TFS: Trapped Within - Chap2
A Few Weeks Later
The city was dark.
Shadows hung over the ruins of the capital, which was stained in blood. The sun was no more than a smear of forgotten brightness in the sky. It barely managed to light the world through the thick, choking smog that clung in the air and drifted through the cobbled streets. Dark silence lingered in every corner and wrapped itself around the crumbling buildings and ancient towers like the dying heat of a fire. Shadow moss spread over the alleys and passages and coated the ground in an unnatural black grass.
Wind whistled through the long-bare trees and howled over the hills surrounding the city. Sand whisked up from the barren landscape and swirled high into the already polluted sky. The deathly breeze told stories of pain, misfortune and betrayal.
It was a forgotten world.
Rantil's mind was caught in the gale and his thoughts blew from alley to alley, from high tower to crumbled ruin. He knew that he was caught inside a dream and as much as
Resolution Diary2007Resolution Diary2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Make first million after starting own business.
Applied for a loan. Declined due to excessive account activity. Note: Constant purchasing of rare (albeit mint) wicker chairs is not conducive to bank balance. Wife insistent on selling wicker chairs to find money to start business.
Bought new donut recipe book. Learnt how to make category hard donut, 'Diamond Swizzler'. Delma loves them.
James offered to lend the money if he can become a business partner. Potential.
First million still a long way off. Wife still nagging.
Spent savings on replacing the roof of the conservatory when neighbor's tree uprooted in the November storm.
Update: Dogs should never be fed over two donuts a day. Next Year's Resolution likely…? Find enough money to take Delma to the vets. And make more realistic resolution idea.
Find an appropriate business idea.
Welcome!Proofreading and Editing for LiteratureWelcome!3 years ago in Personal More Like This
Hello there, my name is Ed and I work as a proofreader of prose literature here on deviantART. I've been editing short stories and novels for many years, but have only recently discovered how many pieces there are uploaded to dA. So far, I've critiqued over 200 pieces.
I will critique:
I will not critique:
-Fan fiction (unless I've been contacted and I know of the subject)
Here are a few examples of my work:
Betwixt His Study Part I by !sherlockholmes34
The Nova Series: Rift ch. 1 by ~SeventhRain
TSD - One by *XRosewaterX
The Fallen Star: Chapter 1ONEThe Fallen Star: Chapter 13 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The faint glow of the moon and of the stars shone over the Woodlands of Liaport. Shadows crept between the huddling trees that rose and fell with the rugged land; small clifftops, rising crests and sunken valleys were remnants of the Valkar Mountains many leagues to the north.
Darkness shrouded the damp, soil floor, giving the shrieks and howls of lurking creatures full reign over the otherwise silent night. The never-ending fight for survival battled on through the woodland groves and raging rapids of the River Owk. Liaport was ancient. And so were the animals that lived there.
The already freezing wind sent a sudden chill through the wood. Unseen hands ravaged treetops and snatched away the withering leaves of the toughest of trees. The Triali season, the coldest season of the year, was quickly approaching and it wouldn’t be long before the forest was buried beneath a deep layer of ice and snow.
One tree, however, blossomed in the depths of the woodlands and was thri
Reflection of Humanity: 01 Pivotal BeginningsReflection of Humanity: 01 Pivotal Beginnings3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I. Pivotal Beginnings
"Ah, why do they say mankind anyway? We are not all the manly kind, are we? No, no we are most certainly not." This was all spoken in a heavy accent by the younger of the scientists within this particular lab. There were no smiling faces from his humor. Regardless, he blessed the silent room with that youthful laughter.
"That is quite enough, Jovich," spoke the fiery-haired woman which the young man stood near. "One would think you would have at least some sense of respect around such company, mind what it is we are in the midst of completing here." She was also young, though not as much so as her ridiculous assistant. All the joking aside, the young man was indeed the prodigy of the great minds present. Alas, for the time being, he was only trusted with the safekeeping of the tools which were used by each in perfecting the mass laid out b
ImagineImagine.Imagine2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You are six years old. Your sister is four years older than you. She comes into the room, shouting to you about an 'amazing idea' she's had. You're young. You don't know that really: she's an idiot. It takes you another few years to figure that one out, anyway.
She explains how plastic bags can be used to slide around if you put them on your feet. You agree, and you think it is one of the most revolutionary ideas you've ever heard. It's something you'll remember for the rest of your life. You start to get excited. You are six years old.
