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-Poem- A Thief's TaleRide the chilling wind,
across the burning sand;
along the trail of life --
with it in your hands.

Items made through bloodshed,
seven for the priests;
with their magic powers,
to bring upon the peace.

Rage for fallen comrades,
scarred by darkened times;
revenge, his only wish,
to make up for the crime.

Defeat brought in battle,
but denied his death;
instead, trapped inside,
to await his final breath.

Millennia of silence,
until a new time came;
to possess a boy's body
and rule a Shadow Game.
Only as Old"Frail bones predict what fragile minds can't detect,"
He trailed off slowly, "And my bones are achin'."
The air around me hung low and depressed,
Sticking to the back of my throat like a stormy syrup
I'd tried to swallow down.

I peered out the kitchen window
And caught an inklet of patched-over-grey sky;
I wondered what was in store for the day.

Impartial to the gloom outside, we stepped out onto the back porch;
Grandpa wobbled out with his cane in hand and we waited.
In the hushed stillness the trees traded birds—
Robins, swallows, whippoorwills, and cardinals.
If you squinted hard enough at the sullen shrubbery,
You could
She who destroys the lightfirst seed
Darling, you and I both know
in a better world I could be your Lethe
wrap around you, drown you
erode everything
that ever tried to bring your fate down on you.
Still if I picked up the pieces
I'd hear their soft hum—
the one shells moan for the sea—
for even then there would be places in you
still not free.

second seed
Surely women must have learned by now
never to trust fruit.
A garden is a prison earned
and there is nothing satanic, nothing sacred
about hunger.
Yet when your body curls in on itself
seduced by not-seeds that need only thirst to root
you find your lips wet
and what might be blood or j
.vesta.

It is time. We feel the pull of summer along our spines
as we head into hibernation. Bed is short respite for our leaden limbs,
our singed hair. The air aches with the wait of it, where the embers
click and sing like crickets. Snippets of sound from the underground.
"This," someone says, wide-eyed with awe, "is what the insides
of the earth look like" - the world beneath, struck through with
dragons' teeth, pocked with open sores. The slit smile of the crater
in a slack jaw. Our scarred skies are littered with lights, many
mechanical suns spun into the ceiling, glinting like electric sequins.

And in the middle of it all, where our
The Dead GodThe room was large, quiet, and empty, and it smelled like death. It should have smelled like weathered stone, or dust, or moss that grows forgotten in dark places so long it forgets its name, but Rat knew death. He had tasted it the moment they walked inside this ancient church, and he longed to adjust and stop smelling it.

He wished he could walk closer to the three adults behind him, but he would get in trouble. He wasn't a scrawny child today; his job was to walk carefully and take the brunt of any traps he triggered so the adults would be all right. They were needed, after all: Theodora and the silent man had the magic, and Flim was a mi
007 - The Door That Can'tFor as long as she lived, Linna was followed by a door. Not just any door – this door was antique Victorian, about ten feet tall and made of beautiful oak. Its frame was elaborately carved with curls and curves and those little flower shapes that had a French name. The knob was bronze, and as beautiful as if it had been cast yesterday, with equally beautiful designs set into the shining metal. It had no keyhole. It was a very welcoming door, after all, so why should it be locked?

This door followed Linna loyally, ghosting her steps, always hovering politely behind her. It never came closer than three feet unless she wanted it to, and ne
Time Traveller's EngagementExactly ten years from tomorrow, we'll be married here. My wife doesn't know that, of course. In a certain sense, neither do I.

It's a beautiful spot, now. Now meaning today, when the sunlight is still pure, and the sky is still blue. The ivy still climbs in green snakes up the side of her father's chateau, the pennants of the House of Renard are snapping gaily over the towers.

I hear a lilting laugh that even now sends my heart into my throat. Euryale Renard. She is only a girl today, no older than my little sister is in the days I left behind. Even at twelve, my Ury's curls catch the sun like molten amber, with a flower basket flung wide
By the HighwayThe trees were all dead. No leaves, bare fingers stretched towards the sky in a twisted sort of prayer. The houses below them had no prayer – not even one coming from a tree – that could save them. They were ramshackle, they were peeling paint and broken pipes. They were forgotten glass shards embedded in a crying toddler's foot, or cold wind blasting its way through a broken window. They were everything that a house should not be, hazardous and inhospitable and ugly.
They spared the families embarrassment, though, the houses. They were all the same, the same despair, the same inescapable, cavernous appearance. They were nothing to
EulogyThe dream-catchers are handmade
but each bear the same mark of boredom.
On the reservation,
the dirt is red and separated from the turquoise on sale.
The tops of the mountains have been scraped off
like whipped cream from pudding cups
of beautiful alien rock.

"Plateau," my mother says.
I am not sure if it is a name
or a command.

