave me a little shiver.