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Losing FortunaMost people have no idea what a fortune looks like. Most people say it's a collection of illustrations on cards or a gigantic manor filled with nothing but the memories of the grandest adventures. Either that or the cliched mountain of gold. More ironically, however, is the fact that not many people know how much that same fortune is worth. Oh, a mountain of gold will certainly get one a seaside castle, two if properly negotiated, but so rarely is a fortune is gained by a simple task or exchange, and even more elusive is a fair trade for such a gain.Losing Fortuna by AnUnfoldedPaperTiger
If the sucker that had given Notch the map and buckskin hadn't calculated his losses by now, he was as far from fortune as a kerosene leak in a coal mine.
'I should've just buried that pick in the old geezer's skull! Could've given the poor guy a break and myself a good laugh!' Notch considered.
His makeshift kayak teetered feverishly between the stone ramparts of the underground and the moat of darkness below as its captain eased his way
The Journey of SongHow do I sing? Myself and others haveThe Journey of Song by AnUnfoldedPaperTiger
Demanded a harmony to the melody;
An answer to a question. Perhaps I may
Before I begin, the song must precede me.
Sometimes it rocks my arms, legs and chest
In tune with velvet swells or gently raises me
In the symphony's opening
From there the storm begins.
Fire burns with golden fury.
Silvery raindrops fall from an ashen overcast,
Exploding at the sound of black thunder and the flash
Of white lightning. Magnificence strikes the stage!
I howl with the wind.
Rage serenity, beauty, madness.
Stardust, moonlight, firestorms, blizzards.
I take all of them and call upon their power.
One by one, they energize, flaring and bursting
With the zenith of the sun.
Empyrya, Inferno, Asphodel and beyond.
Traveling across the planes, I continue my ascension.
I race the melody,
Meeting its challenge as I
Loop, whirl, spiral and spin
Into the trance that enraptures me.
I cannot break from it. It is not my desire to.
The melody, however, begi
ReroutedAnother seventy-two characters, another seventy-two grand. Each and every keystroke only lead the conductor of cybernetic calamity towards greater archives of digital riches and rewards. Tap-tap-tap and up went an idle copy of a firewall’s coding, a program completely identical to the original, but with so many more wounds to open. A simple six-digit code and one could take an electric vacuum to the account and drag away every cent they could find. Just a single perk that came with the ever-rewarding occupation of cyber-smuggler.Rerouted by AnUnfoldedPaperTiger
And today? Today had been an absolutely prodigious day for cyber-smuggling. Late Saturday had arrived early, coming ‘round the clock at a record time of 4:45. By the time the global alarms went off, every man-operated cyber-surveillance system had been dropped in favor of the raising of glasses and the imbibing of the night. Entire ethereal warehouses of nothing but bank accounts, shipping routes, shareholder stocks and top-secret information block
Playing with a WallYou ever tried playing tennis against a brick wall?Playing with a Wall by AnUnfoldedPaperTiger
It's about as time wasting as an MMO, MMO being
My meaningless opposition against a green-plastered plate
And a three line smile. No pick up games are played with
A brick wall. No games, set, matches; nothing. Just a yellow
Meteor pounding and pounding away at the surface of a planetoid.
I usually go until I'm bored, at which point I wonder
Where to go. And so I decide to go back to the wall.
The Magician - PrologueThe bar stinks of stale cigar smoke and spilt alcohol. The light is dim, barely scattering dull yellow flickers on the grimy walls as tinny melodies from the jukebox mingle with hushed dealings and growled threats. It's not a nice place, but it's not a bad place. It's even a good place for those who know the comforting arms of the gloom.
There's a man at a table, black hair and heavy coat blending in with the backdrop, one who has spent the last half-decade dancing in the shadows of Europe. He's like an artist in his own way, one who works with the whims and frailties of human greed rather than the paints or the clay. But rumour has it now that he's leaving, melting away. Which is what brings the other man.
The second man, pale, flits at the counter, barely a spectre in the murk. He doesn't belong, comes almost close, but doesn't. He stands on the other side of the scene, after instead of with. And he's after that first man there, before it's too late, because it's been too long alr
RhythmbreakerOn the first day of school I rode the bus with all the other children from my town
There was a rhythm on that bus. The driver would drive to the next neighborhood and stop near a kid's house. The student would then say goodbye to her friends and calmly walk home. It was a constant rhythm. Drive, stop, walk. Drive, stop, walk.
There was a little boy on that bus, no older than nine, who would always break that rhythm. The bus would stop, and he would leave without saying a word to anyone. The moment his feet touched the pavement though, he would run as if the devil himself were on his heels.
Every day as the bus pulled out, I would watch the boy run. One day, I caught a glimpse of his face. He didn't have the gleeful face of a child caught up in the vision of how he would spend his next hours of freedom, as I expected. Instead, he set his jaw in determination and anger and maybe even a little bit of fear. He didn't run like most children; he ran with mission.
As the months went by, the l
The knife dragged down her spine, pressure being applied; enough to make her scream out in pain, but not hard enough to pierce through the skin. If it was to be dug into the skin, the one behind the knife, the one who was wielding it, wouldn't be able to gain control. Wouldn't be able to stop from digging it so deep, it would kill her. A smirk formed on the lips of the holder, just playing on the lips like it was no one's business. Slowly, the knife was dragged away from the young girls back, she struggled against the ropes that had her bound to the bed in the strange house as the psycho laughed loudly, the evil cackle filling the room and taking away her breath. She screamed again, tears leaking out of her eyes and flooding down her soft cheeks. The person slowly turned the girls head to face her, though she couldn't look into the eyes of the monster, not only because her vision was blurry, but because the person had a dark black hoodie on. Slowly, the dark black figure dug its nails