Battery MendellIt was just about sundown in the Marin Headlands. Away on the horizon, the Farallon Islands were silhouetted against the sun; the breeze had fallen, the world holding its breath. Across the Golden Gate Bridge, glorious in the dying light, The City sparkled and hummed inaudibly.Battery Mendell10 hours ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Kicking around the old bunker in the lengthening blue shadows, conversation had fallen into a lull, as well. Tired of scuffing pebbles with his shoe, Josh followed me down the crumbling concrete steps as I went to examine the heavy iron doors, rusted shut with the fog of a century.
“That’s where the Morlocks come out,” he said, jokingly.
Two things happened at once. The sun dipped in its final dive below the horizon, the last gold melting into the cold fingers of waiting fog on the western sea.
And in the empty warren of corridors riddling the mountain beneath us, we all simultaneously felt something wake up.
It was old. We knew that much. And we knew it was dreadful.
And it was comin
My story of us..My story of us..15 hours ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
ok so I have a story to tell and it stared twenty-two years ago.
I was seventeen and I was working in a diner in Peoria, a little 50's diner. nothing interesting ever happens, but I was working lunch rush that day. I never knew my life would change so much this day.
I was behind the counter and I hear the door open and I look up to see the most incredible man walked in, I was breathless! super tall and dark hair, in a buzz cut, like for the army, and the most amazing eyes! god I melted when we made eye contact. I sure as hell was not about to let him walk out without a chance to forget me! I was going to make sure I left an impression on him, I don't know what happened except I fell so hard for him with just on look, I knew then he would be mine!!
So without hesitation I walked to his table were he sat with his mom, and I talked to him, sharing a smile and a laugh or two; when I looked closely into to his eyes my heart stopped and skipped a beat. his ey
No, I'm Going To Be Spider-Man!I’m gonna try something different here because of the time constraints (I want to get this in before Halloween), so excuse how informal everything sounds. I was really on the fence about whether to make this a proper deviation or just a journal post. Since this story is entirely non-fiction and the narrator is 100% true-to-life me, I’m just not going to bother picking up my fancy purple quill.No, I'm Going To Be Spider-Man!23 hours ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
So, I was browsing around my favorite literature group here on dA, Nurturing-Narratives, founded by (the very talented) WriteRelease, trying to give much needed attention to some submissions that had no comments, and I came across a little story called “Tales of a Daycare Teacher #1” written by (the just
About the Blues There were reasons I was going to write about a grand mal seizure. Heck, I still have the reasons: I feel like it and it's on my mind. I say "it" because I only had one and it was some time ago. But they say I did a bang-up job of it.About the Blues2 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
My sister told me, "I woke you up to tell you it was time to go to the horse show, and you stood there and said you had a headache and wouldn't make it. Made me mad, actually. Then you keeled over and it's good my husband was there to catch you."
I remember the headache. Worst one I've ever had, truly crippling. I didn't want to disappoint my sister and her husband though. After all, my daughter and I were staying with them for an unspecified length of time. I'd even grown fond of the friggin horse shows.
The memory that's most embarrassing is a big sign the seizure isn't a small one -- loss of control of the bladder. Check. Tremors. Check. And I guess you stick out your tongue and your eyes go kinda
ShedI revile shed hair. Those disgusting snakes which, thick and aimless, cling to necks, arms, legs and garb to tease in ways horrid and bewildering.Shed2 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
A Different High You are constantly high on poetry, books and music. You like Barnes and Noble more than you liked Borders. Barnes and Noble at least tries to smell booksy. Borders died but it was already sterile – harsh fluourescent lighting and the smell of crisp cleaning product.A Different High3 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
You follow countless word blogs on Tumblr, reblogging with ecstasy closing lines, opening quotes, all the lyrical phrases in between the opening and the close. You remember the final lines to The Great Gatsby and Slaughterhouse-Five, the latter a Jeopardy! question once.
You think a demon cat drinking vodka and playing chess named Behemoth is the best character in Mikhail Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita, as well as concur with Behemoth that “...Dostoevsky is immortal.”
