“Do you think the sun gets lonely up there?” Asks the moon, resting low.

“Yes,” says the burnt out star, Icarus’s follower.

“It burns hotter than I. It is bigger than I. No one gets close to us, would they come closer to so much? No.”

“That’s sad.”

“It burns anyone who gets close; it is sad.”

The burnt out star looks at the moon. If it had eyes they would be sad too.

“Look at your bruises,” it coos to the moon, “look at what not being the sun costs you.”

The King sits idly beside his wife, reading over a bill that had yet to be passed. The bill is written from the concern of the peasants and the sick, stating that because they have no access to the medical supplies they need for the disease going around the slums, workers are dying off and family of said workers are protesting for the goal of more medical supplies to be granted to them.

The King merely looks it over once and hands it back to his wife without a second look. When she huffs, he looks back at her. “Has something displeased you?” He asks, as if completely oblivious to his actions and to who he has made them in front of.

“Youre just going to give it a look?” She asks. “No concern over our people? No concern that because of this strike, they and us will lack the supplies we need?”

He sighs. Must be that time of the month. “Dont be so dramatic, dear. They will come to soon.”

“What a disgustingly vile King you are. Your crown must be made of the peoples bones and hunger with the way you act!”

Her husband bristles at that. “Dont act like yours is not too.”

“This crown never belonged to me first, did it!” She says and stands. “All because of this horrible arrangement orchestrated by you. If I had a say, id have happily swam in amnure than laid with you. Youre more vile than you know.”

(half finished, jus needed somethin to post)

I knew the train ride to would be long, which is why I brought a book and a notepad in my bag along with.

I didnt consider the fact that I would have to be seated next to someone due to the trains full-reaching capacity. This was one of the lower class trains after all, maybe I should have expected it.

Ever the wary kind around people whom I did not know, I observed the man who took the seat beside me discreetly. Tall and male with stubble lining his jaw and lower cheeks. His skin reflected palely from the light above and I took notice of the mans calloused hands and the thick coat he wore.

Still, despite my awkwardness, I tried to stay polite. “Hallo.”

I watched as the man glanced over at me in acknowledgement, seeming unsure of himself. “Эр.. hello.”

In response, im merely blinked. What was that accent? I liked to think myself as a near fluent english speaker, but this man’s accent has thrown me off. “Do you speak english?” I asked, wondering if it was more than just the mans accent that made me confused.

The man shifted in his seat, brows furrowing as if he was trying to make sense of my words. His mouth opened and then it shut again. I took that simply as the man was not accustomed to being out of his country, which made me wonder why he was here if he did not understand simple words.

I was broken out of my thoughts when the notepad and pen in my hands was gently taken, and I stared as I watched the man flip to an empty page and draw lines. I was confused and a bit insulted that he had taken my things just to draw, until the man showed me the paper. It was a very rough sketch of Earth with almost childlike interpretations of the countries. My eyes found the arrow which pointed to the large country of what I believed was Russia.

“Russia?” I confirmed, even with the little english he could understand. If he could understand.

“Россия,” the man said, leaving me confused until he tapped where the arrow pointed to on the paper. ‘Russia’. And then he pointed at me and then back at the little rough map of the world. It took me a moment to realise what he meant, and so I made a small arrow which pointed at my home country and showed it.

The man stared at the paper as if he was criticising his own hand at ink. “Ах, Германия?” He spoke and the only indication I had was the word ‘Germaniya’. I assumed it meant Germany and I nodded in agreement, giving him a thumbs up.

I smiled when he reluctantly gave me a thumbs up in return.

(The man = russian with little english and a heavy russian accent The 1st person person = german with a wide understanding of the english language The ‘ ‘ are the translations / pronunciations. :) )

(Kindest russian man fr)

I should have expected it really, with the way it felt too humid, and the weather reports, of course. But round here, aways way out of the nearest town and even further from the city, the weather reports predictions were more wrong than right.

When I heard thunderstorm, I thought of rain and nothing more. We didnt get too much of that, thankfully. I didnt think id be hearing thunder louder than any I’ve heard before though, or to see lighting striking concerningly near.

It was bad luck that I had turned down a ride back home from the market, opting to walk back instead.

Now I was finding my way through water running along the lanes, reaching past my ankles, with just jeans and a jacket on. Id thought about taking a shortcut through thr fields, but with all this rain it would be both muddy and slippery without any sort of cover. It was hard enough seeing through my dripping-with-rain lenses.

By this point, I wasnt even sure where I was. I knew I was on the lane leading home, but I wasnt sure how far along. With the elements at hand, there wasnt much I could do but keep walking through the bitter air and stinging rain until I saw the familiar glow of the outlights.

I want you, dont you see?

Inside and out I want you, and I will have you. My love for you and you only is dirty and rotting but it is love. Ive heard love overpowers anything in the human world, so why don’t you, a human, understand?

