They will come again, and when they do, the others will hide.
Mr. Brown will curl up in his hole in the eaves. The Wife in the crawlspace, and I'll be here, clutching my dear ones close. I'm wrapping my legs around them, and I can hear them fidget against the soft sac, their little tremors not unlike the desperate throes of flies, but warm, beautiful. It won't be long now. Now is the tender time. Soon I'll wear them on my back, and we can leave this place. But not yet. Not yet. Now is the time when a swift strike would kill them, and me with them. I will not leave.
I can't leave. I've hidden as well as I can. A small shadow between the brac
Dancing with Dragons by SonsationalCreations, literature
Literature
Dancing with Dragons
The smooth scales glistening brilliantly. The warmth of its breath enveloping the skies in fire. The melody of its voice, in perfect time with the rhythmic click, click, click of its claws. So beautiful, so terrible. Nothing could compare to its might.
Okay, maybe one thing could. Distance. Yes, watching from a distance would have been much nicer.
Kytha stumbled backwards, a shard of pure black shattering the ground beside her. The creature turned its opal eyes downwards, tearing its talon from the rubble with ease. Nostrils flared, sniffing the air as blood oozed from the ever-multiplying gashes in Kytha’s skin. She rose slowly, bac
Gargan and Humon were giants. In fact, they were bigger than giants. They were titans. They were so big that, when they stood up, they blotted out the sunlight beneath them and made it as dark as night for miles around. In fact, so big were they that people who saw them often mistook them for mountains. This was understandable, as neither of them washed that frequently and they often ended up with trees growing from the dirt in the deep crevices in their skin that on us would be mere lines or pores.
Gargan and Humon were the last of the titans to walk the earth’s surface. All the others had been destroyed in the war with the gods
Freedom’s End
Tiny projectiles drop from the heavens like little daggers, slapping onto the leaves, sending small twigs flicking from the trees. The wind howls around me, an endless moaning that digs deep into my soul as I bow my head against the pouring rain. My feet leave no mark as I tread through the thick growth of trees with well-practiced grace. Through the rain and the wind there is no life. Few animals are foolish enough to emerge in such a storm… like me.
But I am not alone. A tender squelching of foot on mud and a slight rustle as something brushes through the scrub behind me. Only to my delicate ears are these noise
Flight of a Feather- Prologue by Writing-with-heart, literature
Literature
Flight of a Feather- Prologue
Prologue
I sat on the concrete and watched the cars drive by. Rain splattered my face and knees. Pulling them closer I tugged at the raincoat around my shoulders. The wind buffeted my face, whipping my hair in it’s icy breath.
The bus was three hours late. By this stage, I knew it wasn’t coming, but I had no choice but to wait in the dark for another to come along. I had no other way out of the city.
Beep beep. My phone buzzed from the inner pocket I’d put it in, to protect it from the rain.
I flicked the lid open and opened the message. My heart was pounding, could it be him? I read through the cracked screen.
Run. My g
A Note on Drowning by Rieal-Dragonsbane, literature
Literature
A Note on Drowning
I am writing this letter for myself. If you have found this letter, please give it to me. If you find that I lack the will to read, if my mind is gone, if my hands are bloodied, tell me at least, that the song is near its end. If I am dead [indistinguishable]
[Written in the margin: IF I AM DEAD THROW ME TO THE SEA]
In laying out the bones of my terrors, a solution may be found.
I’ll start before the beginning, when Mother took me for walks on the beach and told stories. Together we missed my father, who sailed the sea. These are my earliest memories, but I remember things had always been this way. We walked together, and I counted m
In the Beginning Times, when the Creative Spirit walked among his children on Earth, the animal spirits competed for his affection. He encouraged them to foster friendships with one another, but most of them would focus only on him. This was true even when they appeared to be working together to accomplish a task he had set for them. Of all the animal spirits, none was more short-sighted than Wolf.
Red Fox came to Wolf with a fox coat cradled in her arms and held it up for his inspection, a satisfied smile panted across her dainty muzzle. "Father went on and on about the job you did designing the wolf's coats. Since you seem to be the expert
Choose Your Name by yoursingingsatellite, literature
Literature
Choose Your Name
“John Brant,” I whispered, and a dashing British gentleman appeared in my mind, arrogant and suave as the slim-fitting Italian suit he wore. He sounded classy, not overly pompous. But there was just something about him. He could be the cool confident charmer I was looking for. But he could just as well be a stiff stocky soldier with his pride shoved far up his ass.
“John Chase,” The name rolled smoothly off my tongue. Another man took form, both the same and different from the first. He was just as charming, perhaps a little lower in class with a bolder tongue. And was that a little mischief I saw in his eyes? Undoubt
I've kissed many snakes in my lifetime and I've enjoyed kissing them more than any man.
My first kiss came from a fat old auntie snake named Parvati. She was a six foot long queen cobra, plump and silver-black. Kissing a cobra is a bit like being struck by lightning and surviving. You feel the deadly energy pulsing under those cool snake lips as you brush your face against theirs. But a venomous snake’s life is all about restraint – when to use its poison to kill prey or protect itself and when to hold back, bluff or run away.
They demand the same patience and self-control from you, the snake-charmer. If you give them that respe