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ShatteredShe remembers it now; there’s blood (oh yes she can remember the blood thick and red and sticky and dead) and pain (it’s what she is made of now what she will be) and the feeling of something inside her mind snapping like a guitar string (it’s a musical sound almost pretty she takes care of it and remembers the sound of unrepairable) shattering and bleeding and disappearing in tiny supernovas that leave behind a strange urge to smile and the icy knowledge that this is what she is; shattered.
She smiles into the darkness, eyes open but unable to see (they took care of that they did), arms wrapped around her torso and legs (at least the one she can move without pain she is pain why) pressed against her chest.
They turn on the light but it’s not them and she blinks as her eyes try to adjust to the brightness (it hurts so but she missed it why did she not remember) and they’re strangers (she doesn’t think she can trust them but her body is limp and her m
Love is CruelLove is cruel.
There is no doubt in my mind about this. Love is as cruel as it is kind.
It is the curve of her jaw and the silhouette of her face I study the most. she is lovely, free and happy as a bird and with the depth and beauty of a mountain lake 'neath a full moon. Sometimes the secretive veil of darkness pulls back and I am allowed to look at what resides deep down. I am captured; mesmerised by these brief glimpses of what makes her her.
I hang on to her words and her beautiful accent more than I let show. She is important to me; far more so than she knows. When she speaks I listen.
I love her. Fully and with all my heart, I love her. I do not know if she feels the way I do, but I pray she does. Love unreturned is a slow poison.
How BarrenHow barren, this land
Once home to thousands
How empty, these hands
Begging for food
How silent, the pantheon
Sworn to protect them
How unjust, the fate
Assigned to the poor
MonochromeA garden clad in darkness
With shadows all around
A beating heart of blackened stone
With veins of rubies crowned
A moving star crossing skies alone
The day is dead, the night has come
Vanilla swirls in bowls of blood
A taste of wild and tame
A figure in a darkened hood
Never quite the same
A howling moon so far away
The desert crawls with life today
Swimming in the river deep
An ancient beast is deep asleep
Buried treasure 'neath the tree
Not for mortal eyes to see
A pen on paper, scratching words
Monochrome, a page of blurs
Light in darkness, shining weak
Frightened children for it seek
Yet, once the fleeting light is found
Cold ashes resting on the ground
Sunrise over mountains high
A painter gives a grateful sigh
Quiet reigns where sound should be
A storm is raging silently
The scratching stops, the paper curls
A hand no longer with us furls
Whispers the WindWhispers the wind
In the hours of day
O'er the noise
Of life, as it passes
Whispers the wind
In the hours of night
In the silence
Of dark, as it passes
Whispers the wind
In the hours between
In changing light
And sound, as it rests
LightA being at the very edge of his vision was kneeling over the fallen human. It was weaving strands of glimmering light in a web over her chest, the thin threads passing through each other and sticking in seemingly random places as she worked. The fine weave pulsed gently as it hovered just above her chest save for where the being had delicately pressed one fingertip down to attach it to the dead woman. The being then wove the connected strands into each other, and soon one thin fiber of light was attached to each of the fingertips on her right hand. She raised her hand then, gathering the strands and gently pressing them to the palm of her hand before spreading her fingers out again, letting her hand hover in the air for a few moments. The body was lifted off the ground, only a few inches, as if the little light threads were puppet strings. The strands of light glowed brighter and the world seemed to hold its breath when she brought her hand down, fingers still spread and palm flat. The
Grey and silverIn a world of grey and silver
Colours muted by the fog
I stand silent in the snowscape
With a smile of grateful joy
I see the hidden beauty
In a bleak and quiet day
The lack of sound is calming
Wish it could stay this way
This landscape that I tell of
Is never far away
As fog and frost still rule the world
You'll see it too
I promise you
Peacock BlueThe sky is blue. It’s a beautiful shade, the colour of peacock feathers. I stand on a green hill underneath a blue sky and smile at the warm, yellow sunlight.
A gentle breeze rustles in the leaves and tousles the long grass as I close my eyes. Soft footsteps sound behind me, slightly out of sync with the wind. That’s how I hear her.
She comes to stand beside me on the hill, and her top is a link between the sky and the grass, beautiful and green-blue. She smiles at me and I smile back.
“Thunderstorm’s coming,” she says. I nod.
We stand together and watch torn clouds the colour of bruised lead close over the peacock blue sky. Somewhere lightning flashes, the momentary flare of light illuminating her face and making her features stand out in sharp relief. I take her hand.
We will weather this storm together. Because behind wild clouds of bruised lead there is a sky the colour of peacock feathers and a warm, yellow sun.
