Pepper-the-phoenix

Organize your thoughts Create your worlds Translate your characters Orchestrate your masterful plot Plead with the writing gods Utilize your pain Spread the joy

 Let the world end he thought as he took a drag from his cigarette. Let it be brutal and short without fanfare or sorrow. Let the world end. We have no need for it. It wouldn’t take much. Just one push and it would fall and shatter at the hard edge of eternity. It wouldn’t even be considered a tragedy. It would be like putting a dog out of its misery-compassionate, merciful, logical. The end would be better than this. Waking up every morning, going through the increasingly pointless routine, getting nothing for it while you and the rest of blathering, blind society was being enclosed into a tighter and tighter cocoon. He rem

The power of a pure heart relieves sorrow and pain. Touch the stars in the sky; live your dreams now and here. There is nothing to achieve or to settle: everything is nothing - nothing is everything. Forget beginning and end, age and death: You are everything - everything is in you: Think "happiness" and you are happy. But hatred is a vile disease that twists around the heart, piercing its pulpy flesh, inserting a cancerous growth. Eating away all hope and love leaving nothing behind-the great nothing that ends all. Do not be afraid of the dark, the hatred - Because it can be brighter than every day. Seek your way in dark, winding depths:

 There was a knock on his open door and a gravelly voice said, “Excuse me, sir.” Chief of Police, Emmanuel Caine, trying to decipher the scrawl of one of his sergeants, didn’t even bother looking up. “Has the walking keg finally sobered up?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he tried to figure out if this one word was prostitutes or potatoes. “He’s thrown up a lot and he’s threatening to rip your guts out of your asshole if you don’t let him out soon.” “Sounds like he needs a few more hours,” Emmanuel tsked, before returning to his report. “Yes, sir.”

 Glass shattered as a rock darted through the floor length French door. Long thin fingers with black nail polish carefully slipped in and jiggled the rusted handle until the vast room echoed with a click and the door swung open, creating a dust cloud. A mouse like woman entered the cavernous ballroom and waved the dust away. She suppressed a sneeze as her heavy, black boots echoed across the cracked and filthy floor, sounding like the slow beat of a funeral dirge. She slipped her large duffle bag off her thin shoulder and looked up with her mouth slightly open. Above her were broken crystal chandeliers, hanging from the crumbling ceiling for