"It's good to hear your voice, Juliana."
"Feeling isn't quite mutual."
I could feel him shift uncomfortably, but he didn't face me. My shadow loomed over him as I walked towards the dresser. I was glad I had hacked into the sensors and lights before even coming inside. He wouldn't have wanted to see my face, or what was left of it.
"He looks nice in this vid, if a bit scruffy," I paused as the soft hum of the electronics inside the vid-frame lit up the screen, playing a video of Richard and his husband someplace warm.
"You both look happy," it felt heavy in my hand as I turned it over, "Recent?"
"Uh, yeah? Month or so ago?" his voice tra
Of All the Places in the Universe by HugQueen, literature
Literature
Of All the Places in the Universe
She was a button girl. Thirteen and already too old to be beautiful with grimy cheekbones accented by listless, golden-gray hair. She spent her time trying to sell her collection, dozens of buttons lined neatly in a haggard box. The large one with tiny flowers etched into them, a plain navy one, and the bright pink button were her favorites. They were the ones she hoped would find a home in some little girl's cherished dress or a mother's apron.
With her coat straining around her, eyes crowded with years of cold and unease, she held out her box to a passerby. Buttons flashed in the muted light, but the man scoffed as he continued past her. S
Get In Losers, We're Going Viking by HugQueen, literature
Literature
Get In Losers, We're Going Viking
The ships always instilled fear into those who saw them. When minuscule sails dotted your shoreline it was too late. They had begun their battle. The banshee call that emanated from their decks could send the most hardened warrior sobbing to his mother, praying that he could hide far enough inland. Some people braved the coasts regardless. Stupidity, dumb luck, bravery, perhaps all of them, contributed to the people's resistance to the ship's whims. After all, they were only gangs of teeny boats going viking, right?
Teeny boats with blood lust and an intense rivalry.
Mother had told me to come home if I saw the sails on the horizon and that
Who will perform the autopsy? by HugQueen, literature
Literature
Who will perform the autopsy?
There is a forest painted in
scorching red, fire blooming
beneath its dirt-caked skin,
smoke skimming leaves
as plumes of flame snicker
behind the tail of a doe.
Coals coating tree-trunks,
hungry for life, it devours
the same way they ravaged her
when she said 'no'.
Bright eyes morph into murkiness
as the inferno marches.
When rust washed down
her throat, she did not scream,
only begged for them to stop.
They do.
Beneath the ash,
they find her body.
She tries to count his last heartbeats;
her breaths coming in circular rhythms.
He spoke his final words in melodies,
ivory keys screaming his demise.
He is gone.
"Life is a fairy tale astray."
She thinks, but his
composition is not unfinished for
hidden syllables framed the final notes.
"He loved you."
His presence lingers.
I can not measure our love
in words, but in how tight
we hug when we finally
see each other again. There
is starshine in your smile
and I could swear that you
are Aurora, wreathed in
beauty, but with less sleeping
and more ass-kicking.
You are kind and selfless,
a true paragon of love
and a goddess of all things
good. where most have blood,
you have eternal love.
all the light in the world
is simply not enough
to express the light
your friendship and
love bring to me.
Passion and excitement
exude from everything
that you do and you pour
your heart into; everything you
make, everything you touch.
When we first met, there wasn't
a doubt in
There are no constellations mapped across my skin and I am not a galaxy waiting for you to explore. There are no nebulae sprouting from my lungs and there is no stardust scattered in my veins. I am more than that, I am more than molecules that have re-arranged themselves into the vastness of the universe. I do not need you to tell me that I wear a circlet of comets because I am beautiful and because my gravity attracts celestial objects.
I need you to tell me to breathe, to remember that each breath is a small start to hope. My own lungs implore me, keep breathing, keep going. You are worthy, you are worthy. I would not house life if you wer
You Were Not An Aquarium Boy by HugQueen, literature
Literature
You Were Not An Aquarium Boy
Sea-glass became your bones,
brine your blood, and seashells
melded into your skin.
You were not quite an ocean
when you said "This is your sign to love me."
My body was like a building;
tall, cold, almost unbreakable.
I was metallic and sharp,
towering over your waters.
I remember taking your hand in mine,
conch and coral shells scrubbing
my skyscraper wrists, and laughing
about how one day you would
submerge every last bit of me.
Your lips, riddled with argonauts,
found my cheek and I cringed
at the coarseness.
You asked if they bothered me
and I finally told you "I
think I love you."
Momma said to never marry an astronaut,
they will always prefer the twinkling starlight
to the light in your eyes.
They'll only end up in ships that float
aimlessly in zero gravity and you will not be there.
Momma said to never marry an astronaut.
You will stand firmly on the earth,
clutching the ground and knowing
they will always prefer the twinkling starlight.
Planets will fracture and stars will collapse
long before he recognizes he can travel
to the light in your eyes.
I watched him flap helplessly between the teeth of a barbwire fence, screeching for help.
"Papa, look Papa! A boy!"
My papa stood dazed for a moment, dust billowing at his legs, his eyes teetering along the field. It wasn't until later that evening he told me he hadn't understood what I had seen. What he had seen.
With grass tickling the backsides of my legs, I bounded toward the boy, "What are you doing? Are you okay?"
As I approached him, I felt his skittish eyes rake across my every movement. With his ten-year-old arms slung inside the gaping maw of a fence and darkened feathers pasted along the creases of his face; he looked squarely