Your mum keeps a drawer in a small utility room, filled with bags from Safeways and some more expensive, high quality bags from M&S (because your grandma just came to visit). You start the afternoon by pulling each other across the conservatory with them on your feet. It's fun; it's exciting. It's not at all dangerous. It's an 'amazing idea'.
But then you realize you have more than enough bags to cover the entire floor. Your excitement builds.
First Day of School."Miss, miss!"First Day of School.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Sit down Gerald. Waving your hand and jumping around will not make me choose you quicker. Everybody will get a turn. Now, Natalie."
"Stand at the front then. There. Nice big voice."
"whatididonmyholidays by Natalie Marsh. What I did on my holidays we went to the beach it was nice and su....sunny. I had ice cream and I went on a boat. The boat was nice. The sea splashed up and we all got wet. Then there was a shark and it ated us and we all got dead TheEnd."
"Very good Natalie. Well done. And you spoke nice and clearly too, but try to be a bit louder next time. Now who's next? No, Gerald, I will not tell you again. Sit down. Now, Kyle. Your turn."
"What I did on my holidays by Kyle age six. What I did, I went to the zoo. I went... no, wait, I know,
A Night at Pinetop's TavernSomewhere in the back alleys of the city's older section there was a crumbling brick building that had been around since before ragtime music was popular. Hanging above a faded green door that led down to the building's cellar was a wooden sign, and despite the peeling paint, you could still make out the bar's name: Pinetop's Tavern. Nobody really knew when Pinetop's first opened; local folks would tell you it had been there since time began, and the world had grown up around it. It was one of those places where the lighting was always dim and the cigarette smoke never dissipated and the cloud you were breathing now had probably been around since W. C. Handy was still alive.A Night at Pinetop's Tavern3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Pinetop's Tavern was a blues joint, and it had been around almost as long as blues music itself. Blues music was a lot simpler than most kinds of musicsimpler chords, simpler lyrics, and most blues musicians couldn't read sheet music. The genre was born on some unknown plantation in the forgotten Deep
The Dinner Hour"We need a refill on salt shakers at table two, a fresh ketchup bottle on tables three, four, and six, and for god's sake, see if we've got a spare pacifier for the kid at table five." Marcheline's lawyer-like voice rattles off instructions faster than anyone can understand them. Taking over her shift is like diving headfirst into an ocean current traveling at a million miles an hour.The Dinner Hour3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I nod after every ten or so words; after sounding off eight commands in under a breath, Marcheline gasps, "Thank god you always show up for your shift on time." Then she flings off her waiter belt like it was on fire and throws it on the rung. I watch her dash out of the back room like she's being chased.
Poor Marcheline doesn't always do well with the evening rush hours, when anything can happen.
Already in my uniform, I make sure of three final things before I step out into the fray that is Elliot's Diner at 6 PM: 1) my nametag is straight and my name tag, because once I grabbed Pedro's nametag a
The TimesI was printed on the evening of November 27th, 2008, just as the weather was turning from chilly to cold. I was tomorrow's news. At the moment I came off the press, I told the future. I knew things before the rest of the world; it was wonderful. I knew what my purpose was: to inform as many people as possible about the world's happenings.The Times3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
As I was put to bed, bound against my brothers and sisters, I dreamt of being passed around a construction site, making sure all the workers were aware of which sports team triumphed, and which celebrity was getting a divorce. I dreamt that corporate peons debated over politics, and the state of the economy and which policies would be most effective in fixing the existing problems. I slept contently, snuggled warm in the middle of a stack, ready to be shipped out the next day and sold to whoever wanted me.
The next morning was cold and blustery. I was so excited about being sold that I allowed the wind to ruffle my pages, since I couldn't move on my o
Gus Number FiveGus Number FiveGus Number Five2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Jenna and Cindy filled their mouths with watermelon seeds, spitting them fast and hard until the air swarmed with seeds like shiny black dive-bombing gnats. “My seeds are winning,” twelve year old Cin yelled, her thin body tense and urgent with victory.
Jenna just kept spitting seeds. Eight years old, she already knew the seeds that flew the farthest would be Cin's no matter what.
Jenna puckered her mouth preparing for another losing bombardment. Suddenly she paused, lips plump and pouting as the mouth of a painted candy box cupid. Spitting the seeds into her palm, she stared at them for a moment, chewing the end of her pigtail. Then anxious with inspiration, she trotted into the house and minutes later reappeared hugging a fishbowl.
