That innocent giggle I've known all your life
washes away all the worry and frustration.
It leaves only the sunshine on your hair
and the twinkling smile in your eyes.
BlameLove is what I felt, in the Summer past.Blame by Fe0
But it is so confusing, it happened all so fast.
We met June 1st in Drama Class, he wanted to be an actor.
He really wasn't all that good, but his looks were a huge factor.
All Summer long we kissed, held & cared for one another.
All I cared about was him, ignoring warnings from my Mother.
Did he truly love me; Did I really care?
Are the feelings real, or am I walking on air?
Summer is gone now; and my questions stay the same.
Did he give up, did I let go; I don't know who is to blame.
Was there anything to begin with, was it all just lies.
Does he care when I scream, do I care when he cries?
When will my questions have answers, are there any answers at all?
Why is everything different now, as we enter Fall?
I remember all the loving, all the laughter, all the fun.
I know how it all left us, setting alongside the sun.
To get those feeling back, there is nothing I would not do.
But I cannot do it without him, and of his feelings I have n
Letter to a loved one, on losing a loved one.I want to tell youLetter to a loved one, on losing a loved one. by trembling-knees
that this grief is temporary,
that even if you feel lost,
you are not a ship adrift
without a crew.
But darling, grief still
sits heavy on my tongue and
I will not lie to you.
[Grief gathers at the back
of my mouth and renders me useless
on days that feel like the day
she died, my limbs heavy,
my heart sore.]
Instead I am going to tell you
that grief is not the last thing
you will ever feel;
there will still be
rumpled sheets and lazy smiles,
your fingers will still find
my naked waist beneath the blankets
and mine will still fit neatly between
the knobs of your spine.
We will still drink too much coffee,
smoke too many cigarettes, and love with
urgency but not with haste.
I will sit with your grief,
as you have sat with mine and
we will be okay.
The EndThe EndThe End by Che-Crawford
Through the matted haze
A silhouette, man or monster?
Are you there?
A trick of blackened mind?
You’d think my intended liberation cruelly selfish.
You’d ask -
What of the children? What of you? What of us?
These come as gifts to cling to.
I try to tell you.
I walk on the edge of an abyss.
But I am ignorant of it.
I am a fool to feel safe. A fool, unaware.
I walk for a while, and everything is okay.
There’s a path I follow, it leads straight, it seems wide.
The abyss always looms and I have to notice it.
It’s always waiting now. Always in the corner of my mind.
I trick myself sometimes into thinking it’s not there.
I distract myself along the path.
But one little stumble, the smallest of stones, and I am falling into it.
To start with I can catch myself, and drag myself back up.
Always I fall a little further.
Until one day I fall in completely.
I hit the depths and my body shatters.
The pain renders me incapable.
The darkness and fog
Cheap VodkaAaron was gulping down his anger with cheap vodka, hiding from the world to drown in his self-induced sorrows. It was a routine, at times – fighting then drinking, drinking then fighting. It was as if he wanted it to happen. Today was no different, and the tears that ran down my face were a testament to how the day had gone. I had been beaten down by resentment; disgraced for having an opinion. I knew, at this moment, he hated me. And yet, I loved him. Don’t ask me how or why, but I did, and I wanted to marry him for some god-forsaken reason.Cheap Vodka by PennedinWhite
We had been together for over two years, and I felt it was time to make that commitment. The night I brought it up, he began ranting at me again. He asked me "what difference would it make for us" and "why should we pay for something that wouldn't affect the nature of our relationship?" I couldn’t tell him, I didn’t want to tell him. I wanted to be myself again; not living in worry about losing him to someone else because I
Mischief Mini Contest EntryAnd if sometimes, we push to the edge of our seat
barely holding on, in the unrest of the disorder, regarding
what we had done, waiting momentarily for the end
for what would become of us and others,
till other people choke on expensive wine,
snickers of the escapade, Mocking jabs at what
had happened and what will emerge
Inky Mischief 1She came home from the marketplace grinning and showing off her new find, a pen with a glowing blue tip. As she demonstrated it on her sketchbook, it left glowing trails behind, and the tree she was drawing grew into the air, solid and real with paper for bark.
I stared in wonder, grinning as she turned toward me, brandishing the glowing device. A glowing blade from the back of the pen flicked through my shoulder, and my arm flickered into blueness then vanished. “Am I dependent on your artistic skills to return to normal?”
As she drew arcing lines away from my empty shoulder she grinned mischievously. “Who said anything about normal?”
