CelestinaGrey

The loud slam against a locker door. Pain throbbing in his back, in his head. He slid down to the floor, thinking perhaps the appearance of defeat would make the bully walk away. No such luck. Eric had sunk his claws into Omar, and it didn't seem like he'd be letting go any time soon. A foot to the gut. Onlookers afraid to step in, scared that speaking up might bring Eric's wrath on them as well. Another kick, and another. And with each attack the air was filled with the verbal abuse as well, slurs about 'his kind' and 'terrorists'. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a hand grabbed Eric by the back of his neck, and slammed his head into the locker. The bully stumbled back in shock, and the tension in the air grew thick. The intruder, or savior, depending on who you were, was Warren. The football quarterback. He glared at Eric, who himself was part of the football team. The look alone was enough to send the bully scrambling away. Warren held out a hand to Omar, and helped him to his

Art is my life, and my love. Nothing brings me more joy than drawing my brush across canvas, watching color appear where nothingness had been moments before. Bringing life to what had been blank, creating scenes and evoking emotions. Being an artist is wonderful. I can show people the world through my eyes, reveal the depths of my heart without speaking a single word. A dab of color on the brush, a few swipes on the canvas, then a quick rinse in the cup, and I start anew with a fresh color. It's wonderful. I truly love it. The way my hand can drag the brush along at just the right pace, with just the right pressure. The light 'tink, tink' of the brush handle against the cup as I swirl it around to clean it for a new color. But really, as wonderful as it is, it's tiring work. I reach for what I thought was my coffee mug, and bring it to my lips. What I taste does not match the flavor of coffee, or what one might assume the colors would taste like. Fuck.

A bite won't hurt, it never does. Though dry like dirt, but soft like fuzz. A bite is fine, Just go for it. Just go and dine, and have a bit. It's no apple, so tempting and clean. It's just some bread, soft and serene. So just take a bite, and then go to bed. Perhaps in the morning you won't be dead.

It was a moment captured in time; perfect, eternal. An image that held memories to last a lifetime. It was said, after all, that a picture was worth a thousand words, but this picture meant so much more. Every piece inside the border held a memory. The second-story window with the purple curtains: that was the room where she knocked the vase off of the nightstand. The first floor window with the shutters open wide, that was where she burnt several meals while trying to make everything absolutely perfect. The side porch was where she spent hours scrubbing cigarette stains out of the flooring. And the front door, she had repainted several times to hide the liquor stains, not to mention sweeping broken glass into the grass. And she certainly could never forget the living room with the ugly yellow shades, where she spent most of her time tense and waiting. And, of course, the bathroom, with the window always closed, no matter how heavy the stench of vomit was. She looked at the picture as

Small, warm little lights flickering in the air. The bright moon shining overhead. Soft grass beneath bare feet. Crickets' calls echoing through the woods. Hands gently cup around a light, two fingers moving slightly to admire the glow within. Small, fragile, but beautiful. Peace. Innocence. The light released. A cold air conditioner noisily cranking on. Fluorescent lights too bright in the ceiling. Thin carpet against firm shoes. The 'tak tak tak' of a keyboard. Fingers pressing keys, eyes glazed over watching a glaring screen. The dull hum of the office. Empty. Weak. A light gone out.

His fingers fiddled nervously with the pack in his pocket. Would this even work? It was risky. Months spent infiltrating the community, building relationships, building bonds. Would it even work? No, it had to. It was for the good of the order. Joel was getting out of hand, and this community he built was only getting bigger. Communal gardens? Free living spaces? It would pitch the economy into unstable chaos. He had to be stopped. But...it was easier said than done. Joel was...nice. Warm, friendly, inviting. He aimed to educate everyone around him. But that in itself was also dangerous. Jude heard the cars pulling up to the grounds. It was an easy sound to hear, as most of the houses didn't have the noise of air conditioners clogging up the space outside. It was also easy to hear the murmurs that started rippling through as people saw the vehicles approach. Black sedans that were much more imposing than any police car. Armed men stepped out of the cars, and Jude noticed Joel come

Sometimes, the water is calm, and you glide along peacefully through clear waters. You relax in the clear air, the warm sun, the happy feeling that washes over you. Everything seems fine, everything seems perfect. And then suddenly, there are rocks ahead. The water moves faster, hitting against the rocks with unexpected violence, pulling you along and threatening to smash you in its anger. You struggle, you panic, you feel frustrated that the once-calm waters could suddenly turn so cold and ruthless. You're yanked along the current whether you want to go or not, forced into the rush and the wild clamor. You fight back, pushing against the rocks, struggling to steady yourself in the chaos. Sometimes, you feel just as angry as the rushing water. But after the current slows, there is usually peace again. As long as you survived. Sometimes, having a sibling is like going white-water rafting through rushing rapids.

Each step taken propelled him a few feet as he did his best to adjust to the difference in gravitational pull. No amount of training truly prepared you for the feeling of near-weightlessness when walking on a surface that only has 38% of the gravity of Earth. It gave him an odd disconnect as he stared out upon what looked like a desert wasteland. He felt like he should be trudging wearily through the sand, but his movements were so light, so easily, that he was covering exceptional distance with barely any effort. The silence was another oddity. All he could hear within his fitted helmet was the sound of his own breathing. As he crested one of the dunes, however, that breath caught for a moment. There it was. The blue dunes. They had only ever captured the visual through drones before, and now he was standing there, staring at it with his own eyes. It was vast, spreading on like a large sandy lake. "Unit 29, come in. We're receiving visual confirmation. Please confirm status." The

Pop! Pop! I smiled, watching the chubby little hands grasping for the floating orbs. Most of the time, she couldn't reach them, but sometimes they floated right against her body. It was a warm, beautiful sunny day. All I could hear was the chirping of birds and the light laughter of my little girl. I took in a breath and blew it out, sending more bubbles floating towards her. She toddled after them, trying to catch them as the wind carried them along. I chuckled as I watched her come running back to me for new, fresh bubbles to chase. I took in a deep breath... and started coughing. My lungs felt constricted, like I couldn't get any air in. I dropped the bubble wand and clutched my chest, coughing into my other hand. "Daddy! Daddy!!" My sweet little girl was running up to me, her innocent little face twisted with worry. I heard the screen door open behind me and my wife hurried out, crouching down beside me. "Darling, you know what the doctor said," she chided softly as she helped me

He handed it over to me with a gentle smile. The photograph was old and yellowed, but I could still easily see the two black and white figures in the frame. "I'll never forge that day," his voice rasped, his smile emphasizing the wrinkles on his face. "Her parents didn't approve of us. We had to go out of state to get married. We had our friends with us, but it was a such a trip, I was almost late! It was 102 degrees out that day, but I tell you, I've never seen a woman sweat so beautifully before. That dress right there? It's her grandma's. Gammy, we called her. She was thrilled that we were getting married, and she wanted to make sure that Beatrice had a proper wedding dress. Boy, I tell you. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, my Beatrice." His dreamy recollection was interrupted by a coughing fit. I handed him a handkerchief. "You two make a lovely couple," I said, looking back to the weathered photo in my hand. "That's all Beatrice," he insisted after taking a sip of