The Silent GirlThey had consumed all the animals first. Perhaps they thought it was a mercy.
It's hard to tell how much the necro-kai think, how much the electrons pinging around in their brains have re-awakened any kind of logic or conscience,
Even with his powerful skills in reading, Gryffon couldn't get past the scrambled code, the disfigured ruin of what was once a brain that thought in terms of language and numbers, now wrapped with layers of overlapping images. Visions painted one over another in a cloudy mess by the possessing soul, reminiscent of the fragmented thoughts of the schizophrenic. It's a wonder they can even walk around without bumping into things. The last time he'd tried poking around in one of their heads, he'd been rewarded with nightmares. Wide-eyed fish with human teeth. What the fuck was that about?
But then, maybe their visions are just another version of the way things are. Always had been.
Some, upon awakening, had fled into the woods, devouring the deer and birds, leavin
Dear Sir[Lights up on CLAUDE. He's holding a letter, standing.]Dear Sir5 years ago in Drama More Like This
We regret to inform you
That your (that place with cream walls and dog hair where warm nights are cracked by
ceilings let you sink into plaid cushions and listen
This Is Why We Can't Be In LoveThe day we first met, she was naked. The empty gallery had turned the A/C off and she said, "it's hot, too hot for clothes," and she stripped down to skin. She was pink and raw from sunburn, shiny plasma peeking out of translucent cracks in her epidermis.This Is Why We Can't Be In Love2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"How many times have you done this today?" I asked her. "Also, hello."
I know I flushed pinker than her, fully clothed in my capris and navy fingerless gloves even though it was already July-- burning for her, because she didn't seem to notice her own skin.
She smiled, asked, "Am I beautiful?"
"I don't even know you."
"Okay," she said.
"I have to go," I said.
* * *
She was still naked, our second encounter. I was eating a blizzard in the Dairy Queen and she was sitting at the counter with the tall stools. I tried to avert my eyes, to focus on whatever was outside the window in the parking lot, but she caught my gaze in hers and trapped me. As I watched her, she grinned and twirled, bare feet on the linoleum floor,
Liberal Christian is not...Liberal Christian is not an OxymoronLiberal Christian is not...5 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Before I get into the semantics of this piece, I'm just going to explain what I mean when I label myself as a Christian.
I believe that there is an objective truth. Yes, I agree, nothing can be proven. Gravity can't even be proven. But that's not how science-- or life-- really works. Science is about collecting data and drawing conclusions based on observable evidence. If there is more evidence for one thing than another, then we logically assume that the thing for which there is more evidence for is true, and we act based on those assumptions. The evidence that other people and the world itself exists is overwhelming-- we can see it, hear it, touch it-you get the idea. Whereas the notion that oneself is the only thing that can be truly known to exist and therefore must take priority flies in the face of that evidence. Yes, we cannot irrevocably prove the existence of other, but we also have no reason to doubt it.
So, people exist. But what a
Unsent Letter[ Miranda is sitting at a desk with piles of crumpled letters. She picks up a clean piece of paper and begins to write and think.]Unsent Letter5 years ago in Drama More Like This
If you're reading this,
I am gone.
I doubt I'm dead.
But maybe being dead would be more freeing,
distant moons and stars.
Vibrant metallic Winter glass.
Mirror moon, you are,
like a pond or puddle
where a River should be.
Silver lining on a mushroom cloud?
Glass half full of air?
Castle made of cages?
Prove me wrong.
Never have I so desperately wanted
to be wrong.
That's why I write suicide letters
without any stamps.
Love love love love love hate love love love,
P.S. I'm still here.
[Miranda pauses, the meticulously folds up the letter. She pulls a blender out from under the desk and drops the letter in. She turns the blender on and watches it run. Then she shrugs and walks offstage. Lights out.]
stealthy She's stealthy. She's Waldo in a candy-cane factory at Christmas that just shipped in an order of barber-shop poles for their barber-shop quartet of singing striped elves with Santa hats. And when Waldo sheds his wooden cane and goggles in favor of cherry-and-ivory streaked war paint as he dodges in between the swirling plastic poles and peppermint sticks, surrounded by a crowd of distracting minions, you're getting there. If these minions are wearing bankai masks and capes made from the Danish flag to celebrate their juxtaposing hapa heritage, you're closer still. And if he then immerses himself like a chameleon by instigating a song-and-dance musical number involving these red-and-white decorations twirling like spazzy tornadoes so that you have a snowball's chance of finding a needle in a haystack in hell of finding him amongst the pages of your book, then, and only then, will you begin to comprehend how simple it is for her to disappear.stealthy5 years ago in Humor More Like This
Mad as LoveMad as LoveMad as Love5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Have you ever been in love? you ask
You and your Crazy Love.
I think for a minute-
I know if I say yes,
you'll say I'm lying
just because I've never wanted anyone's anything
in my vagina
never wanted to taste chapped lips
or smooth lips
or any lips not mine
(what's that got to do with anything?)
Quite, quite madly
When love means forgetting about myself
to heal the smallest of her pains
When love means crying when he can't
Risk your life! of course (but not only
that not only ever
Give your life!
