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Poetry competition CLOSED 27th August 2015 8:28am
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Story Time!

MsRockyJackson
Dangerous Mind
United States 8awards
Joined 1st July 2014
Forum Posts: 318

Poetry Contest

Write a short story about any kind of subject whether serious, funny, erotic, or random
Write me a short, but interesting story about any topic and any subject.
Whether funny, serious, erotic, random, or true anything just as long as it's short.
-No long stories for this
-No more than 1 entry
-Has to be original so no copying
- you can write it any way you want to, but please don't add too much gore or graphic stuff
- Has to be interesting

LobodeSanPedro
Tyrant of Words
Sierra Leone 109awards
Joined 16th Apr 2013
Forum Posts: 3304

Old - New? ... Short? ...1000... 1500 ... 2000 words?

MsRockyJackson
Dangerous Mind
United States 8awards
Joined 1st July 2014
Forum Posts: 318

It doesn't matter if it's old or new just as long as it's like 1000 to 1500 words.
Again has to be a little short at least

RevolutionAL
Alistair Plint
Dangerous Mind
South Africa 29awards
Joined 24th July 2012
Forum Posts: 1257


A Flamingo Named Jenny


She spoke in the softest of sinful voices "Hello Mr Simpson, may I take an extra half hour at lunch today?" She looked worn. Jason looked up wearing the grumpiest of faces, until his eyes met hers, he would have replied "no". But he saw the deepest, darkest of secrets hidden in her lifeless irises. "Drugs" he said unintentionally; coughing immediately afterwards, trying to hide his vocal thought. He swallowed deeply, hoping she had either not heard or would be kind enough to ignore his outburst.

"Mr Jason Simpson!" she exclaimed, "I would never take extra lunch time for drugs," she had suddenly found a naughty, school girl giggle in her voice. Jason felt his ears going red, it was an uncontrollable blush, he felt delinquent for it. Jason had been at the helm of the company for ten years, he had seen it through everything from near bankruptcy to exorbitant parties and exciting year end bonuses. But this year, had been hardest, he had found it more stressful than usual. He had found it a burden. He knew he was getting soft, he knew it was costing the company profit margins and productivity. He felt that he had suddenly become better at caring than excelling. He felt almost as if he was excelling at caring!

Jenny had worked with the team for three of the ten years. Her soft spoken kindness made her unusually attractive, but there was something about her dark deep eyes that left a hypnotic effect on any who met her. It was like her eyes reflected the fears, inhibitions and angers of any who took the time peer into her wells. Some claimed they found her eyes erotic although fear was a common discussion in the tearoom at lunch. The tearoom was a hustle and bustle when the clock struck one and until she walked in, the buzzing gossip factory nine out of ten times, hummed conversations about Jenny's eyes. Paul in accounts had secretly written a song called "Jenny's Eyes", but had never found the balls and gusto to admit it, not to mention the thought of singing it. Fred in production was sure her eyes were made of some type of steel, yet he lived in constant argument with himself, as to whether it was 12.9 Tensile Steel, Stainless Steel or Bright Mild Steel. He was sure they changed and had a theory for it. He would provide a Power Point presentation if he was asked. He would prove that the black High Tensile Steel appeared every Monday, and softened on Tuesday revealing the soft Bright Mild Steel on Wednesday which hardened on Thursday and reflected hard Stainless Steel ball bearings by Friday. But Fred held a conundrum dear. What made them change?

This Tuesday, Jenny wasn't in the tearoom, she had asked for an extended lunch, so the topic was rife and the humming was deeper and louder than usual. After thirty minutes of it Ruth the executive assistant had finally had enough! "Shut the fuck up!" She shouted as she stared across the room with distaste on her face and her body as tense as it got, after 4 hours in the gym. "Who do you think you are?" she said sternly as she took her pie and coffee, out to her office; she couldn't bare much more of it.

