63 Recent Deviations
Featured: Angels Never Die
Ink and PaintYou were a glimpse
A face in the crowd
Not even a stranger
Not even a sound
Just a moment in time
A whisper of truth
And yet, I don’t know
If it even was you
It could have been a lifetime I wouldn’t regret
I didn’t read the story where there ink hadn’t set
It could have been a lifetime I saw pass me by
I didn’t see the picture where the paint wasn’t dry
It must have been you
But God knows who you are
Just a piece of forever
That’s stuck in my heart
And I try to resist
But it keeps coming through
Filling the spaces
Time goes by and still I hope that I’ll see your face
Somewhere in the restlessness of some other place
But ‘til that time you’re safe and sound in my memory
So should I ever need you then that’s where you’ll be
Now it’s just a moment that I’ll never forget
Still to write the story where the ink hasn’t set
Now it’s just a moment that I let pass me by
Still to paint th
Saccharine ScarI shan’t forget when we first met
Your winsome aura left me awed.
Yet still I cannot help but fret
How can you love a man so flawed?
We shan’t fall victim to time’s intent
A saccharine scar now marks my heart;
To which you left with such lament
Lest our lives should drift apart.
I shan’t return to my stoic shell
I’ll wear this scar devoid of shame.
Upon my crimson core, you dwell
I hope I’ve scarred you just the same.
You feel so immanent, yet are so far
I’ll always have this saccharine scar.
StillI know I'm still not over you
And I know I'll never be
'Cos I still hope that you're still there
Still in love with me
Colin Flash The Power Within 2Chapter Two
The Lightning Bolt
The two friends arrived at their mediocre school just after 8:00. St Luke's Secondary School was a complex of low, concrete buildings that seemed to throw the grey day into sharp, miserable relief. Even the birds seemed to avoid it. Colin spotted two seagulls perched on a tree away from it, and he could almost hear them, cautiously whispering to one another, warning themselves not to get to close.
The kids there were horrendous, most of them came from a rough background and the older kids spent most of the time sneaking out of school, smoking during lessons, and generally looking nasty. Colin and Rachael avoided them as much as possible as they made their separate ways, into their tutor groups, where Colin usually sat at the back, reading or drawing mostly. He felt great when he was drawing, isolated from the rest of the Year 8s, in his own separate world. He wasn't half bad at it, either.
The rest of the day past drearily. A typical Monday for Colin cons
Colin Flash The Power Within 3Chapter Three
"I get it," said Colin, not believing a word of what Rachael had told him. "I'm going mad!"
He grinned manically, starting to laugh.
"All right, then! Where's Batman to ship me off to Arkham Asylum? Where's the loony bin?"
He collapsed on the spot, his whole body seemed to deflate.
"I mean," he began. "A wormhole? Come on!"
Rachael looked deadly serious and folded her arms.
Colin tried again.
"But... but it's impossible! How the hell do you "open"," he outlined the word "open" with "hand speech marks". "... a wormhole? It's impossible! Even if you did, wouldn't it... like... suck up the planet?"
"You're getting two things wrong. Number one: it's a black hole that would suck up the planet and Number two: it is very possible to open a wormhole."
"Well, fine then!" he said, almost patronising Rachael. A wormhole, he had never heard something so stupid. He removed his bag, placed it on the damp floor, and sat on it. "You open up a wormhole, and I'll sit here, in
Colin Flash The Power Within 4Chapter Four
When Colin landed the world was upside down. The wormhole spat him out with great force, disregarding him as a whisper passing though the emptiness within.
He thudded heavily down to the ground and passed out instantly. He thudded heavily into a world with silver grass and golden leaves. He truly was going mad
When he awoke he was wet. Dripping, soaking wet. And intensely cold. Rachael was standing over him with another peculiar device. It was black again, flask-shaped, and with blue lights dotted around it. The inside was damp, so Colin presumed that that was where the water had come from.
Suddenly his body, which, up until then, was still in a slurred state, registered the cold, and Colin leapt to his feet.
"What was that for?" he yelled, wiping the water from himself. He looked around him. The grass was silver, and the leaves, gold. Guess he didn't imagine that.
