chosen title of kittykittyhunter
literature enthusiast & notebook collector
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The ForecasterMy brother's solemn predictions often landed him in trouble, even though he was frequently correct. One morning he placed his trembling hands on my shoulders. I was busy, fishing. But I knew at once from the pressure of his fingers, from the grave way he spoke my name that something was amiss. "Tae," he whispered, "Atlantis is sinking."The Forecaster by kittykittyhunter
I remember my first reaction was to laugh. Shau shook me, frustrated. "I do not jest!" he hissed. "I am certain, Tae."
Brushing away his palms, I cast my gaze to the river. There had not been a single quirk of the line. I adored Shau, yet, I despised his antic, paranoid ways: he would never be a hunter. "You have frightened away our meal! Please attend your duties, Shau. Stop fretting. The continent is fine."
Shau did not relent; he twisted my wrist until I was forced to heed.
RomeoThe name's Romeo. Yeah, alright. Don't bother. Whatever you were about to say, I've already heard it: considering the fact that probably everyone in the world is force-fed Shakespeare at some point or other, it's not surprising that all the stupid puns that come my way aren't exactly original. I've had English teachers yell lines at me, thinking that, for some dumb reason, I've got the whole play memorised. Not likely. My parents didn't call me Romeo because they're Die Hard Bard fans. Dad lost a bet to a mate. Not exactly enchanting.Romeo by kittykittyhunter
I was watching TV in the living room, minding my own business. All of a sudden the door slammed open, and there was Mum, glaring at me as though I'd left a week's worth of socks stuffed behind the radiator. I was about to remind her that I'd taken out the rubbish that morning, but before I could say anything, she strode over to the windows and wre
FootstepsThere are stories reserved for the hours succeeding midnight,Footsteps by kittykittyhunter
candlelit murmurs that volley through the darkness
and filter in through
the pores that form our skin.
I have read them, I have told them,
I have nestled them close as new born babes and now,
I shall sing the songs to you.
Once there was a child who longed to conquer everything:
the world, herself
and all the demons in between;
but she faltered and she stumbled and she split her knees –
she broke her ribcage open and her heart stopped
The girl begged for Mercy and was duly engulfed by
the embraces of those whom would
never let [her] go.
I edge closer to that superior version of me,
fragments fused in flawless unity, tessellating, interlacing,
forged from the fire and with the lightning strikes
that descend from the tangle of stars.
I am sewing up my scars with devotion, one-by-one,
I will show you
that paper cranes are more than the promise of a dream.
Dear Captain! Do you kno
Press StartSometimes I feel like throwingPress Start by kittykittyhunter
everything away and starting over
piece by piece:
it’d take a while, but who’s to say
that the finished mosaic
wouldn’t be worth the trouble?
I’m not an Artist; I only see with
my eyes and draw conclusions
from the little things I know,
yet I cling to beauty in it’s smallest form —
glasses free of smudges
and colourful pebbles.
I’m de-cluttering, organising, moving on,
freeing up space so that I have
the room to breathe. When you feel
asphyxiated, you wish that it was easy,
like the flowing sea.
So here’s to fresh beginnings, happy
endings, soulful middles. I’ve got my paper
and pen and will gather of the shards
of my masterpiece.
burn brightlythis will not be a sluggish victoryburn brightly by kittykittyhunter
but the stars heaped upon trembling shoulders —
the words I’ve spoken over and over
are gathering here,
and I will watch you as I watched Maud,
who brought a broader understanding
of love and of beauty — hark,
the verses are scribed on my fingers,
of an old lord
my fanfare shall not be dulcet —
bring your war drums, let them know I have come
and am here to stay
hidden purposeI never expected a homecoming to involvehidden purpose by kittykittyhunter
Such vibrant colours, though here we are:
I’ve beset the deck with azure streamers
And will cover you in crimson confetti.
Welcome back, dear Captain, to a world you
Once lived in – at the time, I took clumsy yet
Careful steps, not knowing that clashing blades and war
Drums would enhance my horizon.
An unsuspecting girl whose heart learnt to stretch;
I’m here without any regrets.
I’m watching you dye everyone with more shades,
Feasting on your talents and every single light
That your spirit conjures in me. Watching greedily.
I hunger for that hidden purpose
And everything that I could be.
It’s fireworks and thunderstorms from here.
