|There is little to tell, I weave stories with my writing and take photographs to envision them. Simple as that.|
Strength/WeaknessHer breath was slow, patient, careful. Each sinew, each of her muscles seemed to turn to taffy at his touch. She knew she shouldn’t, knew that letting him in was the worst idea she could ever conceive yet, there was an overpowering voice in her that countered, I simply don’t care. I want him in my life.Strength/Weakness by ForbiddenThirteenth
His long bony hands cupped her cheek, thumb slid across her bottom lip; mechanically she felt herself nuzzle against his touch, let him encircle his arms around her waist and bring her closer to him.
"You’re trouble." she mentioned in passing as he rested his cheek on the top of her head, sniffing the apple scented shampoo in her hair.
"Is that a bad thing?" the lanky blonde man asked, his voice carried seductive bass.
"…" she thought about it, then responded truthfully, "No. I want you in my life."
She tilted her head back and looked up at him, the goofiest smile lining her lips. No matter what she did, she couldn’t wipe the shit-eating grin from her haun
Nary Little Things"To the nary little things, I say unto thee this is your messiah-your haven, your Creator, your salvation- speaking." the towering shadow-woven figure raised his arms and proclaimed.Nary Little Things by ForbiddenThirteenth
Standing atop a jutting rock edifice that overlooked a box canyon of red clay, he thrust his open palm as if to offer them the knowledge their Creator was about to bestow upon their bewildered visages.
"Thou art mine. Ev'ry one of you nary little things, that roam these lands I made owes me thine servitude, thine lives, and most importantly, thine tribute."
Expressions bordering on astonishment plastered their simian faces, as this...creature spoke. And somehow they all understood it, their eyes watched as it spoke, watched as its lips formed words.
"There may chance a time whence I will have to wash you from this place and start anew. I cannot be certain. Until that day comes, when a morrow of sorrow shall flood the lands and cleanse mine garden of treacherous weeds, thou ignorant cretins will yield
The River's TruthEdin stopped at the bar, patting the solid oak top in a slow beat to draw the attention of her new friend. And from the back he appeared, a slow smile lining his tan face.The River's Truth by ForbiddenThirteenth
"You seem to be frequenting this place quite often, senorita."
She shrugged, threw on a crooked grin, "What can I say? This place serves a mean vodka screwdriver."
He turned and grabbed not one, but two glasses by their bottom in one hand, and a bottle of Grey Goose and a carton of orange juice in the other.
"Should you be drinking on the job?" She cocked an eyebrow as she watched him make their drinks expertly.
"Senora Petrucci is...taking a day off, shall we say." He said as she swilled the drinks, allowing the orange flavored goodness mix with the smooth vodka.
Edin snorted in response, rummaging in her shirt pocket for her packet of coffin nails, finding it and shuffling one out between her fore and middle finger.
"Which is a nice way of saying she's shacked up with some poor stupid bastard she just met last nigh
Waking MemoriesMorning broke through the dusky veil, stars faded into a woven tapestry of roiling indigo sky and rosetta clouds. Consciousness seeped in slowly, the mahogany-haired Widow let her body boot up, her senses came on one-by-one like a computer starting up its programs.Waking Memories by ForbiddenThirteenth
Her dichromatic eyes surveyed the room, the soft beige walls soaked up the molten orange rays seeping through the half parted curtains. The woman's fingers rhythmically strummed over the goldenrod Egyptian cotton comforter, admiringly and peeled it down her body revealing an half-cut T-shirt and unflattering bubblegum pink undies.
She swung her feet over to the side of the bed and slid down off the queen-sized bed, her dainty feet touching the Brazillian cherry hardwood floors.
Silently, she padded past her bureau, running her fingertips along the matte black wood top, hanging a left to her closed bathroom door. The Widow stood there, her tattooed h