LOTC

Gandalf hadn’t seen Eir since that tragic day she had left Erebor, and she looked more grief-filled now than when she was exiled. She vaulted onto the chair smoothly, too used to using materials much too big for her, filling Gandalf with regret at the stubbornness of dwarven culture. “What brings you west, Eir?” He nodded at a passing barmaid, bringing fresh ale and food. “The dragon arrived.” She speared a sausage. “Smaug from the North. Exiled the same as me. Perhaps I should invade his homeland?” They shared a small smile, though Eir refused to look at the wizard directly, claiming it was unluck

The city burned, fire lighting up the sky. The dragon swooped overhead, screaming in triumph at the arrow-caster’s fall. Dale, the once magnificent city, had fallen. People were running in panic from the streets toward the road that would take them to city of the lake, but just as many were caught in houses, burning alive and trapped in hellfire. Eir, her badly mended cloak covered in soot and char, crouched behind a bolder just on the outskirts, the only dwarf outside the walls. She watched silently as Erebor fell, dwarves pouring from the mountain like smoke. She saw the elves refuse aid, saw the dwarf prince-come-king roar in betray

Twirl, March, Pose. Growl, laugh, trip. Stand. Sit – Stand. He hid his depression By a rage so complete It made the Devil Weep with envy. He would pound on the walls Like a prisoner at Castle D’Iff. The world would shake with fear. But watching him, The caged, rabid bear, We could only feel guilt, Seas upon seas of shame, For we had put him there.

On or about an ocean-side square, there lived a quiet, aging Chief – He could not say no to a dare. He tried to stay inside his lair, in that quiet, muted fief on or about an ocean-side square, but his friend came to him there to goad him of shark hunting on the reef. He Could Not say no to a dare So while the weather was nice and fair, he stole away, like a thief on or about an ocean-side square out to the balmy sea, where he jumped in the glittering weave. He could not say no to a dare. But the sharks moved as if through air, and so the man met an end in grief on or about an ocean-side square – he could not say No to

She finally did it. Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any stranger, mom upped and moved us to Mexico. But not just any part—the part where white, rich folk buy winter homes, making the town a ghost town of empty shops, forgotten diners, and winter-lawn-workers begging for work in the streets. She gave a man a fifty to put our luggage back into my trunk while we changed clothes in broad daylight at a gas-station/garage. He’s in love with her already. Or her money. Despite the fact that right now, socially, she most definitely seems a harpy for a wife, if her interactions with Dad are anything to go by. Why didn’

I have 27 shelves             of nothing to read I have 184,713 pages             of nothing to read I have $7478.32 worth             of nothing to read I have 523 books             of nothing read I have to get to the bookstore.                                        Now.

And so I sit in solitude, my arms blooming across the table, and wonder: who will caress the dishes when I'm snuggled beneath the topsoil, and whose ears will soak up the silence in my words? Everyone. Then no one. Then you.

I’m stuck in time. Not time as you think of it, not like a year or a decade or a period. No, I’m stuck in the river time. It swirls around my ankles, my calves, but rushes past my knees. There are layers to this river, faster moving higher up, slow and sluggish down below. The temperatures vary as well; though they are all warm, they are positively snuggly under my toes but only sun-warmed-pool by my eyelids. The water is golden and sparkles, but my eyes open without stinging. I try to kick up the river at my feet—try to mix the layers, but it isn’t working. Like oils and waters all of different densities, they stay su

Her salt-tipped nails slathered in gloss still managed to look not only intentional, but gorgeous under the Hotel’s dim lights. Unlike mine, the homebody-might-be-a-man’s attempt at beauty overrun by my sense of practicality. But, then again, I wasn’t the one getting possessed every night. Maybe this was her way of controlling a bad situation. She didn’t talk much anymore. Mostly, she prayed, salted, and cleaned rooms of their ghostly inhabitants by night and snuggled into my side for warmth in one of the rare, newly-renovated rooms by day, barely sleeping through the sounds of construction. On Sunday, a priest came w