I look up. She's giving me a worried look as I pull the earplugs out and pause the music.
"You looked like you were about to cry there for a moment," she says. My face is blank as I think back for a moment.
I think back again, listen to the music in my head, and I don't say anything. Because how can you put music into words? How can you convey such feelings of loss, sadness, of greatness, of hope, of belief in a new day, a new dawn? How do you explain the feeling of something great ending and something truly magnificent beginning? How? When you can hear the sunset and the dawn, how do you turn that into words?
I can't. So I smile and shrug.
"Dunno. Just thinking," I say.
And she leaves it at that.
(Req) Methods of Communication (Canada x Reader)
"Ahh! Oh no!"
Pausing mid-sip of your drink, you glanced up.
Matthew Williams, probably one of the most discussed guys in your year at college, was standing a ways across from where you swear, beneath a large oak tree that had likely been planted there when the college was first built. Its great height and width stood as a testament to just how much both it and the college itself had grown since their beginning. From the distance you stood, it looked like Matthew had dropped a folding, sending a wad of papers scattered about his sneakered feet like giant, grounded butterflies. He hastily crouched, grabbing at the papers haphazardly, in a desperate attempt to stop them from being swept away by the breeze snaking its way between the buildings, but taking care not to crumple or rip the pages.
One paper, however, missed his frantic fingers and zoomed off, carried away by the air current. You glanced down, jolting slightly in surprise at the paper slapped into the leg of your jeans. Bending
AlliesXDead!Reader: I didn't notice , I love you~At The Allies Meeting..........
Here we are at the Allies' Meeting well it wasn't much of a meeting all of them were just sulking. Why? Its because a girl named (y/n) had died they had accused her of killing Kyra Vaski the personification of Pangea .
Russia smelled like Vodka and the sunflowers he has have all wilted he had spent most of his days at a bar drinking until he passed out.
France had stopped flirting and smelled like vomit like Russia he drank much to his heart Content.
America had stopped calling himself a hero , he didn't even dare to eat a burger like the two he hasn't eaten anything except for beer.
England the man who claimed he was a gentleman and hated it when his brothers came home drunk but now he was drunk himself , he even burned all of his books.
And lastly China the most cheerful and self proclaimed big brother of the Asians was sad but at least he wasn't the worst the only thing he drank was water.......
The Allies were having a m
Reader x Trickster!Nepeta: Egg Coloring"EY YO BITCHIE-"
"Oh my god she's still alive are you kidding me?"
Your name is ___ ___ and your... matesprit, Nepeta Leijon, Tac as you call her, is frantically pounding on your door.
"BITCHIE LEMME IN I REALLY NEED TO MAKE PLANS WITH MEW AND YOUR CUTE BUTT."
"Do we have to?" you groaned. You were literally laying on the floor of your cute little one-story apartment. Your Siamese cat, Simi, licked your nose. Simi was fond of the troll and in return, the troll was fond of Simi.
"Uh. Well not really but I'd sure as hell purrefur mew did." you heard her make a face. "And befur mew ask, no I didn't kill anyone this time. Da po-po let me furreeeeee~" the Trickster chirped.
"Fine." you simply said, wiggling over to the door and sitting up, staring at the oversized wood plank. "What's the password?"
"THERE'S A PASSWORD?!"
You stifled a laugh, merely smirking and standing up, stepping back to dodge the olive blood's attempted tackle-pounce as you opened the door. "Hello t
A Southern Story: Chelsea at the supermarketHey! How you doing, I haven’t seen you since before the reception!
Aww, that’s good to hear, glad everything’s going okay for you! Me? Oh, I’m just bracing myself for this coming football season. I got stuck in charge of the cheerleaders again, and you know how that turned out LAST year. Put all that effort into getting skinny, ah, well, you know, not quite so hugely fat, and they all looked at me doing that and went back to stuffing their faces.
I’ve already made up my mind, I’m not even going to try this year to make these girls lose any weight. It's down to them, if they want to look good, they can stop stuffing their greedy little faces. If they want to make terrible messes out of themselves, then go ahead, have that fourth plate of nachos. I’m just gonna sit back and let them do it.
We had our first meeting last week and guess who just waltzed in ten minutes late, shoving a Hershey’s bar in her face? Kaitlyn O’Leary, reme
Easter Sexy - TGMy mother buttoned up my shirt, shaking her head because I kept pulling away. I hated having my shirt buttoned up, so I would always undo the buttons. Before I could undo them, my mother handed me a little green weaved basket with my name on the side. Immediately, I knew what time it was and I jumped in place. “Easter eggs, Easter eggs, Easter eggs!”
