Comments Posted By mira

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trapped at work every day staring at computer screens. my eyes begin to burn. my back begins to ache. i feel like i’m wasting my life away on this inane object that sucks away my soul.

» Posted By Mira On 06.27.2016 @ 10:52 pm


Leaflets. Five folded pages that have to express an entire topic, or view, or product. A blend of colour, pictures and words.

» Posted By mira On 11.07.2015 @ 9:51 am


(tw: mention of child death)

he outlived all three of his sons.

one of them, the middle child, died as an infant. barely an hour outside the womb he succumbed to some kind of lung infection – cristian was ashamed to admit that he did not recall the exact details. that day and about a week after it were all a blur. what stood out very vividly in his mind was the shock of thick black hair on his son’s tiny head, and how very, frighteningly light he felt during the brief moments cris was allowed to hold him and say goodbye.

the other two both lived to adulthood, but it proved to be a short one. luca enlisted into the air force, where he ascended swiftly through the ranks, until his luck and skill ran out on him at the same time and his plane was shot down over enemy territory. for a brief while, cris had not even been sure they would be able to return the body to him, or what shape it would be in when they did.

marcel, his eldest, was lost long before death ever took him. his behavior turned erratic at around twelve years old; cris, fool that he was, attributed the mood swings, insomnia, anxiety, and isolation to puberty. it wasn’t until marcel was seventeen, when he started hearing voices and seeing things, that he was diagnosed with early-onset schizophrenia. cris kept him close, then. he made sure he took his medication, drove him to therapy himself, convinced him to move into the psychiatric ward full-time and visited him every other day. he liked to think he’d helped, a little. eventually, marcel would take his own life.

not long before he passed on, at around 28, he started seeing visions about luca, who had been buried about three years ago. he said that luca would sit by his side in full uniform, silent, and keep him calm when the other visions or voices (lessened but not eliminated by the medication) drove him to madness. the luca hallucination became the most consistent one, keeping him near-constant company. cris wondered if luca had been there when marcel finally— but there was no point in wondering that, or wondering if the vision of his brother had encouraged him, tried to stop him, or simply stood there and looked on as always, as if nothing unusual were happening.

» Posted By mira On 08.10.2013 @ 7:47 am


The next morning, the ground was hazy with a strange sort of vapor that had appeared overnight. It hovered inches above the ground, the same color and consistency as mist, except the grass beneath it was slowly turning brown and papery, and several squirrel carcasses had been spotted through its swirling white fingers.

Citizens were advised not to touch the vapor with their bare skin. They donned gloves, long sleeves and boots like it was the middle of dead winter and not early fall, and they attempted to go about their day as usual. Betty, in the Daily’s Sports department, complained loudly that if the poisonous vapor did not evaporate by this evening, she wouldn’t be able to wear her favorite blue pumps to her date with Luis (from the Society department). But, all in all, they’d each seen and endured far worse.

» Posted By mira On 07.29.2013 @ 8:31 pm


he pauses at the top of the steps to breathe.

it’s not anxiety; he forgot his inhaler in his bedroom three floors up. he can’t go back for it now. people have already spotted him and nodded in greeting. if he vanishes and returns minutes later, it will be noted. people will assume that he is, in fact, nervous, that he left to huddle in a dark, quiet corner somewhere (as is his wont) to gather himself, like a small child who cannot handle large crowds and– they will be mistaken. he is not even a little bit nervous.

from the top of the steep, luxurious staircase he can see the top of everyone’s head: sleek feminine coiffures and sparse silver combovers, ringlets and neat side-parts and glittering jeweled headbands. he spots his three sisters immediately, their paprika-red hair like tiny bright dots in the crowd. Clarissa sees him and makes a move like she means to march up the stairs and retrieve him, so he inhales one last time and starts down, sinking into the heaving mass.

