Were-drake
Were-drake
In the end, after seven full moons, a dozen houses burned, and the bones of two-score villagers and seven unlucky knights had been strewn for leagues around, the farming clans took matters into their own hands. Heirloom silver from every house went into the smelter. Even the sullen, miserly old usurer was held down and fed whiskey until his silver molars could be pulled. They paid an itinerant bladesmith with as much coin, plum-wine and pelts as she could load on her wagon. They loaded the result of her craft into a huge, old siege crossbow left over from dozens of brushfire wars as this land changed hands from one king or another. And they waited until the next full moon, until they next heard the beating of leathery wings and claws skittering against the treetops. They would steel themselves with whiskey and plum-wine. They would aim for the center of the shadowy mass as it bent to feast. They would pray. Some balked at the plan of using the drunken moneylender as bait for
The Pain Eater's Tale
The Pain Eater's Tale
Before the War of Wizards, the Red Raven Inn was a legend on the banks of the Elsa. You could hear the skirling of the violins along the water for miles. Now, the strings were silent, and even the voices were hushed of a night, as everyone listened for thunder.
Tonight, they heard it.
"Shhh!" Old Cahill admonished the patrons, and holds up his cane. As one, the grizzled farmers and river boatmen closed their mouths and look up at the rafters. Barmaids paused, faces ashen.
Unmistakably, there it was, the distant peal of thunder. Of course, Cahill had been the first to hear. He always was.
Cahill frowned. "Girls. Set to. Close the windows.
Unboxing
Unboxing
The children, as they always did, perched on the Stones for the Evening Telling. The Teller stood, face in white, Stick of Truths in his hands. When it was such, only the Teller could say stories and tell truths. All others were to stay silent unless called to respond. Even the Chief-In-The-Walls could not speak if he were in attendance, although tonight’s Telling was only for the children and Mums.
Behind the Teller, the Burning Mums tended the Telling Fire. It kept the Teller in silhouette, and the children’s faces sweaty with its heat, hotter than usual tonight. The girls especially scratched at the cloth over their mouths.
Damned Kids
Damned Kids
"You wanna see something cool, Peter?"
Marnie's hair was long, shaggy. She peered at me through it. Shy. Brown eyes behind black curtains.
Every time she said that, it was an adventure. Danny'd snicker at me. "Where'd she drag you off to this time, Pete? Catch a chicken and kill it? Pull the wings off butterflies?"
The whole town thought Marnie and her family were strange. Marnie was bullied at school. One time Danny shoved a cup of worms into her locker. Everybody thought that was real funny.
I didn’t. It was stupid. Marnie was just quiet. Her mom drank a lot, didn’t leave the house much. Her dad, well. He wasn't around.
Bruja
Bruja
Mister Curses was Gina's threadbare, stuffed black cat made of old t-shirts. Her abuela made him as a gift two Halloween-birthdays ago. Now abuela was gone, Mom was passed out again on the couch, and it was just little Gina, Mister Curses, the blinking security status panel, and the gunfire beyond the door outside.
She clutched the floppy cat to her chest as the shouting started. She didn't know the language, but it wasn't English and it wasn't Spanish. She'd heard it before, the men who ran the building they lived in and collected money or other things from Mom used it all the time. They scared little Gina. They scared Mom too, but she tri
Citizens
Citizens
They ignored their City's gleaming towers,
her rose-hued walls,
her sparkling streets,
her abundance.
They had eyes only for the other across the plain.
It was not until
her towers rusted,
her walls fell,
her people starved,
That they found the other across the plain
was a mirage.
In Lieu of Flowers
In Lieu of Flowers
She knew it made her father sad, how she always looked backward. Jenne would spend her time, when she wasn't studying, or even when she was supposed to be studying, face pressed into the eyeset, looking at the feeds from the left-behind telescopes that still made their journeys, like breadcrumbs between here and Earth.
Her sister would slap the back of her head, tsk, then say something about the boy she'd been talking to over the wave. That one on Charon, maybe. Seemed like a different one every time.
Josephine was a kid. She didn't remember Mom. She had no reason to look through Jenne's eyeset at the grainy feeds. Had no reason to glance o
Bus Station
Bus Station
SCENE 1: MYSTERY/THRILLER Mood: Eerie
The bus station looked abandoned except the last bus out front, hugging the terminal like a dead beetle. Florescent lights buzzed yellow, off and on and off over the ticket window, not quite revealing whether a living soul stood there to send you off if you wanted a ride. The passenger’s bench sat empty except for the dust from a desert breeze, and a Coke machine loomed nearby, dark, buttons gleaming like insect eyes. The bus’ door slid open. One passenger stepped off, all trench coat and snakeskin boots, turned on one heel, and was quickly swallowed by the darkness.