So is the leatherbound in which you read Crime and Punishment and need to read The Idiot and The Brothers Karamazov – prob
Procrastination CrapIt's dark now. The last drops of sunlight have been drained from the valley, leaving the soft film of twilight over the camp. She has long since left the safety behind the white line and wanders in the forest alone. Her footsteps are light on the ground, careful not to make a sound louder than the whispers of the tree around her. She crouches low to the ground as she moves through the shadows, keeping her ragged, frightening breathing under control. To her, it's more than a game. In her mind, the shouts in the valley are from a great battle where her allies fall to the ground with dead eyes and blood wets the long grass. Capture the Flag is a simple game, but in darkness, it turns to a deadly fight for survival that can only be ended with a triumphant ringing of the victory bell and a flag held high by the victors. Until then, the campers are brutal hunters. The girl freezes as she hears the voices of older campers drawing near. Dropping into a crouch, she presses into the bush and watProcrastination Crap3 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
RinseThe rain. That’s what I remember most. Amongst the sweat and mass of bodies shoving forward to the front of the Byer’s stage I remember a few drops tasting my skin for the first time since the previous band exited and I had stopped throwing myself aimlessly with the crowd. Oh sure, there had been rain before they left, but the experience is quite different when it’s mixed with body fluids and raging folk punk. It was different now too, because the moment three days of acquiring permanent hearing damage, enough sun exposure to damn both me and my companion to a lifetime of skin cancer, and dancing around the second purpose for his visiting after five years, the band we first connected would take the stage. In one hour, that was.Rinse4 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Another several hundred bodies were as enthused, pushing Nick and I to front row center of the farthest stage from the front of the festival entrance. I glanced behind me. A reassuring nod came from his gentle features, as familiar as five year
Hell is Clingy I remember it carried over from second grade to the third – fifth grade playground. Ant City, a home for all the ants, would flourish well here. More trees, more room and softer dirt to dig out tiny trenches and burrows.Hell is Clingy4 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I remember my best friend's first approach was driven by a teacher's request, but soon C and I went at the ground and at the pine trees trailing long beads of sap, together. I remember being short and frustrated at not being to reach high sap places.
I remember the day the long line trees along the fence had orange X's slashed onto them, Tennessee orange. We clumped mud and smeared it over the spray painted bark and amber sap. We couldn't use the sap now… Are the ants going to die? I asked her. She had all the answers. C looked at the scattered drops of orange-coated sap on the tree. For the first time, she said nothing.
I remember going back to the p
A Memorial to Reyhaneh Jabbari,Heart of hatred, sinister world of evil!A Memorial to Reyhaneh Jabbari,4 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
My body of dust, returned to dust! But my soul ascends!
Injustice to justice! Yin to Yang! Lies to truth!!!
Karmic Destiny, I have destroyed you even in death!
My debt paid in full to the Nirvana! Land of the Godhead!!!
No more pain, no more suffering! I have no longer need reincarnate my now immortal soul!
Sinless!!! Sanctified by my own truth alone!!! Let my divine feminine guide others like myself!
In Truth! In love! In Humility! In Freedom of spirit! In Divine! In payment of karmic debt never to feel the pains of the mortal world ever again!!! I am Reyhaneh Jabbari! This is my story! For the world has won the battle but I have won the war! The War of Souls!!!
Untitled As I stared down at the debris on the floor of the bus, and listened to the sound of passengers, either talking to each other or on their phones, I noticed something. Sure enough, it was the black gate and old brick buildings of the University. As the bus rolled around the corner, I remembered that this was the exact way that my Mom used to take my siblings and I to swimming lessons when I was a little kid. It's funny how I remember it so well, I was no more than 7 or 8 years old, and things are currently quite fucked between my Mother and I. I took them right at the university's athletic center, in the large pool. Funny how we don't get to choose our childhood memories.It's almost involuntary. I never tried hard or even tried at all to remember the swimming lessons, or the college campus, but I just did.Untitled4 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I remember how old all the college students looked to me, I couldn't believe my 8 year old self would ever grow into one
Prologue: Just Another Day... (Story 5)It seemed to be any other day.Prologue: Just Another Day... (Story 5)5 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Pop superstar Ariana Grande was just walking down the streets of Hollywood with two of her bodyguards walking two feet or so behind her. She quite happy, and for good reason. The sky is clear, the birds are singing through the sky, and she had just finished shooting her video for her new single. With that all behind her, she was finally ready to sit down at her favorite coffee shop and just relax.
