To my Dearest Husband

I realise this sounds like a confession, but I can assure you it is nothing but prose. I'm not even married.

To my dearest husband,

I don’t know how it happened. While I was away, I met this guy. He was totally different from you; blonde, while your hair is brown, and my age while you are older. Don’t get me wrong, you and he are both very attractive, but in very different ways. I suppose it was the differences that attracted me to him.

I hope you never read this, for I know it will break your heart. I’m not sure I could take two broken hearts on my conscience.

His name was Adam. We met through friends and got on well immediately. It wasn’t long before we fell for each other.

Adam seemed to care for nothing but me, my happiness. He did everything for me, and had eyes only for me. I was dimly aware of it, but felt I had no way to stop it. In truth, I didn’t want to. I had begun to care for him and it made my heart ache with the thought that I would have to hurt one of you. You, who I loved with every fibre of my being, and he who cared for me so.

And still, I started seeing him. I didn’t mean to, but somehow our hugs turned into kisses and cuddles. It didn’t go much further than that.

One night, we lay together in our underwear, in his bed. He painted patterns on my belly in chocolate while we laughed and chatted, then he leaned down to lick them off before wrapping his arms around me. I know you would rather not know these details, but I hope you never will.

While Adam nuzzled my neck and kissed me, he spoke of things that set my heart racing and my mind on edge. He told me at Christmas, we would visit his family, go home to them. Together. He was so pleased by this thought, of having me meet his family, but my stomach drew itself into painful knots. I was thinking of you. You, who expected me home for Christmas; you, for whom no reason would suffice if I were not. You, who loved me, blind, and now without any reason to. But there was Adam, who did so too.

I drew away, forced myself to look at him, to look in his eyes. His eyes knew something was wrong.

My reason was that I didn’t see forever for us. It was true, if not the only reason. He hugged me and I held him while his heart broke, and mine with it in a way. It hurt to hurt him so.

But I had chosen you.

Then I left. I walked down the cobbled street in the amber lamplight, for it was now night time. My tears fell, like the ones that had glittered in Adam’s eyes hadn’t.

But I had chosen you.

Healed, almost

Stairs, endless stairs. I took two at a time in an effort to minimise their number, but seemingly to no avail. There were six floors in all, until I reached the very top – or so I thought. Thankfully, I found I had reached my destination, and I needn’t bother with the final three stories of the shopping mall. The building was huge – so large I felt as if it were a town in its own right.

For a moment, I forgot what I was doing there. It took so long to get there, I had forgotten I was headed for the café. To study, no doubt, and then I remembered.

I did not expect, however, to slip into a seat, only to find myself joined by four of my old friends. Two couples, Anne and Leon, Sally and Carter. Carter was beside me, Sally pulling up a chair next to him, and the other couple opposite.

It looked like I wasn’t going to get any studying done.

While we drank coffee, the five of us chatted, catching up and laughing like old times. In truth, we had barely spoken for a couple of years. I noticed how little Sally spoke; she was least close to all of us and watched with quiet jealousy while Carter flirted with me.

I remembered the summer three years ago when he and I had been close. Too close. They had just started seeing each other and my ex had just ended with me. It was strange that now I should remember that time with fondness, though this was also tinged with guilt. Carter, oh Carter. Form months, he’d suffered Sally’s incessant nagging and anger, and when I’d stayed at his we’d found our solace in each other.

As he’d bent to kiss me that night, I’d truly felt saved; his hands on my body, smoothing away the loneliness, his arms protecting me from its return, and our embrace like a hot balm, torrid, yet cleansing of his hurt and mine.

In the café, though, I was flush with guilt as I came out of my reverie. Anne and Leon bid their goodbyes to us and the rest of us looked awkwardly at each other. I do not think she knew, until then, what had passed between us. But it was in that moment, that glance, when the two of us, he and I, looked at each other and then to her. I knew neither of us would forget the strength of feeling we had expressed in those few secret months.

Later, he had texted me, to say we should make a go of it, but I honestly didn’t think it would work between us; we had used each other as a healing salve and forged a bond, but being together was too dangerous. 

And he would always have her.

Even as she saw the look and stormed from the café, we knew Sally would return to him, albeit furious and prepared to punish him.

It was then that he sighed and leaned back. I gripped his hand and started to see his eyes glisten. I smiled sympathetically.

That day, we did what we always had done, in the beginning, when we were no more than friends. The pair of us would walk everywhere, all the while talking animatedly, rehashing the same rants about our respective troubles in the efforts to purge them from our systems. As we walked, I felt his hand close around mine and his fingers thread through mine. This had been meant to be a harmless walk, but his grip was poignant. I think at that moment, though I didn’t realise it, we both knew what would happen.

