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103 Words - Why Can't We Know These Things?What do colors sound like?
Are they high like a soprano?
Or low like an alto?
Does velvet have a scent?
Is it a lily or a rose?
As sweet as when the summer wind blows?
What would all the sweet tastes feel like?
Are they soft and nice to touch?
Or… Not so much?
Does music have a taste?
I hope it tastes like cake
Or something else a chef would bake.
Ever wondered what the sweetest smells look like?
Does a rose’s scent look like a flower?
Or something with a bit more power?
And why can’t we know these things?
Off With 142's Head“Alice?” I hear Boss call from outside my room. Get up. Open door.
“Can I help you?” Good. Asked properly.
“Patient 146 would like some company.”
146. That’s around the corner. “Okay.” I close my door, lock it, and tuck the key that’s on a necklace under my shirt. My room is 138. 139. 140. 141. 142. 143. 144. 145. There it is. 146. Great. I knock a couple times, then say, “It’s me, Alice. Want some company?” Room 146 is a “Closure” room, which means the person inside is immobile for her safety. So I enter because she won’t be able to answer.
“Alice,” 146 whispers. I don’t remember her name. I just call each patient by their room number. So do the doctors. “Alice, they’re coming. It’s coming…”
146 is in a straightjacket on her bed. And by “bed” I mean
Ramblings of the CrazyWhere are you?
Why did you leave?
Why aren't you here anymore?
I know where you are.
Why won't you come out?
Why won't you say hello anymore?
Please come out.
Please say something.
I don't want to have to hurt you.
But you won't come out.
I asked you politely.
Next time I won't be so polite.
You promised me you'd stay.
You lied to me...
Now you must pay.
Letters to the Dead - 1657 WordsDear My Dead Lover,
I told you that you needed to stop. I told you you’d end up hurting yourself, and now look at you. You’re lying there at the bottom of the cliff after I told you that you would hurt yourself. You didn’t listen to me, but you know what? You never listened to me. No matter how loud I screamed, you never listened to me. I told you to stop, but you never heard me.
Remember the time we first met? I do. I was at the coffee shop trying to study for a college final when you walked in. I had my earbuds in and couldn’t hear anything, but I could still feel. Which means I felt it when you bumped into me. “Bumped into me” is the wrong expression. It was more like a stampede into my back. I turned around, ready to be angry at you, but when I looked into your eyes, all I could see was someone I wanted to get to know. I saw a light, and I saw a spirit waiting to be set free. And
Off With Your HeadLosing your head isn’t as figurative as it seems. Trust me, I would know. There’s no better way to tell how a person can act by the way they think, and if you haven’t noticed, people think with their heads. If they think someone like me could kill after what I’ve been through and what I do with my life now, then they aren’t going to last long. If they are skeptical of me after seeing how I act, then they might last a little longer. But if they can relate with me, they’ll be guaranteed to live. You see, one with a mind such as mine can understand how I think, and if they understand how I think, then they can understand what I’m going to do. And if they understand what I’m going to do, they can avoid me when necessary to survive. Of course, they’ll only know when to avoid me if they think how I think. I’m guessing all of you reading this right now are the first two I described. Of course, if I’m right, which I always am, t
Let's Play Anna EpilogueAfter I was free from the scientists and my computer, Chy and I finished high school and college together, closer than we’ve ever been. Blumiere proposed to me shortly after getting my diploma, and the wedding was…well, extravagant. The seamstresses were right when they said I’ll be Lady Darclain, as I am now. It’s been quite a few years, and I think BJ is about to get up the courage to propose to Chy. Of course, I won’t tell her when he will. Why would I spoil that?
“Anna,” Blumiere says, poking his head in our bedroom, “Lily turned Lucas invisible again. Are you writing?” He walks up behind me as I type out what’s happening right now. “Anna?”
“Hold on,” I say without looking away from my screen. “I think I’m almost done.”
Lily and Lucas are our oldest children. Twins. Violet is our third child, and I’ve got our fourth growing in my belly now. I won’t
Let's Play Anna Chapter 15.Chapter 15. One More Thing Left to Deal With.
I wear all black to Cendres’ funeral. It’s mostly silent, seeing as how no one had any good things to say. A few tears fell, but they were all for the newly-orphaned Blumiere. At nineteen, he’s going to be Lord of Darclainia.
As we all stand around his grave, I stick out like a sore thumb, being the only one with blonde hair. Everyone else has the signature Darclainian blue. Blumiere and I are among the first to leave, but that doesn’t surprise me too much. The cause of death is officially natural causes, and it’s believable, mostly because everyone’s glad to have him gone. I kind of feel bad, but I feel much worse for Blumiere.
“I promise I’m okay, Anna,” he says when we’re back in his castle. It’s officially his now.
It’s been a week since I got back from…that, and this is the first time I’ve been truly alone with Blumiere. He k
Let's Play Anna Chapter 14.Chapter 14.
Grief. Pain. Heartache. Whatever you want to call it. I feel it.
I wish he would have killed me. I wish I would have died that day. I wish I could drop dead right here, right now. Just fall off this tree branch I’m perched on and die. Have something come alone and crush my wings. Have whatever eats butterflies eat me.
I can’t die. Cendres made sure I’d suffer alone. I can’t meet people or animals either. I don’t think I’ve had something to eat in…weeks? Who cares. It won’t kill me.
