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Ice Princess
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FFM 31: ka leo

F

FFM 31: ka leo

Kaleo opened the fridge, looked at the space where the milk should be. "Koa!" she yelled, slamming the door. "You wen drink all da milk again?" There was no answer. Kaleo rolled her eyes and counted out money from her pocket, smoothing the crumpled bills and placing coins on top. It came out to about 6 dollars. Probably enough. Tutu wouldn't be back for a while, and she was hungry. They didnʻt have much but cereal. She stuffed the cash back into her pocket and swung onto her bike, instantly standing to pump the pedals as fast she she could go. She sped down the bumpy dirt, skirting the homeless camps to end up along the beach, where she dodged locals, who knew well enough to leave an opening for her, and tourists, who were ever in the way as they traipsed from their cars to the sand and back again. The dirt gave way to a bike path that run along the construction site, still and ominously silent on a Saturday, leftover protest signs tacked onto the plywood barriers. Kaleo held her

FFM 30: swell

F

FFM 30: swell

Just past the rapids, with their treacherous frothing fingers, the river widened. The hungry current still flew in the deepest parts, but smaller eddies branched off to calmer pools. The body was just offshore, a glow of white in muddy brown-green water. As the merfolk crept out of the dense trees, their feet and hands silent in their passage, their leader stopped, held up a hand. "Scout," he said. A lithe young female came forward, diving into the river in a graceful arc. After a few moments, she resurfaced a discreet distance upriver from the body. "All clear," she said. "Not a trap." The leader made a signal, and the merfolk continued moving forward, skirting the river's edge, the scout following them as she shook the water from her fins. There was a faint splash in the distance as they entered the water. The leader stayed behind, kneeling in the mud of the riverbank. He pulled the body gently out of the water. It was a girl, not long dead, dressed in white and tangled in

FFM 29: mangoes

F

FFM 29: mangoes

The mango was shiny, so she bought it. Nevermind that it was out of season. Nevermind that it had apparently spent days in transport. She brought it home, rinsed it off, cut it open, struggling at the toughness of the flesh. When she finally had a set of ragged chunks, she popped one into her mouth, the juice running down her fingers and smudging her lips. The taste hit her, and she closed her eyes. She was back in the hospital, scrubbed floors and disinfectant-scented hallways, the only pop of color the surprisingly fresh fruit in the otherwise dingy snack stand. Another piece, plucked with sticky fingers. She was in the care home, air heavy with waiting, waiting, more waiting, without hope. The food was better there. Fruit every day. One more piece, and she was in the mortuary, glassy eyes and hushed voices, when outside the window the trees swayed silently in the fickle wind. Their branches were heavy and golden. One more, and she was at the viewing, the women with the

FFM 28: starlight

F

FFM 28: starlight

She stood on the edge, between light and darkness, stars and void. Her eyes strained into the space before her as she rocked on her toes, hovering at the end of the platform. Her breath misted the visor of her suit; a spidering ebb and flow. She blinked. The shape appeared in the instant between. Startled, she jumped, hovering a few inches above the metal. Her visor turned white. -------- The shape was silent, perhaps mouthless, its face familiar yet strange. In the darkness, it shone silver like distant starlight, yet close, and her eyes slid away the more she faced it. It stood without a hint of movement, but silver light whirled and rippled without ceasing. "Can I go with you," she said. It tilted the shape of a head and spoke, voice like shorn ice. "Untether yourself." -------- "No suit, no deal." The shape laughed in his voice, cancer rasp gone. She faced forward, not looking at the gaping shipwreckage behind, nor his outstretched hand. Her eyes were on his

FFM 27: power gloves

F

FFM 27: power gloves

Cam adjusted the position of one of the conductors, just slightly. She replaced the cover and sat back, shaking out the cramps in her hands. Inspecting the gauntlets, taking in every stitch and every embedded node, she smiled. She slipped the gloves on her hands and went to find Map. "Wanna see what I made?" she said, barely pausing at his door. Map didn't look up. "No. Video it." Cam glared, hands placed gingerly on her hips. "It's a power source, stupid. Not very good filming." Map looked up, clearing his visual display with a wave of his hands. His face was a patchwork of metal. "Fine. What is it." Cam held out her hands. "You made power gloves?" Map looked at them with no expression on his face. His eye sockets clicked as they zoomed in. "Not bad. A little crooked." Cams stomped a foot, her metal one, leaving a small dent in the floor. "But it works." "It does," says Map. "It's not hard to make things that work." "Says you," said Cam. "You don't even make