Welcome home, dear Captain:
This ship is yours to steer.
to a captainshaking hands and stuttering thoughts –to a captain by kittykittyhunter
i pause, re-think, re-shape, re-forge
till i can show myself to you without
needing to resign. you find strength
in these small words of mine, praise
them, grace them with your eyes, say
they shake you, take you to a place
where you can soar.
i do not tremble with the ceaseless cold
but at the flames that flicker in my soul
when we trade hopes and dreams.
the traits that glow within your heart
are qualities i yearn to make a part
we are rising: fearless tidal waves, drawn
out from our darkened caves, poised to
fight against the world and ready
to be brave. shooting stars and paper cranes
and all the wishes we retain will
rollick and fold into one:
the desire to stand beneath the sun.
to a dragonperhaps you would not know that these wordsto a dragon by kittykittyhunter
were for you until i folded them up and pressed
them into your hands, like a paper crane --
sometimes the symbol that a wish be fulfilled
is all that we have
to recall that, somehow, somewhere,
our dreams are for the taking.
there is a melody in your soul
that strums the chords in mine. i am humbled by
your brightness, your love of light and life
and all the aching hours that fill the gaps between.
i feel clumsy. i feel foolish. i feel angered. i feel pained.
but i am a star, a comet, a raging phoenix:
anything that will stay aflame
in the wake of yesterdays lost and tomorrows seized.
dear dragon, there are days that your world will
crumble to its knees. days that your ideals will be held aloft,
untouchable, on the grandest plateau: there are nights
that the clouds will be your carpet
and you will wonder
how the frailest wisps can hold so much.
run. walk. crawl. claw your way to the summit
MoonpulseThey gave Ayesa’s mother comforting words.Moonpulse by kittykittyhunter
“You can’t help it,” said Old Thean, setting a basket of herbs on the apothecary counter. “We must all die – but outliving your child will be painful, I admit.”
“It would be worse if Ayesa had been more agreeable,” chimed Selanor Dixit. She baked the finest breads in the entire village. “I can’t imagine what you endure.”
It was true. Ayesa had always been a nuisance. When she was four, she returned from the forest being followed by herolves: Young Thean had fought them off with a torch. When Ayesa was seven, she waded into Brackery Pond and got herself covered in slime. It was no surprise to anyone when, aged thirteen, Ayesa became the first villager in thirty years to contract moonpulse. Her skin became clammy and the physician announced that she’d be dead within six lun
Water at 50 DegreesThe White Queen liked to show her teeth when she smiled. They were yellowing a little, but she had sharp incisors. The teeth made a strange combination with her lips, which were cracked though well-formed. Strange? Perhaps ‘noteworthy’ would be a better word.Water at 50 Degrees by kittykittyhunter
People who were brought before the White Queen often found themselves staring at her mouth when she spoke, watching out for the twitching muscles that denoted their fates. Her eyes were too frightening to look upon – hollow sockets that would steam when the White Queen was angry, or seep green tears when the White Queen was sad. There were those who allowed their gazes to stray to her forehead or cheekbones, but they were not many. Thus, they are regularly forgotten.
She always drank water at fifty degrees.
A servant would check the contents of the chalice or goblet with a thermometer. Her Majesty could tell if the water was
Paintings and PoetryShe enjoyed giving advice.Paintings and Poetry by kittykittyhunter
“You can’t always wait for stardust to fill your lungs.” She jolted her head in my general direction and I felt as though she’d flung a spotlight on me; she ignored my blushes and continued to string her bow, barrelling on, “Life isn’t always that accommodating. Sometimes, you’ll have to fight your way through huge obstacles. People who want to hurt or deceive you. People who want to see you fail. Your own fear. That’s the worst one, in my experience. Nothing holds the soul back more than fear.”
Her words prompted rigorous murmuring among the troops. Once again, our esteemed captain was right. She grinned, enjoying the quiet praise. I didn’t want to ruin her mood but I couldn’t allow my concerns to remain unvoiced: I raised my hand and a hush fell among the crowd.
It was unnerving. I star
meetings“Hey. Are you alright?”meetings by kittykittyhunter
Summer was buzzing in his ears when he turned towards the voice; a chorus of insects was accompanied by the flapping of wings overhead and, somewhere not too distant, a stream gurgled. He saw a girl with black, unkempt hair – there were holes in her jeans and her t-shirt was splattered with mud. His gaze travelled to her jaw, bloodied and grazed.
“I think,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “that you should worry about yourself instead.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
CardigansWhen the world slowly rolled towards evening, I leant over the balcony railings and watched her stand in the communal garden, flat face uplifted, eyes closed as she basked in the sun’s last warmth. It could have been like the sinking star in storybooks – a brash vermillion – but it was always golden. Once my mother heard of my disappointment, she scoffed,Cardigans by kittykittyhunter
“Life is rarely like a storybook.”
Those words did not leave me. In autumn, it brought me no delight to look for squirrels carrying fruit. In winter, I did not waste my time with searching for identical snowflakes. And in spring, which was the heaviest with folklore, there was no hunt for fairies.
Summer arrived. My mother returned to her old pastime. She stood outside, pale hands clutching her thighs. Her cardigan sleeves had frayed. The hem of her skirt swept the concrete floor.
It finally occurred that her words had been a warning. She
fantasy.there are moments in the day when you become too aware of all the ordinary obstacles. like a bookshelf squeezed into an awkward space so that you smack your shoulder against the wood every morning as you leave your room; like the trainers strewn across the stretch of hallway so that you trip on your way to the door; like the welcome mat that slips and slides on the patio because it'll rain till noon. life is doing its best to impede you from progressing or getting out and that is the worst thing:fantasy. by kittykittyhunter
you can never get out.