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BIS: BIL Ch.15Chapter 15: Kara Burns The Letter
We got the fire going. Melvin smiled and sat on a log, ready to answer any questions we might have. Rather, I think he was ready to answer any questions I might have since any questions Al probably had were about me and either Melvin couldn’t answer them or he wouldn’t answer them because they were my questions to answer and not his. Sometimes I loved that about Melvin, but other times it drove me nuts. Trying to get information out of that ghost can be almost impossible.
I cleared out the pit while Al gathered some wood and poking sticks. We never could start a fire without help, so while I arranged the logs he grabbed some starter fluid from the back shed. I had folded the letter and put it in my pocket until we could get the fire going. I didn’t want to change any part of the letter surfacing. I didn’t want to know what Al would say or think if he ever saw the letter I wrote so many years ago.
“It feels like a lifetime
BIS: BIL Ch.14Chapter 14: Demeter On The Trail
The world is so much better when you travel it on four legs. More dangerous, but more fun. Hunting, not having to worry about cooking your food, being able to travel without using gas you have to spend money to buy from somewhere. If only I could get rid of the humans who make the planet stink. Human blood doesn’t taste as good to me as it might to some of the others in my pack, but that’s why I have them. Rather, that’s why I have Devlin. He can clean up the mess. When it’s a full moon and I have a human who needs ‘taken care of’ I can simply leave the human in with him and let Devlin do whatever he pleases with the person.
The screams that he gets out of women are some of my favorites.
When we’re in our shifted forms we can’t hear each others thoughts automatically. That is a werecreature ability. Dirty, filthy, beasts. Shifters are far superior. We have packs, we have more order when we’ve changed
BIS: BIL Ch.13Chapter 13: Samual/Als Fire
I heard them, but couldn’t make out anything more than muttering. The walls in White Wolf were made so you didn’t have to worry about hearing your neighbors doing anything you didn’t want to know about, but they were thin enough that if someone screamed for help someone could hear.
“Samual, when was the last time we had a fire?” Melvin asked.
I shrugged, putting some papers away, my back to him. “Why, does the one who came back want one?” I said, feeling a little heartless.
“If you don’t want me here then just tell me to leave, Al.” She whispered. I jumped when I heard her voice and fell over, papers scattering on top of me.
“I forgot you could do that.” I groaned, letting my head hit the floor as I caught my breath.
“And I forgot how easy it was for me to spook you.”
“If you want to start a fire Melvin can show you where the materials are. I need to finish putting thes
BIS: BIL Ch.12Chapter 12: Kara's Tears
“Kara, this…” He stopped. I don’t know if he didn’t know what to say or if he couldn’t say what he thought.
“Yeah… I never left this for him.”
“The day you left… You were pacing outside, waiting for him, correct?”
“No.” I took a deep breath. “I was pacing debating to stay and hand the letter to him myself, to not give him the letter at all, to leave the letter on his pillow and be gone before he came back.” I sat in a chair and pressed my hands against my eyes, trying to hold back tears. “I tried to forget about Al, about this stupid letter, but somewhere deep inside of me I never did. I couldn’t sleep at night once I got settled in a place and eventually when I had a job I went to a doctor and was prescribed sleep medication, but I haven’t taken any since I left where I was.” Melvin held up a hand to stop me.
“That’s enough, Ka
BIS: BIL Ch.11Chapter 11: Melvin Hears Her
“I left because I was afraid I was in love with him.” She said. What kind of reasoning is that? It has been so long since I was human that I can no longer remember how easy it is to reason something incorrectly. To make a mistake. If I loved someone I would never let them go. Samual tried that with Kara. He did not get to confess to her and, at the moment she confessed why she left, I was glad he did not get to tell her how he felt.
“Kara, I… I am not sure I understand.” I said.
She took a shaky breath and pulled a letter out of her bag. I watched as she opened it and laid it flat on the table.
To my Al,
It feels strange to be writing to you when you’re just in another room. It feels strange to be writing this to tell you why I did what I did. Or should that be do what I will do? I will never be able to fully apologize to you for what I’m going to do. I’m going to leave.
You and Melvin will be fine here wi
BIS: BIL Ch.10Chapter 10: Karas Perspective
I carried my bags up to the door, hoping that Al was still there, hoping that Melvin was still around, and hoping, most of all, that I would not be turned away.
