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to yearn for a mythI am not afraid of the Grim Reaper,
the hollow-eyed bone man in the night black cloak
come to collect me with his scythe
and let me, without the burden of my flesh,
twist myself around his gnarled fingers
or press my face against his ribs and inhale the ashes
the empty odor of an autumn chill.
But I am afraid of the absence of a Reaper,
the fact that there is no man like him,
no one that will hold me close
and take me where I need to be; there is
only a tall pine box and dirt and the Conquerer Worm
and the fact that I will become in body
what I have always been in mind:
nobody and nothing at all
to be like this to be like this is
to walk a living death;
or to die again with every inadvertent breath
while rigor mortis petrifies the bones,
useless muscles under pallid flesh,
every breath is slow, is w e a k,
digesting rotten air in
and I can't s p e a k with you
any more than satan speaks with God
I'm too - -
too tired to maintain this
He decorates graves with stolen flowersI watched from nearby.
He was here again, and he was sad. Flowers of all kinds wilted in his grasp. Tighter, tighter he clutched them as tears prickled his eyes.
"You're choking them," I told him, but he didn't listen. He hadn't listened to me in years (though he certainly spoke to me a lot). The flowers' frayed stems told me he hadn't bought these. He never had the money to spare, anyway. I wanted to tell him not to waste his time ripping flowers from the neighbor's garden on my behalf, but it probably wouldn't have stopped him.
He kneeled in the grass. I smiled, though I wanted to cry (and would have, if I could have).
"I'm right here," I whispered. (All he heard was a fluttering leaf in the gentle breeze.)
"These are for you," he said. He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and gently placed the suffocated flowers by my head.
"You crushed them again," I laughed. (All he heard was the creak of the black gate.)
Just as the wind began to pick up, he leaned over and ki
The Traveler and the PoetThere was a poet on the train that evening. At that hour, he was the only one in this car. Only one train ran this late into the night.
(On occasion, it would thunderstorm, and the raindrops pelted the train like a drum. Drrrum, drrrrrrrrum. Accented by the thunder, it was practically a symphony. The poet did like those nights.)
There was a time when the poet could sit alone, gaze out the window, contemplate the darkness. He could dream. He could nightmare.
(His eyes never stopped wandering. In the daytime, they ran to the horizon and back; they skipped among flowers, climbed trees, met new people, greeted old friends, and then returned to their owner on the train. At night, they plunged fearlessly into the abyss, not really looking for anything. And the poet saw everything.)
His alone days came to an end when the words began to overflow. They practically oozed from his pores. They ran from his lips every time he spoke. They graced his ears when he listened. They lived in secret places
My Tin SoldiersIt was a raindrop symphony
Performed on roof shingles,
Accompanied by thunder
And sweet wind chime jingles.
Plagued by monsters behind
Tip-tapping tree fingers,
I fled from my nightmares
Where the real beast lingers.
I ran to my toy chest that
Lay off in the distance
And sought the tin soldiers'
Defense and assistance.
With their tin hands and rifles
They fought off the noises;
The tip-tapping and splish-splashing
And whispering voices.
Battling on the windowsill,
I bundled up with a sigh,
So glad my tin soldiers
Are much braver than I.
MadnessI handed him the "Help Wanted" poster with quivering hands. I needed this job. I screwed up everything, and this was my chance to get back on track. In the silence, my mind wandered, dragging my thoughts to hope for the best. I peered over my glasses at the old man who was scanning my résumé.
At last, he looked up at me and laughed. "No experience?" he asked with his white moustache waggling as he spoke.
I shook my head. "Sorry," I said, a sheepish smile pasted across my face. I couldn't have wiped it away if I tried.
"Good!" cried the old man Alfred.
I heaved a sigh of relief.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Tanith!" I exclaimed, reaching out to shake his trembling hand.
