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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.
Silent but Awesome--Prussia x Mute!Male!Reader-PT2
Previously: ' "You know,you're going to have to take care of him. You conquer,you raise." He pointed out,his eye brow twitching. The albino stood and stared at the sobbing mess on the couch,one thought running through his mind repeatedly.
This was going to be un-awesome.'
It had been silent for over 5 minutes which,with Prussia,was a new record. Germany stared worriedly at his older brother who seemed to just stand and stare,poker faced. He didn't know what to do first;Snap his brother out of his trance or stop the poor crying,frightened capital. Yes,Vienna is still sobbing and wreathing on the couch. Clearing his throat,Germany attempted to get their attention.
"Bruder...you should probably,oh I don't know...comfort the poor guy?!" Prussia nodded reluctantly,and sat down on the couch. Vienna jumped,casting a glance at the albino,who in return just smiled.
"I'm the AWESOME Pru-" Prussia st
Don't Look Under the BedThe only rule we had when we were children was to never look under the bed.
Not just any bed, but the bed of our mother. She hid something down beneath the bed that we weren't meant to see. Some great secret protected by the boogeyman, she would tell us. "If you get on your hands and knees and try to look... he'll jump out! And grab you!" After the threat was made, she pounced on either myself or my brother, laughing and tickling until we were nothing but a pile of small giggles on the floor.
We took the words seriously, however. Running into the room to awaken our parents on holidays like birthdays or Christmas, or Thanksgiving, any of them and never once did we look under the bed. Sometimes we hesitated, sometimes we thought there would be a hand reaching out to grab us if we weren't fast enough. The ruffles of the bed covered the foot of the bed, so logically as the little kids we were, jumping at the foot of the bed was safest. It's what we always did, to get onto the bed and avoid
Daddy are you proud of me?Daddy are you proud of me?
Daddy are you proud of me? The only phrase I recite as I lay here. The only question I think of, glued into my mind, as I stare into the abyssal swirls of the ceiling, in my new-found sanctum. A runaway at 18, thought of as a joke. Think about it… I have achieved high grades, some A’s, B’s and 3 D’s. That was my problem. Those D-isgraceful marks on my grade sheet, that’s what every top university really looks for. Not the A’s but the D’s. So now I know my chances for life and how I will now never make it in life. Daddy, are you proud of me? It’s a simple question really. I tried my best and messed up. So my best is a joke, my life is a joke and my education was clearly… a joke. So as I lay here, slightly delirious but seemingly clear minded, I ask myself. Daddy are you proud of me? ‘I did my best, just like my rest, but just couldn’t handle my final test’ were discarded word cluster
The Letter(you're gonna cry)Hey! I'm Alanna Elisabeth Spot. I'm going to tell you something about me. Chris' next death anniversary is gonna be soon so I've decided to tell you the whole story...
I was born in Mexico City. My parents were Miranda and Patrick Longman. They died during my college. Before forming the Spot Stars mob/band with my daughters, I used to be a solist. During the world tour I met Christian, my first love ever. He was a meerkatmunk just like me. He was born in France and spent half of his life there. We kept talking to each other, sending messages and after three years we finally got married! We moved to Botswana. I had always wanted to live into the Africa. The Kalahari Desert was dangerous, but during the rainy seasons worth living. My husband had straight, a little bit spiky, pale red fringe covering half of his face with a dark brown stripe. His eyes were dark red, even hazel. He was my only partner that had black glasses. I'm never gonna forget the day our first child was born, a daught
The Story of DevinThe Story of Devin
This side of town has always been rural. In place of large skyscrapers there were acres of farm. Some held large tracks of crops while others may hold livestock such as cows or sheep. The town may have been made up of peon farmers and moonshiners, but that doesn’t mean the people there were behind the rest of the world. The people knew of all the technology of the outside world and had some of it themselves, but the people down here prefer good ole hard work in comparison to a machine doing it for them.