Dumping songs and memories
screams echo in silence
sacrifice when all you can see
Better Left UnsaidBetter Left UnsaidBetter Left Unsaid5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"You understand why you have to be suspended, then, Kali?"
The auburn-eyed girl tilted her head, gazing, unblinking. Mr. Dipaulis shifted uncomfortably. "I mean," he hazarded, sweat forming in tiny beads on his brow, "this isn't cultural bias. Rules are rules. Your- the- it's a weapon in the school, Kal." Why did he get the sinking feeling that she'd stopped listening, that she'd gotten all she needed to know of him by simply plucking it out from the folds of his mind. He shivered. He found himself wishing for the monotonous tick of the clock in the corner, but it had broken this morning, filling the room with the silence of dread. The hands hung loosely, trapped in a moment long since past.
Trapped. Like a wolf surrounded by sheep, who've discovered the meaning of unity in the face of a common goal.
Pull yourself together, Bradley. She's just a kid. Some snotty, smart-ass kid. You're Vice Principal for Chrissakes. The jowly man drummed his f
There Once Was[Annabelle is sitting at an office desk onstage. There's a chair opposite it. She's rifling through some papers, very purposefully. Bernard knocks on the door offstage.]There Once Was5 years ago in Comedy More Like This
ANNABELLE: Come in!
[Bernard enters. He's nervous and excited.]
ANNABELLE: Please, sit down.
BERNARD: Thanks. (he sits) Now, are you the one I talked to on the phone?
ANNABELLE: Yes, hello again Mr. Parker. My name is Ms. Strike, but you can call me Annabelle.
[They shake hands.]
BERNARD: Bernard. Pleased to meet you, Annabelle. I'm very excited about all this. I've never published anything before! I was thrilled when you called and said you liked the manuscript, and possibly wanted to be my agent
ANNABELLE: Whoa, whoa. Calm down. I think you may have misunderstood. See, our company has received your manuscript, and someone has read it. Presumably they liked it or you wouldn't be here.
BERNARD: Oh, okay. Cool .I don't understand. Should I talk to them?
ANNABELLE: Nope! You're in
if you burn mesee, some peopleif you burn me2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the inside, are lined
with shelves packed with little glass jars.
are pockets of stars.
Supernova Stars in the heartwood box
splinter fragile edges like the chipped rim of a plastic cup; but no heart-space can up
into a vacuum, space-vacuum
Who knows what specimens
so we jumped"
and looked punched"
(but it's okay because
no-one looked anyway)
"that kiss" packed into perfect formaldehyde;
Who knows when they sing:
when their resonance
cracks vials, where will they go?
see, some people
need a place to breakdown,
so I'll be carving out corners
'till things get round
like the arc of the bells in the clocktowers--
I'll carve out space in sound.
the trouble isi'd like life to bethe trouble is2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
quiet and lovely
like distant church-bells
chiming through snow,
muted by the smell of
an old book and the
feel of a fire warming
me into my chair, and
a mug of tea, steeping
the moment in hushed
gratitude, easily in reach.
To Pirate or Not to Pirate?The statistics are overwhelming. 4 out of 5 downloads from the internet are via illegal means. 48% of Americans admit to illegally downloading music, movies, or some other form of entertainment. What are the odds that 2% of Americans also download things illegally and don't admit it? Incidentally, that number shoots up to 61% of people under 25.To Pirate or Not to Pirate?3 years ago in Editorial More Like This
More people than that, I'm certain, would admit to burning a CD or playlist for a friend. Still more would own up to watching streaming versions of movies or tv shows not yet available legally in America. And everyone loves "remixed" media--photos of cats or celebrities with clever captions not written by the photographer, dub-step-ified versions of everything from Adele to Mars Volta. These activities, too, are illegal.
Which brings up the question: if the majority of one's countrymen are engaging in an illegal activity, should it be illegal at all? Clearly, most people aren't opposed to it. Yet RIAA and MPAA lobbyists have convinced our lawma
The Best is Yet to Comeif we grow oldThe Best is Yet to Come2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there will be a sigh
an attention to the change
as your muscles slacken underneath
your faded, favorite shirt
the one that's threadbare, "holy"
in a sense less than divine
I'll have washed it for
the thousandth time
our eyes will crinkle, wrinkle
in ways that start to match
and we'll hold hands and ask:
when did the nerves and veins
begin to let our hands get cold?
-if we grow old
The Price of Dying“I want to be interred after I die,” Mr. Peters said. He made that clear to his family while he was still lucid, before old age and illness rendered him unintelligible. Seventy wasn’t that old, but he recognized the symptoms that were creeping up on his ailing body – the aches, the fatigue, the feeling of helplessness and despair. Despite his daughter’s attempts to assuage his concerns, he sensed his own mortality.The Price of Dying2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The worst part about dying, Mr. Peters thought, was what happened afterwards. Even since he was a small boy, he had been afraid of fire. He could never forget the scorching heat of the orange flames searing his skin, the dark billowing smoke entering his nostrils. The time that his house burned down, the fire almost took him with it. How ironic then, to escape the fire only to be fed into it after death.
