|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Last WordThe little girl couldn't have been more than six years old when she ran through the old dusty house. It was no longer a home. It's owner deemed incompetent and placed with a relative. Following her mother, the little girl looked around at all the boxes and furniture. Where was it all going to go? Surely there wasn't enough room to move it all to their home. "Momma, where will all of Auntie's things go now?"
A soft smile and caressing hand reached out to stroke the little girl's round face. "I told you. We'll take some and grandma will take some, Anna."
"All of it?"
"No." The sadness was evident in her voice, but the child didn't understand the strain it held. For this wasn't just Auntie's belongings that needed to be packed, but Momma's memories. Memories of summers spent running through the house while being chased by Unca. Memories of card games at the dining table. Horrible stories her brother made u
She was in the shower. He could hear the water running and splashing off her body. It took her three minutes longer than usual to wash her hair. He could tell because it took that much longer for him to smell the coconut shampoo. He had at least seventeen more minutes before she turned the water off and invaded his quiet time. Seventeen minutes where she didn't invade his space demanding kisses or worse; talk him into watching a chick flick.
While she took her shower, he spent his twenty-three peaceful minutes thinking of the one thing that never left his mind.
Smiling, he checked the door into the bathroom to make sure she wasn't sneaking out to see what he was up to then crept through the bedroom and out to the living room. On the floor next to the couch was a wooden box with two padlocks. He grabbed his keys off the table and unlocked the first one. Then he pulled the chain from
My Warning LabelChemical Free
That's what my warning label says. I've tried to scrub it off, but there is no chemical to remove it.
So I sit here and scowl at it. Hoping my anger towards it will somehow make it flake off. It hasn't worked yet.
After a few hours, I'll give up. Just like I do every other day. I'll walk away and glance over my shoulder to see if my departure will change it. It doesn't. The label is still there. Sitting there. Mocking me with it's permanent ink.
Day after day. Week after week. Month after month. Year after year. Decade after miserable decade. It haunts me now and I want it to leave more than ever.
But what would I be without it? If I woke up tomorrow and it was suddenly gone, I would miss it. Would want it back. It's mine and no one can take it away from me.
Over the years, I've come to love my label. I may not be free to do what I want, but my mind is free to think what it wants.
I take it all back. I don't want to scratch off my label. I don't
edgea bundle of nerves and feelings
a complicated mess you can't help
but want to fix and make beautiful again
heartache surrounds her unfairly
circles her mind and claims her soul
she deserves special attention
a strong spirit, unparalleled
unmatched in beauty or ink
if she only knew how wonderful she is.
Evictionplaid shirt and tight jeans
that's how you showed up
and filled my home with
your friends that hate
my drinking habits
if I didn't love you
everyone would've been
evicted from my home
Behind Blue EyesShe lay on her bed, unable to even get out of it and walk around her own home. Having had visitors most of the day, she was grateful for the peace and quiet her empty room gave her.
Looking across the room to the long mirror on the back of her bedroom door, she saw her brilliant blue eyes sparkling back. Not a day went by that she didn't look in that mirror and see those soft eyes returning her gaze. Not since she bought that mirror all those years ago.
As she looked at her reflection, she wondered if her eyes had always been that shade of blue. The night she was born, when she opened her eyes for the first time and looked at her mother, were they a crystalline blue?
She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember many things these days. Old age had taken its toll not only on her body but on her mind as well. She was unable to remember many things, but the few memories she had were truly cherished.
As a young gir
Says A Thousand WordsThe smile.
It makes your heart thud just a little harder than normal. A soft perspiration forms at the crook of your neck and slowly trails down to pool at the hollow of your throat. The corners of your mouth curl up just slightly as you try to hide a returning smile. No matter how much you try to stop it though, the smile travels up to your eyes. They twinkle without your permission. But you could care less in this moment because that smile you're looking at is just for you.
The tightening in your chest proves that your heart has actually skipped a beat. A trail of fire burns across your skin. Your mouth suddenly feels like you've been stranded in a dessert for three weeks without water. Eyelids drifting shut as your head tilts back just slightly. The world could collapse around you and it wouldn't matter because your bodies are touching in just the slightest way.
Your lips hum the most delicious melody. Eyes closed while your body leans into the war
"But I love this one." Jane whined as Todd looked at her skeptically.
"It'll take years to renovate this place."
"Not years. A few months. Maybe a year. Tops."
"Are we looking at the same place?"
"You're just looking at the outside. Go in and look inside. There's so much we could do with this place."
"Yeah. Like bulldoze it and start over."
"Would you please just come inside with me?" Without waiting for a response, Jane grabbed his hand and forced him onto the front porch.
Todd grabbed the metal handle on the screen door. As he pulled it open, the entire door came off the hinges. "I never liked screen doors anyway," he said, smiling and opening the door. Jane motioned for him to go in first. "What? So when the roof caves in on me, you're safe out here on the porch?"
"Would you stop it. It's not that bad."
"Mmhmm." Todd wal
Breakup SpeechIt's not you, it's me. I know it's the oldest excuse in the book, but hey, when it works, it works. Did you really see this lasting longer than a couple months? When does anything last longer than a couple months with me? I hope we can still be friends.
Yeah, 'cause everyone wants to be friends with the ex-lover. Like it ever works.
You know me. You know the type of person that I am. I've never been able to settle down. My heart wanders like a nomad. It seeks shelter where it's offered but only stays long enough to get warm. Attachment isn't an option for me. My mind is too warped. It's too dark to ever let someone in. Truly let someone in.
No, fuck! That's all wrong. It's too personal. Too emotional. Let me try again.
