AdmiralRimmer

 Millennium-Old Oil          The Knight stank like millennium-old oil and tobacco, mainly because He was close to one thousand years old and His previous owner had been a fairly heavy smoker. That didn't matter to Lisle, though. All that mattered to her was scaring off the damned creature that was trying to make a snack out of her people's village. She knew nothing about the Knight, outside of the legends she'd been told, and what looking could extrapolate. He had been a mighty warrior, ages ago, before Fire had engulfed much of the planet. A great golem of grand scale, covered in metal that kept it original, brass and silver sheen thanks i

Walt Whitman went a-walking, On a clear and summ'ry day, Until he got a-thinking, "Perchance, is there a way To wound the souls of future men, To make them wail and moan, To hurt them with my poesy, With mere words alone?" Gentle reader, need I tell you What happened then that day? Walt Whitman went a-walking, Humming all the way, Thinking up a little song To unleash upon mankind One that would eschew convention, Meter Rhythm Rhyme. He unleashed his devil In 1855, A bloody act of poetic War, No one'd never seen its kind. Ellipses peppered all about, The poet mentioned within. What the hell was going on? Surely Whit w

 A Small Sock                A small sock on a stairway. Almost certainly a woman's. It leads to the basement of my small brownstone, which serves as a dorm, where there is just a common room, a bathroom, and the RA's room. I have an image of her half-stumbling, half-falling, half-walking down the small stairway, partially entangled with her boyfriend, a sort of desperate groping. At some point, the sock comes off and falls. But it is the only article of clothing around, so the rest did not come off until her door was securely shut and locked. In a mass of flesh, sweat, fluid, and maybe a tear or two, they seek desperate solace in one anot