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Written by Edwyn Kumar
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Tuesday, 23 May 2006 |
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In my Z'Bri tongue I say to it , " Mirash Gek'Roh, you've been a bad boy
and now I am forced to teach you what happens to those who leave without permission."
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Written by Edwyn Kumar
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Tuesday, 23 May 2006 |
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The old Yagan Mordred had told us, before the journey, the importance of putting
a soul to rest. She had treated my wife's body with oils and herbs to prevent
any evil to lay claim to her corpse, but told us that her spirit would need
to be re-united in order for her to properly pass on. I think back to the fateful
night.
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Last Updated ( Tuesday, 23 May 2006 )
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Written by Edwyn Kumar
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Tuesday, 23 May 2006 |
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My motions are without resistance, one flowing into the next, never giving
any signs as to when one ends and the next begins. Pure dream essence falls
from my body, forming tiny eddies of fairy mist in my wake. The silent music
flutters beside me like a partner in dance, always keeping in time and rhythm.
I am not alone now. She is with me, in all her grace and elegance. I begin my
chant, my voice as sweet and luring as the ripest fruit.
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Written by Brad Edwards
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Tuesday, 23 May 2006 |
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There was a man who wasn' mad, too. He was sad . . .real sad. I don' like seein'
grown-ups cry, 'cause it makes me feel all scared. But he was cryin'. He was
standin' way at the back with his hood up so's you couldn' see his face, but
when I got closer, I could see him cryin'. I think he was sad about the lady
gettin' sent away. Maybe they was in love. Huh. Grown-ups are so weird.
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Written by Edwyn Kumar
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Tuesday, 23 May 2006 |
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Cinder led the two guards into the act that she played so well. I myself would
have been unable to resist her dark charm. The thought of beating a Fallen (me,
who was falsely bound by the temptress), with the pleasures of carnal passion
induced and lavished upon from the tall dancer, was too much to resist. By the
time they realized that the beaten were they themselves, I had knocked my assailant
to the ground with a quick, adept series of strikes to pressure points that
caused more pain than actual damage. The result was the same. He lay reeling
on the ground, his world on fire.
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Written by Steve Bell
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Tuesday, 23 May 2006 |
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Suddenly Dahlia steps back. Images around her swim back into focus: harsh,
angular faces composed of shifting orange and black, towering charcoal trees
whose leafless limbs shatter the void above. I look down in time to see Dahlia's
hand slide smoothly out of my chest, a vague form held gently in her open palm.
I am assaulted by a violent whiteness that burns my mind. My jaw splits open
and a serrated scream shreds my throat, the cloud of my breath faintly pink.
Reality shrivels up into a single point, then that too is destroyed.
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