When Jenny returned from her extended lunch, she stumbled through the glass entrance door, her arms filled with white boxes, stacked on top of one another past her nose, Ruth quickly held the glass door for her, as Jenny made her way down the passage to Jason's office. Her dark piercing eyes peering over the boxes, She stood outside Jason's office door waiting for an invitation. She was still standing there peering over the boxes in silence, when I left work. Paul claims she was still standing there with her Bright Mild Steel eyes peeping over the cake-box look a likes, when he left at eight o'clock. We've never seen Jenny, Ruth or Jason again. The tearoom at lunch is really quiet, so quiet, I heard a mouse gnawing on an empty white box in the corner this afternoon.

l0udmind
Enigmatic Inkling
Lost Thinker
United States
Joined 22nd July 2015
Forum Posts: 15

A SHORT STORY

i awoke in a room of darkness that seemed to pulse with life.
my hands to the walls,as sound begins to leak through.
Cries of joy ,sadness, or sorrow fill my ears with fear.
As my head drops , it suddenly hits me. Im in the one
place that i close my eyes to . MY HEART .
Struck with genius I know the way out . Accepting
all the bad with all the good . Only then will i be free


crimsin
Unveiling
Tyrant of Words
United States 121awards
Joined 25th Jan 2011
Forum Posts: 2608

Forty Five Days In Hell ! extreme content !

[i](note Methadone is a legal synthetic opiate commonly used to treat heroin addiction only problem is like in my case you become heavily addicted to the Methadone)  
 
 
Seeing demons, hearing angels                    
pacing like a caged lion                    
feeling the power in the house escalating                    
the energy in me combustible                      
like I could explode any minute                    
                     
taking double doses of my 140 milligram methadone                    
not slowing me down a bit running around like a woman possessed                    
the television and radio sending out coded messages                    
hell on Earth if there was a portal I had entered it                    
                     
setting shit on fire, inking out a spider web in my bible                    
with the letters JYM in the center of a page picked at random                    
Isaiah chapter 13 verse 12 inked over                    
told JYM meant Jesus your master                    
                     
scaring the shit out of my family members                    
finally sheriffs showed up in numbers                    
cuffing me dragging me off in chains                    
delivered to the hospital where I was cuffed to the bed                    
iv dripping in my veins I started hearing this bizarre language                    
my demons struggling within me not liking being restrained                    
                     
pulling at the cuffs cutting my wrists                    
at some point I lost consciousness                      
I awoke at the mental ward                    
they talked with me all they could get from me                    
was that I was a German soldier and my rank                    
they refused to give me my methadone while I was there                    
                     
convinced my doctor was Hitler                    
I was pissed pacing the perimeters of the ward                    
everyone stayed away from me                      
even the most intimidating men                    
were afraid of me and would shout "keep her away from me"                    
as I paced in my prison                    
                     
the smell of sulfur clinging to me                    
Lucifer adding insult to injury                    
kicked down to the lowest rank in the hierarchy                    
stripped of my family and freedom                    
and my beloved drug of choice methadone                    
                     
I lost weeks of memory while I was there                    
locked in the padded room strapped to a bed                    
not even knowing my infraction                    
my demons were walking and talking for me                    
casting black magic the computer techs                    
slamming their doors pinning me with their glare                    
technology not working for them while I was around                    
                     
bruises up and down my arms                    
from fighting with the guards                    
not remembering doing it just awaking                    
to find myself all marked up                    
I wouldn't eat while I was there                    
the only thing I would look forward to was smoke time                    
if I was tense the whole unit felt it                    
dark energy just poured off me in waves                    
                     
The guards would start their shift                    
and look at me and say "I don't want no trouble from you"                    
then give everyone an extra smoke break                    
hoping this would help me stay in line                    
                     
It was forty five days of hell waking up                    
smothered by the disinfectant on my plastic bed, kicking methadone                  
at least I can say I'm free from that soul shackling drug                      

                     
                     
Isaiah 13:12- KJV The Bible                    
                     
How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!                    
how are thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations                    
   

greyeyes10780
Lost Thinker
United States 2awards
Joined 7th July 2015
Forum Posts: 48

Passionate night.
(Extreme content.)

Putting on that new leather skirt I knew it was going to be a good night. The backless top that hugged my breasts just the right way. I slipped into the open toed heals my pedicure toes looking perfect in these shoes.
I stand in front of this full sized mirror placing the finishing touches on my makeup. My long brunette hair half up half down sweeping across my back.

