Greetings and hallucinations to the FFML. This is a little something I wrote
for my creative writing class. The instructions were to keep it at 250 words
or less. Well, according to word 5.1's word counter, this is 250 words
exactly.
While this doesn't really mention anything from the Sailor Moon Mythos, I was
thinking of Pluto when I wrote it and so I thought I'd share it with you.
Feel free to C&C if you like.
-Komodo
"ANGER IS IRRELEVANT. . .NOW DIE, YOU LITTLE TURDS. . ."
-The Borg, MiSTed version of Lines Of Q by David Hines
MiSTing by Megane 6.7
************
There's no sun here, but it doesn't matter. I don't sleep. I don't need to.
One of my "gifts"
In a way, its for the best. My life span is finite, and there's so much to
do. All of history to watch over, and mere centuries to do it in.
It's not enough!
I feel the pain, hear the glass shatter as my fist goes through the mirror.
Fascinated, I watch as the blood drips down my fingers to pool on the floor.
I look back at the mirror. It's whole, it always is. It mocks me by it's
presence, it knows I can't break it for good.
I grab the staff, angry at the momentary loss of control. That's what its all
about, really. Control. Control of this, control of that. Going back to fix
my mistakes, or the mistakes of others.
My fingers tighten about the staff. I want to be free! I want to walk down
the street, be noticed, be stared at.
But I can't. I can't be noticed, I must totally blend in when I walk among
them. Part of my punishment.
I stare at the mirror, my helper, and my jailer. I, who was foolish enough to
ignore the warnings, condemning myself to an endless cycle of guardianship in
this hell.
I hear the sound of footsteps. Someone approaches the gate. They must be
turned away. They're not one of the Permitted.
They never are.
And so I go forth.
Tired. I'm so tired. . .
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