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Twenty Ten FourWe never notice.
Our alarm doesn't ring, it sings
Pharell beating our mornings
till we remove from our snooze. We
forgot the tink-tinker or
and emerge the same.
The same commute to work:
Heads sunk, tired eyes drunk by
thumb movements. Our ears dumb
locked into a Will-I-Am trance. Not
a glance of the changing scenes;
the only birds we see are angry.
The same office echoes with
of emails blaming others and smack-talking.
instead of actual talking. We fall for
the hype of Skype and only Siri’s
voice drones narrow answers
we accept as truth.
The same playground, huddled corners;
Children pick a blackberry instead of
picking blackberries, for their late-night
Facebook fights. Words will always hurt see:
no kids to hit with sticks and stones. Unless
there’s an ap for it.
What do we do when stop?
Orwell you're too late
took thirty years to demonstrate your
doublethink and we all cling to
The Beard of intrigueHis beard was fascinating.
It was a loom, woven with intricate detail and so long it would put any wizard to shame. Each pattern in the coarse mound of hair seemed to share a secret. Perhaps they were memories- I’d heard others collect memories in such ways- etchings on their bodies, collecting objects and even journal writing. Maybe this man was his own journal.
The rest of him seemed positively ordinary. He rested in his chair in a blue business suit- albeit a little outdated for fashion, but suited the character I had begun to form in my head for him. His sorrowful eyes narrowed on a frustrated brow of greying features, illuminating a sense of tiredness. Perhaps the beard in all its might was weighting down. His skin was as rough as sandpaper, blotches and scars etching his hands and face with no revelation to the puzzle of his beard.
I wanted to move closer, debating whether it was rude to ask. The very notion excited me as I built up theories as to why his beard had the
Shopping and Wizards.A thousand bags
shuffle down the high street between
clasped hands, scrunched with new purchase.
They’re buggy-dodging the determined mothers,
the rushed businessmen-- a pinball
machine shopping centre.
A green-robed man, tall with wand and hood
must be a wizard. He’s happily
procuring sushi and sparkling water
whilst his companion;
short with her piercings and jeans treats him
as if he wore the same.
Down the high street,
two track-suited parents
zoom past on their children’s scooters—
half-smoked fags between fingers yell
how fucking amazing this is.
spotted teen raps
his love for Jesus on a muffled
He raps for the Father,
He raps for the Son
and Holy Spirit.
He raps for peace, for hope, for you.
In a corner,
Brown eyes, hefty tears,
a snot-ridden face--
four years old.
A train runs through the mall toot-tooting
as grumpy shoppers move out of the way.
Napo 8- SusanWhy did you lock her out of heaven
and throw the key
into the lions land?
A beautiful girl enjoying
a new fantasy to live.
She'd stopped believing, but
faith stays in a heart longer
than a head.
"She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now,
and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age"
Napo 7- Teen of the 90'sI wanted to be Posh Spice because my
hair was brown bobbed and she dated David
Beckham; I wanted to marry him. I
had no internet and recorded songs
on the radio to tape, daring to
pause and knock out the DJ’s droll. I sang
to S Club and thought I was the coolest
in my smiley faced top and my yingyang
friendship necklaces. You had to know the
Macarena not just for weddings but
school discos too and then every steps routine
to fit in. Slow dances with boys made me
wish again that they were David Beckham
and not greasy teens with bad curtains for
hair. They pressed themselves against you before
travelling to the next girl in leopard
print skirt. Viva forever was merely
a fantasy ; one I’d dream the whole of
the nineties, hoping my teenage self could
find her inner strength, her true girl power.
Napo 6- IreneShe left you a letter
outwitting at last the greatest.
A photograph, filched;
a King’s humiliation.
In your eyes she
holds the highest.
Napo 4- Warrior with painted faceThere’s a warrior with a painted face
and streaks of black across his chest; he stands
wild with pride. His merciless eyes ignited by the
echoes of fallen enemies. He slew
two hundred men and just scars mark their defence.
