Ballet Slipper PinkI was painting your roomBallet Slipper Pink by *jennicarn
the day I lost you.
The color was called 'ballet slipper',
your father said it was just pink.
You would have understood the difference.
It was hard to reach high enough
and the step-stool felt steady.
But I was clumsy with you growing so big.
I stumbled and fell
and I lost you.
Your father blames me.
I blame myself, too.
The day I lost you,
the sun was shining.
Now my days are dark.
When I lost you,
I lost my heart.
TimeHis name had a hyphen, his accent was English. He was thin and had red hair and a matching, pointy beard. He drove an Italian sports car that he hated to leave in the rain. His suits looked expensive, and his briefcase was some sort of leather.Time by *jennicarn
I was fourteen, and a prisoner.
"Hello, again. Are you going talk today?" His words were curt, and he was not even looking at me, He was staring at the file on the desk in front of him.
I did not even bother shaking my head. No, I was not going to talk today, or any day.
"I will reminder you once more that I am required to give you the opportunity to speak with me for forty-five minutes. Your insurance will be billed whether you sit there in silence or not. Your time starts now." He leaned back into his chair, and stared at me.
I stared back.
Our sessions had devolved into very expensive blinking contests, I thought. I almost smiled at my own joke, but I was determined to not give him the satisfaction of a facial expression.
With his pointed bea
I only visited the ocean once,I only visited the ocean once, when I was a child.I only visited the ocean once, by *jennicarn
My family was not wealthy, so vacations out of state were few and far between. We spent a week at a lesser known beach in Florida, the year I was ten.
It was there I saw the ocean, but was too afraid to swim in it.
My parents proclaimed it magnificent, and beautiful. My little sister squealed in delight as she jumped in and out of the surf. Up and down the white sand, people of all ages, sizes, and colors were cooling off in the waves that lapped the shore.
I listened to the boom of the surf, and tried to peer out at the place where the sea met the sky. It was hard to tell where one ended, and the other began. I imagined all the hidden things that lived beneath that roiling, violent surface. I did not dare step into it.
That night, we slept in our hotel room with the windows open. I spent most of that first night awake, listening to the waves.
The evening tides seemed to whisper to me. Their predictability was calming, but I was
The Reason"Why do you fight?"The Reason by *jennicarn
The Pandaren ask it often, especially to those who seek training among the elite warriors of the Shado-Pan. I thought it a useless question at first. I am Sin'dorei, and a Farstrider, a mother and grandmother. I fought to protect my people, my lands, and especially my family. I fought to preserve their existence, and my own.
But the question has a deeper context, once pondered about long enough.
As I learned the true answer to it, I finally knew why it was that I was apparently so resistant to the corruption of the Sha. The hidden, dark, and twisted power that dwells beneath the beautiful vistas of Pandaria feeds on anger, hatred, fear, and doubt. Such influences had affected many since our arrival here. Some of our best, and had even caused Lord Sunshield to feel compelled to take his people back to Quel'thalas. When I saw him last, he admitted that he was unsure that even he could endure an internal attack if he returned to Pandaria.
My concerns for Hallistus have