Micah Claer

Ribbons, ropes, and threads had taken over his vision. Some were soft and gently flowing, some bounded along like waves, while others were tiny slivers fluttering aimlessly. A few were large and solid like great pipes stretching from one distance to the other. Their shapes were numerous. Their number was immeasurable. Their color was indescribable. All of them stretched from one distance to another and he could see no end to any of them in either of the directions they stretched. It did not matter which way he looked, there were always more, and beyond the ones in the fore were glimpses of even more, and he felt certain there were even more behind those.

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I think I need a new name, he thought to himself as he sat down on the overlook he had just found.  He let his legs hang off the side and swung his bare feet back and forth like a child on a porch swing. A passerby might have mistaken him for some carefree spirit pondering the small nothings of a simple life, but, alas, there were no more passersby.  And carefree, he was not, for he was nothing.  He had nothing.  He felt nothing.  He felt nothing unless the fire was upon him, and he had no desire to call it forth.  He loathed it.  If ever he was capable of feeling anything at all, he was certain that he would hate the fire.

Maybe I should just let them have me.

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Alice Thorn

Even after a year, the castle still felt like home.  Having just stepped in the forward break in the wall, she took a moment to absorb the nostalgic emanations of her old home. An overabundance of kudzu and moss still covered the majority of the stonework and the same familiar crumbling walls and breaks in the ceiling greeted her eyes.  She smiled.  She didn’t even mind the mustiness or the heavy dew permeating the air.  On the contrary, she welcomed the old smells and smiled even brighter.

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The Die

A single die lay on the ground at my feet; six-sided, white, and dotted.  It was almost unnoticeable in the bright sun of midday amidst the concrete, yet I did take notice, and stopped to pick it up.  Upon first touch, time slowed for just a moment, or so it seemed; quite like a head rush after standing too fast.  The die seemed heavier than it should have, or maybe it was the heat wearing on me.  Perhaps I was light-headed; the sun did hate me so, and I so hated it in return.  Its great heat had drained all of whatever vigor I had once possessed, and I longed to arrive at my destination and be rid of the foul scathing beast.  I thought it best to drop the die and be on my way.

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