The Dragons of Heaven
A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, an android sat on the roof of an ancient café, gazing at the ground with a loving expression on his face. Suddenly, a boy dashed past him, laughing hysterically, as another android called out, "My toupee! Sacré bleu!" The old android sighed. Sorata. The young model was always acting up. He would have to be taught that stealing is wrong, unless there's no money for gas, which then makes it perfectly okay. The old android stood slowly, his joints creaking. They would need to be oiled. "Ah," he sighed. "If I only had a heart . . . "
Happy House was the worst orphanage ever. Everyone there was so ugly. Arashi couldn't stand ugly people. That's why she spent ¥42,000 on Botox. But she was about to find true happiness. For in three days, she was being adopted by Lady Gaga, a true beauty. She had forever dreamt of being adopted. But time and time again she had been rejected. Too pretty. Too thin. What was that weird sword that kept coming out of her hand? But finally, it was all over. Happiness was here.
Being the thirteenth head of the Sumeragi clan and all, Subaru really had no time for fun and games. So he was surprised when he received the invitation to the Royal Annual Colonial Ball. It was on the night – the only night that week – that he wasn't doing anything. Not even stopping to think about some sinister forces that could be behind the surprise invitation, Subaru went to Value Village and bought a costume. And it looked really good on him.
A long trail of filth dirtied Seiichirou's grey shirt as he wiped his hand on it absent-mindedly. Yes, the life of a chimney sweep was a hard one, but he had gotten used to it. He was surprised at how dirty the mayor's chimney had been. It looked like it had never been cleaned. At least, not properly. Seiichirou's warm brown eyes swept over his work. All finished. Now he could collect his meager pay and retire to his R.V. in peace.
The citizens had heard tale of the great Pink Panther. A criminal mastermind. A serial killer. A true crook. All they would see would be a flash of pink. The mark of the panther. But by day, the mysterious super villain was a humble librarian alias Karen Kasumi. Under that straight blonde wig was hidden the key to her identity. Pink hair.
SMASH! There was orange everywhere. It rained down from the ax like a monsoon, splattering the ground. It was sick. The girl walked in between the rows of the mangled pumpkins, cackling. "DIE!" She screamed as she swung the ax into the side of a young pumpkin, splitting it in two like the earth's final day. Inuki, the faithful yet abused spirit dog, bounded up to her, a grim look on his doggy face. "Why have you done this, Yuzuriha? Why?" The evil child smiled sinisterly. "The enemy," she said coolly. "Has opted for oblivion."
The Dragons of Earth
Destiny is a fickle thing. Sometimes it makes sense. But usually it doesn't. Unless you're a Barbie. A very tall Barbie, with long flowing golden hair and unnatural golden eyes. Yes, destiny is a fickle thing. Unless you're Kakyou. Kakyou, who knows all. Every day, every minute, you can spy him, sitting beside the run down Four Seasons, basking in the sun, eating his sandwiches. Ever since the Mattel Company was closed, Kakyou had been out of work. No one wanted to employ a beautiful man that resembled a very hot woman. But, as Kakyo so constantly mused, that's life.
"I don't know but I've been told! I'm gonna find a pot o' gold!" Kusanagi hummed to himself rhythmically as the metal detector swayed to and fro over the shifting sands. The past few months had been spent in Arabia, searching for buried treasure. The sun was scorching, and his mouth was dry, but the mountain man continued on, humming to himself in his little way. As soon as he found the treasure, then he could go on to his next project. The Fountain of Youth.
"Camera standby. Recording in three, two, one, action!" The make-up artists and costume touch-up women scurried out of the way as the 5:00 news began. The lead anchorman was everyone's doll, the famous Seishirou Sakurazuka. Always looking sharp in his black suit and tie, Seishirou delivered even the most tragic events with a smile that kept everyone begging for more. Families would huddle together to watch the idol broadcast in the evening. There was even a fan club made especially for him. It really was the best job a man could ask for.
Meat. It's a really messy thing. Some people just can't deal with that mess. Some people just can't take in all that gore. But some can. Some really talented people can. And one of those people just happened to be a man named Yuuto Kigai. Yes, Yuuto. He was the son of unfortunate Irish immigrants that came to America because of the potato famine. They found work as poultry farmers, and soon, raised enough money to send their son to school in Japan. So that's where Yuuto lived. Raised by his adopted family of meat cleavers, Yuuto decided to continue his passion and chop up little cows and pigs. And that's where we find the poor man today.
The hills were peaceful and quiet. The tall grass swayed in the unceasing breeze. All around were flowers, beautiful peonies. The person sat in the center of it all, legs crossed like applesauce, arms lifted, palms up. This was the way Nataku prayed. Every day. As was the custom. The long line of Skimbleshank hippies had always inhabited this mountain. And now, it was his turn. Or her turn. Err . . . let's just go with "its turn." Because, after all, Nataku was a clone. Genderless, emotionless, mindless, as was the custom. For the prophecy foretold of his birth. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born in the seventh month. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord had marked him as his equal, but luckily, he had power the Dark Lord didn't know about. And that's why Nataku spent his days in prayer. Because neither could live while the other survived. And he was afraid.
"Four!" The golfers ducked, their arms over their heads in sheer terror. She was known as the Green Machine, the queen of the golfing community. Along with her caddy, the pro-wrestler for Yugoslavia known simply as "Beast," Satsuki Yatouji ruled the world of roughs and fairways. She stroked her nine-iron tenderly, then signaled to Beast, who grunted. The eighteenth hole was always the hardest. But with luck, a little blackmail, and a few beatings from Beast, Satsuki was very likely going to win the US Open.