The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

A Happy Child

Jan
25

Love wasn’t the kind of word that Accelerator said. It wasn’t because he didn’t care, though he tried not to. It was because he hadn’t known love in a very, very long time.

Sometimes he thought he could almost remember it, the feeling of parents who loved him, could almost remember his name if he reached back hard enough, thought long enough. He still knew the number of characters, remembered that it was ordinary. It had been easier to discard himself and any happiness he’d once expected to be his, once it was obvious he’d never be that innocent happy child again.

“Accelerator! Misaka Misaka admonishes you to pay attention to Misaka when she’s talking to you,” a different happy child bounced onto the couch, halfway landing on top of him. She waved her arms as if she didn’t have his complete attention at this point already.

He tumbled her over on the couch to her delighted squeals and picked up a pillow with his hands, not his esper power.

Maybe it was safe now to remember love.

The Rock They Break Themselves Against (Interactive Fiction)

Oct
23

You reflect.

It’s what you do.

Noise you don’t want to hear, fists thrown, bullets fired—all of it bounces back and strikes your attacker with the slightest bit of your attention, or even less.

Continue

Lost Child

Oct
13

“I found my lost child,” she said, a small quiet familiar voice reaching through the maelstrom of Accelerator’s blackened heart and the black, black wings sprouting from his back and his own scream wailing into the sky.

(more…)

A Small, Unwanted Intruder

Sep
25

“You’re too loud,” Accelerator grumbled at the unwanted intruder in his bed.

“‘Don’t be so mean!’ says Misaka Misaka, glaring at you.” Last Order was indeed glaring, but she only managed to look pouty and not at all intimidating from where she’d sprawled against his side over the blanket, her frog strangled in her arms.

“You should be in your own bed.” He didn’t bother to prod her away.

She burrowed in closer. “‘It’s nicer here,’ says Misaka Misaka, stifling a yawn.” It didn’t stay stifled.

Accelerator watched her yawn, head dropping, eyes closing… and sighed.

Last Order was asleep.