SCENE 2: CONTEMPORARY T
DC2 Cocoon
DC2 Cocoon
He fell through the burning. Through a black pool of itch and pain and not quite dreaming. Sometimes there would be a hint of green light. Sometimes he couldn’t open his eyes at all.
There were times when he slept. In between, there were times when it felt like someone was rubbing hot coals all over his skin, or just under it. He drifted in and out of black nothing, coming to surface in a half-dream of pain and a relentless, burning itch. Then he was being fed, or more truthfully, something was shoved into his throat and his nose held shut until he swallowed it.
He didn't die.
He lifted a hand to his face. It was bound in something.
See all
Were-drake
Were-drake
In the end, after seven full moons, a dozen houses burned, and the bones of two-score villagers and seven unlucky knights had been strewn for leagues around, the farming clans took matters into their own hands. Heirloom silver from every house went into the smelter. Even the sullen, miserly old usurer was held down and fed whiskey until his silver molars could be pulled. They paid an itinerant bladesmith with as much coin, plum-wine and pelts as she could load on her wagon. They loaded the result of her craft into a huge, old siege crossbow left over from dozens of brushfire wars as this land changed hands from one king or another. And they waited until the next full moon, until they next heard the beating of leathery wings and claws skittering against the treetops. They would steel themselves with whiskey and plum-wine. They would aim for the center of the shadowy mass as it bent to feast. They would pray. Some balked at the plan of using the drunken moneylender as bait for
The Pain Eater's Tale
The Pain Eater's Tale
Before the War of Wizards, the Red Raven Inn was a legend on the banks of the Elsa. You could hear the skirling of the violins along the water for miles. Now, the strings were silent, and even the voices were hushed of a night, as everyone listened for thunder.
Tonight, they heard it.
"Shhh!" Old Cahill admonished the patrons, and holds up his cane. As one, the grizzled farmers and river boatmen closed their mouths and look up at the rafters. Barmaids paused, faces ashen.
Unmistakably, there it was, the distant peal of thunder. Of course, Cahill had been the first to hear. He always was.
Cahill frowned. "Girls. Set to. Close the windows.
Unboxing
Unboxing
The children, as they always did, perched on the Stones for the Evening Telling. The Teller stood, face in white, Stick of Truths in his hands. When it was such, only the Teller could say stories and tell truths. All others were to stay silent unless called to respond. Even the Chief-In-The-Walls could not speak if he were in attendance, although tonight’s Telling was only for the children and Mums.
Behind the Teller, the Burning Mums tended the Telling Fire. It kept the Teller in silhouette, and the children’s faces sweaty with its heat, hotter than usual tonight. The girls especially scratched at the cloth over their mouths.
Damned Kids
Damned Kids
"You wanna see something cool, Peter?"
Marnie's hair was long, shaggy. She peered at me through it. Shy. Brown eyes behind black curtains.
Every time she said that, it was an adventure. Danny'd snicker at me. "Where'd she drag you off to this time, Pete? Catch a chicken and kill it? Pull the wings off butterflies?"
The whole town thought Marnie and her family were strange. Marnie was bullied at school. One time Danny shoved a cup of worms into her locker. Everybody thought that was real funny.
I didn’t. It was stupid. Marnie was just quiet. Her mom drank a lot, didn’t leave the house much. Her dad, well. He wasn't around.
Bruja
Bruja
Mister Curses was Gina's threadbare, stuffed black cat made of old t-shirts. Her abuela made him as a gift two Halloween-birthdays ago. Now abuela was gone, Mom was passed out again on the couch, and it was just little Gina, Mister Curses, the blinking security status panel, and the gunfire beyond the door outside.
She clutched the floppy cat to her chest as the shouting started. She didn't know the language, but it wasn't English and it wasn't Spanish. She'd heard it before, the men who ran the building they lived in and collected money or other things from Mom used it all the time. They scared little Gina. They scared Mom too, but she tri
In Lieu of Flowers
In Lieu of Flowers
She knew it made her father sad, how she always looked backward. Jenne would spend her time, when she wasn't studying, or even when she was supposed to be studying, face pressed into the eyeset, looking at the feeds from the left-behind telescopes that still made their journeys, like breadcrumbs between here and Earth.
Her sister would slap the back of her head, tsk, then say something about the boy she'd been talking to over the wave. That one on Charon, maybe. Seemed like a different one every time.
