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He stood in the cold of the back alley where he spent the last six years of his life. Clutching a battered guitar case and a backpack housing his life, he left. It was a long time coming. Did they think that they could treat him however they wanted just because they were his blood? Parents- what does that even mean anyway? Anyone could become a parent. He could right now if he wanted to.

He couldn’t feel his nose. This year’s winter has been cold. His life has been cold. His world has been dark. Except for one thing. Just like half the boy’s his age: that one thing is her. The one that makes him feel like this life is worth living. She makes him feel like he deserves better family than he has.

So, he left. He wants to go to her, but he can’t. He has to find somewhere to sleep. Somewhere warm. The tunnels? No. There’s one other place nearby. He’ll need a bus fare tho. He looks in his pockets; by some miracle he has just enough spare change to get to his safe house. The gods must be with him.

He hands the indifferent bus driver his fare and finds the only empty seat at the back of the bus. He looks down so no one will notice how young he is. No high school kid should be travelling around alone at this time of the night. He looks out the window and wonders if he can really do it. Still clutched in his right hand is the precious guitar that he saved up money working at the video store and restaurant for.

Money. He would need that too. But now he’s run away, he can’t go back to those jobs. He had quit that very morning. Well, he had made sure to get fired anyway. He wasn’t stupid. They would know something’s up if he just quit out of nowhere.


With nothing more than the bagel and cup of coffee he had devoured that morning, he was getting desperate. He had to find some way to make money – just some way. A gush of steam from a vent he was passing startled him. He was in the main square. Today it was quiet. Usually there would be someone playing here. He used to come to watch every somebody play their songs, other people’s songs, everything. Now, the square is empty.


‘Hey! Are you the performer?’

‘What?’ He realizes he still has his guitar with him.

‘Well, come on! We’ve been waiting already!’

He begins to protest, but realizes that this is his chance to be that somebody. Prove the world wrong. Prove his parents wrong. Make her proud. Although he hadn’t heard from her in days. Couldn’t be helped, he had to get rid of his phone. He nods at the middle-aged man.

A deep breath and he sings. He sings about her. How he feels about her. How she is with him. How he wishes she would be with him. He sings about his parents. His birth. His life. What his life would be. He sings it all, and he pours his heart out into the audience. In their eyes, his heart is pure. In his own, it is faulty.





Toes on the Line

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This is expanded from a twitterfic I wrote a few weeks ago.

Toeing the line is the most difficult thing about my job. You never knew if you’re just a fraction too far. Sometimes you would find out – but always when it’s too late. My job scared me. But I was scary too. People cowered before me. Usually, it didn’t make a difference. I tightened the string on the high performance bow I was just given. The string was taut, I could feel it cutting into my fingers as I dragged it backwards. Damon smiled evilly as he loaded his own weapon. He was our dealer, maintenance man and neighborhood Berserker. I think he enjoys killing. He creeps me out. He won’t try anything with me though – he knows he wouldn’t survive.

“Hey, Girlie,” he says, as he locked the gun and put it away.

I glared at him. I did happen to be a girl, but I also had a name: Rita. He should call me Rita. No, actually he should just call me by my last name.

“It’s Taylor.”

He gave me a greasy smirk and went to join the others. I sighed a little and loaded up my quiver. For good measure, I picked out a spare arrow and took aim a few inches away from Damon’s head. The arrow cut through the air and hit the wall by his right ear.  He glanced at me and went back to his conversation. I smirked and joined the others. I was ready now.

My boots were heavy as I swung myself into the backseat of the armoured vehicle we had stolen a month earlier. For the cops, the thing simply dropped off the radar. They were too stupid to notice us waltzing out with it anyway. A low whistle. The truck started.

I could feel the road under the wheels, the feeling drenched in the power of the engine. I ducked down low, knowing that at some point it would all go to hell.

Well, that was the life of a mercenary. You always had blood on your hands.

Lovely\\ She’s got that ring to it

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Lovely. It has that ring to it. A roll of the tongue. Like a liar’s lisp, it coaxes you in,  lures you into a sense of security. It is a neutral word. No bias attached to it, no unnecessary thoughts. It is a good word. Whoever says it means it-why they said it is another reason entirely.

