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She always rubs her mouth,
like there’s a secret she can’t say out loud.
Tracing her own lips to prevent a smile, a frown, or a tear.
Sometimes her real smile peeks through, but you can only see it in her squinted almond eyes; dark amber, and soft, just like that bashful grin.
Sometimes a frown shows when no one is looking, followed by a wistful sigh and a simple wipe of the palm across that silent mouth, trying to push the bad feelings and words away.
Sometimes tears roll past her knuckles; she fails to catch them at the source because she’s scared to wipe her eyes raw, so she brushes them away after they’ve fall
paris and troy When she met him, he had a ring around his finger that he never took off. When she realized it was etched into his skin, ink as permanent as his existence, she asked if he was married. He laughed.
The ink said "Helen," woven into a ring by his knuckle, and he told that Helen was the love of his life. She wanted to be jealous, she wanted to feel resentful, but he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hair while he told her the story of Helen, Queen of Mycenaean Sparta, and a love so fierce that Paris fought a war to keep her.
"So many things in life are mediocre," he told her while her fingers traced the tattoo. "Helen reminds me that lov
Summer SalutationsEyes open, blooming flowers as the sun sets the sky on fire and burns away all traces of that damp, grey, world caught in between yesterday's end and today's beginning.
Shout with joy all you that are green and growing, all who shake off with gladness your pale night's wrappings and raise your selves in the most ancient salute to the beginning of long days of light and life.
Send skywards your tears, your cold nightly sweat, the sticky beads of dew still clinging to your outstretched hands, reminding you of the dead world before and keeping the hot light from pouring into your eager cupped palms and dancing across your starving skin. Let it
the butterflyYou sit down in a cornfield a golden ocean surrounds you.
When the wind blows, he creates waves and dishevels your hair.
It smells like summer. It is Julie and the sun burns, the clouds are gone.
The yesterdays rain dried already and so the nature, reborn, after the long winter feels fresh and new.
Birds are twittering.
You smile and stretch your arms as high as you can.
Suddenly something lands on your fingertip.
It is a butterfly!
With a colour like a piece of the sky.
Softly, slowly it moves his wings to tank the heat.
He did just escape his homely safe cocoon and is fragile as a new bourn baby.
You don't dare to breath.
SkyHunterLet me get one thing out of the way right now.
I do not have a latex fetish.
Or a rubber fetish, or a vinyl fetish. Nothing like that. I had a girl ask me that the other day. I was working, bagging groceries at this little store on Beacon. She noticed my yellow-white gloves and she asked me did I have a fetish for latex. I blinked, and told her no, I didn’t, it was because of a condition. She told me that it was okay if I called it a condition, that other people liked it too and that it was a normal part of being human. She then told me that she was more of a bondage person.
Her mother’s face ran scarlet.
There were days when
Haunted"I'm sorry," she says softly. The sky is black above, speckled and marred by the bright scattered peaks of stars. An empty field stretches out from her on all sides, grass swaying softly back and forth in the breeze. The horizon is a flat plane in the distance.
She's all alone, but she doesn't feel like she is. She can feel the spirits all around her, filling up the field and then reaching up into the sky. She can hear their voices, quiet and stuttered as they are.
"--John? John, where--"
"--I just need to tell her--"
"--have you seen--"
"--Alice, can you hear me? Can you--"
All of them are looking for someone; a child, a lover, a friend.
"I'm so sorry," she murmurs to them once more. "I didn't mean to bring you back. I thought it would be better for you this way."
They can't hear her.
She covers her face in her hands, weeping for the lost souls she pulled back from death.
"--I just want to see her--"
"--Is anyone here?! I can't--"
"--where are they--"
The girl beg
I am an artist.
I feel the need to create.
I explore the feeling.
Yet creation is impossible. The colors splashed onto a canvas are but colors; they need to be saturated, pumped with the essence of something.
Words do not add the necessary element. They only waste ink and space. They are clutter.
Even sounds and motion and dance do not breathe anything more than dimensions. How can these things ever become more than the
sluggishly industrious blood of the artist? How can they become thoughts, ideas, suspended but flapping dusty wings
gently, how can art be more than residue?
Images, material, sex, honesty, tears, purgative, travel, touch, music, struggle, nature, fear, depression, consumption, money, rags, paint,
libraries, machines, schooling, risk
Midnight ramblings of an old manThe stars tonight hide behind the clouds. To think I would miss their glow as I do now. Tonight I wonder, had they even existed in the first place? I know that I have seen them for twenty-five thousand days, and their light had never faltered. Now, they were only gone for a night but why is it that I think every single star in the universe were just an illusion, that there were no such entities that burnt, fissioned to produce light and heat? Even the Sun which I cannot see in the dark night sky, one which held us so close and nurtured dearest Earth which in turn nurtured us; us who have been leeching off of our Mother.
