Story 200! I'm so excited. I remember when there were only a dozen YW stories on this site. We'd go months without an update or new story, the handful of us that frequented the page. Now, 200! It's swell how we've grown.

This kept buzzing around my head as I was working on the aftermath of the Kit/Nita fight in Cacoethes. I swear that this is not where the story is going; consider this somewhat of an alternate ending. It's a pantoum, a Malaysian poem composed of an ABAB rhyme scheme and repeating lines. They're a lot of fun to write. (http/ for more specific info)

I'll update Cacoethes soon—I was out of town all last week. The next chapter needs a bit more polishing, and right now the five heathens (otherwise known as younger siblings) are making too much noise for me to concentrate.


The glass slips out of her hand,
Crashing onto the pavement.
She scoops up little pieces,
Shards slicing her skin.

Crashing onto the pavement,
She presses her hands to her ears to ward off angry words,
Shards slicing her skin,
Hatred burning where love once stood.

She presses her hands to her ears to ward off angry words,
Another example of her own incompetence,
Hatred burning where love once stood,
Consuming her soul.

Another example of her own incompetence—
It's all she can think of now,
Consuming her soul.
No room left for humanity.

It's all she can think of now,
The bottle of relief in her hand.
No room left for humanity.
Only seemingly harmless white pills and a glass of water.

The bottle of relief in her hand,
She scoops up little pieces,
Only seemingly harmless white pills and a glass of water.
The glass slips out of her hand.