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This text may contain very explicit scenes and is not suitable for younger readers. Are you old enough and willing to read this text nonetheless?
Choose your ingredients and mix a Cocktail for you and your friends.
Hier findet ihr nützliches Zubehör für Rollenspiele.
Einfach einen Würfel auswählen und das Ergebnis erscheint im Chat :)
The next time you want to go shopping on Amazon, you could do it with this link:
Amazon for Belletristicans
(Only works for amazon.de at the moment)
... because if you get to Amazon via Bellatristica, we get up to 10% of the value of your shopping cart, without making it cost more.
The same thing works from everywhere on Belle, no matter if it's a book recommendation in our Blog or an Amazon link in a profile.
Everything we earn this way, will be added to Belletristia's development budget.
Thank you very, very much! :)
- Ben & Sebastian
Beyond the dreamers edge, I find myself in a different room from the
homeless shelter of which I thought I resided. For while the room was
similar, there was something ever so slightly different about it. I got
out of my bed, and notice that some things were in a different location
than I had previously experienced, and wondered if like how it's bad to
change things up on a blind person, the nurses had decided to transfer
me in my sleep to the other side of the building.
I had very much of a different kind of illness from the Antoinette sisters, something difficult to articulate in words. It's like all at once you realize you are different from other people, who have normal interest in regular human sexual affairs. And yet for me I had known of my own sexual deviance from an early age. It wasn't like I was proud to have this particular issue. And yet the most I'm told I seem to others in someone who is easily startled by those around her. For I have many memories of that time, of which I had gotten to the point where I confused them for dreams do to the nature of my relationship with my female guardian.
The world was a constantly changing place, but not this much. I could some items in the room begin to float without explanation, and I've had memories of conversation with nurses that I would never meet. For my mind is like a demented programmer's program in Ruby syntax, the random images in my part of a larger scheme of non-sequitur based on things I could actually experience.
My life was an array further random array with further random arrays of deliberately tailored non-sequiter faces. I see in these strange room, me being transported to many places similar yet different from what I know. The trek between the laws are like an under toned surrealist painting, with the truly strange just being beyond the doors of the numbered room, with the ones on the left even and the one on the right very odd indeed. And you'll never know what you may find beyond those doors.
And for me, I may never wish to find out. I heard the giggling of the Lenora behind one of those doors, and wondered if it was merely a trick of my mind. Or if perhaps it was merely the two sisters who found themselves the reincarnation of the lesbians during the French revolution.
My life played many images images back and forth in my mind, and tends to become further refined in detail as my life flashes forward. I hope you don't find my assumption untoward, but I'd rather not meet any new images in my mind. I'd rather go toward a brand new happier life.
And yet sometimes this ability to move on is not an option: the nearest contact with friends is all the way in Milton in the Seatak area. I've been in Seattle of the Seatak area for so long. I never go outside, I never sleep for I fear my dreams, and I never get any peace. Because I am like a lost adventurer, having never succeeded in retrieving the golden fleece. And as punishment by the king of tomorrow my wife is beheaded and I am forced to live in her absence long for her to be by my side.
I hope things change for the better.
The bus ride wasn't the hardest part of going to the superstore, the hardest part was walking up the hill. Leg pain had become increasingly worst over the best few months, and the only ease on ones mind is a Jesus proselytizer holding up a sign when your room mate says "Ave Satanas."
It had been many months since I had been released from the homeless center for mental patients. My own reality is become normal and mundane again, but I still have memories of the elf girl. From the time to time I would still see here bleed through into my own reality, and she would be sitting in a bus seat headed out of town. At times she would volunteer for the local rainbow center. I hadn't had the money lately to go check to verify. Sometimes she would give me text messages, and I'd have to text her to tell I will talk in the morning.
Life isn't all bad, mostly it is a head ache. The main issue at the moment is having money for the bus, and yet just today mom had refilled the money on my bus card. That doesn't stop me from cursing out the bus while running to make sure I am able to catch up with it. And then I get transfer credit, and sit in the bus seat with my legs still aching, and making sure my room mate is aware she need to pull the wire to make sure we are able to stop at the motel. The motel on the other hand, was where we used to leave to go get some smokes at the local smoke shop. But lately we hadn't had money for smokes, and I'm really trying to save up the last cigarillos--which I prefer more than cigarettes--for extremely special occasions.
I had a vaporing rig a while back called an electronic cigarette. But I had began to use that so much that often I started using it like a Breathalyzer, always inhaling even in the most inconvenient of time. The thing is, when my parents arrived, my friend had to explain to them you don't get tar in your lungs. I think what it was really was was a matter of power of me rather than the vaporing itself. Fortunately the elf girl never saw me vapor, although for many months this made sense. At the the time she was still merely a hallucination beyond the dreamer's edge.
And as my dreams became reality, thing changed.
I realized my whole perception of reality was a lie.
And that's how I am still here today, having survived two suicide attempts by poison, and living mostly on food stamps waiting for the time I can get disability for my PTSD. I may well have to ask family for my medical records.
I hope Laminae is OK. I'm not sure how she'd feel with my conversation with my blond elven dream girl.
The girl I never thought I'd love.
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