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Interlace

I

Interlace

A flash of silver feathers, A gleam of golden flame; In silence, he looks inwards; And outwards, she takes aim. And glancewise seems so bright and fair The timbre of their thoughts; Yet, both fast are bound: He by flesh, she by care. Within the shade, he waits to fade— O what shall come of him? She beats in rage against her cage— O what shall come of her? Those two, entwined until the end— O, what shall come of them?

[Camp NaNo, Story 14] Elapse

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[Camp NaNo, Story 14] Elapse

In the years that were bright, the years Frost described as gold-before-the-green, we lived half here, in this world, and half in Lothlorien. Not the original Lothlorien, of course. Even at eight years old, I knew that I could not reach Lothlorien on foot, at least not in a matter of minutes. Perhaps if I followed the sun westward long enough, I would find Lothlorien, and perhaps Rivendell, and perhaps even the Havens, but not in time to get back home for dinner. So, instead, we created--found--our own Lothlorien. In the late afternoons, I would sit beneath the trees in our front yard, and Gray would join me, settling quietly beside me with

[Camp NaNo, Story 13] Innocence

[Camp NaNo, Day 12] Children

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[Camp NaNo, Day 12] Children

There is a family down the street with six children. Or, at least, Gray and I count six from our window. We watch them wheel in circles in the street. The windows are closed, but I can hear their squealing from here. It is a noise we both have grown unaccustomed to. Gray says that if he looked away, he would be unable to tell if they were squealing in joy or distress. Just like piglets, I say. How uncharitable, he remarks. And now you know why I don't want any, I say. We continue watching, because the chores are done and the housemates are gone and there is nothing better to do, and it has been a long time since we last watched children p

[Camp NaNo, Day 11] Celebration

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[Camp NaNo, Day 11] Celebration

Soon after going home for the summer, she decided she was sick of home cooking. Her chance came when her parents drove north on a weekend trip. They had invited her to come along and see her cousins, but she had managed to convince them that she was too tired from work and that she would have trouble studying on the road. Thankfully, they had dropped it at that, and she hadn't needed to cook up any further reasons. They had left the fridge stocked with leftovers, with homemade bread and dumplings, but she ignored them and dialed a local pizzaria's number. The employee who picked up was pleasant-voiced, with a crisp Southern accent that remi

[Camp NaNo, Day 10] Frost

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[Camp NaNo, Day 10] Frost

Quite fittingly, she dreamed of being sick while she was sick. In her dream, she was the only patient in the room. The nurses and doctors spoke in hushed tones around her; more than once, she caught whispers of "that poor girl." There was an IV in her right arm. It itched, and she tried to pull it out, but a doctor frowned at her and she stopped. There were oxygen tubes up her nose, which she minded less since the air from them was pleasantly cool. She felt fine, except for the fact that she couldn't get out of bed, and she wondered what she had been hospitalized for. --- Her supervisor from the lab she worked at came to visit her, bearing

[Camp NaNo, Day 9] Footsteps

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[Camp NaNo, Day 9] Footsteps

That summer night, she learned that supermoons were not auspicious omens. She had been sitting at her desk, the overhead light on, her laptop open and playing quiet classical music in front of her, her statistics textbook open on her lap, her head bent as she read the most recent chapter on confidence intervals. Gray sat next to her, hands folded across his lap, eyes closed. Then she heard her father call her name from downstairs. "Did you see the supermoon?" he called. "The what?" she called back. Gray opened his eyes. "There's supposed to be a 'supermoon' tonight," she heard her father say. "Are you able to see it?" She glanced at a wi

[Camp NaNo, Day 8] Aspiration

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[Camp NaNo, Day 8] Aspiration

She remembers a conversation she had with Gray that still makes her sigh. Many summers ago, he was waiting for her when she walked outside, leaving the house empty. Not going to call Angela and the others today? he asked as they began walking down the street. Nope, she said. You're more interesting to talk to, and she has soccer practice. I don't know how to feel about your word order, he responded. She laughed. They continued down the block and came to a large fountain, with a base big across as a living room and a jet the height of a ceiling. They say that you can see a huge rainbow when the sunlight hits this fountain at the right angl

[Camp NaNo, Day 7] Insomnia

[Camp NaNo, Day 6] Choughs

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[Camp NaNo, Day 6] Choughs

One summer afternoon in the city, she sits in the back seat of a car idling in a Kroger's parking lot, waiting along with her father, who is busy checking his Blackberry, for her mother. They had already picked up what they came to the store for, but her mother had noticed a sale on peaches as they were leaving. There is a man standing outside the front door of the car parked a space away. He is looking at a notepad. As she watches, he crosses one thing out and writes in another. The window rolls down, and a young boy pops his head out. "Dad!" he yells, grinning. "Dad! Guess what! You can't get in!" "Oh yeah?" she hears the man say. "You
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Interlace

I

Interlace

A flash of silver feathers, A gleam of golden flame; In silence, he looks inwards; And outwards, she takes aim. And glancewise seems so bright and fair The timbre of their thoughts; Yet, both fast are bound: He by flesh, she by care. Within the shade, he waits to fade— O what shall come of him? She beats in rage against her cage— O what shall come of her? Those two, entwined until the end— O, what shall come of them?

