Prosaic-Scriptor

soft gray sunset fluttering limbs like trunks in the breeze banana leafs shuffle, a yellow-green wave dyed with the thought of rain the blue of cloud and steel holding back the bowl of blackberries and milk, a teaspoon of sugar crosshatched where the birch-hairs twine in overlapping lines scrawled above the white bodies turn brown stretched from molten crucible into blown gestures faint suggestions to the wind the upside-down birdcages unfurl near the brim their arms splitting and growing barbs like battle maces when the leaves carve away the paper bark shivers, leafs, electric on the stem the shadow from the trunk bleeds and stains the b

Torren Durst probably couldn't hear the footfalls of the Guardian behind him because the large man had taken flight. Just his luck, getting caught by a flying Guardian. He turned a corner, struggling to keep his breath even. Just a few more blocks, he lied to himself. Just a couple. He wondered if they'd realized who they were after yet. Did they know that he was an invisible? He guessed not. If they did, they wouldn't hesitate to kill him on spot, instead of taking him to Judging, like the law decreed. Of course, the laws only applied to those with powers like the other 99.9% of the population. But for people like Tor, there was only one op

whoosh. whoosh. fan accelerates. droplets of sweat form damp necklaces around shining necks, gripping the tiny hairs till gravity shoves them down shirts, till GPS fails and it is unknown territory man and machine. glued together by sticky, salty residue, they tangle in a twisted, painful dance, full of torture, and indifference, and hurt. and agony. there are little digits on a tiny screen. they meant something once, but have morphed into taunting, battery-powered slave drivers, killing with its incredible power over minds. legs are curling like shredded onion in the heat, and they steam in the cold air wouldyoulikesomefre

 I fell        d         o           w             n                    till I reached the stars.                 So I whispered to the heavens                 that they needed polishing but                god doesn't listen to the likes of me.           (                           no                                     )                      god doesn't listen to me. Papa told me he saved a spot   but Daddy, I looked, and someone must have taken it. 'cause all the spots are filled in Heaven.     (             and   I'm alone           i'm alone.  )                    Sissy's