The stars were swept and the sun went out, and then the Devil fell from the Great War in Heaven.
Looking down into the abyss, an Angel of the Sword asked him, “O Day Star, Son of Dawn, why were you cast down like lightning from the mountain of God? O Light Bringer, the once Guardian of Man, why do you now reside in the far reaches of the pit and walk the stones of fire?”
“Well shit,” the Devil replied. “I had to try.” (more…)
Just doing a little tease—just showing a little skin!
Forget your flaws! Forget the haters! Do what you like! Do what you feel! Don’t just be a customer; be a happy, delighted, determined, excited, enthusiastic, pleased, proud, peaceful, obedient, and satisfied customer! Why? Because you’re perfect just the way you are!
Yeah, except that I’m not. (more…)
“I SAID STOP THE CAR! DROP ME OFF!”
I parked by the side of the road. She tried to get out but I locked the doors.
Whoever said, you can’t fight fire with fire, obviously didn’t know shit about putting out fires; and whoever said, two wrongs don’t make a right, didn’t understand that sometimes… well, you just don’t care about making things right.
“LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT! I’M WALKING HOME!”
“ISN’T THIS WHAT YOU WANT? ISN’T THIS WHAT YOU FUCKIN WANT? YOU WANNA TALK, RIGHT? WELL NOW WE’RE GONNA FUCKIN—”
Imagine looking at it from the outside: Two figures screaming at each other in muffled sounds. One was a silhouette of a slender girl, coming out of the passenger seat and snapping her teeth; and the other was a shrinking finger, pointing bravely in defense for its life.
That one was me. (more…)
Edward backhanded me in the face, making me step back. I was stunned but not because of the blow; rather it was because it was illegal. Hitting in the face during sparring was not allowed because the school was afraid of parents suing them (which didn’t make sense since tournaments allowed a good bashing in the face).
I looked at the coach but he didn’t see. He was too busy looking at the other fighters who were also sparring.
“You sonofabitch!” I said, smiling in surprise and anger. I felt a twinge of self-hate for looking to the coach as though I needed help, as though I was a rat. (more…)
She is a Goddess with a witch’s favor, and between her legs lies the 32nd flavor. (more…)
My face hurt every time I turned to look at something. My head harrowed like a bitch if I made even a slight expression. Exiting the freeway, I turned into the gym’s parking lot with my brain feeling like a sore testicle.
No parking spots.
Suddenly the lies began speaking to me again: Look at that. The gym’s full. You’re hurt. You’re tired. You’re hungry. Besides you fought well last night. Why don’t you just use this day to rest. You can come in tomorrow and train twice as hard.
Bullshit! I told myself. Don’t listen to the lies!
I saw a car’s reverse lights come on and immediately my hand clicked the turn signal to claim the spot. Are you really gonna do this? You can’t spar today. Look at you. The wind felt its way into my spine despite the sun. Global dimming or global warming, they’re never there when you needed them.
As I reluctantly waited for the car to back up, my thoughts drifted to last weekend, when I visited my friend, Nazy, in Fremont.
I knocked and the door opened.
“Hi, Roun,” Nazy greeted—tiny and sweet—peeking out with her smiling Persian eyes.
“How are you Nazy,” I said, leaving my shoes outside before entering. I gave my friend a hug and then we went through our routine. First she complained that I hadn’t visited her in a long time (even though it really wasn’t that long), and then she accused me of completely forgetting about her. To this I responded with my usual, “of course not,” and, “I would never do such a thing”—just a few of the many counters I had come up with over the years.
“How’re the kids?” I asked, referring to her twins—two twenty-one year old boys, whom I had become familiar with through our acquaintance. Nazy was older than me, but for some reason we became very good friends. In fact, by this time I was somewhat part of the family—a stepchild of sorts, a bastard that only comes for dinner and leaves without washing the plates.
“Oh, you mean those little shits?” Nazy said, her smile quickly turning into a gathering menace.
I laughed at her sneer. “You love them,” I teased. “They’re your babies, remember?”
“Yes, dumb babies!” Nazy shot back. “What is they do all day? Eat, poop, sleep?” Then her eyes turned to their pet, a little brown dog walking in a red t-shirt. “At least that little shit doesn’t ask for money.”
I laughed again. (more…)
What does it mean?
I don’t know.
Some people have puke-colored dreams and some have sleek, monotone nightmares. Me? I never dream; and maybe that’s why I try to dream when I’m wide awake. (more…)
There was a flash of leather in my face and suddenly I was looking at the ceiling. When I looked back down, the bastard was already moving to my right. And when I turned to follow him, he just stabbed me again with another jab to the face. I felt something burst behind my front teeth and then something warm leaked down my nose and into my mouth. Ten seconds into my first fight at King’s Boxing Gym in Oakland, CA and I was already on the rag.
Served me right.
Two weeks after joining the gym and I was already salty. I wanted some action. But the coach wasn’t letting any newbies spar. Nevertheless I insisted. In my arrogance I figured, “hey I fought for my high school’s karate team and I didn’t do no pussy kata’s either (the display of posture, patterns and movements), I did kumite (competitive fighting)!” But this was not karate where fights lasted in two to five second blitzes; this was boxing, a three-minute, all-out, fast-paced hell with just you, your opponent, and your inadequacies. Needles to say, I wasn’t ready. I lasted two rounds because my opponent (this “white boy” I thought I could bully) bestowed mercy upon me.
Sitting in the corner—heaving and humbled—this little black girl came and began wiping the blood off my face. “You did good,” she consoled me. She was probably one of the gym residents because she obviously knew what she was doing. And she knew what I was—a beginner, an amateur. At the time all I had was ego, not pride. And there’s a difference. Pride is earned, ego is for free. (more…)
People always say, “protect a child’s innocence.” But then I ask, at which point does innocence become ignorance?
You see, nobody tells you that. Because every teenager knows that at some point, their once encouraged and tolerated behaviors somehow turned into shameful and moronic offenses without notice. It usually happens when you go through the mutation phase—when you get zits and pubes, when you sweat excessively and you start to smell, when you develop breasts, skin oiliness, voice fluctuations, vaginal discharge, ass hair, menstruation, large teeth, disproportionate nose, and hanging testicles. In short it all happens when you cease being cute. (more…)
R.G. Tamaki 