There’s a warrior with a painted face
who prays to gods mightier than he; he kneels
arms open to implore. He calls upon his army
to pray with him; equals once more. He watches
embers burn before retiring to his tent.
There’s a warrior with a painted face
and inside his heart rests a son and daughter
sleeping. There is a reason he is
Napo 3- Leaving the Train Station
Leaving the train station
alone I watch strangers head home.
The waves for yellow cabs and
stench of fresh-lit cigarettes, I let
the cold cloud white breath.
Even at midnight, a long-coated businessman
hurries past with laptop bag bulging and blackberry to ear. Behind me,
a clip-clack of heels and giggles-
their night hasn’t ended.
Across the road, three youths in hooded
tops kick a can whilst eating chips only stopping
as clip-clacks pass them and swoon
immaturity. Swear words exchange.
In the ice-wind rubbish travels as if taking
a commute, tapa-tapping the concrete.
Exhausted I can only wait with
white breath etching blue hands desperate to be
warmed. Eyes fight; tired and
Micropasta: An Austere Sort of TruthMicropasta: An Austere Sort of Truth
“Sensory deprivation”. Those two words, innocuous as they might seem, have come to define this eternity I have spent in here. My only connection to the outside world is the breathing apparatus that prevents me from drowning, floating in this tank of pitch-dark water. I have long since forgotten who I am or why I am being experimented upon, if my cooperation was willing or coerced, what my past life was and how long I have been caught in this dreamless sleep.
And yet, here in this limbo, this no-man’s-land between real and unreal, I have never felt more alive. I see him, Niisha, the one who is called Sanity’s Anthesis. The God of Secrets, grasping outwards from the furthest recesses of my mind. Entreating me to join the others.
The others. All those in Human history who have lost feeling, who lost all hope, who came to be dead to this world. Niisha watches over us, gives us purpose. I am ready to reach back and accept his offe
Creepypasta: A Routine CheckupCreepypasta: A Routine Checkup
Damn, looks like we’re fresh out of anesthetic. Eh, a gag soaked in brandy works equally well-oh, sorry, I’m just talking to myself. It’s so nice of you to come in for an appointment, I don’t get many patients anymore after losing my medical license. And my sanity. And my office. But this back alley seems the perfect place to practice dentistry. Did you know you’re supposed to see a dental professional at least once a-
What? Who am I and how did you get here? Well, as I said, I’m a dentist. More like the dentist, am I righ-SHUT UP, NURSE! Sorry about that, my nurse here never stays quiet for long enough. Anyhow, after getting kicked out of Nicaraguan medical school…er, again that is, because at first they wouldn’t even let me in and I had to sleep with the director before they’d…ahem, anyway, after that I set up shop in this alley behind the Burger Trench. Fast food is very bad for your te
NightmaresThe same fear has always been at the back of my mind, a recurring nightmare from long ago. It wasn’t my eventual death that terrified me, but the slow and agonizing torture before the end.
The desperate struggling, the begging. The pleas left ignored as I’m held back by hands… by chains. The pounding of each nail on the lid, sealing my fate forever. The banging and yelling, calling for help from anyone who could hear me. The scraping, bloody fingernails on wood. The drop, the heavy thud landing six feet below. Each shovel packing more and more of the earth, burying me alive. The suffocation and claustrophobia… oh god, the moment everything closes in and I knew it really was the end.
I always awoke gasping for air, shaking and hysterical. But this time, I don’t.
Because now, it isn't just a nightmare.
5naf tales PART 1POV #1- FOXY THE FOX
Foxy sighed as he listened to the trio on stage play the same stupid birthday song, just changing the name, over and over. It was 1987. A year after that man, Charles, maybe? He couldn't remember the night watch's name. But he had killed foxy and his friends, in cold blood. They had been forced into those disgusting robotic suits, and their young spirits refused to leave until they were justified. He growled softly under his breath, that same moment replaying in his mind over and over. The night watch had died shortly after. tripping due to a certain fox robot grabbing his leg. He fell, golden suit and all, into the trash compactor, without even a scream. True, there were stories of a "fifth child" being abducted and murdered with foxy and his friends, but in truth, that "fifth child" was the night watch who murdered them all. Foxy's growls grew louder. Lies. The newspaper held lies. He knew that soon he would be called to his stage, by freddy. He hated this job. "
ChargingOn my computer, doing computer things.