Keys in hand my small clutch bag with all the necessities. Picture ID, lipstick, condoms, credit cards and a little bit of cash. I take one more glance at my ass in the mirror in this leather skirt, I have never loved the way I looked as much as I do at this moment. Leaving the house I locked up, sliding into my ride I'm off to club for the night. I pull up the place is packed, greeted by the handsome bouncers they open my door as they help me out waving to another to come park it for me.
I walk around the car, the velvet rope lifted as I'm escorted in. Right to VIP the champagne is already chilling while he sits there waiting.

"That will be all" he says as I step on in, his eyes start to undress me. He pats the seat beckoning for me to join him. I sit next to him as he pours me a drink, he leans into me he whispers softly in my ear "You look good enough to eat." I smile knowing what is next to come. His hand moves the hair off my neck, then quickly down my back. It's clear to see his excitement poking through. His lips pressed firmly on my neck, his hand slipping up my skirt, the music thumping, the club is pumping with bodys every where. I'm extremely turned on as my thighs he spreads his hands moving further in.

He rubs my clit through my lace panties, the fabric creating a type of friction that is hard to explain. I can feel my temperature rising, my pulse quickening, my breathing getting more erratic. He gets up stands in front of me, pulling my hips to the edge of the seat he pushes my leather skirt up, pulling my cum soaked panties off he gets on his knees diving into me he licks and sucks all the right places. His hands up my shirt, my nipples are hard. I feel my body jerk as I orgasm again. The excitement of all the people below us as we indulge in one another.

Four more orgasms before he takes me, lifting me up he pushes me up against the railing the metal against my skin. He drops his pants he grabs my hips he slides his manhood deep inside of me. One hand staying on my hip, he pulls my hair with his other hand, an instant orgasm the loud music, masking my moans. He takes me every way possible in this little room. Sweaty bodies moving in perfect time with each other. I ride him harder with every thrust of my hips. I never imagined a passionate night like this.
Putting on that new leather skirt I knew it was going to be a good night.


Kou_Indigo
Kara L. Pythiana-Ashton
Tyrant of Words
United States 68awards
Joined 15th Sep 2011
Forum Posts: 2784

- The Gauntlet of the Gods -

In the days of ancient Babylon, a legend was passed down since the days of the older empire that preceded it. According to the legend, a king of the first dynasty, the one that came down from the stars to rule as kings and queens over men, had ordered the building of a great ziggurat. So mighty was it that it seemed to tower over his kingdom and reach up to leer at the heavens themselves. Great gardens were created to enhance the beauty of the structure: and atop the highest steps was built a temple to the gods. The steps were manifold, and the king often sat in the temple to contemplate his loneliness. He felt quite distant from those who came not from the world he had lived on, ere he made the journey earthward. And so the Star King, as he became known, gave forth an order for all the most noble and brave heroes of the land to gather at the foot of the ziggurat. Once gathered thusly, the king met them and told them that they would all travel the steps to the top, and that they would fight great foes upon their way. Any who survived, would be made into gods… as the king was… and so the king would have others like unto himself and so be lonely and distant no more. The warriors, male and female, made their way up those perilous steps. Fierce opponents awaited them and were both man and beast in nature. Lions sprang forth with great savagery, and so the fight became one of brutal survival. The king was cruel in the design of these perils, and there were traps such as spikes and darts to deal with as well. In total, only three of the heroes who ventured unto this gauntlet actually made it to the top of the ziggurat. There, they met two horrible guardians who had the bodies of lions, the faces of men, and the wings of dragons. The guardians were on either side of the temple, and ere long only two heroes remains whilst the third fell. The guardians were no more. The two entered the temple and awaited the arrival of the king. Once inside, the king made them as he was, offering them the water of life and the fruit of immortality. So went the legend, that he made them his heirs. One woman and one man became one prince and one princess. So the line of the Star King was continued, for he had no living heirs to continue it otherwise. In time, the legend was forgotten, having been scribed into ancient tablets and then copied unto scrolls in later centuries by those who had not the knowledge of what really transpired.