FFM 26: shepherd

F

FFM 26: shepherd

Mulleen looked at the expanse of water in front of her and swallowed, audibly. She looked back. The land sloped gently upward, and she could see the peaks shining through the mist in the distance. Her flocked of sheep milled not far away, lambs with their high-pitched cries and ewes with their low ones. Backle, who she had raised from an orphan, watched her and let out a sad baa. Mulleen turned back. They'll be fine with Goldie, she told herself. Her sister did a fine job with the sheep. But why did it have to be water? Mulleen had avoided the coast since she was a small girl heeding the warnings of her mother. It had, eventually, claimed both parents, so she felt justified. Her mother, with her dark skin and brown eyes, wary of boats and even refusing fish, hated the sea. Mulleen felt vaguely guilty as she forced herself to walk down to the water's edge. Whatever inheritance her mother's family had left her had better be worth it, for her and Goldie's sake. Heaven knows they

FFM 26: wave

F

FFM 26: wave

Malia walks quickly, thin shoes soft against the asphalt, hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets for warmth. It always feels cold, no matter where she is. And her hands smell like blood, no matter how much she scrubs. She feels the wave coming and closes her eyes; it is strong, crashing against her ribcage. When she opens her eyes, the pavement is dry. Only her cheeks are wet. - Malia walks through a sea of greenery, quickly lost in a moonlit maze. She turns a corner and jerks to a halt, blinking in the sudden light. A carnival floods her senses, candy-sweet air brushing against her like a cage of butterflies set free. The wave tugs at her chest, washing away the brief warmth brought by the light. She keeps walking. There must be an exit, she thinks. - The wave grows bigger, roaring inside her head. Malia winds through the crowd, careful not to touch anyone, keeping her head down. She feels sand under her feet, and looks up. Instead of the ocean, she sees shapes. Some look

FFM 24: diamonds

F

FFM 24: diamonds

Tendrils of mist curled through the old house, like breath on a cold day. It was summer, and the pressing humid air did not magically vanish as he hoped. Jack wiped his face - again - and walked further into the house. The tendrils gathered together at one door, and he hesitated, hand inches away from the knob. He knocked, twice. Then he entered. There was a girl, artfully arranged over one of the plush armchairs, who appeared to be asleep. She stirred as Jack's footsteps resounded on the polished wood floor. "Am I beautiful?" she asked. The mist twined around her limbs and into her hair, and her bloodless skin was translucent. Here and there, there was a sparkle to it - like ice jutting out from her bones. She had no eyes, only a pale gray void where each should be, swirling gently. The overall effect was, unfortunately, quite lovely. "Yes," Jack said. It didn't do to lie to ghosts. "Finally," the girl whispered, one hand reaching to the ground. A phone lay face-down, its

FFM 23: glitch

F

FFM 23: glitch

The little girl held up a flower, a smile in her brown face, and the robot tilted her head, quizzical of the offering. She reached out a hand to touch it and then there was darkness. When she came to, her visual screen was a mess of roiling black violet. When it cleared, she held the flower between two of her fingers and watched the ashes slowly crumble away. -- Her screen flickered, not often but enough to make her processors hum and heat with agitation. Sometimes when she turned her head, there was a pale white-yellow in the corners of the screen, sliding off like snow. Humans were not strangers, but now she snapped at them if they came too close, shredding her voice output in the process until she only spat static into the cold gray air. -- Days were minutes, hours were weeks and she had turned off her visual, using her calibration system to move from hollow to hollow in the husk of the world. There were no more humans, there were no more flowers, and there would be no

FFM 22: deteriorate

F

FFM 22: deteriorate

Arclight fell to earth with a sickening crunch. He rose, slowly, to his knees, the rents in his light-blue outfit oozing blood and sparks. Arclight - Jordan - stared at his hands. One was scarred, rough, lined with white as he squeezed it closed against the pain. The other hand was a mangled lump of flesh, barely recognizable, fingers and sinews all curled together. He slung the canister off of his back, gasping as his strained arms took the weight. Using one hand, he unscrewed the top. Inside was a skittering mass of blue-white. Jordan bit his lip, hard, and stuck his ruined hand into the canister. There was a blinding flash, a sudden scent of metal and burnt flesh, and Jordan screamed. He pulled his arm out, trembling, and there was a blue-light-hand on his wrist in place of the old one. As the light faded, the hand settled into a semblance of flesh, a little too smooth and a little too jerky in its movement. There was an explosion in the distance. The sound of screams, once
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FFM 31: ka leo

