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He WavesHe waves. It's a friendly little gesture, almost a two finger salute to an old friend. He's watching you through your window.
The Boy has fine, burnt umber hair that shines like silk in the midmorning sun. It's almost a shame to see it in the unisex, unflattering buzz cut of the OldGens. He is obviously one of them; the OldGens. No self-respecting NewGen would be caught dead in this kind of state muddy face, torn knees, his empty collection sack over his shoulder. It is the NewGens who are expected to keep themselves neat and orderly. They are the only ones for whom it is worthwhile doing so.
As a NewGen child, you have been raised to behave exactly as your parents tell you. And your parents behave the way the GenWatch tells them. But in all your years, the one thing they have not been able to straighten out of you is your curiosity. So you stand up. You leave your desk exactly the way it's not meant to be covered with unfinished homework and you
Wings“You know,” the young man began. “When we first met, I had high hopes for you.
He shook his head slightly, shoulder length hair falling somewhat greasily over his face.
“Such high hopes.”
Nitya could only stare, her dark eyes wide, as he raised the ugly metal gun to aim unwaveringly at her.
“But I guess...I was wrong,” he said sadly.
“I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”
Nitya’s body felt simultaneously hot and cold - her frozen fingers trembled, but the sweat was dripping down the side of her neck even as her heartbeats blurred together in their accelerated rhythm.
Only one word came to her leaden tongue. A name: his.
The young man opposite her sighed softly. For a moment his gaze wandered to the orange horizon beyond the barren cliff’s sudden drop, and a ghost of the old half-smile showed on his lips.
“I thought I could teach you,” he said. “Change you. Show you the trut
The LetterThe letter was the smallest money could buy, but to Allen it felt much, much lighter. Rather than burning a hole in his pocket, or weighing it down like lead, the almost imperceptible weight left him paranoid, constantly sliding his hand inside his jacket to check that it was still there.
He felt ridiculous, meandering the empty sidewalk at a quarter to nine in the evening, still dressed in his black pinstriped work suit. His hand floated out of his jacket, and fumbled with the already perfect knot of his green satin tie - a gift from his girlfriend, and patterned with four leaf clovers. It was the one that made his co-workers laugh, and tell him with a playful wink that if it were not for his gravity defying black hair and dark almond eyes, they might have taken him for an Irishman.
Allen knew it was silly, but he had quite taken to the tie, and it had now been completely integrated into his courtroom routine.
Perhaps it had been overkill to begin the morning with not only his shamroc
Style testAs far as Min could tell from halfway across the room, the boy in the bed looked a little less dead than he had ten minutes ago.Style test by ResidentBrain
Only a little, though. Noah's skin still resembled the inside of a wilted cabbage and the whites of his eyes were still dull beneath half-closed lids. Most importantly, he still wasn't breathing.
The thought crossed Min's mind that if the boy didn't wake up in the next few hours then moving him would become a struggle. No one ever knew when the rigor would set in; avoiding the civilian population was paramount. Not to mention that this was Noah's first proper Death. They were a very personal thing, Deaths. Without any prior practice of putting yourself back together, it was easy to get a little lost along the way.
Min vaguely remembered having learned that lesson the hard way. Something to do with a tank and mud sucking at his favorite pair of boots; not that it mattered. It doesn't take long to acquaint oneself with the complete blackness inside your skull,
Back to SchoolFrom her seat at the front of the room, the clock was directly behind her. She would not have guessed that from the ticking. It seemed to be emanating from her own inner ear, and slower than the calmest of heartbeats. It was difficult to resist the string between her eyes and the hands that drew her around in her chair. Only the wandering spectacles from the desk ahead kept her pinned. Instead, she tapped her shoe. Tapped, and brooded.Back to School by ResidentBrain
Tables shook with burning rubber. Muzzles twitched as lead rasped. Phlegm-filled throats choked to clear themselves - once, twice, three times too many. It was the symphony of quiet work time, and one that had long lost any novelty it may have held. So oppressive in its bleakness, that even the layer of banal chatter that stayed in the mind like the afterglow of a bare light bulb during normal working hours was preferable. At least then she could blend into the noise. Allow it to drone on around her and fill the space that she would not. Hide in it from
|Don't forget to check out my scrapbook!|
|Jack of all trades right here.|
I write, paint, photograph, doodle, and sometimes try my hand at digital art,
so what you see isn't all that you get.
Please take a look around!
Working on an extended project right now. Draft 1 currently complete with chapters 1-6 posted on dA for anyone interested in the concept; editing in progress.
|...gawd, why do my most lame favorites always end up appearing here?!|
But seriously, I don't favorite in any particular direction - be it spectacular canvases of artwork (both digital or physical), cute little pixel animations, imaginative literature or anything else dA offers, if it speaks to me, you'll find it in my favorites.