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Similar Deviations

  I will keep you safe.

  I will keep you company.

  Do you remember all those years ago – when we first met? I remember it perfectly. I was so very close. So very, very close to my last shred of sanity snipping. And then I saw a peculiar little girl in white dress – you. Your left hand was occupied by a tattered doll. Your right was wet from wiping your tears. Your eyes began to water again, but I caught it for you that time. I still had a shred of humanity left, gnawing at my heart's strings to care for you, to pity, and to comfort. You were scared by my face, but I mustered a smile, and told you not to fear. You told me that you were lonely, that you were unloved.

  And from that point on, I never left your side.

  Do you remember all those years ago – when I saved your life? I remember it perfectly. The cursed fellow had threatened you, and I had intervened. You were bigger, but still, I needed to protect you. He chased you up the tower, calling you a monster, saying you needed to disappear. And then he drew his rapier. I had never moved faster in my life than I did grabbing that awful man by the brim of his ebony vestment. I had never acted as instinctively as I led him to the window. I had never whispered as softly as I did to you of reassuring, and to him of the pain of death. I had never been more deafened than by his scream as I cast him away.

  Take away upon your black wings, bishop, for your mistress commands it.

 Do you remember all those years ago – when you saw my face for the first time? I remember it perfectly. Soul of black I had retrieved, and offered it to the gentle flame I did. My flesh was deep and wrinkled no more. I turned to you, and you seemed shocked at my form. You were my height, and we were both exceedingly young. I could even remember a flicker of attraction…but no. I refused desire. My love for you was of parent to child, or of sibling to sister. And it was good that I refused, for you grew, oh so very fast. Soon, you towered above me, and regardless, I still guarded you with my life.

  I made a promise to you, Priscilla. I promised that I would never let you see darkness.

  Do you remember that short time ago – when the people gathered? I remember it perfectly. Ariamis gathered, and desired your pure blood. How shocked I was. How scared you were. They hurried to the theatre, where you and I often met. How ready I was. How well-hid you were. The crowd broke through, and I met them head-on. How ravenous I was. How aghast you were. Ariamis fell to my feet. How alive I was. How frightened you were. After I finished, I ran to you, and embraced you.

  I fell the entire city as the ax man does the forest. I was invincible.

  You would be safe forever.

  Do you remember that short time ago – when I found the red rock? I remember it perfectly. I had slain anyone that came near you. Everyone was a threat, as everyone was present at the theatre that fateful night. And then you began to cry, for you were lonely again. I did everything I could to comfort you. Yet you ran from me, from your sole friend, terrified. So I brought new friends. I tempted those with Lifedrain to pursue me, as their master tempted them with the very art they wielded. I brought many new friends for you to meet.

  I will do anything in my power to keep you safe, Priscilla.

  Do you remember the fall of Ariamis? I remember it perfectly. The city crumbled under the assault of the Crimson Ones. All through the onslaught, you sought me. You found me in the theatre, and I greeted you merrily. But then you turned your blade on me. Your beautiful scythe sliced the air beside my head flawlessly. I was blank. My only friend wanted me dead. I begged you to stop as I evaded cut after cut. You screamed at me, calling me a monster. You claimed I was nicer when I looked to be a monster. You called all humans monsters. And then I held my weapon to receive a blow from the elegant scythe.

  And that was perhaps the greatest mistake I ever made.

  Your immense size…It threw me an admirable distance.

  And then, you hooked your foot under my torso, and threw me off the edge with it.

  When I finally landed, tears fell from my eyes as I felt my body fade, and the fiery ring burn brighter…

  …I am back, Priscilla. I have come to fulfill my promise to you…

  …As long as it is within my power...

  …You will never see the Age of Dark…

  …My dear friend.
A short story about the Painted World of Ariamis, and it's fascinating inhabitant, Crossbreed Priscilla.

I say "fascinating" because unlike other bosses in Dark Souls, Priscilla lets you walk away without a scratch, only if you return the favor. Therefore, I made a little connection to the character and Priscilla.

