Author has written 3 stories for Fantasy, General, and Friendship.
Little things, little things, tiny spices that live under my wings. Miniature pricks in my sides that grow wide, consuming my hide in rainbow tides. Was it I that chose this life long ago? Within the womb or with a thumb in my mouth? Or was it before, on a quiet afternoon, that I chose to bleed pretty phrases rather than red pools? Who was it that gave me this? God or my own mind? No matter, no matter... I am here now, with this blessing... curse? I can never decide. But I live in these flowers, these roses with thorns. I live in this winding world of word, never alone. I suppose I am happy. No, not "suppose." I am happier than the sparrow singing its "good morning" chords! It is only a curse when my heart hums a bird's tune, and I must write it down before it loses its plumes. It isn't a hard choice, I must say: the work of a rusty gear or the world where I have nothing to fear. I cannot remember the first time sparrow trills filled the fray, so I am led to believe I was simply born this way.
*Fair Warning: These are reposts for my own peace of mind. Do not read any further if you don't want a cluttered profile*
A girl died in 1933 by a homicidal murderer. He buried her in the ground when she was still alive. The murdered chanted, "Toma sota balcu" as he buried her. Now that you have read the chant, you will meet this little girl. In the middle of the night she will be on your ceiling. She will suffocate you like she was suffocated. If you post this, she will not bother you. Your kindness will be rewarded.