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The Orphanage of St. MatthiasAn orphan was six years old when he decided that he was going to conquer the empire. He was a willful boy, clever and quick, who feared nothing. His eyes and hair were dark but his skin was pale: he appeared identical to every other child in the whole of the glorious Lancastrian Empire, land of the richest palaces and the filthiest poorhouses.
But this orphan boy was not every other child in Lancaster. He was determined to make himself the ruler of them all, and nothing and no one was going to stay in his way for long.
The nuns in the orphanage called him Jake. He hated the name; he asked to be called Alexander, after the Macedonian conqueror. The nuns politely refused and went on their way.
The orphan known unwillingly as Jake had few friends in the orphanage. They were all rowdy, boisterous children, just as unable to be tamed by the elderly nuns as the nuns were unwilling to tame them. They played on and on without minding their studies, without listening, without watching. The year
Building Block-adesThe trouble with having no inspiration, Kasey thought, is that you want to get something done, and try though you might, nothing happens.
His desk was a shambles of books, pens, cards, headphones, rulers, and stacks of paper. The few spots of wood that could be seen between the rubbish were all covered with a thin layer of grime. His printer was out of ink, and the flashing indicator light was giving him a headache, as was his computer's psychedelic screen saver.
It was too early in the day for this, Kasey decided, staring dejectedly at the mess he faced. It was too early to be faced with no ideas and no way out. He had homework to do, sure, but that was a constant. He wanted to do something special, something artsy, but the one day he got up the guts to get out his supplies, the inspiration abandoned him, leaving him looking like a messy idiot.
A few hours later saw him cleaning up his mess with a skulky look on his face.
The Brightest LightsShe hadn't slept in two days.
The chart was simple: chronic insomniac, on medication, referred to the ED four times in the past two months by her primary care physician; not a smoker, no drugs, didn't drink, no anxiety or bipolar disorder, in no physical pain.
Except this time. This time, she hadn't slept in two days, and she had a raging headache. Had to be driven in on the bus because she couldn't see straight, and the hallucinations were getting ready to roll.
The toxicology report was clean; there was nothing in her system. She just couldn't sleep.
She was in the waiting room for forty-five minutes while a room was prepped for the customary exam. She watched the minute hand of the clock inch ever forward, tick after tick after tick after tick, thought she saw it jump once, then again, widdershins. Listened gravely to the man next to her who said his bellybutton had moved.
Now, there was a lunatic. He was a diagnosed
SprinklesThe year was any number, real or imaginary, and though the city had a name, it was always called something else. It was a holiday, though just what holiday, no one knew. Men and women in masks danced ignorantly across streets and bridges to joyous songs that repeated endlessly. There was laughter and food, a great deal of wine, and color, such glorious colors, on every corner.
There was also a boat in the water, a boat among all of the other boats. Small, this boat was neither painted nor gilded, nor ornamented in any way, and that made it very different indeed.
Though the crowd did not care to examine the strange boat, it was under constant observation: a cat, black with a healthy sprinkling of lone white hairs, followed the boat until it came to rest. An orphan boy, a friend of the cat, followed the animal and so was the first to see what it carried.
The orphan boy and the sprinkled cat watched, at a distance, as the occupants st
Forms of GuiltServices were being held in the Mainal Cathedral. That in and of itself wasn't a strange thing, Volke supposed. He had returned from the city to conduct a few pieces of business, and now he was observing his current contractor. Volke needed to know more about him, needed more information. It was standard protocol.
Ike was seated in the pews, a strange, taut look on his face as if he were restraining a great emotion. His hands were clenched into tight balls on his knees, and his weapons were nowhere in sight. As a matter of fact, he seemed to have cleaned himself up a bit: he was wearing his least frayed set of clothes, with the nicest shoes. At least, from a distance, they looked half decent.
Volke heard the footsteps, but their maker was harmless, so he did not move. "Are you here for the prayer service?" the footstep-maker asked. He was an elderly man, a bishop, likely.
Bottoms UpThe Seven Deadly Sins.
Lately, they're a terribly romantic concept. It seems like everyone and their brother, plus their brother's third cousin twice removed, has tried to tell a story based around the Sins. Few people know about the Seven Heavenly Virtues, the Sins' counterparts, and of those people, even fewer can name them all. No, the Seven Deadly Sins are à la mode at the moment, as it were.
I guess it doesn't hurt to follow the crowd.