*NOTE: This is in no way real Lore. Only a theory that was expanded into a writing.*
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The Empty Child

I hide
I hear everything too loudly
I am falling apart
I grew up too fast
I am still a child
I cannot stand still
I see every detail
I panic
I cannot remember what I'm doing
I talk about dinosaurs and doctors and darkrooms
I cry for no reason
I do not have the ability to cry now
I see the world differently
I wish you saw it like me
I have a puzzle to put together
I wonder if you'll help me
I hear a song and must sing it
I see a picture and must take it
I see a world, a broken world
I want to fix that, too
I want to play
I need to work
I close my eyes and fall asleep
I remember everything
I forget my head
I stand in blue light
I see the world in shades of blue
I am lost
I have been waiting for you
I am the empty child
Are you my mommy?
Another poem, this one about my life with autism.

UPDATE: As of 10/20/12, this is my most favorited piece! Thanks everyone!
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It is often said that we must respect the religious beliefs of others. Simply put, I don't. That is not to say that I see religious people as less deserving of equal protection, but I do not see their beliefs as fundamentally reasonable and worthy of respect, and I think that this claim that we must respect the rights of others undermines our ability to have substantive debates on moral and political issues, by treating certain ideas as immune from debate and criticism. Why, as an atheist, should I respect those who believe, on religious conviction, that atheists should be put to death? Should I not show them the same amount of respect they show me?

The evidence in favor of most religions is weak or nonexistent. I focus on the religions I am most familiar with, but I have reason to believe that other religions have the same general flaws, as these flaws appear to be intrinsic to religion and not simply features of a few specific religions. One key flaw in religion is reliance on faith. Faith is belief without, or in spite of, evidence. Christianity treats faith as a key virtue, and denounces non-believers. It is repeatedly stated in the New Testament that those who do not believe in Jesus as their savior are bound for hell. The Old Testament repeatedly sanctions the killing of non-believers, as well as those who disobey any of a large number of commandments, such as by working on the Sabbath, disrespecting their parents, or even planting two different crops in the same field. Christians often dismiss the more draconian elements of their religion but fail to see that selective reading undermines their arguments. I am, of course, more comfortable around these cafeteria Christians than around someone who actually believes that people ought to be killed for working on the Sabbath, but I still see their position as intellectually indefensible.

Christians who invoke faith generally argue that the evidence is somehow inconclusive. A famous example of the approach that treats the evidence as inconclusive yet demanding our assent is Pascal's wager. Pascal posited that our only choices are to believe or not to believe (the agnostic stance of not taking a position is effectively treated as non-belief). Pascal tells us that if Christianity is true, then we have everything to gain (heaven) by believing and everything to lose (hell) by not believing. On the other hand, if it is not, then we simply die, and Christians will have at least led a good life. Pascal's wager might make sense if the evidence were genuinely inconclusive, though even in this case some problems arise.

First, his claim that we are better off believing Christianity, even if there is no afterlife, is unfounded. Christianity demands many things of its followers, including some fairly unreasonable demands. People who genuinely believe that they are bound for heaven may be better off, though their ability to reason properly is undermined by wishful thinking about the afterlife. However, even if belief individually makes people happier, rigid commitment to Christianity undermines pursuit of worthwhile goals such as scientific discovery. Scientific progress, including such real world benefits as discovering ways to cure or prevent fatal diseases, comes only by rejecting faith and considering the evidence on its merits. When faith is encoded into law, truth becomes heresy. It is not a historical accident that Galileo was subject to house arrest for life. The Bible teaches explicitly that the earth is immovable. The Old Testament says "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." (Exodus, 22:18) Most people now accept that there is no such thing as witchcraft, but many innocent people died because this biblical commandment was taken literally.

It is not even clear that we are individually better off believing. Belief that one is bound for heaven may ease the fear of death, but do Christians really not at least entertain the possibility that they will go to hell? Even if you are convinced that you are going to heaven, you may worry that loved ones are not. Hell is meant to be scary. It is a threat meant to keep people in line. What of the alternative? There are numerous other religions, which undermines the dichotomy of Pascal's wager, but suppose we treat atheism as the relevant alternative. Epicurus said "Death is nothing to us, since when we are, death has not come, and when death has come, we are not." I think most people are unable to grasp his point, perhaps because we cannot conceive of nothingness, and perhaps because the idea of an afterlife is so ingrained in us that what we envision is not true nothingness but some zombie-like state. It is not comforting to think, for instance, that I shall never again see my dead father, but neither is the atheistic conception of death something to dread. (I am not sure whether Epicurus was actually an atheist in the modern sense.)

