(no subject)
It's been 50 - 60o the past few weeks then yesterday we got an inch of snow. WTF? Who is controlling the weather? Because he's either insane or really enjoys dashing the hope of spring ever coming. *Laughs*
I went to a play with Dad Saturday. It was 'The Pirates of Penance' and was done by The Flambeau High School. It was much better then I'd feared with fairly good acting and fantastic sets. Some of the singing left a lot to be desired, but being a high school play I can forgive then that. There were two people though who were jaw-droppingly good. Zachary Spooner (who played The Pirate King) and Jessica Quinnell (who played Mabel); I give their names because they said I could (if it was praise, of course *laughs*) and because if they continue this way they'll end up on Broadway or (in Quinnells case) The Opera and you have to see them. I mean Spooner acted and sang like a pro, never once slipping up or tiring and Quinnell nailed these notes that I didn't know humans could hit. Even if the rest had been crap they would have saved it.
Prompt_a_day Stories:
Prompt 110 - I lie to myself
I lie to myself.
They don't seem like lies; maybe because at the time I mean them, maybe because that's all I say anymore.
It's twisted, I know, but I'm starting to believe like a fly trapped in a web and enjoying it.
"Do you even hear what you say?" Everyone asks, disgust written on every feature.
"There's a truth in every myth." I reply, smiling and weave the web a little farther.
Prompt 114 - Picture Here
Curiosity hovers over me like Mother.
Sweet and dark and haunting.
She guilds me to a forest where I pick fruit from the serpent's tree.
My lips kiss its body and my teeth break the reddened skin, tearing at its flesh, the juice filling my mouth; sweet and tart and tangy like broken promises and sin.
I lay upon a bed of metal that nature did not place.
Mother hovers over me like Love, worry in her eyes.
The apple rolls from my hand and we look towards the betrayed; free of shackles and numb to light.
Prompt 115 - She was decorated with...
(This is meant to be placed in 1888, but I'm not sure that comes across...)
She was decorated with lies and shame.
Her make-up too thick, her dress too big and slipping down one shoulder.
Standing on the corner, yours for a few pence an hour.
The illusion of age broken by frightened eyes.
She says she's 18; I wonder if she's 12, this lost little girl trapped in her mothers clothes.
Man flock to her like bees to honey, I flinch as they touch her: dirty hands on angelic shoulders; filthy smiles and evil voices calling her 'Love' to guide her to rooms of hate.
She passes the alley I call home and silently pleads; I fall asleep to unheard screams; whispering words of salvation to a nearly forgotten God, hoping for Him to save her.
Prompt 116 - Picture Here
I reach through to touch you and reality splinters; deep cracks across the midnight sky.
I see the stars of your world in the hole my hand went through, but though I doomed this place for you, you're the one I cannot find.
My mind, my soul reaches towards you as the universe takes its last breath.
Our fingers clasp, our worlds collapse and reality gives way, shattering with the sound of eternity.
Prompt 118 - Coffee with a Kiss
(Fanfiction - Torchwood - post-ep 13 - Ianto/Jack)
Ianto stands on the balcony, in front of the machine, high above everyone else like some kind of king or, perhaps, The Phantom, the smell of coffee swirling around him, reminding him of Jack.
Jack was addicted to coffee, strong and hot and black as pitch type of coffee, Ianto knows this because it's his job and because he is addicted to Jack.
He remembers the night their addictions combined, a late night with just them, he'd brought Jack coffee at midnight, a bad idea for nearly anyone else, but Jack didn't sleep and Ianto didn't blame him. Jack had taken the mug, drinking deep of the liquid before resting it on his desk with a smile, that gorgeous smile that made Ianto feel like the center of the universe. He still isn't sure how it happened, who made the first move, only that the next thing he felt was Jack's lips under his; soft, warm and inviting, deeper and deeper into it they pressed 'til they were all the other could sense, the taste of Jack then, deepened and enriched by the hot bitterness of the coffee, the feel of Jack's hand on Iantos jaw...
