So. Snippets, drabbles, little things and big ones too.

Also known as Kim can't sleep.

Posting this here, so it'll leave me alone. This is most definitely a snippet.

AJ spoilers of a sort. And remember, hatred and love and everything is never logical.

Title: What you make of it.

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Looking. Always looking. Seeing people, so lucky, so many chances and endless paths open to them. Paths he never had opened.

A fox face boy who chases a fallen angel. A silent girl who hides from the world. Child of endless mystery, who's lost and found all at the same time.

A woman whose world was shaken so many times, so much by her family and lies and half truths, but always held tight.

A star who watched the sun set on his sibling, watched his world crumble apart as people turned and twisted and removed their masks of “innocent”.

...And him. A boy of red, of blood, always alone. They've had their chances, their mysteries, their fights, their reunions.

Reunions, fights, chances, mysteries, challenges, hatred and pain and all the problems of families - never in his grasp.

But...
Now

Now, after all those years of dreaming, of hoping, of hopes being crushed, of lies and miseries and utter horrible dreams - dreams of death of fire of everything that could have happened-

She. Her. That person.

She wrecks his life once more. Like turning over a game board at the end, throwing everything out the window, all those memories gone-

And he is wrecked, almost beyond salvage, turned inside out and twisted into a shape that no one, nobody should ever be in. He hates her. Hates her for choosing herself over him, hates her for moving on, hates her for everything.

But. In the end, it’s not her that brings him back. It’s that endless mystery child. Lost and found all the same, always striding forward, overcoming all things in her path.

And when she – [he has a sister{lost and found(gained and earned and lost all the same) always had been there}family] – sister brings him back. A reminder that family isn’t what you’re given, but what you make of it. What you seek out and find and claim as your own.

“Trucy. Thank you.”

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D'aaww.... That was so sweet...

Nicely done...keep it up!

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Thanks! Angry Polly is surprisingly easy to write.

Anyways, I can't sleep again, so here's some Scheming Phoenix (who is really, really hard to write!)

Title: Like a fever breaking

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It's like that moment when a fever breaks, and the horrible feeling of death gripping your heart - compressing and twisting and being - stops. It's like that moment when after a long, long sickness, and you're getting better.

He can see the sky, see the blue - so familiar so full of life, a beautiful color (a closet full, with a dead bulb). The sun seems brighter, seems warmer.

It's like a fever that's lasted seven long years. Sure, there were the bright spots within that fever, spots of magic and justice, but overall, it was a burning anger, smothering under the surface, waiting for air to ignite again.

And ignite he did{his namesake coming true}. That moment, the one that had been hoped for (so horrible [hope on the back of death {irony, great irony}]), he turned his mind to this. The crumbling fool, twisting and turning and burning, messed up in the end. Finally, the path was open.

His mind, honed to a point from seven years of studying, of focusing on one singular idea. And that sharp point found the clink in the armor, found the flaw in the wall. A slight trick with a boy of red's ethics, and the trap was sprung.

Though, looking back on it, his jaw had hurt for quite some time. How someone that small could pack a punch like that was a mystery, one to be looked back into when he had his golden bauble back again.

But to do that, he had to lure the boy of red into the fold. The answer to the riddle was not very fun. He never quite received the answer of exactly how flying through the air for that distance and walking away with a sprained ankle worked. He was half tempted to chalk it up to some type of uncanny luck on his part, though sometimes it seemed that his luck always kept him from death (or serious injury [seriously, what the hell?]), but never from the emotional damage that soon followed.

Phoenix smirked, reaching up and adjusting his Papa hat. This was the moment he had waited for, schemed for seven years to achieve. Clearance and redemption and getting better.

Like a fever breaking.

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So, can't sleep again. Getting this little snippet out, out, out. It was going to end with a more horrible and heart gutting line, but even I'm not that mean to poor Polly.

Title: Fall apart

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He remembers a time when he was little, all skin and bones and scar and scabs, when he had a fever. It raged on and on for days, they told him later. And he remembers the memories that surfaced from those fever-dreams.

A tall woman, singing a song of longing, of sadness, of the inescapable doom of life itself. Her hair was braided and hanged close to his face then, sited as he was in her lap. She sang to him, her lovely blue eyes fixed on his. And upon her wrists sat two of his bracelets, nice and neat and polished without the scratches of childhood upon them.

He remembers a song not sung. A lively and lovely sonata played by expert hands. Of brown eyes, so much like his, looking down at him, of those odd eyebrows, so distinctive. Remembers a man's voice, not nearly as lovely as the tall woman's, but a voice full of love and understanding and hope, calling his name. Saying to him, "Look, Poll, this is music. Isn't it lovely?"

And then. The inescapable sound of stressed and torn and stretched metal giving way. Sounds of a crushed piano, and.

Of a crushed father.

Of horrible screams, heart wrenching and mind tearing and horrific. Of mother's sobs and wails and howls.

He remembers the day that his life fell apart.

