dragonfirekai
Aiden was the All American kid in high school. I say that with no sense of irony.
It's maddening how restraining the situation is. Not just the cast, the way it wraps around the leg and drags out every itch and bad odor that part of the body can produce, but the whole deal.
My first tour in Europe was in England. We were the first wave of Americans, and we built bases for the Army Air Corps, paved landing strips in what used to be a farmers field.
He took us into the night, and we trusted him. He was smart, clever, and cunning, and he knew where the traps and pitfalls were that blocked our path. We gave him everything we had, our meager fortunes, our trust, our dreams. We forgot one thing, Coyotes are scavengers, they prey on dead things.
I hate going home. I drive for hours with sun slowly dying at my back, occasional glimmers shooting into the mirrors, slashing at my vision.
The piano crashed down the stairs, making the most beautiful music she had ever heard for just a moment before scattering ebony and ivory teeth across the stairwell floor.
We create our own hell. We are the architects of our most painful suffering. The devil's a myth, a mirage with cloven hooves and a forked tail, frightful to behold, but ultimately, an illusion concealing the much harsher truth.
To put something back together is a difficult feat. It's much easier to dash the world to the four winds, damn the consequences. Someone else will deal with them.
It was no time for fear, no time to shrink away from what must be done. As he stepped into the pass, he cringed for a moment at the anticipation of the crushing pain that awaited him.
"I didn't mean to!" he said. The thought echoed through his mind, repeating ad nauseum as it ricocheted off the walls of his mind.
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writing since 2012 · 128 entries · 128 days shown up
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blooduponhomeworkeventuallyroadhoursdesertlightsunearthschoolwarmindwhitemetal