Are you happy now?I tried my best to please them all…Are you happy now?3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
They said that I always looked too angry
So I shaved off my eyebrows
They said I always dressed bad
So I took off my clothes
They said I cried too much
So I burned out my eyes
They said I wasn't listening
So I tore off my ears
They said I always said the wrong things
So I ripped out my vocal cords
They said I always faked my smile
So I ripped off my lips
They said my hair was a mess
So I cut it off
They said my feet were too big
So I broke them
They said I walked weird
So I saw off my legs
They said I played too much with my fingers
So I pulled off my hands
They said my arms were too thin
So I tore them off
They said my belly looked funny
So I cut out my stomach
They said I sat funny
So I removed my hips
They said I breathe too loud
So I ripped out my lungs
They said I always hung with my head
So I tore it off
They said my skin tone was ugly
So I removed my skin
They said my muscles were weak
So I ripped them off the bones
They said my bon
Dear Jack FrostDear Jack Frost3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Jack, when I was a little girl, I would look out my window during winter and watch the snow fall. I had a weak constitution so I was never allowed to go out and play in the snow or I would catch pneumonia. I'd watch the snowflakes fall from inside my room and thank you for them rather than Santa Claus. When I was sick I'd make little paper snowflakes for you and give them to my parents to hang on our tree outside. When I was lonely I'd draw pictures in the frost on my window. I remember you would occasionally open my window to let in a perfectly formed snowflake as if to say, "Look at the beautiful thing I made for you." When I turned 19 my best friend died and I had lost all hope. Yet at the funeral, even though it was in September, you made it snow for me. When I took my own life the last words to leave my lips were, "I'll always believe in you Jack Frost." And I meant it. My only wish is that you remember me.
With love from a lifetime and forever more,
End RemembranceEnd Remembrance3 years ago in Historical More Like This
Remembrance Day originates at the end of World War I. The idea is to honor those who died in the line of duty, defending their country from enemies. For all its pompous words and fancy granite memorials littered with colorful flower bouquets, Remembrance Day and others like it have failed miserably in achieving this goal.
I've often been criticized as having no respect, and that can be an impediment when discussing certain topics. However, I am often in luck – hypocrisy deserves no respect. What changed as a result of the enormous sacrifice of those who died in WW1? As the first bombs of WW2 fell just two decades later, millions once again obediently lined up under various pieces of colored cloths to slaughter and be slaughtered. It became obvious that absolutely nothing had changed, and that the millions of WW1 had died in vain.
Most would agree that all that lip service paid to the sacrifice between the two world wars wasn't good enough. To truly honor their sacrifice would be
Larmes Elle serre les dents. Rarement elle n'a eu aussi mal de sa vie... et autour d'elle, ces gens qui vivent, inconscients de sa douleur... Un hurlement silencieux de révolte monte en elle, de souffrance, de chagrin, monte, monte, l'étouffe. Elle aimerait pleurer, elle ne peut pas. Trop fière. Elle ne leur montrera pas. Non. Ils ne sauront pas...Larmes5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Mais les souvenirs dansent en elle, la submerge. Elle ne la reverra plus... elle est partie... elle ne la reverra plus... elle ne la reverra plus !
Elle reporte son regard à l'extérieur. Le ciel est magnifique, strié de reflets rose, oranges, bleu... Les arbres eux-même sont grandioses, parés de leur manteau flamboyant de l'automne.
Mais cette beauté ne lui évoque que la mort. À quoi la mène sa vie ? Elle l'ignore. Où vont-ils, tous ces êtres qui se croisent, pleurent, rient... ? Elle l'ignore. Mais elle sait
Mono.One morning a black pillar appeared in the center of town, within the boundaries of the park and right outside of the library. It stood at least thirteen feet tall and was as wide as a mature oak. They deduced it was made out of some kind of polished stone. Some guessed it was obsidian; others argued it was too strong to be such a fragile stone. It could have been granite, but when was the last time you saw black granite in that quantity, and in that shape?Mono.3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"We should knock it down and drag it away!" someone shouted.
But they were too afraid to touch it.
"Why not just leave it here?" another suggested.
But they wondered what would happen if they didn't do anything at all.