However, the road that leads to her favorite destination hasn’t been known for being the, say, safest for celebrities. In the past six months, there have been six shootings of the rich and famous, from movie stars to rock and roll singers, which thankfully has led to zero casualties. But no one, especially Grande’s agent, wanted that to change, which is why two big guys in suits are following her around. Her agent also wanted her to wear a bullet-proof vest, but it was pretty clear Ariana would never do it, no matter what the personal risk.
At Least It Didn't Hit the FanEaster holidays, 2009.At Least It Didn't Hit the Fan6 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I, super-constipated, sit on the lavatory, trying to squeeze out the waste that has been building in my bottom like the Colorado River behind Hoover Dam.
Almost there, just remember to breathe.
Puushh . . . aah, sweet relief!
Nup. The tree trunk I dropped into this porcelain bowl refuses to budge. What I need is a plunger, but all I can find is a toilet scrub. Not exactly the unstick-your-stool tool I was looking for. It’ll have to do.
I take the scrub in both hands and get to work. I prod and I push and I pry and I pray and . . . now the scrub is just covered in shit.
Okay, okay. Easily fixed. I’ll wash it off in the sink.
I turn the hot water tap and . . . well, at least the larger bits have fallen off. Unfortunately, they’re far too big to go down the drain, and the steaming water’s not
Wolnosc-Prawdę!Wolnosc6 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Chce pan usłyszeć prawdę?
Prawdę o wolności?
Wolność nie istnieje, drogi panie.
Nie jest pan wolnym człowiekiem. I nigdy pan nie będzie. To jest prawda.
Może pan się uwolnić od części tego łańcucha, jednak niczym jest to w porównaniu z wielkim zamkiem, którego nie jest pan w stanie zniszczyć.
Każdy z nas ma na sobie obrożę i jest trzymany na smyczy przez siły wyższe.
Mówisz, że wciąż mieszkasz z matką? Czym więc jest twoja wolność, gdy jesteś zobowiązany opiekować się drugim człowiekiem.
Jak bardzo jesteś wolny pod koniec miesiąca gdy musisz opłacić rachunki za prąd i wodę?
Jak twoja wolność ma się do wezwania szefa „przyjedź tu w tej chwili.”?
-Są ludzie, którzy rezygnują ze wszystkiego.
My First MemoirIn my sophomore year of high school, I fell for a boy named Malcolm. And I mean he was a boy, nowhere near the maturity level needed to be identified as a man. He was a real-life bad boy, not the fetishized version of a bad boy that they show on teenage drama shows. He was my around my age, maybe a year older. He had a buzz cut which I usually hated but for some reason I liked it on him. He always wore wife-beaters, semi-colorful jeans, fat skater shoes, and a big red hoodie that I afraid would smell like the inside of a smoking den. Yet, I found his appearance somewhat appealing.My First Memoir1 week ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
We met at the school Christmas party, the last day before Winter Break and the last school day of 2013. I was wearing my red, comfy HO HO HO shirt and Santa-inspired fingerless gloves to be in the Holiday spirit. I want to say it was around nine am when I originally met him. I was talking with my friend Jordan about a videogame I recently got addicted to, Saints Row, and Malcolm overheard. He was also a
An Audience of OneHow many people have to enjoy your creations before they are considered art? What if you only share it with one person you love?An Audience of One1 week ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
When I was in the U.S. Navy on deployment, my father would send me little abstracts he drew on pieces of card stock. I was his only audience. To me, they are the greatest art he ever did and they mean so very much to me. Art is emotion, and he showed his love for me with these. They are very special. There are many more in his gallery folder on my page. http://mistgod.deviantart.com/gallery/5376791/Dad-s-artwork-James-Leon-Devine-1937-2008
Thanks for letting me share him a bit. Artist: James Leon Devine 1937 - 2008