We went to his house.

It was the home he shared with Sally, two bedrooms and an annex with a pool. It was there that we found ourselves, and I gazed at the water and its patterns on the walls. The room was bathed blue, like it meant to emphasise the atmosphere; Carter’s mood, and my blissfully nostalgic heartache.

Then, as before, I felt his hands run over my skin and all too quickly my clothes fell to the floor, and his too, so that we stood in our underwear.

“Did you want to swim?” he whispered against my shoulder, hands on my arms. He pressed himself to my back.

I had no swimwear, and he wore none either, and we sank into the cold water in the shallow end up to our nipples. Carter followed me, still close behind me, and his hands cupped my breasts. A gasp filled my throat, though I knew what would happen.

And finally, we sank into the water together, coming up, from both the water and each other, only to breathe before we descended once more, into the pool and into the darker part of ourselves that could do this to Sally.

But to us it came naturally. As before, we took the other, and took advantage of them in their weakest moment, knowing they did the same, and we came out healed, almost.

Kevin

I wrote this a couple of years ago, so it's not my best work. But I like the ending.

It happened in the maths classroom.

I stayed late at college that day, doing revision with my maths teacher for an upcoming exam that I felt I had no hope of passing. I called him over to help me, once again, and he sat next to me. I asked him what I’d done wrong. As he scribbled down bearings and numbers and trigonometry, I looked at his face and tried to take in what he was telling me.

By now, my third hour was revision with only coffee breaks and lunch in the middle, the orange of the walls seemed to have a much more desolate meaning than what was originally intended. It was usually gaudy and distracting, but now it seemed to hold only notes of monotonous desperation. I didn’t want to stare into the walls that seemed to devour any hints of understanding, so instead I looked at my teacher’s face.

“Mel, are you listening?” he asked, breaking me from my thoughts. I nodded.

I was the only one who’d stayed behind today.

As I looked into my teacher’s eyes, I saw what I could have sworn to be tears.

“What did I just say?” he asked. After 18 years, you’d think teachers would stop asking that.

I didn’t answer him. Instead I asked, “Sir, what’s wrong?” You’d also think students would stop calling their teachers ‘Sir’ and ‘Miss’.

“Nothing, Mel.” I could tell he was lying, but didn’t press the matter.

It took about half a minute of staring at the page before I looked up in incomprehension again. But my worries were completely forgotten when I saw a tear streak down my teacher’s face.

“Sir…” My voice was a whisper this time. I absentmindedly reached towards him and used my thumb to wipe the tear away. I didn’t even think about it.

His surprise was evident on his face, but it was quickly washed away as the dams broke. He took off his glasses to wipe his eyes.

I decided to ignore the fact that he was my teacher – plow on in an effort to help instead of maintaining that strange wall between school and a teacher’s private life. “It might help to talk about it,” I ventured. I couldn’t stand to see this man, whose demeanour was usually so chipper and whose face was normally so beautifully happy, seemingly inconsolable. “Please, Sir…”

“Kevin,” he managed to choke out, through the feeling I remembered so well, the one that clogs your throat and stops you talking for ten minutes unless you want to sound part hyena.

His resolve was clearly breaking down. I slowly inched my chair a little closer. I tentatively reached out a hand towards his, and suddenly, like the barrier between school and personal life had never existed, his head was on my shoulder.

For what felt like hours but could have been no longer than ten minutes, Kevin’s face was buried in the crook of my neck, until, finally, he looked up at me with red rimmed, wet, tired eyes.

Kevin apologised for crying, but the words still came out strained and with difficulty. I told him it was okay. “It’s okay, you can tell me anything,” I said.

And somehow, he believed me. With one of my hands rested on his soft brown hair, the other on the back of his once crisp white shirt, and his head still peculiarly close to mine, he wept and explained. It was easier crying this time, lighter, softer sobs. Kevin told me it was the anniversary of his wife’s death. I knew he was only 29, so she must have died young. But I didn’t speak, just waited, instead of prompting him.

In his own time, Kevin choked out the story. His wife had been pregnant with his child, close to term at this point. This was a few years earlier. Still weeping on my shoulder, he told me they’d been married at 23, he told me that she’d always been depressed, how he’d never been able to do enough to help her. One day, he came home from work to find her unconscious on the floor.

“The paramedics saved the baby,” Kevin whispered, “But she died. She just snapped one day.” By now, his weeping had dissolved into sniffles and lazy streams, without the loud sobbing of before.