A tall, lanky kid lived down there by the name of Devin. He was always a little different compared to the other kids. While the kids from the city were short, plump, and pale, Devin was tall, skinny as a pole, and tan. He was the odd ball, but he never seemed to care. He was always that smart, quiet kid in the back of the room, who seemed to have no friends.
Nobody really messed with him. He just sorta scared people just by being there. I believe he made people
The Mortal and the Immortal 4I screamed as I hugged my knees to my chest. I locked myself in the bathroom an hours ago, to hide. Taine and I had stayed away from one another. We didn't speak and when we did, we would start fighting. Today I asked Taine a name for the child.
"Why would I care? It's a burden."
"It? It?! Taine, it's a human being! At least it isn't a bastard!" I cried.
"A mistake! That's what it is!"
Tears leaked out of my eyes and I cried. "My friends were right. Mortals do disappoint you..."
By then I had run up to the bathroom to hide. I had my hands on my face, looking into the mirror that was the wall in front of me. My face was puffy, red and my eyes were swollen. I placed my right had on my stomach.
A bulge that wasn't there yesterday that had formed. I screamed out in horror.
"Sable?" Taine knocked on the door. "Are you alright?"
I shook my head.
"Sable, let me in."
I crawled to the door and unlocked it, then slid back to the corner. Taine came in, a white box in his hands.
The Forest--Slenderman x Child!Male!ReaderShadows flickered over the cold forest floor. The only source of light was that of a hand torch,held by a trembling hand. The man who was in possesion of said flashlight was terrified and paranoid beyond belief. He jumped at every creak. Every hoot of an owl,every screech of an animal of the night.
The man,Alex,was searching for the 8 pages that were scattered about the forest. How the hell was he supposed to find all 8 freaking pages? Especially in the dark! Shining in his flashlight in every direction to make sure that there wasn't any dangers or obstacles in his way,his beam landed on something...peculiar.
Freezing on the spot,he squinted his eyes in the direction of what he had thought to be a man,only to find a young boy. He seemed to be about the age of 6,with (H/C) locks and (Pale/Tan/Etc) skin,that seemed to have a sickly glow to it.
'Why would a child be out here in the dark? Why is a child out here in the forest at all?!' As Alex opened his mouth to call ou
A Change of Pace Things at Fallbrooke Equestrian Center had been horribly wrong for quite some time. There had been an outbreak of a seriously severe equine illness, leaving half the stalls empty; horses having either left from death or being sold in order to keep the farm from going bankrupt.
"This isn't working!" Kipcha screamed in frustration, knocking random things off of her desk. "I've never heard of an outbreak lasting two years."
Jamie sighed, starting to pick up fragments of the broken coffee cup that had shattered on the floor. Kipcha continued her rant.
"We have two horses still in quarantine. We need to stop this thing right here and right now. If this spreads around to the other horses even one more time, we can kiss the farm goodbye." Kipcha sat down in her desk chair and clutched her head.
"Even if we do get through this and get back on our feet, what are we supposed to do? We had to sell a lot of our good horses including Enzo and Queeny. We have too m
Ariza's TheoryMom used to tell me about my little brother. She never met him either, but she’d heard a lot about him. She showed me pictures of him and he’s real cute. What I can’t get over is his white hair. He looks a lot like Dad.
I don’t remember my dad too well to tell the truth. He disappeared when Mom died. I remember that he always called her his sweet Kee. I always thought it was lame and stupid, but most people just called my mom Kay. She had a real sweet voice.
Something I do remember about my dad is that he had a nice voice too. I always wonder what Seth sounds like and if Mara can sing because I can’t even though Mom and Dad could real well.
Mara is my dad’s wife. He never married my mom. Sometimes, though, I have these recurring dreams in which my dad loves me more than Seth and Mara. I know that it’s bad to wish for something like that, but truthfully I don’t mean it. I don’t like the dreams that much.
It is nice to believe he didn
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.
MercyOh sweet God how the grassland
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More