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Edge of Thorns - Pt 18Part 18
On second thought, it doesn't really matter if I believe him or not, does it? Still, it makes great writing material
"That's oddly logical," Nathan admitted, smiling while he considered the details. "And actually makes a lot of sense. I would have never thought of the story like that."
Alton laughed and shook his head. "Oh, I'm sure you would have. You're very creative, Nathan, and clever. I have no doubt that if, for some reason, you ever decided to use me as a protagonist in one of your stories, you would conjure up something very similar." The doorbell chimed from downstairs, and the shopkeeper looked out the window. "Oh good; he went to the back door like he was supposed to. Nathan, would you mind answering the door while I get some plates? Just turn right instead of left when you exit the stairwell: the back door is for my apartment."
"Good to know." Nathan had no problems hopping up to answer the door, casting a quick glance at the other man befo
Edge of Thorns - Pt 16Part 16
I'm not going to let him intimidate me. I want answers, and if I have to swallow my fears and browbeat him to get them, then so be it!
"Deal with it," Nathan sneered right back, never tearing his gaze from Alton's. "If I can't trust you to be straight with me, then I'll just have to make doubly sure you're telling me everything I need to know."
The other man drew in a long breath, a thin, devious smile spreading across his lips. "Really? And how do you plan on doing that, Mr. Keene?" Something flickered at the edge of Nathan's vision: glimpses of shadows, parts of Alton's form shifting. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw wings. Alton chuckled, his smile widening. "Have you forgotten who I am? I admit, I admire your audacity, but you should really think things through before you do something as foolish as challenge Lucifer himself."
The longer Nathan kept his focus on the shopkeeper, the harder it was for him not to shake, and his words made the painful knot
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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