F

FFM 31: ka leo

Kaleo opened the fridge, looked at the space where the milk should be. "Koa!" she yelled, slamming the door. "You wen drink all da milk again?" There was no answer. Kaleo rolled her eyes and counted out money from her pocket, smoothing the crumpled bills and placing coins on top. It came out to about 6 dollars. Probably enough. Tutu wouldn't be back for a while, and she was hungry. They didnʻt have much but cereal. She stuffed the cash back into her pocket and swung onto her bike, instantly standing to pump the pedals as fast she she could go. She sped down the bumpy dirt, skirting the homeless camps to end up along the beach, where she dodged locals, who knew well enough to leave an opening for her, and tourists, who were ever in the way as they traipsed from their cars to the sand and back again. The dirt gave way to a bike path that run along the construction site, still and ominously silent on a Saturday, leftover protest signs tacked onto the plywood barriers. Kaleo held her

FFM 30: swell

F

FFM 30: swell

Just past the rapids, with their treacherous frothing fingers, the river widened. The hungry current still flew in the deepest parts, but smaller eddies branched off to calmer pools. The body was just offshore, a glow of white in muddy brown-green water. As the merfolk crept out of the dense trees, their feet and hands silent in their passage, their leader stopped, held up a hand. "Scout," he said. A lithe young female came forward, diving into the river in a graceful arc. After a few moments, she resurfaced a discreet distance upriver from the body. "All clear," she said. "Not a trap." The leader made a signal, and the merfolk continued moving forward, skirting the river's edge, the scout following them as she shook the water from her fins. There was a faint splash in the distance as they entered the water. The leader stayed behind, kneeling in the mud of the riverbank. He pulled the body gently out of the water. It was a girl, not long dead, dressed in white and tangled in

FFM 29: mangoes

F

FFM 29: mangoes

The mango was shiny, so she bought it. Nevermind that it was out of season. Nevermind that it had apparently spent days in transport. She brought it home, rinsed it off, cut it open, struggling at the toughness of the flesh. When she finally had a set of ragged chunks, she popped one into her mouth, the juice running down her fingers and smudging her lips. The taste hit her, and she closed her eyes. She was back in the hospital, scrubbed floors and disinfectant-scented hallways, the only pop of color the surprisingly fresh fruit in the otherwise dingy snack stand. Another piece, plucked with sticky fingers. She was in the care home, air heavy with waiting, waiting, more waiting, without hope. The food was better there. Fruit every day. One more piece, and she was in the mortuary, glassy eyes and hushed voices, when outside the window the trees swayed silently in the fickle wind. Their branches were heavy and golden. One more, and she was at the viewing, the women with the

FFM 28: starlight

F

FFM 28: starlight

She stood on the edge, between light and darkness, stars and void. Her eyes strained into the space before her as she rocked on her toes, hovering at the end of the platform. Her breath misted the visor of her suit; a spidering ebb and flow. She blinked. The shape appeared in the instant between. Startled, she jumped, hovering a few inches above the metal. Her visor turned white. -------- The shape was silent, perhaps mouthless, its face familiar yet strange. In the darkness, it shone silver like distant starlight, yet close, and her eyes slid away the more she faced it. It stood without a hint of movement, but silver light whirled and rippled without ceasing. "Can I go with you," she said. It tilted the shape of a head and spoke, voice like shorn ice. "Untether yourself." -------- "No suit, no deal." The shape laughed in his voice, cancer rasp gone. She faced forward, not looking at the gaping shipwreckage behind, nor his outstretched hand. Her eyes were on his

FFM 27: power gloves

F

FFM 27: power gloves

Cam adjusted the position of one of the conductors, just slightly. She replaced the cover and sat back, shaking out the cramps in her hands. Inspecting the gauntlets, taking in every stitch and every embedded node, she smiled. She slipped the gloves on her hands and went to find Map. "Wanna see what I made?" she said, barely pausing at his door. Map didn't look up. "No. Video it." Cam glared, hands placed gingerly on her hips. "It's a power source, stupid. Not very good filming." Map looked up, clearing his visual display with a wave of his hands. His face was a patchwork of metal. "Fine. What is it." Cam held out her hands. "You made power gloves?" Map looked at them with no expression on his face. His eye sockets clicked as they zoomed in. "Not bad. A little crooked." Cams stomped a foot, her metal one, leaving a small dent in the floor. "But it works." "It does," says Map. "It's not hard to make things that work." "Says you," said Cam. "You don't even make