They were in the middle of a large clearing, surrounded by impossibly tall trees tha
The Flying Mouse
The Flying Mouse
Written by Mmpratt99
On the edge of a large vegetable garden, there sat an old ramshackle tool shed. Although its paint was cracked and peeling and its weathered cedar shingles were marked with patches of moss and lichen, its owner still maintained it enough to prevent its complete collapse.
In one corner of the shed near the worktable, there was a hole, and in that hole lived a deer mouse family. There was a mother and father and their four small mouselings,
The van Helsing Legacy: We Shall Not Sleep - 2
The jangle of the telephone woke me at about four o’clock. I peeled my face reluctantly out of the fold of the book that had become my pillow and waited to see whether or not it would ring again. It did.
The lights in the hall clicked on, and Chessie’s puffy face appeared at the door of the study. During daylight hours, she was the very picture of feminine perfection, as though she’d been painstakingly snipped out of a fashion paper and magicked to life. In a few hours, her skin would be creamy smooth, cheeks naturally blushing, dark hair flawlessly arrayed in a dangerously modern bob, not a wrinkle to be discovered in her stylish flannels. In a few hours. At four o’clock in the morning, her eyelids had stolen the rosy hue of her cheeks, and all the wrinkles that never saw the light of day seemed to have been stored up in the pillow-creases fanning across the right side of her face. She
Fall To Pieces AgainUp on that shelf, where I've always been, that's where I long to remain.
In the silence; amongst the others that you have left behind, that was the place I was made to belong.
Covered in dust; face forever stained with tears, I am ruined, but that was what I was built for.
Alone inside my mind, eternally abandoned, this is what I was promised.
Please don't lie to me; please don't break our pact.
I don't want to crumble; to drop to your feet.
I don't want to fall to pieces.
I don't ever want to break again.
Unique as a SnowflakeWhy should we care what other people think?
We are who we are.
Normal is overrated.
In this world where we are are devided why must we be socially correct to fit in?
Gays and lesbians are people who love each other as much as people that are straight.
Why should they be torn apart, because of how others are?
Women were once thought to be stupid and unable to do things themselves.
It was socially unacceptable for a woman to work.
Today that has changed.
At one time blacks had no rights.
It was socially unacceptable for colors to mix.
Today that has changed.
Let us change things for the future.
Let there be a better tomorrow.
Afterall how long does this world really have?
Take it from someone who once wanted to fit in, it's not worth it to change yourself.
I was never given the chance to fit in and I'm glad I never did, I refuse to be like them.
People around me showed me what i'd have to do and what would happen if I fit in.
I'd be a hore who did drugs and probably would've died if i fi
When I was seven, I tried to commit suicide. Everything was dark, except the floor, a long way beneath me. My feet dragged me towards the edge of the building. All that I knew was that it was windy, and getting windier by the second, my neck was quite itchy, and I was about to die.
"Ring a ring a rosies,
A pocket full of posies,
We all fall down!"
I was never really a child. I had a childhood, and I looked like a child, but inside I was more like a machine. I did what I was told to do: I functioned.
"Survival is an instinct built into every animal on this planet: See prey, chase prey, pounce. Dinner. A cheetah would not misuse its speed. A leopard would never let its spots run away. Nature carries onwards. Life carries onwards. Things go the way that they should, and always will do. In the end, everything functions. Now just you remember that, son."
Black hair, brown eyes, thin face and no smile - The only things that anyone from my primary school ca
One Heart - PoemPlease do not love me
I will only give you pain
Even if you tell me plainly
That to you; I mean everything
I haven't the space in my life to hold you
And I am too selfish to make you happy
I know what I am
So surely you can't
If you did... then why would you want me?
Give your heart to someone else
Somebody who wants it and is worthy
You should not be too eager to part with it
Just because you feel empty and lonely
For once long ago I gave my own quite hastily
And now I cannot bear to again risk such frailty...
So before yours is broken and shattered into shards...
Take care to whom you give it...