What horrible children we are. To use Mother to our advantage through sucking her life blood. Soon enough we might not be able to see our Grandmother through the dust in our eyes. We become cold and shiver in the darkness, again using Mother's blood to keep warm and produce light, to see again and to advance further. Slowly Mother dies, painfully and sadly. Poor old Gra
The Parable of the Small Man Once upon a time, in a peaceful village, there lived a man. He was small of heart and lived by himself. He was not a learned man, only a simple farmer. In this village there also lived a nobleman who had many riches yet was very generous. In his great generosity, he invited the small man to a wondrous banquet.
Now the small man was very doubtful of himself as a person. He thought to himself, “I am but a simple farmer, and I have never been to any banquets, great or small; I would not know how to act in front of this nobleman or his other honored guests.”
As he left his home, he saw the herder of the
Timemare“I’ll start with a knight.”
“I’ll go with a bishop then.”
“And now for the pawn.”
“In the end, aren’t they all?”
Quiet chuckling from both parties.
The setting sun highlighted the sky with colors that don’t exist. The plot of earth a thousand meters below bustled with life, if it can be called that. Here today, dead tomorrow. As with all reality.
The skyscraper overlooked the city. A city of a thousand names, from a thousand eras. It suited her, she who stood at the top of the skyscraper. A figure that could not be described, an impossible voice, and sorrow inexplicable.
Momentum"today I just want to be a housewife. I guess somewhere in the French Province. My only worries are to look pretty and prepare a nice tasty dinner when he comes back home. While I can hear him approaching the entrance door, I am sitting at the balcony's window with a glass of wine, red wine, smelling the breeze. "I am back!" He shouted after he entered. I smiled. I knew he reached before his actual shout. He smiled. He knew I am at the balcony waiting for the sound of his keys. And so the day became wonderful. We both knew. Yet, those unspoken thoughts, the unspoken knowledge, triggered this unspoken wonder."
EventuallyIn the cruelty of time, memories lost to the emptiness of the ever stretching void are the unmistakable whispers of weeping. A child runs through the marbled corridor, tears streaming down her face as she runs without hesitation, not checking to see where she was heading. The thunder storms gather, the last bellowing of battle drums before the great plunge in to the dance of war. Lightning strikes the cold earth sparking vicious fires and shrouds of ash and smoke. Lungs begin to shrink, the very oxygen becoming sparser and sparser as carbon dioxide envelops the atmosphere, coating the once blue sky in misty red pigment. Volcanoes tower above
I wish I were a writer.I wish I were a writer.
Transcendent rosy moonlight would fall from my lips. Not this damned spew of blue ink and charred feathers. I'll carry my sticks through with me. They're all I have. Each one knotted and scarred with my twisted melancholy memories. A starving artist, penniless poet. No chance. I remember the time I opened the gilt gold cage. I have no desire for birds, but birds desire the wind the clouds desire birds. They laugh as the clouds fail to catch them. The fat ruby stared, starred, crusted. All I need is the night, sat dulcet on a frosty park bench, the glittering of morn guiding my hands to weave dusky, fine yarns of words
Visionary-CreepypastaI'm a visionary, you see. My ideas will save the world from an enemy, such a foul and lecherous breed. You can't even fathom the madness and depravity of these creatures... Well, I'm going off on a tangent, allow me to explain before you ignore me like all the other doomed fools.
Although they wear the mask of a civilised man, make no mistake, they are monsters born from your worst nightmares. They'll look at, no, they'll analyse you with their beady little rat eyes whilst they claw at your skin with their gnarled talons. They really are barbaric little parasites that root themselves into our society like a blasted weed, and they stick their
Destani: A letter This is for you. The only reason I am writing this is because I am fairly certain that you will never read this, that I will need pluck up the courage from within me to show you this. Yes, I am a coward but only because my greatest fear is that you will openly reject my love for you.That is something that I simply would not be able to cope with. It would destroy me from the inside out. Yes I am weak but this has always been so.
I am not angry that you have moved on. That you have found another to hold you and speak words of love to you. To listen to you when something troubles you. To tell that it is going to be ok. To take you to to the movies. To laugh and cry with you. To watch you grow and go through your life. To say I love you. To do all the things I wish that I could do.
