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Written by paintingskies in portal LGBT

pulse

this is for everyone who had the guts but not the breath to love out loud, whose lion hearts were led to hope like sheep to slaughter, who woke each morning in fear for their lives but found their pride in a safe haven in the midst of hell; this is for everyone who's out, love is love and hate is hate and whether or not the world chooses to believe it, this is what it's about; this is for everyone who simultaneously discovered too late and too soon that bullets were the salt and we are the wound; while this world is on the edge of an infection, i am ill with fright; this is for everyone who died that night:

there are those with hearts, and there are those with a pulse,

but there are not enough of those with both.

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Written by paintingskies in portal LGBT
pulse
this is for everyone who had the guts but not the breath to love out loud, whose lion hearts were led to hope like sheep to slaughter, who woke each morning in fear for their lives but found their pride in a safe haven in the midst of hell; this is for everyone who's out, love is love and hate is hate and whether or not the world chooses to believe it, this is what it's about; this is for everyone who simultaneously discovered too late and too soon that bullets were the salt and we are the wound; while this world is on the edge of an infection, i am ill with fright; this is for everyone who died that night:

there are those with hearts, and there are those with a pulse,
but there are not enough of those with both.
#streamofconsciousness  #orlando  #LGBTQ 
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Prose Challenge of the Week #34: Use the following sentence within a piece of poetry or prose. “We all bleed the same.” The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge
Written by snaggletooth

"Y'know in the end, we all bleed the same. Piss the same. Fuck the same. Shit the same. Cry the same. Hell, that's humanity. A bunch of shittin', pissin', fuckin' animals tryin' to act all civilized. Ain't it?" It's a loo-ee-zee-anne-uh drawl. "I bleed. You bleed. I cry. You cry. Ain't that somethin'? Me and you? Havin' thangs in common?" It's not 'things' it's 'thangs'. 

He smiles and I see years of tobacco smoke exposure scrubbed clean with whitening kits, two dimples in his cheeks, deep. An attractive man, really. Definitely not somebody you'd think is a murderer.

He sucks his teeth and swallows the spit, like his mouth is watering. Tension in his lower lip from pulling at the skin inside. Jaw working. His eyes are blue, pupils contracted so tight I think they must ache. He looks smug and post-orgasmic as he leans his body with total environmental dominance against his chair. 

You'd think I was the one in the handcuffs.

He acts like he owns this prison.

In a way, I guess he does.

5
1
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Prose Challenge of the Week #34: Use the following sentence within a piece of poetry or prose. “We all bleed the same.” The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge
Written by snaggletooth
"Y'know in the end, we all bleed the same. Piss the same. Fuck the same. Shit the same. Cry the same. Hell, that's humanity. A bunch of shittin', pissin', fuckin' animals tryin' to act all civilized. Ain't it?" It's a loo-ee-zee-anne-uh drawl. "I bleed. You bleed. I cry. You cry. Ain't that somethin'? Me and you? Havin' thangs in common?" It's not 'things' it's 'thangs'. 

He smiles and I see years of tobacco smoke exposure scrubbed clean with whitening kits, two dimples in his cheeks, deep. An attractive man, really. Definitely not somebody you'd think is a murderer.

He sucks his teeth and swallows the spit, like his mouth is watering. Tension in his lower lip from pulling at the skin inside. Jaw working. His eyes are blue, pupils contracted so tight I think they must ache. He looks smug and post-orgasmic as he leans his body with total environmental dominance against his chair. 

You'd think I was the one in the handcuffs.

He acts like he owns this prison.

In a way, I guess he does.
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Write a piece (poetry or prose) inspired by the phrase: "We were destined to meet" :-) Please tag me!
Written by IlFilostrato in portal Poetry & Free Verse

"Serendipitous," I said, "Our meeting."

Her Bulgarian eyes flashed their murky depths and replied, "What is this word?"

I repeated it. She rolled the word around with her tongue a few times before asking, "What does this word mean?"

