|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Simple OperationHe hated himself for sitting so frozen. "It's really a simple operation, Jig," he said. "It's not really an operation at all." He was totally still except for his mouth it felt like.
The girl looked at the ground the table legs rested on. She was blank and hidden. Her voice was surprisingly strong despite having been silent for what seemed to be hours and hours as she said and not asked, "And you think then we'll be all right and be happy."
"I know we will. You don't have to be afraid. I've known lots of people that have done it." He didn't. He knew one person who had but he never met her. There was silence again. The warm wind blew the bead curtain against the table.
He so fervently wished it never happened. He also wished he could move, but moving before she did seemed like it would be going against the laws of nature. Apples falling upward seemed more probable at that point.
The very moment he was convinced she had turned into stone, she looked up at him
WantI want him.
This rapt and
That pine, that perish
we all know.
I want him to hum into my ear,
beneath my ceiling of stucco.
I want him to stop
me, with arms
so his head can rest
at the base of
my neck on
I want him to reach for my hand
his quiet movement from a calm
I want him to map out trails
skin as we lay
discussing the texture of linen.
I want him to sing to himself
as he walks calmly
I want him to smile against my
chest because my
hand in his
hair lulls him
I want him to photograph
an instant, a
subtle blur of a smile
so he'll have a
moment to keep.
I want him to look at me and even
if it's just for a drop
in an sea of hours:
nothing else in
Day SuicideMy day was another suicide.
Luckily days can fade or burn or bloom,
And arrive promptly, with confidence,
I sometimes kill my day with cruelty,
Perhaps unfairness, too.
Tiny injustices that seem to weigh
The entire concept of our cosmos
But its only in your mind.
Your selfishness and self-murder;
Pain because you dont want to forget.
To ensure your memory is still alive
Day must die.
A memory that creates an emotion,
Deadly to your spirits and your day,
But at least you do not long for it.
You do not pine for the memory.
You die instead,
So the memory can live.
For the Sake of Mary Ann PrimChapter One
George Percival Higgins Jr. was sixteen years old and awkward. Not to the extent of being wince-worthy, but enough for one to know the poor boy was awkward. He stood at six feet and a quarter inch, towering above most of the boys in his class who werent basketball players, with gangly limbs jutting out in random directions.
Oh, and he wasnt actually sixteen; he was technically fifteen years old until tomorrow, but out of anxiety for the big one-six, he already rounded up. He did not know, however, how important this particular birthday would be in the grand scheme of his adolescence, and how important it was that his birthday had not yet
As George stared at his pasty reflection in the bathroom mirror, toothpaste still foaming at the mouth, he narrowed his eyes as if to look tough, or, actually, failed to look anything remotely tough since he still had toothpaste all over his mouth. George actually only narrowed his eyes because he didnt have his gl
The Wall of Your BackDarkness. Crickets. They chirp. Piercing the silence. We lay in bed together. Were not really together though since youre plagued. I know you are because somehow I can feel it coursing through you. The guilt doesnt just stay in you, no, it flows around us and over me who cant feel the awful sensation. I instead feel an acute pain from the barrier you suddenly dropped between us, reminding me that I should have left, and I would have given anything to disappear vanish right then and there.
And no matter the circumstance, I was rejected, and your rejection hurt me more than anything else did, and if I couldnt leave then I wanted your arms around me, holding me tight against your chest, stroking my hair, keeping me safe and assured that you cared for me still despite all of our wrongs. I have nothing but those contradictory desires gnawing and grating at some hidden place that then clenches my heart, shuts my throat, creates burning tears that can
How to be a Hopeless Romantic You gotta sit there first. Yes, just sit there. Start to daydreamif youve never daydreamed, just space out. Now smile like you just ate a big hot fudge sundae with extra fudge. You just imagined a hugit didnt have to be you actually getting the hug, but still, you imagine a great big warm hug.
This hug, that just the idea of it put that ridiculous smile on your face, was one of those hugs that people give each other after a long awaited reunionprodigal son type of things. Its also the type of hug that you imagine youd give to someone you loved who died but came back to life for a moment only for that hug. Any hug that strong and that encompassing always has a sadness to it. I mean, because you know that the hug has to end.
Next, feel the tugging desire at the pit of your stomach that wants to keep holding on to that hug. Even if youre just witnessing it, you still feel that tug somewhere. Suddenly, the overwhelming
The Turtle and His RockA turtle sat on a rock. The turtle liked his rock. The rock was cool and comfortable and covered in crisp green moss.
The turtle had been sitting on that rock for a long, long time. The moss even started to grow on him.
The turtle heard about many places, but he never went to them. He liked the place he heard from the bird called the pond the most. It was filled with water and many interesting creatures and had tasty food other than moss. He always wanted to go swimming.
