NightOne can hear the whisper of the nightA subtle soundA guiding lightThe deer’s paws as they hit the groundRustling leaves respond from all aroundA call of natureIt expresses no dangerOne can see the painting of the nightThe dotted starsThe moonlight’s brightA simple canvas, no planes, trains, or carsIlluminating the reach of nature’s mightIn the sky there’s the distant MarsA wondrous nightscapeNot a wound or scrapeOne can hear the desecration of the nightA deafening soundThe animal’s frightMotors screech and trees are downedOne can see the destruction of the nightBulldozers sparGreed’s
Le secret du temps-prologue (version 1)PROLOGUE« Patience, disait-il toujours.-Mais j’en ai assez d’attendre ! Il y a quelque chose qui m’attend pas loin d’ici !-Attend ton tour. Lorsque l’on fait exprès pour tomber, on n’est pas tant surpris que ça, quand cela arrive par surprise, on est surpris. Ne cherche pas à trouver ton destin, laisse-le venir à toi. » J’ai l’impression de partager mon corps avec quelque chose d’autre. Je pourrais dire que je suis vraiment différente des autres. Je suis… comment dire ? Je suis… soumise. Depuis la mort de mes parents, je vis chez ma tante si sévère. Je n’ai qu’une amie. Elle s’appelle Lisa, mais je ne crois pas que quelqu’un a besoin d’une autre personne qu’elle. Son défaut - le seul, mais celui qui pourrait causer sa perte – est celui d’avoir trop d’ambition.
The Bowie Knife "What are you going to do, kill me? I'd like to see you try, Thomas!" Spat a bald man, obviously toughened up judging by the scar on his face that went with his bald scalp. "That is my intent, Joseph!" Thomas sneered back with equal ferocity. "Okay." Joseph put his hand behind his back and pulled out a pistol. "This should be interesting to watch. You don't even have a gun, only a silly little knife." "This silly little knife has killed more people than you can imagine. It represents more than you and your pathetic gun can ever comprehend." "Fine. Enlighten me. Show me the glory of your old decrepit Bowi
The TripTy had an ordinary life. He had normal hopes, normal friends, and normal parents. However, once a year, his dad took a mysterious trip to who knows where. Whenever he asked his dad about the trip, his father would jump into a soliloquy about personal sanity. Ty would always think that his dad, a renowned philosopher and author, was just having an idea about his next book. This pattern would repeat for a few years until Ty was thirteen. One summer morning, Ty was awoken by an incessant repetition of his name. "Ty, Ty, wake up!" The voice sounded familiar, so he woke up to find his dad by his bedside dressed in an unusual assortment of cloth
VainMarty was a vain man. He grew up on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. He still lives there now. His parents owned a prospering law firm and made a lot of money. His parents passed their entrepreneurial prowess to him and it shows. He is the Chief Executive Officer of his own health care company. Obviously, he has always lived the material life. One day, as Marty got out of his limousine right in front of his office, his empty coffee cup in hand, he noticed a young girl, about 18 years old. She had mousy brown hair and hazel eyes with a green tint. She held a bucket in one hand and a sign in the other. The sign read "Millions of people die f
Impaled By One's Own Sword If a dead corpse could show emotion, Todd's would show shock. He knew that Jasmine's father despised him, but he had no idea how much. He forced his spirit to move; to view the grotesque scene that was his house. Tables overturned, glass broken, a bloodstained carpet. Worst of all, his remains looked disgusting. The dried blood all over him lead to his chest. He saw a crescent blade with a ruby hilt the color of his blood. Todd, furious used all of his ghostly willpower to go on a long trek. Of course, he did not notice the passing time as a ghostly essence. At last, he arrived at his destination during what looked like the dead of night.
La Noche Triste I never thought that it would come to this. My soldiers, my friends, are all dead. They were killed by the Aztec savages and their satanic deities. It should have been me. For I, Hernán Cortes, the leader, the oppressor, the conquistador, have been the real mastermind behind this terrible ordeal. We obtained gold, but at what price? This sad night, this noche triste, will live in infamy forever. But how did it happen? I have to think back to the events of the day. After a week of debate, my advisors and I had decided to leave the city of Tenochtitlan due to civil unrest. We planned to begin our journey when the city was asleep; carryi
Brutal Honesty Leon constantly contemplated what his life would be like if he had never lied. Would he be sitting in this small jail cell that has been his "home" for the past month? Would he have never been charged with obstruction of justice and been sentenced for two months in prison? Would he be on good terms with the bureaucrats at the district attorney's office? He tried not to dwell on what could have been; but he just could not help himself. Leon can still remember every detail of why he went to prison. As a young boy, Leon Smitherson was not a genius or a fool. He was average except in one area of his life. He often had a knack for trouble. He n
Benedict Arnold All our attempts to trick the enemy were in vain. Our traps had been broken, our barriers dismantled by spells so accurate and precise that they took apart our gates piece by piece. Our Symbiotic Creatures, with few weaknesses, were melted by Blessed Flames, which take preparation to conjure up. We were done for. But who, who would have betrayed our Guild? We only had a few seconds to figure this out. Was it Axas, the raging sociopath? Or could it have been Dryor, the slowly but surely ascending social climber? I decided to cast a Purity Charm on the group, one that would cast out anyone guilty of treachery. I spun my staff and drew sym
Sta.sh
