"Distance"

      it keeps going, punching keys despite the static swirling over the screen.
      every line dead. nothing to be said of the other operators.
      with unblinking eye, it keeps typing, a breathless "no" repeating in echo...

"Seasons"

      drifting like leaves, we were, lazily flling through each gust, but oh so brittle, so easily broken apart.
      drifting like snowflakes, we were, sailing on the currents but ultimately frigid, frozen in place.
      falling like raindrops, we were, so irect in our descent, but still flowing together, despite every crash.

      we are a river of debris. let the wind do what it will.

Scribble: I miss my robots.

      Ghosts of verdant fields drifted on the wind, kicking up dust and debris in their passing. Surveying the rusted landscape, the wanderer carefully measured every step on the shifting ground underfoot, its great metal body swaying with each gust.
      Was it here? came a thought, as synthetic eyes whirred and clicked, trying in vain to pierce through the dust. If only this storm would relent...
      Within moments, the wind started to fade, as though heeding the wanderer's call for help. Dark clouds hanging over the sky slowly parted, as stray beams of sunlight pierced the dusty air. Even the restless dust settled on the ground, revealing the rusted skeletons of giants, scattered across the landscape.
      Ah! There it is! the wanderer thought, cylindrical legs clanking loudly as it ran. Just where the scanner indicated!
      Soon, the wanderer stopped before a colossal hand of steel and wires, its stubby fingers spread upon the ground. With a heave, cylindrical arms hoisted a single rusted digit into the air, before casually tossing it to one side.
      There, hiding in the small alcove beneath the palm, quivered a small family of animals, their brown fur coated in a thin layer of dust.
      "Found you!" the wanderer chirped, kneeling down beside the frightened creatures. Pulling a satchel from its shoulder, the wanderer extended a faded silver hand, as each took turns nuzzling its fingertips. "Come now," came the chirrup again, "let's get you guys somewhere safe..."

Scribble: Nifflas' music makes me think of the good parts of winter.

      She casually flicked aside her bangs, eyes intent on gazing beyond the din of bulbs glowing brightly just above. Without even a glance, she adjusted the long scarf around her neck, lavender standing out among all the black and gray of the city at night. A smile formed on her lips, even as her neck grew stiff and sore.
      It's coming. I can feel it in the air...
      A contented sigh floated on a cloud, the vapor from her breath dissipating only after a moment. From somewhere behind her, the sounds of cars and pedestrians alike drifted into her ears. Still, her smile beamed on, eyes never leaving the sky beyond the din.
      There!
      A single speck of white drifted downward, nonchalantly passing her by. Another came, followed by another still, as soon, the whole city grew white...

Scribble: Things I could not write down at the time.

      There came a pounding at the door, as those gathered within braced themselves for what was to come. As the door finally gave way, bursting from it hinges, the survivors huddled together behind the overturned tables. Only a brave few stood, some quivering, others still, their eyes locked on the shadow outside.
      He entered, a lumbering beast of a man, his pale skin wrought with ink and steel barbs. Prepared to lash out, his cold, grey eyes fell on the faces staring at him.
      A single pair of amber eyes awaited him. There, standing between broad-shouldered men, she stood, her youthful face grim and fierce, a small hare ready to strike at the falcon overhead.
      Staggering back, the beast could not look away from her defiant glare. Though all others possessed such strength to be a challenge, only this small creature forced the cudgel to fall from his hand, as a lone thought filled his mind:
      Is this . . . fear?

Scribble: What? I'm feeling romantic while listening to 8-bit music.

      A quiet sigh fluttered in the air, carried aloft by butterfly wings. As azure eyes followed it drift along the breeze, the girl felt the memory of warm, soft skin gently caress her cheek. Without a thought, her own slender fingertips graced the blushing skin, as her eyes slipped beneath their lids.
      Even after so long, she thought, a gentle breeze tousling long, raven locks as it passed, it still feels like only a moment ago...
      So entranced, only the touch of soft, familiar lips could force her eyes open, pressing against her uncovered cheek. Startled, she turned in fright, only to be calmed at the mischievous smile and pair of emerald eyes awaiting her.
      "Sorry," came the sweet melody, as slender arms found new ways to intertwine, "I couldn't resist..."

Scribble: Trying to pull nothing out of something.

      She slides past the counter, disappearing into the kitchen once more. Her hair seems to follow her a few paces behind; her face is just a made-up mask, stolen from a dime store Pierrot.
      A door opens, another customer slides into the bar. She emerges once more, hair barely moving, face barely moving, holding a basket of fresh wings so close that the oil's gotta burn. Not a flinch, though.
      Stepping back into the twilight of swinging lamps and burnt-out bulbs, she smiles, as shadows steal away the thick lines of compound and eye shadow, leaving her resplendent. Her hair is absolutely perfect, raven locks that never stray no matter how many times she turns her head to take an order.
      Now who is the fool, of course.