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Contest Entry: The PreyA/N: Chisame Hasegawa of Negima! belongs to Ken Akamatsu. Tarantulas of Beast Wars: Transformers belongs to Hasbro.
Chisame slowly opened her eyes, blinking away the fogginess in her head and vision. Thanking that her glasses were still on her face, she groggily surveyed her surroundings. Her eyes widened in confusion of how she ended up inside a cold, dark, desolate cave. A gasp escaped her throat as she realized she couldn't move her body, and her body felt more than half naked. Her face furiously reddened as she found her chest wrapped in red ribbon-bindings, and her lower area was clad in a matching color cloth fashioned into a makeshift bikini thong. The redness of her embarrassment suddenly flooded away with pale dread as she looked at all sides finding her whole body and limbs stuck in the center of a gigantic, sticky, pulsing and glowing web! She struggled in the spiral-orb net, but to no avail, for the many lines of the web stuck to her skin as if they were adhesive
A Letter of Plea
To my fellow members here on DA:
I am writing about a battle that is being fought within the confines of our country. It is a battle of good versus evil in which the evil is a Christian group from Topeka, Kansas. This group is infamous for their homophobic propaganda, known for picketing at the funerals of homosexuals such as Matthew Shepard and at events such as plays, festivals and movies that involve homosexuality. Not only that, this group also pickets out on the streets openly praising God for causing major disasters, murders, or a death of a well-known individual. This group stridently declares that they pray for more senseless deaths all over the world, such as the Holocaust, the Columbine Massacre, the September 11th attacks, the Space Shuttle Columbia disaster, the Indian Ocean Tsunami, Hurricane Katrina, the Virginia Tech Massacre, the Sichuan Earthquake and the Haiti Earthquake. This group is led by a man named Pastor Fred Phelps Sr. who deli
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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