Carefully placing the bowl on the steps, she solemnly stared at the rattled goldfish who darted and wiggled his copper penny of a body. But when Jenna scattered her handful of watermelon seeds into the water, the goldfish paused
Escape VelocityF = G(m1m2)/r2Escape Velocity2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Black – true black – is the absence of light. Darkness is defined by what it is not, by the lack of something else. When we say a black hole, we truly mean that; black. Blacker than black. An absence of not only light, but of time, distance, anything.
The night was scary when I was little. I hated the dark, but couldn’t bear to sleep so long as the light was on, any light, burning on the other side of my eyelids. I used to have nightmares about dark things in dark corners, shadowy figures with shadowy fingers trailing along my spine. I always woke up cold and fumbling frantically for the lamp, but the aura of light just made the shadows deeper and I turned it off quickly.
Black holes are dead stars. Graves. Tombs that bury light, bury it so deep, swallow entire suns, planets, galaxies. Dead stars take all the light with them like rich men spending fortunes on alabaster monuments and marble headstones.
There are four unmarked graves
Little Dove LullabyLittle dove, innocent child,Little Dove Lullaby2 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
You'll never be alone.
So young and dear,
You needn't fear.
War is for when you've grown.
Little dove, innocent child,
For you a cuff of bone
From soldiers passed
And gone to rest.
Carve new wars of your own.
Little dove, innocent child.
I wish I could atone.
But after spring,
They clipped your wings;
Now you wear chains of stone.
Little dove, innocent child,
How could we have known?
The fields are dust;
The flowers rot,
And innocence is gone.
no wonder it took him 1455 pageswhen i was seven years old, a group of kids in my grade threw rocks at me for liking neopets more than webkinz. from then on, i was convinced i knew what hatred meant. but i don’t know how to describe it to the little girl who sits in the corner of my womb and in ten years might call me mommy and ask for help on dividing the world into black and white.no wonder it took him 1455 pages2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
would i point to the churches with their bigotry? to the cotton fields of the south in the 1800s? to the classrooms of modern day america? would i tell her about how the jews stood in straight lines, waiting to die, with fear in their eyes and faith in their hearts? or would i try and describe the sound tyler clementi’s body made when it hit the water of the hudson river after he jumped from the george washington bridge?
would i point to myself and say, “i am hatred, i am hatred to others. i am lying and cheating and stealing and coveting and jealousy and hubris. i am the idea of every time someone wants to kill someone
Midnight StarsMidnight starsMidnight Stars2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
flurry through the night.
Like the glimmer in your eye.
The twinkle from your soul of beauty
radiates the blackened space
around my lonely
A Reason to LiveIf only she had the guts to actually do it, to just leap among the cold waves and sink in death among the fish. She breathed in the smell and taste of saltwater, and water sprays hit her face, neck, and chest. She shivered slightly in the breeze from the waves, but she wasn’t really bothered by the chill. What weighed on her mind was something much deeper than the weather.A Reason to Live2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
A pang of apprehension penetrated her heart as she envisioned her body being plunged into the water and weighted down by the strong waves. She thought about what it would be like to gulp in mouthful after mouthful of water, choking and never feeling any relief, but she didn’t think the pain could be any worse than what she was already dealing with.
“Aimée!” The young woman moved her arms in circular motions as she tried to keep her balance. Her mother’s call startled her, and for a brief moment she thought God might be
Signum Iniquitas (What's Your Sin? intro)They said, "She's an angel."Signum Iniquitas (What's Your Sin? intro)2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
So they brought her to church
And taught her to pray.
He said, "You're my angel."
So he bought her a ring
And taught her to sin.
She said, "I am human."
So she sought out the truth
And thought for the first time.
we won't bury you The last time we saw Taylor alive, it was behind Melrose Diner on Snyder Avenue at two in the morning. It was a little bit after the rain had stopped; the clouds had disappeared and the moon was already covered by the quiet buildings that lined up on Main Street. There were still puddles on the tarmac, and the streetlights still had some raindrops trailing down their sides. The smell of wet rust and burnt florescence still lingered in the air - the normal fragrance of a night in Philadelphia, after a night of too much to drink and too few fucks to give.we won't bury you3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
We had all of our band gear already packed up in the back of Dave's shitty van, except for Taylor's old Ibanez guitar, which he kept in the gig bag that was strapped around his back. He liked to keep it with him after a particularly good show; it was a good-luck charm to him, and we needed all the luck we could get.
on watching the night close its eyes on you1. I will not tell youon watching the night close its eyes on you2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are pretty.
