The Vigilant Dark He could only watch from afar. He had tried to draw near to her before, several times in fact, but it never quite seemed to go the way he wanted. Alexander wanted to speak to her, to listen to her voice up close, but she was afraid of him. He didn't know why, but she was. So for now, the only thing he could do was watch and wait in the shadows.The Vigilant Dark by ~SolaceAndSilence
The day was bright outside. He didn't like it all that much. Sunlight hurt. It hurt his eyes, it hurt his skin, it made him feel weak. He preferred to stay secluded to the shadows, embraced in the comforting dark. He cut into a red apple with a scratched knife, leaning up against an alleyway's brick
SewnI still have nightmares about them sewing my mouth shut.Sewn by ~SolaceAndSilence
It haunts me in my waking dreams, too. The countless hours, hunched over a spinning wheel, would drive me insane if I didn't lapse into them. Any place, even one worse than this wheel, is better if it's just for a little bit. I just wish it were a better place, a better memory. Every time I close my eyes it's like I'm back there again. I can feel the needle piercing through my lips, crisscrossing with hideous black thread trailing behind. I can hear my terrified screams slowly die to a muted mumble as my lips are pulled shut with each pierce and tug. I can taste iron. I feel the abused
We Were SoldiersWe Were SoldiersWe Were Soldiers by ~SolaceAndSilence
The pound of mortars obscured thought. Every new idea and every new realization was instantly blown to oblivion by the jarring thunder of blasting mortar against building, earth, wall, and man, and what respites there were between each round of explosions came few and far between. I'll go insane if this goes on, George only barely ran through his head before another shell shook the trenches. George cradled his head as dirt rained down on the unfortunate soldiers, a disgruntled cry arising from a small group of men involved in a card game. The rat-tat-tat sound of machine gun fire echoed across the battlefield, and another s
Line OneLine OneLine One by ~SolaceAndSilence
The pen strikes the page,
Marring the white, line paper,
Carving the beginning of a story.
The pen lifts up from the pager,
And pauses, wondering how to continue,
But dives back down to scrawl on the desert plane.
The pen sits down.
It is merely scratching its blood onto the paper,
But no story comes forth from its labor.
Although the pen may ponder
The mysteries of the universe,
It is another thing entirely
To recreate them.
Playing God is not an easy sport.
What is written must play to the rules of sense.
Now the pen must be wondering what God was thinking
When He equipped man wit