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About Literature / Artist Laura KonradFemale/Canada Recent Activity
Deviant for 12 Years
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Sleeping Giant
A shadow crept along the forest floor, below thick bushes and twisting around papery birch trunks.  The animals close enough to feel its presence kept their distance, even the wolves and the bears.
It stopped at the top of the mountain, where snow blanketed the rocks and a lonely human stood waiting, as promised.  Humans were good at one thing: being a sacrifice.
The shadow enveloped the human’s body, taking control of their muscles and movements.  The poor soul, a man plucked from grimy streets, clawed at his neck and chest until enough blood was spilled.
The shadow crept away as the blood soaked through the snow to the ground below.
As promised, the mountain finally trembled.

Kane was driving home from the pulp mill when something shook the ground.  It wasn't  enough to throw his truck from the road, but it sent hundreds of birds into to her air from the depths of the forest.
He had been at the pulp mill for seven years now, since high school wa
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The Rock
Jasmine Isola woke to sunny skies yet again.
Her grandmother’s house on the side of The Rock was at the end of the row.  No yard, just a small patio at the front where she parked her scooter, and a terrace overlooking the town and bay below.  Aside from the beaches and a few more vacation homes on the east side, she could see everything from her bedroom window.
There was the end of the airport runway, the girls’ school she went to until she was seventeen, the cable car, the bakery she worked at.  When she wanted to go out with her friends, she went to Castemates and was content with it.  Everything.
Her grandmother was in the kitchen when she emerged from her room, dressed and ready to go to work.  Margarita Isola was Italian, a war bride from Florence who fell in love with a Gibraltarian captain, but stayed at the rock long after her husband died.  She was eighty-four now, with no health issues except for arthritis.
Jasmine was the only child
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Rotters (The Carrier Diaries II)
There are three kinds of people in the world.  Flesh eating minions of hell, humankind, and those caught between both extremes.
The virus that caused society to collapse was designed in a lab sixty stories below Atlanta.  The intended results were not to kill everyone.  Six men sitting around a table wanted a stronger military, better soldiers, and more wars won.  The idea was to chemically change their bodies.  The country’s finest would be essentially immortal.
One out of a thousand test subjects carried it well.  The other nine hundred and ninety-nine began to decompose and eat each other before their spores got to the world above.
And now we all live in this rotting shithole, Bunny thought to herself, as she sat on the top of the outer wall.  She didn't know the virus that had changed her body was military-grade until very recently.
She was the intended result, along with the five thousand others who lived in a town between the mounta
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The Goreway Girl
In one moment there was bloodshed.  There was chaos and madness across the ruins of a six-lane highway where monsters slaughtered monsters.  It had begun innocently enough, as far as their standards go, with opposing forces on each side of the median, stuck in a standoff until one would make the opening move.
There were no good guys and bad guys.  There were the Dogs and the Moths, humans damned by whatever god had hated them enough to do this.  The world had been theirs for decades.
What were they fighting about?  Boiling tensions and broken promises were the stories everyone stuck with, but the truth was much simpler.  In a world so expansive, one that never seemed to end, there was only room for one.
In one moment, it was over.  A young female Dog awoke among the corpses of the fallen, gasping for breath.  Her struggle was the only sound for miles; the battlefield was silent now.  The cracked asphalt was still slick with blood, and the de
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Eclipse Me
The Enoch II was docked after twenty years in low-Earth orbit.  There was a nationwide vote on where the mammoth ship was to be placed for the remainder of time, and the flat salty desert of the southwest came out victorious.  The Enoch I was never landed on the surface.  It blew to bits five hours after launch with one hundred souls aboard.
Landing the metal monstrosity was a delicate procedure.  It needed to be brought down at a speed to escape orbit and allow re-entry, but engineers behind the scenes had to figure out how to slow the beast once gravity began pulling it down.  A crew of seventy-five traveled up to the heavens in five shuttles to dock with Enoch, reinforce the heat shield and then guide it down to Earth, slowing it with parachutes and the will of the gods.
At least, that's how it seemed to me.  There were documentaries made on the whole thing, but some of the science went over my head.
I watched the live coverage of the spac
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Monsters Cry Too
My taxi driver is a vampire.  
You can tell by the rings of red around the centres of his eyes and the cold pallor to his complexion, but also the nubs on his forehead where a set of horns used to rise, curling like the shells of snails.  The Council enforced the Horn Removal Bill to make the creatures docile and easier to control.  Without the horns, they were easier to kill, and with them, virtually unstoppable.  All it would take now is decapitation, and sixty percent of civilians walk the streets armed with ceremonial machetes.  I sold mine for an ounce of cocaine back when everyone was trying it, but the shit wasn't worth it.