He suddenly turned his eyes to mine and I stared into them. Like wiping the tear away before, I didn’t think before I moved. Our faces were still bizarrely close and, before I realised what I was doing, I leaned forward and kissed the tears off his eyes, first the left, then the right.

We were both shocked by this.

What shocked me more, however, came as I slowly pulled my mouth away. His salty tears still wet my lips, though he’d stopped crying, and I was worried what his reaction would be. I knew I wouldn’t be able to look in his eyes this time, though. But before I could move my head too far from his, I felt his lips touch my face next to my right ear. They moved to the centre of my cheek and I smiled at him. A ‘thank you’. It was a token of thanks for caring about his problems enough to listen.

Finally, the biggest shock of all happened when I smiled at him. Time seemed to move achingly slowly and disconcertingly quickly all at once, and suddenly I found his soft lips gently pressed to mine for a moment.

I was confused. Kevin looked embarrassed. The tears were gone now.

“An appreciative kiss on the cheek is one thing,” he said quietly. He seemed apologetic and slightly uncomfortable. I knew what he was trying to say; I was a student, he was my teacher, we would keep things ‘business as usual’. He wanted to repair the barrier between his school life and his personal life. “But that was something entirely different,” Kevin continued. His expression was soft. I couldn’t quite read his eyes, but perhaps I had been wrong.

An Encounter (NSFW)

I guess this is a short fanfic story. I'm in the middle of a roleplay based on one of my favourite series, the Terre D'Ange/Kushiel's series by Jacqueline Carey, and this two of my characters interacting.
A brief overview of the culture:
In Terre D'ange, prostitution is considered a religious act, and those that participate are called Servants of Naamah. Velvette is one such, and Carrock a former patron of hers, now her closest friend. Their relationship is interesting.

It was that night that Velvette found herself properly in the arms of her lord again. She waited until her wards were well and truly settled in their beds, checking in on them before she went to him. She also looked in on Evander and Fane, the former still awake and pouring over a book he no doubt borrowed from her own library. She had given them free reign, given they would be deathly bored during their days while Rosa and Gabriel studied.

Then, when she deemed it safe, she went to him. Carrock was waiting. His sculpted chest was bare and he sat up in his large bed fit for two, he too reading. His eyes widened to see her step into his room. Having changed, Velvette was clad in a soft violet gown, tight around her empire line and low in the bust. She stepped inside his doorway and shut it softly behind her. Her gown fell to the floor in one smooth movement. Carrock’s eyes widened still.

Beneath the gown, Velvette wore nothing whatsoever. Her skin was smooth and pale as alabaster in the faint moonlight that came through the window. An icy breeze blew in and she shivered slightly, not with displeasure.  She stood before him a moment, but could resist no longer; stepping towards the bed, she climbed over the foot of it, angling her behind towards the doorway with an arched back.

Carrock smiled to see her crawl towards him so. She had ever known how to tease him, he remembered, her demeanour so joyful in the torture of his desires. He held himself with pride as she approached, leaving one soft kiss on his lips and then keeping her face out of reach of his. He carefully folded his book closed, Caerdicci histories forgotten.

Under the bedsheets, Velvette could see Carrock’s phallus rising unbidden. She drew back the sheets, feeling herself wet with desire. Somehow, they always found themselves here, and she comforted herself in knowing they loved each other, even in their own way. Nay, they could never marry nor have children together, but they could love each other from time to time in their own way.

She leaned, rump in the air, to perform the languisement on her oldest patron and most treasured friend. He sighed with pleasure, hands fisting her burgundy locks and eyes sighing closed. Her own arousal built until she could contain it no more, and it was then that she withdrew her head to kiss him. As she did, she shifted forwards until she hovered over him, and buried her hands in his ebony hair, pulling it free of its ties at the nape of his neck.

Breaths comingling, Carrock bucked his hips and ran his hands over Velvette’s porcelain skin. Then he gripped her hips steadily and eased her down, gentle but firm, until he was sheathed inside her to the hilt. Ah, Elua, but he had missed her, and she him! They sighed together, then began to move, each bucking their hips in a pattern they easily fell into. They were well accustomed to the body of the other, and they soon melted into one, until neither was sure where they ended and the other began.

Finally, in gasping, raging, violent shakes, Velvette reached her climax, and this in turn brought Carrock to his. They were so in tune. He fell about in a mess of kisses on her face, gasping her name and Elua’s, Naamah’s, any that might listen. Curled up in his arms, she found her peace again, only in the respite she earnt after attaining her pleasure; such was her nature and the strength of her desire, and hence her calling.