The dying weir of the machine brings Ianto back to the present where Jack had abandoned him.
Straightening he pushes that thought to the back of his mind and gathering the tray of coffees he folds his pain into the cracks of his heart, going down the stairs to serve the others.
If the coffees taste of tears no one says a thing.
Prompt 120 - When I close my eyes...
When I close my eyes I see you as you use to be.
Bright blue eyes and a constant smile.
The energy of a bumblebee and the curiosity of a cat.
You seemed so perfect then, your child-like wonder enthralling me.
And I have to wonder how this dark cloud came from that.
This beast of darkness that, unseen, tears your mind, breaks your heart.
Now you're pale and slight, haunted eyes and a frowning mouth.
Clutching your hand I close my eyes and see you as you use to be, back when we could banish the monsters of Fear and Impossibility because it's better than opening them knowing I can do nothing as you fade away.
Prompt 124 - Sleep
(In Roman Mythology Diana is The Goddess of the Moon, her twin [Apollo] is The God of the Sun and Somnus is The God of Sleep.)
Sleep.
Sl-eee-p.
It's become a chant in my mind.
Simple lyrics intertwining with the steady beat of the clock as hours slip away.
My eyes grow ever heavier with each second, my mind dim and muddled as the moonlight flows across my room through lacy curtains, caressing me as I toss and turn in tangled sheets.
I lie wide-eyed watching as night slowly relinquishes the sky; the silvery fingers of Diana replaced by her brothers golden arms.
Overpowered I, wearily longing for the embrace of Somnus, leave the empty comfort of bed and the frustrating music of insomnia retreats to the far corners of my mind, waiting.
Prompt 125 - Never Punctual
(This one turned out really strange...)
I'm an impatient perfectionist.
It never works.
A deep thinker distracted by shiny objects.
But still I try.
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions; I've a basketful and hundreds of miles to go.
Maybe you've seen me walking there, beautifully ugly and trying to spread smiles like a flower girl spreads petals.
I'm never punctual, but I'll get there eventually with a smile for the flames and a rose for The Devil.
I went to a play with Dad Saturday. It was 'The Pirates of Penance' and was done by The Flambeau High School. It was much better then I'd feared with fairly good acting and fantastic sets. Some of the singing left a lot to be desired, but being a high school play I can forgive then that. There were two people though who were jaw-droppingly good. Zachary Spooner (who played The Pirate King) and Jessica Quinnell (who played Mabel); I give their names because they said I could (if it was praise, of course *laughs*) and because if they continue this way they'll end up on Broadway or (in Quinnells case) The Opera and you have to see them. I mean Spooner acted and sang like a pro, never once slipping up or tiring and Quinnell nailed these notes that I didn't know humans could hit. Even if the rest had been crap they would have saved it.
Prompt_a_day Stories:
Prompt 110 - I lie to myself
I lie to myself.
They don't seem like lies; maybe because at the time I mean them, maybe because that's all I say anymore.
It's twisted, I know, but I'm starting to believe like a fly trapped in a web and enjoying it.
"Do you even hear what you say?" Everyone asks, disgust written on every feature.
"There's a truth in every myth." I reply, smiling and weave the web a little farther.
Prompt 114 - Picture Here
Curiosity hovers over me like Mother.
Sweet and dark and haunting.
She guilds me to a forest where I pick fruit from the serpent's tree.
My lips kiss its body and my teeth break the reddened skin, tearing at its flesh, the juice filling my mouth; sweet and tart and tangy like broken promises and sin.
I lay upon a bed of metal that nature did not place.
Mother hovers over me like Love, worry in her eyes.
The apple rolls from my hand and we look towards the betrayed; free of shackles and numb to light.
Prompt 115 - She was decorated with...
(This is meant to be placed in 1888, but I'm not sure that comes across...)
She was decorated with lies and shame.
Her make-up too thick, her dress too big and slipping down one shoulder.
Standing on the corner, yours for a few pence an hour.