Lastly, the evidence is not as inconclusive as Pascal suggests. First, absence of evidence sometimes is evidence of absence. When there is no reason to think that we would have evidence of something, then the logical stance is agnosticism. We genuinely do not know if there are advanced alien civilizations out there. The extreme distances involved make communication, let alone interstellar travel, very impractical. Radio signals are simply not detectable at even a few light-years, and the energy required for interstellar travel is nearly impossible to obtain. The number of stars is vast, but it is entirely possible that the barriers to achieving a civilization as advanced as ours, let alone one capable of interstellar travel, are so high that civilizations such as those imagined in science fiction simply do not exist. However, the most reasonable thing to say is that we do not know. We do not even have the information that would allow us to assign a probability to the possibility of encountering advanced alien civilizations.

However, a God like the one described in the Bible would leave copious evidence. It is absurd to think that Joshua made the sun and the moon stand still in the sky for several hours, and even more absurd to think that ancient astronomers around the world somehow failed to notice. Even if we are willing to suspend the laws of nature enough to allow for Biblical miracles, many of them are of such scale that they could not have gone unnoticed. If every ancient civilization recorded that the sun and the moon stood still as recounted in the Book of Joshua, and they seemed to be in rough agreement on details such as when this happened and how long the sun stood still, this would be compelling evidence that this event really happened. However, this event would be so extraordinary that the absence of such accounts is compelling evidence, as if any were needed, that it did not happen. Numerous impossible events are recounted in the Bible. Even fundamentalist Christians reject many of the moral teachings found in the Bible. For them to assert that this book is divinely inspired, let alone literally true, is intolerable presumption. We do not owe them our respect simply because they are religious. Their teachings are not uncertain or even improbable but provably false. Pascal's wager is refuted because we can and do know that Christianity is false. Those who claim otherwise are forced into logical contortions to avoid acknowledging the obvious. If they really do believe, then they are delusional, brainwashed, or engaged in sustained and pervasive wishful thinking.

So why does anyone regard such beliefs as worthy of respect? One reason is tradition. Another is that we find it difficult to really accept that so many people can be so fundamentally wrong. We can accept that old scientific beliefs were in error, and that ours almost certainly are as well. It is harder to accept that a large portion of the population is deeply and profoundly irrational. However, the evidence is compelling that this is in fact true. Nonbelievers, though, should not be content in our conviction that we are the rational majority.

Just because you do not share the same superstitions and logical fallacies as the majority does not mean that you are rational, but only that you do not share the same irrationality as the others. Many atheists were once believers, and some atheists become believers. Many atheists simply lack religious belief, rather than having actively rejected it as I have. Some reject religion for reasons no more rational than the reasons that others accept it. Some atheists have diagnosed or diagnosable mental illnesses. Atheists are not immune from groupthink or wishful thinking. Similarly, religious people may be very intelligent and their faith may not be so strong and pervasive that it has destroyed their ability to engage in critical reasoning.

The world may be better off if people voluntarily abandon their religious belief, but it would not be better to forcibly convert people to atheism. Religious tolerance has served us well. It has kept the peace. Atheists benefit from non-discrimination laws and would do well to comply with them and promote religious freedom. But religious freedom and tolerance does not require treating religion with kid gloves. You can, and should, respect a person's right to hold beliefs that you consider ridiculous. It is possible to regard a person as fundamentally irrational but still a person worthy of respect. A person who is good for the wrong reasons is nevertheless good. Furthermore, I do not believe that anyone is truly rational. Maybe there is some super-intelligent alien race of truly rational beings, but they are not us. The most intelligent people are vulnerable to addiction, self-deception and other irrational tendencies. Human sexuality is not rational. All of us have irrational fears and irrational desires. Aristotle said that rationality is what makes us human. What a privileged existence he must have had. If you are willing to consider that you might be wrong, then you have taken the important first step toward becoming a wiser and better person. If not, then why should I respect you?
Religion has gotten too much respect. I argue here that religion is irrational, and that there is conclusive evidence against the truth of at least some religions. I end by showing how this can be reconciled with our convictions about religious freedom and tolerance.
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By: Serenity Olson

It was a miserable, sweltering and dusty day in Texas. Clarissa ran up her porch steps in search of something tasty and refreshing. She was hot and tired from playing hard all day, and needed to rest.

Spotting her mother cleaning on the porch, and her grandmother reclining in the shade, she politely asked for some lemonade.

Her mother was in a testy mood, and not at all up to doing more work "Can't you see I'm busy here?" she snapped at Clarissa.

Clarissa, taken aback by her mothers outburst, fell silent, but her grandmother spoke up.