"Not quite yet," Alfred Tanit
Who ate my chocolate icecream!? (Sniper x Reader)You stomp into the living quarters of RED and all 9 men are in here.
They don't notice you walk in, so you throw the empty tub of ice cream down on the ground and men look up from there card game or what ever they where doing.
"WHO DID THIS!?" You scream. You where furious you kept a mini freezer and fridge in your room for a reason.
They all look at you surprised, you where kind of a quiet one but its 'that time of the month again' and you had no more freaking ice cream because of one of these IMBECILES!
"WHO ATE. THE. ONLY. ICE. CREAM. I. HAD. LEFT!? IT'S IN MY ROOM FOR A REASON. IT MEANS NO TOUCHY TOUCHY!"
A few men like Pyro, Heavy, Medic, Solider "Oh no,I am not getting into this mess you finish this" and then Spy left.
"So. Who is it? Hmmm..Was it you scouttt?" you say walking to him. He quickly shakes his head and says "I don't even like chocolate ice cream! I'm out!" He quickly gets up and runs out.
Hmm just Sniper, Engie, Demo (he was passed out in a chair so I guess no him),
Character Development - Zee1.What position does your character sleep in?
Curled around anything and everything she's sleeping with. She's rather clingy in her sleep
2.Does your character have any noteworthy features? Freckles? Dimples? A scar somewhere unusual?
A set of double horns and a long tail being the most noticeable. Other than that, she has piercings: left eyebrow, spetum, right madonna, snake bites, tongue, belly button, and several bone guages through her ears. Runes: A yellow 'X' on her right shoulder, a green Druidic mark on her left shoulder, and an orange heart w/ broken chain on the back of her neck. She's also got tattoos on her face, simple vertical lines under her eyes.
3.Does your character have an accent? What does it sound like?
The barest hint of a Troll accent
4.Do they have any verbal tics? Do they have trouble pronouncing certain words or getting their thoughts across clearly?
she's emotionally crippled in a way, after a lifetime of mental abuse. She's gett
[Hypno/Tickling] The Better CheaterIt was really hard to pick out just who had decided to start cheating first.Of course, mostly likely they both decided they were going to cheat the moment they agreed to have their little contest--the question was who did it first. Like most things, it started out as a simple joke. Tarot had noted that his and Kenny's arms were about the same size...
"So, I guess the python has pythons?" the cocky thief snickered one day, looking over the mass of muscle that was Kenny's left arm.
"Hah-hah--" the naga replied with a faux laugh. "That would actually have been funny if I was a python--unfortunately, I'm a boa. HUGE difference."
"Can't imagine how. Boa's have heads that are different than pythons--but since you've got a human head I'm pretty sure that you couldn't expect anyone to know that." Tarot seemed largely indifferent that his little joke had fallen flat but still didn't seem to lose any of his steam. After their last little encounter, he had found himself spending more time with Ke
[Transformation] The Djinn ForgeThe said it was perhaps one of the oddest and most incredible inventions of magical technology in the history of the Alaghan. A forging together of the engineering of mankind, the magic of the ages and the rituals of the primal past. And while it was more or less lost to the anals of history, Tarot had found it.
The Djinn Forge.
According to the legends, by placing in a series of required offerings to the ancient gods and saying the proper chants at the proper times, one could stand before the alter and the machine would forge together whatever the user asked for, just like a djinn of old. Granted the required offerings was unknown, the time was a mystery and, well--most chalked it up to legends and fairy tales. But it was on such tales that Tarot thrived and so he went about seeking it out all the same.
