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Rose Scented Ashes III - SchoolFast forward a few years...
Daniel was now about four, five years old, and getting ready for his first day of school, of Kindergarten. His mother had recently suffered another bout of infuriation toward Valance, who had made one remark about "What happens if the other children find out Daniel's partly plant?" Apparently, she had assumed he meant to reveal it to the other kids, and instantly snapped, chucking a vase at his head, and - thankfully - missing.
Suppose she really didn't want me to have any part in his life, Valance thought as he leaned back in the chair at his desk, reading by the sunlight, slate-violet eyes not really seeing the words on the page in front of him. Not beyond giving him a name - which she has probably already claimed as something she thought of anyway. No, not probably, he already knew as much from the whisperings he tuned in on.
As he listened to the tumult outside of his door, of the babysitter attempting to get the rowdy young c
I'm Sorry, Do Remind MeI think at this point in time, it's good to fade into the background of the world again.
Many times, all day today, I have been tripping on my proverbial two left feet.
Stumbling over words I normally can speak without even a stutter from my lips.
Of all the people and friends I mess up with, why is it some of the closest ones?
Remind me why I don't return to my life of a writer's solitude?
Remind me why I cling to those I care for when those same hands shatter bonds?
You might have an answer. So please. Do remind me.
612"Number 611, please step forward!"
The queue shifted, a wave of murmurs washing past us, parting various lips and hitting us like a wall. The sound of shifting echoed in the silent, large arena we stood in. People gazed down at their upturned arms, were black numbers blared at them, drawn into their flesh in the earliest years of life.
"Number 611, please step forward!"
The woman who cried it through the microphone, a lady in a suit too tight for her body, the buttons bursting around her breasts, spoke with pursed lips, her voice raising and cracking at the last syllable of 'forward.' She reminds me of a woman from a movie, long ago. A movie of witches, black fire, and a Halloween night no child would forget. A movie of the ancient times, only read about in this day and age. Though as I watched her before me, her ravenous eyes gazing over our crowd, I couldn't help but think that for doing this, she probably was a witch.
Far more heinous.
"Number 611, please-"
"All right, all ri
Rose Scented Ashes I - NamesValance gazed at the tiny bundle in his mother's arms, swathed in a green blanket smelling entirely of a sweet rosy aroma, burning his sensitive nose and nearly setting off his gag reflex. "How did you..." he asked softly, his fingers twitching. He wanted to touch the small baby bundle in her arms, cradled so delicately, but even at three hundred and thirty years of age... Valance didn't know his strength as a vampire.
"The lady of the lake," she responded in kind, settling her weary body down in a small rocking chair, and bouncing the little bundle in her arms, cooing at it, and smiling at the tiny laugh issued. Valance restrained a small twitch of annoyance at this exchange, his mind picking that moment in time to remind him that she never treated you this way.
He'd been a mistake, turned by her and her husband one fateful bloodthirsty night, biting him at his elbows. Humane vampires were born when bitten in a place aside from the neck and wrist, and while th
Rose Scented Ashes IV - Opinion"What's your opinion of the Bloodseeker?"
Violet eyes glanced up above the book he head in the light of the room, to the new occupant. How surprising, Valance mused, before he looked back to the printed words on the paper. No longer did he read for enjoyment; suddenly focusing on these words turned into an exercise. A chore. Ignore the man in the doorway, the one who the world proclaimed as his "father". Who changed him. Who hated him.
Ignore. Ignore, ignore, ignore.
"Valance, did you hear me?"
"Of course I did."
"Are you going to answer?"
Valance's silence was answer enough, and with an annoyed click of the tongue, the other male left, slamming the door shut behind him. Unfortunately, the sudden silence still offered no peace, and tension refused to remove itself from the red haired vampire's shoulders. Forgetting what was even occurring in the book at the moment, he snapped it shut, and tapped it against his head.
Of course he knew why he was asked such a question. He knew exa
It seems to be a bit of a big factor in my life right now, both in my own personal life and the life of those close to me.
In fact, it seems a factor in everyone’s lives. It’s almost like, a rite of passage. A test to prove you’re alive.
I’ve definitely had my share of regretful moments (in fact, I’d argue I’ve had more than my fair share). They knock me down a peg, which is good, because I get the feeling if I had much self- worth I would be a bitch . My most humbling experiences come from my love life, however.
Now, before you go thinking this is just another piece of teenage angst where I talk about how poorly I was treated or how poorly I treated my significant others… well it’s not. Truth is we’re both to blame in all cases. They were selfish jerks who were insensitive to my lack of experience in the dating area (and two of them didn’t have much experience themselves), and I suffered from a
3.14The boy sat on the edge of the wooden pier shivering as the ocean that once hugged him tightly dripped off his body in disgust, leaving only a thin layer of green sludge between his skin and the crisp air around him. The smell of dead fish rose out of the ocean grave and wrapped around him until his nose could no longer smell it at all. As the sun left the hazy blue sky, he watched the boisterous boats tread further into the ocean until they were eaten whole by the horizon. His stomach bubbled, gurgling as if to imitate a toddler drowning.