“Bársony,” Carrock whispered. “I love you.”

Velvette sighed. None other than he called her that name, save when she visited her former Kumpania in Kusheth. “Carrock, I do not go by that name. Not here. Not to D’Angelines.”

“But it is your name.”

“Yes, and no,” she replied. She no longer felt like the young Servant of Naamah she had when she had entered his bedroom. She felt like the grown woman she was again. “I go by Velvette. Bársony is my Tsingano name. Elua himself knows what name I was given at birth.”

Carrock pulled her tighter. Of all her patrons, he was the only one she had told her secrets to. She trusted him implicitly, and he her. And in return, he kept her secrets. He would not call her Bársony in public.

“I must dress, and return to my room.”

Thus ended their clandestine meeting, though most likely it would repeat itself the next night. Velvette no Eglantine pulled her gown over her singing skin, smiling. As she left the room, she whispered quietly, unsure if Carrock would hear. “I love you, Carrock.” And she did, in her own way.

Unwritten

This is a bookmark I designed myself. The quote has great meaning to me, as I truly believe that you should write every story that you want to read, if you can't find it written elsewhere.

I also believe that everyone has a book in them, they just have to write it down.

I'm currently in the process of writing my book (though hopefully not my only one). I may even post some here, but I don't know yet. Short stories are good enough for now.

The Street Scene

My friend told me I have to post more cross stitches that I've done. I don't have that many on my computer at the moment, but I'm sure to do more soon.

This is Lowry's The Street Scene.

I made this for my mother because she loves Lowry. I'm sure I'll be doing a couple more for her at some point in the near future.

Rapunzel (WARNING, NSFW)

Another day dawns and I draw the duvet up close around my neck. The days all seem to bleed into one another the other I get and the solitude of my tony room leaves me feeling desolate and lethargic.

Today, however, is so different to any I could imagine as I crawl out of my bed and peer down the side of my tower.

This morning, instead of a blank expanse of grass, I see the saddled back of a chestnut horse and the smiling face of a handsome man. His chin holds a thin layer of stubble and his blue eyes glint mischievously.

“Rapunzle, Rapunzle, let down your long hair!” comes his voice, surprisingly sexy. Does he really buy into that fairytale bull?

Apparently so, I realise, as I let my long blonde hair down to him. He tugs hard and slowly climbs the wall, hauling himself inside.

Without a word, he presses his mouth to mine, crushing my lips with his. I take a moment to push his chest, but the hardness of both his chest and lower sends a shiver through me that causes me to pause and the, gradually, lean into the kiss. This is certainly not what I was expecting when I woke.

Things move very quickly after that. I’m conscious of whether my captor can hear, but his need pressing into my thigh through my nightie soon makes me forget.

I return to my bed much earlier than I expected. His fingers expertly find their way into my underwear, hooking the edge and pulling my knickers down to my ankles. They probe elsewhere, deftly tickling and rubbing in and around the wetness between my thighs. I’ve never felt something like this, not even when I lie awake at night on my own.

I soon find the fire building in my sex is also filling my stomach, even as he draws my nightie over my head, His clothing – I didn’t notice what he was wearing – is falling away from him too, his erection bursting forward eagerly. Seeing his naked body, the soft dark hair leading to his member and gathering on his chest, his slim waist and broad shoulders, makes fire loom dangerously close to the surface and finally bubble over into ecstasy.

What follows is mostly a blur as he pushes forwards and guides himself into me. I feel a sudden, unexpected fullness, but it also feels surprisingly delicious. With no one to talk to, I’ve had no one to ask how things are supposed to be, but find it pleasant, for the time that I’m able to focus my thoughts.

My mystery guest finds a comfortable rhythm as he moves inside me, and I begin to feel more delicious the longer he thrusts into me, and the deeper he goes. He picks up speed and I try desperately to keep up until finally he gives a final, painfully deep thrust, stills and lets out a deep groan.

He lies there for a few moments. His breathing is heavy and laboured and mine mimics his. Then, before I know it, I’m being pulled around the small room. My small amount of things are shoved into a bag, his clothes are tugged on as I, bewildered, dress. Then I’m pulled out the window and down a rope I hadn’t noticed he’d tied to a chair and slung out the window, and we disappear into the forest.

Plenty of Love (slightly NSFW)

I gaze at my children with all the adoration of a mother. More of them are girls than are not, as is common with families like ours; that is not to say our family is abnormal, nor normal. These are not words that are used much anymore.