"Now what's eating you Sarah?" Grandma asked her daughter

"This heat is killing me and I've been working all day! I'm exhausted, irritable and overworked. This has been such a godawful day!" Sarah got louder and angrier with every word.

"Honey, you know what they say. When life gives you lemons, make tasty lemonade!" Grandma chuckled at her own little joke

Sarah, cranky beyond reason, yelled at her mother "Don't be so naive, mom! Life doesn't give you lemons! Life doesn't give you anything! If you want fucking lemons, you have to go take them for yourself!"

"Oh dear!" Grandma exclaimed

Tired of listening to the adults argue, Clarissa went inside and poured herself a glass of Koolaid from the fridge. Finally, she was able to cool down.

Morale: Don't complain when life gives you lemons, just change the shopping list and go get something else.
A quick flash fiction on a quote I disagree with :D

I know it's a bit silly and not my usual style, but hey artists can't be tied down right?

Tell me what you think! Critiques, please! I know this could use some help :D
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i'm a girl and you're a sunrise, letting me watch you burn across the sky. i'm not pretty enough to be you, not smart enough to catch you when you fall. i dig my fingernails into your palm, not wanting to let you go. you know how it is. you're a boy, and i'm something that could have been.

you curl your fingers over the frets. we could've been something great. my guitar's hanging next to the television. i wonder if you sold yours. was it too painful? there's still static, smoke curling across a frigid landscape. i used to write songs, you know. don't get too confident; they weren't all about you.

gosh. it seems like eons ago. autumn nights are so cold on the island, but we're warm. the cabins are empty, because no one takes a vacation in october. you know how it goes; we're both falling. not in love, but out of it.

i miss you like i miss not breathing. you don't notice it, but it's there. i let myself forget you a long time ago, but you're still here. an echo, maybe, still bouncing off the walls in my consciousness. it's somewhere, deep down there. you're soft and dim, sepia-toned and worn away. cliffs wear away if the waves crash against them long enough.

we sat on the swings a long time, that afternoon. people ask me why i don't play guitar anymore, and i never know how to answer. i wonder sometimes if you miss me, because i liked you. i really did.

you're a boy, and we never had enough time.
so, one day i thought, "hey, wouldn't it be a good idea if i actually tried to submit my deviations to the correct folders?" because i realized not all of my stuff is philosophy / perspectives. most of it is. but not all of it. so, hey.

1. feelings. tell me how this makes you feel.
2. tell me about her voice. who or what does the narrator sound like? how does she feel?
3. does it feel pushed-together, too quick, too sudden? is the pacing all right?
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The armature that held Kaylee Reis tight her waist moved all the way down to the south end of the factory at a shocking speed, then gently set her down on a conveyor belt. She had time enough to read a sign proclaiming she was at the Prep Station. Four smaller arms pulled her appendages out and tied them down, so Kaylee could barely move. Those four removed themselves and three more came down, each with a small pair of razors mounted to them. Kaylee tried to pull away, but the ties on her wrists and ankles kept that from happening. The razors deftly cut off the detective's clothes and shoes, leaving her naked in a rather cold room.

The conveyor belt pulled her down three feet, stopped, and then a single device lowered to Kaylee's face. It held a pair of small goggles, which it pressed up against Kaylee. A shower head appeared over her and began to spray all around her. The liquid was stinging, and though she wasn't sure, Kaylee thought she saw her long hair falling to the ground. The spray paused, and she heard a strange whump-whump sound. A moment later, water fell around her, washing off the stinging chemical, but leaving her wet and naked in a cold factory. Fortunately, a pair of heaters dropped from the ceiling next and lit up in an orange glow, quickly warming and drying Kaylee.

After the heaters retracted, the conveyer moved once more, and as was becoming the norm an armature waited for her there. This one held a strangely shaped piece of tan cloth, which it wrapped around Kaylee's abdomen as she passed, in the soft region between her hips and rib cage. It felt something like nylon, and it conformed to Kaylee's body. Then the large armature returned, and gripped around Kaylee's abdomen, perfectly conforming to the region. It picked her up and sped her down to another region of the factory.

