Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The droplets of drool fell like stones from the gaping monstrous mouth. Gusts of racid breathes portruded before it. Sckirrrrrrrrrrr. The earsplitting whistle of its call, feeling like nails were being dragged down a chalk board next to my ear.

More were coming. My fearful eyes could see the shadows dragging themselves along the ground.

Useless bloodied limbs, torn apart by the undergrowth hanging uselessly between their ferocious canines. Blood surrounded their snout.

They were coming. For me.

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I stared up at the stars the beauty overtaking my sight, the bright lights occupied me while I was waiting. For him
I heard the scrape of metal coming from the silver ladder, someone was climbing up. He reached the top the lamp he was holding lighted his face helping me see his cute face.
He said nothing and sat next to me placing the lamp in front of us, following my eyes up to the stars.
This was forbidden, us together in the midnight hour. Us together. If our families found out were would be surely banished. We were...

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A chicken tried to cross the road
Upon which fate had last bestowed
A fetid mess of flesh and gore
From those who tried to cross before

The other side was just in reach
When road and fate allied to teach
The chicken's desperate, futile cause
Was ended by a couple cars

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I stare at the row of perfect houses resting on the perfectly manicured lawns beneath a perfectly blue sky by perfectly green trees. I am surrounded by perfection, but I have not been given it.
Sometimes I wonder why I'm doing this.
I bend down to the ground. There is a ball lying there, perfectly out of place. I pick it up. My son could've played with this ball. He would have been good at sports, I'm certain. Slowly I curl my fingers around it, and feel the perfectly creased leather, shiny with memories of sunny afternoons and perfect throws...

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She made pie again. She never lets me have any, but this time she made one huge mistake: placing the pie on the windowsill. Quiet as a mouse, I sneak over to the window and hide in the bushes as she looks around for me. When she doesn't see me, she shrugs and turns away. Fast as a rabbit, I jump up onto the windowsill, knock the pie to the ground, and quickly eat. The old lady peers out her window and shouts at me. I'm probably going to go to bed without dinner, but it's worth it. I got...

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She didn't look at him. She couldn't. He was standing there, and she didn't recognize him. Alex hurt Keri. Beyond hurt. Four years of sleeping together during summer and winter breaks from his Catholic college in Ohio HAD to mean something. Didn't they?

Not to him. Not anymore. He wasn't in it for the same reasons. Maybe he knew Keri loved Zak, too. Maybe Alex knew that deep inside Keri really loved them both (she hoped neither of them knew about each other, at least). Maybe he hoped that Zak would love her back so she wouldn't be so hurt...

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He wasn't certain he believed her, or that he'd heard her correctly.

She believed it, though. That much was obvious, from the earnest look in her eyes, from the way she clung to her coffee cup with such a tight grip, as if it was the only thing tethering her. As if it was what was keeping her real, keeping her here.

"How did it happen?" He asked finally.

Althea seemed to relax a little at that, as if she'd overcome a hurdle, as if she was relieved - finally, somebody believed her. "I don't know. If I did, I...

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She was the most delicate girl in town, so different from all the rest.
I look at her and all I can do is smile, she's so beautiful.
I wish I could call her mine, but sadly she's already been claimed.

He's so lucky and he doesn't even realise it.
He treats her like garbage, and she knows it, yet she keeps going back.

I don't understand.

Why don't you leave if all you do is end up heart in the end?
Why not go to someone who you know will treat you right?

I wish you could see me....

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She had read somewhere that there were lands beneath the seas, that it was where wishes hid themselves ("Fishes, you mean fishes."), that is was where dreams lived, that it was where pearls of happiness lived.

Pearls were the perfect metaphor; beauty and perfection, born of irritation. Born of an age of suffering.

They had stopped believing in mythical lands that lived beneath the waves, and so she stopped talking about them - there was a look in their eyes that she remembered, the same look her mother had been given.

Mother had tried to take her to the land...

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We are falling, steady. We are falling a little bit. We are falling into a mass dream, an illusion that is as good as reality for now. We are falling so slowly, so gently that it feels like we are floating. We are together and we are kidding ourselves. But it is noble and good and we are falling. What reality is greater than this? What is it we are here for? We are this: we are weight: we are what makes it possible to fall.

We are falling and it is enough.

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