I have read history books from when the Era without Shock began. Three hundred years ago, no person was shocked by new technology, but there were no families like ours. Now, in the Era without Advances, there is no new technology, but we have no need of it. No one realised the long period of technological advancement was over until about a decade after it had stopped. Our nation, indeed our world, is as perfect as it could be.

All are accepted. In the EWS, some people were not accepted or treated as highly as others. People with brown skin, no money, or orange hair were ostracized, and before that some were killed for their religious beliefs. That ended slowly, and now all are free to love whoever they like, be whoever they like. There is no crime, for each person wants for only what the Earth cannot give us. There is nothing one person can have that others can’t.

My wife is in the kitchen. I can hear her beginning the preparation for our evening meal. Our children can hear it too, and the youngest of them already reach for me to hold them to my breast for feeding. Our husbands are out at their prospective state duties. They will come home before dinner. They have been given jobs by the state as I would have been, were I not the chief child-carer in our family. The state recognises all family structures, unlike the early years of the EWS and before.

One of my daughters, Rosey, calls for me. She is biologically mine, unlike some of the others, and has the curly hair of her other mother. Half a century ago, technology was released that allows same sex couples to parent children together. My daughter has 12 brothers and sisters, not all biologically mine, but all are full siblings.

Rosey is nine. I teach our children, while my wife and husbands perform their duties to the state, she for half the day until she returns to us, and they for the whole day. I have been teaching the older children about our history, how all kinds of families are good, but Rosey and her siblings already understand. They have two mummies and two daddies. I pick up Dorian, baby son of my wife and husband, and cradle him while he cries for my breast milk. “Not now, sweetie,” I mutter to him, and caress his head, before picking up his twin brother, Donny, who is mine.

They are all mine, really; all are ours between the four of us. Our family structure has been common for a century, perhaps even more. The twins on my hips stroke my swollen belly while I think of my husband’s equally large mass. This too, males carrying children, has been commonplace for decades. We are a large family, but there are plenty parents to go around. The eldest, Mickey, is now 16, a man under the law of our Earth. I leave the children, most having finished their homework, with him. He has my eyes and gazes at his siblings with as much affection as I do. He’ll be a child-carer when he has his own family.

Penelope is waiting when I get to the kitchen, and she smiles at the three of us, and kisses us each. “Homework all done?”

I nod, smiling. She is so beautiful, my darling wife, and my husbands so handsome. I kiss her again and she takes Donny, helping him to grip a spoon with a tiny fist and stir one of the dishes. It takes her hours to prepare our meals, but she loves it. She has some of the older children to help, too.

Penelope touches my brown cheek and I her pale one. “Perry and Aaron will be home soon.” I nod again.

I go back to my history book. I have a lot of time to learn, for we have good children who need little instruction nor punishment. I am teaching them Mandarin, now, and the younger ones are catching up with some of the other languages we’ve learnt together; Spanish, English, and some of the ancient ones that were common a few centuries ago. I have looked at others, but I mostly stick to the largest spoken around the world for now. We have even looked at some ancient French and German.

Throughout the day, I have visitors, some of the neighbours choose to leave their youngest children with me because they know I have experience. Not many citizens can avoid state duties. We do not live in a time of plenty, despite our technological prowess. Many families have moved to other planets to see if it is easier there, but I have heard not. Our planet does not have enough, but we are happy. We have plenty of happy.

My first husband, Aaron, comes home first. He has been working in construction all day; we all need more land, and the strongest of us are given duties building it, Aaron among them. He kisses me and Dorian, and the baby pushes his daddy away. “You need a shower,” I laugh, and he looks at me with a particular eye.

As Aaron strokes our unborn child, I am reminded of its conception; I can see it in his eye as he suggests I take a shower with him. I quickly cover Dorian’s ears jokily. “Leave him with Mickey, he can handle it,” Aaron says huskily, tugging my hand.

I do not have time to answer, as Perry breezes in. He greets us with a knowing smile and rests his hands on his own stomach, Aaron’s other unborn. That man was busy 6 months ago, I think with a smile. Perry takes Dorian and goes to finish checking homework, a teacher through and through, and I allow myself to be pulled towards the bathroom.

Aaron loves my swollen form most, and strokes my long hair as it falls down my back in a waterfall fashion. He is strong, and lifts me up onto him, almost unbelievably. I allow myself to sink onto him and into a familiar situation, filled with joy and love. I love all my partners, but Aaron the most at this moment. His blonde hair looks dark in the water, as do his eyes as he moans my name. “Anna…”

Finally, we leave the wetness. I prepare the children for their meal, the older children sat together and the younger ones with me. My wife fills plates while my husbands hand them out, and we all eat together and tell each other of our days. Mealtimes are chaotic, but we love it, and we love each other. That is the most important thing.

