A great, metal, yellow submarine plunges into the darkness, falling like a penny in a well.
A submarine— an aimless, lumbering being, with little pale creatures inside it. It knew not how to take the currents at advantage, nor how to feel through the murk. It was foreign, and it was the exact opposite of a fish out of water.
Squids and fish and sharks hurry by, curious but protective of their ...
[These are two characters from a book series idea I’ve had, although I might not ever write the actual books]
Crumb found herself, once again, waiting beside the lamppost.
The clouds that shrouded the sky shone a turbulent gray, threatening to rain at any moment. She tried to pay them no mind; what she was waiting for mattered more than the weather.
“Why does the sun no longer cradle me in her warmth?” Asks the hare as she shivers. “Now all the color has drained from my coat, and my ears are soldered black from the cold. You, too, look painted like the moon.”
He snorts, and steam weaves through air, “Must you state all your woes through poetry? You look fine. A red hare in the snow would be as obvious as blood. This way, we are both safe.” ...