"It means 'by chance'," was the best I could describe it.

She smiled at this and her eyes thinned and her thin lips curled and she raised a shot glass filled with golden liquid. "To serendipitous," she toasted.

I raised my own and we gazed in each others eyes as we tapped bar with glass and drank. The burn was sharp but we held our gaze an eternal tick.

The bar was closing down and the final strains of Let's Dance began again.

Her face became dreamy. "You have the saddest eyes." She indicated one with a fingertip. 

"Put on your red shoes."

And we left serendipity sleeping at the bar.

11
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Write a piece (poetry or prose) inspired by the phrase: "We were destined to meet" :-) Please tag me!
Written by IlFilostrato in portal Poetry & Free Verse
"Serendipitous," I said, "Our meeting."
Her Bulgarian eyes flashed their murky depths and replied, "What is this word?"
I repeated it. She rolled the word around with her tongue a few times before asking, "What does this word mean?"
"It means 'by chance'," was the best I could describe it.
She smiled at this and her eyes thinned and her thin lips curled and she raised a shot glass filled with golden liquid. "To serendipitous," she toasted.
I raised my own and we gazed in each others eyes as we tapped bar with glass and drank. The burn was sharp but we held our gaze an eternal tick.
The bar was closing down and the final strains of Let's Dance began again.
Her face became dreamy. "You have the saddest eyes." She indicated one with a fingertip. 
"Put on your red shoes."
And we left serendipity sleeping at the bar.
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Written by Squeakypeewee01 in portal Letters From Prison

Epilepsy Haiku

Seizures please kill me

I don't want to live this way

A robot, broken

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Written by Squeakypeewee01 in portal Letters From Prison
Epilepsy Haiku
Seizures please kill me
I don't want to live this way
A robot, broken
#poetry  #haiku  #LettersFromPrison  #epilepsy 
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Write about something terrifying but not evil, dangerous but no ill intent...
Written by poeticasymptote in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Shadow of a Ghost

That shadow of a ghost

Mystified me one night

And many more thereafter;

While I gazed, stumped,

At the spot where the light

Used to be;

In my anger 

I couldn't catch

A peaceful slumber,

And I stood there befuddled

By what it's done to me.

Oh! It broke into a song

How much have I been known

That I shiver from the breeze

Coming from its mouth?

How many times has it stolen a kiss

A kiss from its cold, cold lips

While my hand was locked

In its bothersome grasp?

I swear, I tried but failed

To lift that ghastly shadow off

My soul; 

But I can't

Because it's covered my head

With its wail of a voice, 

One I truly dread;

And in closing my eyes

To escape in a dream

I still see it;

That wretched shadow of a ghost

I still feel it;

And to its weak and slippery hold

All hope and reason lost.

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Write about something terrifying but not evil, dangerous but no ill intent...
Written by poeticasymptote in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Shadow of a Ghost
That shadow of a ghost
Mystified me one night
And many more thereafter;
While I gazed, stumped,
At the spot where the light
Used to be;

In my anger 
I couldn't catch
A peaceful slumber,
And I stood there befuddled
By what it's done to me.

Oh! It broke into a song
How much have I been known
That I shiver from the breeze
Coming from its mouth?

How many times has it stolen a kiss
A kiss from its cold, cold lips
While my hand was locked
In its bothersome grasp?

I swear, I tried but failed
To lift that ghastly shadow off
My soul; 
But I can't
Because it's covered my head
With its wail of a voice, 
One I truly dread;

And in closing my eyes
To escape in a dream
I still see it;
That wretched shadow of a ghost
I still feel it;
And to its weak and slippery hold
All hope and reason lost.
#romance  #horror  #poetry  #mystery 
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It's all the same - only the names have changed...
Written by reZen in portal Stream of Consciousness

Lament of the Suicide Bomber

The names of terrorist groups and victims change almost daily, but the nature of evil has remained the same throughout history--no matter the date, time, place, or act.

It's up to all of us to make the world a kinder place. Only then will the spirit of injustice diminish and allow the spirit of Peace to reign.

