I moved in here about two years ago, almost to the day. One night not long after that, after my eyes had adjusted, I noticed a peculiar shadow on the blinds of the window facing the street, of more or less uniform broadness up until near the top, where it narrowed.

The overall effect was that of a man standing there, which I initially thought it was. But after seeing it remain motionless for several minutes I concluded it was not a man, but only the illusion of one. I went to sleep.

The next day I went outside to determine what had cast the shadow, but there was nothing in-between my window and the streetlight, neither was there any evidence that the dirt had been disturbed. I checked the blinds themselves and found nothing amiss, so chalked the whole affair up to an optical illusion and put it out of mind.

When I went to bed the next night, sure enough, the shadow was there again, only this time I thought that it might have been a bit to the left of where it stood the previous night. The longer I stared, the more certain I became of this until, finally, I concluded that it was a person. I slipped out of bed and took up the axe-handle I keep for such occasions, intent on running off whoever it was. I went outside, quietly as I could...

There was nothing there, of course. No tracks in the soil, nothing. There was nowhere for anyone to run and hide so quickly without being seen and setting off every guard-dog for miles around, so I went to bed again and fell back onto my "optical illusion" theory. But once my eyes had readjusted to the darkness I saw that the shadow was back and that this time it had brought a friend. The two figures were motionless so long as I stared at them, but when I looked away I would sometimes hear (or think that I heard) faint scratchings.

The next morning (early, for I had not slept much) I found little flecks of paint and metal on the ground. It appeared that some sort of animal had been digging at the bolt that keeps my window locked.

I nailed my window shut in three places after that. Fire hazard or no, I feel safer.

As for the shadow on the blinds, I can't say. I sleep with my back toward them now and never look at them after sunset.

Even when my computer is in sleep mode it still has blinking lights on the front. I could never understand what these were for until this morning, when I witnessed a tiny airplane land there.

or it's coming up soon...or something. So yeah. Oh, the memories. Anyway, try not to kill yourself! ^.^

you should happen to take the time out to read my latest rough draft, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think. That's why I'm posting the rough drafts instead of finished pieces, to find out what needs to be fixed. ^.^

Elizabeth Fraser's vocals in this are amazing! It's rare that singers of her caliber come along.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xr8u0VeHWVw

And on a tangentially related note, a poem I wrote that just happens to share the same name. The two aren't otherwise related. There's also a short story but it's been on the backburner for about five years and probably won't see the light of day anytime soon.

“Persephone”

Persephone stepped on the surface earth,
Moon-pale from near seclusions, hair
That shines like liquid mirror
Her eyes trail tears of quicksilver.

Her eyes trail tears of quicksilver
That shine like liquid mirrors
Moon-pale from years’ seclusion, heir
Persephone wept on the surface earth.

Goddess of the glacial desert,
Take our prayer:

“Deliver us to paradise, the katabatic land
Blue ice, black sand, just darkness
And dead stars above sterile skies.”

Away in the wastes,
in the dry valleys
waits the Citadel of Silt.

In particular, I would like to address this rule that everything featuring minors must be rated "general." That's dumb, man. But ok, your site, your rules.

For my readers: I do not usually mention character ages, but in some instances it may be possible to calculate a character's age were you so inclined. So let's just make sure this is clear...

The "furs" (chimeras) in my stories age much faster than humans, with those incorporating genetic material from short-lived animals reaching physical and mental maturity more quickly than others. Thus, a six year old mouse "fur" would be a sexually mature adult whereas a six year old horse would not.

However, the vast majority of chimeras in my little world will, AT A MINIMUM, reach physical and mental maturity at TWICE THE SPEED of a human. So if you're reading and some background detail clicks with your brain and you realize the hooker is only eleven, I'm not being a pervert- that hooker is old enough to be a college graduate in her own world, where anyone lucky enough to live to be forty is apt to drop dead of old age.

Thank you.

Cliche police aren't lurking on the forums
Cliche police will always speak their mind
Cliche police will criticize your poems
Cliche police will nitpick every line

Haha. Just screwin' around. XP

Rapid detox...three days of meds and half a day of FUCK ALL before they kicked me out. While my body chemistry attempts to adjust to its old equilibrium I feel like hell, can't think straight, can barely walk straight. But, it's done. And that, as they say, is that.

I'll probably be going to into rehab later this evening. They say they can clean me up in three days but I doubt that very much. Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers.

When I die, if they don't send a limo pulled by six silver burning platypodes, I'm not going.

that being, "Brony Appreciation Day." Sooooo take some time out to appreciate a brony because of all the contributions they've made in...hmm...umm...