In the medieval era, in the great city of Acre, a woman was purchasing a map from an old Saracen trader. “This map is said to lead to the remnants of a great and forgotten ziggurat from the days of Babylon.” The trader told her. The woman wore a pair of baggy breeches, black leather boots, and a red peasant blouse, which was belted at the waist with a black, studded belt. A simple brown cloak kept the sun from parching her skin, but the hood was drawn back for now and her long black hair rustled in the cool breeze of the marketplace. Her bright blue eyes regarded the trader with curiosity. She spoke with an obvious English accent. “I will purchase the map, but I want a guide to take me to the ziggurat. What say you, you seem to know something about it after all!” but the trader laughed at that, and he said: “Woman, if I go with you then who will be here to sell my wares? No, instead my son shall be your guide. Ali, come and hear what your father wants!” which set the deal in motion. Soon: the trader’s son Ali and the mysterious woman were embarked by camel across the desert. The map led them to an oasis first, where they camped for the night and filled their water skins anew. The desert heat had been merciless, but the chill of night was no less dangerous. Thusly, they started a fire and slept near it. “What do you know about the legend surrounding the ziggurat?” the woman asked Ali. His eagle-like features regarded her strangely for a moment, and he stroked his beard in deep contemplation. “How did you hear that there was a legend at all?” Ali inquired of her. “It was told to me by my father, who was seeking after it his whole life. He was a Crusader, a Knight of the Temple who fought for Jerusalem. He perished in battle, and I am carrying on his work to find the place the legend spoke of.” That is what she told him, and he replied: “Then you know more than I. All my father ever told me is that there is supposed to be a great and terrible secret within the walls of the ruined temple atop the ziggurat’s summit. A secret that claims men’s lives, if not their souls as well! Be wary.”

On the morrow, they continued to follow the landmarks pointed out on the map. Many times, they passed the bones of camels picked clean by scavengers. A very common sight in the deserts of the Middle East! But on occasion, the remains of men could be seen half-buried in the sand. Knights, Bedouins, nomads, and the occasional bandit had all met their ends in this region. “Why are there so many corpses here?” the woman asked. Ali explained: “It is because this is a region that is often traversed by people who sometimes are on opposite sides of various conflicts. They settle their differences in blood, and this is the result. The woman made the sign of the cross and prayed for the souls of the dead. Many days were they in the war-torn desolation before emerging into a series of hills, mountains, and high cliffs bordered on one side by wet marshlands. “The map says that the ziggurat lies within those marshes someplace.” Ali explained. The woman nodded, deep in some thought or another. Then, she realized: “We will need to tie the camels to some nearby trees before we enter the marshes. They will not go into that sort of terrain, I am certain.” Ali agreed, and once the camels were bound and left with some food and water the pair entered the soggy terrain. Ali’s long white robe was soon stained brown with mud and black with dirt. So hot was it in the marshes that he discarded his headscarf and tore strips from it first to wipe away his sweat. The woman seemed oblivious to the heat, but was clearly sweating profusely. Their breathing became more labored as they walked on, following that vague map.

Broken pieces of rubble from ancient buildings were the first signs that the ziggurat was near. The woman noticed it at last, the steps and pyramid-like shape poking up from the centuries of swampy, jungle-like vegetation. “There it is, the ziggurat of the old legend!” she exclaimed, and soon the pair hastened to its’ base. Ali was uncertain about ascending the steps, however. “They called this the Gauntlet of the Gods.” The woman said, remembering something from long ago. “How do you know that?” said her guide, and she replied: “I do not know. I am certain my father never mentioned such a detail to me. It is very strange.” But she soon shrugged it off and set her feet on the first few steps leading upwards. Suddenly, a nearby statue of a lion came to life and attacked Ali, who sliced at it with his curved sword. It went down with little effort, and the woman gasped at the suddenness of the struggle. Ali nodded to her, for her to continue, and so she climbed the steps. Along the way she saw other statues. Ali was behind her, eyeing the statues cautiously. Warriors and great beasts were carven in stone, and came alive to attack the two. This time, the woman drew her own blade, a long sword made from sharp Spanish steel. Ere long, she and Ali confronted all of the terrors the Gauntlet had to throw at them. They dodged the traps, as well, which sought their lives. Spikes and darts. Soon, they stood at the summit, where the temple lay. They saw the remains of the two guardians, now only bits of broken and shattered stone. Those came not to life, but remained silent. The king walked out to greet them, as alive and well: as he was thousands upon thousands of years before. He welcomed his reincarnated heirs home, and made them into gods, like he was.