I opened the door and walked inside, as soaked as I had been in years. They were quiet. If there was anything that would have made any noise it would have felt amplified. Finally, I broke the silence.
“Hey.” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. My emotions felt utterly and completely thrown around. Up was down, down was left, left was a third of a turn to the right, and I didn’t know what to make of seeing Al and Melvin. The two beings who still meant anything to me. The only two who, if they were willing, might be able to help me.
They stayed silent, so I tried to think of something else to say. “Do… Do you remember…” I bit my lip, unsure if I wanted to know if Al and/or Melvin had forgotten who I was.
“How could we ever forget you, Kara?”
BIS: BIL Ch.9Chapter 9: Melvin Sees Her
I thought we would never see her again. I was so sure of it. I did not think that she would leave us with nothing, but I did not think she would ever return to White Wolf or Grey Rain. She never even told us where she had gone to. She never said if she had a plan for her future.
All she ever told us was that she needed to be somewhere else. Not even a hint as to why. I do not know if Samual ever had a theory for why she left us, but I know that I had my own thoughts on the matter. I thought she missed Mr. White and Mr. Wolf and could not bear to be in White Wolf without them.
Without Mr. White and Mr. Wolf White Wolf felt quiet, but without Kara around White Wolf just felt… I do not know. It did not feel empty, but it felt so very different from what it had felt like. I do not know how many times I had heard Samual calling out her name in the middle of the night, tossing and turning as he dreamed of her. Many times he did not talk about his dreams. Som
BIS: BIL Ch.8Chapter 8: She arrives (Samual/Al)
“Not one, single, cent.” I told Melvin. “She promised us she would send money even though we would never need it.”
“Maybe she simply forgot?” Melvin offered.
“That wouldn’t be like her. She always kept her promises.” I sighed, staring out the window in the office. There were no guests today and I was going through the accounts for the inn. Kara had promised us when she left that she would send money “back home” and when I reminded her that we wouldn’t need it she said she didn’t care. She wanted to send money to the place that saved her life, she said. I groaned in frustration and stood up to walk around. “I need to walk around. I need to get my mind off of her.” I muttered softly as I stood up.
“If she always kept her promises…” Melvin started. I didn’t need him to finish the sentence. Truth was I didn’t want him to finish the sent
BIS: BIL Ch.7Chapter 7: Kara Flashback with Devlin Feature
I’m safe. I’m ho- why is my door open? I got out, keys in hand, and walked to the door. There were scratches on the lock, showing signs of forced entry, but it looked like the intruder or intruders didn’t have that hard of a time getting in. Cops weren’t there so either they hadn’t been called because my neighbors didn’t care or because they were asleep. It didn’t matter.
My phone rang. When I looked at it I saw it was Demeter calling. “Yes?”
“I need you to do something for me.” He said.
“I’m at your command.”
“There’s a woman who just cost me my prize. I need her house broken into so she’ll know someone is after her. Do not leave any trace of yourself. No prints, no hair, nothing.”
“So basically just scare her.”
“Will do sir.”
“I’ll text you what I know.”
Liquor is one way out an'death's the other The art of growing up,
is to pour shots of whiskey
into your coffee in the morning
to make it through
when all you want to do
is lie in bed
but there’s nothing
The tragedy of the mook and how it died one dayThe fickle sky presses
Against the glass of the windows
And the dry strung up heat of the winter sun
Spilled over the anemic asphalt
Our shadows seared into the bottom of our sneakers
Moving with a sort of blithe nonchalance
Searching for the speckled grey of a familiar horizon
The apathetic footsteps and my clenched hands
Quiver beneath the setting sun’s bloody smear
Across the over populated sky
That was no longer clear
Rather it was the looking glass phenomena
Spread eagled across my retinas
And during those grief stricken days spent
Hanging off your rooftops and skylines
I've contemplated replacing
my heart with another
Liver so I can
Drink more and care less
And I can vow that sleeping is only
For the dead or at least
The heavily medicated and sadly
I can no longer tell the difference between
spun out so far, i can't be true to you.he's still the way i watch the stars
and how i run like no one's watching
he's what i dream of when i'm awake
but maybe i'm done waiting
maybe it's you
maybe it's me this time
and maybe that's enough
he still races through my veins
and no, my heart is not steady when i see him
but i was never one for patience
a year is too long to hold on
and he is conservative
and button downs
he is beautiful
but i am wild
i am dirty feet
and summer evenings
i am mud-caked nails
and cider throats
i am sun soaked
laced with drunken poetry
i am watercolour
he is oil based
he is canvas in london galleries
i am doodles on napkins in mediterranean restuarants
you are cheekbones and dark eyes
coffee stained fingers
smirks and accidental brushes
i don't intend to know anything more
he is confidence
i am uncertainty
i live in the wind and the forests
we both spend too much time in front of mirrors
but whilst he kisses them
i crack them
and all the while he is leather
the King and his moon.i.