“You. Your shift’s been outta here for an hour,” a man, dressed in rubber rain clothes and black boots said. “We don’t pay ya to loiter after your deed is done.”
“You don’t pay me at all,” Pi mumbled, directing his eyes away from the murky green water and towards the man’s agitated eyes. “What? You don’t.”
“I pay ya plenty,” the man sneered, “for a rat-bo
MasqueradeShe glides into the room,
Her crimson dress flowing.
Body engulfed in a sweet perfume,
Only half of her face showing.
The candles flicker,
Bowing down as she passes.
Heartbeats become quicker,
Every man's affection she amasses.
Her discomfort begins to tell,
For she is not all that she seems.
To herself she has said farewell,
Haunted by the world of dreams.
Behind the mask lies the pain,
The sharp feeling of regret.
Her composure she must maintain,
Try to forgive and forget.
It swallows you whole,
Exceeds your control.
Apprehends your soul,
Until it has taken its toll.
It’s an overwhelming feeling.
That is made to be appealing
And you can’t help revealing,
The doubts you are concealing.
It’s an undefined dimple
And a well known jingle.
But only when you are single
Does it all seem so simple.
It is one of life’s many gifts,
That empowers and uplifts
And can lead you adrift.
Should you miss your shift.
It is impossible to describe it.
It is impossible to fight it.
Because once it is ignited
And once you have tried it.
It will take your independence.
You will become used to its presence.
You will become addicted to its essence
And include it at the end of your every sentence.
It exists even in the hearts of its haters.
It is a taste even they will savour
And although its duration wavers.
There will never be a feeling that is greater.
Everything I have said and more.
I am merely repeating what you already know.
Real You and Fake MeReal You and Fake Me
Who are you? Is that something you can really answer? Throughout your nomadic existence you could never truly answer that question. You are like clay; you can mold yourself into whatever you please in order to fool the common masses. I envy that power of yours. You make yourself flawless, proper, and intelligent. Without effort you can put anyone into your indefinite maze of shape and size. As someone such as myself, I can’t fathom the mysteries within that sealed heart of yours. Can you be someone real anymore? Continuously molding yourself must be tiring… and painful. Even when you do this, your ever changing personally always draws the undesirables out. Is that a good thing? I suppose it is. As you have lost the will to carry on with humanity, you’ve lost the twinkle of your heart. The love of humanity you once held dear has ceased before it began, and you were in pain even before you knew what that was.
Who am I? I can’t answer that any
Who Has to Know? Chapter 8Tom's head shot up and he rubbed his eyes. There was no snow anymore and there were other people coming into the café. He wiped up the drool on the counter and pulled out his phone. It was nearly 7 in the morning and the sun was rising quickly.
Tom thanked the lady behind the counter and she said something about him freezing to death as he ran out of the café.
He sprinted down the cold ever busying streets as fast as he could without running into people. When he got to Liam's flat he was out of breath as he opened the front door.
He walked as quietly as possible into the kitchen only to find Liam at the kitchen table, eating breakfast.
"Dammit you," He said, at that Liam's head whipped around.
"What?" Liam said innocently with a scared undertone.
"I was going to make you breakfast," Tom said kissing Liam's forehead sweetly, still partially out of breath.
"Well I woke up and you weren't homehere. You weren't here " Liam said taking a bite of pancake.
Tom smiled at L
SleepThere once was a little girl.
She dreamed about a little boy.
He was nice to her,
not like the others.
He didn’t run away from her,
afraid of her overbearing personality.
He didn’t laugh and make fun of her
for the little extra weight she had on.
And they held hands and laughed.
And she woke up and realized it
was only a dream.
And she couldn’t remember his face.
And she couldn’t remember his name.
All she knew was her hand felt
But she went to school the next day and smiled
and played with her friends,
and ignored the other boys,
and forgot her hand was empty.
The little girl grew up a little bit.
She went to middle school.
And she met this boy again,
and he was unlike the others,
and they laughed,
and maybe even kissed (only once).
And they held hands when no one was looking,
and laughed a lot.
And she woke up and realized it
was only a dream.
And she couldn’t remember his face.
And she couldn
StressThe invisible force that drives me crazy,
Until I am tempted to be a lazy,
Bum for the rest of my long little life,
And not have to deal with such pitiful strife.
Maybe I need to get away for a while,
Away from this huge, gigantic pile,
Of crap that takes my life from me,
And says it’ll come back with no guarantee.
I wish I could rid myself of this thing,
That completely strips me of everything,
Oh, how much easier my life would be,
If I didn’t have to deal with this agony.
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More