Who’s Next?

Spoiler alert: it’s a parent trap situation

You are a god whose most devout follower is marrying your rival God’s follower. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem except you both are asked to bless the union, and for that both of you must attend.

Home Is Where The Heart Was

My chest was a home

Filled with warmth and light and love

My sternum the front door

That had welcomed many a friend and family

My ribs were once brightly painted siding,

A soft gray exterior that protected the treasures inside

My heart pumped hot water through my arteries

Providing warmth for nightly baths and mugs of hot cocoa

My lungs were the sturdy walls that kept the roof above our heads

My diaphragm the soft carpeting and cool wood

That had known running and cuddles from feet and paws alike

My spinal cord and nerves kept the lights on and the temperature just right

My vertebrae were a strong foundation

Solid and secure, keeping everything upright

My chest is an old, abandoned house

My sternum is the slamming storm door

The broken latch leaving it to swing wide in the wind

My ribs, the battered siding

Years of abandonment leaving them caked in dirt and grime

Termites and rot have eaten through the panels, leaving gaping wounds

My heart is the failing water heater

My arteries are the corroded copper pipes

My lungs are the creaking walls

Shifting and sinking, slowly collapsing

The wood floors of my diaphragm have sunken in, and the carpet is threadbare

Torrents of tears have seeped in through the leaky roof,

Now darkness grows from rotted wounds and mold scars stale strands

My spinal cord is the busted breaker box; My nerves: fraying electrical wires

My vertebrae are the crumbling foundation

My chest will be condemned someday

Caved in like a house of cards, not wood and stone

The love it once housed has moved on

And its protection is no longer needed

There will be no one there to witness it’s fall

And no one to grieve for the memories lost

- A. Yenzer

He’s been chasing me for centuries for stealing that bottle. I’m not about to let him catch me now.

You drank a snake oil salesman’s drink only for it to make you actually immortal in the old west now 300 years later you see that same salesman

Me! It’s for me! Thank you very much!

you ever start describing a character and accidentally give them an entire anthropology backstory? like, why does this random baker suddenly have a tragic past involving forbidden love, a war, and a cursed necklace? who is this for?

I call it a “pen drop”

does anyone else write a sentence so good you have to lean back in your chair and just vibe with the sheer power of it? like yeah, i, ME, did that.

How many tears had the Doctor shed,

Before his sorrow was thoroughly fed?

How many times has the Doctor wept,

Comfortless, until he slept?

Each day, after the close,

It was enough to water a Rose.

When he realized she could never come home,

And that he was left to hopelessly roam.

After the angel made them blink,

And she said goodbye with a final wink;

Nourishing an almost bond,

Flowed enough to fill two Ponds.

Finally, a River,

And, alone, he was left to shiver;

When after the final breath,

Greeted like an old friend, was Death.

- A. Yenzer

“Burn.”

The power of a spell is inversely proportional to the amount of words in its name. You, hated and exiled, invented the first single word spell:

I scream “SCREW YOU”

To the lies I tell myself

Insecurity runs rampant

In a head full of the voices of others

Hatred and jealousy spawn venomous words

And insults that burn

Like acid in the blood

And shred self confidence

So combat fire with fire

Until hate has no more fuel to burn

And the words of others

No longer sting

Spit venom at that hateful voice

Until the infection of their jealous words

Is burned out by the fever of self-love and spite

- A. Yenzer

Fallen soldiers, from wars old and new, never stop fighting. They just have a different war to fight.

Sailors who die on sunken ships fight the monsters of the deep from pulling the ships of the living down to the depths. Ships with smashed hulls and broken masts, submarines with gaping holes in their sides rise from their graves at the bottom of the ocean and protect the living from the monsters of old.

Pilots of the newer wars have found themselves fighting the ones who can fly, the monsters that would steal a child off the street or a beloved pet from their yard. Until the first of these new fallen, attempting to fend the flying ones off was almost futile. But now ghost planes with broken wings and burning engines patrol the skies.

Warriors struck down on the battlefield fend off the monsters of the land from taking the souls of the living that walk the earth. Their axes and swords, bows and arrows, even calvary horses are some of the only things that allow the living to believe fairy tales are just tales.

A soldier never stops being a soldier, even in death. To them, it’s worth everything. To continue protecting those they love and all who come after.

- A. Yenzer

It will develop like everything else through time, care, and effort.

it’s okay if your prose is ugly right now. it’s just pre-gorgeous.