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Remember all those days
All those promises
I wish I could
Tell you we can go back
But we both know
Not everything can be okay
I want to believe it can be okay
Trust me I do
But all things end
It just seems the better things
Won't last as long
As we thought they would
So I want to smile and say
Maybe we look back
But, I hope you do
Those memories you gave me
Don't get burned
The winter months were mainly why I had chosen this spot to build Lockwood. That and, it was the only dimension I knew of without any intelligent life to build structures like humans did. Though it was clear I was making sure all of the technology being used wasn't hurting the environment. I was on my back, splayed out in the snow. A small clearing before the lake was here, as the snow flakes drifted down. Like tiny parachute's, a few falling on my cheeks as my hazel eyes drifted over to try and look at them though it strained my eyes. My hand outstretched towards the sky as one of the snow flakes fell on my hand, freezing farther to make a snow flower. I sat up, snow falling off my black shirt as I examined the flower. The tiny frozen water drops glistened, as I could see my breath cover it in wisps. My small fangs sitting there with my mouth open as I let the flower melt and fall onto the ground. The tree's were bare, and everything was cold, but the weather didn't bother
The OwlThe world was a cruel place, and humans were even crueler. No matter who you are, you all strive and struggle to come off as an illusion, or as the good guy. There are the good, the bad and the ugly, majority of it is ugly. Hidden under kindness, hidden over every other emotion. And any other human being, is no exception, to monsters who may stand to reason over the world. The monsters inside, the monsters we are constantly fighting, what's the point?
I held on tight to my school books as I walked through the gate, making sure not to loose them in the wind. Bucknear academy, was a boarding school, in the middle of the forest. Surrounding us was a large forest, and beyond that, was a rounded fence, to where none of the students could escape, not even climb, because of the electrical current going through it. Most of the students here, like me, had been sent as a rehab as "bul
Letter to myselfSo in a story, you have the elements of plot. The introduction of characters and setting is called the exposition. The rest is just a jumble in my thoughts however. Rising action?
"Huh?" A pencil rolled across the desk, the tip broken. My green eyes pulled over the notes I had just written. That's right, I had been writing about elements of plot, and how....how, what was it again? I sighed and leaned back in the black wheeled chair. Stretching my arms and placing them behind my head. I couldn't remember what I was writing, but, this happened more often then I thought. I would start writing out my thoughts, and suddenly stop myself, because I was afraid something horrible would show itself. Yeah...something horrible.
I pushed my hand on the desk and stood up throwing the chair back as it clicked. Moving over to the window, where the city lights shined through my window in the dark. I placed my hands in my pants pockets, placing my head against the window to look
VirusMom, why are we here? One day, I want to see the sun.
I pushed into the can to muster the last of the peaches out into my dry mouth. We were running out of water supplies, so we would have to ration it. But, it was simply another day in the Krack cut hospital. A lot of the sick here have thought that the doctors forgot about us, those who remained, were either sick themselves, or had felt pity for our lost souls. Nearly seven years ago, a new virus swept the land, more painful, more slowly then any other. They called it the zombie virus, because when it was done with you, there was nothing but an empty shell, and you'd lose your mind. Madness, was only the first symptom of your death though. My father had been the first one to be diagnosed. I was five then, and he died last year. It was painfully, painfully slow. It took six to five years to settle in. After that, it was all hell. Friends, families, pets, they were all quarantined in Krack cut in our town, where I haven't
GlycideThose voices told me over and over again I wasn't going anywhere. That I was repeating the same steps over and over again, and that I was playing the game wrong. You might call me crazy, because, maybe I am. That I'm trying to forget, that I'm trying to have a selective memory, which I never could have in the first place. There were things I honestly wanted to forget, things that shouldn't have ever happens, things I should have never done, things I regret. And that was why the punishment of eternal life, was more then I could have asked more in the end. So as I stood on the top of the cliff, I watched the birds fly on the skyward wind. As my hazel eyes watched the forest, watched the city in it's small section. The cliff near the lake overhanging it almost like a monstrous beast. What made this my home?
My hand scraped along then, the small wolf crystal around my neck, the bright color of purple. Then, I looked at my right hand, the small golden ring with five little diamonds em
Wide awakeWe all learn from experience don't we? Well you can never gain too much, not in this life anyway. That's why all the old people are so bitter, because they've had just too much of this life, to the point where they break because their bones are so brittle. We an an uncle Eric. He wasn't old, but he was plain hell to say in the least. You couldn't walk one step without him complaining how now you were going to die because of a decision you made. He wasn't one to talk himself though.
Eric has been involved with the police plenty of times before. Drugs, all of that, not to mention he was a meth addict. Living in our house, it made life interesting to say, but after some time, things just got old like everything else. His same old curse words, calling us bastards, bitches, and more. It was far enough from my siblings to say.
When he went into the hospital I didn't pay much attention. I sat at his bed side and would listen, he was still the inconsiderate bas
KillerI never really want to kill
Not the innocent ones anyway
Only the ones that deserved it
And if I could feel
I'm sure my heart would be breaking right now
DroplettsI've been having these weird thoughts lately
Like how maybe the world will end
Or how....I am the one to save it
It's hard for me to tell
Because it's almost like a dream
A long, vivid dream
I'm floating, but, there's nowhere to go
Just this empty space
And then I'm falling
Falling into the water, where I don't drown
Where these lights consume me
It's just all.....one big dream
I wanted to see the rain again
I wanted to see your smiling face
But all that I could see
Were these torn pages
I'm not saying that it wasn't fun
That the adventure wasn't worth it
That spark in your eyes
I'll never forget it
But time past
Things and people change
So maybe it's time to move on
Your name is smeared on the pages
Embedded like a scar
Those pages are my skin
My diary of my life
I can't get rid of those memories
It's like a record playing in my mind
And whenever I think of something
It reminds me of you
so I regret all those things
These torn pages
I hope that we can both
Meld them back together again
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More