Winter97

1 "You got a light?" An unshaven man who smells somewhat like a bathroom walks up to me. I toss him the lighter, and he catches it awkwardly. Something about this man makes me sad, and I take a long drag on my cigarette. He finishes lighting his own and holds it out to me. "Keep it," I say. "Thanks, mate." "No problem." My American accent makes my voice sound heavy around here. I try to talk as little as possible. The man wanders away and leaves the alley. I watch people walk in the alley, and when I've finished my cigarette I make my way up the fire escape to my grimy apartment. I'm not sure why I bothered to climb down in the first plac

I build invisible towers on things that never were. I swim through a waterfall of thick blue ink. I'm a dead language. A bit of graffiti scrawled under a bridge twenty years ago and painted over several times.

"Dean! There's not going to be any pie left if you keep eating it all!" Mary Winchester admonished. Dean jumped. He had been trying to be subtle. "Sorry, Mommy. It's just so good." "I know, I know, but it'll be even better cooked." Mary smiled at him, absolutely radiant. Her hands were wrapped in oven mitts and an oversize apron covered her protruding stomach. She'd been having cravings for baked goods, and Dean was all too happy to help, or hinder, really. "I love you, Mom," he said. ~~ "Uh, Dean? You okay? you're crying." Dean woke up to Sam's concerned face. He blinked and looked around, taking in the ugly motel room. He was hit very

I broke my snow globe shards of glass flew everywhere cutting up my feet

When I was little, my head was filled with ideas and songs. Now I've grown into a cliche. Saddened girl, wet coffee grounds in a puddle on the floor, invisible scars take forever to heal

His palace was beautiful; shimmering marble columns and breathtaking views. Towers climbed beyond the clouds. Architectural styles merged together as different additions were built onto it, resulting in an eclectic appearance that confused some and astounded others. Some went running as fast as their feet could carry them, and some were drawn closer, surprising themselves. Sherlock Holmes had spent his entire life building the mind palace, annexing and adding whole wings and parlors and floors and towers devoted to different subject matter. It was a cold place, filled with knowledge but no people, no body heat to melt the ice that gathered i