It stopped again over a vat of churning tan liquid, and then it slowly dropped her into the sticky, viscous goo. She shuddered, and prepared to hold her breath, but the armature stopped just before the liquid had touched her chin. Confused, but glad, Kaylee sighed as the armature pulled her back up. She saw, somehow, that the liquid had bonded to her skin, but not the armature equipment. Further, the liquid hardened quickly into a supple plastic. She moved a little before a small spray nozzle descended, locking directly on her face. Carefully, and with the help of smaller armatures, the nozzle sprayed much of the same substance over Kaylee's head and neck. This plastic seemed to be applied more lightly around her mouth, nose, ears, and even eye lids, which made it more malleable. The coating she received elsewhere, however, was about the same consistency as on the rest of her body. Then, horrifically, an armature pulled her mouth open and a fine nozzle sprayed the goo around inside her mouth. The taste went away quickly, but Kaylee's mouth fell numb.

The armature moved again, pulling Kaylee to another station, twenty feet across the factory, and placed her on another assembly line. Kaylee felt that she could, in fact, move now, but some part of herself told her it would be safer not to, and the fifteen feet she would have to jump to certainly helped dissuade her. She came to a stop, and a machine reached forward, grabbed her wrists, held them fast while another brought a saw down and carved both of Kaylee's hands right off. She tried to muscle her way of the vice grips, but it was to no avail. More horrifically, she only felt a light pressure on her wrists, and no pain. Strangely, she saw no bones, muscle, or anything otherwise human inside her arms. She was entirely hollow. Kaylee saw her hands get taken a few feet down the line, where another set of robot arms inserted a suite of gears and pulleys into her plastic hands. The armatures returned quickly, and the machines reattached her limbs. This process was repeated for her lower arms, and upper arms. It was frustrating for Kaylee, because her mechanical joints, ironically, refused to move. The large armature once again wrapped itself around Kaylee's abdomen, holding her up for the machines to mechanize her legs.

Once her appendages were completely geared and jointed, another saw cut a line down Kaylee's back and opened it wide, and she felt a heavy suite of machinery inserted into her body. Further, a foam pillow was wound inside the nylon fabric of Kaylee's abdomen. A series of four small machines reached into her body and hooked all the machinery together. A similar action took place in Kaylee's head, which now supported a smaller, but much more complicated suite of machines that allowed for full facial expression and speech. All the machines pulled away, except for one, which ran down Kaylee's back and resealed her opening. In a matter of thirty seconds, Kaylee Reis had been cut apart and then reassembled into Kaylee Doll. Now that she was entirely mechanized, the doll found she could move quite easily, and discovered that her nylon abdomen, which had been fastened to her torso and hips, was put in place to aid her mobility. She wanted desperately to jump down and run away, but a part of her pointed out that Kaylee was already a doll, and she may as well get the clothes to match.

The conveyor then moved on, bringing Kaylee to the Makeup station. For the first time since Kaylee began her dollification, she saw a mirror and reflection of herself. She was bald, made of supple tan plastic, and was overall rather bland. There was a scrolling message board below the mirror. It said, "HELLO, KAYLEE DOLL. PLEASE FOLLOW DIRECTIONS." Kaylee rolled her eyes. She may have given up running, but she wasn't going to do anything to help the machines out in changing her. A tray of various accessories appeared before her, and two arms came into view. She looked to the message board that now scrolled 'PLEASE OPEN MOUTH.' Kaylee refused to comply, and so forced an armature to forcibly open her jaw. A small airbrush entered Kaylee's mouth, and she saw it painting her mouth so it looked relatively normal, with pinkish tongue, white teeth, and even a uvula. The airbrush removed itself, and then painted red lips and pink blush circles on each of Kaylee's cheeks. The makeup was a start, but Kaylee truly began to feel right again when the armatures placed blue contacts in Kaylee's eyes, as well as gluing eye lashes and brows onto the her plastic skin.

With all of this done, Kaylee knew she was essentially a doll now. All she needed now was hair and clothes. She looked down at the scrolling message board, and saw it read: 'PLEASE WALK TO DRESSING ROOM.' Kaylee looked around and saw a rack of clothes and wigs ten feet down the conveyor belt. As she walked, the doll saw armatures reach into the accessories and pull out her first set of doll clothes. Thankfully, they set her clothes down on a bench next to the conveyor. Kaylee sat down, picked up a pair of white tights, and shimmied herself into them, then buckled on a pair of black Mary Jane's. After that she slipped on light pink pantaloons and white gloves. Lastly, she pulled on her pink and white dress, but had difficulty tying the gigantic pink bow at her waist. She looked to a mirror for help and noted the scrolling sign. 'SAY PLEASE IF YOU NEED HELP.'