Josephine was a kid. She didn't remember Mom. She had no reason to look through Jenne's eyeset at the grainy feeds. Had no reason to glance o
Interossicular Space
Interossicular Space
It wasn't that May's parents didn't love her, or wouldn't miss her.
She could no longer go to school, and every tutor and nanny they brought home just couldn't stop chewing or move slowly enough to do the job. And the breathing. May's parents went through training, used circular techniques, never did anything strenuous around May. Diet, house, everything was a cushion. Nothing clicked, knocked, groaned or collided with anything else. May's folks had the act down cold.
But anyone else, no matter the training, always that one time they'd forget and sigh, and May would clamp her hands to ears and make that face. Her silent scream. Then the sho
Not Today
Not Today
It was time.
Between the serving periods. The shuffling lines thinned back to just a few stragglers, the older ones mostly. Sister Elene knew by their feet, mostly wrapped up in oilskin against the constant wet. She'd done the same, as much for the quiet as for keeping out the salted mud. She discarded her apron, grabbed her pack, a roughspun hooded robe and her lantern from their hiding place in the back of the storeroom. Under the robe, she belted on the knife. It pulled at the scars, her chest felt like strips of leather.
Elene wanted to look at the knife, say the prayer, but no time. It had to be now. She knew where he'd be, knew he'd b
Always-on
Always-on
Paris::15d since last chat::0 New Messages
For months, I'd see her at the clinics for our injections, and online in the therapeutic forums. She kept the same odd hours as me. The others managed to find work on a routine schedule. Think-driving sanitation units, working the inbound tech support lines. Workaday, like regular humans. Safe.
Not us. We were always-on. It had been that way in the Gideon pilot pod, when we were all wired together, our minds fused into a single mosaic. I was intuition, stay a step-ahead of the enemy, guessing the next ten moves.
She was the logic center. She did the math. She was a cascade of formulae, speaking in
Grommets for Hanging
Grommets for Hanging
The buildings so tightly packed that the roofs became a city unto themselves, new roofs erected from detritus hauled up from the streets below, built by human versions of same. Old rooftop was floor space now, shingled and tar-papered carpet subfloor under layers of cardboard bedding and lean-tos and currogated shacks thrown up against exhaust vents. The sun was blocked by endless tarpaulin of vinyl sheeting stitched with baling wire and shoestring and power cables from obsolete machines, held aloft by whatever the roof dwellers could prop up.
Cymbal was picking mushrooms under the blue light cast from noon sun filtered through the vinyl ove
Citizens
Citizens
They ignored their City's gleaming towers,
her rose-hued walls,
her sparkling streets,
her abundance.
They had eyes only for the other across the plain.
It was not until
her towers rusted,
her walls fell,
her people starved,
That they found the other across the plain
was a mirage.
Harvey's Halloween
Harvey's Halloween
There were a lot more trick or treaters this year.
Lot more spider mans, wonder womans,
little astronauts in their pressure suits,
more moms and dads carrying the helmets after a few blocks
this year.
This year, spider man is going to a new school,
one taking on lots of new spider mans,
and wonder womans,
and astronauts,
with the same teachers carrying the extra load
this year.
This year, wonder woman's mom washed her
magic lasso
with her school clothes
in a washing machine fixed up
by students, and dried them on a pole welded
by students and
maybe they'll be able to move out of this shed
this year.
This year, little astronauts
ark nemesis
ark nemesis
Came out of the sand,
wind blowing hot
ruffling his hat brim
No wings.
They had wings, we thought,
but the Good Book
never said anything about that.
Just a long chain
A long chain,
A chain as long as we've been here
crawling across His skin
until today.
A long chain,
holding a big box
tight
on his back,
pine,
fine grain,
if you've a mind
for detail.
Along his chest,
leather.
He pulled it,
Sam Colt
in each claw,
and he dared the horizon
Draw,
you Sons of
Sons of
Bitches,
And as we started,
we ended,
rats, crawling over the dirt
scrambling
for water
for sun
for a dark hole away from
the storm
we'd made.
One
by one
by one he raised h
Watered down
Watered down
I asked the old sailor
as he sucked on suds
my coin had brought him,
I asked again
the question that had brought me.
Yea, he spat.
He didn't say Aye,
Yea, you whelp, I saw one once.
Hair like the sun topping the waves
at dawn,
Scales like the calmest blue
around the islands where coconuts grow,
and speaking of coconuts, she had...
But what happened, I pressed him,
another coin down, another glass down,
'We'd gone down,' he said, a Spring gale
ripped our sails, and sent us breaking
over the breakers on the Eastern coast,
rocks like teeth, the Devil's tits.