» Posted By mira On 07.25.2013 @ 4:51 pm

he pauses at the top of the steps to breathe.

it’s not anxiety; he forgot his inhaler in his bedroom three floors up. he can’t go back for it now. people have already spotted him and nodded in greeting. if he vanishes and returns minutes later, it will be noted. people will assume that he is, in fact, nervous, that he left to huddle in a dark, quiet corner somewhere (as is his wont) to gather himself, like a small child who cannot handle large crowds and– they will be mistaken. he is not even a little bit nervous.

from the top of the steep, luxurious staircase he can see the top of everyone’s head: sleek feminine coiffures and sparse silver combovers, ringlets and neat side-parts and glittering jeweled headbands. he spots his three sisters immediately, their paprika-red hair like tiny bright dots in the crowd. Clarissa sees him and makes a move like she means to march up the stairs and retrieve him, so he inhales one last time and starts down, sinking into the heaving mass.

» Posted By mira On 07.25.2013 @ 4:51 pm


he’s more than a simple mechanic; he’s an engineer. but sometimes it’s nice, kneeling by an older model of the fighter jet he designed and making simple repairs. his hands know their way around an engine, and would be deft and sure in their movements even if he were asleep; blindfolded; concussed; bleeding from three places with a bomb ticking in the background – not to brag, or anything.

lately he’s been strung tight as a bowstring, ready to snap at any moment, what with the whole success/failure of an entire war riding on his skinny shoulders. but right now, despite the certainty that tomorrow will only bring new horrors, and despite the fact that if he looks up he’ll find himself not in his pristine lab but the under-equipped workshop they’d slapped together for him two weeks ago – right now, he’s… okay. he feels confident again, doing work that no one in the world can do as well as he can. and he’s okay. he will be okay.

» Posted By mira On 07.13.2013 @ 5:12 pm


(trigger warning: torture)

he gasped and spluttered when they pulled him up by the hair. tears mingled with the water streaming down his face and dripping all over his tattered clothing. before he had time to draw a solid breath, they pushed him back under, submerging him to the ears. he wished he could go limp, play dead like a frightened animal, but his body thrashed against his captor’s hold with what little strength it had left; he could not get his muscles under control. the sound of cruel laughter came to him muted, filtered through the roaring sound that could have been water or could have been his pounding blood.

» Posted By mira On 07.12.2013 @ 12:40 pm


they’d started building the bridge back when mona was still a girl, left in the care of her crippled uncle while her mother, father, and elder sister went to the riverbank early in the morning. they did not return until dusk, in the nick of time for dinner. when mona was old enough, she joined her family – and a good chunk of the village – in their tiresome, methodic work. mona came from a long and proud line of Builders, and had always known that she, too, would one day use her hands to create miracles from nothing. the bridge would be a beauty when complete, all bleached stone and smooth lines. it would reflect the sun in a way very reminiscent of the waters that thrashed beneath it. that day was still years off, for this particular river was the back of the Dragon that Slept Beneath the World, and it was immeasurably broad and sometimes, it expanded as if the Dragon was still growing, and the opposite bank would slip even further away. today, though, mona felt hopeful. no – it was not hope but exhilaration. she could almost taste the thrill of a finished project. for when she sat curled up on the jagged end of the bridge – like a tiny coin in the palm of a giant’s outstretched arm – she could make out, in the distance, a sliver of brilliant green land.

» Posted By mira On 06.22.2013 @ 12:10 am


the short-sleeved button-downs each prisoner was issued were their own kind of humiliation. there was no way to hide the scars, the sores, the damaged and thinning skin, the meager flesh. they were on display. the fact that they suffered this injury together was no comfort; instead, the sight of neighbors with hands just as thin and wrists just as bony as their own served only to remind them, in the absence of mirrors, who they were and where they were and what had become of them.

» Posted By mira On 06.15.2013 @ 6:31 pm


process by which a liquid material is usually poured into a mold, which contains a hollow cavity of the desired shape.
If used in Hollywood, then it could be the process by which actors are casted in a movie.