"Please." Kaylee said quietly. An armature appeared immediately and deftly finished the bow knot, then fluffed or adjusted a few other portions of Kaylee's costume. It went away as fast as it came, leaving Kaylee in front of a mirror with one last thing to do: put on her wig. It sat in front of her, clearly doll's wig, being made out of orange yarn and was braided into two long pig tails capped with pretty pink bows as large as Kaylee's fist. After pausing a moment, she put her wig on, and looked in the mirror at a beautiful living doll.
Pat 2 of 3
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It was Wednesday night and Amanda was changing in the locker room after field hockey practice. It was her senior year and she was determined to improve the team and herself so that they could win the district title.

Amanda had always been fairly attractive, standing about 5'8" with long dirty blonde hair. She had a so-so face, but beautiful blue eyes. Her breasts were full D cups and she had a fit waist from being in shape. Her ass was okay, but not that impressive and her legs were a little on the short size.

Amanda always had the same routine after practice: she would change, drink a carton of milk she bought earlier and then drive home. Today though, she forgot to bring her milk. She was a little mad about forgetting but didn't mind making a quick run to the store.

When she got to the store she wanted to hurry because she was really tired and sweaty from practice so she was just going to grab the first one she saw and leave. She walked in and saw a special on milk sitting close to checkout so she just grabbed it and bought it without reading it.

She got home and went up to her room to change. She took off her skirt and practice jersey and then opened the milk. She drank most of it in one gulp and went into the bathroom.

She looked at herself in the mirror and was admiring her body. She had always liked the way she looked and was very proud of her body. While she was looking at herself though, she began to feel weird. Her whole body felt very warm. She looked at herself and noticed her breasts looked a little fuller. She reached up and grabbed them and confirmed what she thought.

Then she noticed something even odder. She saw that her breasts were actually growing in front of her eyes! She felt her hands that were still present on her breasts being pushed away from her body. Her breasts felt like they were filling with something and were sloshing around. They soon snapped out of her bra as it fell to the floor. Her breasts were still growing and were beginning to feel really good. She gave them a squeeze and her nipples reacted immediately as they began leaking milk. She was becoming very horny and started to drink the milk. She kept drinking and squeezing until her breasts stopped growing at a full G cup.

She then felt the warmth spread to her ass as it started growing as well. This growth was not as exciting to her as her breasts but she still groped her ass as her panties rode up and became a very tight thong. She groped and milked herself in her bathroom for what seemed like an eternity before she felt an itching just above her ass.

She looked back and saw her spine was extending and poking out of her skin. This new tail quickly grew to about a foot and a half in length and covered itself in white fur. A black tuft of fur sprouted from the end and it absently flicked itself back and forth.

She felt a similar itching on her forehead as two bumps began to appear. They were painful at first, but once they got through the skin, the pain eased and they soon stopped growing. She looked at herself in the mirror as she began to compose herself and saw a few other changes she hadn't noticed before. Her ass and breasts had grown considerably and she had a tail and horns, but her hips had also popped out and her legs had grown a little longer.

She collected herself and went out of the bathroom into her adjoining room. She looked through her drawers trying to find something to wear over her massive tits and gave up. They were still leaking anyways so it wouldn't do her much good to find something to wear. Instead she just put a tampon inside her shirt and covered her bottom half with a long skirt she had that now looked more like a miniskirt, and one that couldn't come close to containing her tail.

She tried to cover her horns and succeeded somewhat by putting her hair in a bun. She looked at herself in her full length mirror and smiled. Now she looked better than anyone in the school by far. She finished getting ready and left for a night on the town.
Here's a cowgirl transformation. Not fully into a cow, and not like a rancher or anything, but my opinion
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To all the mothers who didn't protect their daughters... Fuck you

To all the fathers who didn't tell their daughters that they were loved and special just by being themselves... Fuck you

To all the teachers who think all children should be able to sit still instead of considering the fact the child may actually have a problem... Fuck you

To all the husbands who say all the right things before marriage but then fail to be the father they promised to be... Fuck you

To all those who think that mental illness is strictly something that comes from the enemy and just needs to be prayed out... Fuck you

To all the people who think that a single mother who is able to say the right words and keep a good looking house is "doing great" when really she's dying inside.... Fuck you

To all the parents who drop their problem child at a hospital in the middle of the night like some returnable item... Fuck you

To all those who think we're okay just because you don't see the tear stained eyes or hear the way our voice becomes so hoarse from crying... Fuck you
Breaking out of this cage and screaming I"M NOT OKAY.
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Each morning we wake up and we make a decision. We make the decision to get out of bed when that alarm goes off and trudge through our lives for one more day. It doesn't matter if we're sleep deprived, sick, need a vacation, are heartbroken or stressed beyond comprehension. We get up and keep going.