The lightning storms are brighter in the desert.
I sit perched on the horizon,
the edge of one loss to another—
given up my love, all my bottled water.
The mountains carry their own babies in the muddy puddles,
against the wind they huddle,
but their semi-circle somehow is just one great smile.

The Business of Murder"Well, now that we're through with the pleasantries, Mr. Daniels, I must ask: Why is it that you want to die?"

Joseph Daniels sighed and slumped down in his seat, the picture of unkemptness. His face looked tired, with large bags underneath his eyes and at least three days' worth of stubble. His hair was a mess, his clothes were disheveled. He seemed to exude an aura of despair.

He surveyed the room he was in, which was quite his opposite: neat, orderly, unremarkable. Blank, white walls, some filing cabinents, three windows looking out on downtown. He was sitting in a plain, wooden chair in front of a plain, wooden desk with merely a fake h
AppassionataClaire does not find him at his funeral.

Dean's body lies in an open casket, face-up with soft wrinkles and loose muscles. There is nothing of her husband in this corpse. He was rough and jagged. It seems wrong to see his edges smoothed down.

She hovers over his body and feigns sorrow. She hears family and friends weep and whisper comfort into each others' ears behind her. They offer their words and shoulders to her and she nods politely and pretends to cry.

All the while, she traces the ring on her finger and does not flinch when the diamond cuts into skin.

Claire looks for her husband. It is exhausting, but she has time.

In the rooms o
AlterAllow me just this:
your hand
my hand
separate.

1.
I fell into a deep forest. My femur
put forth roots. I did not say: oh Lord,
take me from here
like Rebekah, this is another
barrenness.

My mouth remained resolutely
closed. The moss
grew over me,
in me.

Oh Lord, I am scared.

2.
Mother is reading, brows
at half mast. In the kitchen,
Father organizes sardines
on crackers. Home means
this soft quietude.

Five thousand six hundred
miles away, I am watching a donkey.
It stumbles on three legs; the fourth
is loosely curled, like a child's fist.

There are wild dogs in the fields beyond,
waiting. I am a dog, waiting.

3.
Single LadiesI want to spend a summer fortnight in the Everglades with LynnMarie.
I want to sleep all day and stay up all night, learning just one dance.
I want to dance like Kurt Hummel in the Glee "Single Ladies" video.
I want to learn every hair flip, finger waggle, hip thrust, every move.

I want to keep this incredible talent a tiny secret in my heart of hearts.
I want to keep it for a day when I have a true heart great-granddaughter.
I want to see the gleam in her eye when I invite her to share my secret.
I want to dance, dance for her, until we both cry gasping tears of laughter.
Hotel RulesThe lobby and front entrance are strictly out of bounds.

In the car park, if you ask yourself any of these questions – how you're going to get out of a spot, whether you're allowed to park there, if the monster truck beside you will crush your car when it leaves, if you'll crush the motor scooter in the next stall, whether your car will roll onto a different level, if you'll be able to find your car again, etc. – you're behaving normally and you will almost certainly find your car in the same state and location that you left it in.

Use the service staircase and corridor to avoid surprises. The more lush and carpeted a staircase is
How the Fairytale EndsI remember lying in the dark the night after we killed the troll. My bandaged side hurt like hell, and I thought maybe the arrow the monster had used had been poisoned. I shivered at the thought and pulled my cloak farther up to my chin. This left my feet, bare, of course, so I sighed heavily as I tried to bend down and cover them again. I had barely moved before he was there, pushing me back down gently and settling his own cloak over me.

"Idiot," I heard him mutter.

I fell asleep with a grin on my weary face.

That I can remember clearly, though it seems so long ago now.

This journey of the king's faithful young knight and a starry-eyed
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More from ~PandaCat-Productions

My Granny Ate The PostmanMy granny ate the postman,
She didn't even chew,
She gulped him down in one big bite,
I'm glad it wasn't you.

The postman gave a startled yell,
And vanished down her throat,
I really wish that she had stuck,
With milk and porridge oats.

By now you're thinking 'What the hell,'
'Your granny's pretty strange,'
And I reply, indeed oh my,
Granny's really changed.

You see, last night night, in full moon's light,
My granny sprouted fur,
Her ears grew big, her nose was wet,
And she didn't need dentures.

I felt just like Miss Riding Hood,
(Although with better style),
As granny turned towards me,
And gave a toothy smile.

