Paint bucket and Two SpoonsWith a paint bucket
and two spoons
he placed himself on the side of the street
And played a rhythm.
A slow and steady one,
never faster, never slower,
like a human heart.
And he became blended
with the rest of the city,
who passed him every day
without glancing once
in his direction.
His drum was a sound,
a puzzle piece,
that made up the picture
of that street.
But one day,
for some reason,
he didn't show up.
And the people
who walked by his post every day
without a second thought
and said to one another
that something was missing
in the picture of that street.
A puzzle piece was missing.
What could it be?
And they listened
and they looked
and they realized
that the man with the paint bucket,
and two spoons,
who played a slow and steady rhythm,
like a human heart,
whom they had never glanced at
and who had become a part
a puzzle piece
of the picture
of this street
"We miss him,"
And the next day
the man came back,
and set down his paint bucket
Underwater Gazing UpBroken, clamboring, mirrored surface.
Rippled and bubbled,
an everchanging mosaic recording all movements.
I forget that I am a creature of land and air.
I lay and stare at sky-bound oceans up above
through a glass of infinite potentials.
I lift a hand and all senses are thrown into confusion
as fingers break from the rippling surface to shatter into air,
and suddenly I remember what weight feels like.
Jewels of half light, half water
fly for a brief second
as my face follows, bursting into cold wind.
Like emerging from bed,
from a dream,
PMOCT- Sorrel Char Ref SheetBasic Info
Collected by: Hestia
Species: Homo sapiens
Height: 5' 1
Weight: 125 lbs
Eye Color: Dark brown
Hair Color: Black
Sorrel began her life in the moderate river-port town of Rothstadt, well within the Dasharan empire's expanding borders. Her mother died of smallpox about a year after giving birth to her, so her half-siblings; Gretchen, Fred, Marlie, and Jacob, all took on some aspect of raising her, and each became important parts of her life for different reasons. (She'll tell you she couldn't care less about Jacob, who left when she was 11 to join a riverboat crew, but she'd be lying.)
In the winter of Sorrel's 16th year, the long-simmering power struggle between local Dasharan officials and the original Leuten government finally came to a head. Leuten resistance groups (or the "Soldats"), set on expelling the conquering empire from their land, soon adopted the clash as their own, and the fighting became something more akin to gang wa
PMOCT- AuditionAtop the desk, a spider-cam scuttled about in a rather aimless manner. It scrambled over a pencil, then paused as distant footsteps swiftly approached. The next moment, the small office's door swung open to admit what looked like a woman, dark hair in a loose bun and wearing a blue and yellow jumpsuit, whistling something that might have once been a tune. The spider-cam resumed it scuttling as Hestia tossed her mop in the corner of the room and glanced at the clock.
3:05. Almost time to head home. Or it would be.
Instead of dropping off her utility belt and leaving the office, smelling of old carpet, to enjoy her Friday evening, Hestia instead approached her desk. At the moment, it remained buried under several stacks of memos or reports or other papers that someone thought she should be reading. Hestia shoved aside one stack to reveal several Yarn Balls sitting together, each just touching its neighbors. Below them a few sheets of paper showcased thick blocks of text and several pictu
HallsI walk these never-ending halls,
for I fail to see
a place to be,
where these never-ending halls
are meant to be leading me.
The halls diversify themselves
from carpet to tile
and muffled to white echoes.
I appreciate their attempts
but I still sense there an unmistakable air
of uninterrupted monotony.
For still doors line the walls with frowning knobs
and still, distant figures join me
in the wanderings of these halls.
And still there is that specter
my eyes refuse to see,
for to my ears where red blood pounds,
come the whispy, steady sounds
of my footsteps following me.
And as I continue my travels
towards an exit I will not find
it becomes chillingly clear
that the halls I walk here
are the ones inside of my mind
The Black QueenDark thunder flashed in the Black Queen's eyes,
her face hard and her body tense
with that deathless drive which, waiting, lies
in the throbbing heart of the human breast.
She waited, 'neath clouds of clotted gray,
'gainst winds shrieking by with no end
while 'round her finite figure lay
slain bodies of foe and friend.
The Black Queen's hair danced up towards the sky
as she stood awaiting her fate.
For reflected in those steady eyes
the White Knight glimmered in wait.
His war mare pawed the battlefield
as he steadied his lance over blood soaked lands.
He peered through his visor at the battered shield
and the bloody sword clenched in her hands.
Then from beyond that paler knight
a figure swept silently in place.
Her blue eyes shining with wraithlike light,
the White Queen ended her chase.
Armed with a quiver, and a bow in her grip,
garbed in a colorless gown as light as she,
a sad, slow smile inched 'cross White Queen's lips
as she foresaw what was to be.
And so as in this arrangement
EnriqueEnrique wished, not for the first time, that the ball would find its way towards his end of the field for once. That was the problem with being a defender, he thought as he flicked beads of sweat away from his hair, you hardly got the glory of an attacker. Still, he had been given this assignment and we was going to have to do it well. The boy refocused on the game.
He was met with a cloud of dust, kicked up by so many small feet and the tattered bundle of old clothes. Enrique wiped at his face with a lean arm and squinted down to the other end of the street. A tall youngster with hair pulled back in a long ponytail was expertly faking out a defender on the opposite side of the street. Around him, teammates yelled for a pass.
"Go Rodrigo!" Enrique whooped. His friend probably couldn't hear him, but it gave Enrique something to do while he waited for the ball. Rodrigo aimed his kick towards between two dirty sticks stuck in the ground. It rebounded off the left stick and a loud groan sw
Canyon WingsThe wind coursed through the sky, upon which sailed a pair of giant wings. The condor, circling slowly against the sun, cocked its head down at a strange sight. A small human crouched at the side of a creek, his head underwater. The bird circled a second time, on the odd chance that the boy was dead. He was doomed to be disappointed however, as the next moment the boy swung his head out of the water and shook it like a coyote. The boy blinked through the water dripping from his eyelashes, into the evening sun as it reflected in his dark eyes and hair. He spotted the condor above him; it flipped its tail feathers insolently and careened away to the north.
"Yah, ugly carrion eater," the boy yelled, "Take your bald head and go." He watched with satisfaction as the condor disappeared behind the sparse treetops. Standing and yawning, the boy turned and trotted away from the creek's waters. His bare feet, blackened by a lifetime without protection, tiptoed instinctively around small clumps o