FFM 26: shepherd

F

FFM 26: shepherd

Mulleen looked at the expanse of water in front of her and swallowed, audibly. She looked back. The land sloped gently upward, and she could see the peaks shining through the mist in the distance. Her flocked of sheep milled not far away, lambs with their high-pitched cries and ewes with their low ones. Backle, who she had raised from an orphan, watched her and let out a sad baa. Mulleen turned back. They'll be fine with Goldie, she told herself. Her sister did a fine job with the sheep. But why did it have to be water? Mulleen had avoided the coast since she was a small girl heeding the warnings of her mother. It had, eventually, claimed both parents, so she felt justified. Her mother, with her dark skin and brown eyes, wary of boats and even refusing fish, hated the sea. Mulleen felt vaguely guilty as she forced herself to walk down to the water's edge. Whatever inheritance her mother's family had left her had better be worth it, for her and Goldie's sake. Heaven knows they

FFM 26: wave

F

FFM 26: wave

Malia walks quickly, thin shoes soft against the asphalt, hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets for warmth. It always feels cold, no matter where she is. And her hands smell like blood, no matter how much she scrubs. She feels the wave coming and closes her eyes; it is strong, crashing against her ribcage. When she opens her eyes, the pavement is dry. Only her cheeks are wet. - Malia walks through a sea of greenery, quickly lost in a moonlit maze. She turns a corner and jerks to a halt, blinking in the sudden light. A carnival floods her senses, candy-sweet air brushing against her like a cage of butterflies set free. The wave tugs at her chest, washing away the brief warmth brought by the light. She keeps walking. There must be an exit, she thinks. - The wave grows bigger, roaring inside her head. Malia winds through the crowd, careful not to touch anyone, keeping her head down. She feels sand under her feet, and looks up. Instead of the ocean, she sees shapes. Some look

FFM 24: diamonds

F

FFM 24: diamonds

Tendrils of mist curled through the old house, like breath on a cold day. It was summer, and the pressing humid air did not magically vanish as he hoped. Jack wiped his face - again - and walked further into the house. The tendrils gathered together at one door, and he hesitated, hand inches away from the knob. He knocked, twice. Then he entered. There was a girl, artfully arranged over one of the plush armchairs, who appeared to be asleep. She stirred as Jack's footsteps resounded on the polished wood floor. "Am I beautiful?" she asked. The mist twined around her limbs and into her hair, and her bloodless skin was translucent. Here and there, there was a sparkle to it - like ice jutting out from her bones. She had no eyes, only a pale gray void where each should be, swirling gently. The overall effect was, unfortunately, quite lovely. "Yes," Jack said. It didn't do to lie to ghosts. "Finally," the girl whispered, one hand reaching to the ground. A phone lay face-down, its

FFM 23: glitch

F

FFM 23: glitch

The little girl held up a flower, a smile in her brown face, and the robot tilted her head, quizzical of the offering. She reached out a hand to touch it and then there was darkness. When she came to, her visual screen was a mess of roiling black violet. When it cleared, she held the flower between two of her fingers and watched the ashes slowly crumble away. -- Her screen flickered, not often but enough to make her processors hum and heat with agitation. Sometimes when she turned her head, there was a pale white-yellow in the corners of the screen, sliding off like snow. Humans were not strangers, but now she snapped at them if they came too close, shredding her voice output in the process until she only spat static into the cold gray air. -- Days were minutes, hours were weeks and she had turned off her visual, using her calibration system to move from hollow to hollow in the husk of the world. There were no more humans, there were no more flowers, and there would be no

FFM 22: deteriorate

F

FFM 22: deteriorate

Arclight fell to earth with a sickening crunch. He rose, slowly, to his knees, the rents in his light-blue outfit oozing blood and sparks. Arclight - Jordan - stared at his hands. One was scarred, rough, lined with white as he squeezed it closed against the pain. The other hand was a mangled lump of flesh, barely recognizable, fingers and sinews all curled together. He slung the canister off of his back, gasping as his strained arms took the weight. Using one hand, he unscrewed the top. Inside was a skittering mass of blue-white. Jordan bit his lip, hard, and stuck his ruined hand into the canister. There was a blinding flash, a sudden scent of metal and burnt flesh, and Jordan screamed. He pulled his arm out, trembling, and there was a blue-light-hand on his wrist in place of the old one. As the light faded, the hand settled into a semblance of flesh, a little too smooth and a little too jerky in its movement. There was an explosion in the distance. The sound of screams, once

