DreamsOfStarlight

  Just as I remembered it, Shea thought with a sigh as he settled down into a worn wooden chair. His lute rested casually in his lap as he searched around the common room. The Winking Bard Inn was a cozy dwelling, the bright light from the fireplace painted warm splashes of orange and gold over furniture and people alike. Shadows danced on the handsome wooden walls. The customers—mostly local farmers resting their backs and feet after a long day of toil—all sat around small round wooden tables in comfortable groups, talking into their mugs and dining on spiced potatoes. The aroma wafted like a cloud over the room, mingling pleasantl

She turned; I froze. My feet were planted solidly in the forest's dry underbrush where I stood alone, panic-stricken, my gaze glued on the cougar standing before me. She was magnificent and terrible with bright, intelligent eyes. As I stared in mouth-gaping horror, she casually dropped into a crouch, muscles loosely coiled, ready to spring. Blood-lust danced in those brilliant amber orbs and a purr-like growl rumbled deep in her throat. My breath came in deep ragged puffs and my head pounded. Just as I was preparing for the end a thunderous crack slammed through the air; the cougar dropped to the earth and lay in a tangled broken heap. She st

(My sister talking to me one evening at the kitchen table) "Brenda is the only one who really understands what I went through. I mean, I practically raised you. Every day after school I had to come home to babysit you while Parents were at work. If I wanted to go see a friend I had to take you with me. Do you know how lame it is to be a teenager and have to drag along a three-year-old with you everywhere? Not a lot of the other kids were really into it. I spent a lot of time at the house with Brenda. Not to mention I was expected every week to clean the bathroom, dust, do dishes and clean the cat litter. And I had to make dinner five days a

You probably don't remember that day that we met, seven years ago. It was mid-October and the days were starting to get shorter and cooler. I had just transferred into your class. I took my seat at one of the small grey desks next to a friend of mine. You were directly in front of me, facing forward and chatting quietly to another smaller boy. As I lowered myself down into the chair you turned towards me, steely blue eyes meeting my green ones. You were tall with short sandy hair and surprisingly plump lips for an athletic teenager. A small silver scar on your chin marked tanned face. You were dressed in a simple striped shirt with buttons an

 It was a universe of white. Snow covered the world with its icy mantle, casually flinging its pallid cape over the land. Snowflakes tumbled relentlessly from the inky heavens, driven by the sheer passion of cold and winter. Twinkling sparks of light gleamed in the night as the beams from headlights caught and illuminated the falling crystals, adding a hypnogogic quality to the bleak atmosphere. Cars sat idly, woolly bundles with veiled windows, bumper-to-bumper in somber rows. My breath a cloud before me, I plunged my hands into my armpits and tried vainly to see into the horizon where I knew the jack-knifed semi lay. I hunched my shoulders

        "Okay guys, I'll meet you at the toilet." T.J. gives us a crooked smile before placing his regulator in his mouth. Dressed in a tight-fitting suit and mask, he holds the exhaust valve for his BCD (Buoyancy Control Device) high above his head and sinks beneath the slight waves. My companions begin to follow suit, but I choose to linger. The weather is quickly turning overcast, thick steely grey clouds invading the summer sky with the beginning of a breeze. It starts to rain. I look back to the shore where Will stands, camera in hand. I give him one final wave before nodding to Natasha, my dive buddy. Together we descend into a differen

Shea Garbology Typical Shea-stuff was stacked haphazardly in the small bin, making Ali smile as she sifted through its contents. Long lute strings, broken from many nights of use wound their way in and around and through everything. Paper was the main component of the pile, and an old broken bottle of black ink left a trail through the maze, zigzagging in chaotic and blotched lines amongst the letters, songs, and notes. Some of these works had been loosely discarded, as though their composer had simply grown bored with the idea, while others had been snowballed or shredded in a passionate rage. Ali carefully unfolded one such abused piece an