sailors of the universe There's a tingling in my spine as we come in to view of Eris properly for the first time; I figure it's awe but it lasts a little too long and I realise I haven't taken my pill in sixteen hours. I pop one of the gravy coloured things in my mouth and it burns like sulphuric acid going down, but it's preferable to losing motor control.
"Beautiful, ain't she?" Cam asks. He places his hands on his hips triumphantly as if he flew us here on his back. "Xena, the largest dwarf planet." He always calls her Xena, despite her official designation of 136199 Eris.
"Cam, Xena is a character from a TV show." I remind him for what seems like the hundredth time.
"And Pluto is a cartoon dog. What's your point?" He strains himself to put his hand on my shoulder. "Now, Drew, we'd better go buckle up, hadn't we?"
I'm surprised to see the control
Emotion The noise is unbearable. It runs through your body and cracks your soul; the sound of fear. It's high pitched, like a scream from a horror movie. Primal. We've evolved in such a way that such a sound sends terror pulsing through us. It's a chain reaction.Emotion4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Your muscles clench; that's the sound of your wife dying. All the worst thoughts pulse through your head; your mind serves only to exacerbate your horror. Eventually, you can't hear the screaming anymore, not over the sound of your heartbeat. The perfect engine in your chest pumps faster and faster; this is your death as well as hers.
Paralysis comes next. That's when you notice the blood. Again your mind races. Surely, it isn't natural to lose that much blood. The paralysis worsens. Before you were tense, now it feels as though your knees are going to give way. That's when you realise i
Doorway to Delusion There was nothing he could do. Everywhere he looked Jonathan saw the door. It was following him. It had to be. The stone arch with its cherry door and a little grate to allow you to see the other side.Doorway to Delusion5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Jonathan had first noticed the doorway a month ago after his girlfriend left him and his sister had been killed on the same day. He had balled himself up on his king-size bed weeping into a mauve pillow when out of the corner of his eye he saw it. The door had looked almost inconspicuous hiding, as it was, halfway behind his bookshelf. Jonathan carefully stepped onto his cold laminated wooden floor as he attempted to blink the door back out of existence. It didn't work. Eventually, he reached the door and peered nervously through the grate. Jonathan's breath quickened as through the grate he saw himself; he was still weeping in his bed. Instinctively, Jonathan took a step back; trying, an
A fresh start My dream still plagued every thought as I entered my bathroom. My brown bathroom. Just looking at it made me want to vomit. I managed to contain myself while I showered, but I didn't linger there. I made a mental note about picking up paint before grabbing some fresh clothes. I hadn't thought to unpack my clothes, which were all downstairs in my kitchen. I chuckled to myself about this as I walked along the hallway; sometimes I just don't think about these things.A fresh start4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I slipped into the first clothes I found, feeling incredibly confident that they didn't match. Luckily there were no mirrors in the house yet, so I didn't know for sure. My phone beeped. I hadn't got around to changing the ring tone from the default setting; I bought the phone a year ago. I glanced at the name and sighed, but I had to answer it.
"Yes, Gloria?" My publisher. I should have mentioned to her that I didn't find being d
Sweet Sleep I slip out of bed, trying not to make a sound, despite the fact I live alone. I used to sneak downstairs in the dead of night when I lived with my parents, that was more than ten years ago but old habits die hard. I have to force myself to turn on the light, afraid I'll wake my non-existent neighbours. A clock on the wall with a knife and fork for hands informs me that it's 3:15 in the morning. I look for paracetamols first; I always keep painkillers in the kitchen, even though I only ever need them when I'm in bed. In my half asleep state I decide to dry swallow them. One sticks to the back of my throat, causing a horrible taste to fill my mouth. I guzzle water straight from the tap until it goes away.Sweet Sleep4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I contemplate going back to bed, but know that I won't sleep now. Four hours sleep is the most I've had in almost a year. I open the fridge and look at its barren interior: I forgot to go shopping. Again. That's the problem wit
Myself and IForever dancing to someone else's rhythm.Myself and I4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
The Rat and the DollSome time ago there lived a Rat of fine whiskers and a finer tail who stumbled across a small porcelain Doll in a farmer's rubbish heap. Entranced by the Doll's beauty, he carried her home with him and, to the amusement of his fellow rats, instated her as his wife. Finding that she was of little assistance in his daily rambles for food, the Rat placed her upon a slight ledge of the barn in which he lived and brought her an offering of sustenance each day, as well as flowers and other pretty objects with which to enhance her loveliness.The Rat and the Doll5 years ago in Fable Me This More Like This
One day the Rat returned from his foraging to find the other rats throwing pebbles at his Doll. "Stop!" he cried. "Why do you abuse my wife? What has she ever done to you?"
"She does nothing at all," said the other rats, "and that is the problem. How has she proven herself worthy of the attention you grant her, or the offerings you provide?"
"Her beauty proves her worth," claimed the Rat.
