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DancingMiranda spun faster and faster until she could no longer tell if her feet were part of her body. They were there, moving, but their constant pounding on the hard earth numbed them and made them cease to exist. She felt her soul being slowly prised away from her, drawn to the edge of her being and waiting for the time when it would be ripped from her flesh and soar into the hostile night. Miranda shuddered. Not if I can help it. That was the thing which scared her most about this ritual. The possibility of losing her soul. The only way to hold on to it was to keep dancing. She continued to dance, feeling the wildness within her gradually awaken. She heard herself laugh, the ethereal sound swirling around her and making her feel giddy. With a deep breath Miranda closed her eyes and opened her mind. Beyond stretched a foreboding blackness, an abyss of evil and danger. She shrunk back from its crushing power, like thick cloying smoke trying to choke her. Instead, Miranda concentrated on th
That GirlShe's a rebel, though you'd never know it
She's as quiet as a mouse and as deadly as a tiger.
She's learned some lessons and she knows how to use them, so beware.
She's a misfit, a non-conformist
Sitting alone on the bus listening to music no-one else has heard of, oblivious to everything except for the fantasy novel on her lap. The one with the clever, pretty heroine she wishes she could be like.
She's a dreamer, but not an actress.
She's ambitious, but lost. Her dreams are wild and wonderful, but trapped within her abyss of shallow thoughts. She doesn't know how to set them free, so she ignores them.
She lies awake all night, thinking, hoping. She knows it's futile, but she knows she must believe in something, or no-one will believe in her. One day her beliefs will catch up with her and choke her, but she's too naïve to see it.
She's a mess, but she seems so together.
She cries in the dark and dances in the daylight.
Arrives fifteen minutes early for every class, her eyes wide a
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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