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Desire: DreamsFirst Communion, Alan,” his aunt Emma said, her raspy voice unfurling with the smoke from her cigarette. Alan was eight years old and this was the first time he had an extended conversation with his imposing great aunt, a six foot tall former goddess that looked like Scarlet O’Hara in her twilight years. His pudgy fingers reached into the tissue paper and pulled out the ancient photograph of his great grandfather, the war writer, in a flaking golden frame. “It’s my granddaddy,” she said proudly, her smile as false as her teeth. “He was a big writer for the war, and wellDesire: Dreams
by =ginchael
Desire: MemoriesQuite suddenly, Alan returned to the land of the living. He coughed once, twice, his throat hoarse from dehydration before his eyes flickered open. The scrub-brush garden of Turiel…Alan groaned. Not this shit again. It was so nice to sleep. It was such a pleasant dream.Desire: Memories
He still had trouble breathing and his ribcage felt held together by twine, but at least his heart was back down to a reasonable rate. He coughed and grabbed for the ground – perhaps to stretch, perhaps to simply find something to hold – and the dirt was stained with the warm stickine
by =ginchael
Desire: After They LeftIt was the smell of vinegar that woke him, vinegar and earth and rain deep in the woods. Alan groaned and his joints twisted like screws. He groaned again – okay, here’s my counter offer – and his eye blinked open once, twice, out of focus and out of practice, and saw in the distance a great mountain range bleeding.Desire: After They Left
Alan glared at it for a second. The mist burned away. Now he could see a root behind it that had forced itself out of the tile, creeping along the plaster wall. Somewhere above him, a cricket was playing. He rolled over.
by =ginchael
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OR BONE YOU. ONE OF THE TWO.
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If I knew what I was doing I'd make it into a blog... then every one would know
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Hello new friend, my name is Fred
the words you hear are in my head.
I say, I said my name is Fred,
and I've been... very naughty.
WITH A FEMUR.
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"I lit my swimming pool on fire."
"What?"
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"DeadGP's Journal: Talking with some dead-beats online. Trying to get lowdown on art-smuggling ring. Not much luck. Strange people speaking of 'characters'. Made a character once. Turned out to be me. Saved idea for novelization in future."
You are made of dicks, seriously.
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and in that moment, the world was no longer empty, when
all that I had in it was you and a gut feeling ... O31.net
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Make tea, not war.
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