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Inspiration Monday: Playground Battles

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In battle, there are two kinds of people. The strong fighter in the front and his weaker counterpart slightly behind. This is the expected stance because the fighter will protect his brethren; the weaker one is then free from the possibility of danger.

Yet on the playground this fact of life was meant to be void. Only it never is; we are always fighting. We fight against our enemies, we fight amongst ourselves. Some people even fight themselves.

I’ve been fighting since I was seven. How about you? The thing is, some people can pretend they’re not fighting. They look like all they have is allies. I wonder if life is really that easy for them? The ones who stand on the front lines seem to have it the best. They fight hard and out in the open, but keep the same allies for the longest.

I prefer to stay in the back when the fighting starts. Skirting forward as time goes on, you can even win the battle. I’ve actually won against a front line fighter  once like that. I guess…fortune just favors the coward, huh?

This post was an Inspiration Monday post on the prompt “fortune favored the coward“. It’s an old prompt but I guess I needed another kick because it was inspired by the anime My Teen Romantic Comedy SNAFU.


VoiceWeek #2: The Rockstar Lifestyle

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So I completely failed at completing the challenge on time but…here it goes!

Read Part 1!

The huddle before the show always got my adrenaline running. It was the time when the whole band looked each other in the face and promised to give it their all. It’s like an oath.
“Go hard!”
We all roared in unison, once again for no apparent reason, before raising our hands and breaking the circle. Then, we all ran out on stage. The agreed pattern was always: newest member first and the lead vocal last. Because, no matter how you looked at it, people always relate to the singer. Maybe because they can sing along. So basically, when Jared flies on stage the fan girl’s heads explode. Of course we all have our moments. I’m the lead guitarist that pumps up the crowd during our signature songs. Tommy, our drummer, has his drum solos. Linda, our bassist takes care of everyone during the slower moments, keeping  the momentum going. And well, Jared is Jared so it’s always entertaining.

I usually go out around third. Because the first roar really needs to be big and the middle is well, the middle ground. That’s when you feel safe with what they give you. You can pretend they’re just a little tired from screaming so loud at the beginning so they need to relax before the final chaos. Which is true. But it still nags me.

I took a breath and then jogged out on stage. A cheer greeted me pleasantly enough and I waved at the crowd. Since it was a daytime concert I could see absolutely everyone in the crowd. A few younger girls near the front seemed especially glad to see me. They were jumping up and down holding a sign saying something like “Riley’s the craziest!”. I stuck my tongue out at them and did my best to look wild. They loved it.

Toes on the Line – Part II

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Read Part I here.

I was told that in the last century, war was dirty, loud and filled with the stench of blood and gasoline. What determined the difference between then and now, therefore is the lack of any dirt of any kind. War now is silent, quick, scentless and tense. Once minute you are there, and the next you cease to exist. Gone: literally nothing left. Not even an atom. For most people the idea would be terrifying. For me, it’s exhilarating.

My weapon of choice is a definite disadvantage in this sort of climate. Other weapons are of the same form as the war we fight: silent and immediate. A bow and arrow, however well engineered, will always be accompanied by the whistle of the arrow flying through the air. “A rookie mistake”, I was told, repeatedly. But it was not a choice I made absently. I chose the arrow and will choose the arrow because I want the challenge. If you can still hit a target when you tell them you’re coming, then you’re good.

I’m that good. I’ve been that good since the age of nine.

A soft, low whistle signaled that it was time to go. Simultaneously, the left side of the truck bucked a little and every mercenary on that side flipped out of its interior. I closed my eyes as the wind whipped my face. I was pointing directly at the ground, arching my back slightly, I flipped over. My parachute clicked open as I pulled out of the dive.

The ground hit my feet roughly and I rolled over, trying not to get tangled in the parachute. The soon-to-be battleground was covered in crouching figures draped in fabric. I cut my way out of the parachute and stuffed it away. Now was the time for the mission to begin. 

Wordlessly, we stepped into line, covering each other’s backs while also looking for possible lookouts. It was so quiet here that the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. I felt eyes on me and glanced upwards to my right. Movement. Swiftly, I took him out. I doubt he even saw me draw back my bow.

INMON: Ailing Mind :: Really?

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Yes, I’m back. Though not as frequently 😛 Here’s this week’s attempt:

My hands shake and I can’t stop them. I don’t want to stop them either.

“It’s not my fault. Everyone’s so scary! “

Everyday is like this. Everyone’s shadows look sinister and demanding. Somehow it’s the demanding part that scares me the most.

“What do you want from me?”

I ask this question daily too. Usually I’m met with strange looks, as though I don’t know what I’m talking about. That’s the really infuriating part.

