T-kun Unusual Wordsmith III

“I’m glad you came through to help, but at this moment, it’s best you three to head on home. Your friend needs rest and when she comes through, hopefully she’ll come back. Until then, go home.”

As those words slip from the nurse, as he pushed the young ones out the room, leaving space for an officer to head in.

Parkland’s mother called out to them to come along, same tone as she said before when she wanted answers. It was going to be a long day.

Zam gave a glance over his right shoulder, worry on his face for his sister, but swallowed any words of discomfort because of it.

Once outside in the parking lot, with the hiss of the sliding doors shut, the kids finally meant up with Mrs. Monkey.

“Nice to see you again, Kate? Though, like this, a little not all that shocking.”

Kate gave a small grin, with the fondness in mind.

“I wasn’t thinking that much as well, but oh well. She’s going to be okay, right?”

With a smile, sadness not hard to miss: before adding with a thoughtful tone. “Yes, in the morning, she’ll be okay. And hopefully a little better adjusted with everything.”

With quickly unlocking the car’s doors, they sat in.

“Okay, what are you kids up to? Really, you have been spinning around me for awhile.” She stated, glancing over to Kate, with speaking the last bit to her. “You no doubt understand to what I am speaking about do you?”

Kate just shrugged, looking to the boys for some help.

Zam just looked out the window, lost to everything.

Alan looking at his hands, folded over each other in his lap, sitting the middle, doing his best to not take in anything. Which meant the prying eyes the elder woman in front of him, frowning like a smaller child, he knew better to become.

“It’s just a game, mom, and Park got a little bang-up. We’ll be careful, promise.”

“I’ll believe that, when this doesn’t become a regular thing. Right now, we’re going home and taking Kate home. Understand?”

The three nodded their heads.

“Kate, did you move to a new home or is it the one before.”

“Yep, no one ever fully bought it and it was mostly rented. So, yeah . . . things those are always things.”

“Right . . . okay.”

The End.

Wandering blindly she did, using the smooth wallpaper walls to guide her through the house, coming to the kitchen finally. Gliding with care, with her fingers in search, with nothing but the darkness around, for the handles of draws, choosing not to be brash, blinded with hast in finding the knife box in a rush; nor wanting to lose a finger. Luckily missing it, and finding the spare chargers and a flashlight.

 

Giving a quick shake for that it wasn’t empty, with a faint rattle like a snake, turn it on. Parkland finally having some kind of light to see, though the creepy shadows that came when having just one light, was something anyone would love not to deal with.

 

But she shook it off, aiming the light on her path for the stairs. Quietly calling for the boys that she was coming, and hopefully they stayed where they were.

 

When having nothing of any reply back, besides a crash of a lamp or a desk as an answer, Parkland quick step herself up the stairs, not noticing the loud creaks that came from the stairs has she headed upward.

 

Zoning the light here and there, with the patters of rain, gusts of winds, and the creaks of the wooden floor was her only noise within the household. Seeing the bony, finger-like branches of the trees clattering with the windows, a quick lightning strike consumed the area in superb light.

 

Or the small screams from a nearing room, as Park reached closer to it. Not thinking for a moment, open it, shining the light in, calling for the boys.

 

The only response back from an army of pillows; varies of toys; and a shoe.

 

“You’ll never take us alive, Man in Red!” A voice shouted right when the shoe was casted way at the door, missing much, and soaring over the person at the door.

 

“I doubt the Man in Red is the least of your worries.” Park grumbled when having the flashlight aimed where the voice came from, seeing Alan using his bed as a fort, who gave a sheepish smile back and a wave of surrender, as was soon to see that Zam was nowhere in sight. Which Park quickly asked Alan if Zam was under the bed with him?

 

Alan pointed to the closet, which where Park rushed to. Upon; finding Zam, curled up with his knees up to his face, protecting him, arms wrapped around to hold his legs close, with his body shaking when another strike of lightening came.

 

“Zam . . .”

 

Park was cut when another strike came, but it was enough to tell Zam his sister was there for him, as he quickly latches onto her, almost knocking her down, but she was able to keep standing. Using her free hand to calm him, usher Alan over to them, telling him to hold Zam’s hand, as she hold his, as they left the room, going back down stairs.

 

Stopping when the strikes came, less of a chance of falling for whenever Zam froze from the sound. Finally making down stairs, back to the living room, placing both boys on the couch, grabbing the throw blanket that rested on the back of the couch onto them, sparing a moment that she would be back in moment, not giving neither of one them to whine about it, as she left the room.

 

Nearing the opening way to the hall, glancing back to the boys, shining more on Alan, who somewhat looked her way, wrapping an arm around Zam, who was still shaking.

