The Painted Lady? - Part VII
I wouldn't call her a lady, if you get what I mean.
In the beginning there was the Painted Lady. For Jahnya, it was day in and day out mindless work that she did without question. Someone bleed out at table seven? Jahnya cleaned it. Someone throw up near the bar? Jahnya cleaned it. Someone mistake the wall for a urinal? Jahnya cleaned it. Javoran had droids to do his work for him when he need to get things done, quick, to impress or simply because it was busy and she couldn't keep up with it fast enough to keep it barely passing whatever health code he could bribe to pass. But he didn't want the droids doing the work simply because droids can't be humiliated, people can.
In the beginning, there was keeping her head down and the adjustment period to the chaffing of the collar on her neckboth on her skin and in her heart. For the longest time when she was a child she was beyond hope.
The girls .The girls were surprisingly nicer than her mother most ofte
A Dust of SnowSnow was the great purification. All of the dark places of the land dotted with coated trees were blanketed by mother snows cold hand. The earth was softer in winter, in white. It was sleeping soundly beneath the coverlets where only wolves, rabbits and deer went tuttering by leaving their trails and magic.A Dust of Snow2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The girl’s cheeks had long turned chill-burnt red, polished and bright as two crisp autumn apples. They burned in the pale of her skin in the moonlight. In some other time, her lips as red as hearts and her hair as dark as raven’s wings might have stirred a poem. But the eerie mingling of fear and desire glass coating her brown eyes made her seem a mad, mad straw creature than a beauty.
The snow was deep and it bit to the knee, sometimes keeping her stuck in place. Frostbite tingled, a small sting at first and now a sharp bite in her feet; fingers. Her mittens had been swiped by a lashing pine, a boot kept by unforgiving drift. Her dress cold and wet.
NaNoWriMo Text Prompts 81.) He always grew misty eyed when he heard the bagpipes, it reminded him of her, of the stories she would tell of her home and the endless green hills. It didn't hit him until he put his hand down on her head stone, his wrinkled and age spotted hands pale against granite--that he was hearing them in a graveyard. Sharply, he jerked his head upward to the rolling fog creeping in.NaNoWriMo Text Prompts 83 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
2.) You know...when you were Queen of the Dead it was really damn hard to get a prom date.
3.) They all gaped at the knight as he emerged from the gigantic cave unscathed, unmarked and un-burnt with his encounter of the dragon. Behind him, tongue rolling out happily and each step causing the ground to tremor came the dragon: faithful as a dog. Jaws gaping and eyes wide, they crowded around him and begged him the secret of how he tamed it. He laughed and smiled charmingly, telling them even a Knight needed his secrets.
Later that night as he lay on his pillow, his wife's arms around him and nearly drifting aslee
The DancerThe Dancer1 year ago in Art Features More Like This
The Dancer by BloodshotInk
The night I met Jessie she was beautiful. She swayed to the almost intolerably loud music as if her bones were made of it. She was something unknown. I remember the sharp cut of her hair had run across her cheek, parallel to her carved-out cheekbone. It looked like a wig, I wanted to touch it. I wanted to touch her, and see if she felt like plastic. Who could ever believe that someone so perfect could be so real. I regret that. I regret doubting her reality.
Eventually she bought me a drink; she called it an Appleté but trapped in the pulsating fuchsia lights of the club it looked purple. It tasted like jealousy; s
Squeak of a ghostThere is a rocking chair.Squeak of a ghost1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
There is a girl in her mother's lap.
The chair sways under a lamp because lamps are the golden halo-gate to sacred things:
soft ringlets of hair, blue eyes.
A daughter day dreams--waves on a beach, being carried, the motion of back and forth.
She lets her eyes close.
When she opens them the lamp and its light are gone.
She stands cold by the chair that is empty but rocking.
Back and forth it squeaks like a child,
comforting only ghosts.
AdviceI get asked sometimes about how I draw and/or start drawing and practice.Advice4 months ago in Personal More Like This
Selenada has written a very good post about it, so if it's been bugging you, please check it out.
Site Update: Improved CommentsIn our continuous effort to improve the deviantART experience, we're publishing weekly Site Updates to keep members informed and to gather feedback. Below is a list of recent changes to the site, bug fixes, and feedback that was brought up by members in the last Site Update.Site Update: Improved Comments2 months ago in DeviantART Announcements More Like This
Introducing Improved Comments
With over 1.5 million comments posted per day, deviantART's commenting system provides the backbone for fostering relationships across the globe. To highlight this vital aspect of community interaction and provide more control around conversations, we’re proud to introduce the ability to Feature, edit, and hide comments.
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On From the DarkOn From the Dark5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
A candle would do well, for nothing penetrates this desolate place. It is absent of any semblance of light. Not a glow-worm or glint of star. A dragon couldnt warm this frigid earth I pace alone. If even the pale shadow of a new moon would cast its visage through a rent in the dark pall of clouds, it would seem to set ablaze this barren blackness. Yet gazing wistfully ahead even that dismal apparition remains hidden, and so I dwell in darkness. A wraith, deprived of rest for needed penance, wicked deeds abounding in life and now in death travail.
It is black this sordid soul of man
In his time - of light bereft
To forward some unwholesome plan
Or helpless victims fortune sift
And naught but horrid passion fan
I was offered hope, a desperate clutch at redemption to be found on this night alone, All Hallows Eve. In my remote place of endless torment I was visited by the voice of one unseen. Indeed, so gently come upon was I that n
UndoingsWhen your mouth moves I rememberUndoings5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
what it felt like as I rushed to flip a page
and sliced my hand on the edge of words.
Every syllable you murmur in my ear stings
I am four again. I will not breathe
until you untangle me slowly
from you, from your own undoings
that have become the paper wrappings
around the bird-cage of my heart.