Whoever put it there didn't do it alone. They'd need a truck to transport the thing, and they'd need some way to get it off the flatbed and stand it up straight. But why go to all of that trouble for a pillar of rock? Or was it part of someth
Schizoid Personality DisorderSolitude -- My Sanctuary.Schizoid Personality Disorder5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Silence -- My Llullaby.
Observation -- My Occupation.
Intelligence -- My Curse.
Please, don't invite me to an outing that a normal person would attend in a heartbeat.
I won't hesitate to turn you down, I'm perfectly content being alone, in fact I would much rather be by myself.
It's not that I hate you, in fact I have no feelings about you, I just don't like people.
I can fully focus on my thoughts when I am free of outside distractions, such as the mindless drabble of the masses.
Solitude is My Haven, My Utopia, My Sanctuary.
Silence is golden.
The world needs a mute button, the noise is suffocating; I can't breath outside.
I yearn for sweet silence, all I want is for a few moments of absolute silence when I unwillingly leave My Sanctuary.
Once I finally get silence, I can't help but smile and allow myself to get lost in nothingness.
Silence is An Aria with no words, A Harmonious Composition, My Llullaby.
Between Past and Future My little darling,Between Past and Future6 years ago in Letters More Like This
Yesterday I saw you in the mirror!
You were so angry that you're not growing-up faster, that you are so dependent on your family, that you don't know how love blossoms.
You were playing with sad words, trying to write a poem, to tell the world who you are and what you feel.
For a moment, I was tempted to smile, but suddenly I've realized how much I miss you and how much I want to be possible to meet you, even for a second, in the time carousel.
There are so many things I want to tell you!
I want you to know, that it was a day when I've dreamed that I see in my eyes the smile of that child who I was once.
In a twinkling of an eye, vanished in my grandfather's photo.
One minute later, I grow-up...
It was a day, when I've dreamed that I see in my eyes that beautiful teenager, full of joy and happiness, who I was once.
In a twinkling of an eye, vanished
ExhaleI love the marks that a woman’s clothes leave on her body. I love the red indents and the proof of a long day before she even opens her mouth.Exhale10 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Tight socks circumventing ankle bones. A watch cutting a bit too tightly around a pulse. The alluringly simple bra straps; wire pressing up into the impossibly soft undersides of breasts; the cryptic clasp nestled between shoulder blades. The imprint of lace and elastic on the taut tender tendon of the inner thigh. The geography of jeans around the hips and trailing along the legs like railroad tracks. The line on her cheek from when she fell asleep on the bus home.
I love the luxurious sigh when it all puddles to the floor, shedding this artificial skin. Remnants of weariness leave whispers on the body.
And after all she has been through, she still comes to me and allows me to trace these whispers with my fingertips, eyes, lips. She doesn't cover herself and doesn't hide and lets me in.
We leave the lights on.
Incantations and Deductions Chapter ElevenChapter ElevenIncantations and Deductions Chapter Eleven4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
John makes his way to the Great Hall trying not to feel too downhearted. The beginning of fifth year has so far not been great: seeing Sherlock has churned up feelings that he doesn't want to examine too closely and which hadn't put him in the best of moods. Then his meeting with the head of Gryffindor had just been...well, shitty.
"I understand your desire to be back with your friends John, but you must understand that you attacked a fellow student in the midst of one of your nightmares. Now, whilst your Healers tell me you're improving they cannot guarantee that you won't relapse."
Arguing, John had realised, would have been pointless. The housemistress had been sympathetic but stern. It was an important year for everyone of his age at Hogwarts: they needed no distractions, least of all from one of their friends waking them up every night, screaming at things that weren't really there. John supposes he should just consider this as another case of 'taking one for the te
His Master, Fake. CielxSebbyHis master, fake.His Master, Fake. CielxSebby5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The exterior looks and feelings he had to portray sometimes made himself sick. So sick that the exterior became the interior, but rarely. Ciel held a proud position, one foot in front, a staff and an expressionless face. Although he only came to his butlers chest in height.