I don't want to do this, but I'm only going to hurt you if I don't. And that's the last thing I want to do. So I'm ending this before it goes too far. I completely understand if you never want to talk to me again.
SlowSo little left to hold on to
I'm falling deep
But it's calming
And my heart beats slow
I feel my eyes slide shut
And my vision goes black
My senses fade
And I become empty
:: More Than You'll Ever Know ::Does it make you proud
When you're the cause of someone's tears?
Does it bring you joy
Every time you insult the innocent?
Do you know what you do
When you speak with your vicious tongue?
Do you realize what happens
Every time you laugh at another's sorrow?
You see a woman with male friends
And you accuse her of craving sexual attention.
You notice a boy wearing glasses
And you tease him with the name "four-eyes."
There's a group of peace lovers;
You proclaim they're annoying hipsters.
The teenage boys who love each other;
You tear them asunder by calling them abominations.
Do you find pleasure
In being the source of a poor soul's agony?
Do you even think
Of what the consequences could be?
Does it satisfy you
To make someone feel inferior to you?
Does it quench your thirst
Whenever you rule over the oppressed?
If a young man loves writing poetry,
Immediately you dismiss him as a lonely loser.
Rose Scented Ashes III - SchoolFast forward a few years...
Daniel was now about four, five years old, and getting ready for his first day of school, of Kindergarten. His mother had recently suffered another bout of infuriation toward Valance, who had made one remark about "What happens if the other children find out Daniel's partly plant?" Apparently, she had assumed he meant to reveal it to the other kids, and instantly snapped, chucking a vase at his head, and - thankfully - missing.
Suppose she really didn't want me to have any part in his life, Valance thought as he leaned back in the chair at his desk, reading by the sunlight, slate-violet eyes not really seeing the words on the page in front of him. Not beyond giving him a name - which she has probably already claimed as something she thought of anyway. No, not probably, he already knew as much from the whisperings he tuned in on.
As he listened to the tumult outside of his door, of the babysitter attempting to get the rowdy young c
Lit. Daily Pick Volume 2: February 2013At the start of the new year, I promised myself that I would be giving back to the literature community here on deviantArt again like I used to. Before I began university, I was able to help admin groups that featured deviants on a daily or weekly basis, and I missed having the time and opportunity. Now that I've finally graduated, I decided upon a small project that I hope to be able to keep up with: My Lit. Daily Pick Project.
What is my Lit. Daily Pick Project?
Every day, I choose one literature deviation that I had come across in the last day that I found to exceptionally stand out to me. That deviation remains featured on my page for 24 hours in my daily pick folder for any watcher or visitor to see and hopefully view, comment, or fave. At the end of the month, all of the deviations that I chose to feature will then be featured in an art news journal together.
* I do take suggestions for deviations to feature, as well! This month, I had one suggestion from th
It had to be real. Had to be. Those awful visions and dreams could never have come from my own imagination. Only a mangled and twisted psychopath could create something so terrible. Yet, there I was, awoken in a sheen of terrified sweat. Alone yet surrounded in my own bedroom. What am I saying? There are no such things as monsters hiding under your bed, I'd been taught that since I was a child. Why was I thinking like a toddler, scared of the boogeyman coming and taking me away? I heard it again. That scratching on the walls, the floor, the ceiling, everywhere. Yes, it was real, I had no doubt. No one believed me. I tried to tell my parents, but they just shook their heads like they always did. No help there. These dreams had haunted me for months, filled with scenes of fire, gore, and torture. Sometimes me and sometimes others, unnamed sinners whose screams were heard only by me and their tormentors. When it was me, the pain was real, unimaginable and maddening. But sometimes, watchin
Literary Compass - Vol. 13Welcome
If one is looking for Literature, you don't need to go far on deviantART. There is a large community of writers and a plethora of work to peruse. Featuring genres such as fantasy, mystery, horror, and romance, one would be hard-pressed to find an area not covered. However, due to the nature of the site, shorter works tend to get more focus. It's easier to quickly read a poem or a short story, and thus many of the feature articles on dA showcase those works. However, there are many novelists and serial writers among the mix, oftentimes fighting an uphill battle to have their works seen and appreciated.
With that in mind, I have started an article to spotlight some of those artists and their literary-worlds. The works covered in this feature will exclusively be long-form fiction such as novels, trilogies, etc., or fiction serials.
Current Stop - 1866 London
The next stop on our Literary journey is the Victorian-era London and featured in the nove
Light in the Darkness
The books were piled high on the desk, tucked deep in the recesses of the Archive's library. There were no candles allowed this close to such precious works, so the words had to be revealed with a special light. It was a small glass ball, emanating a honeyed glow like that of a candle. Muted, small, and unobtrusive. This light didn't flicker.
One of the students, an Apprentice, dropped another arm-load of books on his desk. The impact sent up a plume of dust that had settled on the shelf nearby. He destroyed the sanctum silence with a fit of coughing. A murmured curse and he claimed a seat, pulling open a weathered book. Strangely, the cover retained some of its former glory. White leather, as supple as the day it was made, had been torn and stained in some places. Still soft but tarnished. Bruised and abused. Like many old tomes, this one had made quite a journey until it was in the care of the Archivists.
This student eyed the cover, then the spine. Another curse. There wa
Never Going Back.Little boy, little boy.
Won't you come here.
Little boy, little boy.
Won't you stay here.
He cries in the dark.
Stands strong in the world.
Fears that old monster.
Slowly learns to push back.
Young man, young man.
Won't you come back.
Young man, young man.
Won't you ever return.
He catches the strap.
Shatters the firewater.
Sheds not a tear.
Old man, old man.
Won't you help them.
Old man, old man.
Will you ever go back?
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More