[Please Note:  I do NOT condone or support acts of terror in any way. If this is thought to be offensive, I will have no problem removing it from this site.]

Lament of the Suicide Bomber

I am shrapnel,

a living horror

in today's 

unholy world.

Suicidal thoughts

EXPLODE,

leaving blood, 

gristle, hate

and fear.

Not one tear

will be shed

for me.

You think 

you know

me, yet blinded 

by your luxury,

all that glitters 

will keep you

from ever

seeing the real

me.

I am everyone 

and no one;

someone who 

wants to live 

in PEACE

just like you.

I watch as

policy makers

the world over

decide 

who lives

and dies. 

I am

innocence 

re-purposed.

I've succumbed 

to blackmail,

so my family 

might live,

told

I'm bound 

for paradise,

my life is all

I need give.

I have

no more

tears.

Everyone and

everything

I cared about

has been 

damaged 

or destroyed.

You

can't stop me

with policies

bullets

or hate.

When you

finally

see me 

for what I am,

it will be 

too late.

I have

nothing left

to lose.

(  (  ( BOOM  )  ) )

© Barbara Purvis

6
1
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It's all the same - only the names have changed...
Written by reZen in portal Stream of Consciousness
Lament of the Suicide Bomber
The names of terrorist groups and victims change almost daily, but the nature of evil has remained the same throughout history--no matter the date, time, place, or act.

It's up to all of us to make the world a kinder place. Only then will the spirit of injustice diminish and allow the spirit of Peace to reign.

[Please Note:  I do NOT condone or support acts of terror in any way. If this is thought to be offensive, I will have no problem removing it from this site.]

Lament of the Suicide Bomber
I am shrapnel,
a living horror
in today's 
unholy world.

Suicidal thoughts
EXPLODE,
leaving blood, 
gristle, hate
and fear.

Not one tear
will be shed
for me.

You think 
you know
me, yet blinded 
by your luxury,
all that glitters 
will keep you
from ever
seeing the real
me.

I am everyone 
and no one;
someone who 
wants to live 
in PEACE
just like you.

I watch as
policy makers
the world over
decide 
who lives
and dies. 

I am
innocence 
re-purposed.

I've succumbed 
to blackmail,
so my family 
might live,

told
I'm bound 
for paradise,
my life is all
I need give.

I have
no more
tears.

Everyone and
everything
I cared about
has been 
damaged 
or destroyed.

You
can't stop me
with policies
bullets
or hate.

When you
finally
see me 
for what I am,
it will be 
too late.

I have
nothing left
to lose.

(  (  ( BOOM  )  ) )


© Barbara Purvis
#poetry  #news  #opinion  #terrorism  #reZen  #barbpurvis 
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Written by Prose in portal Prose

TBT: Etymology of CONGREGATE

The etymology of ‘congregate’.

Congregate (pronounced: ’kɒŋɡrɪɡeɪt, ‘kon-g-ri-g-ay-t’): v. trans “To collect or gather (things) together in a mass or crowd” according to the Oxford English Dictionary. Of Latin roots.

‘Congregate’ is a participial of the Latin stem ‘congregāre’, meaning ‘to collect into a flock or company’. The whole ‘flock’ thing? Usually pertains to animals, and to support that, the etymology is also linked to ‘herd’. It’s not a far stretch, therefore, to suggest that ‘congregate’, a word usually associated with humans nowadays, used to be reserved primarily for our four-legged friends.

...

Read the rest of this Throwback Thursday on our blog site

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Written by Prose in portal Prose
TBT: Etymology of CONGREGATE
The etymology of ‘congregate’.

Congregate (pronounced: ’kɒŋɡrɪɡeɪt, ‘kon-g-ri-g-ay-t’): v. trans “To collect or gather (things) together in a mass or crowd” according to the Oxford English Dictionary. Of Latin roots.

