

AtlasIt was a Thursday evening, grim in a way only November could be and colder than was really necessary. Damien had spent the day unloading a shipment of chainmail, of which his shoulders forcefully reminded him whenever he tried to pick something up, and he was hoping fervently that they could avoid fighting on this trip. Michaela seemed weary, too, though shed never admit as much, making the walk to the warehouse district gloomily silent. They entered one of the likely buildings, but neither of them were inclined to begin the search.Atlas
Atlas hated his job, you know, said Damien.
Michaela, sitting on a


The Tape-MeasureI am not silver. Silver is too soft, too easily yields where I must be strong strong enough to catch my exacting line-marked yellow tongue that snaps back with the rage of loneliness, when yanked into our fixer-upper world.The Tape-Measure
I am held by a million dusty hands
and pulled in every direction, always in straight lines I am stepped on, often, by children who are eager to be tall. They crush my mouth on tip-toe.
I am parallel and perpendicular to your roof, your floor, your framed pictures of children who have grown up
and weddings that ended in birdseed. O
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Photography is Beauty frozen.
[link]
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"Don't take life for granted. Thank a Veteran."
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:iconkittydividerplz::iconkittydivider2plz::iconkittydivider3plz::iconkittydivider4plz::iconkittydividerblackplz:
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Ethics? That's the place north of London init?
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