LiteraryKitty

-----------------------***Gears of War 2 Spoilers abound***------------------ I close my eyes and I see Maria. Not my beautiful smiling wife. Not the one that I fought through fourteen years of endless blood and guts to find. I see the Maria all my fighting, all my searching, all my hopes were rewarded with. The one that was an emaciated walking corpse that shuffled out of her prison of a holding tube. The one with dead eyes and welts from the lobotomy scars trailing across her once perfect skin. I can still remember the rotting smell she emanated as I held her, as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. My stomach still aches with the f

Tall green walls lined the labyrinthine structure, the cream colored tiles below her feet and the similar off white panels above nearly spotless in the halogen light. The entire scheme put her in mind of those sappy little saccharine postcards or children’s drawings of the perfect little farm house with horses and chickens wandering around in the field beside the ideal structure. While behind the crayon drawn windows you knew that a family closer knit than a new pair of mittens were enjoying the joys of their every breath in their perfect world. She tried not to snort. Whatever could be said about this place it was far from a farm house,

Yowling. Screaming. There was a plethora of sounds cascading into one lump sum that was best described as: Sheer Chaos.  The din rattled the windows of one of the more reasonably sized warehouses in St. Canard’s  infamous outskirts. This particular locale was practically a landmark for those with questionable morals (or more appropriately... none at all whatsoever thank you very much). It had ben aptly titled “Malicia’s Warehouse”, because creativity runs low in the general criminal mind when faced with a task such as this. It was known to be where the demonic bombshell could hook you up with anything from liquor to... wel

 Er… Spoilers? Maybe? Possibly? I don’t know, nothing that hasn’t been a part of main arc already I think.  Mostly a character exercise to get back into the uncanon mind of… one particular character. Roleplay has certainly taken me back a few notches in that respect. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. ********************** My name is Duncan Glomgold, I do not have an accent. I do not wear kilts. I do not resemble my uncle in the least which is more than fine by me. I do not go by this name often as it seems to distract people and put a different spectrum of expectations on me and when my position is seen in the

**Timeline note** This most likely takes place after Doubts and Doppelgangers and early on in Trials of the Hero. Written as a Birthday gift for xebbie ********** Keep busy. That was the plan. Keep busy. Keep your mind off what was probably happening that you were supposed to stay out of.  Don’t dwell on the way he’d looked when you’d said good-bye. Friends believed in each other… and he was going to believe in Drake.  No matter how much it made his stomach twist in terror to think of what he was sure to be facing off with… maybe even right now. Launchpad McQuack looked toward where he knew t

The door opened to illuminate the house with the light of the world outside only to be drowned in darkness again as it closed. Her keys tinkled against the counter as she tried not to listen to the saturated silence of the house. Everything was alright, she reminded herself. The monster was dead, her husband was alive, and her children (though currently missing) were in excellent hands. Her bottom lip started quivering and she squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking through her lashes. She wanted them back, her babies would be safe now... she wanted them back and then she’d shove the next time traveling device she saw right down its bearer

Her feet slapped against the pavement splashing the murky water out in great arches. The rain had started again and it soaked her to the bone, her hair was slicked to her head and her tattered dress clung to her, saturated with the downpour. She wouldn’t stop running, she told herself, she wouldn’t.  Her heart was banging against her ribcage, her legs burning from her frantic sprinting, the rain water was blurring her vision, and her lungs ached. Keep running… keep running… The alleys around her had been populated with eyes that she didn’t dare to glance at. A few hands had grasped for her as she bolted past but she

It was another beautiful spring day in suburbia. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the birds were singing and on Avian way… Darkwing Duck was fuming. “-AND do you know what he screamed when he pushed the perpetrator into the police squad’s trip line?”  The hero spat angrily as he tossed his hat on the kitchen table with a scowl. “ ‘Spoon.’ Like THAT’S supposed to make any-” The conversation was interrupted by a snort of laughter that was quickly covered up with a cough. The masked mallard turned an unamused glare on his teenage daughter who struggled desperately to look like the sound had co

He stood perfectly still with his eyes closed. Predicting the future… predicting his success, drinking in the triumph he had already procured. The screams carried down the hall and bounced along the catacomb like structure of the subterranean lair he operated out of. There was a sweetness to the sound. A maddening romance to the feeling he got when he knew he was winning. Vaguely aware that she had already been there, he felt her small hands slide admiringly down the muscles of his back before they glided around his sides to trail along his abs. His eyes opened slightly to stare straight ahead as a cheek nuzzled his back speaking it’