So one day, he sat his son and daughter down after dinner. “I want to be buried whole,” he said, emphasizing the
The Stendhal MansionThe Stendhal Mansion5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The Stendhal mansion, dark and monstrous, loomed over its inhabitants, its labyrinthine halls coiled like serpents around and back upon themselves. Most days were spent inside its many rooms, paneled in natural wood or papered in grotesque vegetal patterns, decorated and furnished with sumptuous velvets and brocades in deep golds, blood reds, and sickly olive greens. The Stendhal family and their many servants walked across refurbished wood floors imported from Terra, scratched heavily by time and polished to a sheen that caught the scant light which trickled in from the latticed and shuttered windows. Often whilst walking, a maid might kick aside one of the many cats and then pause in mid-stride, forgetting her way to the room, or thinking she'd made a wrong turn made along the way, for there were so many rooms, so many hallways, none could be remembered with any precision.
Once, perhaps, the house had been neatly composed, sensibly laid out, but after
001. beginnings.Beginnings are vague things. Quite often you can't pin them down to one event you have to trawl back further and further through foggy past, peeling apart what ifs and untangling strands of memories.001. beginnings.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Eventually one has to go all the way back to the start of the universe, and that's a question even the experts have to shrug their shoulders at. It's not like you can plug it into a calculator and come out with a balanced algorithm. At least, not yet.
But it is true that sometimes you can fasten down an occurrence or a moment or even just a single breath, like sticking a thumbtack through a dead butterfly, and label it as a 'beginning' in your mind. Identifying that one moment makes us feel secure, like maybe it was destined to happen instead of just being a random sequence of events that fed off each other and tripped over each other and eventually fell like dominoes to the unlikely conclusion.
Cvusscha Mistbane has pinned down a moment. Of course she knows that there are plenty of
Four Myths About the BibleFour Myths About the BibleFour Myths About the Bible4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Earlier, in my 2-part essay Liberal Christian is not an Oxymoron, I talked about Christianity and how, for me personally, my faith effects my political beliefs and how I live my life. There, I talked about some of the myths I find myself repeatedly confronting about my faith. After I wrote it, I figured I would be done.
No such luck. It turns out there are even more myths and misconceptions people have about Christianity, Jesus, and, most often, the Bible and its teachings. Now, before people start freaking out, this isn't an essay about why you should believe what I believe; rather, it's just a way for me to explain what my beliefs actually are. If you want to know the why, I talk a bit about that in Liberal Christian is not an Oxymoron, but I'd be happy to have a conversation with anyone, even someone who totally disagrees with me, so long as we both agree to be polite.
Well, without further ado, these are 4 common myths about the Bible.
The Late Nights You ForgotThe Late Nights You Forgot5 years ago in Teen More Like This
I shouldn't have done that. I let him kiss me, and I even kissed his neck in return.
A storm is coming over the horizon; if anyone were to look close enough, they'd be able to see it. Does he know to look? I remain doubtful. Yet, I know. I can see it. The rain, the wind, and even a little lightning (perhaps if the mood is right) all coming.
Because, as I realise afterward, this should never have happened. Everything moves too quickly when you are near; it is you who brings forward the storm. I also realise now I should have kept my mouth shut; the storm moves faster with every touch.
As the rain pounds down on my roof at night, I will hide away, pretending to not hear the force of the storm. The rain will run down my roof as if it were the Niagara. The force will kill all who dare challenge it as it is rushing down, but I will not confront it. Eventually, I'll admit I can't concentrate on my Jane Austen anymore as I sit alone and words will begin to form in my mind. (I
GlassI always laugh when you refer to me as glass.Glass2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Not just because of the way you say it,
Or because I know it's a crack at my fragility.
Glass is pure.
I am like granite -
my body nullified from too many clashing traits.
Glass is transparent.
I am like clay -
illegible from all the plastered smiles.
Glass is unyielding.
I am like chalk -
easily broken and scuffed away by meagre things.
Glass is hung up on walls and in great cathedrals,
tinted for enhancement, but only ever painted on by fools.
I am hidden behind keypads and camera lenses,
coated in a thick paste of deceptiveness.
No, my love,
I was never glass. (Despite my fragility)
Call me granite or clay or chalk
and be done with me.
Liberal Christian part 2Liberal Christian is not an Oxymoron: Part 2Liberal Christian part 25 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
If you came here from part one, congratulations! You are one of the few people willing to read a 1200 word essay on DeviantArt and actually want to read more. Sweet. If you didn't, that's fine too; there's a link in the comment box, or you can just jump in and figure this out as we go along.
Alright, so I just talked about what being a Christian means. But there are some myths about what it's necessary for Christians to believe that gets them lumped in a category of conservatives and all the politics that implies. In this essay I'm going to try and help you sort the myths from the facts about Christianity.
Myth: Christianity is a sexist religion and Christians actively oppress women.
People who believe this about Christianity often site verses in which it says a woman shouldn't speak in church or hold leadership positions. However, those verses are more about not upsetting the status quo more than necessary. In a culture that has so m