I'm here to tell you a story. A story about the Seven Deadly Sins, but mostly about Wrath, because Wrath is terrible and directionless, and when those two features are put together, something akin to emotional Armageddon comes to pass and the being unfortunate enough to have felt Wrath's wrath is wiped out, physically, mentally, psychologically, physiologically--you name it, it's spent.
You might have heard of me before. If you haven't, I'm not naming names, including my own. Tha
The Stars AboveEliwood couldn't sleep.
He tossed and turned, tried lying on his stomach and on his back alternatively, flipped his makeshift pillow around and pummeled it, but it was all to no avail. It had been dark for a long time, and he knew that sunrise must be on its way. Their army had no use for clocks: they traveled by day and rested by night, without any idea of the time. Calendars, of course, were of use, but not watches or clocks, and Eliwood didn't know of anyone who had thought to bring one along. In short, he didn't know how long he had been trying to sleep, or how long he would have to wait until the rest of the army rose.
Disgruntled, Eliwood sat up and held his head in his hand. Across the tent, Hector was snoring something atrocious. Even if he had been able to sleep under normal circumstances, no one could possible sleep with that dull roar in their ears. Eliwood privately thought that it was a miracle that Hector slept through it at all.
He dressed in the dark, with neither match
Packing Up the PastThe day after the battle at the Shrine of Seals was bright and clear. Nino could not see a single cloud in the sky in all directions, and a slight breeze kept the air from becoming stale. In short, by appearances, it was a perfect day.
Nino was out walking, alone, as she had taken to doing ever since she had decided to tag along with Eliwood's army. Though she was never truly "alone"-Jaffar always followed, at a distance and out of sight, for her safety-those walks were the only moments that Nino had to reconcile her feelings. She still remembered listening to Prince Zephiel's prayer through the crack in the door with Jaffar on the night she had been sent on her first and only mission, as an assassin; the first of her farewells to the life she had known. She was still grateful to Jaffar for turning on the Black Fang for her. She shuddered at the thought of what would have transpired at the castle had she not been sent along.
Of course, she knew why she had been sent: she was to assassi
OxygenI stared at the photograph long after you were gone. I didn't know what I should have said or done; I just sat there, staring, waiting. When you didn't come back into the room, I realized that you never would. You were gone; farther away already than you'd ever been before.
I thought about chasing you, but realized the folly. After all, I didn't even know where you'd gone, or if you'd ever be back. How was I supposed to know that the answer was never, you were never going to return to me?
I waited for you. I heard about you on the TV and in the papers and on the Internet, but you never looked the same as when you did with me. Your hair could never be tamed like those handlers of yours forced it to be, and you never had that dull look in your eyes, and you never, ever, spoke in that sort of uncaring monotone. Not with me, anyway. I didn't understand how you could do that.
So I did what you told me you'd done. I went to Japan and climbed Mount Fuji without permission. Got on a plane, fle
Blood Regent: FaithfulThe beads were cold on his fingertips. The old brick of the church smelled of mold; corroded by the decades of winds breezing up from the loch.
“O my God, I am heartfully sorry for having offended thee,” he rolled the bead along the edge of his finger. The words spilled from his lips, memorized but still genuine. He lifted the stick until the candle finally breathed flame.
“- and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishment, but most of all because I have offended Thee my God…”
“Garrett,” a voice called from behind him.
“- Who is all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve…”
“Garrett, haven’t you asked enough?” Garrett felt a hand brush his shoulder. His scar rubbed against the cloth and the feeling was unpleasant.
“That is the point of repentance, Duncan. It will never be enough. Leave me to my prayers, please.”
Garrett watched Duncan’s shadow dance across the walls. He p
SethEn la oscuridad del origen del mundo definí mi destino
La llave de la verdad yace enterrada en lo profundo de mi alma
Mi sangre inerte clama por el conocimiento perdido.
HauntedAs the apartment door shut behind Melliene she turned, looking back at it. It was difficult for her to leave that apartment a second time in such a rush but it had to be done. She knew herself too well to know that if she stayed any longer that things wouldn't have gotten accomplished. A sigh left her lips as she breathed into the white scarf that was drawn over her face, and neck, concealing her identity, as she tore herself from Nallaen's door.