‘Congregate’ is a participial of the Latin stem ‘congregāre’, meaning ‘to collect into a flock or company’. The whole ‘flock’ thing? Usually pertains to animals, and to support that, the etymology is also linked to ‘herd’. It’s not a far stretch, therefore, to suggest that ‘congregate’, a word usually associated with humans nowadays, used to be reserved primarily for our four-legged friends.

...

Read the rest of this Throwback Thursday on our blog site
#nonfiction  #education  #etymology  #throwbackthursday  #tbt 
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Written by coffeeismyblood in portal Novel Writing

Chapter One.

The cold wind seemed to cut his face as fifteen years' worth of memories flooded his mind ceaselessly. He desperately tried to push them away, considering the fact that he would leave these cold mountains soon. The mountains were the place that housed him since his birth, the only home he ever knew.

The next day, he would set out for the capital city of the Open Lands, where the winds were a little less inhospitable, food was available aplenty, and there would be other humans to keep him company in place of the solitude of the mountains. But are the Lands really as open as they're named? thought Alexander, the last surviving scientist.

About a hundred years ago, there was a great war between the common folk and the scientists; the leaders of the former were a group of twelve of their wisest people they revered as the Elders. Through strategy and cunning, the Elders had won the war and had subsequently taken control of the people, and renamed their lands as the Open Lands. They also banished the remaining scientists to live in the inhuman conditions of the cold mountains where food was scarce and survival was merely a question of probability. Many of the scientists lost their sanity due to the cold and met their end in a terrible chill - all for the name of science. However, the few who did manage to survive gave way to further generations, who were more resistant and stronger than their predecessors. Alexander's parents, Luke and Mary Forester were born, brought up and wed in the cold. Needless to say, they were accustomed to it. Being their child and the fifth generation of the scientists, Alexander was used to it too, one could even perhaps say that he loved it.

The Elders had kept the option of letting the scientists enter the city open, but they placed a condition. A scientist, in order to be considered repentant for the sins his or her kind inflicted upon the world ages ago, had to let go of all thoughts of revenge against the Elders and the common folk. But that, alone, did not suffice. They also had to forgo their knowledge of science; after all, there was no need for it in the Open Lands. If they would ever be caught practising science, they would be hanged outside the city gates for everyone to see what happened if the vow was broken. A few of the scientists were broken into accepting these conditions, for, anything was better to them than meeting a horrible death in the mountains where their corpses would lie nameless for ages, awaiting their liberation.

The other scientists, the more honourable ones, refused to accept a life without science and lived with whatever little they had or could find in the mountains or the forests beyond them. The furthest the Elders allowed them to venture was to the end of the forests where the city gates began, a ten day non-stop trek from the mountains. Alexander, his parents, and the other old scientists often went to the forests in the winters when the cold was much too unbearable. His mother and his father had often stared at the city gates and the supposedly hallowed hill that stood just beyond them. He could sense, in those moments, that his mother had tears in her eyes. He never, however, dared to ask her why. He had assumed the tears were recollections of all the tortures the Elders had so kindly bestowed upon them. And then, one day, when he was ten years of age, and there was still a long time for winter to arrive, his parents had collected all their belonging and set out unexpectedly without even saying goodbye.

As soon as Alexander returned home, he found a note telling him to stay in the mountains for ten more years and then go to the city, where he could give up his scientific knowledge and enter the gates to be reunited with his family. Till then, he was told to learn all the secrets science had to offer, further beyond what his parents had taught him. He was terribly confused.

Being a curious little boy, he secretly set out to find his parents and ask them why they decided to leave. And as he reached the city gates ten days later after an arduous journey, he saw his father's severed head being mounted on a tall spike behind the gates, and his mother's bloody corpse being dragged across the snow, leaving behind a red trail that haunted his dreams for years since.

From that day, Alexander had taken personal enmity with the Elders. He vowed to return ten years later as his parents told him, for the sake of revenge and devoted himself to learning as much as he could from the old scientists, learning all that they could teach him. Over the course of ten years, as the notches on his cave wall grew, all of the others died. Even survival became more difficult as he had to fend for himself. He resorted to things he never thought he could do; he even let the wildness of the mountains dominate the majority of the decisions he made. But the spark in his heart, the desperate yearning for revenge, made absolutely sure that he would never forget his ultimate goal.