How can the halls and angles of such honest humanity
be so pinched between sounds as elementary as these?
2. You need not be two stringent boughs of syllables
nor weave your viney bones abreast these five petty letters,
whirling in the fire of the river
Do not attempt to peel yourself layer for layer,
leaving all the disgust behind.
Do not tally your body six lines
too short, hemming the holes into
puckers red as those volcanoes of strength
bursting at the base of your hips.
3. Blood is not satisfaction.
Blood is not patience, waiting for the rooms to empty
LongingI want the Renaissance of LoveLonging2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the Age of Aquarius promised us.
I want to understand humanity
and ask you to take my hand when needed.
I want your hand
when I may desire the same.
I want prejudice to die
on the Altar of Compassion
while we walk arm-in-arm
without inhibition or shame,
a Love-In of not just tolerance,
but real acceptance.
My deepest desire is the reawakening
I want to end my vanity
to see what really matters.
I want a mature mind
with a young outlook.
I want to awaken refreshed each day,
and rest reassured each night.
I want to find myself by looking inward
rather than search the world in vain.
I want to accept responsibility and blame
if that’s what it takes to live honestly.
I want a revival of Love
we have all awaited for so long.
I want justice
for its own sake.
I want elections that give
a choice of politicians who will
“reach across the isle,”
instead of ridicule and polarize.
I want America to find its backbone
to stand against brutality
CharlieWe're all just kids playing a part. That's what it boils down to.Charlie2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I'm the kid who gets to play hitman today. The other kids, they're playing guard. Hands in their pockets, feeling up their guns. Makes them feel big. Calms them down. A security blanket in a holster.
That's what it boils down to. Dressing for the part, having the right props. If you're running around in your street clothes, you're a thug, a hood, a gangster. You put on a ninety-dollar suit you picked up at Ross, and all the sudden you're a mobster, a wiseguy, paisano.
You're still just playing Cops and Robbers, Cowboys and Indians, Thugs and Mafiosi.
Rule of three. Say it enough times, and you'll convince yourself of it.
Look at yourself in the mirror, jacket and tie and shoulder holster. Tell yourself, "I'm a badass." Wash, rinse, repeat until it sticks. Get into character and stand around, chest puffed out, one hand on your gun, one on your cock.
Repeat the lines you learned watching other people pretend t
The Solipsist's LotThere's something about yourself that you don't know. You probably don't remember the circumstances very well, but I do. If you enjoy things the way they are, if you revel in even the smallest speck of ignorance, you need not read ahead. I won't force you. But from what I know of you, you don't like secrets. Especially not when they are about you.The Solipsist's Lot3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You see, when you were born, so at once was everyone else. Your mother, she sprang into existence, just like that, the instant your tiny infant brain achieved the smallest semblance of self-awareness. Woven out of the ether, she remembered everything that never happened, and she looked down at you, cradled and squirming in her loving arms.
"Oh," she said. "So here is life."
The doctor was there too, although a moment before if there ever was a moment before he was not. He just nodded, smiling assuredly, and said, "Here is the beginning."
Beautiful Today, you are beautiful.Beautiful2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Your parents tell you that you’re beautiful on every other day, too, but no one else ever does. The only time you matter to the world is at your shows. When you’re not beautiful, you’re nothing.
Today, though, you are shining. At least, you think you are, but you’re not feeling great. Your stomach hurts, just like it does before every pageant. Your dress is brand new, and you haven’t gotten used to the way it itches yet. You’re sure your wig is gorgeous, even though the hairspray smells bad.
Your teeth, though, are hurting the most. You know your flipper is a good one, but it doesn’t fit anymore.
The other girls are all beautiful too, crammed here in this
Conversation"I am driving in a Hummer. I am on a two lane highway. I was listening to Counting Crows before panic threatened to cut off my air supply. Air supply is a band. I have no idea what they sing. I'm pretty sure they were a clue on Jeopardy once. I…I…have to pull over so I can breathe."Conversation2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Omar put on his blinker and steered the over-compensation-mobile to the shoulder of the road. He fumbled with the lock on the door and his heart felt like it was going to burst through his chest when he tried to get out of the car and couldn't. Seatbelt. It was just the seatbelt. His hands were slick with cold sweat by the time the belt whizzed cheerfully back into its place and he managed to slide out onto the shoulder of the road.
He was glad it was so late and glad that the highway was so deserted. He was trembling so hard that the change in his pockets rattled and he never would have been able to speak if someone had pulled up and offered to help. He hated for people to witness his panic.