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Concrete cultureEndless grey forests of urban decayConcrete culture by ~jamesmoloney
Nothing of value, just whitewash and grit
Shelves and shelves and pages of script
No heart or emotion, just volumes of shit
Mountains of iron and concrete and glass
Rivers of cables and old copper wire
Windows to madness in every front room
Zealots and hacks stoking old fires
The men in suits just sit and complain
And nobody asks them, have you no shame?
They dodge our advances and scurry away
But we all know exactly, just who is to blame
'sun child' (working title. intro)The land unfolded below. In the far south was a white city, surrounded by high gleaming walls and at its centre a great alabaster palace. In the far north dense forest of pine wood and dark things, a ruined citadel, ebony stone and ruined spire, a once great bastion of power and at its core a ruined form, once a man now little more than a wrecked mockery of the form, half living and half dead, and all full of dark power. South of here lies a series of walls and forts, great warrior mages, the border princes, holding the balance of peace for the last near century, between the necromancer and the empire of the sun. But the sun child is dying and the necromancer decays without the wealth of dark power he once had. New powers rise and the old kings must make their moves soon.'sun child' (working title. intro) by ~jamesmoloney
And so as vampires, were-things and monsters nameless ride south and the inquisition and the paladins scour the southlands, and new powers rise. So we look to the wildlands, in the midst of these leviathans a young ma
I am the raindrops and you are the tree.I am the frost on the tip of your nose.I am the raindrops and you are the tree. by ~SophyLa
The air is moist, the ground is slippy and the grass is long. It tickles my nose and strokes your back as we push through the vast space. Surrounding us is forest, home to numerous dog walkers and children swinging over the river in their log contraption, sure to break with one of them on. It is the height of summer and we have nothing to do but talk and play. We walk for hours, we sit down and laugh. You discover I can stumble over anything and I realise your strength.
You are the water at my fingertips.
The ground is unforgiving, the grass is dewy and my eyes are cloudy. As I trail around the forest the peacefulness of the place overwhelms me; I vow to come here more often. Thoughts race through my mind as I contemplate my actions and my future. In front of me is a low hanging roof of intertwined branches, here I rest. I can almost smell my past here, our past. A stick forces its way out of the ground, marking its territory as the clouds
wholeGrey linen and white skies. The smell of the chlorine on your hands when you washed them, days after we had been swimming; the way your hair shimmered in the light and your fringe was almost see through. The breeze on the beach that tangled your hair and curled your hand up in mine; you pulled in your pinky tight and snuggled it against my palm as I held your hand.whole by ~SophyLa
Tonight I want to remember you perfectly; the way the umbrella blew out of your hand and you made me chase it down the stony beach. It didn't even function as an umbrella; you just liked to make me run. The way the goosebumps appeared on your skin yet you pulled me into the water anyway; the sea swirled around us as I held you close. That day I thought nothing could tear us apart, not even the sterile rooms and stern faces. The way your father looked at me right at the beginning; like I was wasting my time.
I want to share the time we climbed for hours to reach the top of the hill we spied from the motorway; I honestly thoug