seraphian

Areé's left hand shot out to her fast approaching, unseen target, her fingers clutching a man's wrist at the precise moment he passed her. He jolted to a halt, carefully turning his eerie ice blue eyes on her without actually dragging her with and snarled. Where her fingers brushed his palm, the skin was surprisingly smooth. Areé swallowed, realizing prey caught predator. The man was a Lupus(1), and in his rage, he couldn't tell she was a Cerva(2), but he knew she was an Erant(3), like him. "What." He said, rather than asked, breaths ragged with adrenaline. Areé was surprised he didn't jerk away, but pivoted to face her. His h

"I'm lost." A young man with dark hair dripped on the marble floor of the lobby, grime prints from his wet boots leading him to the gold edged marble reception desk where the woman behind the counter looked up slowly, eyeing his equally wet and sub-par clothing for his current location. "That is an understatement." The receptionist continued typing on her computer. He raised an eyebrow and shifted his left shoulder with a messenger bag. "Can you help me?"  He tried to hide the twinge of impatience in his voice. The receptionist sighed, rested her hands in her lap, and looked at the digital clock hidden below the lip of the desk. "I can,"

"I'm twenty-six." I held my breath. "I would'a never guessed," I said, trying to play off my shock. "How old are you, Rory?" She turned her amber eyes on me and waited expectantly. "I'm… uh," I stammered. "Its okay, kid. You can tell me."  I didn't want to lie to Estelle, but I didn't want to scare her away from me. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen and I was in love with her! "I'm… I'm… six-teen," I said slowly with shame, and cringed away from Estelle. She stared for a second, then laughed. "It ain't funny!" I yelled, a smile on my face. I was glad that she didn't stop talkin' to me. I said a silent

I was in love with Bangles. She seemed to me, more perfect than any other woman I'd ever seen, innocent, alone. She reminded me when I was little, what with my dad dyin' out on the river when I was five. No one understood how I felt. Hell, I didn't even understand how I felt, and never did talk to anyone about it. I wondered too often if this is how Bangles felt, being torn from her home in search of somethin' she wasn't even sure she could achieve. I had to talk to her. I faked sick. The guys didn't come around and I knew I didn't have to worry, I jes couldn't get caught sneakin' around town or I'd catch hell for it later. I waited by the

This prompt response was created to honor the 1 in ~3 females who endures sexual harassment to a level that involves physical touch. Welcome to the result of the prompt 'Dear Diary'.     Michelangelo had been drawn to the old boxes in the back of April's closet for a while after her mom's visit. April snickered and loaded him up with three saying they were from her 'art years' leaving him nearly delirious with joy. When he dragged a bowl of popcorn into his room and a pair of bottles to drink, his brothers understood that he might be pulling an all-nighter with the art how-to's and old sketchbooks and simply left him to i

And I wonder why I've forsaken everything-- I can't accept their implications. Some may say I can't accept anything but my own sleep, but I beg to differ. I have dreams as well, somewhere, and they are a part of me. Indistinguishable, clenching around my head. Just like everything else. No reason to panic; let's talk it out. Just another day; close your eyes and it will be over before you know it. A sprint to the end; where am I running? That's not the point; or is it? Easy now. The choice is yours; run in circles or stop running. The same metaphors I've used a thousand times can all come to play right here and right now. Easy now. A subtl

"God spoke a theory straight into my brain; god damn, did you mean to do that to me?'Well Jesus don't come, round, unless we pray, each day for five hundred days.' And I don't know what you want anymore." It's nothing new. So let me be a writer now and reiterate that point about five thousand times, with about five thousand different sentence structures--let it ring as hollow to you as it does to me. No one needs to get inside my head, for prying it open would break my neck. And where does that leave us?: I paralyzed, you sore, and both of us still tired. For once, why not just let me sleep? And now my ears are ringing an alarm of somethin

People sat with me all night long. They ate their spaghetti and salads on me, dirtied my clothing with sauce, used napkins, spilt wine, and grubby elbows, but I didn't mind. Nothing made me happier then to be that connection, that place for the first date, engagement rings, and tears followed by a blubbering "yes" or "I love you". Of course it wasn't all fine and dandy all the time. I have also hosted my fair share of dark secrets, the other mistress finally coming forward, and the last date. But even these could be entertaining; once a woman tackled another woman on top of me, pushing off all my priceless accessories, one screaming "