» Posted By Mira On 05.22.2013 @ 9:49 am


the people clung to whatever piece of the city they could hold: buildings, streetlights, fire hydrants. they formed human chains, gripping each other by the arms and legs. around them, cars rained down to the distant earth; pedestrians, too, people who hadn’t managed to find an anchor when the city rose up out of the ground, a great beast made of concrete and pavement. miles below, the hudson, harlem, and east rivers swirled violently around the beast’s ankles, sucked into the gaping hole it left behind, crashing into the atlantic ocean and making it roil. the beast did not roar: it had the screams of its thousands of citizens to herald its awakening, the shattering of glass, the groans of crushed buildings and crumpled streets as it stretched and bent its massive limbs. there was blood now in the whirling waters below, and more bodies shaken off by the moment. the beast did not roar; but it breathed its first breath, and the wind howled.

» Posted By mira On 05.17.2013 @ 9:11 am


her mother had told her that some things were considered life essentials, no matter how rich or how poor a person, no matter their faith or their politics or their education. soap, she said, with a flourish, was one of these unsung treasures. and the selling of it was a booming business. Melise and her mother, alone for near a decade now since her father had gone to war and not returned, kept themselves afloat and comfortable by producing (at impressive rates) tiny bars of soap: colorful, scented, cut into shapes like seashells and flowers, engraved with names. Soap with tiny bright beads inside them, soap that could be molded and shaped like clay, soap that could soothe minor aches and calm the mind. the two of them were industrious and self-sufficient. Melise and her mother needed no one, until the day Melise came home to find a body facedown in a pool of lye. Melise did not need to turn the body over to recognize her mother.

» Posted By mira On 05.10.2013 @ 10:21 am


“it’s all a mess, an absolute mess,” he blustered. anxiously, he smoothed down the ends of his white moustache, which were damp with sweat.

his assistant, a young, plump thing with mousy brown hair, shushed him. “there, now,” she said placidly, “I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

micah said, “no, it won’t.”

the assistant glared beadily at him, the sort of look you gave dogs before you smacked them with a rolled-up newspaper. the mayor, however, had not seemed to hear him speak. his attention had been caught by something outside his window. micah looked out, but they were on the fourth floor and he could see nothing but sky.

before either micah or his assistant could stop him, the mayor had waddled to the window.

“I don’t think that’s a good–” said micah.

the end of his sentence was swallowed by, in quick succession: the sound of a gunshot; glass breaking and raining down into the office; and the mayor toppling to the ground like a felled tree, a bullet in his forehead.

» Posted By mira On 03.25.2013 @ 3:10 pm


–to the silence with all of his might, waiting for the slightest rustle to break it. he hadn’t been this far outside the village since he first became a man and his father had taken him to see the edge of the world.

(he wasn’t meant to see it again until he was on his deathbed; if he ever went back to his village, they’d be furious.)

(he would never go back to his village.)

there were no grasses here to whisper at the touch of wind; nothing green at all, in fact. just dirt and dust and stone, and in the distance, becoming clearer with every step, the swirling white clouds that blanketed the abyss.

it was said that a single phoenix feather could endow a man with just enough flight to enable him to walk the clouds above the abyss, as if they were made of solid stone and not mist.

he had reached the world’s edge. against his better judgment, he tried to look down, but it made no difference: the clouds were thick and silky, and he could not catch even a glimpse of the distant ground.

(it was said that there was no ground, anyway, that the world dropped off into the void of space and if he looked below the cloud-cover he’d see only stars.)

he clutched the searing warm feather in his hand. then he took the deepest breath of his life, and he stepped off the edge of the world.