[Camp NaNo, Day 11] Celebration

C

[Camp NaNo, Day 11] Celebration

Soon after going home for the summer, she decided she was sick of home cooking. Her chance came when her parents drove north on a weekend trip. They had invited her to come along and see her cousins, but she had managed to convince them that she was too tired from work and that she would have trouble studying on the road. Thankfully, they had dropped it at that, and she hadn't needed to cook up any further reasons. They had left the fridge stocked with leftovers, with homemade bread and dumplings, but she ignored them and dialed a local pizzaria's number. The employee who picked up was pleasant-voiced, with a crisp Southern accent that remi

Shimmer

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Shimmer

I have a number of friends, two of which are Seven and Rain. Seven is a rock collector. He travels here and there and through every corner, dives through caves and scales waterfalls in search of rare stones. When he visits, it is always with a pack of mining tools and spelunking gear. His tools do not include a canary; I have yet to see a dust mask. Yet, when he visits, it is always in clear-throated health. (In lieu of lung disease, I asked him if he feared cave-ins instead. He said no.) Rain is an artist. He searches fewer caves and climbs fewer waterfalls than Seven, but is nonetheless widely traveled, being a connoisseur of sweeping vis

Lessons for Today

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Lessons for Today

Today in math class, they would be learning how to factor quadratic equations. Miss Gracie, called Mrs. G by her students, knew this because she had the lesson planned out meticulously across three-and-a-half sheets of college-ruled notebook paper, which sat neatly in a folder before her. She knew because, like with all her lessons, she had recited it in front of her dressing mirror last night, right before bed. She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes left until class. Its tick, tick, tick was the only sound in the room. She looked around the room. Nothing but the equation charts that she covered with long sheets of colored paper during tests
59Comments

Old Friends

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Old Friends

The visit happened suddenly, and to her complete nonsurprise. She had been typing up a report on various South Asian butterflies when he had simply appeared in her room, as casually as if they had agreed beforehand to meet there. “Hello,” he said calmly from the doorway. “Don’t mind me.” “Hello there,” she replied, just as casually. “You’re always welcome here.” She didn’t bother turning around, knowing that, at her age, she would no longer be able to see him. She was aware that she was far beyond the age where visitations by imaginary friends, however beloved when younger, w

On Cousinship

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On Cousinship

I once showed my friend an Oreo cake in every sense of the word—Oreo-shaped, though wide around as my waist, with four thick, crushed-Oreo layers stacked amongst Oreo-cream filling embedded with more crushed Oreos, and the whole thing lathered over with icing (Oreo-flavored, I presume) and garnished with Oreos, two per slice, not counting the minis and uncountable crushed Oreos. I said, Now, that is America on a plate, and he, though he was British, laughed as well, and I could not help but think of old Jefferson, his time-eaten bones rattling at the double insult. Old Jefferson, who they said was weak-voiced, but a talented writer n

Target Practice

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Target Practice

I remain too weak to bash the heads that need bashing, even when the muscles involved are in my throat or in my fingers. So here. Here is my story, my friends' story, our   losses and victories   lost, or broken   like an egg breaking,   pierced by an eggtooth   or by the ground,      or like dawn- I write. Or rather, I shoot my words, one by one, hoping to hear a thud like arrows thudding into the bulls-eye, or the heart of the enemy I refuse to hate.

small heresies

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small heresies

this morning in General Chemistry while trying to keep up with the professor I wrote in pen accidentally The three-dimensional particle- in-a-box model is a god a good model for predicting the behavior of a matter wave confined to a region in space and would have stopped to further scribble it out if I had not remembered where I was.

Harvest Song

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Harvest Song

Once, I was the plain where badgers napped among twining roots, where voles wrestled beneath the grasses, and where the elk roamed, stately at dawn. And I was the plain where meadowlarks nestled against the earth. I was the plain of asters, smooth and willow, of blue vervain and blue-eyed grass, of sawtooth sunflowers and wild onions, of compass plants, of obedience plants, of orange milkweed blooms that flew— and, of course, the grain. (At that time, we saw only the grain.) Sometimes, I was the plain and you were the hawk— and your wings covered the summer sky and the sun shone from between your feathers and the grain bent

Integration by Parts

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Integration by Parts

To trace, in deep gray, the curves and hooks of silent numbers, is to invoke the whorls of seashells, edges stiff as curled rulers. Slide a graphite tip along the length of a snake, and there you'll find a bucket rising from a well or leaves fluttering from a wind-tossed tree, sketching arcs in the cooling air. Somewhere, a scrap of paper rots at the root of a creaking tower; somewhere, a stallion, against a star-domed sphere, strikes his angled hoof—and sings, and louder sings.

