"It's your kind that created us," he said, his blood-red irises gleaming darkly. "Mind you, not the stuff we are made of; that's as old as the world is, and time. But it was you who created us from it...truly have what they want, not without some terrible loss. And yet, even where there are traditions of such beings whose terms are less cruel, there seems to be a history of it all going quite badly...

We get into Alex's head in this part—he's an angry, frustrated boy, but I think he has reasons for his anger and frustration. Maybe. Possibly. *grin* Of course, anyone married to Evil!Lana is doomed to...was making him into, he would not submit. He could only hope that somehow he'd find a crack in her control and he'd be able to win his freedom. It was a very small hope but hope was all he had anymore.

It was cold, dark, and undeniably creepy: the perfect horror movie atmosphere. "Fuuuuuuuuuck, I hate being right about shit like this!" Grif exclaimed to the apparently empty room, peering out the window...him, but you're not likely to get much of anything sensible out of him, because augh bats. And that's the full 3% of the even spent on getting run over by Sheila and subsequently being FrankenGrif'd.))

So I just tried to access my work on the microfiction site 365 Tales (ti's run by Alexandra Erin, check out the prose section on my website for more info). Actually, on second thoughts, don't bother cos what I was writing to say is that I just tried to access it and couldn't. I know it had a lot of problems with downtime and general not-working-ness at one point, so it could just be a repeat...

…Идеалы. Как прелестны они своей непогрешимостью, непоколебимостью, неоспоримостью. Как изумительно прекрасны они в своем величественном танце, когда проносятся по нашему сознанию взад и вперед - и в этот...потом я поняла и другое: мой идеал пал, а вместе с его падением чувства мои к нему приобрели форму, цвет, вкус, а значит и осязаемость - и тогда я почувствовала совсем иное… …Я почувствовала жажду.

And there was something terrible about her.  Was she too nice or too guarded or too modest.  Retracing her, she seemed frail, gaunt--sometone out of place.  She was remarkably attractive and ugly all...by cues.  I will keep writing and sketching until I've figured it out.  All women have the potential to be a great poem--it's the rhythm of women I can't figure out that makes writing worthwhile.   

"I don't like this", he said, turning his back to me. I wrapped my arms around him as he tried to stand up, and I buried my face against his blue flannel shirt. "Let go." I defied the half-hearted command... anything that would betray him. I felt him pull his abdomen muscles in, shy away from my touch. I dragged him lower and dug my teeth into his neck lightly. He never stopped struggling, I never let go

Kiryuu Yoshiya (Joshua), Hanekoma Sanae Spoilers for latter parts of Subarashiki Kono Sekai/The World Ends With You He thinks he really shouldn't be surprised by Joshua anymore, but somehow...with Joshua is more subtle, but the stakes are the same. Stubborn fool , Hanekoma thinks to himself, watches Joshua smile and touch the tip of the dead boy's chin, and wonders in the end who will win

John laid down the pen and leaned back in his chair. His gaze trailed over the others still engrossed in their papers to the large windows that graciously let the cool autumn light in. The test had not... John smiled briefly, then remembered himself and started gathering up his things. He dropped his papers at Mr. Dickinson's desk alongside Mike and they stepped out of the great auditorium together

wheezing like I have consumption, I'm contemplating sleeping with sandbags on my chest (and a corset during the day, to hold me in some sort of embrace that might stop the peculiar sounds emanating from... two bagels were stale this morning, and Starbucks stopped making decaf frappuchinos.  those pessimistic times are back, but you know what?  I don't care; today was beautiful.  poems later, maybe