razors-edge

Because I’m trying hard
Not to be destroyed
But your words have razors
And barbed wire edged all round.

And I’m trying to grow,
To become something
Beautiful in your eyes,
To blossom and bud.

I long for this garden to grow,
I’m tired of my childish face.

But that’s hard when all
The flowers in my heart
And fertile chest
Are stamped on by your boot.

—  A.N

I got inspired by @charminglyantiquated‘s Elsewhere University idea, and wrote up a little something. (All credit for the ‘verse goes to the aforementioned blogger.)

***

I swear that being under that thing’s cold gaze was like staring down an oncoming truck. It promised nothing but death and pain, and I was terrified.

It was bright, and shone gold in the sun; but its mouth was like two swords, and its wings were razor-edged. Its great compound eyes, which should have been faceted like a geodesic dome, were entirely too human. This was one of the creatures I had been warned about, the reason you shut and locked your windows until the cold came and drove them away.

My phone buzzed in my hand and I risked looking away from the creature to see who’d texted me.

are you seriously telling me that you’re trapped in your room with a wasp

“This is not just a wasp,” I muttered, looking back up at the monster on my window ledge. A wasp would be bad, but this was worse. Wasps are what, an inch long? This thing was as big as my hand. If it was a wasp, it was a mutant wasp. And given where I was, it was probably worse than that. 

It looked away from me, antennae waving, and crept along the windowsill. It was then that I noticed–one of its legs was broken, and it was really creeping. More like dragging. Had it been hurt? How?

just swat it with a shoe, my friend texted.

The rules–the ones the RAs told us at the beginning of the year in hushed whispers, and then never spoke of again–said not to hurt insects. You don’t drown spiders, you don’t burn ants, you don’t swat at moths. And, just like all the other sometimes-nonsensical rules, I’d kept to them.

But there was another rule, one that got passed by word of mouth and rumor-has-it, that spoke of helping those who needed it. Of an injured football player who’d helped an old woman cross the street, and found his injury miraculously healed. Of the girl who fed a stray dog, and found herself in possession of a cereal box that was never empty. Of the kid who’d ignored the pleas of a man with a misspelled cardboard sign on the corner, and had never been seen again.

I took a deep breath. This wasp thing–whatever it was–was a strange thing, like all the other strange things at this university. And when you’re dealing with strange things, the rule goes, you follow all the rules. Which meant no swatting or shoes. It also meant–

“Do you need my help?”

The wasp-thing looked at me with glittering eyes.

Regally, it nodded.

Keep reading

8

The course to the base will be quite treacherous, to say the least. You’re walking a razor’s edge between the gravitational pull of the black holes and the sun. One false move, and you’ll either be crushed into infinity or burnt to a crisp.

Rennie Advice for Fantasy Writing

WEAPONS
- Swords were expensive and not common.
- They required a lot of maintenance, to keep them sharp and rust free, to ensure they weren’t bent or cracked or chipped.
- You wouldn’t just adventure around with a notched blade.
- A razor edge would not cut through bone; for that, you need a chisel edge.
- Swords are heavy, you can’t just pick one up and be able to start swinging accurately.
- Never throw. Dumb move, now you’re unarmed.
- Bows take years to learn well; crossbows don’t.
- Always unstring bow when not in use.
- Always carry extra bowstring, don’t let it get wet.
- More commonly quiver is hung from the belt.
- Arrow wounds are serious. No valiant pincushion charges, no ripping it out. Require medical help.
- Shields aren’t just for hiding; they’re for crowding and breaking teeth.

If I think of more lessons they taught me, I’ll add.

Being At Home

On the razor’s edge of ego and insecurity
I’ve heard of a place where we fit in
where all are welcome and all belong
a place where only love is real 
no us or them, no right or wrong
where there’s no one to impress
and no one needs to lose or win  
I heard it whispered long ago
what was the name, oh yes, now I remember
it’s called being at home in our own skin 

“It may be unusual, but I’ve come to really like Mortimer Mouse - specifically his iteration in House of Mouse. His character wasn’t much back in the 30s, which makes sense when he only had like six minutes of screen time. In HoM, he’s more like a wannabe Disney villain that TRIES to be like the big guns, but lacks that razor edge and it’s adorkable. The “frienemy” moments between him and Mickey are just wonderful and I definitely find him far more of an interesting rival character than Pete.”