I didn't really expect for you to still love me after all the time. Yes you that you do but I am not so sure. How can you love me and and him both? You will read that
The Sweetest AngelBy chicky-the-dragon.deviantart.com
The Sweetest Angel #Candlelight-Writers Prompts
Castiel loved his brothers and sisters in Heaven. It was his duty to do so and protect all that was right with the world despite the apocalypse...
He was sent to guide Dean Winchester to tell him of his fate and duty to Heaven but then he got roped into the reality of the world and he questioned his feuding family's intentions for the planet.
Castiel sided with the Winchesters, putting himself in danger to protect humankind. He knew that something was amiss and would do anything to protect his friends and get his angelic family to accept th
Vampires Charm...By chicky-the-dragon.deviantart.com
Vampires Charm They Can't Love You #Candlelight-Writers Prompts
Forget for one moment that you are looking at something vaguely human. Why are they really trying to charm you?
It is an act a façade of fortune a creature of the night that plays cat and mouse with its prey.
It has fangs, it is like a snake trying to seduce you into its jaws... the bottom line is that it is thirsty and wants to drain your blood!
A sharp, pointy stick through the heart (a stake) is enough to kill it, and sunlight burns it to dust... Once it is gone, it cannot come back, especially if it is deca
Beware the MoonlightBy chicky-the-dragon.deviantart.com
Beware the Moonlight #Candlelight-Writers Prompts
A full moon in the sky spells trouble for anyone around this person...
Just hope that you're miles away for the beast within that man is bursting out full-on primal instincts ravenously hungry because its human form doesn't sustain enough food for the agonising transformation.
It is a terrifying monster, one that sends birds fluttering into the skies, fearful for their lives...
The beast this werewolf no longer differentiates friend from foe. No. All it sees is its next meal.
But once the moon descends from the sky and t
Longing For SummerBy chicky-the-dragon.deviantart.com
Longing For Summer #Candlelight-Writers Prompts
Those who hate winter long for summer where the glorious ball of gas in the sky rules over all, providing us with the heat and nutrients we need to thrive on this planet.
A summer where we can hang out with friends without slipping on ice and when we generally get to feel better about ourselves.
It's a time to wear lighter clothes, suntan lotion and hats (I can't stand hats) but generally you can get away without wearing a coat.
Luckily if we get a few consecutive days in a row without worrying about rain you rarely escape the rain in England! I
Flowers of FriendshipBy chicky-the-dragon.deviantart.com
Flowers of Friendship #Candlelight-Writers Prompts
A bouquet of flowers in a vase by the door. Nothing special about them in particular just some decorative gifts that make a person feel special regardless of the cost.
These flowers don't tend to live for very long, even with specially formulated plant food to sustain them, but they offer something wonderful to the person they are given to.
Are they a get-well gift, a leaving present or a simple message of 'I care about you'?
It doesn't matter.
It's the thought that counts.
Zutara: Liquid FireBy chicky-the-dragon.deviantart.com
Zutara: Liquid Fire #Candlelight-Writers Prompts
Katara finished washing her hair and exited the bathroom in a large, blue bath towel. She quietly walked down the hall, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the floor.
After a few minute she stopped and knocked on a bedroom door. She pushed her sopping wet hair behind her ear and smiled when the door opened.
'Hello, Zuko,' Katara said in a seductive way, wrapping her arms around his neck.
The prince of the Fire Nation gaped in shock and pulled her into his bedroom quickly, pointedly slamming the door shut behind them.
'Katara! What are you doing?' h
A Knife in a Thief's PocketBy chicky-the-dragon.deviantart.com
A Knife in a Thief's Pocket #Candlelight-Writers Prompts
I spend most of my life here, in the pocket of this small-time thief. I rarely ever get to come out and it's not exactly the nicest pocket to reside in, is it?
Dirt, lint, chewing gum, empty wrappers, bus tickets and other random crap makes up my living space.
I think I was only ever used once, and that was to cut open a packet of cheese real threatenin' not... That being said, I'd rather cut open a packet of cheese than be plunged into somebody's gut!
If I'm not in his pocket, I'm sometimes taken out to lie on his bed or
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`ChewedKandi has certainly gone out of her way to keep the vector community on the right path. Always making sure that her talents are infinitely scalable, Sharon has put her bezier curves to excellent use, and firmly anchored herself as an inspirational leader. We're absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for June 2013 to `ChewedKandi. Congratulations, Sharon! Read More