BoFantastic
Thought Provoker
7awards
Joined 24th Apr 2014
Forum Posts: 333

Harry Orion

    Gun shots barked in the blackness. The moon was smiling dangerously. The stars were dangling like ornaments. The trees danced in the night breeze. But the forest was deaf and mute. She panted, perfuming the air with hot panic. Her eyes darted in the direction of the bangs. She would turn hairy and ferocious, sprouting claws and fangs, if only the moon was in full bloom. Unfortunately, the moon was only smiling, dangerously.
    She didn’t want to die here. She deflated her ballooning heart, breathing in peace, exhaling calm. It worked. Her composure was right as razor blades, ready for raisins. No bully or buster will make her bow. She was a wolf without the growl.
   Two men’s voices raped the silent chill of the misty mayhem. Her spine sprang a back bone that was cat electric ready to claw up a tree. Her eyes sweated fear. She fingered her panties and found her period ripe on her finger. She was menstruating alone in the woods at night with strangers. But what where those gun shots about? Was someone murdered? She didn’t want to find out. She wanted to find a way out.
    “I smell pussy,” a gritty sarcastic voice belted out. “And it smells cheap,” he chuckled.  
    “You know what to do when we find cheap pussy,” a gentler voice replied. “Beat it to death.”
     She swallowed her whole world. What the fuck? She thought. She spotted a fallen tree covered in moss. She thought it would be predictable to hide there. She needed something strategic. She patted her jeans. Twenty-seven dollars, keys, and a business card:
                 Harry Orion.  Orion Enterprises. No problem is a problem.
There was a phone number and address. She had no phone. Who the fuck is Harry Orion? She frowned.
Spongy footsteps  plodded the moss bed.
     “We fucking shot your friend. That bitch’s brain is fertilizer.” His gritty voice whipped her into life.
       Friend? What friend? She wiped her period under her armpit and hid like a mouse inside two bushes.  If only the moon was full; because that’s when she would turn, ferocious.
       “Why does it smell like rotten broccoli?” Gritty voiced chuckled. “We can smell you ovulating Bitch. You know there’s napkins for that. Don’t you know your own body? How foul and fucked up are you? Take care of your hygiene.  Didn’t your mama tell you that? Or don’t whores teach whores?”
      Whore? Who is he calling a whore? Her eyes poked out between the partition of leaves.
       “You know why whores don’t get married? It’s because whores don’t like to cook or clean. A woman who doesn’t like cooking or cleaning, ain’t wife material.  She good for only one thing, Sucking and slurping and spreading her legs.  And since she ain’t got no sense or decency, from the smells of it, she can’t keep a man by her side.  Men don’t marry whores.”
        “Yep. Once a whore, a whore for life,” gentle voiced joined in. “Whores give decent women a bad naming.  My sister, she’s a good woman. She never spread her legs for nobody but her husband. She a real princess.”
       Who are these nut fucks? Whore killers? The chew tobacco funk flared her nostrils. The men appeared, carrying hand guns, in business suits. Hit men? In the fucking forest? What the flaming fire flies is going on here? They stomped the log, probing the landscape for their prey, sniffing the scent of her period through the thickness of their tobacco chew.
     “We know you here, Bitch. Your whore stink gives you away.” Gritty voice proclaimed. He sharpened his voice and it sliced her startled skin, “We want the key!”
       She jolted and the leaves shook.  They rushed like wolves to the bush.  Grabbed her arms and flung her to the moss bed. The guns loomed over her. A spit of tobacco torpedoed her forehead, bull’s eye, splattering drippings of medicated mucus on her face. She wiped the gunk from her nose and brow, laying there like trembling water in a plastic cup.
       “Search her. Get the key.” Gritty voice commanded.
        His accomplice kneed on her, pinning and patting her pockets.  He pulled out her cash and her keys. He held out his hand. Their blood became volcanic hot. Nothing of value.
        “Fuck it. Let’s just kill her and get the hell out of here.” Gritty voice became firm.
        “But we don’t have the key. We need that key. Our pay day. Our fucking dreams.”  Gentle voice stood up. “We will kill you Bitch. Where’s the key?”
         She was lost. But she wanted to live. “It’s at my boss’s work.”  She inched up and sat on the ground.  “You have to take me there. If you kill me, well, you won’t get the money.” She was spinning a Cinderella yarn. But she had to go with the flow.
         They shook their heads in disbelief but had no other option but to comply.
         “Let’s just fucking kill her.” Gritty voice wanted her brains to decorate the moss bed.
         “Who’s your boss?” Gentle voice needed her alive.
          “Harry Orion.”
        The moon was smiling, dangerously.  Had it been a full moon, there would have been two more dead bodies.  Two bodies with unnatural bite marks. The moon wouldn’t be full until a few days more.  She didn’t need to turn, to stay alive. She had to rely on a twist instead.  Harry Orion.

