Sta.sh
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Classic RamblingThe year is nineteen-squickety-two. The President is the beautiful Rutherford Q. Garfunkelfield, and I was a tall, lanky son of a cheesemonger. The world was my oyster. Literally. I worked in a seafood restaurant, doncha know, and the guy kept tellin' me the floors were dirty. Don't you pay him no mind. Of course, you can't get those no more, people complained and whined until they made them big enough to drown a Dutchman. So anyway, I was bent on catching the trolley to Haversville to borrow a cup of lye from Mrs. Piggetts. Now, they say you should let sleeping dogs lye, but they never say how much to use, so I was just guessing, hoping to gClassic Rambling by ~CityWolves
Man's fears cast asideAll they were going to have access to as high. As much as I have seen this device constructs the HE-mail that they have brown fox jumped the fence along. This is as far as to who can resist C S? I just had a very very own sense is registered as famous friends who just couldn't think of any sense is that he would say not to do. You say C states positively reduce; that means that this should have known, since I can even begin to make heads and tails of any of it. Any DC which are riding out here who would ever see these things as forceful and sends home folders from falcons, and she conceived in liberty and the purposes of this issue that all mMan's fears cast aside by ~CityWolves
The Assassin Man is not, by nature, a creature of the night. Therefore, by the time the city was wrapped in the silent blanket of the darkness, most of the residents had met the sweet embrace of sleep. Sleep is an odd thing indeed, man's escape from the world of the night and its many predators. There is no fear of these things within the sweet caress of slumber. But they are still there. The shadows do not disappear simply because we do not acknowledge them. Under the veil of the night, even the most innocent of things becomes dark and frightening.The Assassin by ~CityWolves
Wrapped in a loose-fitting cloak, a figure padded silently through one of the city's count
The Ode to WormsI sleep now in blackness. Silent whispers of the world yet to die hiss in my ears. I hear him in the whispers. My life as a grain of sand in the mighty brackish sea of his voice. Dry winds over dead, dusty bones say "So it shall be." The skitter of mice over shattered cobbles say "It is all mine." And the Worms.. The Worms!! They squirm about in the ground humbly, harbingers of the Day to come. No one pays any heed to the Worms. His children move silently below us, continuing their eternal duty. They reduce all that is into all that was. Look at the signs! Are you blind!? Are you mad!? I am not. I can see the Worms. I can smell the freshly cThe Ode to Worms by ~CityWolves
| What's there is there. Why can't it be somewhere ELSE!? |
Charlie Jenkins Ch1- Chapter One -Charlie Jenkins Ch1 by ~muse-7
Charlie Jenkins walked over to the long wall, blackened with soot, and took one of the many hammers from a hook. Charlie was a blacksmith. He always had been and he always would be - just like his father. He went back to the ancient anvil and drew his hammer high, ready to strike, but then -
'CHARLIE?'
'In here!' he replied with a sigh, lowering his hammer.
Henry, Charlie's co-owner of the blacksmith, entered stormily. 'Customer.'
'I'm forging. You take care of it.'
'I'm on break,' he retorted, then left hurriedly.
'Lazy oaf,' Charlie grumbled under his breath, putting the hammer back in its rightful place. Round the fr
Optimism 
