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My Sister and I (Part II)

Continued from My Brother and I (Part I).

Something about the shape-shifter’s nudity made me laugh.  Her anger seemed less dangerous as I reached into my cape for another book. “Alright, that’s enough playing.” I tried to play off the fight as though I hadn’t been trying at all.  I shifted my staff into the crook of my arm, held my book with my hand, and used my free hand to flip my hair from my face. “Are you attacking because you’re hungry?” I reached into my cape, book at the ready still, and tossed her a bagel.

Fuck, that hurt.  Hiding pain wasn’t hard, but I didn’t like it.  My arm felt like it was on fire, either from some side effect of her bite or perhaps it was simply my body taking the bite on a more positive note.  I forced what I thought was a less shaky smile, and she stared at me like I was crazy. Read the rest of this entry »

 

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Yet Another Face Story (Part III)

Continued from Yet Another Face Story (Part II).

“Oh, there you are, Dag.  Good morning.”

Dag became tense.  Was that Face’s voice?  He rose from his knees and spun.  His hand darted to the knife at his side.  Before his eyes Face stood, unharmed. “Wait, I thought you fell out of the window!” He furrowed his brows in confusion and stepped toward the youth.

“Yes, you did push me out the window,” the boy scoffed. “That was very rude, you know.  I ought to request you quit as my bodyguard.  It’s rather counterproductive for you to serve me as a bodyguard when you killed me.” Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

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Yet Another Face Story (Part II)

Continued from Yet Another Face Story.

Dag ate his breakfast slowly.  For two weeks, he lived with Face.  He still knew little about the youth, save that Face insisted that he was full-grown and not to be treated like a child.  Today, Face wanted to inspect the city his army conquered in its first advance into the borders.  Dag dreaded the visit.  He had family that lived there.  Despite his unwillingness to go, he kept his silence on the subject.

He had no way to know if mentioning his family’s uncertain fate was wise; Face seemed to detest the mention of families.  Any time Dag mentioned his own parents, Face became distant and refused to talk for hours, until Dag distracted him with a change in subject.

The silver smith took another bite of his omelet and paused. “Does this have bacon in it?” He asked the question suddenly. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted by on March 30, 2013 in Semihistorical Fiction

 

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Yet Another Face Story

A butterfly fluttered its wings in the early morning light.  The fields of flowers looked golden in the sunrise.  A washer woman looked up from her laundry to watch the sunset from the stream she worked in.  Her aged face became deeply lined as she smiled. “Today is going to be a nice day,” her old voice rasped.

Back in the village, a messenger arrived. “The king is calling all heroes to the capital!” he announced loudly in the middle of the square.  He shouted it several more times as people gathered. “Hear!  Hear!  An evil wizard has come to our lands at the head of a massive army of cruel monsters!  The king is offering a reward to any capable of ending the threat through arms, guile, or other methods!” His voice carried easily through the air, and it took very little time for some of the men to begin to don their armor. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted by on March 28, 2013 in Semihistorical Fiction

 

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Dislocated

I stared in disbelief.  A boy, he could not have been older than sixteen, was asleep on my stoop with a newspaper draped over his body.  He wore a strange cape, with a skull at the shoulder, and under one hand, he held a wicked-looking staff.  He was a nice-looking boy, with his strange pale hair and his bow-shaped lips.  His large nose looked comical on such a smooth face.

Slowly, I nudged him with my fuzzy, purple slipper.  The boy jerked awake and stared up at me.  His eyes were an unusual green in color, and looked clouded with confusion. “Hey, get up.  Spent the night partying too long?” I asked.  He simply stared at me.  The silence quickly became awkward. “Do you want to sleep on my couch?” I knelt beside him, and he scowled as he puzzled through my words, then nodded and forced himself upright.  With sluggish limbs, he slipped past me as he held his cape shut.  He looked around, then flopped onto the plush seat with a quiet grunt. Read the rest of this entry »

 

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Torment from Dreams

The day was still and cold.

No.

The night was cold, and its silence was pregnant with tension.

Better, but no.  That wouldn’t do, either.

Write.  Strike out.  Re-write.  The cycle continued many times as Damon tried to write a story for his bored teacher to read.  He was wasting paper.  Each false start cost money he could only barely afford. Read the rest of this entry »

 

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Devouring Emotions

Face walked away from the too-sunny funeral.  Another lover buried.  He glared down at the ground through the holes in his mask.  He should have seen it coming.  Why did he always fall for the heroic ones?  He walked deeper into the old cemetery and leaned against a tree.  He let his back slide down the trunk and sat on the warm ground.  It was obscene that such a horrible day could be so warm and bright.

Leaned against the tree, he moped for nearly an hour in his own oppressive silence, determined to be melodramatic.  He had no more tears to shed, however, and soon found himself back on is feet as he walked out of the cemetery.  His heeled boots clicked on the paving stones as he walked down the street. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted by on February 12, 2013 in Semihistorical Fiction

 

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