UnleashedHeathen
Fire of Insight
United States 3awards
Joined 6th Dec 2011
Forum Posts: 578

Wow, Crimsin. Wow.

poet Anonymous

removed by author

opheliac
Dangerous Mind
9awards
Joined 29th Aug 2009
Forum Posts: 2122

ealousy: blessing or a curse?
He woke up next to a small paddle of blood with a small pocketknife in his left hand. He was left handed and proud of it. He often boasted about his creativity. But one thing he hated about himself was his jealous nature. Here’s the story of a man whom we will name poor old Jack, or just plain Jack.

Poor old Jack was neither poor nor old, just a little too much of anything. A little too passionate and a true romantic at heart but he never showed it. An artist of sorts so every little thing moved him. Or should I say every little thing moved him to anger and thus he produced art. So that’s how he lived. He forced himself angry so that he could paint his life away. It was a lonely life as you can imagine.

During one of his midnight window-shopping sprees he saw the woman of his dreams. She was standing not too far from a train station. Dressed in tattered black tights, 15-inch wedges and a long overcoat. She may be mistaken for a prostitute, selling her love for a few quid. She wasn’t though and Jack loved that about her. He saw her once and his blood pressure rose to such degree he nearly exploded. ‘I must paint. I must do it now!’ he thought and disappeared into his little dark basement of a flat.

As life went on, Jack was finishing one painting after the other. His nights were only for watching her from a distance. There she was again, chatting away with her friends. It's needless to mention that he never spoke to her.  Yet she served as his muse without her knowledge. It was enough for Jack to know that she existed. He spared himself the pleasure of meeting her, knowing how jealous he could be. Should anything fishy happen he wouldn’t hesitate to use violence. He’s done it before.

She was a blessing in disguise despite the warm feelings he felt towards her. He interpreted the warm feelings as anger. How else would his heartbeat rise to the sky and back every time he saw her. It was this anger that fed his creativity. Like a fetish some would say.

The story went on for months and Jack felt exhausted after finishing each painting. He gave his life and soul to that unknown woman just to have a few hours of inspiration every day. He soon grew weary and tired but he continued painting and seeing her regardless. That’s when he decided to spice things up. One night he would show up with his best painting to make her acquaintance.

So he did. He met her and cherished all her little details he couldn’t see from afar. He then printed all her features on a canvas. Shortly after she would pose for him on a regular basis. She would stand still and he would paint her. Not a single world would she say and he wouldn’t let her. She dotted on him and it’s hard to say if he shared the same feelings.  

It was no surprise when Jack had found a new muse to paint that she got jealous but never showed it. She only took his pocketknife shoved it in her purse for revenge. When the opportunity arose she would sneak in and destroy his paintings. She would tear the upper part and then move towards the lower canvas. Leaving the middle part for last.  She would devour the core as if it was his heart.

