I never really knew you
Connected with you
You were at war and I was at war
Then you were gone
But everything is still the same
I’m here alone like I always was
Homing in on the whispers between leaves
Instead of drifting
Did you know it would be like this
That’d be so typical
So color me unsurprised Continue reading
There should be a rule instated
That the moment a foot is out the door
It immediately becomes illegal
To assign homework
Before I became, well
Um don’t judge, I didn’t pick the name
The Old Guy did
I would do my homework
Nice, yes, it was
Nice, calming really
A poem? He wants a poem
About our life
As if I have time to write one
As if I have a reality to share
There’s this thing he likes to do after every big meeting. Or conference. He does both now.
He comes up to us, me and his assistant, and turns away, eyes narrowing as he waits for his assistant to slip his overcoat on for him.
I don’t know what he looks at so intently during this transaction; but it’s definitely not the assistant. Poor thing, she should really look for a job elsewhere.
The first few times it happened, I thought it was just him being the rich entitled prick we all think he is.
All of a sudden he will walk away at a brisk space, and I will need to jog for a moment to catch up with him.
The assistant never hurries up because she’s quite tangibly sick of him, which I think he secretly enjoys.
Once I’m at his side, he’ll look at me finally and that stern exterior will crack open for a moment.
Every time, he’ll smile and roll his eyes.
Like Can you believe we’re actually doing this?
Coming out, very unfortunately, is everything. You don’t want it to be. But it is.
Because you are probably exposing someone to something that they don’t want to understand.
“I wouldn’t expect that,” isn’t hurtful on its own.
But unfortunately, it is a micro-aggression, whether they like it or not, and it says “This thing you are isn’t even on my radar for me to think about.”
It is crushing.
But even worse than that?
It was the night Alyssa Liston humiliated Katrina Gawain in front of the whole cafeteria over her total “lessy crush” on her.
Not really a good night for crime fighting, but hey, you win some, you lose some, and then you end up recreating the iconic image of a vigilant crusader perched atop a gargoyle.
Cape softly fluttering in the wind with the perfect flair of drama, flapping almost too in tune with the popularized image of the watchful crusader.
Car horns and sirens overcame the soundscape below. Thousands of little yellow squares pasted on each building were a gateway to thousands of stories.
Yet the sting of Alyssa Liston hadn’t gone away quite yet.
Rain pattered against the window to Katrina Gawain’s bedroom. Blue light from the computer illuminated her harassed face, dark rings under her eyes darting between a blank document and a Wikipedia article on Benedict Arnold.
“You know Wikipedia’s not a great source for — ”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m just using it for the bibliography at the end,” Katrina grunted while pasting a link into her Works Cited to later clean up.
Direct sequel to Binding but this makes sense as a standalone.
I knew I was doing the right thing.
I just wish it didn’t have to hurt so much.
It was strange, hidden in the heavy rain, body wound tight like a cat about to pounce, watching the mobsters and gangsters move across the oil platform. It was my first time I would be doing anything like this, yet my mind couldn’t escape the fact that I had hurt someone.
The Suit wasn’t made for me; it was made for the world. We, as a team, wanted to save the world, so we designed a suit that could protect anyone no matter the cost.
I stole it because he scared me. There was this look in Hector’s eyes that didn’t seem right. This greed, this insatiable thirst for something he was too scared to say out loud, and of course I understood that. I wanted things for the world too.