Beginnings, Chapter NineWithout thinking, Matthew ran and ran. He let the trees surround him, wishing with all his might that they would block out his feelings. As the forest grew denser, Matthew was forced to slow down. His instincts told him he should turn back, but in that moment, his sadness was stronger than his instincts. There was no way he was returning to the cabin. There were no more hard decisions he’d force himself to face.The birds kept singing overhead, and to Matthew, it seemed almost rude of them to carry on like that. He recalled how he used to think of the birds and squirrels as his friends; that was before he met Alfred. It wasn’t fair that he would have to give up Alfred. Matthew sobbed. He wanted someone to comfort him, but everyone he loved was so far away in so many ways. Soon, the forest floor was so thick with plant life that Matthew had to change directions. He spied a clearing a short distance away and m
Hetalia: Rainy NightTonight was the fourth rainy night in a row. Between the cloudy days and stormy nights, Arthur hadn’t see the sun in forever. Not that he missed it.“Not that I miss anything at all,” he said aloud, turning the picture frame around. He debated throwing the photo away. It wasn’t like he wanted to see that loudmouth’s goofy, bespectacled face every time he walked into his study.Outside, the wind howled. Arthur shut the study door behind him, hoping to make the large room seem cozier. It was on nights like these that Arthur’s mind tended to wander.So many memories haunted him. Every drop of rain that fell made him think of all the wasted seconds. The little boy who admired his every action somehow grew into the young man who would rather face death than stay by his side. Whatever had gone wrong, it was always itchingly beyond Arthur’s grasp.“No,” Arthur said to himself. He
Beginnings, Chapter EightWhen Arthur and Matthew pushed the cabin door open, they were met with the delicious smell of Francis’ cooking. Whatever it was had been made with lots of butter and fresh herbs - and there was little left of the dish.“I’ll bet you’re regretting not staying for lunch,” Francis said as he scrubbed the pan. Arthur scoffed, refusing to admit how much he missed Francis’ cooking.“Suit yourself,” said Francis. He handed a cleaned dish toward Alfred so the child could dry it, but Alfred had already run off. Matthew looked around and found Alfred bouncing on Arthur’s bed. In mid-air, Alfred stuck his legs out in front of him, bounced to a sitting position, and let momentum take him off the bed. He stopped inches away from Matthew, who flinched.“You missed lunch,” Alfred said. Matthew shrugged. Even when enveloped in the scent of delicious food, Matthew still couldn’t think
Beginnings, Chapter SevenThe two walked without direction for some time, allowing themselves to become lost together amongst the sounds of birds and rushing river water. Eventually they came to a boulder that was large enough for them both to sit atop. Matthew struggled to climb it, at which point, Arthur picked him up and sat him on a smooth edge of the rock’s surface. Then Arthur climbed up beside him. The two sat together in a peaceful silence. As Matthew leaned against Arthur’s body, he felt comforted. His last wisps of nervousness, he realized, were awkward modesty. After all, here was the Earth’s most powerful empire, who had the whole world as his back garden, and he was choosing to spend time with just this one tiny colony. It was an honour Matthew found a little bit overwhelming.“Aren’t you busy?” Matthew asked. Arthur looked down at him and smiled.“Right now,” Arthur said, “I am doing the mo
Beginnings, Chapter SixWhen they returned to the cabin, they found it decorated in a fun, albeit unusual way. Streamers of red, white, and blue hung from the rafters, but only on one side of the cabin. On the other, there was a banner that said “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MATTHEW AND ALFRED.” The furniture had been rearranged, although to what end, no one could say.“Welcome home, boys,” Francis said, climbing down from atop a chair. Matthew and Alfred wandered wide-eyed through the cabin.“Wow!” said Alfred. “This is all for my birthday?”“And Matthew’s,” said Francis. Matthew smiled appreciatively as Francis tossed his hair. “Of course, the side I decorated is so much nicer, so please take that as an expression of my parental doting on both of you. Arthur’s side is, well, don’t make him feel too bad about it.”“I heard that, frog!” came a voice from outside. Arthu
Beginnings, Chapter FiveThe cabin’s interior felt humid and stuffy, yet there was an unspoken agreement between Arthur and Francis not to go outside. What they were about to discuss didn’t need to be exposed in daylight. Besides, it was better to attribute the imminent discomfort to the environs. “Matthew is growing up so quickly,” Arthur said. Francis nodded.“Indeed. And he was eager to see you and Alfred. Usually, he is quite shy.”“Shy, is he?” Arthur said. “Very good. That means he’s less likely to grow up to be a philandering, egocentric libertine.”The glare in Francis’ eyes had daggers in it.“Yes, Matthew is rather shy and sensitive. That means he has emotions. You know what emotions are, right, Arthur?”“Of course,” Arthur replied. “They’re those things you blame for your habit of sleeping with half of Europe.”“Bec