For you have only... one heart
Passing Brilliance - PoemThoughts swirl in radiant colors
Strings hum vibrating sounds
In my mind's eye my song's envisioned
I grasp each note, then write it down
Haphazardly the music and words collide inside my head
The harmonies afloat so free
The lyrics soft accompanying it
All is up in the air - abstract - and more than likely to be changed
I attempt to isolate what's passing brilliance
Before things are faded - lost - and can't be found again...
With each chord, each verse;
My masterpiece is slowly breathed into most vivid life
And when at last the melody is full and free...
It feels complete
And so do I
Sincere Reflections - PoemLavender, jasmine, rose, and lilac
Peony, ebony; dark silk-soft curled back
Eyes of deep blue and a smile like the sun
The soft red of her cheeks; not a powder put on
She is beautiful... elegant...
And all just as she is
Even without the frail flowers
She insists enhance it...
Her countenance shines as radiant light from pure soul
All the brighter when unguarded
And safe by me more aglow...
Her moods fast flow through me
As though we were one
Her pains and her sorrows
I feel as though they're my own...
Yet even as tears fall upon these paths tread
Her hand in my own; my heart soars free of regret...
For what could I not face with her ever here by my side?
I've been given an angel...
And I've made her my bride
Tea“This can’t be right. Tea, come over here!”
Tea flew over, a tiny robot with three long tentacle-tails and a pair of beating wings keeping it aloft.
“Tea, analyze this artifact.”
Tea’s sensors swept over the artifact; I held it still, wiping the sun’s heat from my brow. Global warming, as it turned out, hadn’t been a bunch of BS. The planet was getting harder and harder to live on with each passing day.
”ANALYSIS COMPLETE” Tea said in her quiet voice. Her three blue eyes flicked to him. ”ARTIFACT IS A PAPER-PRINTED [BOOK] MADE OF RESTRUCTURED TREE AND INK. BOOK TITLE DOES NOT EXIST IN DATABASE.”
I glanced down at it again. Something wasn’t adding up, but I couldn’t say what it was. A book? What was a book?
“Tea, what’s a book?” I asked.
”RESTRICTED.” she replied.
“Override,” I said.
”OVERRIDE LOGGED AND REPORTED. A BOOK IS A RECEPT
Turing's Beta TestHe opened his eyes in the darkness. His phone was beeping quietly beside him on the bedside table; he rolled out of bed and groaned, stumbling a moment before righting himself. His head felt fuzzy, like it was filled with static – it took a moment to clear. All part of starting up too quickly, he assumed.
He checked his phone; today’s schedule was clear, but for one appointment: a meeting with Dr. A. Turing. There was a message from him, too: APPT 3:00 PM – ID 8820. He felt like his entire life had lead up to this interview; after straightening himself up and doing a few practice questions in the mirror, he grabbed his phone and hurried out the door.
“Ah, welcome,” the doctor said. “I’m glad you’re here: we’ve been working hard, and were afraid you wouldn’t make it today.”
“I’m glad I made it too,” he said, closing the suite’s door. “I was thinking this earlier, but it feels like my whole li
Open DissensionUnder her father’s tutelage, she’d seen many a war room, and had felt at each one to be more of an outsider than most would imagine. The draconic folk prided themselves on their martial abilities; to claim their blood was to claim the fortitude of tacticians a thousand years old. Staking such a claim, however, was almost inconceivably dangerous even for the dragons themselves, a task even the archmage would not have dared attempt. She’d sworn an oath as part of the rite to speak no part of her trials to anyone, and in doing so had set herself apart and above those around her for the rest of her life. They hadn’t told her that the instincts she’d awoken would let her read the mistrust on the hearts of those around her… but they’d taught her to rise above them, to rise as a dragon spreads its wings and flies. Heiress Draconiae – that was the title she’d been given, beaten and bleeding, at the end of her third attempt to master the tri
Friday Night, Deadly Night. Chapter 7As the sun rose in the morning sky, a new day has come, and with that life began awakening. In such a delightful and sunny day like this there just could be no place for gloomy mood. But not for the Cooke family. There was still no sign of Sherry and her whereabouts, and police still hasn’t found a clue. Sharon Cooke suffered the most from sorrow, as every mother would after finding out about her child’s disappearance. She was close to falling into depression and not even going to work, but her husband and son managed to persuade her not to that, explaining that work would at least keep her busy and make her think about something else, otherwise the situation could get worse.
