Pixie's Space

Some women wish for a white knight to ride in upon his valiant steed and sweep them off their feet.To Rescue them from the clutches of the dragons breath and claw.To bathe them in riches and silks. But I know a secret about those pristine knights. A secret well kept and well guarded. A white knight's heart is full of greed and the need for power, their souls rusted and full of cobwebs while their pockets are heavy with gold. There's no room to care for the weeping women. A fearsome secret this is indeed. But I know of a dark knight, a rogue of the midnight sky, sweeping down from the heavens on a dragon who would never be allowed into the place called Dreamland. He comes not to vanquish the white knights but to swoop down and steal the enchantress. For this knight too has a secret well kept,and well guarded. Beneath his nightmarish appearance lays a heart of gold. His only desire, to earn the trust of the lady. He hides it well by chasing her through dreamland and tr...

How does one cope with learning that your entire life was a lie? Why by not coping with it of course. And not coping with it was exactly what the Scot named Maon Kincaid...excuse me, Emilian Maon DeRazia-Morel, Romani gypsy, was doing. And how exactly does a Scot, no wait, an Irish Gypsy who thought he was a Scot, not cope with such a revelation? He breaks things of course, and right this second the dark haired man was breaking a chair over some poor drunk's head. The impact rattled Maon's bones and he growled as he tossed the broken pieces of the bar chair to the floor and shook his arms, grimacing as the sting remained in his muscles. He didn't have time to dwell on that as a moment before it was supposed to connect, Maon's sharp green eyes caught sight of the meaty fist that was headed right for his (thus far) unbroken nose. He reflexively bent his body to the left causing the blow to hit him in the shoulder, the punch had enough strength behind it that ...

Silence is her worst enemy when everything is silent she has time to think, and thinking is dangerous for one whose life has been turned upside down. As she sits on the couch and listens to everyone sleep, her mind wonders in unseen directions, and then the tears start as they always do on silent nights. Tears of pain and sorrow, guilt and regret, hate and love. She wonders if she cant even love herself how is anyone else to love her? She regrets having that last bite; she regrets that thanksgiving when she was nine. Her stomach aches from the guilt of being a pig, of being selfish and eating the last cookie. She feels the pain in her heart every time someone looks at her in disgust, and disdain. People tell her they understand, but how can they? None that has talked to her knows what it is like to be overweight, none know that hours she has cried because she is ignored. No one knows how many times she has called herself a coward for not being able to pull the trigger. Sh...

I watch the laughter, the caring between you. I'm forgotten as you tell her the things I wish to know I watch as you grow closer, farther from me. I'm forgotten as you rant, and lower your walls for her. You say a wrong word, she says a wrong word The silence reigns between you, and then you remember In the background I stand, waiting for the silences For in the silences is when you see me once again. We talk of inconsequential things, mostly of her I listen not showing the pain I feel at being forgotten I give you the advice you seek hoping it will help Knowing that when it does, the silence will break. Then you speak, the silence gone And I drift into the background once more.   Feb 9, 2012