I curl myself between the crevices of your body, carving paths to fit in snugly despite your urgency to rid me. This is fine. You dont understand, that I am you now and that you are me. But this is now and not later. Later you will understand and later you will let me in and I will wait.

I love for you worsens you and I wrap myself around you and wait.

When your people in blue scrubs and white coats say there is no cure, you understand. There is no ‘cure’. Why would there be? This is love and I love you.

I wrap myself tighter around your throat and lungs and arteries and at last, your heart.

(Written from the point of view of a terminal disease)

A lot of people say that between siblings, its the youngest who’s the parents favourite. Adored by both parents, aunts, uncles and distant cousins. That the older siblings are just the test dummy to parenting, where the adults learn only by mistakes.

Coming from the youngest out of three children, Morgan says otherwise.

See, for as long as she can remember, its always “Dontcha look at what Johnny’s been doin’?” this and “Merida’s just a star!” that. High praises are thrown about to everyone in the household, but Morgan. Even the dogs get treated with more love than she’s seen her family give her.

Morgan understands that her parents are busy working, trying to keep the household afloat financially, that they’re making sure Merida gets ready for college and Johnny gets a well paying job, but she doesnt like it.

Its selfish of her, she knows that well enough. Her older siblings have made her memorise it so much she feels guilty for just thinking about asking for a day she can spend time with her parents without her siblings. Morgan’s also heard that she will have to wait until Johnny’s and Merida are out of the house to receive the attention she very well knows she deserves.

But the thing is, she knows if she waits there will be another excuse to ignore her. Something like, “youre old enough now,” or just a simple “soon.” She’s heard all the defences, seen them through and given more waiting time in reward.

It’s really no surprise when she leaves the house when yet again she’s left home alone, with a bag in hand and her father’s credit card.

Apples drop onto the grass, shaking off the rain. Bright sun gleams onto the grounds. Crows caw perched high on tree branches. Dry shoes now soak into the damp grass, sinking its soles into the mud.

Evelyn says I should come in and warm up. Fifteen minutes later I step back into the house. Grinding my muddy boots on the outside matt, I look up when I hear a familiar sound. Hooves click against the stone and the rider greets me less enthusiastically as the horse does. I stroke the horses whitelined nose and reach up to run my fingers through his mane.

Joan, the rider, pulls the reigns as steers the horse to the side. “Knight’s antsy for a run, love.”

Leaving me, she waves back and I turn inside to take my boots off.

(didnt say i had to use up the entire alphabet, so i make did for roughly half)

In the heart of the city, under the neon lights, our paths crossed, igniting endless nights

We walked in matching clothes on busy roads, in waining rain and huddled hands

You and I had our hands in hearts, clasped tight and crossed, with fingertips dyed in wine red

From those hearts which stained our fingers, we held them to each other’s mouths, open wide with wide eyes as we stained our insides bloody.

Bay begs me to leave, to go on alone. I cannot, so I stay and let him know. “I will not walk this earth without you.” I press my hand firmer against his wound, emphasising my words and hoping to cease the blood flow completely.

Bay does not speak — he cannot in his state. Instead, he looks up at me with those eyes and I look down at him with mine and plead with him to understand.

“So stay with me for longer,” I ask of him. “Please.”

My words are selfish and I see the way it pains him to stay awake, to force himself to feel the wound and not slip away.

“Please.”

Cain has traced this path more times than he can count. He has a habit of circling back every now and then, looking over the place that used to be bustling with cars and people and greenery thats now reduced to dust, sand and rubble.

The path is worn, the street is empty. Maybe some buildings are housing a surviver or two to find home in. Cain’s tried that before, looking for a place to find peace in, to settle down and relax for the first time in awhile. It’s not a good idea, not if you want to stay a surviver anyway.

The smell isnt as bad as it used to be, compared to back when Cain was first met with the stench of rotting corpses of people and animals. Still, he wears a piece of cloth around his neck which is able to be pulled up over his nose. Just cause he’s gotten used to it, doesnt mean he likes it any better.

It’s what, the fifth year since the human race almost died out completely? Maybe sixth. It’s hard to keep track when each season is now relatively the same, when the days are uncomfortably longer with shorter nights. Everything’s just repetition really. The days of wandering for food, fending off the starved, the copious months, the revisiting, the wandering.. It makes him nauseous.

No one alive now can be reasoned with, not for a better future. Years of survival have taught everyone to trust no one. And in some cases, not even themselves. History, schooling, work, its all gone.

Cain hates it. Loathes it. Loathes himself for still being able to live when he doesnt even want to. Theres no purpose for him or anyone else for that matter. Theres nothing in the future worth waiting for, and theres nothing now.

He sighs, kicking a skull to the side as he continues his walk. He doesnt even have a place in mind, he’s just waiting.

He’s not sure how much longer he can take until he becomes just another pile of bones on the street.