She couldn’t stop herself from gawking, at first what had seemed like a distortion of her periphery had become all the more imposing head on. His thick well endowed member engorged, veinous and all quite frankly too large for any part of her. She trembled, caught between the desire to run or submit.

From an outsider’s perspective it just happened, no description of how or why. One day they were there and then not; you’re brought into this entirely different world, far enough into the reclamation campaign but not far enough that the scars are erased. In the end it doesn’t really matter how.

“ai” as it stands is the natural result of the same system that historically has shamelessly stolen everything from the working class. If progress and betterment were the true goals, then art, creativity, and tools for degradation would not have been the targets of automation.

Insanity creeps ever closer – a threatening figure cast of darkness with dagger in hand – towards the most vulnerable and recondite places of my mind. Any last shred of hope or joy endlessly enduring the battering ram of witless husks pushing their uncanny lifeless machines.

Horacio’s whiskers graced his feline face like silver plumage. Expressions of contentment emanating behind beady green eyes. On my floor the reward of his tireless labor, a bowl of petunias shattered and lifeless.

Her dark amber eyes reflected the nebulous clouds outside the deck window. A universe teeming with life, trillions of stars in millions of galaxies, laid before her like grains of sand on a shore. ‘How silly’ she thought, when mankind believed itself all alone.

Caught in and endless cycle, memories of loops before fading and flashing, “I’ve been here before, how have I forgotten?”. With each pass getting closer and closer to the sandy bottom of the dark dreadful abyss, what remained was only one way … up.

A shadow of its former self the collapsed bridge was the only way across. Once a host to an endless flow of cars, now a silent mossy home to lonesome trees and hungry scavengers that made do of its rusted withered bones. A daring leap from the slumping overhang to icy waters was the only obstacle.

About myself

I write for fun and I enjoy reading assorted material (fiction/non-fiction).
I hope to encounter others who like myself use this site as a micro-journaling tool. If you enjoy a particular excerpt feel free to request more and I’ll try to oblige.

I find hashtags jarring.

The young boy went to the woods looking for trouble. Chasing the birds and pitching stones at all other. Along came the wolf and said “Oh, how supple!”. A tussle and scream, now does mourn the boy’s mother and father.

A blank stare, an empty mind. Emptiness, nothingness, indifference incarnate. What more lay there to be said? It was as if the curtain had closed on an anticlimatic ‘fin’.

Sixteen scintillating sorcerers sought splendorous solutions sans squabble, surely sagacious.

Deep moans escaped her lips between labored gasps. Waves of pleasure washing over her sensitive tingling skin at the behest of the torturous teasing tongue thrashing at her clit. Amelia’s eyes pierced through Caton, gaze faintly veiled by her silky dark hair. ‘Yes’, whatever Amelia wanted, ‘Yes’.

Merrily she danced, fields of green caressing the hem of her yellow gingham dress.

Like a fungal disease, the asphalt streets and concrete pillars sprawled across the once beautiful landscape, a testament more to man’s ignorance than his perseverance or wisdom. To Wilhelm’s eyes, staring out the glass windows of the office was a recurring nightmare of which he saw no escape.

His previous attempts had been futile, the icy waters of the channel and strong currents made it all the more treacherous. Yet he longed to reach the small island, soaring above he could see the birds make trivial a task so monumental.

Mimo’s eyes anxiously darted across the room, attempting to find the source of the loud crash which had interrupted his well earned meal. The damp office, once a bustling center of corporate boondoggle, now lay in perfect decay, thick creeping vines snaking across the few walls that still stood.

The hungry mongoose, with wealth of choice spent a great deal of time picking its supper. Crunchy crickets, or meaty toad, perchance even so a feast of both? It debated for days their tastes and textures, which would bring it the most satisfaction. Indecision and inaction became putrefaction.

The mongoose observes, hidden in grassy preserves. A buzz and a scatter, a tussle and bustle. Stuck in constant strife, is this the circle of life?