The illusion of age broken by frightened eyes.
She says she's 18; I wonder if she's 12, this lost little girl trapped in her mothers clothes.
Man flock to her like bees to honey, I flinch as they touch her: dirty hands on angelic shoulders; filthy smiles and evil voices calling her 'Love' to guide her to rooms of hate.
She passes the alley I call home and silently pleads; I fall asleep to unheard screams; whispering words of salvation to a nearly forgotten God, hoping for Him to save her.
Prompt 116 - Picture Here
I reach through to touch you and reality splinters; deep cracks across the midnight sky.
I see the stars of your world in the hole my hand went through, but though I doomed this place for you, you're the one I cannot find.
My mind, my soul reaches towards you as the universe takes its last breath.
Our fingers clasp, our worlds collapse and reality gives way, shattering with the sound of eternity.
Prompt 118 - Coffee with a Kiss
(Fanfiction - Torchwood - post-ep 13 - Ianto/Jack)
Ianto stands on the balcony, in front of the machine, high above everyone else like some kind of king or, perhaps, The Phantom, the smell of coffee swirling around him, reminding him of Jack.
Jack was addicted to coffee, strong and hot and black as pitch type of coffee, Ianto knows this because it's his job and because he is addicted to Jack.
He remembers the night their addictions combined, a late night with just them, he'd brought Jack coffee at midnight, a bad idea for nearly anyone else, but Jack didn't sleep and Ianto didn't blame him. Jack had taken the mug, drinking deep of the liquid before resting it on his desk with a smile, that gorgeous smile that made Ianto feel like the center of the universe. He still isn't sure how it happened, who made the first move, only that the next thing he felt was Jack's lips under his; soft, warm and inviting, deeper and deeper into it they pressed 'til they were all the other could sense, the taste of Jack then, deepened and enriched by the hot bitterness of the coffee, the feel of Jack's hand on Iantos jaw...
The dying weir of the machine brings Ianto back to the present where Jack had abandoned him.
Straightening he pushes that thought to the back of his mind and gathering the tray of coffees he folds his pain into the cracks of his heart, going down the stairs to serve the others.
If the coffees taste of tears no one says a thing.
Prompt 120 - When I close my eyes...
When I close my eyes I see you as you use to be.
Bright blue eyes and a constant smile.
The energy of a bumblebee and the curiosity of a cat.
You seemed so perfect then, your child-like wonder enthralling me.
And I have to wonder how this dark cloud came from that.
This beast of darkness that, unseen, tears your mind, breaks your heart.
Now you're pale and slight, haunted eyes and a frowning mouth.
Clutching your hand I close my eyes and see you as you use to be, back when we could banish the monsters of Fear and Impossibility because it's better than opening them knowing I can do nothing as you fade away.
Prompt 124 - Sleep
(In Roman Mythology Diana is The Goddess of the Moon, her twin [Apollo] is The God of the Sun and Somnus is The God of Sleep.)
Sleep.
Sl-eee-p.
It's become a chant in my mind.
Simple lyrics intertwining with the steady beat of the clock as hours slip away.
My eyes grow ever heavier with each second, my mind dim and muddled as the moonlight flows across my room through lacy curtains, caressing me as I toss and turn in tangled sheets.
I lie wide-eyed watching as night slowly relinquishes the sky; the silvery fingers of Diana replaced by her brothers golden arms.
Overpowered I, wearily longing for the embrace of Somnus, leave the empty comfort of bed and the frustrating music of insomnia retreats to the far corners of my mind, waiting.
Prompt 125 - Never Punctual
(This one turned out really strange...)
I'm an impatient perfectionist.
It never works.
A deep thinker distracted by shiny objects.
But still I try.
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions; I've a basketful and hundreds of miles to go.
Maybe you've seen me walking there, beautifully ugly and trying to spread smiles like a flower girl spreads petals.
I'm never punctual, but I'll get there eventually with a smile for the flames and a rose for The Devil.