Studies helped Richard to get at least a bit distracted from thoughts about his sister, and although he continued assuring himself that she’s alive and fine, terrible thoughts about her never coming back plagued the back of his mind, and every time he mentally slapped himself on face for thinking
Silent Hill: Fateful Dreams. Chapter 10By the time when Linda arrived to her friend, Alice had already managed to bake a new pizza. To do so, she had to wake up much earlier than she usually did to manage making the dough, putting the other necessary ingredients and bake it. This time she decided to make a pizza with minced beef, so that everyone would enjoy it when it’s time to have a snack. Alice wasn’t sure if James liked seafood, like she and Linda did, so she thought it would be better to make it with meat. After taking the pizza out of the oven, she cut it to pieces and put into a plastic box that could be covered with a lid, and then wrapped the box into a plastic bag to be safe. And right after she finished, a loud doorbell broke the silence.
As it was half past five, Alice knew who was behind the door.
“Hey, Lin! Good morning! Come in!”
“Hi, Alice! Good morning to you, too!” Linda stepped in, giving her friend a tight hug and sniffing the air. “Hmm, seems to me that you
Silent Hill: Fateful Dreams. Chapter 9What’s happening? Am I still sleeping?
Linda felt herself being in such a state when she wasn’t in a deep sleep yet, but not awake either, like something in the middle. It was nothing but darkness surrounding her, but she could hear distant voices whispering something unclear and her body felt every touch. She felt like someone was holding her in his arms, but all body ached, like after a serious fight a few moments ago. A large hand caressed her face and head gently, and Linda could feel that it had a glove on. The touch was so soft, so gentle that Linda felt herself falling into a deep, blissful oblivion. Before slumber enveloped her, she heard a faint voice practically at her ear:
“Linda… wake up…”
“Huh… what…” Linda could barely murmur a few incoherent words.
“Open your eyes…”
There it was again. The voice sounded female. No, it’s more like a voice of a child. Linda slowly turned her head on
Friday Night, Deadly Night. Chapter 6Sherry felt like she lost the ability to talk, so strong was the shock. Before her stood the man that, as she could already guess, was no other that the infamous Jason Voorhees. But part of her was still doubting if this was the real Crystal Lake Killer. What if it was just a copycat? Sure, she has watched several Friday the 13th films and knew about Jason, and even one of the films featured a copycat. But those films are just work of fiction, nothing of that is real. Sherry knew it would be childish to consider any of horror films to be actually real. Some were based on true events or inspired by them, but it was still fiction. And so was Jason. Or… was he?
Somehow Sherry had a bad feeling that the man standing in front of her wasn’t some silly prankster. He was truly large and tall, and his skin was deadly pale. He wore trousers and a shirt which were old, tattered and dirty, and massive boots, but did he really have a choice to wear something different? Of course, he did
...of Magic (from Hearts Woven), explained
The four primordial elements and the symbols which represent them: light (the all-seeing eye); dark matter (darkness and secrets waiting to be unlocked); the force of gravity (distortion caused by an object in space); and the dominion of time (a humanoid and beneath it a skull).
"από φως, ζωή... από σκοτάδι, ειρήνη" (from the light comes life, and from the darkness peace)
You. That's right, you. Take a good look around you and tell me what you see. If your world is anything like mine, you must be starring at a whole lot of biology right now. For example you could be bumming around in town with family, friends and strangers; or you may be hiding in your special place among trees, birds and beasts.
Yes, yes - I know what you're thinking. "What a
Priorities in a StoryI have noticed certain priorities that beginners have when they tell stories, vs. priorities that professional authors seem to have when they tell theirs.
It's interesting that beginners tend to focus on certain things that more experienced authors seem to grow out of, and it makes me wonder why.
I've decided to make a list about some of these things. Not for the sake of putting them down, so much as because it is interesting to me, and probably worth considering.
I think we need to think about WHY we write certain things, and our attitude behind it. This is what makes certain topics either immature or mature.
