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We are the Fiddling Five.
One has a tale, a story alive!
The quartet shall sing, nigh on a string
An hundred times over, upon verse we thrive
We see, the first fiddle, our master
He follows the moonlight and rides the trains
Of gossamer hopes and demonic strains
Hither and thither his bow may play
Expressive of tears and all things ungray
Then the viola, the rare charm is set
Adds rich gold and bronze to our quartet
This man is sober and firmer on ground
Swaying and braying with a chest in his sound
Never to be missed for purity
Our cellist, the mellow understanding
Chugging the trains on which the first is landing
Sorrowful strength and a weakness of liveliness
Lowering the lot and mixing the pot
Splashing color on our palette
Our bass cannot be ignored, the bass
The foundation on which the city stands
He caresses the atmosphere with trembling hands
Walks men on the streets, bounces their seats
And causes the town to lift their feet
But the second fiddle is attended diffe
20 MilesI was a team captain at a Relay For Life my junior year in high school. I'd hoped to have it count as a culminating project, but it didn't work out. My dad's band had planned to play during the relay, but that didn't happen either. On that Friday, even though I wore the t-shirt, I didn't feel quite so gung-ho about walking around a track all night. I wanted to get home, get things done, and enjoy my weekend. To escalate that, classes were shortened so students could get yearbooks and sign them. I got mine, signed a little, and then high-tailed it out of there.
As I walked home, cars of kids passed going both directions. One coming toward me slowed and sort of pulled up next to me with the windows down.
"Smoke crack and do drugs! Whoo!" and the kid drove off with his buddies howling.Of course I wouldn't follow it, but the punchline for them was my bright green Relay For Life - Team Captain shirt. I shrugged it off and moved on. I had to teach a piano lesson and put my stuff together qui
Finding KraigSinging felt good right now. Something to get that weird hunch off my mind. I let it out as I crossed Highway 9 into my neighborhood and continued along the sidewalk. Up ahead, I saw a figure heading the opposite direction under the shade of trees and I stopped singing. Moving out into the sun, it was a guy who looked more or less nineteen years old, shirtless and carrying the article over his shoulder, in pants so baggy I had to make myself look away because of how low they were. His hair was dark brown, messy, and short, and he had the outline of a beard circling his face. I wished I weren't already walking toward him and hoped to politely nod as we passed and move on.
"Hey," he was calling to me. "Do you have a phone I can borrow? I was supposed to meet my sister and I need to call her." His voice was deep, young, and honest. Seeing as my phone was sticking up halfway out of my pocket, I took it out.
"Yeah, really quick," I told him, handing it over, not before noticing I had a coup
Watercry - Nox'rammeIt had been a long week. Things were becoming routine and more serious. Joseph was often exhausted, and always came back from his memories with more mixed emotions than he wished. Gaurmer had begun showing him more mundane memories, believing that the more eventful ones would drain Joseph physically and mentally, and the boring ones would simply help him understand his identity as Isyc. He certainly identified with Isyc. Everything the guy did was too similar to Joseph's habits: the way he walked, the way he put on his pants, the way he could be a charmer one minute and an absolute snake the next, even his keen ear was the same. The only difference was that his life before had been much richer, and the nomadic feel wasn't as much a part of him as it had been before. He certainly loved to travel, but it wasn't as if he were pushed to move everywhere all the time. Sometimes he really wished he could go back to that lifestyle, but other times the horror of what he knew versus what he didn
Feeding The DogsAll was hushed in the house; the door barely creaked as it moved on its hinges. Not even wind dared to interrupt the air, and it left a haunting stillness. Moonlight cast its hard shadow to the east, lighting the way for its traveller. Carver stepped outside and peered warily about into the night, measuring his breathing so as to look calm. Holding his bundle close to his chest, he slinked down the road and rounded a bend swiftly. The air clouded before his face as he exhaled, trying not to look back. He glanced up at the clear sky and the first set of stars he saw were the constellation of Orion. Strange, seeing the Hunter tonight. It gave Carver the feeling that eyes were upon him already. He did his best to adjust the bundle carefully and pull the edges of his cloak closer around him.
Travelling north along a river, he made haste toward the wooded country, where he knew people were more sparse. It was difficult to hush the many things humming and hissing in his mind, but Carver focu
Horse Girl With No Name Part 2The cutlery clanged against the plates and bowls as the family and Daza peacefully ate.
"So, when do you plan on leaving to the Faire, Daza?" my father asked.
"We'll be here one more day and the group leaves in the morning." Daza answered.
"That soon?" Father turned to me. "Then I believe the riding is coming along well?"
"Very well, Da." I said. He was so talented at conversing with me without calling me by my name. I was glad of that. "Even Abur believes I'll do great." I had to keep from glaring at Daza. Sneaking a glance, I noticed that he looked perturbed, also.
"Wonderful!" he cried. Aburyfmi blushed at my father's joy of having the two of us getting along.
"M'ma, could you pass me the butter?" Lili peeped. She was so small for an eight-year-old girl, and so frail. It frightened my parents.
"Here you go, love," my mother said, reaching to set the butter across the table. "Mm . Freshly made this morning. Finally something yellower than our hair." Lili and Groy, my other young
1420 MHzHe keeps a list wadded in the depths of his front, left pocket: where he holds his keys, and the forgotten/abandoned shell of a lone pistachio. The list is his biography, written in the shape of Argentine Spanish:
Me gustan los tomates en verano.
Yo amo a mi novio.
Nos besamos. (Mi novio chupa mis dedos de los pies.)
Las estrellas cantan sus canciones.
Mi nombre no es Eduardo.
Vivo con Jacobi ahora.
His pants are wadded, now, on summer-warmed hardwood; his shirt is draped over the back of a cane-back chair, the most incongruous of antiques in Jacobi’s tech-nerd lair. Headphones clamp his ears, and fill his head with the lisping whisper of interstellar hydrogen, broadcasting itself at a neat 1420 MHz. Bedroom is the wrong word for a place like this, despite the sorts of furnishings one might expect. There is a bed, a dresser, a bookshelf and two nightstands cramped with magazines, graphic novels. An alarm clock
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More