But at that moment, a gust of wind swept the Doll off her perch an
Last Dawn It is 5:31 A.M. and in precisely one hour seventeen minutes the Sun will rise. I can already feel its warmth, it is heavenly. I am trying to think of when I last saw a sunrise. I can't.Last Dawn4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
My name is Charles Michael Edwin Claremont and I was born on the fifth of October, 1911. Today is my ninety-ninth birthday. Today my wife, Elizabeth, died. I sat next to her as she lay in bed. I could feel the life drain from her body, could see the light leave her eyes. I did not call an ambulance; they could not help her. I called my son, Jonathan. He lives approximately two hours away, by the time he arrives I shall be gone.
I am five foot ten inches tall and I look as good as I did sixty years ago. My hair is a smooth silky black and my eyes are Ocean grey. Lizzie always joked that I looked like a Byronic hero, she did love her literature. My nose was
One Short Year The world was on the precipice of Utopia, one year later and the paradise we had been working towards had turned the Earth into Hell.One Short Year4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I can still remember the joy of finishing the project. I was the youngest member of a scientific team tasked by the military and, by all accounts, the mission would have failed long before without me. I was naïve, reckless, I only wanted to make the world a better place. My goal had been simple; my objectives were clear. I, and I alone, had rushed headfirst into this program; I sought only results and cared not for the means by which I obtained them.
You can try, but you will never be able to imagine the guilt that comes from causing the destruction of your entire planet; the sorrow you feel after causing the death of six and a half billion people. The fact I had survived is proof there is a God and that he wants me to atone for my sins.
The problem with mankindMankind: Starting fires and playing hero.The problem with mankind3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The Nightmare Door I opened the door to my nightmare; the door shrieked in pain. The doorway opened onto unadulterated darkness that cackled menacingly. I glanced behind me at the dreamy meadows and stepped through. There was no ground beneath my feet in the darkness and I fell. The darkness caught me, smothered me; it protected my body from the fall. There was another malevolent cackle and I was thrown onto a cobbled road.The Nightmare Door4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I stood wearily; my face felt warm with blood. I looked around at the world I was in; everything was grey. The door to my dream seemed distant now; I couldn't go back. I walked toward the town; each of my footsteps echoed ominously. Each building seemed to loom over me and groan in pain as I moved near it. I moved up to one of the houses, it emitted a death rattle as I touched the door and began to crumble away. The darkness let out another long laugh and I realised this world was dying. Everything here was
Brothers Explosion. Gunfire. Yelling. The noises blur into one. You look for your brother, but he has fallen. You want to stop and cry but a hand grabs you by the shoulder and drags you forward. You wipe the mud, the blood, and the tears from your face as you continue the charge.Brothers4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You yell as loud as you can; you yell because there's nothing else you can do. Another explosion rattles your whole body and you can't hear anything except ringing. You stumble forward, unable to keep your balance as around you men charge forward and men fall dead. There's a hand on your shoulder again and you turn to see your brother mouth something - you can't tell what. The musket flashes and explosions have almost completely blinded you. You look into his eyes and you smile, despite everything you smile. You smile in horror as you watch half of your brother's head get blown off by a sniper.
Synesthesia Water falls drip by drop from the tin roof and Tim gets a sense that time is slowing to a stop. Each speck takes its ten foot dive to earth so slowly that Tim finds it serene to watch, as though nature was jumping to her death. When a drop finally crashes against the concrete the sound explodes in a vivid blue in front of his eyes.Synesthesia3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
His heart rams against his ribcage repeatedly, trying to break free. It is almost painful, but not quite, to feel it hammer away at his chest. With each barrage his heart makes his body shakes and he hears a rumble within himself. The growl is fierce and shoots wisps of red into his vision. The beating of his heart begins to dance in step with the water; the blues and reds collide before his eyes forming the beginnings of an image, though Tim could not make out what it was.
He knows he can't put it off any longer; he turns to face his assailant. The man is taller than h
deliverance does not come,as does the bell-boy from his duties,deliverance does not come,5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the rough-boned burly man from his cell.
with the calendar days deemed ignorant,
the time-clocks cloak themselves. from what?
natural disasters are nothing, nothing I say,
compared to cold metal making nests
within a womb. and men, are wild -
run rampant through the night,
start fights, take heaven to tired veins and
in blind glory, ignite.
Marlboro MeteorologyI can always predict the weather given how my morning cigarette goes. If it tastes like cardboard or an old apple, it will rain hard in the late afternoon. If burns the back of my nose, it will be cloudy all day. If I get a toothache it means hail and anything blowing up into my eyes means hot, humid, and sunny. My great grandmother had the same talent. If her back itched it meant snow, if her neck hurt it meant midnight rains had come and gone. Some things must jump generations.Marlboro Meteorology5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Looking at our flowerbed, you'd think it was snowing in July. The kid above me would chain smoke and scream language learning dialogues at his computer, tossing ashes out the window in a steady, Vesuvian stream. The land lady would always leave a filter or two as her treat when she'd leave notices for the rent crammed into door frames and mailboxes. And of course I carried my own weight, poisoni
The Pizza, The Prophet, and MeSo. It all began when the prophet Mohammad, peace and blessings be upon him, came for a visit to my house for some pizza and video games.The Pizza, The Prophet, and Me7 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Id had the cheese and garlic pizza, with the pan-style crust with mozzarella crammed inside, and he had the regular old original crust topped with lots of vegetables, a lot of them olives, onions, mushrooms, and green peppers.
