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Drug Raid in a Lighting storm.The atmosphere crackled with the aftermath. A sulphurous tinge lay on the edge of their scent, announced by the rain that started to hit their vests like bullets.
The barrels of guns were pointed at closed doors. Taut muscles shivered in frozen anticipation, the heavy rain plucked at their nerves until they could hear themselves crackling within.
A roaring white lined the figures of ten men. From their parted lips, breath mingled with the new wave of burnt air. A metallic taste settled on their tongue, a wisp of nervous blood swirled in their mouths.
Light beyond the windows glowed like embers. The silhouettes of guns were twirled like whip handles. As lightning passed, the outline of rabid, shouting mouths were accompanied by raucous shouts that ascended like a kettle on the boil.
Names passed venomously, the drunken stupors of arrogance and fury grew darker and denser. Lighting struck again, twice at once. Like whips frayed from one strike too many.
Writers Block- 265 wordsLines of gibberish are scrawled on the white paper. Symbols mesh with matted letters and numbers, her trembling hands cause the ink to bristle.
Her mind‘s bile is on the paper, confused, misspelt. Small hints of lucidity fly fleetingly, escaping birth with their cruel wile.
But there is no flawless verse, only the half skinned, half boned ideas of corpses slain in some inner battle, mangled by the pressure of their expulsion, her curse.
She throws herself against a wall. Black is hurled on the paper as black rage flows through her veins. Her visions vainly call.
Her ideas are crumpled for their imperfections, the orb of cracked hopes rolls to the littered floor.
On the mountain top of excellence, all the Greats beckon; unrolling their long, well acclaimed scrolls. She climbs in vain against the pull of a wallowing oblivion.
An icy void hollows her fingers and warps the words that arise. The emptiness crystalizes, staunching the flow of her thoughts. Snatches of slowly suffocating
Farmer's musingThere is a dream I cannot escape. A dream where my fields of plump corn shimmer and glint like a river of gold. Between a regal blue sky and gilded stalks, these colours of kings lull me further into the dream.
Then the alarm clock rings, it is a complaint and not a greeting, a prod to move my mind from my dream to the stark reality.
My young corn has prematurely aged, what should be a pale green sheen is a yellow, mottled paper crunching under my grasp like a child's fragile bones. It's drooping into the cracks as if it wants to return to its mother earth. But that earth is dead, broken under the heavy hands of greed.
Frost and fire comes and ravages cities and farms because of earth's waxing anger and quaking stability. But the only green things talked about are green dollars.
Politicians, sleek in word and gesture mesmerize all with honeyed words of support and unity. They are the proudest leaders in fair weather and the most debase deserters in foul storms. Their promises are the b
TSFS Chapter 4 part 1Janile pored over the data pad with hungry care, the days and nights passing like dreams. Sometimes, as Kass leaned in her doorway and watched her obliviously focusing on that pale glowing screen, he wondered if there was something else between her and this Revan: It was a question he would not ask, because he knew she would not answer.
One day, she called them together, and sitting at the head of the table, laid down the datapad looking upon it with sleep-starved eyes misty with joy.
"I know where Revan is." She smiled wanly.
"Where Revan could be." corrected Mission. "I want to find Rev just as much as you, but raising your hopes will never guarantee you results."
"Don't paint the Sith on the wall Mission, it is a glimmer of hope, I will not let you take that from me." She said lowly, as if she was a starved dog snarling at a rival for her bone.
Silence: the monster had manifested in her insecurity, and everyone now saw the shame that painted her face crimson.
Silieth- Contest entry- Theme- Relationships.It was a sea composed of the people who were missing the last piece of their lives; each one of these lost, lonely people with a puzzle piece instead of a hand, waiting to lock into another and complete themselves.
Some of them walked mournfully though the crowd with limbs splintered from a combination that violently failed. Some of them were still struggling to keep their hands together, their bodies quaking as their pieces started to slip each other's grasp.
As the creamy mass of people clotted and separated with time, most of the torn limbs were healed, but in some, the cracks crept insidiously to their core, and soon the fractured body crumbled as they screamed in silence.
He walked through the crowd with a splintered, quivering arm, injured horribly from a separation, and still trying to beckon his other half who was swallowed by the blankness.
Far away in another quarter of searching and broken people, She had tried hard to keep their pieces together, but he had left with a clear
A writers wings.An egg cracked; the ivory orb splintered as each delicate limb stretched out of its prison. The translucent fetus writhed in the warm morning air, and when the sunny beak finally found its voice, he screamed.
The pen scratched the paper, her unsure hands trembling as she imprinted her amateurish thoughts on the parchment, her ideas like a premature babe.