He only asks where I am headed.  He won't drive into Faceless territory, so I only ask that he take me as close as he can.  There is a picture of his family on the dashboard, a wife and a child who have had their horns removed as well.  I throw an extra credit into his account on my way out of the car.
The Faceless guar
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a world without the moon.
Earthlings were a plague.
Once, but not anymore.
They spread like ash borers, killing whatever tree they landed on.  Now the trees were planets and the forest was the known universe.
It was cause for concern to say the least.
With the ability to skim across the planes of space at the speed of light, the Earthlings found places of insurmountable beauty.  There used to be worlds of jungles and deserts and great pink oceans.  In their wake, all that was left was disease, ground stripped to the bedrock and toxic salts.
"There is no sentient life on these planets!" their leaders told us.  "We are not killing anything!"
But did the Earthlings forget where they came from?  Their earliest ancestors crawled out of the oceans gasping until oxygen made sense.  Could this not happen on the worlds they destroyed?
No, they said.  They insisted.  Their planet of poor starving people needed these things to survive.
Did they never realize that the key to survival
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Enter a meteorite.
It has hurtled through space for eons under our concept of time, but the innards of the rock do not measure the moments in seconds or eons.
It passes into our atmosphere in the north-western hemisphere (as we know it,  but a meteorite does not take directions), cutting through clouds and bounding towards its final destination.  This resting place is shrouded in darkness now, in a small corner of a busy city where the grass is cut short and the rolling hills are pocked with pits of sand.
The crater it leaves is twelve feet wide and smoking.
Enter John Dorchester.
John is a boy of twenty-four and has worked at the Brae Glen Golf Course and Country Club since he was fifteen.  He's gone from fishing balls out of the pond to managing most of the basic course operations, and every so often he takes a night shift.  Sometimes security is overloaded with drunken guests at the clubhouse, and someone has to make sure that hormone-charged teenagers aren't
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The tundra was wide and vast, but our lands were just a small sliver of it.  Humans could only range within an area the size of a former administrative territory, once considered large.  Now we fit into the smallest piece of a much larger puzzle.  The treaty signed in blood two hundred years ago had been clear: stay within the lines, and the last remaining humans will irk out a living for a little while longer.
Within the five hundred thousand square kilometres were ten colonies of varying sizes.  Whitehorse was the largest with three thousand inhabitants, and Old Crow the smallest with one hundred.  My home was somewhere in the middle.  A long time ago, Dawson had been a haven for poor travellers on the hunt for buried treasure.  Now, there wasn't much but snow and dried meat.  There was still gold in the river, but what use was it to us?
Trips still needed to be made between colonies for the purpose of trading and connection.  This time, s
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Missed By That Much
Scottie Oliver was an astronaut for the one hundred and sixty-one days he spent in outer space.  When he landed in a smoking wreck on a lonely derelict world, he was stranded.
The ship had been running smoothly for the most part, but on day 160 there was death.  An explosion in the C bay blew three planetary scientists to kingdom come.  The ensuing suction power of outer space tore a doctor from her station and flung her into the nothingness, with only a thin jumpsuit to protect her.
The others said they would meet Scottie at the escape pod after securing some delicate samples in the science wing, but they never returned.  He had no choice but to slam his fist on a red button and watch what was left of Antares wither and die.
For a day he drifted until the planet pulled him in.
He emerged from his pod and stripped the suit from his body.  This world was muted shades of blue and green, living but not quite.  The ground was dry and grey, but the plant
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The Carrier Diaries
There are three kinds of people in the world.  Flesh eating minions of hell, humankind, and those caught in between both extremes of the spectrum.
They call them carriers.
A human on a horse led three roped-and-tied souls behind him through the dead of night.  They were bound at the wrists in one long chain attached to the saddle.  They were forbidden to speak to each other, or the man on the horse would cut off their lips.  He'd said as much when he'd caught each one of them.
The first in line was a man who still bore a bleeding wound from the bite that made him carrier swine.  Sometimes their wounds took a while to heal, but this one needed to be found to keep a blood trail from showing their path in the sand.  He was large, but the transformation had made him docile.
The second carrier, sandwiched between the first and last, was a woman, middle-aged and with no hair on her head.  She had looked somber ever since the man on the horse found her s
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She leaned further over the dashboard the closer we got to the barricade, where three guards in green toted guns that should have been too heavy.  Their faces remained hard as we approached.
"Let me do the talking," I told her.
"They're going to let us in, right?" she asked, the hope draining from her face.
"They have to, but I know how these guys are.  I'll make sure we get in as soon as possible."
She nodded.  "I trust you."
We stopped shy of the doors, and a guard took a spot at each side of the car.  I put the windows down and they scanned our eyes, and when the beep produced was satisfactory, the third guard approached my side.