 

“Watch him, Alan; I’m going to get some candles, okay?”

 

“Don’t take too long.” Alan called back; his tighten when Zam gave another whine from the loud electric hiss outside in the punitive gale.

 

“I’ll try not to.”

 

To Be Continued . . . ?

Three Times

What! What! What!
No! No! No!
Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Ow! Ow! Ow!
Third time is a charm.
That was the saying back then.
One and two fail.
But thrice is higher.
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Some say it’s all lies.
But is to say what is luck?
Rivers! Rivers! Rivers!
That is how life is.
Never ending as its flows on.
Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!
Slap! Slap! Slap!
You’ll have your day.
Not now but soon.
Hang in there man a bit more.
I will! I will! I will!
I know I can! I know I can!
I KNOW I CAN!
Never stop the will.
It’s yours to hold on to.
Your not weak.
But! But! But!
No more and just do it.

Rush in a whirl of winds, quick steps lightening away through the forest, nothing to a grey streak in a sea of passing spring. To a setting sun, where composed colors change, as one would do so in brushing yesterday’s grime away, a lighter shade is seen, a pallid hue remains.

Oak and pine, standing tall, wetter to a darker brown bark to almost black as soot. In a glimpse, the grey streak comes and goes, rushing through afforest, of the maze that the woodland was.

As in calling the spirit of a great wolf lives within, a guardian; a faithful comrade to a prince’s grave mark. They work as one. For when the forest is in trouble, they act upon, not for gold or pride, but all to spare the shed of innocence blood to spill.

Years and years, they do what they can. In hopes none other, share what they carry on their shoulders.

That a once fear beast, massacred because of human nature, the wolf of one enemy; is every ones, due to never leave the woods, until spirit gives up or the wild’s elements level everything into nothing, but a crater in the ground.

The young prince’s tale was no different, hated and belittled; young minded to austerity of the world, blinded as the queen before his time that once said sweets were better than simple crumbs.

In death the boy and wolf, died by man, one of stranger, the other of blood; matters of kinship is toss aside, in the hopes for a better future, and those that seem as a threat in stopping that new world order from coming, must be handle, carefully or hastily, in turn comes in blood and an unmark grave or two.

The fates of the two, boy and animal, together by that cruel fate, never to leave, holding upon anew of another, wounded but breathing; near the stomach a growing spot of red blossoms slowly. Golden hair slicks tightly to the young maiden’s head, eyes formed a slit to see with hesitates of what was going on, only those woods were there and changing from day to night, with a airless wheeze, she sleeps.

The tattered clan prince and sullen tinted shade wolf doing everything they can, hoping this one soul won’t share their fate. The wolf rushes onward, never looking back or slowing down, being nothing but a ghostly blur, just as woodland’s pixies souls echo of.

With the prince, looking over his shoulder, in fear and awareness, of being follow was not something to brush off too easily, to that as scatter leaves from a fresh fiery tone autumn shower.

Worst even more so, as taken in the young maiden, the bond of her to the woods, made his face only grim more; kinship had struck again, on someone who he once trust for again, attack that of someone who look up to him in a golden light.

Seeing her again, forms a sad smile on his lips, with his grip tighten, wither of hollowness call to the wolf to hurry, as the red spot grows, the thinning of trees happened in passing hours.

In failure, learning is the outcome; for a wolf to trust, a prince to open his eyes, a girl to know her brother never really left her for what words spoke; can only mean to much, without proof.

And in proof, within the woods, the prince with his friend, protect, as they ride on through the woods, as one.

Prince Ivan on the Grey Wolf by Viktor Vasnetsov

Made in the year; 1889

Location when painted; Moscow, Russia

It may feels as a dumb reason, but coming down to it, it’s a reason not let love between two last.
The outcome of what could happen is the likeness grows from lust to love.
It sounds wonderful, but to make forever, with bagged . . . no . . . there will be no words of that fate.
Maybe if that one didn’t have it, it could work.
Shallow, sounding to a key as so.
But worth it!
To hold onto that person, without the extra lines of bloods that came before today’s love.
Those words would come, saying them proudly, bells and all.
But they can’t be part of the picture.
Countless questions always repeat when making sure, when the bond goes farther than norm.
Do you have a good or bad relationship with them?
Are they still around?
Are they on their knees to you to have grandkids?
Do you ever wish to see them again, after being apart for so long?
Are they nearby within walking, driving, or plane ways away?
They might sound heartless, but they have got to be asked.
Just to be sure!
I want to spend the rest of my life with this person, who makes my heart stutter to live, but if they have them of what could someday be mine as well.
Dumb and find anew of love, with extra bags.
Out of seven billion people, there got to be a few.
I’ll find the right love, with one less thing to worry about.
The heart wants what it wants, but it doesn’t want that!

Soceraphobia
Fear of Parents-in-law

Sex

Breath.
Breath.
Let the pain,
Just slip out.
Let it all go,
Away.
Like it never,
Happen.
You can do,
This.
Yes you can.
Take it slow.
Act like this,
All a dream.
You’ll wake up,
And see it all,
Gone.
Yes you will.
It’ll be all,
Over.
See how the other,
Is doing the same.
That one wants,
It to end out,
Ok.
No pain.
No shame.
It’ll be over and,
Everything goes back,
As it was.
Never have do it,
Again.
Ok,
Be ready for the,
Next roll of pain.
Rushes in.
But rushes right,
Out.
Soon it will be nothing,
But a walk in the,
Park.
It’ll be over.
Hang in there.
Nothing bad will happen.
The pain will stop.
Breath.
Breath.
You can do it.
Hang in there,
Just a bit more.
You can do this.
Watch the other,
Do the same.
Take the time.
You have all,
The world to,
Yourself.
You can do it.
Hang in there.
Over the next years,
To come.
You’ll be a master,
At it.
“Want to do it again?”
Wait for it.
“I don’t see the harm.”

If there is anything to like about this guy,
Is how a username can be just as awesome to what his works are equal . . .
Don’t believe,
Then you haven’t seen what this guy can do.

But for one thing you should know,
That he’s not any who . . .
Or a when,
Or a what,
He cares only as why . . .

Not in what he does,
But why he does it,
For what reasons is only for,
One thing is that what fun for the eyes is,
It is not for just kids or adults,
Teens or the young awkward between kid and teen,
There is no movie should be for one crowd.

He is Whyboy and does everything in his power to prove,
That what’s on the screen of large or small!

He does not to troll,
But to just to fine tune the shows of eye candy,
Can be more than just that,
And be something passed it all,
To become something worth it!

That is just how great Whyboy is,
I just hope he knows it.

There are 21 ways to express oneself, being creative just relies on you, but having to tell you . . . would not be a smart one either’s behalf.

Around the way, 21 styles of life go through us, some are simple and others are over the planets and back.

Odd number 21 is, but at least it’s a bit better than most numbers, if you think pass of what it is.

To what is seen as a number, is also an age and time, to some degrees a plot and temp.

21, starting as it is, it’s a number at best, where in age nothing is limit but the ways of trouble have double overtime.

Rethinking everything, it’s an odd topic to talk about, but with words played right, it makes sense to speak about it.

To that of a 21 year life time, learning and growing are things that happen, but never relies until the hourglass runs out.

Taking it in stages, of growing and learning, where you think it happens, does it or follow later?

First comes to breathe . . .

Second to see everything before you, as an unknown life form . . .

Third is smell . . .

Fourth is feeling the different textures that make whatever is before you . . .

Fifth comes forth the taste . . .

After the basics, we’re on our own.

The walking, the talking, the reflexes, all comes slowly at times or quickly as upbeat jazz.

Where soon wants and needs blend as time goes, what is important and is a pleasure to have, you know when comes around.

Learning the rights and wrongs are that of a mind play, pick or choose; someone is going to win and lose.

Coming along at those tenders’ ages that of tricks and treats play us as fools, or those as rulers.

Religions play only roles if you wish them so, but otherwise, they are a wall to block one another, what makes same and different, relies on action and words, than that of another tone.

Be that as heartless greed to that of boundless charity that is only pocket money when not really thinking of it.

Come in that dense adorn of pride to thoughtfully less humility to think of ourselves.

Blinded to animal likeness of lust to certain devotion chastity of we extravagance one another.

By of a bottomless void of gluttony to gated restraint of temperance to what goes in one being’s as a lifespan or death.

Acting that as a worthless and sad sloth or become an active and happy diligence to only one but to others as well.

To strike out in peerless wrath to equal patience on whose lives should shed blood or live on.

Leaving soon only that of prejudice envy to what is need as a trustful kindness on sharing the world or not for one life or more.

In 21 yearlong ways, it has come to this.

Fulfilling or not, that is nor a coming thought to bring forth.

For there is still more to know, before the final step is made, spinning forever on as yin and yang dance.

Learning more and growing is still a better choice to do, going on in life, finding the secrets will come, out of the blue or land in one’s hand.

But for now, this just a day of a birth, time to see as that and go from there.

Even when unwire sight of what’s to come . . . that’s just how life is and to world’s spinning cycle.

21 ways, and still blissfully unsure . . . oh happy birthday to me.

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