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Trade MistakesOh god.
I roll my eyes. It's my friend. I know she means well, but it's annoying when people care too much sometimes.
"You need a job."
There is one problem with her suggestion. I already have a job. It's from when I wake up to when I fall asleep and it's called feeling sorry for myself. Yeah, it's a pretty demanding job. The hours are shit and so is the pay, but I am part of a million people strong network. Some people do it part time, others full time.
I work full time.
"I'll get one," I tell them. They mean well and I love them dearly, really. I mean if i loved myself as much as I loved them I would be the most concieted person on the planet. I love them that much. Maybe my love for them will pull me out of this rut and I ckinda hope it does.
Actually I'm kinda relying on that love.
Full time, kinda like my job. I think I mostly depend on their love though. When I really think about it. I need their appraisal. I need their smiles. I need the way they say 'it's ok
Anna MollySometimes I want to believe I'm different.
I brush shoulders with some girls from my school and they scoff. Did she just touch me? They're disgusted. Why? Why are they disgusted? I have the same anatomy as them. I just look different. They all look the same, like manufactured barbies that try too hard.
And physically I am.
I make my way past the different cliques and I wonder: how exactly do they look at me? Do they look at me like the barbies do? I can hear my feet, like a metronome. Clack, clack, clack. Or rather squeak, squeak, squeak because I'm wearing some worn out boots and the floor is wet.
I have never been a part of them. The cliques. I've always been alone. Yeah, I guess alone is a good word for it. I perfer self isolation. I think I gave up on humanity somewhere along the line. People were so selfish and so was I. I wanted to much more. I wanted to be different.
I was. Just not in the way I wanted to be.
I cross my arms like I'm holding up a shield because I'm starti
With A BangI don't think I'd ever meet anyone quite like her if she'd died that night.
She's sketching. I'm looking over her schoulder because I'm curious. I'm always curious when she'd doing something. It's always something incredible and fantastic and beautiful. She doubts these words when she hears them.
She's using red now. It's not bright red, or brick red, which is this weird orange-red that's just bullshit, it's this pretty scarlet red. Whatever she's drawing must be bleeding or blossoming and quite frankly it looks like both.
She's dyed her hair again. It's the same color as the crayola she's using. Her red hair goes in every which direction. It bobs with the way she moves and it expresses her firey soul which is quickly burning out. It's smoldering and I'm kind trying to bring it back to life, but it's hard.
I don't know if I can save her.
I really hope I can because it's such bullshit that someone who use to shine as bright as her is still so blinding as she's goin' out.
Let. Me. In.I put your work in my folder called home, because that's where you belong; in my heart, inside my home.
I think I found her"Who are you?"
It was a question uttered out loud in a disbelieving voice and it was a good question. Who was I? Why am I here? Who had I been? My eyes fell from her's and I kept asking myself. Was there an answer? A true answer? Not one of those cracker box answers that only gave a boring description. I couldn't give her one that was exciting either because I knew that was a lie.
"I don't know," I finally answered as I lift my gaze to see her. She looks familiar. Maybe I knew her once? She smiles at me for a brief moment and we look away. "You gonna be okay?" she asks, after a moment of hestitance of course.
"Yeah, I think so."
We share that mutual smile and I wipe at the mirror. "Good pep talk," I tell myself and she smiles again. I had lost her in a bottle of something bad. "Talk to you later?" She gives a slight bouncy nod like she's expecting me later and I smile to myself.
"I think I found her."
Game of WarI watch as the little boys play war in the front lawn of my friend's lavish summer home. Their mock sounds of pain set me on edge. A violent clash of toys imitate bombs and send the players sprawling a mere inch back, fingers and toes still intact.
Slowly I watch the little soliders seperate. The boys of today find their enemies of tommorrow in an almost indiscriminate way. "You're the bad guy!" August's boy proclaims and Martin's boy shoots back, "Why do I gotta be the bad guy!"
"Because you're the bad guy! Stop being such a baby!"
Their game is black and white. Bad is bad. Good is good. There is no detailing or shade of grey. No space for doubt in the war they play a part of. I scoff for war is no game. I can leave my home a hero possibly today and find myself to be my own enemy tommorrow for every bullet chamber I emptied into some unfortunate man's chest.
"Time for dinner!"
The little soliders march into my friend's blood money estate. I pretend to forget the game for war and all t
Black and White TragedyThe angel offered a forced smile at her reflection in the piano. It morphed slowly to show her a frown and she touched her face. No smile. She was losing her head again. Her eyes turned to the keys. Black and white. They were so simple in contrast to her reflection, vivid colors against the polished body of the piano.
