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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
It's Kind of A Long StoryLying here in bed, day in, day out, can occasionally become very boring. To stave off this boredom, I've had to become quite creative in finding ways to entertain myself. Most of them come in the forms of computer or video games, surfing the internet, reading and writing, or watching TV shows and movies. Sometimes I might do something artsy, like make something or sketch, though I don't think I'm very good. And it's a little difficult when my fingers don't have as much dexterity as they used to.
At this present moment, it's quite late at night. With everyone else being asleep, watching TV is a little difficult, so it's best to simply leave it off. I'd like to read, but unfortunately my current library has been read and re-read many times. Until I buy some new books, reading is sadly not an option. Surfing the internet can be fun, but since it's all I've done today, I'm ready for something different. Supposedly, the best way to overcome writer's block is actually write something, even i
a letter to a boy who won't read itit was the end of summer before the tenth grade, and the last time i spoke to you. you smelled of cheap weed and the familiar must before rain, sweat covering your hair that fell over your eyes like vines, and remained even as you looked at the birds as they scattered into a waltz through the brass thicket of the trees.
i remember you as this boy who wore sneakers with year-old mud on them, that always seemed to find himself in the creek by our old elementary school, even years after we had spent our recesses searching through the mud when we knew the adults weren't looking. to me, your eyes were just as blue -- the kind of blue that you fall into, like wells of water surrounded by the dark gray of stone, and your voice was soft and uneven, a stutter like careful strings on a violin, but the birds were different.
they were afraid.
they were afraid of you in the way only those familiar with survival are, that know how to survive before they are born, somewhat like those who know the sme
Libertades"Freedom does not exist."
"Oh and is that why it's your username?"
"At first I thought it existed, I thought I had the will to decide, but soon I figured out that even inisde the "freedom" we are slaves of our destinies."
She used to owe God gratitude for her every achievement, by the colour of her life did she pray for jumping stars to chase the sky. Her destiny was to be Mulan, a disciple, a paladin who wielded life; a hero - pillar of humanity. Yet she wondered if stained glass was as messy as her pastel drawings, layers of struggles under layers of hues, did visitors look at those crooked contours and praise it as a work of genius?
She always preferred to use pen rather than pencil, albeit she loathed to admit her flaws, she thought that it would make her seem more grown up. Still, did those erratic scrawls substitute inked apologies? Has she been waiting for adulthood, where her pulse is flat like her waiting, waiting for second chances?
She loved how there were infinite respawns and infinite time she planned to spend on video games. Monsters were engineered to be defeated and players were drones on suicide missions, dropping full stops on the confusion which she
The EncounterI saw him at the grocery store on a Thursday. His hair was cut shorter then before and he looked as pale as the moon. He was wearing that gawd awful jacket with the brown stripes around his thin frame. It had been 6 months. Maybe more. To be honest it felt like a million years was passing between the minutes.
Some would probably accuse my actions of staring at this man for so long rude. And it was, so please don't argue with me. Now...you don't know this man. But I do. Or....I did. He was someone very special to me, but I soon realized that the entire relationship was nothing but fake smiles and pretend make up on his end. Which hurt. Although I did fight through it and I still tried to be helpful, even though I knew it was in vain and he didn't give two fucks about me. I wanted more then anything to be close to him. Even if he pushed me away.
He had attempted suicide on countless days the year I met him. He would talk to me every night, and we would stay up until dawn talking. For so
TopangaMy Favorite Rabbit Story
I tell this story often to speak to the intelligence of rabbits from my own personal experience. This involves my first rabbit, a big orange doe named Topanga. It was the late nineties, so Boy Meets World was on the air, which was where we got the name. We had made it a family tradition to name our pets alphabetically after I got my first two mice, Albina and Beatrice. After them, it was the parakeets Cecelia and David, then another mouse, Eric. After Albina and Beatrice passed, we bought two more, Falene and Ginger who I bred to Eric, resulting in a number of babies, whose names I can’t even recall, up to the letter S. So, when we got our rabbit, we were at T and I went with Topanga.
My stepdad was the one who spotted her. He was looking out the window and said there was an orange rabbit in the yard, which we didn’t quite believe until we looked for ourselves. There she was, just about as orange as a carrot. She was quite ta
FallowWhen I was a little girl, we lived in a house with a nectarine tree. My father tended to it faithfully, watering it and pruning away the dead wood and the branches that would grow too heavy with time, sealing the trimmed edges with care. Each spring, it bore a can-can line of frilly, fragrant petticoat blossoms, cast away wantonly beneath the carnal attentions of buzzing cyprian bees. Each summer, it groaned beneath the weight of fruit, ripening in heavy round golden bellies, basking in the honeyed California sunlight, serene and assured in its fecundity. For a glorious few weeks, we would eat nectarines all day long, in as many creative applications as we could think of, canning the excess for a taste of summer in the fallow months to come.
One spring, the tree dropped every one of its leaves, instead flowering in a veritable nova of blooms… somehow, it sensed the end of its long, slow life, and in one last tremendous effort, it sank all of its energies into posterity, producing
The CallThis is a written record of what happened on October 16th, 2013. My mother received a Kidney-Pancreas Transplant that day and this story is written from my point of view.
It all began around 5:55 A.M., my mother received what the family referred to as "The Call." I don't know what woke me up , but I remember my mom saying "No I haven't eaten anything... yes, I'll be there. Ok... goodbye."
I fell back asleep as my mom went into my little brother's room and told him what was going on. I heard her say that it was probably going to be a false alarm (meaning that she had been called to the hospital, but laboratory results said that something was wrong with either her or the organs) and that she would be home by noon. She came into my room and repeated what she said.
The day was also the day that my school took a major test (I believe it was the ACT. I am not sure). So you can imagine that my nerves were pretty thin by the time I was halfway through the dar
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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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More