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When Shadows Fall Across The Face Of Time
Cicero_Online -- Drama/Character Study -- Posted: 23/09/2014 -- Updated: 23/09/2014
Author's note: I am greatly disappointed by the quality of fiction offered upon this cite, but there is no better place upon which to place my stories because the PPC is not as broadly appreciated by intelligent people as it should be and the categories available upon other cites are effluvia. Here is a tale more appropriate for the needs off the world of the PPC.


Gleaming, glittering morning sunlight suffused the penumbra of mists lying upon the deep green leafy woods of Mirkwood, terpsichorean photons swaying between droplets of suspended moisture in the mist in an intricate dance of magnificence. Far off in the distant view of the agents stepping foot into the woods, the stolid mountains loomed in porphyrous shadowing against the light of the misty morning glow.

Agent Cicily Orion inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and breathed out again, watching the smoky fog she exhaled become part of the mist and the swirl of colors upon the morning light. Her partner, Agent Joe, ignored the glories of the gleaming, suffusing mist and sharpened his ugly, notched knife. "Let's go get this bitch," he said roughly, his voice raspy but somehow slick as oil spilled on trembling waters innocent of wrongdoing.

"Wait a little moment or two, Joe," admonished Cicily with gentleness and faith in her partner's ultimate humanity and openeyedness to beauty in the world around them. "Observe and behold the colors and intricate dance of the world around us. Truly a world woven of words would be nothing so beautiful if it were not for the eye beholding it, for beauty is in the eye of the beholder and we are privileged to behold its beauty. Do you not see what magnificence is here in the smallest of raindrops or the intricate, effervescent swirl of a galaxy's primal dance? We are privileged."

"I don't care about beauty, no matter how terpsicohorean the glory of the universe is," Joe snarled. "I don't have time for beauty or glories. I am here to end a life, not prattle about foolish things that mean nothing to the business of blood. The only beauty I care about is the beauty of the Sue, and beauty is a crime for a Sue to have!"

Cicily's breath caught as if her breath had been stolen from her chest by the breath of Boreas, God of the North Wind. "Beauty is never a crime!" she cried out passionately, her words ringing in the mist-wreathed woods. "You are blinded by your hatred of things that are good in the world! If words are truly foundations of everything, as the ancient people of ancient Egypt knew to be true in their wise hearts, why do you hate a world made of words? Words and beauty are like the ancient twins of Greek mythology, Castor and Pollux, bound together for eternity in harmony and effervescent joy of beholden union!"

"Shut up," sneered Joe.

Cicily bowed her head as if pleading forgiveness. She did not beg forgiveness from the universe for herself, but for Joe, who did not understand what was to be understood. Then she drew her long, gleaming, silver spear with the authentically shaped Roman head and thrust it into her sneering partner's chest.

He gasped as he fell, and his misty breath mingled with the mist and his red blood fed the soil upon which he fell. Even Joe could be beautiful.

"When shadows fall across the face of time," Cicily murmured, "those with clocks will regret their foolishness."

The world sighed around her as her words of purest truth blended and suffused the misty morning, twining in harmony about the wise young queenly woman who fought to help them against the forces of sneering smug impetuousness and vicious cynicism. She felt their humble, loving thanks and laughed joyously, stretching out her arms to engulf them.
What the heck is this.

Look, man. I can hear through my monitor the sounds of your're beaten-up thesaurus sobbing for mercy. Normally, children learn that big words don't equal intelligence by the end of fourth grade, but you don t seem to be at that mental stage yet so I'll spell it out for you in big letters:


This entire pice can be summed up as "they had a disagreement, so she shanked him".

Lord have mercy on you're soul.

0/10, try harder noob.
This was fantastically funny. I'm always worried I use too much description in my writing, but seeing something like this, I guess I'm not as bad as I thought!

My favorite thing here is that while the author/agent Cicero is clearly over-the-top in their obsession with beauty, the counterpoint in Agent Joe is also clearly wrong.
Cool! I think. Some of your words I didn't really get (I think you made up "terpsicohorean") but the parts of it I understood were good! Too bad about Joe, though. It's always a shame when partners come to blows like that. Or come to stabbings, I suppose.

Write more plz!

Lemony Eggnog
Surely you must be joking. And yes I damn well will call you Shirley if I want to.

Ahem. You seem like an intelligent person. And when I say "seem like," I mean that in the sense that a wax apple seems like the real thing until you actually look at it full-on, or touch it, or (heaven forbid) try to bite into it. But, let's give you the benefit of the doubt. You do understand that Cicily being a PPC agent is hypocritical, right? She's 100% Mary Sue herself. So come on, seriously. You're trolling us, right?

You could at least leave Terpsichore out of it. What did the poor Muse ever do to you?


Iím always happy when I find something here not written in this strange language I cannot read. U no wut I meen, díu?

But donít you think that you overdid the urple prose a bit?