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Literature
Pale Fish
He looked at the white plate with sides that subtly angled upward with a flat center, too big for the entre, but a perfect frame to present it on. His own was empty, untarnished, porcelain white. She had a square of pale fish on hers, dressed with a clump of garnish that he had added himself after paying for the delivery. It had been sautéed in olive oil with garlic, olives, and diced tomatoes, stirred every few minutes. It looked perfect. “Are you going to eat?” She asked while her fingers expertly navigated the utensils. He looked at her from across the table. No. He wasn’t.
The fish smelled of balsamic vinaigrette and the pungent garlic, and when inhaling through his nostrils he liked to imagine it sizzling on the hot skillet, being stirred with a wooden spoon. The fillet was moist, and pulled apart softly when the prongs of her fork sunk it. He watched it carefully as it was lifted to her mouth, and taken in by her lips and tongue. He could feel it as she c
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Snow King by ambitoussprite Snow King :iconambitoussprite:ambitoussprite 2 1
Literature
Time Will Tell
He didn't feel like he was getting older, but maybe he was. Time would tell. Time always told; truths always leaked; veils always lifted… or whatever. He repeated the sayings over in his head, staring up at the ceiling from his mattress, smoke drifting upward from his mouth. It was a never-ending continuation of reaching upward: his eyes watched the smoke curl, and the smoke collected against the white ceiling. He had had it repainted recently. Sometimes you could still smell the paint in the apartment; and sometimes he thought about scuffing it up just to be able to get it done again.
To get rid of the smell he smoked more. Or maybe that was just an excuse. Or maybe he could smoke just as much as he wanted, because it was his place and his paint smell and his ceiling. To get of the smell of smoke he would open his windows or vacuum a lot. He had told Hallie he was quitting. He laughed.
Oh well. Jess got off the bed and walked into the living area. She was coming over soon, and a
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Literature
Sanity
Society pressures us to act normal. It is better to bottle your despair and animal urges than express them. If you do, you're weird. You're crazy. You need help.
But if you don't, and you keep every little thing bottled and labeled, you're normal.
Comforting, Jess thought, staring ahead. In fact, it was so comforting, that he repressed even questioning society's rules.
His cigarette had burned down to his knuckles, but he didn't ditch it yet. He sat outside her place, staring at the empty street, hearing the rage of the avenue down the way.
It must take a lot to finally let go of control and express your demons. The people on the street that talk to themselves and wander aimlessly, screaming at everyone who dares look at them are the sane ones, Jess thought. They have figured out the system. They know that being crazy is struggling to act like everything is okay, when it isn't. They fucked being polite a long time ago.
He had been outside her place for forty-five minutes chain smoking.
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Literature
The Incident WIP
The Incident
James Cook was a young man with poor luck.
In first grade his arch nemesis, Lucy Garter, told their teacher that he spit at her. James was put in the time-out chair during recess on three consecutive days. In high school, his prom date ditched him last minute because she thought she'd have a better chance at winning Prom Queen if she went with the gym-class-hero, Jack "The Ram" Harrison –they did win, and later got married. In college, he met the love of his life –Carrie Solomon— and he asked her to marry him. She agreed, but later took it back because she "didn't think he was serious," and she felt "that he was too young to be making such big decisions." James later found out that she had an affair with her poetry professor.
More recently, James had been let-go from his crummy part-time job, and asked to move out of his apartment by his roommate, Randall Peters, who wanted his short-term boyfriend to move in. James had tried to convince Randall that they co
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Dancer by ambitoussprite Dancer :iconambitoussprite:ambitoussprite 1 4 Haven't Slept in Days by ambitoussprite Haven't Slept in Days :iconambitoussprite:ambitoussprite 0 4
Mature content
The White- Chapter Three :iconambitoussprite:ambitoussprite 0 0
Literature
Glass
She was beautiful when she cried. Her cheeks flushed, and shimmered with the gloss of seamless tears. Her lips swelled and pouted, parted to take heaving breathes when she couldn't take in enough air.
He thought she was beautiful, and couldn't deny that on occasion would antagonize the tears from her just to see how perfect she looked. Like a porcelain doll, she seemed fragile, and her puffy eyes look like clear glass that looked straight at him.