'Come play with me!'"Adara, this is serious, put down the wand." The witch strained to put every dram of urgency and authority she possessed into her voice, despite the already ridiculous situation. Her formal robes had been changed to an improbably frilly dress in an eye-watering rainbow of jarring hues, the humble cupboard that normally stored jars of preserves had burst open, innumerable candies and confections spilling onto the floor, and the cottage itself was lurching in a regular rhythm as it soared over the countryside on the beats of immense sparrow's wings. She could never have imagined a child so young would immediately establish such a powerful rapport with the World-Tree's Splinter, and it augured amazing things for her niece's future...but all that mattered right now was getting the Splinter out of her hands before she did something that might be genuinely irreparable.
"Silly auntie, not done witching yet," exclaimed the four-year-old, laughing delightedly at the jux
Mrs. Abignale's Apple PieDear Mrs. Abignale, we're sorry for stealing your apple pie on our way to school
and for lighting your robe on fire
so that you were already half-naked when you were only halfway down the street
even as the postman and the pastor were making their rounds
as well as for stealing more apples from your yard when you were thusly indisposed.
We are especially sorry and take full responsibility
for causing you to have that fatal heart attack, in front of the baker's shop
which happened to have more people queuing than usual, we recall, on that particular morning.
On that note, we are also terribly sorry for not being more knowledgeable about first aid
and the finesses of heart massage techniques.
It may not change anything, Mrs. Abignale, but we would like to formally apologise for the above
and for all the other pies which we have pilfered over the course of the last school year.
We hope life in Heaven treats you well.
Perhaps it will please you, Mrs. Abignale
Boo!Spikey came barrelling through the darkened living room like a bat out of hell. I screamed, simultaneously standing, sending the rocking-chair sailing backward. In Spikey's mouth, or stuck to his body, was something with which he wrestled and jerked.
On television, Michael Myers' sister let out a series of blood curdling screams; I screamed in response! The sister crawled bloodied, down the hallway on her stomach, in a desperate attempt to get away from him. Michael pursued her steadily, unmercifully, while at the same time, Spikey took off again out the opened back door, screeching in that sick way unique only to cats; my heart pounding wildly from the sheer surprise of it all.
Mice on sticky paper, opened back doors, curious stray cats, and horror movies; make for hair-raising mischief!
Home-Maid CookiesMary M. the Merry Maid had been working for a nice family known as the Persons for 2 weeks now. The Persons were well known for their bakery where they sold tasty treats. But one day, when Marry M. Was mopping the floor (with merry joy) the Persons walked in and told her to bake some special cookies for the Halloween party and they gave her the recipe. Marry decided to play a little joke on them, so she called her friend and told her the plan. A few weeks later, on Halloween, Marry's friend, Macy, brought the cookies with a secret ingredient not in the recipe (DUN DUNN DUUUUUUNNNNN)! When the guest at the party ate them, something strange happend, as they were not expecting body parts in there cookies along with pieces of a black and white dress. The next day, Marry M. Was calling Macy if the prank worked out well, which it did .
Drunk December MischiefI spent what little afternoon exists this late in the year barreling through white wine after white wine until well after the sun went down. As the moon came up, I started doodling on cocktail napkins my drunken approximation of what I remembered of Wiles' proof of Fermat's Last Theorem. Somehow this led to a fistfight, I think due to my disparagement of humanities degrees and/or of COBOL, and now that's a bar I'm no longer welcome at, so I headed for the next one. As I did, I swore to complete the degree I drank myself out of so long ago if it took every penny I could steal, even though I knew and know there's little point at my age. A storm boiled up, so I danced through taunting the lightning, a display in retrospect unwise, not due to any god's fury, but due to it costing me service at the second bar. Now miles from home and unwilling to walk to the next bar down in the rain, I went instead to the apartment of an old "friend," in whose bed the wine whi
If this month's prewriting project was preparation for NaNoWriMo, this To Do List is what you need to do during October!
All entries in the contest must be new and made just for this contest!
Prose only, dears. I'm sorry. My poetry heart is just not beating today.
All entries must be posted to DA and a thumb or link dropped as a comment in this journal before midnight on October 3rd. Otherwise it turns into a pumpkin and I don't know that language.
Entries must abide by the theme and length restrictions or will be immediately disqualified.
Only one entry per deviant and don't go using alt accounts. I WILL KNOW!
No cheating. On other occasions I will condone it, but not this one.
Every entrant must write their entry with a Jameson bottle balanced on their head.
Okay, that last one wasn't really real. You don't have to write with Jameson bottle on your head, but will get kudos and bonus points if you do!