Unaware

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Unaware

When you are two and five and ten you are unaware –– of the cactus in the windowsill, how, fragile, each quill bends and breaks and falls apart.–– Twelve years later, on a Tuesday, you dream about a boy who bumps his head on an iron slate and you wake in a cold sweat. You are twelve when you are always bumping shoulders. Twenty-two years of Thursday. There is nothing at all. And you wonder (and you wonder why) each time you wake. The cactus in the window bleeds with you when you bump it. No one ever mentioned frightened things bite. So you have always been unaware.
49Comments

dA is Not Selling Your Works to Third Party

dA is Not Selling Your Works to Third Party

dA is Not Selling Your Works to Third Party Royalty Free Hot Topic selling artist's works without permission A Tumblr post has been circulating, where Hot Topic is selling artist's works as T-shirts in their store, including popular fan art without the artist's permission, deviant artists included. It caught on wildfire when one user linked to deviantART's Submission Policy, stating users gave permission to dA by agreeing to their Terms of Service thereby allowing dA to sell it to third party royalty free. This is false and inaccurate! deviantART's Response: "We appreciate the rallying of the community around the rights of this artist. Ri

The Crystal Bell

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The Crystal Bell

Ring the crystal bell, we tell them. Strike too hard, and the bell will shatter; fail to flick your wrist at the end of the motion, and the bell won't ring: this is how you pretend to know how to use a sword.

seasoned

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seasoned

she has a wicked left hook. with a loose fist, she swings - room reeking of masculinity and fusty equipment. fierce lights and a deafening crowd - leather pummeled against flesh, striking the temple: the skull gave way and her opponent, hollowed and limp, collapsed to the canvas, staining the mat with sweat and blood; redemption. she swings again, clenching a heavy fist on impact. the bag buckles, harsh metal clanking.

Spotlight

[Camp NaNo, Day 1] Infinite

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[Camp NaNo, Day 1] Infinite

Georg Cantor, a mathematician who looked into infinity, went mad. They say that he spent his last years in and out of sanatoriums, still trying to categorize the various orders of infinity. Sometimes, late into the summer evenings, when I am sitting on the back porch talking to Gray, I wonder if I too will go mad. I ask Gray this, and then add that, at the very least, I will not go mad in the same way as Georg Cantor, as I am not nearly so clever as him. Gray replies, Don’t underestimate yourself. I do not know which part of my statement he is responding to. He does not clarify when I ask. I tell Gray that he would make an excellent f
2Comments
Artist // Student // Literature
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Five Flash Fictions

Five Flash Fictions

Got what is very possibly an abscessed wisdom tooth. Joy. Also, going to be taking my own advice tomorrow and forcing myself to write a paragraph of something, and then keep going with it every day. Wonder if I should open a tumblr or Dreamwidth for it. tumblr's community has been seriously trying my patience as of late (apparently now it's ableist to use the word "crippling" to describe major debt or depression, according to the SJWs), but I do like tumblr's customization options more. Maybe I'll just find a way to rig a Sta.sh folder for it. That's all assuming what I write isn't so horrendously embarrassing that I can't share it, though.

Hell Month is over.

Hell Month is over.

Aka the last month of this semester, finals included. Just a small update to get that last entry off my page. Made a B+ in a math class after two years of Cs. Thank counseling, friends (in-system and out), and learning to not worry about making As, and focusing on passing and actually doing my best instead. Physical health is still in the gutters, emotional health has been on the upswing. Got back into painting and drawing (to be uploaded to my other account later), which has been doing wonders for my mood, which hopefully means writing will soon follow. Currently busy packing for moveout. There's so much to clean! Systemmates would like t

Not dead. Just asleep.

Not dead. Just asleep.

(hidden)

Comments 42

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Keep Going! Hang in there! You're an exceptionally talented writer and I believe you can achieve your nanowrimo goal. I'm excited to see what you come up with
amour-ravenHobbyist Writer
Thank you so much for the fav on seasoned! :heart:
DMD-CTProfessional General Artist
Hi, its me again! :D

Welcome to
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FalaresteStudent Writer
Hallo, stranger!

Glad to be aboard. :)
DMD-CTProfessional General Artist
Welcome to The-Feature-Showcase! Be sure to review our rules and group info to make the most of our group. If you have any questions or need assistance, feel free to let me or any other administrator know! 
FalaresteStudent Writer
Thanks! :happybounce:
CampbeHobbyist Writer
Hoy! Thanks a lot for reading my poetry - I'm glad you liked it. :]