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A Sadstuck of Rage and HeartKurloz slouched down onto the dirty pavement of the alleyway. Sirens wailed past the alleyway where he hid, and remained in the distance, a constant background noise. The city was crowded, yet he felt so alone. He wanted to cry, but he forced himself not to. His dad had gotten angry at him again, and Kurloz couldn't figure out why.
The sky was quickly going dark, and Kurloz thought about going home, but thought better of it. Better to let his dad cool off and start worrying about him. The streetlights and vehicle headlights glared through the evening light, and the overcast sky began to pour rain onto the earth. Kurloz's black hoodie and grey jeans became soaked in a matter of seconds, and he sighed, head resting on the grimy brick wall behind him.
The far end of the alley was a dead end, but there was a slight outcrop from higher up the building that would shelter him from the rain. He got up and then collapsed on a garbage bag once he was under the shelter, and then jumped up suddenl
Fate and DestinyFate and Destiny
The girl called Fate, and the boy called Destiny met together one night among the starry skies.
“Which of us is better?” the white-haired Fate asked.
“Whichever is less painful,” replied the raven-haired Destiny.
And thus began the rivalry.
Fate decided that she would govern the lives of humans and decide what would happen to them from the day they were born to the day they died.
Destiny decided to guide the humans from the wrong paths and help them live to the fullest potential.
Fate was cruel, and many humans died. She watched their pain from her starry throne and laughed, for there was nothing their screaming souls could do.
Destiny was kinder, and the humans flourished under his rule. From his throne he could see their joy at their freedom to choose where they would go.
Centuries later, Fate confronted Destiny.
“How are you so much better than I, you who lets the foolish humans choose for themselves?”
He replied, “My dear F
Life and DeathLife and Death
Life sat in the garden,
Beneath the Tree of Wisdom.
A crunch from behind;
A dead bird;
And Death walked out from the forest.
Life’s eyes lit up;
Her brother came to see her!
She rushed to greet him
“Oh, dear brother, how I’ve missed you!”
“I’ve missed you too, little Life”
But he knelt down and pushed her away.
Life was confused, and pain flashed through her mind
A horrid disease had nestled in her arm!
“Brother, what’s happening to me?!”
Cried little Life hysterically.
“Oh, little one, all good things must end.”
And all Death did was grin
And take Life’s breath away.
Even in Death.
Eyes On Fire,
Three In the Morning,
I Need Some Sleep.
Kids With Guns,
We Are Young.
Kill Your Heroes,
Once Upon A Time.
A Taste For Adventure.
Somebody Told Me,
She’s a Rebel.
…And Then She Bled.
Jack the King of FrostJack the King of Frost,
Was not meant to be King at all.
But his crown-prince brother ran away,
So then Jack had no more time for play.
A year he ruled, for his father was ill,
With grief for the run-away Luce,
Until he died in his sleep,
And Jack had to rule alone.
Another year passed, and the kingdom was in ruins
For jack was a terrible ruler.
He was confused and had no assistance,
So he made terrible decisions.
His brother returned after 2 years gone,
With his new wife by his side.
He expected to be welcomed heartily by the family he had left,
But instead was turned away.
Jack grew angry and his family felt betrayed,
For Luce was supposed to be ruler.
"If you hadn't left, this never would've happened!"
And Jack rushed at Luce with his sword.
A fight ensued, and Luce ended up dead
Because he couldn't kill his baby brother.
His mother and sisters cried, because they couldn't stop them in time,
And so all three went away.
Jack, poor Jack, the King of Frost
Everyone he ever loved is los
popsicleSummer forever frozen
An orange popsicle
Sold from an icebox
dry and vaporous
atop a tricycle
Four tingling bells
rung by the little man pedaling at the back
announcing the coming
Framed in trees
always green in the light of the sun
Lancelot Price 2014 August 26
No crappy songs on a loudspeaker loop
just the sweet sweet cold refreshment
I will always live there.
Memories I was excited. Plastic continually crinkled in my fidgeting fingers. Dad couldn’t open the door fast enough. Stark black handle against the white screen door. Click of the handle. Creaking protest if the hinges. Metallic clinking of keys against the shiny metal doorknob. My little sister whining behind us. I danced impatiently from foot to foot on the dirty and worn welcome mat, tucked between my dad and the screen door. I could see my breath. A softer creak as the back door swung inward.
The tile floor groaned under our weight. I darted past Dad, kicking my boots off. Behind us, the screen door closed with a SSSSSSSSS, clunk! My feet slapped on the tiles, past the white refrigerator with the freezer door I could still fit underneath. Soft, blue carpet of the dining room. Light splashing the wall from the small, stained-glass chandelier. Wallpaper I watched Mom put up. The wooden table, covered in scratches and aged. Past the hall a
Diminuendo“Why did you quit band?” My friends would ask. Some were betrayed by my decision, some saddened.
Every time, I would change it: the director was disagreeable, I wanted to do other things, it took up too much time, etc.
Every time, I would think of the moments, the emotions I thought I could handle.
But they became too heavy, too much, too painful.
i. Air conditioned rooms were a luxury after hours under the summer sun, even if the room was just a small practice room. We had new music to learn after all.
I was excited, why wouldn’t I? New music were like new books, new adventures.
Then the sheet was plopped onto the stand in front of me.
It made no sense whatsoever.