The hopes and dreams of all true scientists rested solely on his shoulders. The rebellion that his father and mother had been planning now depended on him for its execution. Science, the only true Light of the world depended on Alexander to be given back to the people as a gift, as the promise of a new life, a new beginning. Justice had to be done against all the hate crimes the Elders had committed against the scientists and also for their denial of the right to scientific education to their own people. Justice had to be done, he thought, and justice would be done.

And on the day when he would bring the Light back to the world, all the crimes he had previously committed would be forgiven. And so, he smiled to himself as he cut the final notch on the mossy wall of the cave, huddled by the small fire he had made. That day was the final day he would spend there.

The next day, he would begin his journey to the city gates, his long journey towards his ultimate destination.

He would bring science back to the world.

- - -

The girl awoke before the crack of dawn as the Elders had taught her to, perhaps before anyone else in the city woke up. She looked out of the window, staring at the city that stood beside her hill; the city that had been named after the only father she ever knew, Jana the Elder. Another normal day, she mused and sat there silently for a while, until the sun rose. She then walked to her bath chambers. By that time, Nila, a servant of the Light, would have woken up and heated water for her. The girl would bathe in scalding hot water in the summers and freezing cold water in the winters. The temperature of the water never seemed to hurt her. People considered this to be something truly divine about her, but she never herself admitted it. In her view, she was only human, just like any other.

Post her bath, she dressed in a simple robe and went to her personal ritual chamber, where she would sit for five hours every day in the midst of the seven elements, the gift of the Light and Darkness - water, fire, earth, incense to signify air, sandalwood to signify the plant, tigerskin to signify the animal, and a special mineral poison to signify inorganic material - meditating, with nothing but her skin and a simple, rough cloth between the elements and her soul.

After her meditation, she adorned herself and put on her usual olive robes and went around the Temple to check on its activities. When she was done with that, she would retreat to her chambers where she would remain for the rest of the day lest there were other matters to attend to. She would spend the rest of the day reading books and ancient scrolls. She felt it was her duty to do so; after all, she was the basis for the survival of the one true Way, the Way of the Light that Outshone the Darkness and the Darkness that Consumed the Light. But today was a little different.

The servant girl, Nila, who seldom ever talked to her, told her that in the midst of her meditation - two and a half hours into it, judging by the number of twigs she had burnt - her eyes had flown open, irises missing, and a sound, very unlike her voice, deep and hoarse, had come out of her lips.

"Let him in, the man." She had said.

The Mother of the Open Lands, as people referred to the girl, had a keen and observant eye. She noticed how Nila's voice tried and failed to mask the worry and the fright in her heart. The Mother laid her hand on Nila's shoulders.

"Things like these do happen during meditation sometimes. Now, we must make sure to prepare for a guest. A man is coming soon, I believe." She said smilingly and left.

- - -

I'd love to hear what you think about this first chapter!

2
1
1
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Written by coffeeismyblood in portal Novel Writing
Chapter One.
The cold wind seemed to cut his face as fifteen years' worth of memories flooded his mind ceaselessly. He desperately tried to push them away, considering the fact that he would leave these cold mountains soon. The mountains were the place that housed him since his birth, the only home he ever knew.

The next day, he would set out for the capital city of the Open Lands, where the winds were a little less inhospitable, food was available aplenty, and there would be other humans to keep him company in place of the solitude of the mountains. But are the Lands really as open as they're named? thought Alexander, the last surviving scientist.