I watch the stalker slinking around my living room, unable to move. I frown. I scowl. He notices these expressions, and a lewd grin spreads over his face.

“Well, aren’t you lovely?”

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Well, I don’t usually do this, but Voice Week really, really was great for me. Another massive thank you to Stephanie at BeKindRewrite for putting it together! It had been a long time since I’ve written, and definitely the most traffic I’ve gotten in a few months 😛 But seriously, this challenge was different even from InMon in that I got to really interact with the readers/commenters/fellow bloggers while writing the story. (P.S read my entries here!)

My favorite reactions were those from the first post in which a lot of people thought the bookstore manager was a man, while I had always envisioned a mousy female. At first this was a little disappointing, I thought I had failed in my portrail of her, but as time went on I realized that people enjoy subtley in a story because it keeps them guessing. Even if they are wrong!

A lot of the guesses actually would have made GREAT stories had I been going in that direction-and that was the most exciting thing of all! It goes back to something I read for an English class(who knew you could learn stuff in school?) that basically said it’s more important what the reader thinks than what the writer meant!

All in all, this is my long winded way to thank you all for your advice, support and reactions! I’ll definitely read all your entries too-and I bet they’re awesome.

Voice Week #5 : Dog Eat Dog World

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Last entry to Voice Week :I

The noise was annoying. My ears picked up, I clambered out of my box. I licked at the air. I followed the voices. Hmm. Lotsa people today. Maybe one of them will pet me?

I go up to the scary woman in the scary clothes and push my nose into her hand. She shrieks and I lick it.
“A dog?! A dog! What in the world is wrong with you people? Where the hell did this come from?”
“Oh, a dog? Never seen it before. Must have spent the night in the store.”
Oh, oh! It’s the girl! The girl I followed into the store yesterday! Yay! I leave the scary woman wiping her hand off on her clothes and try and climb up the stool the girl is on. She rubs behind my ears, I love that!

“What a mangy mutt. Come here boy!”
New voice. Oh, a boy! He wants to play! I want to play too! For some reason, he smells just like her. Maybe he’s her brother? I want to play!

“Oh for God’s sake, girl, just ring me up!”
The rumbling old man’s voice distracts me. I bound up to him. He ignores me. I look around. The scary woman from before is gone. I turn to look again, the old man is going to! I race to the door, he pushes me away and leaves. I here footsteps approaching. I turn, it’s the boy from before! He scratches my ears, I let my tongue roll out.

The girl sighs right before the boy asks, “Can we keep him?”

Voice Week #4 : I Just Want My Coffee

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Voice Week, one more DAY!

I nudged open the heavy wooden door to the bookstore, my hands full with a coffee in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

“The Inhibited Life of the Parakeet!” A little boy shrieked as I entered, starling me.
I glanced at the counter. Oh my God, he was in his underwear. I shot the three odd balls up front a patronizing look and turned into the bookshelves. What possessed my Boss to send me here I don’t know. I made sure to mention this to Marnie, a few times more than once.

Eww. It was so dirty. An old. What did he mean anyway? Did he just want to get a point across? Thinking of the pointy nosed fiend, I decided that was it. I poked a large tome in a pile with the toe of my ballet flat. It shifted and a cloud of dust exploded out into my face.
Spluttering, I exited the aisle in horror.


I blinked, to see the teenager giving the little boy a noogie.

Voice Week #3 : Little Boy’s Whining

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VOICE WEEK #3: Read ’em ALL!

I shoved the swinging door into the store. There was Mel, leaning forwards on the counter looking like a golden retriever. My sock-covered feet slipped a little on the shiny floor.


What’s with the eyebrow raise? I copied her. She smirked at me. I scratched my stomach. She frowned.



I walked up to the counter in my boxers, not really caring who would see me.


Yup. There’s the old codger now. He had this massive book in his hands, like the size of a bolder. It was dusty as hell-if hell is dusty. He shuffled over to the counter, scowling at me. I rolled my eyes at him and leaned over to see the title on the blue, peeling cover.

Live, Nerd, Repeat

Making life better through the perfect application of humor and nerdery

Kurayami Monogatari

Would love a comment every so often <<

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