Open Letter from a SurvivalistAsk if I love youOpen Letter from a Survivalist by Panda-of-Infernum
Shiver as if I am cold
Maybe I am, but
You don't know all of it
I can't blame you
I say it in so few words
"I love you too"
Four words, Ambassadors
For the leviathan:
If you left, maybe I'd be happy, but only
After some time,
I'd go drinking with my friends
As the door to my room, It is there at night I'll remember
As the small silver cables vibrate under my fingers sped
By the rum I keep saved
For concerts to the dark
(Send Forth Your) Champion: New, Shining FacesThe sky was almost orange with sunset by the time Raymond Sevrin finished unpacking. His room in the boy’s dormitory at the Miami Beach Academy was his alone, and that suited the reclusive young man just fine. He was attending this school only because it was the last wish of his missing father. Ray had once looked up to the eccentric man who raised him, but his father never said goodbye, and it felt like a cruel betrayal to Ray. Roger Sevrin might as well be dead.(Send Forth Your) Champion: New, Shining Faces by Panda-of-Infernum
Ray looked out the small window that lay opposite his new twin sized bed. The sparse room didn’t feel like home, but Ray knew he had to make it home. “You must adapt to all environments” was a lesson his father drummed into his mind. Raymond learnt similar things from his father the hard way, out in the wilderness. His father was always there but sometimes that wasn’t enough protection. Ray scowled and squeezed his left shoulder. “I suppose I should gear up” he chuckled to himself as
RayCan I truly say I love thee as I love a son?Ray by Panda-of-Infernum
You are a face hidden behind walls of writing
Safely tucked in behind print and paper
Nevertheless you breathe
As I breathed years back
And will breathe as I will breathe
In the days to come
Bleed as I can bleed
On the screen of my own mind
I will never forget the day I spoke to you:
"Oh Ray, look at what you've become"
"Look at me? look at you!"
It was then I saw my soul etched into you
As I wrote you I myself was written
By the hands I never knew were mine until they grew into your own.
Compound Fracture 9 (endgame)Despite the darkness and the events of the day, Caleb Sevrin did not feel tired. He supposed tired is a feeling for the living, and he was only a partial participant of that group now. He cast his dully glowing red eyes upon Ramses, who knelt in what seemed like prayer on the floor of the guest bedroom. Moses had exited the room through an open window, leaving to feed or perhaps check on the small clan of vampires living in secret in Miami. Cale frowned when he thought about the clan. Where he and Moses were energetic and fast, those of the clan moved slow and trancelike. What made them like that?Compound Fracture 9 (endgame) by Panda-of-Infernum
“The clan once drank of a synthetic blood-substitute, untested and ultimately dangerous. It seemed that our supplier had misgivings about pandering to half-demons, and altered the batch.” Ramses whispered hoarsely.
“Doesn’t it seem strange that Moses didn’t drink any?”
“Let me tell you of Moses. He was born Hugo Fokker, in Germany. The year was 1928.
"You will love Dallas, and the state: drunk.," said Aunt Ashleigh. "It is famous for its wild Bradleys, its pink flowers, and its beautiful furiously masturbating hills."
"I hope you packed plenty of deviled eggs for the ride," said Uncle Griffin. "It will probably take us 666 hours."
So we all piled into Uncle Griffin and Aunt Ashleigh's Grifin's mom. At first the trip was really dark. We sang "69 Bottles of you don't want to know on the Wall." Then we counted the dogs that we saw whistling in the fields by the side of the road. But after seventy, two billion at the most hours we had eaten all the deviled eggs and Brenden was getting squishy.
"Are we almost there?" she asked awkwardly.
"Yes, Griffy-Poo," said Aunt Ashleigh.
Just then I saw a sign that said, "Bass-Ackwards, Dallas: 2 miles."
"Umm, Uncle Griffin, is Bass-Ackwards, Dallas on the way to Dallas, and the state: drunk.?" I asked.
"Yeah," said Brenden, pointing, "and is the local dump on the way to Dallas, and the state: drunk.?"
"You still have my two dollars, ya crook!, kids," laughed Uncle Griffin. "You can trust the expert."
"One thing's for sure," I muttered. "I don't think we're in Solid any more."