My mother laughed and my shirt into my jeans, kissing my forehead and standing up, taking my tiny hand. “Yes, it’s time for the Easter egg hunt, and this year we hid more eggs than we have ever done before. So hopefully you get lots and lots of candy.” Her comment just made me pull on her arm harder, wanting her to start moving. “Alright, calm down Jacob.”
Finally, my mother started moving out of the room and where all of my cousins were waiting. I broke away from my mom and ran to my favorite cousin, Elise. We hugged each other and started telling stories while we waited for our aunts and uncles t
A Southern Story: Tori's RealizationOh, hey.
Ah, nothing much, I just figured, you know. It's a nice day to do some sunbathing, better not waste it. What's up with you? How you been?
Ah, good for you, glad to see SOMEBODY'S been having a good time recently. . .
Ah, no, no, it's nothing big, I've just been having a rough time the past few months.
You probably heard by now, right? Well. . . It's true, I broke 200 pounds. That's old news, though.
You want to know about the most RECENT kick in my super-sized ass? Well. . . Eh, screw it, it's not like you won't hear it from someone else anyway.
I went to the doctor the other day, already knowing I was over 200, I'd weighed myself a few weeks before, and I was something like 202. That was bad, you know, I had a whole “OH MY GOD I BROKE 200!' thing. Elizabeth being Elizabeth, she had to mess with me, throw me a party to celebrate my being fat, but honestly, I kind of chalked it up to, I dunno, natural weight fluctuations or something, but what that doctor was tellin
The Shrine Maiden
It was a cold December night. At an old shrine by a river, drummers beat an ancient rhythm. Lanterns burned brightly, illuminating the paths between the many stalls hastily assembled around it. Children flocked from game to game, an old priest sold protective amulets, and local artists displayed their work. Schoolgirls trilled like songbirds. A young couple shared an order of takoyaki. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn't eaten that day.
At the time, I was a young freeter, drifting from job to job with the seasons. My previous employer had let me go two weeks before the festival, and my savings were running low. Even the internet cafe where I usually slept would become too expensive before long. Needless to say, I hadn't stopped by the festival to sample its overpriced food and souvenirs. I had a different objective in mind.
On most nights, the shrine grounds had no cover to hide a 174-cm man with a backpack. On mos
Mother and Daughter Moment: The Escape ArtistYeah, I know I broke my own rule with that last story – let’s just say it was a rare aberration. They do happen from time to time, you know – in the same way that, just occasionally, I find myself challenged in other ways.
A few years back, I was in Kensington High Street, doing a little window shopping when I saw this mother walking past, carrying some designer bags. She was about five eleven in height, with blonde hair that fell down her back, and wore a black sweater, blue jeans and knee length black leather boots with the cuffs turned down.
Her daughter was about fifteen years old, and also had long blonde hair. She was wearing a black short sleeved top over a long sleeved green one, blue denim shorts over black leggings, and black Ugg boots. She was talking to her mum as she passed me, about the nice new earrings that she had bought for her.
They seemed to me a typical Kensington mum and daughter, and the bags they were carrying suggested
Transformation Plate - TGI ran my fingers along the leather steering wheel, waiting for the employee to finish putting my new license plate in place. After some time, the employee knocked on my window and gestured for me to roll down the window. “Alright, William, you are all set to go.” I nodded and pulled a twenty dollar bill out of my pocket, handing it to the employee, telling him to keep the change.
I backed out of the parking lot and started driving off down the road, turning on the music to a country station. It wasn’t my favorite genre, but I didn’t mind listening to it, plus I was too focused on the road to search through stations right now.
My home was an hour away and across the state border, so I was glad that I was in a new, comfortable car on the way back. About fifteen minutes into my drive, I felt a cold sensation on my legs along with a new feeling around my feet. At the next stoplight, I looked down at my legs and cocked my head at the jeans ripped midway up my thighs
Caliban's DreamThe music flows through the air, curling and twisting like invisible smoke. I inhale it and feel it settle in my chest as the drums play joyfully with the rythm of my heart and the music. A voice breaks through, whispering and caressing as the colorful invisible smoke spreads in my blood, filling my body with pulsing life. I hum with the music, my whole body lost in the swirling tones that flow and curl and hum all around and in me. It is almost painful, the power of a simple song. I thrum and pulse with the music as it stretches into eternity, an infinite amount of time squeezed into a few short minutes. I rejoice in the feeling of life. I know the song is over soon, and when it ends, the hard, cold real world will come back. I close my eyes and cling to the colorful humming life in and around me, desperately holding on to another world, one made of music and color, where dreams are true and imagination is the master.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More