Well, just be nice. XP

Yep.

All right, ladies, gentlemen. I plan on submitting my short story "Scarheart" for publication soon, so if anyone would like to give it a once-over and make any recommendations that would be really spiffy of you.

"The Eloquent King Ate Too Much Cheese"

He squats upon a golden throne,
commanding in a regal voice,
"Come out, most foul, malodorous loaf!
I, THE KING, command you!"

Just who are these "Shriners" and when are they going to be held accountable for their heinous crimes?!

The Nightmare Machines are coming. They slip in through holes in the programming.

Vivika was commonly believed to fill some function at the station. Exactly what this function was, no one knew, including the lady herself (The word "lady" is applied loosely here, since Vivika was a dwarf rabbit the size of a pretzel cart, notorious for her ferocious approach to fellatio in which both participants were frequently decapitated). The only thing anyone knew for certain was that she was there.
It so happened that on the third day after the establishment of Moon Base Quagga, the crew, having been confined within for several weeks, began to exhaust their meager supplies. They say idiocy is contagious, so you'd better watch yourself. This leads us onto the scene at hand, wherein Vivika, that pontiff of useful... well, she was there, she thought. And so was Reginald.
As the head of the payroll department, no one had ever actually seen Reginald. Most believed him to be a myth, which suited his highly abstract approach toward the issuance of pay. Once, the workers were buffeted with thousands of glass platypodes fired from a Gatling-like device dubbed "The Payinator." Half of the staff was killed instantly; the others divided into factions and waged wage-wars on the superliminal scale.

The two of them discuss their prospects over the warm corpse of yet another employee.

"There are actually three moon bases-" Vivika explained, "Moon Base Alpha, Moon Base Pi, and Moon Base Quagga, where we are now."

Reginald asked, "Why would anyone build a moon base on earth?"

"The parking. I think a better question would be 'Why do you have a violin made out of ham?'"

"It's a fiddle."

"Fine, whatever. Let's eat it!"

Reginald recoiled as though struck. "Absolutely not! Let's eat this dead guy..."

"That you killed."

"...before he starts dripping all over the place."

Vivika made a move towards the corpse, but stopped. "You know what? I've never really been into the whole cannibalism thing."

Reginald thought for a time. "He's eaten more recently than we have. There might be something left in his stomach." Then, producing a serrated blade, he set about slicing the corpse's belly open.

"Blech! I hope it's intact..."

"I hope it's a hot pocket!"

Vivika shifted uncomfortably. "You know, if you hadn't killed him, he could have told us where the emergency rations are kept."

"He kept following me around..."

"He was your bodyguard!"

A glint of metal showed in the incision in the deceased man's abdomen. "Foil?" Reginald couldn't believe his eyes.

"Popcorn!" Vivika bounced back and forth like a puppy. "Popcorn! Popcorn!"

"My God, you're right! We're saved!" Reginald hurriedly cut into the man's clothes, flinging strips of textile hither and yon. "Found it!" The button to activate the automatic popper had replaced the man's right nipple. Pressing thereupon, the mechanism clicked into action, issuing a quiet hum.
Within a few minutes, the kernels began to pop, a few seconds apart at first, but gradually coming closer and closer together. The foil expanded rapidly, like some monstrous metallic tumor.
When the popping was done, Reginald lanced the bag with his knife, where steam arose from the slit and curled into the air. They advanced eagerly at this nourishment, each refusing to eat before the other.

"You're a woman," Reginald said, affecting his best southern accent, "you should eat first."

"No, no..." Vivika said, shaking her head, "it was your idea. You must be the first to eat."

It went back and forth like this for a time. Neither moved forwards to be the first.

"I had forgotten," Reginald said, "but I don't eat."

It was then Vivika's turn to confess. "I also had forgotten, but neither do I."

"What will become of us, then?" Reginald's shadowy form dimmed, the light growing either stronger or weaker. It was difficult to tell the difference.

"Back to work, I suppose." Vivika sighed and laid her head on her forepaws.

"Are we the only ones left? Is there no one left to work for?" He paced the wall. "Where are we, really? Just who in the hell do you think you are?!" He tried to seize her by the scruff of her neck, but his hands passed through without contact, like one or both of them had become incorporeal.

"I've never known the answer to anything. In all my life, the only thing I've learned is that I haven't learned enough."

The light faded. Reginald crouched down and wrapped his arms around his knees. "Mommy...it’s getting cold..."

"It was always cold, baby. It was always cold."

That was when the world exploded.

If you're reading this you're too far away.

Come up close, baby. Closer...closer...you in my lap yet?