Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your
contribution is not tax-deductible.)
PayPal Acct:
Feedback:
Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):
| [ Login ] [ Contact Forum Admin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time ] |
| Subject: [d]addy. | |
|
Author: Lady Luck |
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: 19:05:37 09/01/03 Mon This is a story about a girl named Lucky. The arrogance which was alight in her orbs those many months ago still shone blatantly, an optimistic animosity procuring over her 5 month old frame. Her mane had defiantly chosen a side, and her color was fermenting to delicate bullion. She was still tin and wiry—very fragile and pallid. The Sweetest Little Jazz Killer, that’s for sure. So unlike her mother and sister—it would take being drawn to the flame before she would erupt into a flaming sensuality. She was still naively attractive—poisedly striking though, mind you. Her growing form had begin to develop thick muscles—not masculine in their power, just seductively toned and feminine. Her body glinted in metallic scintillation—strength and sex personified beneath the innocent bat of a long eyelash. Isn't she lovely, this Hollywood girl. She trotted across the lands with the same grace and spring as a doe—her body hopped smoothly, without a trip or a jagged movement while she bounded onto the desolate lands. The leaden skies depicted her eyes in reflection—they were a smoke color, protean, and unlike either her mothers or her fathers. They crackled like fire snatched from Technicolor, emblazoned with looks like the reflection of a whirling sword. She had such a passionately vivid yearning in her eyes, such an undying nostalgia to right such impotent wrongs it was troubling. She's so Lucky._ She's a star. The filly perked up her tiny springs of ears, searching around for a familiar, mahogany form. Her nostrils flared—that was familiar. Mom was sick of her, sending her away—ah, the wonders that a child with joint custody must endure. He wasn’t Dad; he wasn’t ‘Big Brother’…so instead of addressing them she shook her head with a petite whinny and a stop of her teacup hooves, hoping to at least attract his attention. Member me? Yer kid? But she cry, cry, cries in the lonely park, thinkin', If there's nothing, missing in my life, then why do these tears come at night? Lady [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] |
| Subject | Author | Date |
| click click click... | Ruby Slippers | 19:29:24 09/01/03 Mon |
|
||