Friday, July 15, 2011

2

Gideon was a man of justice. He realized this long ago, on his home plane, when he had first traversed. He had ended up on a different world, completely unlike his own, one even more lawless and corrupt than the home he knew. He had cracked his whip and readied his shield, and he made the world know justice.

Now he was on a different plane, one he's never seen before, once again to seek justice. He was chasing one who was not unlike him, but with sinister intentions. Sarkhan, a dragon keeper. Gideon did not know his intentions with a plane like this, but he did not spare the time to wonder. Sarkhan would not have time to enact his plan, or run away again.

The plane he followed Sarkhan to was one ruled by humans like him. The landscape was unlike one he's seen. Buildings were crowded, and hundreds of human lengths high, but yet they did not seem to be used for dwellings. All the buildings were used, it seems, as a marketplace. Crowds of humans weaved around each other, while vehicles hugged to the middle of the street. Opposite of Gideon's home plane.

None of it mattered. Finding Sarkhan was what mattered.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

1

Clyde had tasted the lips of a girl for the very first time. Her name was Angel McKay, and she was drunk. Her lips were soft and tender, her skin a smooth peach. Her blonde hair was cut at a professional length above the shoulders, the tips curling slightly, her bangs down to her eyebrows, raised in excitement that was expressed brightly in her green eyes, flashing teeth that were clean and shiny. She was drunk, and that was why she kissed Clyde that night. It was a Halloween party, and Angel was dressed in a cliche joke to her name as an angel in white, complete with wire-framed halo that reached above her head. The halo was merely a cheap ring of plastic with gold glitter on it. Half the bar wasn't even gold anymore as the glitter had fallen with the drunken festivities. Clyde didn't care. For all he cared, the halo was real. She was his first kiss, soft, sweet, tender, and tasty, at the still young and totally acceptable to be inexperienced age of 21. He had turned 21 the day before, October 30th. There was no party that day. But on Halloween every college kid went crazy and Clyde managed to find himself dragged by his friends to a party, where he ended up dancing next to sweet, sexy Angel. Angel McKay, who had kissed him.

Angel does not know Clyde, she has never seen him before in her life. It had already been only a few seconds since she kissed him, but it seems she has already forgotten it as she stumbled past him with a skill of coordination that was severely suppressed. A beer in one hand, she raised it again and whooped with the rest of the costumed partiers as they rocked to a song Clyde didn't recognize that was blasting throughout the house. The party took place at some rich kid's place who had a house to himself, rented and paid for by his parents, which he graciously and generously used as a pad for alcohol and weed on the off weekend. Halloween was just another excuse. He had a DJ on his own stand who brought his own mix which switched songs in a retro transition every thirty seconds, one song of which was the inspiration for a sudden and quick kiss from Angel.

Angel, who was already gone. Clyde tried to follow her. In his mind, he already knew nothing would come from the kiss, but the boy inside him wanted and hoped for more. Maybe she would kiss him again. Maybe she would use tongue, and then whisper for him to follow her into a private room, where she could show him her personal dance moves, and trace her tongue along his cheek down to his

"Yo, Clyde man, I told you this party was awesome!" The interruption to his thoughts came in the form of the reason he was here in the first place, a friend of his Terry. "What?" Clyde stuttered, his attention broken away from the hole in the crowd in which his own personal angel had disappeared off to. "Don't kid me man, I saw that. That chick just gave you some!"

Clyde turned to face Terry. Terry was wearing the school's team jacket, a symbol of what he had hoped to be when he first came here on scholarship for basketball. Within freshman year, the coach realized that Terry's 5'8 quick jump shot could only work so well in high school with the occasional 6'footer but couldn't handle squat when it came to college basketball where everyone was just as quick as he was, but taller. Terry, however, didn't let this bring him down and he now hunts parties like this one to show his jersey and team jacket to show to anyone who understands that he wasn't kicked off, he actually left of his own accord because when it came down to between basketball and being a high school teacher, he couldn't bear to leave the youth as troubled and lost as his school had left him. Whatever, it got him pussy.

"Listen," Terry continued, his voice barely carrying over the DJ. "I can get you that girl's number. Hell, dude, you know what? Forget that, just go get her now man. Get laid. She's ready." Clyde gulped and turned back to where she ran off to. You think so? He asked Terry in his mind. Yes, man, he could hear Terry saying. She's ready. Tap that shit. His mind raced back to that private room he imagined sharing with Angel. Sitting on a wooden desk chair, with Angel climbing on top of him, saddling down with him between her legs, angel stockings and white dress and those gloves coming off and snapping the halo as she arches her back in ecstasy. "Yo, I'm talking to you!" Terry screamed as he shoved Clyde out of his fantasy again. "Dude, stop drooling and get that shit. Tell her you left your shit in some room and wanted her to get it with you." She's drunk enough for it to work. Clyde felt motivated. She was his first kiss. She could be so much more. He stumbled after her into the crowd.

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Author:

This is what you need to know.

1. I am writing for myself because I feel like writing.
2. I do not know or plan on updating this ever.
3. This is not a real story. Meaning when I start typing, there is NO PLOT, NO CHARACTER, NO PLAN. I write as I go.
4. I an not trying to write well. I know I can write well when I choose to. This is not one of those times.
5. This will not be chronological. Maybe, I don't know. Probably not.
6. I'm writing to make myself put words down. These stories don't mean anything and don't plan on doing anything.
7. I have a real blog. It's private.