He really likes those peppers a lot, so I always make sure I have some in the house in case he decides to come over.
So anyway, there we were: me, lounging on the couch with my feet propped up on the little wooden folding table and he, sitting in his green robe thingy, cross-legged on the carpet.
I told him, as I always do, that he doesnt need to sit on the floor, and that hes a guest in my home and thus, can sit on the couch next to me. In fact, if anything, as a guest, the roles ought to be reversed completely.
And, as always, he just smiles and responds that I am a lady and therefore, I should get the couch
MatthewThe silhouette in the back seat seems to say,Matthew4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
what's a few more miles per hour?
Jesus, there ain't any cops around at two AM.
The needle on that glowing green dial shivers, taunting.
After forty days of temptation in the desert,
I turned his breath bitter and blue from nicotine.
The illuminated cone of open road chokes the windshield
And he cranks the gas, feeling his back press against the seat.
A rush of lines and blue-grey pavement.
His fists were scarred, probably thought even Behemoth
was wary of his mirrored sunglasses.
And he thinks: bitch, you're gone,
You're all gone.
Bet you didn't say your prayers right.
He grips the cracked leather steering wheel
Cranks up the radio,
His feet brush crumpled cans
Of beer and Diet Coke
And he feels them holy.
I made him proud of that stain on the wall;
Made his fists bruised from scrubbing and scrubbing.
He stops when it gets light,
Wheels kicking up dust under the dead tree,
Bone-white, like fingers in the sun.
The dust scratches his lungs t
Site Update: Literature Thumbs, Sta.sh SubmitIn 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: Literature Thumbs, Sta.sh Submit2 years ago in DeviantArt Announcements More Like This
Change to Literature Preview Images
Preview images for literature deviations are now placed within a scrolling literature thumb. In the past, any preview image a deviant set would take the place of the scrolling literature thumb, making it difficult to distinguish visual art thumbnails and literature thumbnails.
This change allows for a more uniform thumbnail appearance around the site while also ensuring that each artist is still able to comfortably represent their work.
Four Walls There was something very odd about this whole situation, Elijah thought, as he stood surrounded by fifty zombies led by what seemed to be a large squirrel. For starters he had no memory of the chain of events that led up to this moment, nor did he really know much about himself, other than that he was here. It was an eerie realisation and it seemed that there was some unseen hand creating this whole thing. He picked up a broken bottle, which he hadn't noticed until he began to reach for it.Four Walls3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Stand back, I've dealt with your kind before." Had he? Elijah wondered, he must have, he wasn't lying. The memory of fighting zombies in Minsk suddenly came to him, the fact that his girlfriend, Elsa had been murdered that day, it pained him every waking moment. How could he have forgotten Elsa? Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. None of this made any sense and he didn't really remember Elsa, or Minsk,
.vesta..vesta5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It is time. We feel the pull of summer along our spines
as we head into hibernation. Bed is short respite for our leaden limbs,
our singed hair. The air aches with the wait of it, where the embers
click and sing like crickets. Snippets of sound from the underground.
"This," someone says, wide-eyed with awe, "is what the insides
of the earth look like" - the world beneath, struck through with
dragons' teeth, pocked with open sores. The slit smile of the crater
in a slack jaw. Our scarred skies are littered with lights, many
mechanical suns spun into the ceiling, glinting like electric sequins.
And in the middle of it all, where our tracks meet, lies Vesta,
incomplete. The heat seeps from her as she speaks neat,
untranslatable lines of words, tapped out as if on a bell.
She's a shell and she knows it, tied heart to hearth. She hears
the earth and extracts, repeats an exact echo. Sometimes
she's nearly crushed by the rush of words, spilling into the air
like prayers, but by now we know
Patchouli GirlOn her front porch she had one of those little wooden step stools covered in potted flowers and various ceramic animals a frog, a squirrel, a giant ladybug. It struck me as strange, something my dead grandmother would have had on her front porch. It was definitely not the porch I had pictured as belonging to my first one night stand.Patchouli Girl5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I was a step behind her as she fumbled with her keys. I had been drinking, too much. Probably. All evening I had chewed on my fingernails, hoping the Captain and coke would give me the courage to deliver the witty, flirty lines I had rehearsed in my mind all week. I'm fairly sure it didn't work.
The door was red, and I thought again of my dead grandmother the horrid crimson sweater she knitted for me one Christmas, the one I had felt obligated to wear every December until the funeral. I think everyone has a horrid crimson sweater from their grandmother.
It seemed forever to me that she fumbled with her bulky keys, laughing and shooting me fli