Supernova Girlswirling galaxiesSupernova Girl by Chesshirestripes
paint themselves upon your form.
perhaps the day will come when
our universes collide.
Fingertipsi went backFingertips by Chesshirestripes
and i sat
in the place
first held hands
and i tried
They were soft,
but i just
for you see,
without your touch,
have long since
UntitledThey were saying, peace and safetyUntitled by Chesshirestripes
But they did not see God’s hand in it,
The devil waiting for them,
The flames gathering.
They expected nothing of it.
But now they see
The flames flashing about,
And have nothing.
Nothing to lay hold of as they fall into the pit,
Nothing they can do,
Nothing but thin air and empty shadows.
Looking UpHis footsteps echoed loudlyLooking Up by Chesshirestripes
in the open air of midnight
as he waltzed his way
down Main Street,
hands dug deep in woolen pockets
to avoid the morning chill.
His breath bled out before him,
making sure that all could see
the goosebumps he was hiding
beneath three layers of mid-September
and behind a hurricane
of unsorted feelings
threatening to change his world view.
And as he paced the sidewalk,
a strange new feeling
tugged at his stomach,
begging him to chance
a gander up into the sky.
Suddenly, the world was silent,
and for the first time in years
his gaze departed from broken gravel
and was filled with an open letter
from the universe,
a message seemingly left for him,
for just this one special occasion.
He read the skyline like a novel,
dancing over each and every star
as if it were but a single word
on a dusty page
from a never ending book,
For he knew that stars could fade
just as easily
as sidewalk chalk in Seattle.
Footsteps slowly made their way
once again into the foreground
A Turning Point in the Clockwork WarA war of attritionA Turning Point in the Clockwork War by Ysabetwordsmith
depends on supply and drawdown,
how much you have and how much you use up.
With personnel, the balance concerns
the influx of recruitment versus
the outflow of casualties, deserters, invalids.
There is only so much loss
that a fighting force can sustain
and still fight.
Pilot Claude Archer was the first
to challenge his invalid discharge.
"I don't need legs to fly," he said,
patting the healed stumps of his thighs.
"My Osprey runs on elbow grease."
The members of the discharge board
paused and looked at each other.
What he said was true.
The Osprey-class fighter jets
relied on hand controls,
and a sharp eye and iron nerve.
Fingers flicked through the stack
of discharge papers -- so many, many pages.
So many soldiers lost, never to fight again.
They could not afford to let slip even one
who might be retained, somehow,
to face the front line once more.
Far less could the war effort spare
one of its best pilots.
So they put Pilot Archer back on the roster,
.your heart. by oaklungs
not to beat
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