Besides his age, just close to puberty (but barely experiencing it), Ciel was a responsible and witty young man. His duty as the Earl he never failed, his respect for his Queen never slipped from his grips. Young Master Ciel Phantomhive was a controlled and a widely respected member of Great Britain. But if anyone were to find out, just how he truly felt, what he truly dealt, that was something that could never happen.
'Sebastian.' Ciel said blandly, holding out his arms for his robe to be slipped on by his butler.
'Yes, My Lord.' Sebastian smiled, his lips curved dramatically into almost a perfect 'v' shape- that smile and those piercing crimson eyes, were what Ciel craved for. Ci
FanFictionCiel Phantomhive sat on his chair twirling a piece of his disheveled hair. He had caught the disease that most demons dread. Boredom.FanFiction5 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Trying to find a cure, he pulled up to his wooden desk near his bedroom window and looked out. Dull, boring landscape. No Finny gardening or Mey Rin and Bard chasing Pluto. He sighed. He could hardly believe it, but he missed those bumbling servants.
He glanced at the side of his desk, and noticed his laptop. He barely used it, he found no desire to, but perhaps he would start using it today?
Sebastian and Ciel shared the laptop, mostly because Sebastian's old one became too slow and it crashed every time he pulled up a website. Ciel wasn't sure what website he went on, but to destroy the hard drive, must has been one hell of a website.
Ciel pulled it up, and after five minutes of endless exploring and profanity, turned it on. He clicked on the little internet icon, and started to explore online.
Just for entertainment, he went thr
Distonija-Mrzim jabuke i moj ivot nije pogreka.Distonija4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
-Zato su TearsForFears, Spandau Ballet i New Order odlučili stavrati glazbu?
-Ljudi su smeće i sve manje piem, mora da prebrzo mislim nelijepe, spore stvari koje traju i čekaju da ih precrtam u opipljivo.
Ljudi su kovace i osjećam se amputirano kraj drugih jer ih uopće ne doivljavam.
Zaključala sam se iznutra.
Unutra je stvarno kaos. Nered nad neredima. Ključa nema. I da imam ključa, mrak je i ne vidim vrata. Nemam stijena kojima bih razbijala prozore.
-Nije u pitanju manjak samopouzdanja, već manjak samozavaravanja.
Bljesak u vječnosti, jako vjerojatno, jako nebitnih postojanja. Točkica, ne točak, u mehanizmu beskonačnog svemira.
Mogla bih napraviti sve i nita i za bilijardu godina opet ne bi bilo vano.
Voljeti, proizvoditi, ubijati, jesti, plakati, pjevati, osjećati svu silu nemira i opet ne bi
SurgerySurgerySurgery3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Cole sat by the window, staring out at the snowy landscape, sipping from a mug as his eyes traveled over the only imperfection of the scene before him. Footprints marred the otherwise flawless blanket of snow, leading away from his house.
Before the experiments started, he would have assumed the footprints belonged to Bailey, and that if he waited long enough, he would see her returning with her cheeks flushed and that dazzling smile that he loved on her face.
Cole took another sip. When she found out about the experiments, Bailey had taken her brilliant smile and caught a plane back to Miami. There had been no conversation, no questions, no second chances. Just a note, which he still had, kept in a masochistic display of his inability to let go.
Dear Dr. Jekyll, she had written. Yes, she was probably accurate, but she could not be sure of which side had remained with him.
He got to his feet. Setting his mug on the kitchen counter as he walked by, he stepped up to the bl
The Intimacy of StrangersThe Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority is a colorful, veined spider extending its legs across 3,249 square miles. It carries a daily population of 1.3 million citizens, mainly commuters from the suburbs, and tourists visiting the city. This writhing hub is broken up into six different systems: the screeching, grubby subway, swerving buses heaving exhaust fumes, the commuter rail carrying nine-to-fivers, chugging back and forth from Providence to Boston, and the lesser-known The Ride and MBTA Boat. The MBTA is the fifth largest transportation system in the country, and it’s easy to see it as nothing more than a machine. And it is, in a way – a metal heart beating in the center of New England where the weather changes more than most people change underwear, an entanglement of railways, cable lines, and the famous dizzying Massachusetts rotaries – something that exists only for the purpose of carrying those 1.3 million people to their jobs and back again. It seemThe Intimacy of Strangers1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
It's always been youIt has been one year, three months, and twenty-three days since the last time I saw you. I do not remember what it feels like to have your hands on my body. I do not remember what it feels like to not love you. I do not know which scares me more.It's always been you8 months ago in Emotional More Like This
When I last left you, autumn was descending on both of our continents, on both sides of our ocean. You cupped my face in your palms and pressed your mouth to mine like a prayer. Or perhaps it was a plea: Please don’t forget me. Please don’t forget this. Please wait for me. Please.