Beginnings, Chapter FourHauling mountains of luggage, plus the sleeping child, Arthur plodded up the path to the log cabin. He knocked at the door. And waited. And waited. Arthur looked back over his shoulder. The driver had already left, meaning Arthur was alone. At least, he felt alone. The sleeping child was more a responsibility than a companion, and Arthur felt more weighed down and tired than he had felt in ages. At long last, the door creaked open.There he was, just as Arthur remembered. Tall, long haired, and with something of a miniature beard. Francis’ eyes sparkled just as they had on the day he and Arthur had met. All at once, Arthur felt the bittersweetness of lost love and the angry rush of bloody battle. There were a million words he wanted to say. He started with one.“Hello.”Francis nodded. “Welcome to my home,” Francis replied. “Please, come in.”Without aski
Ask The Romance ExpertDear Romance Expert,Even though I am AWESOME, I could use some help. There’s this guy. He’s quiet and shy, but sweet as maple syrup. I’d do anything to get his attention, but, as the old trope goes, he doesn’t even know I exist. The weird thing is, I think I might be the only person who knows he exists. It’s kind of a weird situation. What should I do?-- The Awesome Me*****Dear Awesome,Your confidence is a wonderful asset. However, if this fellow you’ve got your eye on is really as shy as you say, it is important that you do not overwhelm him. Like a rose, love must blossom slowly. Make your move, but do so carefully.Honhonhonhonhon,The Romance Expert------------------------------Dear Romance Expert,I have a problem. I have a crush on my neighbour. He’s a really nice guy, if not a little awkward, but he’s fun and we get along well together. I think he likes
BlindfoldSuch a pretty blindfoldOn such a pretty youthA lust for revolutionBut no taste for the truthAnother manifestoA plant that’s gone to seedMore poison in the waterToo many words to readSuch a pretty sloganAnd such a slick saluteSo many ideasAnd every word acuteThey call themselves the heroesI called them too far goneBut then you went and joined themAnd tied your blindfold onI miss the friends I used to knowThe people I’d admiredI’d held a blindfold in my handsBut threw mine in a fireI’ll never shy away from factsAnd thus I’m called uncouthBecause it’s a such a pretty blindfoldAnd such an ugly truth
ode to the seasonsspring-tide warmth is tickling toesas fawns nuzzle my heels,urging me forward intothe ocean of fallen blossoms.petals plunge against my ankles andbuds waft across the meadowto land, swirling, ballerina-likeinto my open hands.syrupy heat saunters alongside meand pushes me forth,onto the expanse of anight-sky draped, emerald summer.crickets trill their songs whilemeadowlarks nestle in their nests.i am cocooned in humidity and peace.leaves change colors answeringthe call of time, bright oranges,reds, yellows, slowly fade tothe same dry wrinkled brown.the fallen leaves give way tothe great gusts of cold wind,playing upon the breeze in afinal salute to their former glory.cold and snow play outsidemy frosted window panes,calling to me to come outand join them in their frolicking.
Autumn ThrenodyIt is quarter to winter.This is my elegy tothe paint-chipped stepsand autumn crowns.To invisible breathsand pathsacross the yard and back.To summer-lungsand sweat.I mourn the loss of Scorpius,but welcome Orion.I hang my August wordsand trade my voice for frost.This is the death of back-porch nights,the barefoot gait,and birdsong.
First SnowCold crystals fall,Angelic white flakesOf the night'sDeep-freeze;I regard the view,Reminiscing -The falling flakesAre the remainsOf my shattered,Colorless heart.
The Tidal WaveIt would come larger and deeper and bluer towering over meas I walked on the beach .I would feel paralysed insect tiny before it's rippling jaws the sand falling out from under me dread and dry ice fear mixed as I waited for the wave to crash.
MonotropaShewas monotropa,and hecame in and colonized her roots,enticed by her whispersof sweet blissful mutualism,and never have sweet nothingsbeen so accurately persuasive.For shetwirled his hyphaearound her finger;pulled him tight and nestled him closewith protein promises poisoned;saccharine elixir turned to vapor,clouding his searching visionand severing the heartstrings he’d plantedin her soiled soil-less heart,consummately consuming his efforts –Maneater, Black Widow, Achlorophyllous Charlatan.But helivedfor her enchantment,cross-eyed star-crossed,plaguing her in returnwith parasitic guiltover the lifeblood she lapped from him.Hewas her Sisyphus.And togetherthey form Oroborous;Consumed by each otherbut never devoured.
After the Ice StormA fine silver web of gemsWeaves along the branchesBright and clear, like thin-spun glassBut strong as iron, bringing the tree to its kneesLower and lowerThe boughs touch the ground nowCold as steal with fingers of laceClad in pure white mailEach link in the chain a diamondCatching the sunlight in glorious prismA burden or a beautyWho can say?
HojarascasHell's colors burn brightOptimism among child'sJokes unheard in theAir's breezes; oh,Rampant racesAcross the lastingSun-dried leaves asCollapsing branches fall inAnother sweet Autmn day.
lay me to sleep under the windowLittle children of the autumn where do you lingerWhere the rain is warm and feet may fail To hooves and wings a-fleetingTranscending now these season spacesTo etch their soul upon themTurnt' hides to faces born againEyes that can only grasp against'.Flee, November yearlings
When Times ChangeI run to the sea,And fall to my knees.But the sun warms my skin,Such a different kin.I wait for it to set,So I will forget,That wonderful feeling,That gave me a healing.When the moon lifted,Inside I was gifted.With the calm love,That came from above.You were my sunshine,But now you’re my moon,It is now time,I sing another tune.
CricketsSounds that sparkleBreaking gently over the etherEchoes of a summer eveningThe heartbeat of time