However the line is often blurred.
"Mature" means anything sexual, violent or crass (or even just extremely emotional). There is no attention to how these things are handled, leaving us with a great amount of "mature" content that is the exact opposite of mature. Likewise, some very clever and ingenious books are marketed for "children," because they have none of these things, wh
We build complications...At times, there is an overwhelming desire within us to take a risk and take every chance we are given,
yet no one really knows why we still end up watching those chances fade and just keep on wondering what's real...
bound to drown into an unending nothingness.
Still others have that overpowering wish to protect and cherish someone,
but they still end up hurting that one special person...
suffering twice the pain that the person feels, or worse-eventually losing him/her.
It gets way too difficult when one cannot express what he/she truly feels and one has not been given any chance to understand what the other really means...
Every real thought, every intended action, those unspoken words and that one honest dream will just remain a mystery...and nothing more.
Too many complications...are our hearts designed to create such twisted and messed up pictures?
Yeah, everyone wants to be happy but not everyone knows how to grab that happiness...
So when that chance comes, grab it with both han
A Writer's Guide: Naming CharactersWhen it comes to writing novels, names often get overlooked in the grand scheme of things. Most of us are happy if we can tell who is talking and we can remember the character’s names for the entirety of the book, but bad names can ruin a book. I don’t know about you, but when I get a hold of a book where the main character’s name is a comical 20-character tangle I can’t pronounce, it ruins the book for me. It’s hard to take a book, or a character, seriously when you want to roll your eyes every time you read the narrative.
In this article I’ve compiled a list of things to consider when naming a character for a novel, and though it’s pretty simple, I hope it serves to help someone in their future endeavors to name a character. Most of this is common sense, but it’s often easy to forget these little tidbits of wisdom when you’re busy trying to figure out if your character makes a better Ashley or a Paige.
Getting a S
Writer's Tip: All About POVPoint of View. It can change everything. In the most literal sense, POV is the decision of who is narrating your novel, and what they see. POV also refers to the individual viewpoint of your characters, and ultimately, your readers. So where do you start? Well, that’s why I’ve written this article. We will explore the three standard POV options available to every writer, their advantages, disadvantages, and how to choose which one is best for you. Let’s get started.
First Person POV
I stepped into the room on hesitant feet. Leander, the great Lion King of the river valley lay half-in-shadow at the back corner of the room, his tawny paws illuminated by a shaft of light filtering in through the high windows. His sable tail thumped once, twice, in the haze of dust motes, and my breath caught in my chest. I shouldn’t be here.
First person POV is denoted by the use of “I”, “My”, “Me”, “Mine
Writer's Tip: Writing Effective SentencesSentences—if the plot is the backbone of a story, then sentences are the muscles and tendons keeping it glued together. Unfortunately, writing solid sentences isn’t easy for everyone. As Human beings, we don’t speak the same way we write. Unless you do a lot of writing, you may have trouble putting together even the simplest of sentences. The last time you took a good look at a sentence and broke it down into its individual parts was probably around 3rd grade. Don’t worry—I’m here to help.
There’s More Than One Type of Sentence
There are (roughly) four different types of sentences, and we’re going to get into each of the different types (with examples!).
Simple Sentences – This is a sentence in its truest form. A simple sentence is the statement of a single idea in a direct, clear way. Most simple sentences contain less than 20 words, but it is best if you keep your word count aver
Reading as a WriterHave you ever set down a book for good because you found something in it you don’t like? If you want to write, I suggest that bad habit end now.
Why, you ask? Because everything you read—and I mean everything–has positive value for you as a writer. Stephen King, and any author worth his or her salt, is a huge advocate of writers reading massive amounts.
Again you ask, why? How can everything be useful? There are a number of reasons and I’ll cover as many as I can.
Reading bad literature teaches you about yourself and shows you what to avoid—or at least how not to do something—in your own work. If you run across something that you don’t like, stop and ask yourself why you don’t like it. Is it just a personal preference? Was it out of place or poorly executed? Does it contradict something from earlier? As soon as you figure out the “why” of something’s badness, you learn a little about yourself and you
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