this is an ode
to the King. We
watched him blow
away like an ocean
of black feathers,
and our Father muttered
that he was
forgiven, always, truly
forgiven. But we
all know that
nothing gold can
stay-- he had to
go. It was written.
that was when the
Queen cut her hair. Again,
we watched it fall to
her chamber floor
in heaps of strung
gold. But we already
knew that it would have
to go. We already
knew that she
would go, for it
was written, and it
was already forgiven.
the Prince grew up
with the memory of
black shoes and hair
littering the halls of
an empty palace. The
Queen was busy, always
busy, and then she was sick--
and then the Prince put on
his black robes for her, even
though he always remembered
her in shades of red.
on his father's throne,
the boy-king realized that
this was the place
that swallowed up his love,
and it gave way to war.
You know what they
say-- "A heartbrok
i.by the grace of an orphan wintering,
i have known you
babel, babylon: eyes raptured rare and hands
to strange knowing and throat bruising
pale against the bloom
. ...such sudden gods. such taken
you stumble where night slurs
too far to the left; my wild garden
old dusks, blue
reality vs. pretendi.
a wooden sword
and an eye-patch
i was a girl who
knew deep inside
had developed feelings
and they were all
selfishly for me.
you tricked me,
you kidnapped me,
all to tell you stories
in which good triumphs
over evil, not really;
was to walk the plank
as you planned to kill
him and feed him to
the ticking crocodile.
happy thoughts and
faerie dust would
allow me to fly,
but i only had the
first and i was doomed;
your wooden sword poked
my back, waiting for me
to take the leap
down (the stairs),
hearing the ticking
(of the oven)
go off - just in time.
surly, mother called us
down for dinner
and at the end of the night,
it was all truly
bedtime stories will
serve as my peter pan,
as my escape from reality.
ScreamSo I'll stand and yell it to the ceiling
to celebrate the fact that i'm alive and breathing.
I'll take your hand to try and share this feeling.
The only thing I can do is stand and scream.
"I still fucking love you."
And hope it starts the healing.
PossibilitesWhen I was 5
I wanted to be
anything to be
When I was 12
I wanted to be
to learn how
the Earth works
and what makes
stones so beautiful
When I was 16
I wasn't sure what
I wanted to be
The future was uncertain
So was I at this point of time
But then again
So were other kids
Now I'm 20
I want to be a writer
My mind's eye seeing
people and places
like a photo album
words stringing together
to create something beautiful
Untitled...The world is made of a couple of hopeless poets.
Dreamers cutting their wrists,
Rivers are the color of their dull, dusty blood.
The metallic taste of their sorrows on my tongue.
Bullets entering skulls that when burst open, shimmer with brilliance.
A gentle touch.
Oh, what a pity.
For all geniuses to be forever lonely.
And all poets, dead.
Vanguard, Chapter 1: DuncanDuncan's Journal: Day 1288
I consider myself a good man. I respect women, elders, my equals, and the dead. I say a morning prayer, and an evening one. Hell, I even thank the gods for a meal, instead of immediately chowing down in the voracious manner as the other soldiers here do. By all logical means, I should be in paradise. No really, not just because I'm a good man, but also because I should be dead by now. So I ask myself: why, oh gods up there, have I ended up in hell?
1288 days. 1288 days of my life have been spent in this misery, and I'm beginning to lose faith in the glory I was promised. Some of the rookies still live in their ignorant bliss, but I've lived long enough to realize that there's not much glory to find here. “Sing the songs of glory and march into battle—-join The Crusade today!”. Such were the words of the posters The Crusade has spread all over The Mortal Realm. Gullible fools practically stand in line for these songs of glory that th
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