She said “don’t die”. She said, “Don’t get picked up by random cars-with-the-top-down-or-hanging-out-the-window boys, don’t talk to hitchhikers, ride your bike, don’t wear your hair up it’s easier for them to grab, you know, don’t make yourself a target, don’t be a chalk outline.” She never told me things like that before, in Suburbia, where the worst that could happen was your heavy-duty full-lawn sprinkler system powering up a bit too early. We didn’t say those things back home, but she was sure to remind me when I walked out the door, down the sidewalk, got in the car,
Mr. Chartres in stateroom 1-7 was a young man already on the downswing of his career. By the charming age of only 26, he had managed to shun himself from the literary world, estrange himself from society, and get himself disowned by his once-loving family. He had, at one time, held a very reputable position at Charles and Charles Publishing, but even his highfalutin connections could not save him when his novels became a soapbox for his mind-numbing folktale research and hair-brained calculations. No one wanted to employee, or publish, a man who had lost all his wits on his half-baked monster hunts. And so, the poor potential lost all of his
Episode Two: The Legend of the Great Grumble
The legends speak of a beastie quite grim. Down in black waters does the evil thing swim. With jaws that crush, and eyes that burn red, quite the thin ice do our circus heroes tread. For they say the devil beastie is easily displeased, when trespassers do not a clear warning heed.
But what is it really that lurks in the deep? What secrets does our watery mistress yet keep? Is all what it seems? What seems it at all? Our beloved Spectacle arrives to answer the call.
"Ahoy! Ahoy! Cast off the shore!"
It is up to sweet Jubi to bring truth to this lore.
Part I
The circus traveled in many magi
It's scary how alike you are at the beginning of your life, and the end of it.
Your skin is wrinkly, your hair is thin. You can't walk, eat, or sit up by yourself. And you have no idea what's going on around you.
I hadn't said a word since the excursion began. I sat in the back of the Mountaineer while Burl Ives' "A Holly Jolly Christmas" hummed in my ears. I was preparing to get angry, or nauseous, whichever hit me first. My mother and father were already lecturing under their breath about what not to do when we got there, since they were so familiar with my "usual behavior". This behavior entailed a look of pout and disgust, arm-crossi
2011 Final Chapter Fourteen by versailles6, literature
Literature
2011 Final Chapter Fourteen
I had a job once. I had a shitty car and a hole-in-the-wall apartment. I guess you could say I even had a life. It wasn't much of one, but it had been mine..
I imagine all those things are still there. Because the world was still spinning on its axis, and the oceans hadn't come to swallow us up. Somewhere in space there was a probe digging into Mars, trying to find evidence of life forms to prove we weren't alone.
For all we knew, it was just like any other day.
I thought of what it would be like to stand up and leave this room, get in my shitty car, and go back to my hole-in-the-wall apartment. Logically, I could do it. But all those
"Let me get this straight," Tae said, giving me a steely look.
"Be my guest."
"You're going to go out there and set fire to the one place that can get us out of this godforsaken city?"
"You make it sound so dirty."
"Are you insane?"
"Possibly. Mildly."
"What is that going to prove?"
"I'm not sure. I slept on it and now I'm not sure. I just really want to set something on fire. As for the plan I'm just wingin' it."
"'Wingin' in'? You can't 'wing it'!"
"I disagree. See, once we go in there and shoot off a couple smoke bombs, start some bathroom fires, get things going, our friends the Bands will probably feel the need t
"Ridley, I think there's something you should see."
Our first order of business was the most obvious, and likely, the most difficult objective to complete. I said I would need a task force and I'd meant it. The five of them had volunteered freely. But that still left a multitude of hippies completely reliant on us. And while they were trapped here in the Met, they would only be a liability. There was no other option. Our first move had to be getting each and every one of them to safety.
I followed Artist into the museum basement. It was abandoned, like whoever had been here last had just picked up and left and forgot to come back. We rea
I found My doll in the courtyard.
And He was worn and pale and tattered.
And His delicate fingers held fast the cross round His tender neck.
And I heard Him in His prayer
"Blessed is the one
who does not walk in step with the wicked
or stand in the way that sinners take
or sit in the company of mockers,
but whose delight is in the law of the Lord,
and who meditates on his law day and night.
"Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.
For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked leads to destruction."
And when finished He tucked away
Dirty.
Filthy.
The sickness bound to my blood.
coursing
Pumping through my veins.
Last night
I passed that sickness through my bloodstream
into Him.
Ruined Him.
Could I feel
Guilt?
Regret?
Shame?
Should I?
Yes.
And yet, I knew.
I knew all the while.
From the day I carried Him here.
No.
Long before.
When I saw Him on His stage.
That voice.
That light.
That body.
And He sang
beautiful sweet
pure
words
He will never sing them again.
I knew
from those moments
I knew
what the beast hungered for.
All the while
I knew my evils.
I did nothing
nothing
to stop them.
He did nothing to stop them.