Wordplay: The Reading Spot

“Every one is really responsible to all men for all men and for everything.” - Fyodor Dostoyevsky Rafe boarded the train just before the compartment doors shut. He breathed a sigh of relief, but only momentarily, and hurried further to find the debriefed compartment. This time, unlike his previous assignments, not only did Rafe not know the face of his target, but he was also late. The target was to get off at the next station, which was only thirty-four minutes away. The odds were against him, and he was not very happy about it.  Having a rather modest, yet relatively respectable record of eight accomplished assignments, with no breaches, if Rafe were to botch this particular mission, he wouldn't be spared from being treated as a beginner's luck-riding rookie. His promotion being on the line certainly alleviated none of this pressure. Compartment 38...40...and there, Rafe reached the 42nd compartment, as mentioned in his briefing, with thirty minutes left. Rafe scanned his vic...

"A wounded animal will bite and claw." -Mimi Matthews I'm running as fast as I can. All I know about where I'm headed is that it's far from here; far away from that house. Far from those four walls of suffocating hell, far from those dreadful needles and the shimmering acids that followed... And certainly far from him. It's easy to lose track of time when you're kept in a square cell, far into the woods, cut off from the rest of the townsfolk and the diurnal village affairs. I wondered if my friend Polly was looking for me, determined to set me free. She probably was, given that I'd do the same for her. My freedom, or what minuscule tinge was left of it, never exceeded the dining hall of that house. He'd kept me locked in that room, with a bucket, a pale excuse of a mattress, a lantern and not a window in sight. It was easy to forget humans even existed, until he would occasionally break in with bland and tasteless meals. He spoke harshly and coldl...

S.O.S. *** Claire is seated outside the manager's room, flipping through the pages of 'The Daily Affairs'. She's already read the day's edition, but having nothing particularly better to do, she decided to give it a re-read. She's not much of a 'politics' enthusiast, nor is she into 'sports'. The national and international affairs are the only sections that catch her eye. Now, the newspaper isn't a 'happy' read, so Claire wasn't expecting it to be all rainbows or sunshine. Still, she felt the shivers caress her as she read the increasing number of med. student suicides; most of them occuring due to research failures. She has always considered herself to be among the lucky ones, since she, once upon a time, wished to enter the research field herself. Luckily, just one month into it, she'd decided it was too much, and too unbalanced, for her liking. Thus, each new 'research failure' added more fear into her mind, because...

"I made you something special..." Woken by the Feast day sun Its scorching warmth of joy Matches our happy beaks As we move towards the field. Master has set a lovely banquet Studded with seeds and delicious "pests" We don't know how to thank Master, but We rush to relish, instead. In between gorging sessions I glance at the younglings And my friends  And smile at their smiles "How delicious!", ones' said "A feast for sure!", said another's A few hours hence, Master joins us and Adds to the shine with a staff that glitters; Its gleaming silver matches The harvested rain. I'd stare at it longer, but Master ushers us out Into his chariot's carts  We barely fit, but Master  Isn't frowning, so we don't complain. An hour later Master stops the chariot And leads us into smaller carts On a moving belt. It's been a fun ride so far But Master wishes to make it better! We oblige and settle into the carts Which begin moving; ...

To love like a psycho... I guess we're crying now, the sky and I. I let my own tears fall onto the ground, as the heavens drench the whole world in theirs. I do no such thing, however, for I dwell in my despair alone. I haven't told anyone yet; but the sky does the opposite, every time. How desperate! It hopes for the world to share its sorrows, and attempts to do so forcibly, almost. Its tears cascade onto the faces below, regardless of whether they smile or frown. They drench a grieving man such as myself, so it would be far too ambitious for me to expect empathy from them. I used to love the rain; it used to be my happy place. I could dance in it all day, not having a care in the world. I used to think of it as me helping the skies forget their sadness. But when I cried, the sky only cried harder. I used to think it was because the sky felt remorse for having to see a friend feel so low, but I've come to doubt that view. Maybe its because the sky wanted the world to see ...

When the knives bond... "I couldn't help it, Dad. He triggered me.", said the thirteen year old boy, Jon. "And how you control your reactions determines type of man you'll become." "But-....it isn't fair." "Such is life. Welcome to the real world, kid." Jon felt his trigger growing yet again, and he tried using his fist-clenching method to overcome it. His mother would be upset if he had another outburst. In fact, the whole point of this camping night-out, she'd said, was to help him calm down, and reconcile with his father. "Pass me that can of sand, will ya'?" Andrew said to his son, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his head. He'd been at it for three hours now...finding the perfect place, the perfect materials. He wanted the momental monument to be perfect; just like his. He grabbed the can from Jon, tipped off its lid, and started pouring the grains into the foundation pit. "Watch, Jon. The light...

One man's loss is another's gain... Up and above where we couldn't see Lay a whole world of opportunity; When down on the land, we feared the end of time In pride and glory lived the ones of the skies. These fair spirits lived simple lives Lives so fair, they didn't ever die They ignored us, and ignorance is bliss And that's how they missed our petty conflicts. Yet one day, all of this changed A young and pure spirit glanced down at our pains She proposed to others to intervene And help us fix the flaws she'd seen. The clouds were divided by the saw of opinion Some chose the spirit, others chose their pride The others saw us for what our acts were And chose to let us little sinners die. The sky erupted in a storm of chaos And darkened with the essence of negative thought Due to disagreements, the spirits became us And so, a violent path, in vain, was sought. Along with peace, hope was shed that day Who won the fight? Not one can say; But as their blood poured do...

  Note: The countries referred to or mentioned in this story are entirely fictitious and weren't used with the intent to hurt any person's sentiments or to target any particular group of people. III. Disclosure It was a special night. Nina and Antin's parents had cooked their favorite dishes for dinner; and it most certainly suited the occasion: the twins had finished their school year, Mrs. Gregory had been approached by a new client, and Mr. Gregory considered being alive a reason enough to celebrate. Especially due to the fact that they'd managed to be unharmed throughout the war, and today was the day it'd all end. That night, dinner was attended by four humble smiles, each ready to begin a new phase in their life. 'This dinner was worth the wait', young Antin thought to himself as he was about to attack his borscht. The past few weeks were exhausting for the family; they had to live in hiding. Brown paper plastered their windows, bullet storms curbed th...