Days and nights circled the forest like dancing lovers; he cried with delight as his mother brought him the savory inhabitants of the forest, each rosy and plump piece of flesh feathering his wings and strengthening the flexible muscle beneath his gauzy skin.
She devoured the advice of others and thought of her ideas. She nursed her premature babe with the nourishment of experience borrowed from the wise script of the ancients.
He clambered to the edge of the nest, his vivid claws clasping the russet network of twigs as he peered below him: It was a world of luscious green, mottled with the rich ebony of fertile soil and
Tossed Salad.Shafts of illuminated rays stretched across the room, white bed sheets reflected the suns glory until it radiated like a holy veil. A pair of ebony eyelashes flicked off the lead of sleep; limbs stretched across the sprawled sheets and hands gathered folds which formed milky waves.
Bare feet floated above the floor before touching down, drowsy steps dragging across it before a splash of reality washed away the misty remnants of sleep.
The sun had bid the world a grand greeting and was now steadily curving across the sky. A bicycle was seen darting along the black tar. Porcelain hands grasping ebony handlebars as if she would be swept away as the world passed her.
She parked, tires warm and sticky from the heat, and walked into the vaulted market, an open cathedral for the reaped goods.
The beams of the building were skeletal, glowing with sunlight that cascaded through seams and slits in the roof until it looked as if the plump produce was streaked with molten gold.
Crimson apples nest
Sculpture.It started out as a block of stone, waiting to be born into something immortal that would last centuries of snow and sun. The vision in my mind was still blurry, I could hardly believe that this crass and blank stone could be molded into delicate cloth folds that formed mysterious shadows or delicate brows that either arched in laughter or furrowed in anguish.
I molded the shadows of my thoughts into the material; yet even after I had given it an echo of form it was still a faceless glob, uncertain of its future, and unsure of its steps.
My world rotated through sunny days and snowy hours. My hand kept on cultivating the white sterile stone, its hardness mocked me, soft tinkles of the hammer could not break its stubbornness. I forced upon it the stern and steady pounding of a chisel; stony flakes floating away on an unseen breeze.
When the sunlight reflected off my growing creation, my heart warmed with the pleasure of achievement, but clouds
The Fridge3:02 a.m.
I woke up slowly and groggily, in the sort of half-dreaming way that you do sometimes. There were a few disoriented moments in the dark, as my mind sorted reality from dreams, before I knew where I was. You were asleep, curled up next to me with your arm over my midriff, your hand resting on my belly underneath the sheets, making me feel safe.
My stomach gurgled urgently, and I realised that I was incredibly hungry. I looked over at the clock and saw it was 3 a.m. I usually sleep soundly, but hunger always manages to get my attention over any kind of sleep. It wasn't as if I had gone to bed hungry. The leftover serving bowl on the side cabinet formerly full of ice cream would attest to that fact; however, my belly was unconvinced and continued to complain. Nothing else to do, I suppose, but get up.
I slowly and carefully pick your hand off my belly and move it to one side, trying not to wake you. A bit futile I suppose, it's not like I can move with much stealth these
Illustration by :
When I was younger I had many imaginary friends. Short ones, tall ones, some looked like cats or dogs, but none of them could compared to Mr. Thing. Mr. Thing, when I was younger, was a cute little teddy bear my mother had given me when I was three. Despite my imaginary friends he was all to real, cuddling me at night and keeping me company during the day. I carried him everywhere, and had refused to go anywhere without him up till the age of seven. Though even after I had stopped taking him everywhere I had still carried him around the house as if he were able to save me from dangers.
I had explained to him that I didn't want to take him to school anymore because he'd get dirty, and of course he had understood. Patiently waiting for me to return home to play with him. When I would come home he was the first thing I went to; where he would then sit, and help me with
WonderlandThe woman called Alice walks alone through the hollow streets, a seed planted in her sterile heart and a rifle sleeping in her belt. Last night, she'd witnessed the popping of Pérignon, and a dazzling display of fireworks, complete with alcohol-polished emotions and hundreds of thousands of citizens pulsing rowdy fanfare. She'd netted her highest number of kills that fateful day. Blood still rests in the creases of her palms.
A streetlamp greets her brightly with its mild glow, and alerts her to a dirty and disheveled homeless man groveling for money on the other side of the street. The young couple next to him give a feeble attempt to back away, claiming they have none to spare.
"Lies," Alice whispers. She can easily see the pearls jingling from the lady's neck, and a well-crisped suit guarding the young man from the night chill. Money is more than expendable to them. And this city could do without this attractive mask of a couple. They, too, are expendable. Alice begins t
Suicide and RebirthI stumbled upon a beautiful girl who was listening to loud music. I asked her,
"What kind of music do you listen to?"
She took out one earbud from her ear and replied,
"I listen to many things, sir."
"Like what?" I ask with curiosity.
