Net-CafeNet-CaféNet-Cafe by ~Bowman666
The computer was old, and this city was one of the most technologically advanced places in the world. Her parents never let her have stuff like that. So she sat outside looking sullen at a small dirty table at a street-corner cafe with one of those old children's toys on the sidewalk outside with small white computer, it looked like one of those old Atari consoles she'd read about in class. The thick wires ran from it to her "pet," an equally dirty and white monstrosity with exposed wiring, her parents again. It had ads on its plating too, her parents again.
Another GiftA GiftAnother Gift by ~Bowman666
The pink, leathery cockpit of the Irken runner is occupied, not by an Irken but by a human. No, it's not the human you're thinking of either, it's a girl. In a dark sweater and a knit wool hat, drooping over her ears. Her fingers, red and blotchy from excitement, grip the pink solid light controls. Her nails go white as she streams through the vacuum toward her destination, the Massive. She nears the side snack pods, themselves a sickly grayish sort of pink, not yet glimpsed through the glass front window by the Tallest. She eases up, attempting to dock, and she crashes through the front window. She spills inside, sending shards of po
A GiftA GiftA Gift by ~Bowman666
She knelt in the snow, against the dark, starry sky. Then he came, Jack stroked her cheek with his long, bony fingers. "You're here now," he said quietly but happily, and as always, smiling. At his will, the dusting of snow that covered her dark sweater dropped off and dissolved away. They sat on the unfurling hill in the glow of an orb of fire that Jack produced from his suit pocket, which opened, even though it seemed to grow on him, and they talked. They talked of new ways of scaring, and of the goings-on in Halloween Town and with the rest of the Holidays. Oogie hadn't been seen in nights, since the ill-fated Christmas, they'd sen
His Name Is DanielHis Name Is DanielHis Name Is Daniel by ~Bowman666
In a courtyard that didn't exist in the seconds before, six people gather. In the center, on flat gray stones, stands a white clad figure, his robe drooping about his frame. "This is the first time we've formally met after the wake and the dinner," he says. "You have met Destruction," a man in a dark brown robe says matter-of-factly. "When can I go back to being me again?" a child in fishnets with dyed hair who looks like she should have mismatched eyes loudly asks, before she's elbowed by a woman in a black tank-top. "He was just a sadsack, but you won't even reach him," says a short plump woman with a voice like a crac