Where the Young Prince Stands

  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 ...

  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 ea...

       Halloween is a time for vengeance, that is what separates the harvest holiday from the one in the dead of winter. In the later, people are expected to have good will and forgiveness in the time where life is most fleeting. So before the season comes where all must put their bad feelings aside for the sake of surviving the harsh winter cold, people use the end of autumn to get revenge of those they can't forgive.      No spirit embodies this idea more than Traps. No one knows when he first appeared, he has always looked like what we might call a 'clown,' yet he is not a clown. If he is a clown, then he is the first.      On Halloween night, if someone has been wronged in some way, especially if they are a child, Traps will come and offer a gift. If someone takes that gift, he will come for whomever the doer of misdeeds is. He never tells what he is going to do, but it is always unspeakably horrible. That is why it is important...

The Voice By Lucius Jack & Toast               Ever since he was a boy, Dick had wanted to be a detective. He cared not for the gun fights and other violent acts, he preferred the quieter way of catching criminals where they had no other choice but to come into custody and hope their lawyer could get them out.             Now, after three different college majors, he was meeting with the chief of police at the Nemometro Police Department. The chief in question was an old man with a big bushy mustache, he wasn’t fat, but it was plainly obvious that he had once worked out, then stopped. The top righthand drawer was bursting with junk, mostly instant popcorn bags. A little secret to know about the police, is that kids working nightshifts at convenience stores will offer cops free coffee and popcorn to keep them around in the crime high hours of the night.  ...

             He had died but he still remembered. She awoke, the doctors looked over her. A woman sighed with joyous relief, but he still remembered. The memories of old would slowly fade but she wailed to go home, wailed in a vain hope to return to a life they would never be able to return to. A life she would soon forget.

            The king hid behind his throne from the attack, his guards had not only failed to stop the offenders, but they had opened the door for them. This was not an attack of force, it was one of intimidation, and the king knew he could not win.             He was known as King Vinus XVII, but most of his loved ones referred to him by his birthname of Gron. Although as the years went on, the people who called him that became less and less. He was an old sack of bones with no family and no heirs, once he died, it was the end of his dynasty. The gods had cursed him with infertility and sent a plague upon his lands that took everyone that could have set upon the throne, the common and noble folks alike had begun to doubt his mandate from heaven. Now these Bagmen had made their decision clear.             Face your end like a man. Gron remembere...

            Virgil had to do this. She had been taken from the world far too soon. It wasn’t fair. They always warned him that life wouldn’t be. But shouldn’t it? He thought it should, and he was going to try and make that the case. In order to do this, he would have to face many trials. The first of which was the dog.             The beast with three heads was as tall as a house that some rich man would own. Six beady red eyes the size of basket balls stared back at Virgil, as he approached the gates. The black monster growled at him. But he had a plan for this. Because, despite the two extra heads, Cerberus, was still a dog. Virgil reached into his back pocket and pulled out three strips of bacon dog treats.             “Sit!” Virgil commanded. The dog sat down and slowly began to shrink down in size. until it was not much larger than Virgil’s...

            It was all hell; it was all suffering. Nothing in the world could make him happy no matter how hard he tried, not his interests, not eating his comfort foods, not even the people he loved. No matter what, this miserable world would not let him be happy. The older he got the more aware of everything he became the more he saw the ugly side of it all. Everything he thought he could trust turned out to be a lie, every bit of good he thought he could do for the world turned out to either be pointless or actively harmful to the thing he was trying to help. The only thing he thought he did right and was good were the things that made the people he loved happy. Even if he did not feel that happiness, he wanted to make them feel it. They were the only thing that made his life worth living, not the people how good he was just for doing his job, the job he had to do to put food on the table, not people asking him to be selfless and to suffer when that was ...

               Swordarok, the Dark Lord, Emperor of the Evil Empire, had but one weakness. He could not start his day until he had his coffee, that was nonnegotiable. After that, he and his generals could start plotting what village to burn down next. The youngest general suggested capturing slaves but Swordarok reminded him that allowing survivors only results in them vowing vengeance and coming after the men who did it. Next on the agenda was for Swordarok to brood in his throne room. He always made sure to look menacing, ready for some hero to burst on through. They would say something along the lines of, you-killed-my-father, or your-reign-of-tyranny-ends-today! They would always quickly fall to him, thinking that spamming one attack while constantly drinking healing potions was enough. Normally that would be but Swordarok discovered that if you don’t repeat the same attack patterns over and over you become harder to beat. Unfortuna...

Round 1: The bell rang, this was Jacob’s last chance, in the twilight of his career, he could finally become World Middleweight Boxing Champion. With the old champ having retired, and the #1 contender out with injury, it had gone to #2 and #3 to fight for the vacant title. Jacob knew his opponent #2 very well. Bjorn Karlson was his longest-term rival, they were 2, 2, and 1 against each other, Jacob knew this would be their final bout. Jacob did not hesitate, immediately going in for a Gazelle Punch, Bjorn dodged before going for a Flicker Jab, Jacob dodged that. They knew each other far too well, and now that had just 12 rounds to end this rivalry once and for all. Round 2: Bjorn felt like that first round could have killed him, although with his age, that was the case for all first rounds. He was already getting into the mindless state where his body worked on its own. As the next round began, he continued to ponder on the build up the fight. It had been hyped up as a clash between ...

There the young prince stood, having just stabbed the tyrant through the heart, having just vanquished his father. The crown rolled on the ground to his feet, it was his, his right by birth and destiny. He could rule and he knew just how. With his absolute authority he could execute the sources of corruption that fueled his father’s kingdom, he could make sure everyone had their fair shot but… he would still be king. That same system that had allowed his father to ruin and end millions of lives would still be there, it didn’t matter how good the king was, the king could still be evil. With one step, the symbol of the tyrant was destroyed along with everything it represented, everyone man, woman, and child would be their own king.