Descending the stairs of the apartment building she passed one fellow, nodding her head in greeting. Dressed as this, hidden, and garbed in white silken robes of the Light she was no longer Melliene. She was Greer Rosach, a woman of the Cathedral. A kind woman. A good woman. Everything Melliene was not. Sometimes she wished for Greer to become a reality for her, to put an end to her hazardous ways. It didn't matter how much she hid behind the mask though. She would always be Melliene. A selfish woman. A woman who knew no bounds. A woman who wo
anythingHold on. No, wait, a little to the left. Smile. Moment captured. We'll hate it later. We love it now. You don't use enough exclamation marks when you talk, birdie. I know. I don't like them. You are too close for breathing. Hold my hand when we are not together. Hold my hand through walls and fallen trees. Let me live in everything you see. Let me jump from every object you glance at. Let my name ring out as a ghost when you see someone with hair like mine. Let the memory of my hands graze your mind when you see someone else's. Let nothing else be enough. And my shadow hovers over everything you are. And my voice still makes you jerk your head. And you are my first experiment, and let the sound of typing make you remember me. May the blurred silhouette against the kitchen window at 10pm when the light is long remind you of me. May you miss where your head fell against my collarbone. Scoop up burned charcoal with bare fingers and cry. Dip your guitar string calluses in the ocean and cry
RescueThe sound of the screams was the worst - horrible shrieks that cut off into gurgles when the Old's plasma cut through the lungs of its victim and reduced their vocal chords to wax. William watched, 6-year-old eyes wide with horror, hidden under a table as an atrocity against nature, a metal-and-black-flesh creature, stomped past, making no noise except for the soft hiss of its plasma caster. The humans did the rest.
The smell made him want to vomit - he did, but only when he was sure that the Old were gone. William crawled out on his hands and knees, looking around the resort that used to house 2,000 souls - now but one. The recreational world he lived on was mostly waterfront property, through incredible terraforming efforts, and was shot through with as many rivers and oceans as veins in a beast. The sirens had come only a moment before the Old ship seemed to appear in the sky, so far away that the atmosphere colored it blue. William didn't know what had happened next - rain started
Bastille Challenge!When Pompeii, O sweet Pompeii, is mentioned there’s bad news. The flaws of the poet haunt these streets so no angels live here now. The weight of living has proved too much and they always take the blame. I am overjoyed at the silence, so now my dreams can fill this basement. They are free, an adagio for strings, and I see durban skies and laughter lines. A sleepsong is tuning in and tuning out around me, and I find that I am falling. The draw pulls me into oblivion, and ahead of me, Icarus and Laura Palmer hold hands and get home, to run out of the night. A smell of bad blood surrounds me and I know that a killer stalks this campus, and I know that I’m Daniel in the den. This lion hunts me, eager to crush skulls with those powerful jaws and snap my bones with those horrendous teeth. I imagine that I am titanium, and tell myself forever ever that nothing can harm me. What would you do if you knew that a weapon was out to get you, on your walk to oblivion? They say that love
A Love StoryOnce upon a time, a servant fell in love with a prince. He was handsome and clever and cruel, and she loved the way he spoke to her when they were alone. He did not court her in any traditional sense, though he promised so much with the curl of his lips and the lightness of his touch. He made her feel as if she were already the princess her promised her she would soon become.
And then he disgraced the servant, humiliating her by bragging of his deception shortly before marrying a pretty noblewoman. The servant wept. She loved him. He did not love her.
But this is a fairytale (as anything that begins with 'Once upon a time' must be), and convention dictates that this story cannot end here. It cannot end with the servant suffering a miscarriage and living out her days alone. By the same token, it cannot end with her decision to walk away herself, to have her child and be a single mother and suffer and love and find happiness. So long
The BeginningHe told them, of course. He told those idiots everything, the whole damn story, including the blunder he'd made, and its consequences. Looking back on it later, he realized he had probably been in shock the whole time. It made sense, anyone would have been.
Soph was about twenty years old, and he'd been that way for a couple of years already, ever since the Hoarde had started attacking humanity from the past. Every day that passed, they ate at another day in the past. It sickened him. Those creatures had absolutely no regard for proper time and causality protocols.
It didn't seem to affect anyone else that way, though.
The Hoarde was the result of a human creation, of course, like everything bad in the world, though no one else knew about them. Then again, no one else had undiluted access to the power of creation. Even he didn't know much about the Hoarde, only that they appeared through some tear in The Fabric of The World and started killing people off. They appeared at some point in
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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