About a hundred years ago, there was a great war between the common folk and the scientists; the leaders of the former were a group of twelve of their wisest people they revered as the Elders. Through strategy and cunning, the Elders had won the war and had subsequently taken control of the people, and renamed their lands as the Open Lands. They also banished the remaining scientists to live in the inhuman conditions of the cold mountains where food was scarce and survival was merely a question of probability. Many of the scientists lost their sanity due to the cold and met their end in a terrible chill - all for the name of science. However, the few who did manage to survive gave way to further generations, who were more resistant and stronger than their predecessors. Alexander's parents, Luke and Mary Forester were born, brought up and wed in the cold. Needless to say, they were accustomed to it. Being their child and the fifth generation of the scientists, Alexander was used to it too, one could even perhaps say that he loved it.

The Elders had kept the option of letting the scientists enter the city open, but they placed a condition. A scientist, in order to be considered repentant for the sins his or her kind inflicted upon the world ages ago, had to let go of all thoughts of revenge against the Elders and the common folk. But that, alone, did not suffice. They also had to forgo their knowledge of science; after all, there was no need for it in the Open Lands. If they would ever be caught practising science, they would be hanged outside the city gates for everyone to see what happened if the vow was broken. A few of the scientists were broken into accepting these conditions, for, anything was better to them than meeting a horrible death in the mountains where their corpses would lie nameless for ages, awaiting their liberation.

The other scientists, the more honourable ones, refused to accept a life without science and lived with whatever little they had or could find in the mountains or the forests beyond them. The furthest the Elders allowed them to venture was to the end of the forests where the city gates began, a ten day non-stop trek from the mountains. Alexander, his parents, and the other old scientists often went to the forests in the winters when the cold was much too unbearable. His mother and his father had often stared at the city gates and the supposedly hallowed hill that stood just beyond them. He could sense, in those moments, that his mother had tears in her eyes. He never, however, dared to ask her why. He had assumed the tears were recollections of all the tortures the Elders had so kindly bestowed upon them. And then, one day, when he was ten years of age, and there was still a long time for winter to arrive, his parents had collected all their belonging and set out unexpectedly without even saying goodbye.

As soon as Alexander returned home, he found a note telling him to stay in the mountains for ten more years and then go to the city, where he could give up his scientific knowledge and enter the gates to be reunited with his family. Till then, he was told to learn all the secrets science had to offer, further beyond what his parents had taught him. He was terribly confused.

Being a curious little boy, he secretly set out to find his parents and ask them why they decided to leave. And as he reached the city gates ten days later after an arduous journey, he saw his father's severed head being mounted on a tall spike behind the gates, and his mother's bloody corpse being dragged across the snow, leaving behind a red trail that haunted his dreams for years since.

From that day, Alexander had taken personal enmity with the Elders. He vowed to return ten years later as his parents told him, for the sake of revenge and devoted himself to learning as much as he could from the old scientists, learning all that they could teach him. Over the course of ten years, as the notches on his cave wall grew, all of the others died. Even survival became more difficult as he had to fend for himself. He resorted to things he never thought he could do; he even let the wildness of the mountains dominate the majority of the decisions he made. But the spark in his heart, the desperate yearning for revenge, made absolutely sure that he would never forget his ultimate goal.

The hopes and dreams of all true scientists rested solely on his shoulders. The rebellion that his father and mother had been planning now depended on him for its execution. Science, the only true Light of the world depended on Alexander to be given back to the people as a gift, as the promise of a new life, a new beginning. Justice had to be done against all the hate crimes the Elders had committed against the scientists and also for their denial of the right to scientific education to their own people. Justice had to be done, he thought, and justice would be done.

And on the day when he would bring the Light back to the world, all the crimes he had previously committed would be forgiven. And so, he smiled to himself as he cut the final notch on the mossy wall of the cave, huddled by the small fire he had made. That day was the final day he would spend there.

The next day, he would begin his journey to the city gates, his long journey towards his ultimate destination.

He would bring science back to the world.