Why granny

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July 31, 2010
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:iconpandacat-productions:
:new::new: Another Edit! My most wonderful bee friend :iconnvrmind91: went over the whole story for me with her editing skillz. :la: So i gave it one final polish before sending it off! Hopefully it's better... In any case, that is my last edit. At least for the forseeable future anyway. :dummy::new::new:

:new:EDIT: Since I need this story for my portfolio, I finally got round to editing and rewriting using the critique I've recieved. I haven't changed a lot, but I have expanded certains bits, taken some uneeded bits away and explained what the frikkin' blobs are! :noes: I took away the line about Cole being the last ghost, since it asked questions that I have no intention of answering in this story and I changed Doyle's dialogue slightly to, hopefully, make him a tiny bit more dimensional. :eager: I'm hoping it flows a bit better too...:iconumplz: so, if you've read the orignal, then please let me know if you think I've improved it! :blowkiss::new:

Oh thank heavens! :faint: I thought I was never going to get finished.

But, many cans of cherry coke, glasses of orange juice, cups of tea and much gothic metal saw me through the literary wilderness! :iconlawooplz:

I actually started this story over a year ago, then got distracted and never wrote more than a page. And I think that leaving it till now to finish it was a good thing, mainly because I'm a much better writer now than I was. And I'm in the midst of a creative phase this summer. :nod:

It's based on a dream I had, waaay over a year ago now. It was an awesome dream, and I wrote it down as soon as I woke up. Of course, there are a lot of things in the story that didn't happen in the dream...and vice versa. In the dream I had a mid air swordfight with the evil scientist...of course that was after I'd sat down for a muffin with the humans I was rescuing. :XD:

Anyway, that aside, I'm pretty pleased with this. Of course, since I, unfortunately, am not perfect neither is my writing. Therefore I must rely on you dear reader to tell me your thoughts!

So for anyone from :iconcritique-it: and anyone else willing to critique:
:bulletgreen: Did it flow well?
:bulletgreen:What did you think of the characters, and the world?
:bulletgreen: Are there any glaring plotholes that I missed? :noes:
:bulletgreen:And the ending...did it work?
:bulletgreen:Also, this is my first attempt at first person POV so did I do okay on that front?

Any critique/ comments are much appreciated and will earn you hugs! :glomp:

EDIT: A DD!? :iconiwantitplz: Oh me oh my! :excited: Thank you! And...YAAY! :iconlawooplz: I am a happy panda now.
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Daily Deviation

Given 2010-12-12
The Guardian by *PandaCat-Productions has superb attention to detail that creates an eerie world and fantastic characters. It is a terrific story from beginning to end. ( Featured by `Halatia )
love 4 4 joy 1 1 wow 2 2 mad 0 0 sad 0 0 fear 0 0 neutral 0 0
:iconnunheh:
*nunheh Jun 18, 2011
'...a long sticky tongue, dripping with foul mucus.' Although you've described it before, here I think Mucus needs more than 'foul' for... impact, eg: dripping with green and yellow slime that stunk of days dead rats that had liquefied in their dissolution.' (I only used that image because I had to clean one up for someone else under their kitchen counter. And I think many people might know what that smelled like.) Some general words like foul lose impact. How many times does it's foulness need to be decribed? I don't know, but it has something to do with what's happening.
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:iconpandacat-productions:
~PandaCat-Productions Jul 5, 2011  Student Writer
I dun think I'm going to do another rewrite on this one...not soon anyway. Perhaps in the futrue. :iconthinkingplz: THankies very much! I shall add this to my notes. :eager:

You are a good bean. :iconiloveyouplz:
Reply
:iconnunheh:
*nunheh Jul 5, 2011
And it is the case that you are never under that obligation.
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:icontheterrorofthedeep:
*TheTerrorOfTheDeep May 6, 2011
PCP.... If you want, it would be my pleasure to give this a full on edit/critique/idea-sloshing. You can ignore whatever you say, and this is only if you want it.
Reply
:iconpandacat-productions:
~PandaCat-Productions May 6, 2011  Student Writer
:iconrlytearplz: That..that would be most marvellous of you. :iconumplz: But only if you want to.
Reply
:icontheterrorofthedeep:
*TheTerrorOfTheDeep May 6, 2011
:iconfinallyplz: It is my dream to be of use to you! When would you like it by so it might be of help for your porfolio?
Reply
:iconpandacat-productions:
~PandaCat-Productions May 6, 2011  Student Writer
Oh um...:iconretardthinkingplz: I want to get the application done by the end of next week preferably. Hopefully my lecturer will have finished my reference letter by then. :iconimskepticalplz: That disorganised rapscallion!
Reply
:icontheterrorofthedeep:
*TheTerrorOfTheDeep May 8, 2011
:iconnoeswooplz: I'm only on page three! I need to pick up the paaaaace!
Reply
:iconpandacat-productions:
~PandaCat-Productions May 11, 2011  Student Writer
:iconnoeslaplz:
Reply
:icontheterrorofthedeep:
*TheTerrorOfTheDeep May 11, 2011
Now I am further. :iconimveryproudplz:
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