» Posted By mira On 03.24.2013 @ 5:36 pm


“and another thing,” she said, although she was losing steam, “a phone call would have been nice. a text message, even. a postcard? anything to let me know that you were goddamn alive and not buried in pieces somewhere.”

the years had changed him only a little. he had stubble he’d never have been able to achieve five years ago, and his face was more defined. there were new scars, too; she knew because she had memorized all his scars long ago, and the one at his collarbone and the other at the sharp corner of his jaw were unfamiliar. what had not changed was the way his features could arrange themselves into the most perfect expression of anguished guilt.

she did not allow his melodrama to interfere with her own in the slightest. when she stuffed a handful of socks into her bag, she did so with unnecessary force.

“I know,” he said, with a tone that told her he at least knew how inadequate the platitude was at this moment.

She did not respond. She finished packing, and then she said, “We can go now.”

But on the way out, she took his hand in hers. This time, she decided, he’d have to cut it off before she let him go.

» Posted By mira On 03.08.2013 @ 9:49 pm


his shrunken, weathered face tilted towards her. there was but a little sight left in his bleary eyes. still, the power of his gaze left her rooted to the spot.

when he laughed, his throat creaked like an ancient door.

her temper flared up. “I didn’t come here to be mocked,” she said, and added, in the best attempt at deference she could make, “sir.”

the Captain puffed out his chest like a wrathful bird. “He wasn’t mocking you,” he spat, “and you should know better than to speak to the Elder that way.”

she took a chance on the Elder’s all-but-finished sight to show the good Captain a rude gesture. he spluttered.

» Posted By mira On 02.20.2013 @ 4:40 pm


quickly, she grasped his hand and tugged him in to her side.

“I invited him,” she said. the Mage looked at her with obvious suspicion, but her smile was easy and fixed. he nodded curtly and swept away.

“Thanks–” the boy began. she did not let him finish. she used her grip on his hand to lead him sedately to the balcony. only after she had shut the glass double doors behind them did she allow herself to turn her scowl on him.

“What were you thinking?” she hissed. “They’ll kill you. Who let you in and why didn’t they stay with you?”

“No one let me in,” he said, barely bothering to keep his voice down. “I thought I could blend.”

She resisted the urge to shake him. The doors were only glass, after all, and anyone could be watching. Everyone could be watching.

“There is no blending here,” she told him. Her throat ached with the effort of holding back a scream.

» Posted By mira On 02.19.2013 @ 8:04 pm


growing. it starts with painful strains on your legs. then spreads to the arms. Then, comes emotional growing. The most painful kind. All expect you to be an adult before your time actually comes. growing pains.

» Posted By mira On 02.09.2013 @ 10:55 am


there’s a hot, aching knot of tension behind her breastbone. it’s been a long time since she’s faced something like this. for years she’d had something of a lucky streak, the scattered bits and pieces of her life falling neatly into place without her having to struggle with them as she normally did. it looked, though, like her good fortune had dried out, a trickling spring that disappeared in the summertime, leaving nothing but a narrow bed of shiny-smooth rocks. and she knew, even as she began packing up her essentials in a spare duffel bag, that her choice was really no choice at all. her path was carved in stone. the only options available now were to walk it with dignity or to be dragged along, screaming. and she screamed for no one.

» Posted By mira On 01.17.2013 @ 12:29 pm


they sorted him in with a group of similarly compromised youths, each with their own reasons to wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, but even among them he seemed… misplaced. the others were extraordinary in ways that were unmistakeable, ways that were visible and tangible even to the untrained. aida had /wings/, for heaven’s sake. and those with gifts that did not alter them physically made sure to flaunt their abilities, so that everyone knew who could breathe fire or manipulate plants or make doors open with their mind. but the boy was not so willing to show off. in fact, he acted as if he were unremarkable in every way (except in that he was burdened with the kind of misfortune that most people had to live very long to accumulate).

» Posted By mira On 01.03.2013 @ 8:51 pm


she took the stairs at a run, almost stumbled when they came to an abrupt end far sooner than she expected, and made up for her lost momentum by rolling into a somersault. stable again on hands and knees, she kept her body low to the ground as arrows whistled over her head, so close to shaving her scalp that her hair rustled. yards ahead of her, armed with bow and arrow of her own, Odette gave her a scowl which she took to mean something along the lines of, /if you’re going to slow me down you might as well get shot and put us both out of our misery/.

rather than scowl back, she did the mature thing and threw herself behind odette for cover. in the distance, a few heavy thuds were accompanied by a cessation of the firing. but just as io allowed herself to taste relief, a new squad picked up where the others had left off. odette swore quietly and began herding her backward.