"Why would you say that?" Hallie sobbed, trying to wipe the tears from her cheeks, but only managing to smear the dark mascara deeper into the perfectly formed grooves of her nose and eye sockets. Jess had no answer that could justify his actions, so he just admired her beauty in silence.
"I love you!" She tried to persuade him to speak to her, to admit he was wrong so she could feel secure, but that would stop her tears, and the perfection he saw in front of him would fade. "Jesse, please. Say it. Say you love me." Hallie pleaded.
But he woul
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Judas IX by ambitoussprite Judas IX :iconambitoussprite:ambitoussprite 0 2
Literature
A Borrowed Shirt WIP
It all started with a yellow coat. It was bright and annoying; not quite canary yellow, but more of a bright-fucking-banana yellow that stood out like a beacon in New York City's black fashion. She was walking down the street with her oversized bag, looking up at the tops of buildings like a tourist. But I knew she wasn't one by the way she walked. She wasn't nervous or clutching her belongings to her needlessly. She was just curious.
That was right about the time she noticed me noticing her. I don't blame her; after all I had been wearing the same clothes for almost a week and had been couch surfing for roughly two months. She handed me fifty cents as she passed, and said something like "Sorry, it's all I have right now."
I looked down at her hand and then up at her, trying to decide whether or not I should accept her generosity, although misguided. I laughed a little, and told her to keep it. I must have cracked a joke about knowing where my next meal was coming from, because she lau
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Mature content
The Night We Made Love :iconambitoussprite:ambitoussprite 2 2
Mature content
Open Late :iconambitoussprite:ambitoussprite 1 2
Literature
The White- Chapter Two
The White
I awoke.
Everything about my body was sore and aching, but I managed to rouse myself for the day's work. Quietly, I moved through items that I had not yet managed to unpack, fishing through to find a few pieces of my own clothing. A skirt, consisting of thick strips of heavy cloth that hung from my hips on a shaped band was the first one I found. Each long strip, which dragged about my feet as I walked, had embroidery creeping up its length. My mother and I had done the embroidery, and I paused a moment to remember those fond moments.
I slipped into it and bound my breasts in similar cloth: a thick binding across my chest. I wore no necklace that day, but instead layered my wrists with silver bracelets, all different thicknesses and designs. All the while, I tried to ignore the aching in my legs and hips, the remnants of my marriage bed. I knew that I would feel the pain for several days, but it was nothing to worry about. I had become a woman the previous night, and the ache
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Literature
Smoking Ashes
He hit the pack against his thigh once or twice. It was almost like a nervous tick now after years of doing it, and the nasty habit was one of the last visible scars he carried. Each cigarette was a reminder to him: The first of the pack was always fear, the second was pain, the third was drowning, the fourth was hollowness, and so on through every emotion he was hiding beneath that white smile.
He knew, more than anyone, that it was a lie. His life now was a strange mash-up of puzzle pieces he was trying to put together, and when he couldn't find which notch went where, he would just smile. That way no one would notice him, and no one would bother asking him if he was all right, because the truth was: No. He was never all right, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that.
Jess leaned against the wall on the street outside the building he was currently suppose to be in. His class was in full session, but he had stopped outside the main entrance to smoke, and never made his wa
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Sins Vs. Virtues by ambitoussprite Sins Vs. Virtues :iconambitoussprite:ambitoussprite 0 0

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Critiques


First of all: I am not a photographer. I can simply critique this on what I see as an artist, and not so much on what a fellow photogra...


Hi! I thought I'd try and give a critique of some sorts... Vision: 5 stars because the poses and interactions/ reactions are priceless....

Activity


Does anyone remember this?

It was a sketchy Flash animation of a girl and a lighthouse. The featured song was Richard backwards. Drahcir.

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Claire
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
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ice-or-fire Featured By Owner Nov 10, 2012
notpoisonedoaky
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honeylocust Featured By Owner Dec 19, 2011
Thanks for the fav!
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