And he struck the proverbial gold, finally. After some digging and exploring in various temples, he finally found the thing, hidden deep within the deserts just beyond Little Ala-Mhigo
Fragance of the roses“The Fragrance of Roses”
Made by Lynette M. Morel Martínez
Nine kingdoms shared the marvelous garden; four gods and five goddesses ruled their respective lands. One land with a mystical forest was North Lamerica, ruled by Loura, Earth’s spirit; she was a lovely woman, with a long green hair that ended on her waist and was graceful on beauty. She always uses a silky green robe to meditate on North Lamerica’s quiet landscape. The kingdom next from North Lamerica was Uerto Irco, ruled by the god of the wind Ryuk, a quiet, yet nostalgic male. He was a tall man, with a short dark blue hair like the ocean at night, and had clear blue eyes like the sky. His land had a topical touch, with beautiful peach sands and a clear sea. He always used comfortable yet fresh cloths because of the weat
Twenty Word StorySometimes she thought about death and the people it came with. It seemed strange, to be fond of the idea.
© 2014 Marvin E. Fuller
"Thus, the Houyhnhnm beheld the Face of
"M'nemaxa, He Who Gallops the Edge,
"And whinnied their despair to the heavens.
"Madness swept across the land and
"Chaos roiled through the herds.
"Stallion, mare, and foal cast themselves
"Unto the dust and whickered in torment.
"'Is this not the end of days? The final race?
"'Alas! His monstrous countenance!
"'That hideous gaze! That terrible hide!
"'Those abominable teeth and vile claws!'
"Amongst the wailing herds, the sisters trotted
"She Who Races Across the Day,
"She Who Canters Across the Night.
"They beheld the weeping muddying the dust
"And listened to the neighed lamentations.
"She Who Canters Across the Night,
"Grew angry at the madness of the herd
A Walk"For the last time, no."
"Phillip, darling, a little makeover would do you so much good," Rarity told Phillip, who had just happened to be heading the same way as her on the path that day. "And a day at the spa would make you feel so much younger!"
Phillip gave her a sidelong look of confusion. "Why would I want to feel younger? What does that mean?"
"It'd help you to relax, give you more energy," Rarity replied.
"Exercise and music help me to relax, and I don't have to pay an exorbitant fee to do them," Phillip replied.
Rarity had to admit that he did have a point, but she wasn't ready to give up just yet. "But I could really improve your looks! A bit of a trim, some new clothes--maybe a nice suit and a tie, black and dark blue would really go with your eyes--and there could be a very handsome stallion indeed underneath that trilby."
"Rarity, does my physical appearance and how it stacks up to the arbitrary standards of oth
Times the Night (Welcoming)t's been a while since I've played a horror map that just got real...
I was alone checking my messages in my server, that's when I got a message from Bodil... It said,
I wanna tell you about a horror map that was made by an unknown username and I got two invitations for one of my friends, the invitation has my name and your name. We should go! I really wanna check it out!! So would you like to come?
It did seen a bit odd for me but that didn't really bug me, beside I had nothing good to do!
Later that day I when with Bodil, we both wanted to know how we could arrive there but it looked like it was already on.
"I can't wait to see who else is gonna be there!" He said
I looked at him.
"There's gonna be more people?"
"Yea it turns out that there's gonna be a few big minecraft Youtubers there too!"
'Thank Notch were not alone... Something's not right....'
When we got to the server there was a path of red stonetorches, a bedrock path, th
That Christmas EveThere was snow blanketing every inch before us, white and soft while it crunched softly beneath our boots. We sniffled while our noses turned red from the chill, and suddenly everyone could sympathize with Rudolph. Rosy-cheeked children slid past on anything from brand new sledges to garbage can lids, laughing while they spun in the cleanest mess of ice, dodging trees and rocks and patches of dead weeds. It was not a pretty place, and yet it was beautiful, for the evening was beautiful, and the faces were beautiful, and the laughter was Christmas itself.
Father Christmas watched closely by, and a million tongues uttered his name while the sun touched the horizon, and its all-encompassing rays were blotted out by treetops and sticky snowflakes.
You may have caught the sound of bells, had you been standing where I stood on that Christmas Eve. You may have seen a flourish of red in the sky, carried by winter winds and reindeer of fantastic majesty. And you may have, for a moment, believed
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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