The security guards at the airport, already numb to the tear-stained cheeks of young girls, told me that I must have my hair out of my eyes so the cameras could recognize me.
I blinked and forced the corners of my lips upward. I did my best.
It is Christmastime now. The air is damp and the wind tears through the city. I am warm and safe here, but dreaming only of brimming arrival gates, and cars teeming down the wrong side of the highway, a
Useful bits of obscure HTML code you can use on dASo you want to have some markup displayed on deviantART, such as this</a> or :devfoxhead128:? Or perhaps you want to have a full URL displayed, such as http://www.google.com/? The most stable method is simply to insert a blank in the middle of your markup or URL. Something like this: http://www.google.com/. You can also use other tags in place of the , such as . This can be useful if the is causing you problems with links.Useful bits of obscure HTML code you can use on dA3 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Escape sequences and XML decimal entities are good for inserting obscure Unicode characters that aren't available on a standard keyboard. For example, if you type in Δ, you get the Greek letter Δ. Or if you type in ♥, you'll get a ♥. Ubuntu users (and users of many other distros of Linux) have access to a program called gucharmap, which is installed by default - it's useful as a "cheat sheet" for these codes. Of
6 MonthsI sit here and all the memories flood back through me. It's been a while since I've visited this place, and now it stands here, abandoned. The see-saw is cracked and worn, the swing-set creaks loudly as it rocks back and forth on unsteady, rusty chains. The slide stands tall as ever, but sand and dirt has gathered by the edges.6 Months6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's hard for me to believe this is where you and I first met. Everywhere I turn, I see nothing but the signs of shattered memories, promises that were never kept, and dreams that were never fulfilled. It's been so long since I've last been here. It's been so long since anyone has been here.
Stupidly enough, I say your name out loud. Some part of me is wishing you would answer me. I know it isn't likely, but it was worth a shot. I listen to the breeze of the wind, and feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. Despite the rust that's collected all over this playground, the weather is great. If I had been with you today, we might be at the park nearby, flying the kit
Canning SeasonCanning season is that wonderful time of year when you never have a moment to yourself - it's all four in the morning mason jar sterilizing, neighbors making coffee in your kitchen before you're even dressed because they have cabbage, too (or carrots or apples or string beans) and you've invited them over with a truck load because you know extra hands make all the difference.Canning Season2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
It's the time of year when the kitchen is never comfortable - if the water's not on to boil, the oven is warming and full of jars, or the space around the table is all buckets and elbows, paring knives, sweaty brows and chatter.
There is never silence - even in that ten minutes of processing time, when everything stops long enough for a hurried dinner, there's the water-bath-bubbling, jar-rattling rumble of the canner, or the joyous gunshot snapping of the lids as each jar seals.
Those days are filled with wood smoke, steam and the smell of apple butter reducing in the large copper kettle that once lived with your
MoonlightWe only got caught once.Moonlight3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
There were about thirty of us at Madelyn Cartwright’s orphanage, the youngest only three and the oldest seventeen. Ella and I were in the middle, young enough to still hope that our parents would show up one day, but old enough to know deep down inside that we were on our own. It was awkward and we were best friends, and that was our life.
Madelyn’s house had a giant staircase that split into two smaller ones when it met the window in the wall. In the middle of the night, the moon would shine through the window and onto the landing, illuminating the stairs with a sort of eerily pale glow. I know this because sometimes, at night, when everyone else was asleep, Ella would sneak out of the girls’ dormitory and I would sneak out of the boys’ and we would meet on that little landing, the moonlight making us look like ghosts.