- - -

The girl awoke before the crack of dawn as the Elders had taught her to, perhaps before anyone else in the city woke up. She looked out of the window, staring at the city that stood beside her hill; the city that had been named after the only father she ever knew, Jana the Elder. Another normal day, she mused and sat there silently for a while, until the sun rose. She then walked to her bath chambers. By that time, Nila, a servant of the Light, would have woken up and heated water for her. The girl would bathe in scalding hot water in the summers and freezing cold water in the winters. The temperature of the water never seemed to hurt her. People considered this to be something truly divine about her, but she never herself admitted it. In her view, she was only human, just like any other.

Post her bath, she dressed in a simple robe and went to her personal ritual chamber, where she would sit for five hours every day in the midst of the seven elements, the gift of the Light and Darkness - water, fire, earth, incense to signify air, sandalwood to signify the plant, tigerskin to signify the animal, and a special mineral poison to signify inorganic material - meditating, with nothing but her skin and a simple, rough cloth between the elements and her soul.

After her meditation, she adorned herself and put on her usual olive robes and went around the Temple to check on its activities. When she was done with that, she would retreat to her chambers where she would remain for the rest of the day lest there were other matters to attend to. She would spend the rest of the day reading books and ancient scrolls. She felt it was her duty to do so; after all, she was the basis for the survival of the one true Way, the Way of the Light that Outshone the Darkness and the Darkness that Consumed the Light. But today was a little different.

The servant girl, Nila, who seldom ever talked to her, told her that in the midst of her meditation - two and a half hours into it, judging by the number of twigs she had burnt - her eyes had flown open, irises missing, and a sound, very unlike her voice, deep and hoarse, had come out of her lips.

"Let him in, the man." She had said.

The Mother of the Open Lands, as people referred to the girl, had a keen and observant eye. She noticed how Nila's voice tried and failed to mask the worry and the fright in her heart. The Mother laid her hand on Nila's shoulders.

"Things like these do happen during meditation sometimes. Now, we must make sure to prepare for a guest. A man is coming soon, I believe." She said smilingly and left.

- - -

I'd love to hear what you think about this first chapter!
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Chapter 42 of Looking Through My Rose Colored Glasses
Written by RubyPond in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Upon the Sea

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Chapter 42 of Looking Through My Rose Colored Glasses
Written by RubyPond in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Upon the Sea
This post requires a license to read. You can support the author by purchasing a Permanent Post License to unlock this post forever.
Unlock Chapter
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Written by HexGirl in portal Fiction

Miss Perfect

Everyone just loves you, don't they?

You're beautiful and perfect, what can I say?

They worship you

And everything you do.

But no one seems to remember me. I am the invisible girl.

While you have in the palm of your hand, the whole wide wonderful world.

So many amazing things about you people have always said.

While I put up with the voices deep inside my head.

I'm not jealous. I too was once adored.

But they left when they realized not all pretty girls are whores.

Not you though, never you. You're the one they love.

While I'm wondering if I really have been forsaken from above.

You just don't seem to have any flaw

But I seem to have them all.

You know love,

I know lust.

You live for fun,

I live because I must.

You're like an angel, waiting for her mission to begin.

I'm a lowly freak, trying not to drown in sin.

You're so much better than I can ever hope to be.

If there's anything special inside my soul it's clear no one can see.

5
2
2
62 reads
Written by HexGirl in portal Fiction
Miss Perfect
Everyone just loves you, don't they?
You're beautiful and perfect, what can I say?
They worship you
And everything you do.
But no one seems to remember me. I am the invisible girl.
While you have in the palm of your hand, the whole wide wonderful world.
So many amazing things about you people have always said.
While I put up with the voices deep inside my head.
I'm not jealous. I too was once adored.
But they left when they realized not all pretty girls are whores.
Not you though, never you. You're the one they love.
While I'm wondering if I really have been forsaken from above.
You just don't seem to have any flaw
But I seem to have them all.
You know love,
I know lust.
You live for fun,
I live because I must.
You're like an angel, waiting for her mission to begin.
I'm a lowly freak, trying not to drown in sin.
You're so much better than I can ever hope to be.
If there's anything special inside my soul it's clear no one can see.
#fiction  #poetry  #culture 
5
2
2
62 reads
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