Angel bowed her head respectfully as she looked down to look at her hands. They lay so gently on the keys. She took a deep inhale and closed her eyes. She pressed the first key. Off. A little too high. Her brows furrowed as continued to clink her way through the notes until she found what she was looking for.
A soft. Tadume. A noise she couldn’t describe with words or even a hum. Angel smiled a little as she tapped out a tune. Gentle and melancholy in nature and suddenly she stopped.
Her mouth opened hesitantly. What would she sing? Angel’s eyes opened and she could see Michael’s picture sitting on the piano. No care in the world. Just a big smile and bi
I was someone onceI was being born in reverse. Every nick and scratch that once made me, me, was gone. The memories. The people. Gone. I was freshly confused by my existence and instead of being conceived as a babe in my mother's womb I was born a young adult; stripped of personality but not of my worldly knowledge. Being left void of who I was made me cry out to the ears that would listen.
Microfiction #2 PeacePeace
There is a familiar burn in my eyes. I blink one, I blink twice and then 5 more times to let them rest. After an hour of gazing into the brightly colored screen of my laptop my eyes have fallen dry.
That is not the worst of it, for my body is warning me of other alerts. My throat feels as dry and raw as a hollow drought.
There is pressure in the temples of my head and my nose is also itchy and dry. According to the weather website on my laptop, it's allergy season again; I can feel the flush on my cheeks, they are warm to the touch.
My breath is normal but has lately been falling short. What a harsh hit from the world to make me suffer like this. In my laptop there are no allergy seasons and there are no droughts or itchiness.
I could go to another world that is virtual and different. To think, with just a few rolls and scrolls I could easily learn everything my laptop has to teach me.
The bright door opened for me again, a song was taking me as the phones on my head projected me
Unexpected Survival I slowly and groggily opened my eyes, which surprised me. I shouldn't be able to do this, I should have died! But somehow I was still alive, in what looked to be some hospital room.
Slowly, I regained awareness of my body. Me? alive? It mean…
Trying to find a shortcut I got lost, again. Alas, this time I stumbled on some shady business. I would have thought to be killed right then, but instead I just ended as another article.
My captors were into human trafficking, or rather ex-human. They were forcefully transforming young women and teenage girls into succubi, before selling them to prostitution rings. Apparently it became something usual these last years.
They planed to change me too. Seems being female isn't required to become a succubus, it only give you less chance to die in the process.
FootfallThe doorbell rang. When I opened the door, a package sat at my doorstep. I brought it inside and set it on the counter. It was dented on one side and looked as though it had been roughly handled. My name and address was written haphazardly on the top. I sighed, smiling, and pulled out a small knife to cut the packaging tape off the box. Inside was a dart gun and a necklace. I ignored the gun and lifted the necklace up to see it better. It was a wolf fang dangling off a leather cord. I rubbed the fang sullenly with my thumb before slipping the cord over my head. It bounced once against my collar bone before lying still. I closed up the box containing nothing but the gun and hid it in the back of my closet. I wouldn’t be needing it.
I ran outside, slamming the front door behind me and I jumped into my car. It was old and rustic; I thought it was a miracle I could even get it started. It let out a metallic growl before I sped down the empty road. I watched the forest grow as I drove
Prison keysThe chains scrape against the stones below, and a chorus of low hums and sad songs echo in my ears. Day...well, its hard to say. This room is empty, and there is a ghost chained to the wall. He can see through a window to the outside world. Barred though, outside he saw three boys. He named them the three kings. What were their names, who were they. Days went by, months crawled across the walls, and years chained him to the ground. The jailer was cruel to the ghost. Leave it be, it is not human...It could never feel. I looked outside, past those bars, and found myself frozen. Thunderstorms clouded my mind. Their parents were there. Right there. But, the ghost felt pain for what he saw. I will not let them suffer. A booming voice came from the door, he cant feel, he'd better give up. The door warped in the ghost's anger, he couldn't give up. Outside...he saw the clouds, oh the clouds. One King was given away...his family no longer wanted him. The clouds grew darker. One king...was invis
You. (Possibly a short story series)You smirk, dropping the knife to the ground, drops of blood threatening to to hit you as the blade made contact with the concrete of the alley. The body of a women laid a few inches away from the tips of your toes. Her throat was cut and she had a major stab wound in her lower abdomen. You squat down to wipe your blood covered hands on the women's shirt. When you stand back up, you take in a deep, satisfied breathing, knowing the job was done. You turn on your heels, ready to leave, but wait, no prints left behind, right? You pick up your knife and slip it into its sheath positioned on your hip. You dig in your pockets for a lighter. Once you locate it you pull it out, then make flames come out of it. You chuckle lightly as you whisper to yourself, "Burn, baby, burn." You light the lady's body a blaze, glancing over your shoulder to make sure nobody is watching or looking. You put your hand over your nose at the awful smell of burning human flesh. Somebody's attention is bound to be dr
PawnsI was twelve when my mother pressured me into receiving tutelage from a Mr. Tony Malkinet every Thursday in the intricate art of chess. I mean, when I was a kid, sure it interested me; however, I wouldn’t have gone so far as to push my child into taking lessons like my mother forced me to do. I had no idea how much she paid this cynical, opinionated atheist to tutor me… and I think the real reason was she saw Tony as a good fatherly role model for me.
