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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.
ThunderstormThe lightning resonated off the walls of his hive. The owner himself was curled up under 3 separate blankets, shivering in fear, his four wheeled device sat abandoned a few feet away. Tavros peeked his head out from under the blankets when he heard his husktop ping but let out a shriek and shoved himself back into the cocoon he had built himself, horns ripping the fabric as a crash rang out, light filling his respite block once again. The device pinged again and Tavros debated against crawling the small distance to grab it or ignoring it in favour of hiding in his blankets. He decided on the former, pulling his body out from under the blankets, legs dragging behind him as he made his way over and grabbed the device. Tavros was almost back under the blankets when the thunder came again, making the poor troll freeze. He was trying desperately trying not to let the orange tinted tears slide down his cheek but to no avail. After a few moments he found the courage to move again, final
CheminJe marche seul sur le chemin de mon avenir.
Mes compagnons d'infortune ne durent jamais bien longtemps, ils viennent et partent, soit parce qu'ils sont trop jeunes, ou au contraire, trop âgés.
Et au final je marche seul. Encore et encore.
Mais ça va aller.
Je sais que des gens me soutiennent, même si nos routes sont différentes. Ils sont là pour moi, je suppose qu'on appelle cela avoir des amis.
Pourtant, qui peut prétendre connaître et comprendre ce que je ressens ? Qui peut prétendre comprendre quelqu'un ?
"Moi" seul connais la réponse, et pourtant elle ne me semble pas réelle.
Rien ne me semble réel.
Douter de tout c'est bien, mais ça ne me fait pas avancer. Pourtant il le faut.
Des gens comptent sur moi, je ne peux pas les décevoir.
Mais comment peuvent-ils se rendre compte de ce que je ressens ? Je ne peux en parler à personne, si ce n'est à moi-même.
Defending Man of SteelLast year, Zack Snyder, Christopher Nolan, David Goyer and all the folks at Legendary Pictures gave us a much more grounded and realistic film based on Superman called Man of Steel. Some people hated it and some people liked it. Personally, I liked it as it felt like Snyder and company had taken the epic feel of the comics and animated series and applied it to the big screen with a new splash of paint. However, after reading some of the comments from those Superman fans who didn't like the movie, it makes me wonder if any of them actually took the time to pay attention to the film or if they ever read even a single comic. I'm here to challenge those claims.
1. "Pa Kent was an asshole": No he wasn't. If anything Johnathon "Pa" Kent was just doing his job as a father and looking out for his son who is anything but a human being. Keep in mind MOS takes place in a continuity similar to the real world and the "Reality Ensues" trope is used constantly. Pa Kent was afraid what wou
War of Three Worlds Spinoff: Week in Republic CityPremise: A series of short-stories revolving around Fluttershy and Bolin set in the Avatar universe.
1. Pro-Bending Mondays: Bolin brings Fluttershy along with him so she can watch a Pro-Bending match. However, he finds out the Fire Ferrets are up against the five-year reigning champions, the Sun Warrior Dragons.
2. Swimming on Tuesday: Bolin teaches Fluttershy to swim in her human body, despite her reluctance.
3. Wednesday on Ember Island: Bolin takes Fluttershy to see a play at Ember Island and they each share an individual dream.
4. Thursday of the Unagi: While spending time on Kiyoshi Island, Fluttershy and Bolin find themselves hunted by the Unagi.
5. Friday Night Lights: Bolin desperately tries to bring Fluttershy to a Lightning Bug display only to face complications.
6. Saturday Storm: While being cooped up inside by a storm, Fluttershy and Bolin tell stories to pass the time.
7. Dragons of Sunday: Bolin and the others try to convince Fluttershy to get over her fears o
HorsesIt’s been like this for the past few weeks. Whenever the sun shines. Whenever the breeze flutters by. It rustles my hair, the air is cool, my skin is warm. I think about a ranch. I clutch the reigns in my hands, gathering them up, my stomach knotting. I’m usually nervous when I jump. I jump all the time, but I’m still nervous when I do it. I’m a nervous person. Out here I was nervous. But it was also exhilarating. Waiting my turn, waiting my turn, it’s time. I’ve rehearsed the course so I don’t forget it halfway through. A to B. Plan ahead. As a kid I thought it was okay to stop part way through, crane my neck over, and blurt “This jump next, right?” I didn’t fully grasp annoyance back then. Now I don’t want to mess up. I want to shine. When I gathered up the reigns my hands were gloved. So I felt the rough material of the glove crinkling around my hands.
It always happens when I’m biking and today I caught the sce
GeysirLocated a little north of a field full of steaming holes and boiling water, the geysir sits quietly after the last eruption, which threw many liters of boiling water almost 20 meters into the air. Now, after water has finished rushing down into the for a while seemingly bottomless hole, the geysir sits silent and still.
For a while all is quiet, and the water steams passively in the cold air. Deceptively immobile on the surface, the warmth in the ground heats the water, already nearly a hundred degrees celsuis hot, to even higher temperatures. The weight of the water on top of this superheated bubble keeps it liquid, at least for the time being.
On the surface, a few bubbles break in the still, cold air. The geysir is coming alive.
For a short while, nothing happens. Then the water suddenly rises, threatening to let out the bubble of superheated steam that is forming below. But the weight of the water is still enough to keep the geysir from erupting, and so it only breathes instead, in
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More