A notification pops up.
“Plug in laptop. Battery level: 7%”
I get up from my bed, go under my desk, unplug the useless charger that doesn’t charge anything, and plug in the laptop charger. Then I go back to doing computer things.
20 minutes later.
Notification pops up.
“Plug in laptop. Battery level: 7%”
I get up from my bed, go under my desk.
The useless charger is plugged in.
The laptop charger plug is on the floor.
Plague BirdsSt. Helens Bishopsgate, City of London. 1666
What had she done to earn this? Her husband and child dead and those… plague birds who had come ‘round while she was attending a birth in another home. The irony of it struck her as she swept a strand of fair hair out of her eyes. Delivering life in the midst of God’s displeasure. It almost made her doubt in His kindness. What sort of God would take life with one hand and permit another woman’s child to survive. She scrubbed a hand across her eyes, not caring that she left a dirt streak across the bridge of her nose.
Phoebe spat on the ground, averting her gaze from the plague bird in white as he hurried along and shut the nearest door behind him. Another death or soon enough from the look of things. The stink of burning flesh and smoke filled the air from the burning pits outside of the city. She turned away, being careful not to step into the filth and mud stirred in the street. There had been little enough m
Canines: OneWhen you wake up to dust and ash, you are obviously going to be confused, right? Yeah. That's me right now. Everything's gone but a crumpled classroom desk and God knows how that got there. It's surface has several lumps in it. There's dust all over it, and the plastic chair is burned black. There's a chair leg missing, too. And, speaking of legs, there's a human leg resting right next to my left hand. It's got a compass rose tattoo on it and millions of cuts. The foot has a blue and white New Balance running shoe on it.
I scream, pulling my hand away from the severed limb. When I look at my hand, I realize that it's burned real bad, almost as if somebody threw fire at me and I used my hand as a shield. I look at my legs and notice that they're completely covered with ash and dust. My PE shorts are a light gray now, and my shoes are... well... gone. I feel my hair, and it feels like a rat's nest. There's a lump in it, too. I yank out the lump of what I thought was hair, then realize it
W is for Weil's DiseaseShe turned on the television as she made her morning coffee. Black with two spoonful’s of sugar. As the TV screen was blocked by the broken piano, she listened to the news. Something caught her interest. “…rats have been seen in Cambridgeshire, following the escape at the Babraham Institute, a biological research laboratory. A response has not been given by the Institute, though the county has been warned to take care with food hygiene and pest control.”
Rats. It reminded her that there were rats in the house. There were occasions where she could hear them but hadn’t seen a single rat. Karen wanted the rats to leave. She knew where everything was, where certain things belonged, but not the rats. Oh, no. The rats just had to move around, taking her belongings as they went through each room.
As she climbed over the rusty bicycle to get to the fridge, Karen looked at her baby. A photo of her baby was on the fridge door. The sonogram photo had been on that fri
Dear Amanda 'Panda',I heard a rumor that despite your ripe young age, you possess the sexual wisdom and prowess to make men faint. My ex-boyfriend totally seemed into what you had to offer so I was hoping for a little tutorial in how to become desperate; disregard morals, or, at the very least, the motto “treat others as you’d like to be treated”; sext, record explicit video of myself and photograph a variety of naked self-portraits just for the fun and attention I get from a man I happen to know is in a relationship; keep these antics up for a sweet sans bitter period of 4 months; knowingly make and model a handmade gift for his girlfriend and think it’s a respectable idea; overprice said gift by about 300 dollars whilst actually tricking the guy into not only paying that outrageous fee, but sending an upright gift, like an emergency pussy alarm for those lonely nites!
I’m hoping you have tips on where to buy cheap lingerie or lighting for those tricky close-ups when my fing
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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