That Which was Lost [FFM - 14]

FFM20, 12: Justice

F

FFM20, 12: Justice

I hold the gun against his head and recite the list again. “No justice for my mother, my wife, my daughter, my father. No justice for my neighbor, or any of those kids in those schools. No justice for the immigrants you people murder, or the children you’ve enslaved. No justice for all the people that became hashtags.” Behind my neon mask and gloves, he has no clue what color my skin is. That pleases me. “Please, just kill me,” he whispers. I lean close so he can hear me. “No justice, no peace.” The hammer clicks an empty chamber.

Riverdaughter's Daughter

R

Riverdaughter's Daughter

Barosus is a merry frog in who lives by springs of water Like Bombadil of old he sings to the river’s daughter He wears no gaudy coat of blue, nor any boots of yellow But in the misty vale he dwells, a happy froggy fellow Of misty hills, of ponds and rills, and frogs in lily water Fairest sun and softest rain with skillful words he brought her Elm, and ash and poplar fair, all drink the river’s waters But fairest far of all the trees was oak's enchanted daughter And she delights to warm his heart, with acorn bells a ringing When moonlight gilds the tranquil vale, you can hear him singing So sing along, in jolly song, o polywogs a
79Comments

Ascent

A

Ascent

Anthony Sunstone is a healer, and he is a prophet. The energies of the universe speak through his hands. When his clients come to him he lays a sphere of quartz over their heart and their throat and their third eye. He draws out all their suffering – sorrow, anger, pain, fear – and fills them up with light. They leave lighter, happier; and Anthony lays his quartz in the window for sunlight to cleanse their darkness away. But still there is darkness in the world. Still he sees children crying and people gathering on street corners, raising their voices in anger. Every day there’s another stranger who’s taken their own life. Anthony Sunstone heals the people when they come to him, but it isn’t enough: he needs to heal the world. He collects a mineful of crystals and charges them with sunlight. He lays them out along leylines, all through the city: if all goes well, soon he’ll do the same for the whole earth. He kneels above the keystone node and lets the energies of light flow through
6Comments

Spotlight

FFM 27: Antigravity

F

FFM 27: Antigravity

“Power restored.” The ship’s life support system came roaring back with only a few clunks. Lights flickered in rows along the cabin, and the navigations console sent off a half dozen shrill alarms. Heli slid into her seat as the artificial gravity hit. It made her eyes heavy, lids drooping until she could barely see. She rested her face on the console, letting the cool plasteel sink into her pounding head. “Minor damage sustained,” said the computer. “Repairs completed with a 96% success rate.” Heli’s gaze flickered to the back of the ship, where the lifeless form of her partner lay, as stil
10Comments

Spotlight

FFM Day 20: Dryad

F

FFM Day 20: Dryad

The first shovelful of dirt fell, cold and damp and tasting of bitterness that poisoned the tongue. Metallic scrapes faded, growing distant in the silence pressing down, down and down. Over time, the earthy scent filled her nose until it was all of her, whispering through her veins, blossoming. She breathed in, and grew roots.
10Comments
  • Deviant for 12 years
My Bio
I like windy days, strong tea, bitter coffee, and really old books.

Favourite Visual Artist
God, creator of clouds.
Tools of the Trade
Eccentricity, luck, and a purple pen.

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SaphireShearStudent Digital Artist
Emoticon / Speech Bubble - Hi (br)  output Ki1n9B by SaphireShear
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I just wanted to stop by and thank you for watching me!
I know it may not seem like much, but I just want you to know your support really means the world to me. If you are interested in seeing more of my art or supporting me further, you can follow me on twitter and I would be extremely grateful! 
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Thank you for your time, and I hope you're having a great day so far, wishing you the very best!
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greenleo94Hobbyist Writer

Thank you for the watch! How did I never encounter you before now? I am just now reading your poetry, and it rocks!

Thanks so much! :love:
LionnfartHobbyist Writer
thanks for the watch, friend. :)
Thank you, too!!
Lintu47Hobbyist

Hey! :wave:

Hope you're having a nice day! :meow:

Hello! Thank you! I hope you are doing well :highfive: