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I look at it as my artistic expression, with each slash on my legs I have expressed my inner pain”that are simply too intense to be articulate by words. Straight lines and with spherical drop of blood

From "One of Us" by Michael Marshall Smith. Please look at "Part of a Girl" too if you have time, and let me know which one you prefer from this novel.

A manipulated pantoum, taken from "Les Enfants Terribles" by Jean Cocteau.

Short Story Kwanzaa's Dolphins The well-built seafaring ancient dhow, MvDestiny, left the port city of Haven of Peace on a full moon night, for the famous Swahili port town of Heartdrop to celebrate the festival of Kwanzaa. She steered from her sanctuary on serene motion, passing larger liners, and titanic cruise ships, anchored at sea. Navigating out to the open sea the same route she has taken since her christen, half century ago. Destiny's passengers were already in a festive and joyous mood, singing and dancing in their native Swahili beat telling of the first harvest celebrations. The stars were dazzling and glittery, and the calm night sky was showing off her bright full moon when a sudden change in weather started lashing violent Thunder, heavy rain and colossal tidal waves. By midnight, half way through her twenty-five mile journey, it appeared the vessel was tilting down on the left side with her over-capacity human cargo on board. Destiny was taking in water. Nevertheless, her experienced Captain shrugged the startled occurrence sailing with shrill risk of speed. Captain was an Islander and tall, his shoulder length curly black hair parted exactly dressed in a full piece, blue overall with his trademark binoculars always dangling on his chest. For a few moments, he stood steadily watching the passengers as they frantically struggled to keep themselves still from the pounding of the waves.

bloody two bloody days to go. *looks at clock* screw that. one day to go. fucked. i is definitely fucked.

i thought he would come over and i would cook us some pasta, we'd put big fish, and i'd impress him with my knowledge of fairytales, and then i would start: "when i was sixteen..."

i could almost hear him thinking out loud, so that night at the party, i told him "she's happy with her boyfriend, so dont get your hopes up." and he said "She's a big girl, she knows what she's doing."

sometimes i wonder if there are people who dont get high on music that means something, not the oontsoontsoontsoonts dance bullshit,

THE MALTESE MARBLE It didn't seem like a special marble when I first looked it over, at old Mr. Warner's place. True, it was larger than the other cats eyes and steelies in my collection. And the smoky green eye, in the middle of the glass orb, did seem to pulse and glow, when you looked at it for a while. But, when you are eight years old, everything seems special and by logical extension, nothing is ever too extraordinary. It was just another piece of glass, or so I thought at the time.