Where the Young Prince Stands

             That emotion filled Yami more than any time before, and his body was no longer constrained. He could finally express this emotion that he had never been taught the name of. He felt his heart beating faster than should be possible, a scorching heat, and his teeth grinding against each other. Rapidly, breaths entered and exited his mouth. A primal scream escaped the depths of his lungs, an entire short lifetime of repressed rage had been let loose.             What Six saw was a volcano eruption so violent that the mountain itself exploded, sending infinitely hot lava in every direction.             What Jin saw was a little boy with all hope ripped out of him. He was wearing nothing but shorts, and chains around his wrists, leaving exposed the numerous scars and gashes on his chest. Scars and gashes acquired from years of being sold as a commodity for any sick desires the child manglers of the world could think of. Jin and Six had gotten back home early from one of thei

  The cold handcuffs grind against the bones of my skinny wrists. I struggle against the guards, but not for the purposes of escape, it’s just that they are a fair bit taller than me, and it is hard to walk when you are being lifted in the air by your armpits. They seemed to have picked up on my discomfort, as they put me down and held onto me by the collar of my shirt. Though this was not a courtesy, they just knew I would move along quicker if I could walk. At last, we come to the visitation room, and the one who came to see me is already there. In that cold grey room, a single window behind him is the only source of dim light, he almost looks like a silhouette. I am handcuffed to my chair across the table from him, he asks the guards to leave, they comply, and our conversation begins. “We found another one of your victims,” says my Detective, as he pulls out a manilla envelope from the suitcase at his feet. “I confessed to all my victims already, there are no more for you to f

  An American Sonnet This is my land, this is your land. It is this land that I love. Oh how those sapphire mountains sing with their smoke. Every biome of nature is represented. From the jungles of Hawaii, to the Taigas of Alaska. This is the land where nature gave its most bounty. Where even the deadly Mojave inspires beauty. It is a land so beautiful that murder was committed in its aquisition. This is a land stained with the blood of countless.  Where those first here were shot and tagged, where those forced to build it were beaten, where beauty is destroyed for profit. These are my hands, these are your hands, red with blood. Poem I don’t know how to write poetry, and I don’t know how to read it really. I don’t understand the lack of plot, I really don’t understand why they all just feel a lot I don’t get form over prose, I really don’t get not knowing which way the story goes. I really don’t like having to think about how every little thing is tied up in kinks. Why on earth shoul

             Shabaka hugged Amare and broke down crying. She couldn’t forgive herself. She was trying to hurt her own family in every one of her four fights. And what for? To somehow protect them, to not be a burden. They were supposed to be there for each other, not try life and limb to destroy one up one another.             “I… I… I’m so sorry,” sobbed Shabaka into Amare’s chest. “I didn’t want to hurt you, I didn’t want to lose, I just want to help, I don’t want you all to take care of me.” Amare pet her between her ears. Bard swooped in and hugged her.             “You are my little sister,” Amare said. “It is my job to take care of you. Don’t worry about being a burden on us. Because you aren’t, and never will be.”             “I’m sorry for putting you through this,” said Bard. “The tournament was a horrible idea. I should never have held it.”             “You don’t need to apologize,” said Shabaka, turning her eye to Bard. “But thank you.”             Smalls clapped h

             Tilian spat out of the wood between his dagger fangs. “I’m gonna be finding splinters for weeks,” he said.             Meanwhile, Smalls stood frozen. He clearly wasn’t upset, he wasn’t the kind to get upset with people, but he knew what this loss meant. He was out of the championship race it would come down to a winner take all match between Shabaka and Amare. Shabaka must have been letting her anxiety show, because the next thing she felt was her father’s hand on her shoulder.             “You alright Shabby Cat?” he asked using a nickname that made Shabaka feel like a little girl again.             “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. This just feels big.”             “You can take a few extra minutes if you like,” replied Bard.             “Please go if you like,” said Amare. “It won’t be an issue with me.” Shabaka knew her eldest sibling was not trying to be malicious, but the elf cultural honesty could sometimes feel harsh.             “No,” said Shabaka looking up thr

             Three could still win the tournament, two could not. Those three were Amare, Smalls, and Shabaka. The match order was not announced yet, but only two possible matchups remained. Shabaka vs Amare, and Smallblade vs Tilian. If Smalls won his match, Shabaka could no longer win the tournament, at best she could match his score and he would win the tiebreaker. In this scenario Shabaka could purposefully lose to Amare, drawing the scores of those two and giving Amare the tiebreaker win. She threw off this idea, winning the tournament was secondary to winning as many individual matches as possible. But if Smalls lost, or even tied, Shabaka’s match against Amare would be winner take all.             “Alright,” sung Bard. “Go rest my children, and when you return, the order of this climax shall be determined.”             Everyone knew their final opponents through process of elimination. That was why Shabaka handed the watch over to Vito. It was also why she avoided making eye