» Posted By mira On 01.02.2013 @ 11:24 am


pilots come a dime a dozen nowadays. of course, the average skill level tends to the lower end of the spectrum, what with the fact that any twit with a quarter and a dream can get their hands on a ship. then there’s the lack of any real law enforcement in the outer stretches of space, away from the Colonies. pilots die off faster than mechanics can build ships, and there are junkyards the size of small cities where the wrecked remnants of their short careers wait for the next lout desperate enough to try and salvage them.

after him, the standard changes. he’s a veteran with an almost cliched devotion to rules and procedure, and he all but single-handedly trains the new generation of pilots. the trick of it is that his apprentices outlive the rest. before long, no one in the skies is there without a license they took straight from his hand.

» Posted By mira On 12.24.2012 @ 7:01 pm


and she knows before she even opens her eyes, knows it the way an animal knows when it is about to be eaten by something larger and faster than itself, that she is very far from home.

rewind. she doesn’t remember how it happened. she’d gone to sleep in her own bed.

had she locked the door?

she opens her eyes a crack and peers out through her lashes, though that helps her almost not at all. there’s a ceiling. it’s all metallic and shiny. it matches the smell of this place, sterile and pungent.

/it’s finally happened,/ she thinks hysterically. /i’ve gone and been abducted by aliens, and it’s karma for laughing at scott all these years./

sick of squinting at the ceiling and waiting for the situation to make sense of itself for her, she takes a deep breath and swings up and into a sitting position. her head protests immediately. pain lances through her skull, so sharp she thinks for a wild moment that an actual lance has stabbed through it. she touches her forehead, expecting blood, but her fingers rub over the taut synthetic material of a bandage. she shivers. she’s… been hurt, in some dreadful way. she realizes, suddenly, that she is perched on a makeshift cot, and that her head is not the only part of her body wrapped up in bandages. her entire left hand is dressed, her fingers immobile and clublike.

there is a window on the far side of her bare room. she stumbles over to it – her legs are like noodles, how long has she been asleep? there are bars over it, and she clings to them for balance with her good hand as she peers outside at a perfect scene of chaos.

» Posted By mira On 12.23.2012 @ 10:07 am


There’s no time. It’s just that big red hole in the ceiling. The escape route. You might wanna choose the stairs, but, you remember where that led you the last time. Just leave it. Run for the hole. Soon. Enough.

» Posted By Mira On 11.26.2012 @ 7:12 am


time passes by, i didn’t go to the meeting, i didn’t have a chance to tell her how i feel, i just wanted to sleep more, you did not come to dinner last night

» Posted By Mira On 11.23.2012 @ 3:14 am


The texture of his lips calmed my racing heart- I wasn’t in danger anymore. He would protect me from anything and everything.

» Posted By Mira On 09.01.2012 @ 3:05 pm


There is no such things as half. When something is half, it was never meant to be whole. Perhaps others don’t see it this way, but this is the only way I can reassure myself that life is still going on.

» Posted By Mira On 08.22.2012 @ 12:24 pm


I wouldn’t want to erase all the bad stuff that’s happened to me. The mistakes and the losses make us who we are. It’s easy to put on the personality you want to when your happy, but when things get hard, and when you loose something, that’s when you’re really yourself.

» Posted By Mira On 07.30.2012 @ 7:44 pm


There’s a cabinet in the corner of the kitchen in the green room. No one knows what’s in it. We can’t open it. It’s become this huge game among the cast to try and guess what’s in the green room cabinet.

» Posted By Mira On 07.28.2012 @ 2:57 pm

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