(no subject)

No other road. No other way.

No day but today.

[JustPrompts] Ten ways you handle anger

1) Slay
2) Spar
3) Beat the crap out of the punching bag
4) Beat the crap out of someone else
5) Go to the shooting range
6) Have a crying temper tantrum complete with throwing things across the room
7) Put the 'Music to Scream To' playlist on the iPod and scream to it
8) Rough sex
9) Yell
10) Slay some more

[WaM] Sort of...not exactly.

You can never quite describe it to anyone that asks. What the dreams are like. How the legacy runs through you. You don't think anyone who's never felt it can understand...and even those like you feel it differently, in their own way.

The girls, the women that pass through your dreams, they're the long lost friends you ran with on the schoolyard, that you laughed and played with as a child before their family had to move, and you can barely remember what they looked like, or how their voice sounded. You don't recognize their faces anymore, but you feel a tickle at your memory when they speak. When they laugh. Sometimes you even remember their name in a sudden moment of clarity, but it slips away when you wake.

Sort of. But not exactly.

You're the same. In sleep, you live in their skin. Separate and together, the same, and not. You feel everything they feel. Their triumph is your triumph. Their pain is your pain. Their failure is your failure. Over and over, every night you dream. You are a warrior, a princess, a priestess, a saint, a cop, a thief, a waitress, a revolutionary, a soldier in disguise. You have danced in temples, you have danced in a bar. You have won, you have lost, you have loved, and you have died.

Over and over, every night you dream. Separate, but the same.

Sort of. But not exactly.

The Watchers call it the chain. A chain that connects you together, through history, across the miles, one to another. When you close your eyes, when you focus, you can feel it. You can feel the tug, the memories, centuries of war and violence, of life, of death. Every memory makes you better. Every dream makes you stronger.

Connected. Sisters, comrades, friends, past, present, future. Slayers. Every one.

Sort of.

But not exactly.


word count: 311

I keep walking into these things. Why, why do I do that?

Apparently I'm both required to go to L.A., learn to pole dance, and entertain the boyfriend with girl-on-girl action.

I would really, really like someone to follow me around and stop me from setting myself up for things. I mean...REALLY.

Going back to packing now.