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Based off of an old thread that had the idea that maybe Apollo's power should be telepathy instead of Perceive. Read that and went :DING!:. Hello, crazy as hell Polly! So totally AU it's not even funny, since this Polly's always heard the truth.

Title: Glass Minds

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Counting. It helps to count. One, two, three, one, two, three, around and around. Winding up his mind and pulling in parts of himself and his soul and his being.

Around and around, the endless cycle and circle of time. His childhood marked by lies and insanity. Lying workers and caretakers, whose minds spoke volumes when their lips were sealed. Images and words and deeds that no child should see, didn't see, found and ferreted out of their minds. And quickly learned what "insane" and "unstable" and "wrong in the head" meant when he spoke of things that no one should know.

And it was worse when he ignored it. The voices would be louder, more pressing on the barriers, edges of his mind, his and his alone. But if his mind was busy-

One two three, one two three, around and around his bracelet goes. Counting the rotations as he fiddles with it, moving it around his scrawny wrist. One two three, ignoring the mark the movement made. Anything to keep his mind closed, isolated from everyone, every liar, cheat, fool, idiot, all those animals with faces of humans, with souls and minds of demons.

He tried everything, every single thing that could keep his mind occupied. He played games, read books, and hid in the tops of trees, studying the clouds that had no thoughts to bother him. All alone. If adults were demons, then the other children were the most evil monsters. They had no grasp of right or wrong in their minds, only being afraid of punishments if they acted like what they were.

He hid himself away, avoiding contact and slowly developing a nervous tic. The bracelet's edges were starting to become stained with red as he grew older, as his mind started fracturing more and more. Teenage years were horrible, as the monsters became demons and devils, as their minds started to dream such things, such things involving others.

More and more he stayed in his tree, moving his bracelet around and around. One two three, one two three. Becoming more broken every time he met someone new, met someone who said one thing on the outside, but inside was evil was twisted was almost as broken as he was.

Until one day there was a visitor. Tall, taller than him (but who wasn't, with his skipping of meals to avoid people?), blond hair draped over one shoulder. The man spoke to the caretakers, something about a case he was working on. But the boy didn't care. This man. His mind was... dark. Not dark as in all the lights were off, but as in a wall holding back the world. Holding back this curse of the boy's.

He didn't care what the man was like. There were people out there he couldn't hear. Couldn't take apart piece by piece, ripping out tender chunks. So he had a goal, a goal of sticking close to this man, and using him as practice to control this curse. Maybe... Maybe if he could punch through those shields, he could do the opposite and pull back from everyone.

One two three, one two three, around and around. If he had thought the care house had been bad, the world outside of it was even worse. Students lied to their professors, professors lied to their department heads, the department heads lied to the president of the school. It was a chain, an never ending cycle of lies. The curse hurt his mind, like a pebble thrown at an already fractured window, but it made tests easy (cheating, cheating, cheating away the world...)

And then, he was free. His curse still hadn't seen inside the blond man's mind, but he was away from the other demons, devils, monsters. Hiding in the filing room for as long as possible, working and working to avoid people (no tree here to climb).

Until. He was requested. Only a fool would request him, untested and un-everything that made a good lawyer. He'd have to leave his hiding spot and face people, face a judge and a witness and everyone. And ask his client "Are you guilty? Did you do it?" and pluck the answer from his mind.

But this client. His mind was different from the blond man's. This one's mind was like a fireball, burning and churning and moving too fast to latch onto. He half expected the client to be absolutely insane from having a mind like that, though the client generally acted like a jackass for quite a bit of the trial.

But then was he was pointed towards the blond man, told that he did it. That the blond man killed the fake player and the boy almost wept. The blond man's mind was still dark, still holding tight to it's memories and thoughts and ideas. In the end, it took logic and facts instead of jack-hammering away at the man's emotions (and plucking thoughts and emotions and knowledge from thin air) to win.

The boy turned to the client, the forgotten legend, a new target with a mind he couldn't latch onto. And in doing so found someone else with a mind like his, but much more well kept. Instead of fractures, there were neat sutures on her mind. Instead of breaks, there were mends, instead of burns and cracks and corrosion, on her mind were flaws that turned into perfection and ran to infinity.

A kinship, a kinship of cursed minds (and even more, more hidden in other minds hiding behind darkness and whirling motion).

"One two three, one two three, around and around we go."

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Woah.
T-those snippets.......they're amazing!

I don't know if this was coincidental, but Like A Fever Breaking and Fall Apart go so well together; Phoenix feels his burning desire to help and do something inside him like a fever until it finally breaks out and he's happy that he's got a plan, whereas when Apollo has a fever it ends in darkness. A-and then....Glass Minds makes it so Apollo finally realises the truth and is 'cured' in a way, from this life of nothing, this life of lies, this burning 'fever' bringing sadness to everything. They go amazing back-to-back and I loved them.
Absolutely F-A-B-U-L-O-U-S!

Keep on writing and have an amazing day!

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