Would it be easier to just lay there and stare at the ceiling allowing ourselves to drone on into nothingness? Yes, it would. That would be the simplest thing to do in the world. We all feel like doing that some mornings. At some point that loathing question snakes around our minds and takes control. Why am I doing this again? But, inevitably, we get up.

Because that's life.

It's easy to fall and give up. Nobody blames you if you do because we all realize that life is hard. If it wasn't we wouldn't be living in a Prozac nation where the doctors will prescribe you "happy pills" to make it through the rougher spots. The hardest thing in the world to do is to get up and keep going no matter what.

But we have the choice to do that.

It's impossible to think of a life where we wouldn't have the choice to mess up and try to fix it again. It's unheard of. But imagine a world where we weren't given that choice to mess up. What if our lives were all planned out for us and we had no choice in the matter whatsoever?

Now, some may argue that this is where fate comes in. I personally believe that even as far as fate goes there are a few paths that lead to different destinies. Even with that we are still firmly in control of our own outcomes. If we want to lay down and close our eyes, forget the world and stay holed up in our rooms for days at a time we can do that.

This is why I love the people they label as "emo". They're having a rough time and feel like expressing it. I say let them! Good for them if they have no shame in letting people know how they feel. When was the last time you were openly honest with society about how you were feeling? Maybe a little bit of self expression would help all of us.

There is no normal. We are all odd. Everyone makes mistakes. Each of us falls and gets back up again. It's a pattern that we all follow and each of us makes unique. The fact that we have free will to make us all individuals? I think that's the greatest gift we could ask for.
Written for :iconliterary-perceptions: "The Greatest Gift" Contest
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I am a photographer.

People hate my work. You may ask why, but when you see my shots, you'll understand. My work is very controversial. I am sadly proud of my photos, for I may be the only one who's adopted this style.

I capture photos of suicide.

No matter where I go, I carry my camera with me, ready to shoot anything that may happen. There's surprisingly a lot of suicides in this city and the next city over. I've gotten beautiful shots.

The most common ones are those of people jumping from buildings. Of course, there's usually a crowd of people pleading for the person to come down, so I know right away what I am about to get. I stand to get a good perspective, hold up my camera, and snap the photo right as the person plunges to their demise. I take a couple one after the other so I make sure to get the perfect shot. People surrounding me shout at me and call me heartless.

On the contrary, I am more caring than them. That person wanted to end their life, so they had a perfect reason to make that decision. I'm showing them support and kindness by capturing their last moments.

However, I don't remember the last time I smiled.

I have a splendid dark room to develope my photos, which I pin to the walls in my house. I have pictures of jumpers, people shooting themselves, taking pills or cyanide, jumping in front of a train, people stabbing themselves, and even some more unothodox methods.

It's funny. I can see the idea form in their heads by looking into their eyes or reading their body language. For most of the most spontanious ones, like the shooters or the train jumpers, I kindly approach them, explain that I'm not going to stop them, but if I could take a picture as they commit suicide. I've never had someone say no. The model will even wait for my cue. I have them point the gun to their head, and give them the signal to shoot. I wait until the train is close enough as they stand there, preparing to jump, and I give them the go.

Some even give me their names so that I can attend the funeral and visit their grave. They ask me for a copy of the photo. I oblige, but I lock the photo in a box so no one takes it away. From below the earth, I can almost hear the faint "thank you" coming from the coffin.

I couldn't make money off my hobby. No one wanted to show my art. But I think I've found someone who will...

It's a suicide cult. I let them know what I do, and that I myself don't want to end my life, but they are awed by what I do. As their cult grows, so does my gallery, for now we have scheduled photo shoots. We have our own art gallery for people fascinated with suicide. I've even had a few non-suicidal people come in just to admire the horror.

I'm making money now. Capturing suicides is now my career.

Here's my card. Call me to schedule an appointment.
i've had this idea in my head since i was like....... 17? 18? i dunno. i wanted it to be a full story, but i think it works better short.

this has not been proofread, so don't hark.
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