"I listen to the breeze of the wind and the sound of the rain slamming on the roof during the stormiest of nights. I listen to the laughter of children when they play on the playground. I listen to the humming of the birds and the buzzing of the bees." She says.
"What beautiful things to listen to." I smile. "Do you listen to anything else?"
She smiles. "I'm glad you've taken an interest to my taste of music." She continues. "I listen to the pecking of woodpeckers and the howling of the wolf."
"The heart has its own song as well, sir. Do you hear it?" She asks in a tender voice.
"I do not." I say. "What does your heart sing of?"
"My heart sings of the rattling chains coiled around it, constricting it tighter and tighter as life drags on. It
23. Befriend Me - Jake English x Reader
It was you 17th birthday, you didn’t want to do anything with your friends this year, for one they were all busy and didn’t really have time to go. You didn’t fret though. Your parents promised you that you would get to go on a special trip, just the three of you. You arrived at the campground, the forest trees a dark shade of green, and the sky, a beautiful shade of blue, not a cloud in sight. You all set up your tents, your parents are giving you space, so the tents are spread quite far apart.
You stepped out of your finished tent and looked around, there were other families in the area as well, most with younger children than yourself. You told your parents you were going to check out the forest for a bit, they replied with their favorite line “Be Careful.” You walked slowly taking in the scenery, until you bumped into a taller looking boy.
“Ow… I’m so sorry!” You said softly.
“It’s quite alright dear.” He look
Water Runs in My Veins I break the surface and feel the waves embrace my into their icy, yet soothing arms. Once I am completely immersed, every inch of my skin tingles. My bones seem to melt to match the temperature of the water, and my movements become fluid. I deftly plunge deeper, feeling both the cold and the warmth rush past me with every stroke. The pulse of the ocean beats against my skin; it is alive. I open my eyes to take in the scene. I can't see clearly, the images are blurred. Still, I can make out soft hues of color. I reach out and feel the hard, smooth surface of a rock, resting amongst others. I feel a rigid plant, and my hand even grazes the backs of a couple of slimy fish. With each connection made by my senses, I feel a rush of adrenaline. I am truly unlimited when I'm under the sea; my fears have been washed away by the white waves.
Growing excited, I continue to venture deeper into the dark depths. Soon, I feel wisps of seaweed brush up against me, tickling
Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess and a handsome prince. The prince was a little older but the princess didn't mind. He was like a brother but very, very cute!
But the princess had an evil, mean, stinky older sister who always took the prince away from her! This made the princess very sad and angry!
She wished she was older...that way she could have the prince all to herself!! So one day she prayed to the stars and wished to be older!
"AND IT CAME TRUE!!!" Brianna screeched in her room. She stood in front of her mirror and struck a few poses. The clothes draped on her, and the heels were way too big for her feet. They were heels, bright red ones from mother's closet! Her dress of choice was the most beautiful one out of her mom's closet- a lovely blue sparkly dress which flowed outward like a mermaid dress. However, when Brianna wore it, it looked like a bag.
That's not all she had "borrowed." Her mother's jewelry always lay in the jewelry box on the dresser. It was
Hetalia X Reader: Perceptive
You woke up to your alarm ringing. You turn off your alarm while yawning sleepily.
Another day of work
You slowly got out of bed and begin another journey of your usual daily routine of brushing your teeth, taking a shower, eating breakfast, getting dressed for work, and so on.
You yawn while leaving your house through walking out of your front door before closing and locking it. You start walking down the pathway to your car but stop seconds later when you saw a familiar blond-haired kid riding a scooter around in front of your front yard. You frown, narrowing your eyes slightly.
Great, it’s that annoying kid again. You thought while walking towards your car, bad mood already start starting.
What’s he even doing here anyway? He’s been here every morning creating that same noise and he doesn’t even live in this neighbourhood.
After unlocking and getting in your car, you start the engine whilst eyeing the kid at the back of your c
Final ThoughtsMy trinkets and pictures are scattered around my shelves, at every turn photographs appear like small wormholes to the past, trinkets lie gathering dust like forgotten relics.
They are not dear, for they are weak imitations of the emotion felt in those times. Terrified of losing those sweet moments I attempted to preserve them in tangible things. Of these I have many, and confident of their immortality I had allowed the real to slip away from thought. My life is a swirling mass of memory; I lie here and remember little , save the few orbs of the sweetest remembrance like pearls glistening in a pile of decayed rubbish.
Eighty years of life wasted away in the cell I called life, even the gems of my thoughts are darkened, and it is not because death's shadow is finally looming great over me. They are flawed, incomplete, small faceless blobs that send only pleasant warmth rippling through my heart. I am grasping for sharper images, reaching in the dark for an ethereal thought that only exh
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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