|Don't forget to check out my scrapbook!|
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
|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.
Eye ContactHold these thoughtsEye Contact by FallingAsleepTonight
You are a
You are waiting
for the flowers
to murder you.
You are drugged up
on mental chemicals.
You are lonely.
You are every dark secret
every act of kindness.
You are nothing
But do not believe for a second
that you are a ghost,
drunk on freedom.
The woman with the stroller
The man rubbing his glasses
with his mouth half open
and the white-knuckled toy
and watch as if
the whole world were new
and a man who could pass through
walls and skin
was something special
and worth attention.
Drag You To Hell Stiletto knives coated in jealousyDrag You To Hell by RavenXNevermore
Are sharper than my forked tongue;
I am ready for you, this time,
And the next steps you dance
Will be in secret, with Hades' wife.
We'll start off slowly, one step at a time.
I'll smile, and whisper my lies. I'll draw you close to me,
And hold you one last time. You do not smell the scent of
Pure envy, for the scent of her perfume is much stronger.
I'll take a step toward you
And whisper my venom into your ears.
You'll hunger for more, until I end it
Abruptly, with a sudden step backward,
And a deceitful and depraved smile.
You'll miss me. The taste of me on your lips,
My smell, the way I feel under your fingers
You will crave me. You may beg for me, and
Reach for me, but it will be too late. I will be beyond
Your reach, and your only company will be the souls
Of the dead.
These lost souls will mock you
like fiendish friends,
gossiping in the dark.
Ignore AdviceWrite ten bad poems.Ignore Advice by FallingAsleepTonight
Write one hundred
Write and drink.
Keep a notebook with you,
write in public
and make sure that others
know that you are, in fact,
Write a love poem,
then throw it away
because all the good ones
have already been read.
write about the decision
instead of the feeling.
Write one sentence
say to yourself that
this is it, THIS is IT.
and tell yourself that again.
|...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.