kindofamazing

Away from the Palace of Wu, situated high in the mountains, was the Palace of the Empress, who ruled over half of Ninjago. The young woman was unknown by any other name, and kept her face hidden behind a mask of paint, red and white, exaggerating her mouth and shielding her from her true self. She was very young, but spoke with wisdom beyond her years. The Empress held court daily, for the lesser people of her kingdom to come to her and ask her for help or advice. She sat on her throne on a raised dias, and let each man or woman be brought before her to speak in privacy from the rest of the waiting citizens. One day, a white-haired man was le

It has been said that destiny is like the flow of the river downstream: constant, eternal, and unwavering. But that is not entirely true. The course of destiny was never so smooth as a river's course, and never so calm. Destiny was like rainfall. How the drops would collide in air, no one could be certain. Their wind-driven dance in storms is never set in stone. Chaos abounded in the miles between cloud and ground, going off course and then realigning, scattering only to group together again… no one can say where a droplet will go once it is free of its cloud. But, of all the things in the world to be sure of, it is this: Rain will alw

The year is 1927.     Aces April has her heart in her throat and fear in her hand as she peers around the corner, looking into the dark gap of the open garage door.  The air reeks of sharp gasoline and spilled drinks.  The first step inside and she can pick out the subtle hints of blood.     On her left, rows of cars and nondescript trucks are waiting for their morning rides to river beds and speakeasies.  Along the right wall, made of ruddy bricks, piles of moonshine is shattered, empty bottles lying cracked and destitute, opening to the heavens.  Bullets are buried in the wall.  The light bulbs overhead are blown out.  Aces creeps along

Dave ran his fingers over the table, and paused.  In his mind, the only perceived word to describe how the table felt was worn.  Not old, or soft, or even wooden.  The table just felt worn. It was so simple.  But he didn't believe it. There was something else behind the wood, behind the words.  Behind everything, there was that unmistakable simplicity that spoke, in pulsating tones, of Cassandra. What had she said about this table?  About the narration she said aloud as she showed it to him?  "You wouldn't understand the whole story if I just told it to you.  You have to feel it for yourself.  Trace the grains with your eyes, feel the worn