“Leave me alone!”

I need to curl up into a ball and hug my knees to my chest. Gran taught me how to do it when I was little and I’ve been doing it ever since. It’s the only thing that calms me down.

“It’s okay.”

Slowly, people pass by my forced blockade and slowly I enter my own world. Here, everything is clean. I’m alone, but it’s not scary. I can’t hurt myself after all. No one can hurt me. I’m not afraid of snipers and spies and terrorists on top of it all. It’s peaceful; like falling asleep.

“Why are you doing that?”

I’m already out of my happy place.

“It’s nice.”


Maybe we’re all the same.

In the Field…

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Atomic bombing of Nagasaki on August 9, 1945.

Image via Wikipedia

The simple fact is that I did not like them, I never have, nor will I ever like them in the future. What was important, however, is that I could stand them. Even for a little while. Most other people of my kind couldn’t stand them, they would have an actual physical reaction to anything that wasn’t from the Field. Anything foreign was expelled by people like me- those who can touch humans and speak to humans without instantly feeling their disease spread. Sometimes the humans were expelled by force, but a lot of the time we try to convince them to leave of their own accord, because although we can touch them, we don’t want to do it. Everytime I talk to them, I feel their twisted notions creeping into my brain. I will be tainted soon. I wonder what will happen then? Perhaps I will be expelled like the humans, like that scum. And rightly so. Because they are the Enemy. They will destroy the Field.

Without the Field, there is nothing.

This is inspired by a line from a Linkin Park song ‘Runaway’:

“I wanna be with the energy, not with the enemy”

Back Before the Earth was Round: p2

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This is Part Two of a short story. Read part 1 here!

The breeze picked up, a trail of booze-soaked stench followed the pirate. I hid behind a small boulder on the beach and gagged. Dirty Beard’s song was long from finished but I couldn’t hear him. He was much further ahead of me now. It was for the best, he was almost at the docks. If i followed too closely his crew might see me. I looked down at the clothes I had stolen from my father. They fit badly, the sleeves reaching past the tips of my fingers. The overall effect was quite desirable however. I looked like a workman, and a poorly maintained one at that. It would be the perfect disguise for where I was going.

Breathing in slowly as I crouched behind the boulder, I pulled my hat low over my brow, just covering the tip of my vision. Slowly, I rose from my postilion and left the security of the beach to follow Dirty Beard to the docks, trying to exude the confidence of a ships’ hand.

The salt air was eroding the wooden pier which at the moment was bustling with activity. In the distance the sun was taking a last long look and the variety of people clustered in the small space. A young, but strong and weather-beaten girl helped her father bring in the last of the day’s catch-possibly their entire lively hood. There was a look in her father’s eye as they packed up to leave: a glow, like pride but much fonder.

I strode down the pier, stopping every now and then to admire the fish and speak to the sailors. All the time, I watched Dirty Beard’s long and solitary drunken hike to his ship. Even now, with the sun almost gone, I could see the deck bustling with life. I was itching to get to the ship, but the time was not yet right. Soon, soon it will be. The last dregs of fisherman were packing away their things and would soon be gone. If I didn’t get on board by then it would be all over.

Too be continued soonish!

Little Green Man (Sunday Picture Press…old)

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They were looking at me like an alien. I was of course, but they shouldn’t know that at this point. It was too soon, far too soon for that. I cocked my head to the side and tried to coo like the baby-simulations that had been drilled into my head.

The old woman’s expression merely became more severe. I surveyed her. Her pointed spectacles gave her the look of the perpetually surprised, and somewhat unusually bug-eyed. She had wrapped a belt twice around her waist despite there being no need for it. Her dress was form-fitting enough, and the man’s belt was no pretty sight. Low self-worth should be the answer; which meant the older gentleman was NOT her husband.

I supposed I looked strange in my simulate body, but to be honest, we didn’t think they would notice. Humans are not the most intelligent species in the galaxy, despite the rest of the committee’s willingness to let them believe so. Now looking at the humans, I saw the details we had missed. Proportion for example; I have a rather large right fist, compared to the other. I was also closer to orange than tan, and I had blue hair. I do look like an alien.

Slowly, the woman disappeared from my line of vision as these thoughts ran into my mind. I was losing them; unfortunately that means I would have to make that ear-splitting noise. I cried as convincingly as I could. When I opened my eyes again, the woman was holding a carving knife over my crib.

I think they noticed.

This was inspired by an old Sunday Picture Press promt:

Visual Prompt 2 -- Title Unknown, Diane Arbus

Check out the other prompts and the amazing writing of Indigo Spider

Live, Nerd, Repeat

Making life better through the perfect application of humor and nerdery

Kurayami Monogatari

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