"You lookin' for a place to stay?" he asked between chews of something black.
I nodded back to her.  "Her family is in there."
"What's the last name?"
The guard on the other side of the car piped up.  "Only Spencer I know is Astro, that crazy fuck."
Her face lit up.  She told me a long time ago that her brother
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The Wanderer
"Captain?  Captain?"
My eyes twitched, but I didn't let them open.  If Ang thought I was deep in sleep, perhaps she would leave me alone.
"Captain?  I can sense that your brainwaves have not relaxed into REM sleep, so I know that you are awake."
I groaned and opened my eyes, greeted by a sparse field of stars before me.  I'd been clenching the arms of my chair the entire time, making my knuckles tense.  I massaged one hand with the other.  "Sorry, Ang.  I thought I could get a few more minutes."
"I have suggested that you balance your diet to provide more energy for the long voyage."  Her voice was behind me but also everywhere.  The ship had been installed with enough speakers to rip the fabric of space and time if I cranked the volume high enough.  "We are also running low on sleep aids if you continue using them."
"I know.  Is there a problem with the ship?"
"No, Captain.  Earlier you instructed me to guide us home automati
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Love letters from the Mariner
I returned home once the war was done, after four years of smoke, mud and enough glimpses of intestines to last me a lifetime.  I was lucky to find most of town left the same, from the boats in the harbour to the Widow Goodwin still in her mourning black, but appearing as young as lively as ever.  
Until I could arrange payment for a home of my own from my soldier's salary, I was staying with my sister, her husband and their three young children.  Maureen had been lucky; Thomas lost his leg as an infant and was exempt from service.  Though I had made it back from the south, many of our comrades were still scattered in pieces in the fields.
"I find it difficult to believe she hasn't remarried since I've left," I said over dinner, regarding Widow Goodwin's house from the kitchen window.  It was one of the nicest of the shore homes.
"She's certainly had her share of suitors," Maureen sighed, nursing the youngest baby at the kitchen table.  The other two were
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A Door That Knocks From Within
I met her on accident.
I never got out much.  I had an okay job in an okay building in the middle of an okay city.  I kept it up because I couldn't live on nothing, but I also couldn't live off of nothing.  I put on the same grey suit every day (dry cleaned on Saturday and picked up Sunday) and spent nine hours at a desk typing words into boxes.
I'd been there for four years and my supervisor didn't even know my name.  I had good conscience that the only ones who did were Pierce, who I shared a cubicle with, and Bernice, who I shared a cubicle wall with.  
No, this isn't all about Bernice.  She was old, thick and leathery, and wheezed just standing up to peer over the divider and ask me if I wanted a cup of coffee.  She reminded me of my aunt, my mom's older sister, who said she smoked to keep off the weight but was still fat.
This is all about Este.
The dry cleaner that I brought my suit to on Saturday was a man named Ti who spoke very little English
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Armageddon It On
I was going one way, he was going the other.
"The west has fallen," he said.  Behind him was nothing but flat land coated with dust, ash and cremains.
"The east is gone," I added.  I'd come from a sunken warship of a seaboard, where the land was soggy and everything smelled like whatever gases were escaping from bloated corpses.
Where was there left to go?
"Someone told me that the north is nothing but ice and frozen bodies," he told me.
"The south is rife with disease," I said.
We were sitting on a bench, just a bench in a simple town.  It wasn't a special place, and before the shitstorm, it probably still wasn't special to anyone but the people who lived there.  They were all dead now, rotting against the window panes and flattened on the streets.  I'd accidentally ran over one on my way in, and the head had popped off like the cap on a full tube of toothpaste.  
He smelled like dust, like the west.  He had a fine layer of sand on his boots still.
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Laura Konrad
Artist | Literature
I am 26, living in the GTA and working in the civil engineering industry. Non-practicing Mennonite. I don't write as much as I want to these days, but inspiration often strikes in the most peculiar way.

My first book, published with TheDrydenExperiment with illustrations by Miyori999 can be found here, and is also available on Amazon Canada

My second book, solo and full length, can be found Here

Twitter: Laurotica and _LauraKonrad
Tumblr: laurotica
Youtube: Comrade Laura
Instagram: laura.krads (let me know if you want to follow me, my account is set to private)
Goodreads: Here

You do not know what life is, you who hold it in your hands


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confidenceAlive Featured By Owner Mar 4, 2019  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for visiting! It seems like a while since I've seen anything of you, I might have to peruse through your gallery a bit and see what's new (:
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Thank you for the :+fav: on “Espalier” :rose:
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Thanks much for the fave! :iconredsparklesplz:
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Once again, I wish you a happy birthday! Hope you are well!
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Congrats on the DD!
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