My vision blurs as the nightingales sing,
A sparrow falls with a wound to her wing,
I brace myself, calm the demons within,
Unsheathe my sword, make a grab for that ring
Intoxication clouds my judgment,
With paranoia not far away,
Darkness tries to descend upon me,
Yet I retort saying not today,
Take a shot of epinephrine,
On my feet to their dismay,
Weapon drawn with no hesitation,
Bring it on, come make my day
A sound echoes throughout the valley,
One that speaks of swords smashing,
Of bayonets and guillotines,
One that speaks of wills clashing
Once upon a time, there lived a boy named Mahdi.
Now Mahdi had a thing for talking about himself in third person. And boy, was he ecstatic when he had an excuse to do so under the ruse of writing an assignment.
He quickly realized however, that this task that he had been tasked with was quite the task indeed.
So much so that he decided to include the story of how he ended up writing the way he did.
It all began when Mahdi’s mom asked him to close his bedroom window before it got dark. …
I sighed as I reversed my car out of the driveway.
“Kayla, huh?” I mused, glancing at the Polaroid lying on top of my dashboard — an address scribbled underneath a familiar face.
I remembered this woman. We had graduated the same year from the community college downtown. Despite having had quite the crush on her, we had always been acquaintances at best.
Flying past a speed-bump caused my car to jolt upwards, and my head hit the roof with a thud.
“Crap!” I grunted as I snapped back to the present, my grip on the steering wheel tightening just…
A bubble-wrap enthusiast who occasionally sacrifices chickens to Satan.