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About Literature / Hobbyist Edmund Dawes24/Male/Canada Recent Activity
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Before The Storm by IntenseProsecution Before The Storm :iconintenseprosecution:IntenseProsecution 0 0
Literature
Equinox 01
Ares felt his mother’s hand go limp in his as she passed and her head lolled to one side. Her eyes had they been open would have been fixed on his face and he silently thanked the Goddess that they were closed, unable to see the fact that he wasn’t able to shed a single tear. He removed her hand from his, suddenly feeling squeamish about holding the hand of a dead woman.
He was crouched at her bedside on the balls of his toes and he rolled back onto his heels, wondering quietly if one of the witch’s council members, his mother’s co-workers, were going to come in to check on her. The remaining nine members were all stationed outside, waiting for the news, along with Wren who was more there for him than the news of his mother’s death.
He hauled himself to his feet, if only to save Wren from having to be out there with five of the most annoying people in the world, and made his way to the door, taking a deep breath before stepping out into the hall.
Ten sets
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Literature
Much Like Falling: Two
Her boots echoed on the marble floors as she turned in place, taking in the magnificent tea room she was currently standing in. How had this happened? This had to be some kind of drug induced hallucination, something in the tea, it just had to be. She mentally ran down a list of hallucinogenic drugs that you could not only hide in tea but that would cause such a vivid delusion; PCP, acid, zombie dust, cocaine…
None of them seemed potent enough to construct such a clear hallucination in such a small dose. Well, at least it was a pleasant phantasm, beautiful even. The empty, pearl white place settings were so delicately painted with the most beautiful black whirls that dove deep into the cups she almost couldn't believe it had come from her mind.
She was just wondering if she'd be able to recreate the design once she woke up when the large cherry wood doors opened with a loud creak. She whirled, letting the fragile teacup she'd been admiring drop back to the table, cracking the chin
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Literature
Necrodendron
It was quiet and unassuming little sapling, its leaves malleable and green, and its bark smooth and unblemished, and oh how he had adored it. "It'll grow up into something special, just you wait." He'd say to his wife day after day as he went into the thicket to water it, but the little tree seemed stuck in eternal spring, only losing its spongy leaves to the cold and never gaining an inch over decades. Still, he trudged into the small copse of trees and watered the little sapling year after year, always assuring her that it would grow into something special, she just had to wait.
Years went on and eventually he passed, his last requests to his wife were for her to burry him under the little tree and for her to continue to tend to it, to help it grow into the magnificent tree he knew it was destined to be. She promised she would and arranged for all of their friends and family to attend the funeral to be held in the wood behind their home.
He was much loved and the whole town seemed to
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Literature
Much Like Falling: One
She was late, of course. When was she ever not late? As she dashed down the street, clutching her satchel to her side in an effort to keep it from banging against her legs she couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever break the habit. Sure, it kept her fit but it was tiring having to run everywhere.
She was rushing off to a tarot card reading she had booked for a paper she was writing about how fortune tellers told you what you wanted or needed to hear based off how you reacted to their questions and predictions. It wasn't going to win her any prizes but it could quite possibly earn her an A and a "Good job, Miss Clark!"
She slowed down once the storefront was in view, she didn't want to look too harried when she walked into her reading. Late, of course.
Her boots made satisfying thumps on the tiled floor of the shop, "Hello," She called, not seeing anyone around. "I'm here for my appointment?"
A woman appeared from behind a beaded curtain in the back, "Yes," She said in a thick Sl
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Literature
Weighty Ghost
The moon hung high and bright, visible through the soft grey clouds that scattered the night sky, shielding it from the horrors of the human world. She sat calmly, perched on the branch of an old birch tree that didn't look strong enough to hold her slim, robed form as she kicked her feet in the cool night air.
There was a man across the clearing, dressed in robes as she was with his hood pulled forward to hide his gaunt face, his bony hands were wrapped tightly around the weathered wooden hilt of a vicious looking scythe held lengthwise in front of him. The only indication that he even knew she was there was the way he occasionally tilted his head in her direction as though making sure she was there.
Of course she would be there, they were partners, an unspoken agreement existing between his kind and hers since the dawn of time.
Somewhere in the distance a dog brayed, sounding for all the world like a hunting call. Death straightened his posture, setting his scythe upright. The ravens
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Literature
Frosted Violets
She shakily pulled the cap off the plum coloured marker in her hands and began writing on the stark white walls, muttering to herself, "Cold, so cold… why am I always so cold?" She shivered violently, rubbing at her arms, the uncapped felt leaving marks on her skin.
Someone came up behind her and took the felt pen from her hands, replacing the cap before throwing it clear across the room. They took her hands in theirs, "Why is it always so cold?" She asked as another shiver made its way up her spine, making her entire body shake.
"I don't know, I really don't know." He said softly, guiding her away from the wall and towards the bed. "Why don't you sleep for a little while?" He suggested.
"Can't sleep," She twitched violently, jolting her hand from his, and giggled. "Too cold, much too cold," She flew into a giggle fit, doubling over with laughter, only the man's hands on her shoulder and waist kept her upright.
He sat her down on the edge of the bed, "Just rest under the covers fo
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Literature
The Assailant
She ran down the street, blinded by sleet, soaked through and heavy with fatigue. Her lungs burned. She didn't think she could keep going much longer.
One of her followers called for her to halt, and she considered it for a moment. How long could she keep running at this rate? There were more of them. They would catch up to her eventually. She shook her head to clear it, she could do it. She could get away…
A hand darted out of an alley, trying to grab her; she dashed out of the way and crossed the street, barely avoiding getting hit by an oncoming car. She could only hope that the screaming driver would slow her attackers down.
She broke into a busy street, pushing through throngs of people, trying to find somewhere safe, anywhere to hide. Businessmen with umbrellas barely gave the soaking girl a second glance as she pushed past them. Why wouldn't anyone help her?
She tripped and went sprawling to the ground, tears streamed down her face. They were going to catch her now for sure
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8:29pm

Journal Entry: Mon Aug 1, 2011, 7:29 PM
Damaged people are dangerous because they know how to survive.

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BlackWings-jewelry Featured By Owner Aug 8, 2014  Hobbyist Artisan Crafter
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If not, that’s fine too, and I hope that you have a wonderful day! :heart:
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Thanks for the fav :)
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