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For Just a MomentRobert Price stood a moment on the cracked asphalt, taking in his surroundings, and for just a moment, he was stricken by a sensation of nostalgia so powerful that he almost gasped aloud.
Winchester United Airport, a few miles south of his hometown of Kinderbrook, had been abandoned now for over ten years. The buildings were decrepit and in various states of disrepair, brutalized by vandals and overtaken by nature. There were even a few airliners strewn in the back, resembling forgotten children's toys, broken and rusted. The desolate quiet, the absolute emptiness unnerved him, for he remembered this place when it was a loud, bustling cornerstone of human activity. Years ago, when he had been a child.
He looked down at the manilla envelope in his hands, turning over the note that had been scrawled in his father's purposeful cursive:
Before you open this, I want you to go pay ol' Winchester a visit. You'll know where to go once you're inside. -Dad.
These were the only two things
The AirshipMemory is probably the oddest part of the mind, sometimes, it will recall events with vivid imagery, but only a day later, it might be unable to remember even a single moment of that same event. There is one event that, no matter how much time passes, will always stay deeply entrenched in my mind, when I was arrested as a political prisoner of the French Republic. Let me tell you how the events transpired.:thumb331721193: :thumb329397379:
Before you can understand what any of it means, you will have to know a bit of background. It was the 30th year Queen Victoria's reign in the UK, or at least it should have been, if the French hadn't executed her and her entire family when they conquered the nation eighteen years ago. Europe has been divided between three great empires, the French, spanning from the Iberian Coast to the edge of the Alps, and following the Mediterranean coast over to the Russian Empire. The Russian Empire Holds most of the farther east parts of Europe and the entirety of Siberia, while finally, the Pr
Rare blue butterfly wings flickering, between
our little girl's elegant cornflower gloved hands, her
husky colored eyes greet the ocean's tide.
Cardinals singing their morning chorus, with
your Tsailes' soft melodies filling the woods, where
bubbling brooks groan in the foreground.
Butterscotch melting on my burning lips, your kiss
Honeycomb sweetness embracing my tongue, you entwine
Hot, soothing peach tea sliding down my throat, you slide.
Intimate fingers through buffalo hair, your chest
Reckless abandon grasped within your kisses, my breast
Breathless confessions as our hips join as one.
You're a constant volcano of rock and ash,
With my lava continually erupting inside you.
Your colors and mine fuse into precious jewels.
Lime Green (the Shop Girl's Lament)Lime green
is the colour of contemporary chic,
the new spring look
and rotting vegetation.
"So fresh and clean! Isn't it gorgeous?"
Use: "I'm glad you like it"
As an alternative to "No."
We can't have the sweet colours of youth
but I refuse to swallow
this version of good taste.
The shirt is swapped for crumpled notes;
in daylight lime green leads to pain.
I knew it wouldn't suit you.
And you're not bringing it back without a receipt.
fireflies erratically sign their names
inside a jar that once held pickled beets.
On a Georgian night,
katydids screech chamber music
Mozart forgot to write
on his five staffed bars.
The music reminds me of the tart
taste of grapefruit seeping slowly into
my mouth, and I swallow it with delight.
But the world becomes a jar
into which I scribble my name,
as if writing it will somehow
make me free.