“Let’s play it together!” The bubbly teacher would say, her tone more appropriate for kindergartners.
I looked around the room, wondering why I was the only one who couldn’t get past one measure.
“Maybe I wasn’t as good as I thought..”
Child, ChildOnce there was a little girl. She was small, with long brown hair and deep-set brown eyes and always smiled at everything. Her mother was an average sized woman with long brown hair and not-so-deep brown eyes, whose entire world was her daughter. Her father was an average sized man with short brown hair, and wild, wide gray eyes.
The little girl’s father had some problems he couldn’t handle, however, and the mother took her daughter away, to live on their own in a small apartment. They didn’t have very many things, because they were rather poor, and the little girls mother worked very hard to make sure her daughter had enough to eat and a few toys to play with. But even though there was no television or expensive toys, the girl was happy to live there with her mother. She knew that since her mother loved her more than anything, it would be okay. They had a routine: every morning the little girl would eat breakfast, go to preschool or grandma’s house, and her mot
confessions full of jack 20I do not go to the hair dressers that often and I get my nails done only once in a while. Don't get me wrong; I do comb my hair every day, and care about being presentable. I do cut and file my nails regularly and put on nail polish if I feel like it. I just do not go to a place of business to get these things done to me. People think it is because I think badly of women who visit those places often. More than a few people have commented "Yes, you are not vain," to me after I told them I do not have such an habit; thinking they are actually paying me a compliment. I do not connect all hairdresser visits with being vain. Maybe I might connect it with conformity; conforming to the society's standards of how a woman should look like. But I am aware how hard it is to ignore those standards while trying to survive in this system. Women are expected to look nice. Well, no, not just expected; it is demanded of us. And it takes time to look nice. It takes even longer if you try to do it all on
Sara's Stories: Nanook On The RoofSara's Stories | Episode 8: Nanook On The Roof
It's been a good while since I've posted a memoir story, and I thought of a good one.
Back in 1997 and 1998, I had to stay at a daycare while my parents were at work, and I would often bring a favorite toy of mine to play with and help me feel less lonesome. One day, I decided to take my plush Nanook the Husky (an original Ty Beanie Baby) with me to the daycare. All was going quite well for me and Nanook... until I went outside after lunch.
There was a boy in my class who wanted to borrow Nanook so he could play with him for a few minutes. ...I was actually rather reluctant to do so from the start, but to be fair to him, I said yes, as long as he would properly return Nanook to me when he was done.
Soon after I lent Nanook to that boy, he began tossing Nanook in the air and then catching him as he came back down. But unfortunately, he began walking close to the side of t
On Gender Dysphoria“Why do you always dress like a boy?”
Confused, I looked up from where I was pulling my shoes on. “I’m sorry?” I asked, frowning at my mum where she was washing dishes at the sink.
“You,” she said, turning to me and leaning back against the bench. “Why do you always insist on dressing like a boy?”
“I… don’t,” I replied hesitantly, still confused.
“Yes, you do. You’re always dressing like a boy, or wanting to. Why?”
Thinking for a moment, I remember Shaylah’s sixteenth birthday party, 60’s themed, which I’d wanted to attend as a classic gangster. Then, I remembered last weekend, when I’d gone to the Sugar City Comicon, dressed as Femlock, then looked down at myself now, wearing a black dress shirt and slacks for Film Friday of the school’s Spirit Week, probably the best, most entertaining week of the year. “Not really.”
“But you do! Why c
I Never Even Got to Say Goodbye (Marcello)Once upon a time, in Kindergarten, I had a friend. His name was Marcello. We were the best friends, as we would always play together, talk to each other, and, of course, get in trouble together. Then, one day, Marcello announced that he was moving. I saw him gather his stuff and walk out the door. It hit me hard. I felt as if I'd never see him again.
Fortunately, I got his new address.
One day (I was in first grader at the time), I went to his new house. It felt really good seeing him again. We played Sonic and did a bunch of other random crap. I believe on that visit Marcello got scolded by his mom for complaining about something. I felt bad seeing him sad. Eventually, the bittersweet visit ended as I had to go home.
A little while later, something terrible happened.
My mother had heard from Marcello's mother that he and his father were in a car crash and had to go to the hospital. I was shocked. He could've been dead or something, for all I know.
It turned out that nothing serious ha
YesteryearWhy do we long for the things we left behind in the past? Of roses plucked and tucked away within the pages of a favourite book, only to fall into your lap years later when old stories and memories seem larger than the promise of future.
Is it wrong to turn back and wonder and linger a bit on the past? To breathe in the air of yesteryear, graze lonely fingers upon the walls that have seen and heard it all, and steal a moment from time.
Our old melodies are the sweetest… happy, yet bittersweet. When love is young, and so is the world, every small heartbreak feels like the end of the road; yet the only thing that doesn't end is regret… of words left unsaid and deeds left undone.
Ode to Andrew HussieOde to Andrew Hussie
He who has written so much
About four kids
And 24 (36?) of an alien race
And how everyone dies and yet
Are still alive
Through some slim chance.
Detectives and gang-member mobsters
Have met the same fate
Of dying over and over again
But are still alive to the reader’s great joy
Or chagrin, if the re-undead is a foe.
But it is all still the same.
You have achieved what so many strive for:
To be well known by thousands
And then maybe millions.
And I congratulate you,
You have become a god.
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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