Who Gave This Fish a Pen?

There was a young man named James

Who had no interest in kids games

He made a great plan

To become a great man

But overreached love in his daze

                A city.

                A sprawling, immense city, set against the evening sky, a mass of brick and stone and oil and high copper wires. A world of smoke and greasy food and fading posters proclaiming that Edison Takes Care Of His Own! A landscape of muddy, narrow streets along which Fords and buggies skirt around children and adults alike, each going about their daily business.

                A narrow side alley. A man slid along the brick wall of a building. His trousers were muddy, his hair slicked down with sweat. He sneaked a look behind him at the more brightly lit street, then slid down to sit on a stray paving stone which had found its way to this dim location. He let out a shuddering breath and ran a hand through his hair. A minute passed, then two, before he brushed off his pants and pushed himself to his feet again. He adjusted his glasses and straightened his jacket, then stepped back out into the street.

                He made an abrupt right turn and walked briskly along the sidewalk, subtly watching the people around him, taking in faces and checking for sudden movements. He was a wanted man, now.

                No one quits their job at Edison Electrical without repercussions.

I now have an account on ao3! I am ArcticDragon

If I waltzed
To the edge of the earth,
To where the seas stream down
A cliff of infinity
Into hot nothingness,
Would you be
My dancing partner?

Part 1 of Double Duty, a Les Miserables fic with supernatural themes. E/R.

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Wow. Look at all this nonproductivity.

Have no fear. I am currently working on both a Les Miserables fic and an OFF fic, and hopefully I can finish them soon! Bear with me!

Not that. Never that.

Imagine how different life would be if

• you only lived to be thirty
• you lived to be three hundred

Society would be so different this is exciting

Fishing Boat

It is gray

Gray skies, gray seas

Weathered wood rises and falls

As the tides carry the fishing boat

Out to sea

Thin, invisible threads reach out,

Trying to snare fish in their long tendrils,

Tendrils of death

And long, heavy rope,

Black with the weight of water,

Flies from the side of the fishing boat

It plunges under the cold waves

And lies in wait for its prey,

Like a spider and its web

The deck rocks to and fro

Sheets of rain lash out,

Pounding the weary fisherman

Who surround themselves with water and worn wood

To earn a living

Finally it is time to head back in

The tendrils of death retract to their mother,

And the spider springs

Endless, squirming fish are hauled up from the gray depths

And into the fishing boat

And the bulk of weathered wood

Makes its way through the gray, watery world

On its way home

                The lights flicker, and go out, leaving behind thick, soupy darkness. You hold a hand up to your face, but you cannot see it; this darkness is absolute. A slight ringing sounds in your left ear as you strain your eyes to see, strain your ears to hear, strain yourself trying to understand your new, inky surroundings.

                There is a whoosh of wind, sudden and quick. You whirl around, almost tripping over your own feet as you try to comprehend what is going on.

                There is hot breath on your ear. You freeze, heart pounding in your chest. A raspy voice, dry, harsh, and quiet, whispers something once, twice. You cannot understand the words. Then a third time, a little louder.

                Then the fourth time, you understand. A shiver goes through you as the words grate against your very being.

                “Let me tell you about Homestuck.”