I coughed at the color.
Another coin down.
And the man went on.
Water was black,
I reckon
I reckon
Weeds tumble
over my headstone
until the Day.
one Day
a man was weary
too many mouths, too
hungry, loud
decided to shut them mouths
for better or worse
one Day
a general made a truce
swords to plows, but
orders are orders
decided to take that land
for better or worse
one Day
a rich man laid track
hands and hammers, all
crossed the sea for pay
but bullets are cheaper
for better or worse
one Day
Weeds tumble
into a broken hole
next to my headstone
Got my bullets,
Got my orders,
And I'm hungry
And for better or worse,
Hell's coming along.
AndrewDickman
heohlart
VictorModa
JuliaNikitina
albertourra
joe-wright
psycodemon
VSasha
pikaole
Inprismed
Medoriko
whisperycat
Knyghtshade
TheSarcasmancer
reeahk
elmooseboi
anthony-constantinou
InLifeIsDeath
Mikpo31
haijinik
Fe4rlicia
Hephaestus-Vulcan
ErlenmeyerKat
SdoricaStoryteller
joe-wright
olehendrik
psycodemon
Artist // Hobbyist // Literature
- Oct 29, 1972
- United States
- Deviant for 13 years
- www.deviantart.com/managedeviations/
- He / Him
Badges
My Bio
All Hallow's Tales 2020: RESULTS
All Hallow's Tales 2020: RESULTS
This contest is generously sponsored by prize donors and the following groups: @CRLiterature, @communityrelations, @Schreiberlinge, @theWrittenRevolution, @PromotingPositivity Happy Halloween, banshees and boogiemen! Here they are, the results of this year's All Hallow's Tales contest: The People of the Wood. First, I'd like to take a moment to thank the JUDGES for their hard work and generosity of time for reading and scoring the entries! PROSE JUDGES: @neurotype, @JessaMar, @GDeyke, @hbaf187 POETRY JUDGES: @BATTLEFAIRIES, @KiriHearts, @Asahi-Taichou, @xlntwtch, @Kadreshi, @BlackBowfin All entries were scored on a point system grading Creativity, Technique, Use of Theme and "The Halloween Factor." Here are the winners: Grand Prize Back in the wood by @JessaMar GRAND PRIZE wins: 6-month Core Membership from @communityrelations 1-month Core Membership from @ikazon A campaign diary from The Rook and the Raven, up to $60 value from @ikazon A copy of Scrivener writing software
I wanna be sedated
I wanna be sedated
Yeah, I'm super absent these days due to a work promotion and training (sometimes I get to sleep in til 4am!), but wanted to take a minute to say a coupla things: Happy Fuckin' New Year and goddammit it's about time. :ahoy: (that's cream soda dr pepper in the mug) Much love to @WDWParksGal for featuring me as an Angel Without Wings in her January edition, and to @RTNightmare for the suggestion. While I'm a ghost around here lately, I'm a ghost that still loves y'all. Peace, love, and the donut of your choice!
Creech
Creech
Several of you have tagged me on your Creature Week posts. That's very sweet. Love that you think of me when you're talking about monsters and Halloween memories. But I'm exhausted. I took one look at the stuff Creature Week wants you to do, and I just don't have the mental battery charge. So, I won't get a badge for this (I've never badged in any DA Halloween thing, weirdly), but I'll answer the questions. My favorite individual monster is Frankenstein's Creature. He's tragic, sympathetic, but still an object of horror. He's relatable. He's the product of the fertile imagination of a teenaged girl who changed literature forever, and his portrayal by Boris Karloff is far more nuanced and poignant than decades of pop culture and cartoons would have you believe. My favorite monster in general is the werewolf, and by that I mean the old-school, cursed, change-with-the-moon type, not the newfangled, angsty change-at-will CGI bikers with fleas that we see too often now. I'm a
Donation Pool
All Hallows Tales Contest 2020
Points pool for this year's All Hallows Tales literature contest. Anything helps!
1000
Goal
4
Donors
Status
2866/1000 points
Thanks to everyone who donated! You helped me reach my goal!
Custom
Me, in summary.
Comments 3.9K
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Hi just passing by. I am Resist Reality. I bring paintings to life.
Congratulations for your award!
Well deserved!
I know it was for the contest, but still! Thank you for the favorite. <3
Happy birthday! I hope it's been a good one.
Thank you for the fav 
Thank you so much for the watch. 
It is highly appreciated 
Should have done that a while ago. Oh, and congratulations on the toilet bowl symbol!