Nothing will kill me. Except maybe heartache. There’s no hope, is there? I’m on earth, and I can’t get back to Darclainia no matter how hard I try. I’m perched on some billboard for a Broadway musical coming soon to New York in Times Square. Why here? I don’t know.
I tried to kill myself. I flew up to the top of the Empire State Building at night. The lights were everywhere, and I gues
Let's Play Anna Chapter 13.Chapter 13. <--- I don’t really like that number…
“Blue roses,” Blumiere tells me on Valentine’s Day my senior year. It’s been over two years since the scare on my sixteenth birthday, and now I’m eighteen. Nothing else has happened, other than a few talks about sleeping with each other. And I won’t talk about that time when Blumiere was a legal adult and I wasn’t. We both knew that time was going to come, seeing as how his birthday is December 6th of the year before I was “born.” He holds out a bouquet of my favorite blue roses that can survive winter on magic, and I take them, giving him a kiss.
“Thank you,” I say with a smile as I’m on my toes. He’s grown, but I haven’t. In all the years I’ve been alive, the only growth I’ve gone through is in bra size, and even that is slight. But Blumiere doesn’t care.
“Anna,” he starts slowly,
When you lose a best friendWhen we said friends forever and
crossed pinkies like grade-schoolers,
I could only believe those words
lodged in your heart
like they did mine
because every time I think back
I can't help but remember the
under star lit constellations,
and study sessions where we
learned more about each other
than we did Biology
but now it's clear
that each beat of your heart
has made those words fade,
and you could care less
about crossed pinkies
but I'll still see you,
and hear your voice
and I'll still wish
the meaning hadn't changed-
At peace within this tranquil garden,
I picture the moments where I've made you smile.
Those times are endlessly precious to me,
I think they're worth the while.
They're worth the time I've spent with you,
Even if it wasn't long.
I only wish I'd spent a little more,
Before our love was gone.
Forgiveness takes twoThe words are struggling
to tumble off my tongue,
and despite having
a fleshy cushion
to rest on,
they stain my teeth
and sting like acid
"I'm sorry," I stutter,
but the bitter taste
doesn't leave my tongue-
not because the words weren't true,
but because I know
I won't hear,
She's an artistShe's an artist.
Always seems to be daydreaming,
She draws to escape her pain.
Cause for a single moment,
When her work is done.
It seems like there is no more rain.
And she could finally touch the sun.
The one that shines so brightly in her paintings.
But then it's gone,
So she keeps drawing,
She's become good at escaping.
Running from reality.
Because dreams are the only things she wants,
Her imagination is the only thing she's ever known.
And it's sad really...
Because she tries so hard to be happy.
But the most beautiful thing she could ever create.
Was that smile upon her face,
And that is the one thing that remains blank.
Waiting to someday be something more than,
Mommy Is A Super HeroMommy Is A Super Hero
Standing before his class, he held his tiny report,
“Who is your super hero?” Was written in yellow chalk on the green board.
Exhaling his breath, the curly haired boy closed his little eyes,
“Don't be ashamed of yourself” His mother's words rung in his ears, “And don't ever cry.”
He began to read aloud, with a shaky voice.
to his class, he told his mother's story.
At age fifteen, she was a beauty queen,
the most beautiful girl in all of the world.
She flaunted her silky hair, bore her bare legs,
prided her breast. The boys treated her like she was a treasure chest.
They respected her rules, they “looked, but didn't touch”,
but there was one older man, who from her, wanted too much.
All alone he met her, he approached her in the alley,
and all his mother told him, was that this man had treated her badly.
But what the boy didn't know was that she was taken against her will,
and that two months later, she turned up ext
Still HereSuicide is a
Thought that frequently lurks
In my mind, wich
Lets it overcome the
Laughter and happiness
Here I still fight, however
Enduring this sad life
Reviving my hopes
Embracing the gift of life
cenotaph of stormsthe first thunderstorm
was triggered by a blunt pair
of scissors, sparking violently
against the lightning,
shaking in the wind.
the downpour pierced,
tattooed with no ink but
the dark bleakness
of an overcast morning,
infiltrating uniformed wrists.
hid behind the music block,
shaky raindrops rioting
fears, she fractured.
the second storm
wept a two year downpour
outline that dripped from wrist
to hip, sidelong silhouette glances
obscured by the rain.
stalictidal waves shuddered
frozen, until icy glass
fell in stained shards from
the stillness inside.
thinner, brittler, growing
in flurries of sleet and hail,
her outline was never filled,
though the floods threatened
the third thunderstorm
was a mist-ridden melancholia,
a dream for permanence
smeared in ink through
fueled by the hope
that just this once,
the rain would spark a
rebirth beneath the ground.
instead, a tsunami
washed away the ink
as tides so often do.
smotherher spine was dusk
and unmade nests,
but he tried to live there
he was neither nocturnal
nor a dawn-believer,
so he suffocated
in the birdhouse of her ribs.
between my vertebrae, you are (cemeterial)oh, these writers never speak; they
claw words out of bird carcasses,
poets pecking viscera like necropolitans.
they count their ribs to remind you
of a corpse or of a matchstick. dry bones
between fissured wrists & funeral pyres,
these have been dying days &
they're all mortuaries.
The EdgeI stand on the Edge
Looking down to the core
Where I see a girl
The core knows
Who I want to be
And the Edge
Is the only thing
And who I want to be
But I'm afraid
Afraid of jumping
Of never turning back
Of making a mistake
Of hurting myself
More than anything
To be able to jump
Over the Edge
And be who I always see
Be who I want to be
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More