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Prompt Table 03: Elowynn01. Castle
Lo had a stormcloud grey memory of a castle made of sand. She sat as the waves started washing around her and watched it crumble away. Even at whatever young age she had been then, she had realized it was a very apt metaphor for her life and its constant changes (even if she hadn't been all too sure at that time what a metaphor was). It was being torn away from its foundations and she was powerless to save it. It was very much like being torn away from whatever life she had managed to assemble in her most recent location, and being powerless to take hold, to put down roots. She envied trees, she empathized with castles made of sand. Maybe she could just wash away too.
Lo very much liked the word book. She read books. She made books. In fact, she was a Book. She wasn't a book in that cheesey "I'm an open book, you just have
Prompt Table 02: Elowynn01. Tidings
"Tidings of comfort and joy, my ass," Lo muttered under her breath and switched the radio off with a sigh that bordered on being a growl. She was in a positively stormy mood. Her phone had rung at around two o'clock that morning and for once she had actually been sleeping, so she cancelled the ringer and went back to sleep. When she woke in the morning and saw that the message on her phone was from her mother, she knew immediately what was going on. They weren't coming.
She finally slid open her phone and punched down the one button for her voicemail, fuming as she listened to the prerecorded female voice tell her she had one missed message. She drummed her fingernails on the sleek, modern counter while she waited for the message even though she already knew what it would say and had been avoiding it all morning.
"We're so sorry Loloberry," Started her mother's voice, crackling through the distance. "W
Prompt Table 01: Elowynn01. Cell
She stared at the glowing screen in front of her in the dark of her apartment. Her slender finger worked the scroll bar on her touchpad, her bright laquered fingernail clicking against the plastic. Scans of brightly dyed cell slides flew past her and she delighted in the colors, shapes and patterns. She loved how cell slides were both unpredictable and predictable at the same time. She knew what belonged in a cell, she knew in general what a cell should look like, and yet every time she discovered a type of plant cell or single celled organism she had never seen before, she was in awe.
So, curled up on her low modern couch in the living area of her tiny loft, she watched the gorgeous colors, shapes, and patterns fly by, and she schemed. She was planning a new direction in the fabric she hand painted and hand dyed. It was a hobby of hers. She tested ideas out on cheap canvases with acrylic paint, an
SimplicityTime wears young to old.
The rhythm never dies; devours life.
Perhaps a window down to the vast sky,
Wakes deep desire from sacred salt.
Men live like morning,
Decay like night,
Embrace eternity in a circle.
The Panic Room (A Supernatural One-Shot)“Dean…? Dean?”
The name felt like lead on Sam’s tongue, so thick and heavy that he wasn’t sure if the syllable had actually made it past his lips.
The only reason he was aware of something cutting into his neck was the trail of red that was marking a small pathway against the stark fabric of his shirt. The dark suit and tie that usually accompanied the white-collared look were missing, but he couldn’t remember why.
His brother’s name seemed to drop soundlessly into the dark space before him. Everything felt heavy. Dull. Maybe he was dreaming.
But dreams shouldn’t smell of dust and abandonment. They shouldn’t be framed by cobwebs and wallpaper so aged that their floral design has faded into funeral bouquets. They shouldn’t have flickering candlelight and robed figures looking down on you.
No, dreams shouldn’t be like that.
But Winchesters don’t have dreams. They have nightmares. Sam smile
may as well buy another packcollapse, and breathe into the carpet:
sunday mornings are not
for falling apart, but damn
the amphorics, this
is not an atmosphere.
you fell in love like you always
wish you didn't, made all their
smiles replaceable, interchangeable,
fell asleep with shadows and kept
drinking, just letting yourself sleep
with blue pills
and tried not to scream.
(keep this image in your head:
fire and nectarines, a sudden jerk
of realization, inspiration
breaking your neck and leaving you forever
breaking bones is not so different
from breaking hearts - it's all about
the leverage, the angle, the mode
(and at least it wasn't personal;
it can color in your own guilt
for starting lines and never ending
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