a breath of winter wind by Minty-mouse, literature
Literature
a breath of winter wind
It's cold.
She's not sure what she expects. Snow stretches out far as the eye can see - a blanket of undisturbed, endless white from horizon to horizon, interrupted only by the smoking heap of skeletal, disjointed metal wreckage that was, at one point, a plane. She stands maybe ten yards away, glassy-eyed and trembling. Her fingers are crusty with blood that’s spilled from the gashes on her arm and, worse than that, rapidly growing numb, but she still finds the ring, and, in desperate search of some cold comfort, feels out the band. Wind whistles around her, knotting her hair into tangles. It’s not too bad yet, she thinks; at le
Time is an odd thing. Sometimes it flows smoothly and seamlessly, passing by with no thought spared to it, seasons coursing by in a haze of colours as waves of heat come and go and plants cycle through the year. He can forget how long he stands in place, tall and towering over the little creatures scurrying between his feet, the wind swirling roughly through his body and snow settling with a gentle tickle upon his branches.
He doesn't remember the first time he unfolded his strong legs, heaved his broad stature to its feet, swung his trailing tail to settle upon the fallen pine needles, nor when his glinting black eyes first focused into a s
whose bleached and broken bones are these?
they are not mine
I do not sleep
what mourner calls out far and near?
pray not for me
I do not hear
whose rotted flesh has begun to peel?
it is not mine
I do not feel
what spirit wanders chill and grey?
it is not mine
I could not stay
death came swift, silent and sweet
but nothing ended
no light did I meet
so while I wander, chill and bleak
remember me
for my own memory grows dim and weak
remember me
for what I was
I can no longer be
I swallow
600mg of sanity
every morning
in a cold clear glass
(half empty)
with liquid memory
and hydrogen voices
filling the space
between each breath.
As the medication
sinks into my soul
the delusions gently vanish
leaving only echoes
and the fingerprints
of madness on my skin.
The chemicals wash over me
in calming waves
until I see the world
in a softer light
under the same sky.
It's like breathing underwater;
everything is quiet
and still.
Open
A canvas
Sets upon a table
I say that the table
Must have more might
Than even Atlas
For it holds up
Not just a world
But limitless possibility
Untold wonders,
Different laws,
Shadowy intrigue,
All upon a canvas
Held up
By a table
So who shall
Contest my claim
That such a simple thing
Has more strength than any god?
Is more enduring than a planet?
Can rewrite history?
So when you next
Spy a canvas
Resting on a table
Take a moment
And thank the table
OC Profile: Rodyk Elmhech by Roddy1990, literature
Literature
OC Profile: Rodyk Elmhech
Real Name: None
Adopted Name: Rodyk Elmhech
Nicknames: The Hungry One
Species: Cosmic entity/Dark Star
Gender: Originally genderless, but avatar is male
Place of origin: Somewhere at the edge of the known Universe
Age: Estimated at 55 Gys [Galactic years; over 12 billion Earth years]
Diameter: 2,000 Astronomical Units [au]; 300 billion km/186.45 billion miles
Job: ---
About the cosmic entities: By human standards, these entities are not considered living beings, but they possess a consciousness of their own, so they're alive, in a certain way. They also have the ability to transform their own bodies/conglomerate of matter into whatever they
Science Fiction of the Most Disappointing Order by SgtPossum, literature
Literature
Science Fiction of the Most Disappointing Order
One day I sat at my listening post in SETI, drinking coca cola, eating chips, and making jokes about what aliens would say if they actually saw my fat lazy coworkers and I, when an extraterrestrial race contacted us in a series of beeps on our high-frequency radio.
Needless to say, I nearly crapped myself in recording the message, for it was clearly binary and our autistic junior member to the team, a great big fat man with a neck beard who insisted his first name was Xoo (I think the real name was Dawson), immediately understood it. He began rattling off a list of simple mathematical equations, getting more and more complicated as it went
We come, skin tinted the color of frost,
Color of cold, color of blue.
They shout, carrying words with the wind, preaching,
"People are equal," but people are lost.
Little lies, the size of snowflakes drift,
Landing on hopes, landing on dreams.
Our hearts, with winter's tears touching it, freeze,
Numbing it until the blood turns blue.
For some, the cold beats them down,
Chilling their warmth, chilling their light.
Their blood, turning into blue ice shatters,
Finally cracking under the pressure.
We're told, with wide expecting eyes,
Reach for better, reach for perfection.
Blue blood, polluting our minds with every expec