Saicurtis

Her hands are cold, but if he holds them for long enough, he can pretend the warmth he gives them is her own. "ARE YOU ALRIGHT, KIRITO?" The question is just as frigid as her skin. It's pre-programmed, something she says when he hasn't spoken for a while. His grip tightens and he inhales before responding, "I am. Don't worry about me." It's what he says every time she asks, and her reply is always exactly the same. "I CAN'T HELP IT." She was always fretting over him. He remembers it so clearly. "Are you eating enough? You need to eat! And I don't mean those microwave meals! I'm going to cook you a dinner so big, you won't even be able to

"Here ya go, Tachimukai! Found this for ya." The pink-haired boy bent down and opened his palm, revealing a frosted chunk of blue glass worn smooth by the sea. "Think you can use it somewhere?" The other boy's smile stretched across his face as he reached out and took it. "Wow, it's so pretty…! I think…" he turned to look at the rather elaborate sandcastle before him, furrowing his brows in concentration, "… it could go here!" With a little push, he drove the new decoration into the front of the castle, right above a little finger-drawn window. The surfer returned the smile, sticking his thumb up along with it. "That looks ab

She laces her fingers through mine, and our palms grow sticky with sweat. The air conditioner's still frozen over, and the breeze coming through the open windows only does so much. When she leans in to plant her lips on mine, her cinnamon lipgloss leaves behind a faint, familiar tingle. "How do you wear that in this heat?" I ask as she pulls away, looking at me with those shocking pink eyes. "I don't mind." One hand comes up, brushing my hair behind my ear, and she moves close. I can feel her breath on my neck, and her teeth on my earlobe. I squeeze my fingers tighter against the hand she still holds, and a deep sigh rolls out my mouth. T

The first thought he had upon waking up was that he certainly had not gone to sleep in that red hallway— in fact, he couldn't remember going to sleep at all. "Wasn't I just in the gallery…?" he mused aloud, getting to his feet. "Am I even still there? Where is this place?" A door off to the side caught his attention, though trying the knob, he found it locked tight. "Mm, just my luck…" Despite himself, he jiggled the handle again, as if it'd somehow open the second try. Giving up and turning around, something else snagged his interest, some burst of blue against the crimson wall. Approaching the little vase on the table, he

"Mary…" Though the name had rolled off her tongue twice now, the other girl refused to acknowledge it. She hummed idly, one hand wrapped tightly around that yellow rose— so tightly that her knuckles were white, so tightly that surely the thorns pierced her palm— the other fidgeting uncomfortably at her side, fingers bunching up her green dress, then smoothing it back out again, over and over and over. "W-We have to go. We need to go…" The girl's eyes remained transfixed on the painting hung before them, and a vacant smile stuck stubbornly to her lips. "We can't stay here…! C-Come on…! Mary!!" Even the mount

Dusk had just begun setting when the small group of ratty, dirt-stained children crowded the neon-flanked streets, two pigmasked soldiers at the front and back keeping them all together. None of them had been told anything other than 'Master Porky wishes to see you,' and their intimidating escorts refused to answer their questions. Thus, as they neared the ominous skyscraper owned by none other than the big man (kid?) himself, the main thing on their minds was, 'What would Master Porky want with a bunch of orphans?' Cramming them all into the elevator was a real task, but once done, their bodies were pressed painfully close to each other, an

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but boxers and drenched in cold sweat. His throat's swollen and dry, and just the act of swallowing stings— he's been screaming in his sleep again. When he's finally regained enough composure to look at the alarm clock, the blaring red numbers tell him it's four in the morning, and he had only just gotten to sleep at three. His glasses sit on the bedside table, but he doesn't bother. It's too dark in his room to see anything anyway. The experience isn't new for him— he goes through it several times a week— but despite this, he can never seem to get a handle on it. He wakes u

Today's the day. The special day. Pine said she had high hopes, but the boy standing in the back isn't even sure what she wants. He hasn't been told what, exactly, is supposed to be happening on this special day, and could never seem to work up the courage to ask— so he just waits there awkwardly and watches people tinker with things in silence. His name is Louie, he's 17 years old, and he has parasitic mushrooms sprouting from his head. They've only been there since age 14, yet have already stolen six years of his life. Most of his childhood no longer exists to him— and the rest, too, will inevitably fall into the ever-growing aby

"Hey, Richie!! Think fast!!" The day hadn't been much different than any other. In fact, most days for Richard (or Richie, as his friends called him, because Richard is a boring grown-up name!) had gone the same way ever since he could remember. Mom always woke him up by tickling his stomach or pinching his nose or doing something else equally as ridiculous. He'd go downstairs and eat some cereal and get ready for school. He'd be sent off with a kiss on the forehead, a pat on the back, and lunch in a brown paper bag. He'd tell dumb jokes with friends in class and get scolded and stick his tongue out behind the teacher's back, just like any o