miblover334

Scene I. Markbeth’s castle.   Enter Wadequo and Fleabuscus   Wadequo. Son! What are you doing awake so late?   Fleabuscus. Oh, I...uh...   Wadequo. Do you know what time it is?! Fleabuscus. (Meekly) Is it Adventure Time? Wadequo. (Sighs) I'm assuming you've had as much trouble sleeping as I've had?   Fleabuscus. I keep having these dreams, dad. Something's been bugging me, like something really bad is gonna go down- (A sound) Wadequo. (Interrupting) Who's there? (Draws sword)   Enter Markbeth   Markbeth. A friend.   Wadequo. You haven't gone to bed yet? I think the king went to bed at least an hour ago. He was in such a good mood to

The rosary beads were cold on his fingertips. The old bricks of the church smelled of mold, corroded by the decades of winds breezing up from the Loch. “Oh, my God, I am heartfully sorry for having offended Thee," he began reciting. He rolled the bead along the edge of his finger. The words spilled from his lips, memorized but still genuine. He lifted the stick until the votive candle finally breathed flame. “- and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishment, but most of all because I have offended Thee, my God…” “Garrett,” a voice called from behind him. “- Who is all good and deserving o

    Theo knew there was something unusual about the operation before they even arrived at the house. Peaceful negotiations. Since when did the agency make peaceful negotiations with monsters that already had a body count? Even if it was only an alleged body count? A team should have been sent in with firearms to apprehend the owner of the house and take him back to a facility.    “You need to relax.” Ortiz looked perfectly at ease, not that it was anything new. Theo didn’t attempt to question her about the shadiness of the operation; she had already shut him down more than once. She stayed facing the front door of the house

“I'm not saying they're not killing each other,” I explain. “I can see from the figures in front of me that they're killing each other. What I'm saying is that unless you can broaden your demographic, we're never going to meet our targets for this quarter. This is supposed to be a world war, Belgium and the Netherlands isn't going to cut it.” War squawks at me down the phone. It's hard to hear him over all the screaming in the background, but frankly I'm not interested in his excuses, I need to see results. “What do I expect you to do? Do your job! Think outside the box! Look, Famine is in Europe right now, why

I read a story once about a man who had six PhD's in six different fields. I don't remember what fields they were, but I was impressed - that much I remember. As I read on, it became clear that the reason he found so much success was his severe OCD. He was so consumed by the disorder that he read each page of each textbook hundreds of times. And I remember thinking it was crazy, insane, psychotic. But I guess it worked for him. So I forgot about the man with the six PhD's and the torturous perfectionism that some call "disorder." Until I Met Candyce Karolyn Ethanson. It was fourth grade and I called her names behind her back because she h

 Ginny always had a penchant for destroying things. At the age of four, she was introduced to blocks (perhaps a devastating mistake on her preschool teacher’s part.) The brightly-colored wooden shapes held a certain fascination for her. While her classmates took a simple childish glee in building things up and knocking them down again, Ginny looked on their ways with disdain. She would carefully create an elaborate structure, and pull out all the key pieces until only a bare framework was left, shivering on the edge of collapse. Then she would tap on just one, or blow on it with her mouth, and the whole skeleton would come crumbling d

"Well, now that we're through with the pleasantries, Mr. Daniels, I must ask: Why is it that you want to die?" Joseph Daniels sighed and slumped down in his seat, the picture of unkemptness. His face looked tired, with large bags underneath his eyes and at least three days' worth of stubble. His hair was a mess, his clothes were disheveled. He seemed to exude an aura of despair. He surveyed the room he was in, which was quite his opposite: neat, orderly, unremarkable. Blank, white walls, some filing cabinents, three windows looking out on downtown. He was sitting in a plain, wooden chair in front of a plain, wooden desk with merely a fake h