Sometimes we talked, about Ella wanting to be a nurse and me wanting to be a writer, about our parents and what we thou
Forever and Again1. Times Square is lit up with a million-watt dreams and he is drunk on being in the place he’d seen so many times on a screen but never in person. She hops up on a ledge and beckons him over. Grabbing his collar, she kisses him in front of her mother, the street, the whole of New York City. She is backlit, her skin glowing pink, then blue, then green. He wants to freeze this moment, stay here forever, just like that.Forever and Again2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
2. They are up in his small bedroom where no one else but him has ever been. They are wearing just their own bodies, their own skin and goosebumps and insecurities. He is suddenly very nervous, feeling as if he is sixteen all over again, but this time it is somehow different. But they are careful and slow and they whisper and she laughs at the strangeness of it all and he forgets why he was worried. It is the most right thing in the world.
3. “Wait,” she stops and tugs at his hand just outside the gate. “The moon is almost full tonight.” He g
Tumbler‘Twere’nt long ago, when I started tumbling. Hot dry winds rose around me and the base of my stalk went snap and I began to roll. Finally free of my roots, ready to roam the deserts and plains. Catch a glimpse of the tall orange buttes in the northern plains, as they had been described to me by other holy rollers.Tumbler2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Maybe even catch a view of people. Heard lotsa stories ‘bout them people, even though I saw one on a horse when I were but a sprout. People were always in’eresting, usin’ us for shootin’ practice, something to kick, something innocuous and ubiquitous to say, “Yeah. You’re alone out here. Just you, the sun, and the tumbleweed.”
Starting tumbling, started seein’ some strange things. There ain’t hardly no trees ‘round here, but there’s lots of wood, rectangular like, half formed into boxes. I heard that people had something to do with it, wanting the sparkles from the ground my detached roots once sun
FourThe noise in the airport should have been unbearable, but to Prosper it was muted, shoved to the background while he tried in vain to think of something to say. Other passengers were yelling and running past them, but Prosper felt as if the silence stretching between him and Fae was unbearable. She managed a smile for him, but it was strained, and Prosper knew that there was no real happiness behind it.Four5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"This is for the best," she murmured, gently grasping his hands in hers, "but, I'm glad, at least... that we'll get this. Closure. I would never want to end what we've had over the phone, or... well, you know what I mean."
"I..." Prosper couldn't finish the sentence, and perhaps for the first time in his life, he could think of absolutely nothing to say. He didn't usually struggle for a way to put his thoughts into words, so for that usual talent to depart him at a time like this was terrifying. Fear rushed over him, and he wondered, not for the first time, if he was making the b
Competitive IsolationThe building was fairly large. The window panes were already cracking, flakes of decaying brown-gold paint, a minorly washed feeling. But still, it was in a good state for an orphanage that had been for almost a hundred years. Connected from the building was another adjoining part, something they added to the first original building when they needed more room.Competitive Isolation4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
They had a courtyard, lush green grass that grew all around and surrounded the premise's, growing between the buildings that lead to the front and the back. During the winter the ground was layered in a white sheet of snow where the children would pile out and make snow men, play and engage in snowball fights. During the summer it was filled with running, tag games.
It was a sunny day. Most of the children and teens here were outside, having the sunlight beat down on top their heads, running around. Childish giggles audible from outside. Except this boy. He was small in stature, fitted in a dark blue shirt, long sleeved and knee
All the Things You Never KnewIt was your favorite thing to say. “We know everything about each other. Not just the good things, but even the bad ones. We have no secrets.” And the way your eyes lit up when you said it, how your arm would curl around my shoulders and squeeze me against you… I couldn’t say anything. I promised myself that I would when we were alone, but the moment always seemed wrong and eventually the fact that I still had secrets became a secret itself.All the Things You Never Knew3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It turns out I wasn’t the only one.
I never told you about the crying or the cutting or the nights I spent awake staring at the bottle of pills. I was terrified it would be too much for you to handle, so I didn’t mention the time I ran away, or the first time I ended up in the hospital. I locked the memories up in a box inside my head with “For Tom, to open later” written on the outside.
And you, in turn, never told me about the cancer, fearing it would be too much for me to handle. Well, you were ri