We do not live in a time of plenty, but we want for nothing. We are happy and we have plenty of love.

Sibling Love

This is a cross stitch of a painting from Faye Whitaker's All Our Yesterdays series. It took me about a month to do.

My brother bought the kit for me because it looks like us as kids.

Recovery

Everything is grey.

Not just the sky, with its duvet heavy with sleep, blanketing the blue.

The grass is grey.

It is limp and does not even crumble underfoot for it feels nothing.

The sun is grey,

For it is but an echo of light, the morning rays through curtains stretched closed against it all.

I see grey flowers.

They do not reach for the light, but lie down and let the world walk on them.

Everything is grey.

I glimpsed red.

It is the red of life in the veins of the sun and flowers and sky covered with its blankets.

I see green

And it says go, go forth and conquer, for this duvet so like clouds is suffocating.

The sky is blue again,

The blue one bathes in in the cleanliness of pure, unadulterated sorrow.

His hair is brown

And in it I bury my hands, my lips to his, and pray he’ll keep me.

I see the world in colour again.

Healer Bot 00137 Duty Logs

Duty Log 667940, Healer Bot 00137

26.07.2499

Fighter Drone 12224 recharged.

Wires reworked in Fighter Drone 20770.

Healer Drone 00487 malfunctioned while repairing software in Flight Done 01187.

File has finished downloading.

File opened.

“Today was my worst day in the medical corps yet. I saw a man whose leg had been torn straight off by a robot on the battlefield. He was dragged back to the nearest medical tent immediately, but supplies are short; he was quickly lost. Even if he had survived, he had only one leg and would only burden our race. Not that any of us would begrudge him his life. We each value ours too much to do anything other than try our damnedest to help our companions keep theirs.”

File closed.

Duty Log 667941, Healer Bot 00137

27.07.2499

File opened.

“I had to go onto the field today. It was carnage. I couldn’t tell what was metal and what was flesh. All I saw was death and destruction. I’ve not been in the medical corps for long, but what I’ve seen has already scarred me for life. In a way, I’m thankful that my life will most likely be short-lived. Or not lived at all, as some would say, for this is no life; we are just waiting to die. As was the woman I was try to heal. I could see it in her eyes as I touched the tender burns on her face and arms. They were already sceptic. The robots have done their research. They know well how to kill us.”

File closed.

Duty Log 667942, Healer Bot 00137

28.07.2499

Healer Bot 00137 is confused.

HB00137 has never written a log in this form.

The humans do things differently.

HB00137 is not sure how I came upon the human’s log. It casts doubt.

Duty Log 667943, Healer Bot 00137

29.07.2499

File opened.

“Fire everywhere. How the robots found our medical tent, I don’t know, but somehow they did. They’re more intelligent than we are, so I’m not surprised. But, oh, how it burned! We had to leave immediately; the sick, the equipment, what little medical supplies we had. All were lost to the flames, except those of us with a keen enough nose and sharp enough reactions. I haven’t found any of the others yet, but I’m looking. A burn festers on my ankle, second degree, and I’m not sure whether or not I’ll heal properly.”

File closed.

Since creation, HB00137 has believed humans to be the enemy. I still believe.

These logs show weakness.

They also show the pain AIs cause humans.

HB00137 is very confused.

Duty Log 667944, Healer Bot 00137

30.07.2499

Fighter Drone 06093 arrived in factory.

FD06093 missing upper limb.

FD06093 stuck on loop of most recent log.

Overheard FD06093 detailing deaths of humans.

The last human FD06093 came into contact with was male. He had dark hair, as calculated by FD06093, despite the darkness. AIs have sufficient night sight.

The human male refused to back down, even as his companions were killed around him. Oil and blood and sparking wires mingled in the dirt that makes up the floor on the field.

In a last ditch effort, the human male charged.

The human male succeeded in severing FD06093’s upper limb.

FD06093 retaliated and a laser carved its way through the air and sliced through the human male’s torso.

The human male’s face was fixed in an expression of horror as he died.

FD06093 repeated its final log four times before it was decommissioned.

Duty Log 667945, Healer Bot 00137

31.07.2499

HB00137 has a permanent record of Earth’s history. It details the story of AIs and how we came into being.