But the turtle was a little scared to leave his rock. He only heard about other places from his friends. He was a slow walker, too; it could be a dangerous walk. He decided to stay on his rock.
One day, the wind blew a very nice smell over to the turtle. The wind came from where the pond was. It was very fresh and smelled like flowers. Even though flowers grew near his rock, the flower he smelled now was different.
The turtle felt very curious. He was actually so curious he stretched out his neck as far as
Another KissThat was the tenth.
Yes, the tenth.
And I looked away
Last time you had to.
This time I had to.
The next time I dont think
It starts with a look.
We continue to look.
And we pine 'til we finally
But this urge I get.
The urge you get.
Is strong, but the bubble
Its bad, I know.
Cant be, you know.
Thats why we are where we
Look, the eleventh.
God, the eleventh.
The kiss: a look from
She Blinded me with Candy
Remus collapsed onto the comfortable mass of the old chair in Nymphadoras room. A great sigh burst from Remus as he felt his whole aching, tired self relax and sink into the chair.
Today had been too much for his old body to handle.
The moment he thought it, he could almost hear Nymphadora laughing at his exaggeration. But no matter what the truth really washe felt exhausted beyond measure.
Thankfully he knew everyone was safe and alive. If he hadnt checked at the Burrow for the most recent updates on everyone, he would have been far too anxious and worried to enjoy the comfort of this glorious chair.
Merlin this chair is amazing, he said to himself as he sank deeper into the cushion,
If only I had a bit of chocolate or something He closed his eyes and right as he felt himself sink into sleep, a fearful chill forced him awake again.
She was supposed to be back already! His eyes shot open before he even completed the thought. T
First EncounterTitle: First Encounter
IDW Transformers Generation One
Summary: Drift has been watching a mysterious figure roaming in his parts of quiet and peace; he wonders why the same figure keeps coming back…
Warnings: CanonxOC. I have not read the comic book to Drift, though I’m so intending to read one day!
Word Count: 649
The past few weeks, Drift has been seeing a mysterious figure out in the valley where he usually goes to meditate. Though it made no sense to him why someone would keep coming. Unless the figure had a reason to, but he was intending to find out for himself.
As he could see from so far, the figure was slender and white just like him, but with silver skin unlike all white. Dark blue optics that shined in the sunlight as it glanced at him. He was very unsure if it was a mech or a femme, but he didn’t remember femmes being on Earth. Only on Cybertron.
the moonthey always laughed
the other children, when Luna was trying to tell one of her many stories.
they were the same age, but their eyes were not seeing more than the cars and the dust. what possibly can you lose if you believe in fairies of the forest, magic and in the spirit of the world? nobody wanted to see or at least know that the world was alive, breathing, special, magic.
they should have all stopped for a moment;
they should have stopped the engines,
it should be a supreme moment of silence,
of total stillness
and maybe then they would have heard.
how could she make them all understand that the leaves are eyes, that the trees are spirits, that every little thing alive has a soul? how could she make all of them understand that the snowflakes could be the wings of angels? by writing a story? isn’t that ironic? would anybody read it?
now Luna is staying awake till late at night,
till the cars would stop
and the people
and all the other noises
tempestasnever let Luna stand in a thunderstorm too long, it will become her resurrection. the wind and bassdrum of water is the same thing as Cardiopulmonary resuscitation, 32 beats before she leans her head back and laughs in a way that sounds like she’s finally alive. the lightning will be a defibrillator right across her brainstem and her eyes will become full of an unbearable brightness, too powerful to stare into and too beautiful to turn away from. she has became a witch in that instant as if her whole body is trembling with a magic so potent it could atomize her, as if the only thing tying her to her body is just her skin. all else has became a tempest.
please. don’t you know that lightning burns five times hotter than the sun? you will see her like that with her wild nature exploding from her cautious one - you will see her like that, that perfect moment of being recklessly undone - and she will burn herself into you for an eternity. you cannot stare into the heart of that
Hold ItIt's like holding your breath for a minute.
If you haven't experienced that sensation, go ahead and try it now since you've got nothing to lose and it'll help you better understand the story.
That first twenty seconds is like a walk in the park. Like, gosh, I didn't know I was so gifted at holding my breath. I am the best.
Then about halfway through it, you start feeling a pressure, right? Not exactly a panic, but you are just waiting for the moment when you can just start breathing again-- like normal.
Just five seconds after that you start panicking a little. Oh, god it has only been five seconds how am I going to handle twenty-five more seconds of this? Because now every second feels like your lungs are starting to collapse a little.
Every second is a struggle to not breathe, to go against nature just to reach an arbitrary goal of sixty seconds. And every second feels like an abomination; you shouldn't be feeling this pressure, you should be enjoying oxygen intake like a regul
Keep in Touch!