Since the day I was born, I had no one to call my father. No one to play catch with or watch a football game with; therefore, I became an isolated, budding intellectual, spending the majority of my free time bettering my intelligence. Tony always saw potential in me which boosted my self-esteem; he would constantly compare his younger self to me and encouraged my interests in the arts, religion, and debating.
It was Thursday, and I’ll admit, I get excited when it’s time to drive to Tony’s. When I showed up, I
Equestria Girls Rainbow Rocks - Sneak PeakFlare Tiger walked down in the dark room which lived in deepest basement, which below the Canterlot High School as it’s had two basements but unknown to them, that’s Flare Tiger had created the third and finally, the third basement known as Haunted Shade Basement which she’s choose to scared other by used her old friend, Shadow Cat aka Nightmare Partner in her friend’s codename which Dragon Strike Force didn’t want used her for few reasons that’s she’s very danger and able sneaky around a lots, also, she’s loved killed most of time when she was need. Flare Tiger smiled to see her friend who sat and playing on the television which is game, Flare Tiger decided to pass by and her friend noticed her and smiled in greeting in friendly cat’s tone to Flare Tiger. Flare Tiger nodded right back and walked to the room, which very hugest and very secrets where Flare Tiger didn’t want tell her family about it, not even the outsiders knew
Me and mah BrothaTy:GET DA FUQ OFF OF DA COMPUTAH ALEX!
Me:FUQ NU AND DUN SAY MAH REAL NAME FISH NAMMIT!
Both:Wut wut wut wut i'm gonn-
Older Sister: BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE F!K UP!
Ty:Well someone's on their period
Both:*runs like hell*
The GaffI’ve been here about an hour in this rat-hole for the infirm, and finally the old man pulls out the cards. He mucks about a bit and flutters the deck. He hardly shakes at all and when he does, he adds some bizarre flourish to distract the eye. My old man, such a fucking pro. You'd never know he was sick. His voice is liquid cool as it pitter-patters along at breakneck speed, the cards slapping and him grinning, I don’t listen. Something’s cracked inside and I dive through the crevice, out of my body, into a much younger and frailer self – into a furious and sick, six-year old boy. I smell booze and Aqua Velva. I am in the back of a smoke-infested Buick, where Johnnie Walker Red glazes the cracked and scarred vinyl and pock-marks remain from violations made from number-two pencils.
Nicotinic fingers break the deck and I give him a vague smile. My old man’s eyes flicker and he offers up a classic – his famous ‘Vegas Sidewalk Shuffle”
Bullshit"I'm sorry that you're such a bullshit excuse for a human," I mused as I tried to eat my food. The girl across from me looks at me like she's fuckin' Bambi or some shit. "You're bullshit baby, all nice and full of it. You suck at art, you suck at fucking and you suck at life." Amused I watch her cry and I don't really feel anything because I can't. What happened to me? Why am I like this? "You're disgusting," I tell her, "Go fucking clean yourself up." I roll my eyes and leave my half-empty plate. I swear to God I use to be a good person. Then again I don't believe in that bullshit either.
How It Began"God, your two o'clock is here."
"I have a two o'clock?"
"He's been here since 7:45. I figured it's only polite to... sir."
God sighed. "Fine, send him in."
While He waited God cleared His desk of papers and blueprints; no need for outsiders to see His plans. Soon enough the door to His office opened and God stood, smiled, held out a hand towards one of the two visitor's chairs.
"God! Great stuff you're doing in sector 2-7-0! Great stuff!"
The man's hands were clammy, his handshake limp. Rumpled suit, porkpie hat, briefcase... oh Jes-- oh dear, a salesman. God's smile slipped a little but He soldiered on gamely. With luck He could shoo the poor guy away in a few minutes.
"So, what can I do for you?"
The man sat, briefcase across his knees. "Sector 2-7-0! Everyone's talking about it! What do you call it? Man and merman?"
"Man and woman, actually. And thanks. But we're pretty busy around here, and..."
"Oh! Right! No time for the wicked, eh?" The salesman winked and popped his briefcase,
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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