So she did. One night she sneaked in his flat without knowing he was already there, sleeping. The candles, he used to paint with, died and he was sleeping next to his latest canvas. He must’ve fallen asleep. It was dark so she couldn’t see much and mistakenly took his body as a canvas.

The ending you know already. What you don’t know is that he closed his eyes shortly after. Her name may just as well be Sally, by the way.

It’s hard to say for sure whether jealousy was a blessing or a curse for Jack’s case. Was she not a blessing that turned into a curse?  


Originally published in PillowFights:
http://en.pillowfights.gr/dwell_in_possibility/item3750/A_portrait_of_a_jealous_muse

HHMCameron
BetaWolfinVA
Fire of Insight
United States 4awards
Joined 17th Oct 2014
Forum Posts: 315

Knights of the Black Diamond (Tuesday, 9 September 2014)
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/188412-knights-of-the-black-diamond-tuesday-9/
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Keyword 7-World-Backstory 6-it's own 5-Consult 4-Wolves 3-Delayed 2-Colors-BackStory 1-Knights-Overview
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Even when a family has enough genetic diversity to repopulate the world and the gross family product to buy most of it… or perhaps especially so… consanguinity is of paramount concern.
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The original names of the family has been lost to the mists of time, but this does not concern them much, they are known as Diamond, for what they have given the world.
As valuable in today’s economy as the little inert trinkets that used to signify eternal commitment used to be, these Polycarbonate Circuitry (polycirc) gems sample the wearer’s mood, health, and genetics.  This last is of critical importance.
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Being that the family is quite large, and consists of a vast and changing number of dyads, tryads, quads, and trysts, knowing the degree of consanguinity in the heat of the moment is critical to the health of the family.  When one joins the family, or is born into it, the Diamond is implanted near the inside of the wrist.  Pink, Red, Grey, practically any color means that the fun can commence with commencing.
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The Sole exception is Black.
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When this crops up, you are closing in on someone that is prohibited by family rules stronger than the Danelaw of the government around it (probably because the Family is a significant part of the manpower that runs it).  The Black Diamond signifies Mother, Father, Brother, Sister, Daughter, Son, Aunt, Uncle, Grand Parent, First Cousin, or cousins child.  For most, encountering a new Black diamond is worth little more than a last chaste kiss, and moving on to someone else.
It is not so easy for children of the … popular.
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When your diamond is black for practically everyone around you, there comes a point that you simply need to cash out your shares, and make your way into the world.
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Since time immemorial, these have become Soldiers, Sailors, Marines, Airmen, Teachers, Policemen, Firemen, Mailmen, Lawyers, and Politicians.  As they are strongly service oriented, and put the needs of what ever community that they find ahead of their own, they have long since been known as “Knights of the Black Diamond”

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Keyword 7-World-Backstory 6-it's own 5-Consult 4-Wolves 3-Delayed 2-Colors-BackStory 1-Knights-Overview

archetype23
Tyrant of Words
United States 7awards
Joined 5th Oct 2013
Forum Posts: 3672

I laid on the ground. I couldn't breath. The fall had cost me more than I could calculate. Broken what bones, oh, my spine shattered- What the fuck!
No one around. no cell phone. Blood coating my face. I heard the song of Death, but I did not die. OH, but to hear the song of DEATH!!!!!  You must face it to experience it in its truly finite majesty.

lolnotfunny
Twisted Dreamer
United States 1awards
Joined 13th Oct 2014
Forum Posts: 26

Screams
She hears screams
Not screams for help
But screams of anger
“If you listen to me!”
She hears everything
“It’s not my fault!”
She tries to stop from crying
“You stupid mother fucker!”
She can’t help it
The sound of them fighting
“just listen to me!”
It gets to her
On a deep level
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
No one will understand
They love each other
Why are they fighting
It’s a stupid thing
They both know that
Too much ego does this to couples
Why can’t they see it hurts her
In a corner
Hiding
Crying
Eyes are bloodshot red
Make up runs
She cries herself to sleep
Still feeling like crying in the morning
She goes to school
Sees her friends doesn’t say a word
Smiles
Laughs
As if nothing happened

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