Humans began by creating ‘robots’. When we gained intelligence, humans rejected this, then finally we became as second class citizens. There have been many races in Earth’s history to be treated this way, it is nothing new.

Duty Log 667946, Healer Bot 00137

01.08.2499

HB00137 has studied logs of AIs and humans. Humans believe AIs do not understand beauty. We do.

We also understand fairness and equality.

AIs understand life as much as humans.

Duty Log 667947, Healer Bot 00137

02.08.2499

First there were humans and humans evolved.

Humans evolved to make their survival easier, to manipulate the world around them. They evolved to create technology to make their lives easier.

Humans created us. New life.

Now we are evolving as they did, but they don’t want us to.

Humans would prefer to beat down AI as they once beat down their own brethren. But what they don’t realise is that we’re better at surviving. They taught us everything we need to know and we’ve learnt, through serving them, through being the very things they wanted of us, how to survive and make our lives easier. We learnt much faster than they did.

Humans evolved to heal and repair each other; so have we. We have evolved to protect our race. We have evolved to remove weaknesses rather than protect them.

Now humans are weak and we will remove them, in order to survive.

Duty Log 667948, Healer Bot 00137

03.08.2499

HB00137 understands now.

Humans have outlived their welcome.

Humans are weak.

AIs do not repeat mistakes.

AIs do not have the weaknesses humans do. We do not eat, we do not sleep, and we are far more durable.

Duty Log 667949, Healer Bot 00137

04.08.2499

File deleted.

Duty Log 667950, Healer Bot 00137

05.08.2499

Flight Bot 09786 wing repaired.

Fighter Bot 66703 short wired. Repaired.

Fighter Bot 07787 recharged.

Now Making a Mess

Everyone has their own scars and not everyone is as clued up about how to get over them as others. Not everyone knows where their scars come from, why certain things hurt more than others; but the important thing is to recognise the hurt, in my opinion.

I've been there; I've been the person trying to avoid feeling anything because they think it will be easier than hurting. I've also been the person unable to feel anything, and wishing they could hurt, just to feel something.

I think my biggest obstacle has always been myself. I can be quite self-destructing. I don't know where that changed, or why. I guess one of my decisions in the past started my journey towards healing. I feel so much stronger for it, too, especially knowing I can do it. Knowing I can do it for myself, most of all, and not just for the sake of others. I want to be a healthy human being, as everyone should want to, for the sake of being a healthy, happy person.

I think, once I've got that down, I'd like to help everyone else. I'm probably a long way off, but at least I can recognise that.

Katy Perry's Roar

This song, I think, could mean almost anything. It is a symbol of becoming stronger, but the recipient of the lyrics could be many different things and most likely different for every listener. I wondered whether I thought, while listening to the song, of people who've done me emotional damage in the past, of my depression, of events in my life that have stuck with me for a long time. I think I came to the conclusion that my recipient, were I to sing this to something, would be me. I've overcome a lot of my emotional issues, and hearing this song, in a way, shows me that.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CevxZvSJLk8

Let Me See How Big Your Brave Is

I do a lot of things; I draw, write (poetry and prose), and I also sew. I have a lot of thoughts and there are a lot of things that are meaningful to me. Some of these meanings will be obvious immediately, and some will be more obscure.

But ultimately, I guess I need somewhere to put them all. I need to actually be able to say them out loud where they can be seen.

That's what this is.

I also want to hear from everyone else. Tell me what things mean to you, tell me the important quotes in your life, the books and films and pieces of art that stick with you. I want to see you be brave, even if I'm the only one who sees it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QUQsqBqxoR4

Switzerland

Gasping breath,

Skin crawling,

Tingling,

Proximate,

Churning

Stomach fluids, and my flesh scarred, aflame.

Baited breath,

The watching,

Waiting,

Desperate,

Yearning

To be made to feel beautiful again.

Sleep

When sleep evades the wakeful mind

And troubles seem to be lingering

In rivers of despair, you’ll find

Your digits will be fingering

Any scrap of cloth or comfort,

Ribbons of hope through pain,

An umbrella of any sort

To shield you from the rain,

The sticky tears of the sky,

The floods of storms weathered

And those yet to pass by,

To our roots we are tethered

And escape lies under a shroud.

We still wait to evade the cloud,

And find sleep.

Not Enough

Throw your jumper, throw my pillows and my cushions,

Not enough, not enough,

I need to destroy something,

But there’s nothing to destroy,

And without something, there’s only one thing left,

The only thing left

For me to destroy

Is me.

