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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
Death followed my father home.Death bought a new pair of shoes from my father. It left and hit a woman right in front of my father’s store. It dragged her thirty feet across the parking lot before speeding off, leaving her to bleed in front of Target. It brought my father out of his shoe store to direct traffic around the body, blood trickling against his shoes. It tapped the shoulder of an employee with CPR training. It got blood all over his clothes and sent him home early for the day when there was nothing he could do.
Death followed my father home. It called my father’s cell phone with an invitation he couldn’t turn down. It put a new playlist in my father’s Pandora shuffle that brought him to tears. It picked out the finest formal wear my father owned and laid it on the bed. It cancelled the plans my father had with his grandson.
Death gave my nephew an empty balloon. My father took it away before he could choke. It wheezed a skeletal laugh and patted the boy on the head.
a youth without flowerswake up, dress in your sunday best - that white church dress with the ribbon collar wound tight like a noose around your neck. don't wince when mamma pulls your hair back into twin tails, even though your scalp feels like it'll split open.
get in the back seat. wonder why your uncle is driving the family car down wheezy roads, but only wonder silently. from the back seat you see his fat old stomach wobble as the ford jostles down a gravel road toward church. apologize to mamma when your head smacks into the window - it's your fault, anyway.
smile like your daddy is the preacher, but don't seem too happy. mamma told you that today is a sad day. this thought rattles around in your tiny head; it doesn't make sense. how can the sky be as blue as a bird's belly on a sad day? there aren't many clouds in the sky.
don't fuss when mamma pulls you away from the kids playing ball underneath the big oak tree. she's only doing that to help you - you wouldn't want those pretty black shoes to get scu
A Character's PerspectiveI was stunned. In the middle of my battle, a wall suddenly appeared. Everything was the same; my enemy and I paired up against each other with our swords clashing and clanging, his men and mine surrounding us, until this. The wall was white with black shapes that made little sense. Placing my hand open the wall, it felt smooth, like paper used by my king; yet so unlike the parchment I wrote my reports on. Looking up, I craned my neck back to try to find an end, yet the strange wall reached high and there seemed to be no end.
Hearing gasps behind me, I turned around and saw my enemy's men and my own, together, gaping in awe and fear at the sudden barrier. I, too, was gaping. What was this... this... this thing?! Panicking, I looked to my left and then to right. Stumbling backwards, I nearly fell to the ground in shock and horror. Both ways were blocked, the trees off to the side impaled by this wall of white and black.
Then, amidst the cries and the mutters amongst tho
Generations - Through the Years1956
“So tell me, do you think I can get away with this on the beach at Nice?”
Helen Forbes looked over at her daughter and said “I don’t know – you don’t think it shows a little too much?”
Katherine smiled as she looked at herself in the mirror. “Nah – I don’t think so,” she said with a smile. The sleeveless white blouse was open at the neck, the lapel folded back, and her red shorts had little pockets at the front. Her outfit was completed with a pair of white heeled sandals.
“I still think it’s a little showy,” Helen said as she went back to packing her daughter’s case. Her mother was wearing a blue blouse, the neck open and the lapels pressed back, and a knee length red cotton skirt that buttoned up the front, with white open toed shoes.
“Come on Mum – what did you wear when you were my age?”
“Short dresses, long socks and pigtails,”
Not a Date, simply an InteractionA lanky, slightly scruffy yet well-dressed man sat in the ornate cast iron chair provided him by the street-side cafe. His icy blue eyes were squinted with the kind of hatred only confidence, or arrogance, can bring a man, and his form is covered with a crimson and black pinstripe suit. This man had shooed away his waiter several times that evening as he gazed at the other tables, absent-mindedly sipping the merlot in his fluted wine glass. He was about to move over to a table where a lone, middle-aged woman sat when his vision was blocked with a feminine form dressed in blue. "I hope you don't mind the company," the stranger said politely, her voice like silk ribbons dancing in the ocean. "But I saw you were alone, and thought you could use the presence of another human." The man sneered, looking over the woman in front of him. She was clothed in an backless, single shoulder indigo-transitioning-to-cobalt dress, and her clear blue eyes were surrounded with smoky make-up of a similar h
.:Selfish:.I’m just a little bit cowardly
A little bit selfish
Holding onto a blind wish
I’m the one who cries while others laugh
Counts the cars that pass
Hands out my trust too fast
I’m the one who chases down falling stars
Dreams too big
Loves too hard
I’m the one who notices everything
Yet nothing at all
The one who would jump off a cliff
Just to see who stops my fall
I’m the one who wishes-
Wishes a lot
That whenever I say “I’m okay”
You would just hug me
And say, “I know you’re not …”
But I’m also the one who laughs
Even when I have no reason to
The one who smiles
Because there’s nothing else to do
The one who spends all her days
Wanting it to be night
And all her nights
Just waiting for morning light
I would wait for hours just to talk to you
Even if you wouldn’t do the same for me
I would complement you daily
Until you finally agree
And that is why my
By the sea shoreThere's a sound like the ocean when you put your ear to a conch shell. Or it's supposed to be the ocean. Lynn's always thought otherwise.
It's the sound of pulling and pushing and sighing and rushing.
Feral, fierce echoes.
There's a bone in your ear that's shaped like a shell. Lynn thinks that's why the conch is so special; it’s a link, a familiarity that grasps as deep as your bones.
She found her conch on a trip to Cedar Key, with Tommy and Lizzie and Helen. They wandered along the sand, skipping in and out of waves, watching the water eat the shore. Lynn liked the way each wave flattened along the beach, grasping greedy at her toes. Tommy and Lizzie whooped war cries at seagulls. Helen chased a hermit crab from the tide line to a tidal pool. Lynn gathered driftwood and seaglass, searching for the perfect natural knicknack. The conch shell was half-buried in seaweed. She washed it, standing calf-deep in the body of the
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
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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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