Hello, I just have one request this story besides the usual OC is mine, please review thing every author uses.

Close you're eyes after you read this, or build the picture in your mind as you read, which would also work. After you finish the next paragraph and sentence after do not pause and go "whoa! What's with this?" or anything, just keep reading. No this is not a mind game, picture this setting in between the stars every time, and hear the girl's voice then, talking to you. This will only really work with no distractions.

After it's done, please tell me what it made you feel like. This is sort of an experimental story or types, if that makes any sense.

You have to imagine that a little girl is talking, it is not from her POV the whole time, but just picture a sweet little blonde with hair hanging down long, two front teeth missing, big blue eyes, little flower dress, bare feet and wearing a little wreath of flowers that sits lopsided on her totally adorable little head, swinging on a swing set in the middle of a beautiful park, a bright sunny, cloudless day, warm, flowers on fresh green grass, birds singing in the background as the swing become the only man- made thing there apart from the little girl, who stretches her tiny lags up towards the sky, a big smile on her face that glows brighter than the sun and blue sky.

There is no one else in this park, just the little girl who is more innocent than the little flowers her toes skim over, who is more loving and precious than any living thing on the planet.

-Ice Lynx



My mommy brings me to the park every day when the sun comes out. She says if I swing and wish I can fly up to all the angels in Heaven, and find my daddy, and sit on the cotton candy clouds. She says when I swing, my daddy can see me and tell me secrets, like how to stop the kittens from next door from running away when I want to pet them.


He ran, head shaking and growling through the streets of pouring rain. Night was all around, blackness surrounding him, only broken by the beams of cars driving by, the cars full of people eager to get home to warm beds and loved ones.

He ran on all fours, her tattered clothing just one more symbol of why he would never have one of these homes or be one of those people. Running up the side of a building was another reminder of why he couldn't be normal.


One time, while I was swinging, I saw a little bird in a tree. He was very pretty. He was blue, like the sky, only he had a white tummy, like a cloud. My mommy said he was a blue bird, and he was from the sky, that was why you can't see them when it rains, because the other sky birds come when it rains.

I don't like the Rain Birds, they're big a black and hurt our lawn, they don't sing and they are mean, my mommy says. She doesn't let me outside when it rains, and the windows have to stay closed, or else the rain will come in and hurt our things, my mommy says, so I can't hear the rain birds to see if they sing or not.

My mommy is always sad when it rains. I don't know why, I was once over at her friend's house and I got to put my head in the rain. It feels good when the rain hits my cheek, it feels warm and nice, like my mommy.


Jump from one building to the next, always on all fours, the men right behind with their guns and nets, helicopters overhead like storm crows to swoops down and capture him, he had to keep going.

If they caught him, he would be dead, even though it wasn't his fault that they were trying to kill him, it was the Man's fault, he had forced the task upon the mutant.

Snarling he jumped from another apartment building top, trying to shake off the pursuers. It was useless, and energy depleting, but there was nothing else he could do. Nowhere else he could turn. He was trapped in the city, trapped in the country, trapped in a world that hated him for who he was and what he was forced to become. No *real* man likes a killer.


The swing faces away from town, my mommy always wants me to look at the trees that grow forever. I like the trees, they are very big and sometimes they show their squirrels and birds to me. They are all very pretty, and some of the trees even give me presents, like the apples mommy collects from the branches I can't reach and brings down to me. She always leans in close and whispers "they're red, sweetheart, but when you take away the peel you see the white inside. Every time you have something red, you need to search for the white underneath".

Sometimes I don't know what mommy is telling me, but I always listen, and mommy says that when I get bigger I'll understand.


Unwanted tears fell as he ran, then fell several stories to the ground, hitting it hard. For a moment he didn't get up, laying there in the dirty street puddle, rain pelting his half-clothed body, long hair dripping wet with water and sweat. His gut told him it wasn't his doing, his gut told him he didn't kill the family on purpose, his gut didn't matter and he'd sooner rip it out and die before allowing the chasers to catch him.

Scrambling to his feet he ran towards the edge of town, when he suddenly saw an open door ahead of him, a man walking out, carrying a flashlight.


One day, after mommy went to look for apples in the woods, I got off the swing and sat looking at the other side, and started to swing again. I laughed because I could see the clock tower really good, the clock tower where they had daddy's picture and little candles and flowers. Mommy doesn't like the clock tower, she gets sad when we drive past it in her car.

She says the clock tower is where Daddy became an angel and went up to Heaven, and started to look down at me and help me. I always laugh when I think of daddy with big wings like a bird, and sometimes I look out the window of my room and wish he would come down from Heaven and take me to fly, and give me some wings. I wonder what Heaven is, and why Daddy went. Why doesn't he come back? He used to go to places far away for his work, but he came back.

Heaven must be very far away, because daddy went away last summer, and he is still there.

Mommy came back just as the clock started to ring, it's very loud. Mommy found me swinging and looking at the clock tower, and got mad. She took me home before I saw a bird or a squirrel, she said I needed to look at the trees, because they were good. The clock tower is bad, she said. I wonder why. Maybe I will know when I get bigger.


He broke into the building, past the man with the flashlight, finding stairs. Lots of stairs. Behind him he could hear the men catching up, they couldn't get him! He raced up the stars, claws scrambling on the smooth steps. The stairs were spiral; the building was tall and shaped like a cone, only there was a room on top. He knew where he was, this was one of the tallest, most famous places in town.

Last summer a man had leapt from the top of the clock tower, to his death.

After running forever he reached the top, bursting out of a door. Below he could still see the last of the men running into the building.

A spotlight fell on him, and he shuddered, moving away from the light as a blurry voice shouted something through a megaphone. Looking back he noticed a small shrine near the door. Slowly he bent down to it, seeing pictures of the man who had plunged to his death from right here. Candles long extinguished remained, as did the flowers and ruined pictures, though he could still make out the faces in some of them.

Regret hit him in the chest. No one would even remember his name, and he would never have anyone to leave such a beautiful little memorial from him. The spotlight passed for a moment, and he looked around as he heard footsteps on the stairs. In a matter of seconds they'd come and take him away. Inhaling deeply he turned and ran, leaping over the railing just as the clock up ahead started to ring, its bells deafening. He fell quickly, silently, gladly as the spotlight followed him and the men shouted. '

Maybe he'd make it to Heaven, he had heard God knew all and might let him in. God knew he wasn't a killer. And maybe he'd find the man who's picture was in the shrine, and they'd smile and look down on the clock tower they both flew from.