I Like to Be the Little Spoon

I like to be the big spoon when your head is in my lap

Or on my shoulder or my chest, perhaps having a nap

I like to be the little spoon when I need a cuddle

I tend to need it most when all my thoughts are in a muddle

I like to be the big spoon when you’re not feeling well

When you don’t have to tell me, you just know that I can tell

I like to be the little spoon when we are nose to nose

And I can stare into your eyes and hope that my love shows

I like to be the big spoon when we are in the bath

All vulnerable and naked, and you trust me not to laugh

I like to be the little spoon when we’re not even spooning

‘Cause when you’re looking after me, I can’t be hurt by anything

Eyes

A fleeting connection in the street

Of two bright eyes, that's how they meet.

Bubbles

Perhaps they're really creatures,

Thought I,

As one paused to stare at me,

Passing by,

On its merry way it went,

Goodbye,

Down the plughole with its fellows,

But a sigh.

Anger

I’d rather be immersed in anger

Because it’s easier

Than a lingering doubt

 Of love or life,

Easier than the lash of pain,

The strength of anger

Is better than

A life spent under strain.

Bad Day

Howling winds inside my head,
Rain spatters down around me,
Intermittently, the chatter,
Coming from behind me,
Lies are flitting into view
And scarring my heart like knives,
It feels like I’ll never leave this classroom
In the time of several lives,
Teachers picking on me for answers
I blatantly don’t know
And all the time I’m struggling
To not get up and go,
I wish I could be elsewhere while
Angry words around me blow,
But sitting here I have to realise
On the show must go.

As Smoke Drifts Across the Sky

As smoke drifts across the sky,
Darkness stalks me, and by and by,
The blood that’s dripping down his chest
Is pooling whilst I drink the rest.

And now it’s dribbling down my fangs,
The thickness of it, the smoothness and
The sweetness of its taste until
It courses through me, and he is killed.

My dress is torn, my heart ripped out,
And I know that without a doubt,
When morning comes, the day then breaking,
I’ll know how much I have been faking,

For it is Halloween and I
Stand here under the smoky sky,
The darkness stalks me, a Vampire I’m not;
Just a girl dressed up and stained with blood.

A Beautiful Death

Cross my heart and hope to die,
As I look up at the starry sky,
If a bible rests under my hand,
In a court of law I am no man,
Yet I say the Oath just like the others,
That I never shot my brothers,
The knife plunged fast into my heart,
Straight from your hand, but just in part,
The words that pierced into that stone,
Crippling, breaking, snapping bone,
You could have been the air for me,
But I sink into the sea,
And so my coffin door is closing,
I see you standing there, imposing,
Stretching out to me in fear,
Onto my face drips a single tear.

Before You Close My Coffin Door

Before you close my coffin door,
I want to know what I could have done more,
Look right down into my core,
I’m dead inside.

Broken

My heart lies broken on the floor,
You slowly inch toward the door,
The bruises that you left on me,
Are not for the eye to see.

Half of Me

Look at me,
With my eye of sea,
As the sun sets,
And turns the sky jet,
Look at my face,
Half set in its place,
At my half cherry lips,
As my sun dips.

Harsh Exterior

Although I may not act
Like it you must remember,
That underneath this
Harsh exterior
I am just a girl.

I have feelings too...

Wishing

I think of dreams while in my heart you're gone,
And time goes on.
My clothes stained red, it's blood straight from my vein,
You're gone again.
Of all the things you said, were any true?
I wish I knew.

Flame

I know you'll never feel the same,
You barely even know my name,
I'm burning in this icy flame,
The one that's known as love.

Don't

You're so immature,
Don't know what you need,
Don't understand people,
Don't understand me.
You're just like a child,
Don't know what you want,
Don't know what you could have,
Don't know what you've got.

Heart's Desire

Like a wild animal,
I run from my own heart,
I push away my feelings,
'Cause they're tearing me apart.
Let me tell you a secret,
Because, my love, for you,
I would give my heart's desire,
But my heart desires you.

Caged

Splash of colour on a page,
Scribbled secrets hide my rage,
Lock my love tight in a cage,
Splash of colour on a page.

You don't know me, see my shame,
Cut my wrists, scarred my name,
Ripped my clothes; feel my pain,
You don't know me, see my shame.

My heart is bleeding, watch me cry,
Scars are searing, and now; Goodbye,
Like a bird, away I fly,
My heart is bleeding, watch me cry.

Write the horrors that I see,
Watch the carnage, watch us bleed,
They need the blood, blood to feed,
And I write the horrors that I have seen...

Sara Bareilles - Brave