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That She May SeeI made the offer to my dead wife to use my eyes
to see her grand children grow up. Now every time
I see something I probably shouldn't, every time I
look to the darkness all I can think of is her eyes
looking back at me.
They do not judge only seem sad at a broken promise.
My mind is changed as is my heart. I wish only for her
happiness wherever she may be as I look once more to
the photos of our Grandchildren that she may see.
Dead At My FeetLeft standing in the aftermath of that battle within myself,
blood and terror, total war of the soul stains the earth
as fire licks razor cuts upon my fine ideals to smoke
that stings my eyes and leaves a taste of burnt flesh
upon my tongue. Gods and devils lie
dead at my feet.
Hell An' Damnation!It'd been hours since the funeral and wake of Pappa Joe, the oldest living family member and my Grandfather. I'd eaten more than my fair share, drank too much and told too many of the "colorful" stories I remembered the old man telling over the years and so when it came time to leave no one made even token attempt to get me to stay. Granma stayed behind. There were family members she only ever saw at funerals and weddings she'd explained. I'll catch a ride with........ she'd said but my mind was a blur from the booze and I'd wandered away and out the door without even hearing, or if I'd heard I didn't comprehend.
Hell an' Damnation! I heard immediately upon entering my Granma's house. Hell an' Damnation! The familiar voice gave vent to all the frustration of a man who'd walked into his home only to find he no longer lived there. Hell an' Damnation I heard again as I stood transfixed unable to look away from the scene of Pappa Joe standing, his back to m
I Keep DreamingThe world shakes
I see my face in the broken mirror.
Facets of existence,
a million different mes falling from my bed.
The floor is hard and cold.
I want so much to be warm.
but I keep dreaming.
Night Of StoriesThere was a moon in the sky when I was young, the old man told us. A Moon? What's that?, the young ones asked. A whole world right up there he said. So close you could reach out and touch her if you climbed the high mountains and if you wanted you could jump up and she'd catch you and you could spend the day. Yer fibbin', said the older ones but I couldn't help but ask, where did she go? Well, she got tired one day and fell from the sky, he said and while she rested greedy people made a slave of her and made her carry them away never to be seen again. That's sad I said. Won't she ever come back? Not in my lifetime he said with a tear in his eye he quickly wiped away but I saw it. And since that night, that night of stories I've sat here watchin' , waitin' for her to return so I could say the old man missed her while she was gone and won't she please stay in case he should return.
I, ResurrectedYou make a point of turning your back on him as you dig. Albert moans lightly, but, except for increasing the ferocity of your digging, you don't respond. There's no going back now. You've returned your library books, the shopping's done, and all that's left is to bury Albert and you'll be back on top of things.
The trouble is, Albert really doesn't seem to want to stay buried. This is, after all, the sixth attempt so far, and he just keeps turning back up and knocking on the door. It's getting ridiculous, to be honest. The yard is riddled with makeshift graves, and the stake you tried to send through his heart is discarded by the last one. His heart, impossibly enough, is still attached.
Albert moans again and when you look up, you see the dog licking his mouth. "Mr Tickles," you admonish, "come away from him!" The dog whines up at you. "Oh, come here, you stupid mutt." You pat him twice and send him home to the lady next door. He's probably been responsible for several of Albert's gr
It's Always Blackest Before the ThroneCurriculum Vitae
Snake Cult Leader
General in the Legions of Shagamemnon
Reason Left Last Job:
Green, three-boobed alien women wanting to be taught the Earth-concept of love.
Has own armour (black leather with spikes).
Interviewer’s notes: This guy seems perfect!
I realise there is no way for me to get this letter to you but I feel in need of a sympathetic ear at the moment.
Things haven’t been going too well. I thought the dungeon was the way to go in order to gain power and riches but people somehow completely misinterpreted the whips and chains. Thought it was a place offering… erotic satisfaction. It all made me terribly uncomfortable.
So I gave up and swapped genres from Fantasy to Sci-Fi. But things didn’t improve and now I appear to have ended up in Gritty Realism. I’ve managed to get a minimum w
Some Manner of Shocking TwistDear Miss MacAbre,
I have a somewhat embarrassing problem. As a recently deceased usurper of the throne, I’m having some difficulty adjusting to the afterlife. I understand that’s totally normal, and I’ve been very impressed by the advice on offer. The leaflet I was given upon arrival—So You’ve Been Besieged by an Army of Guys Dressed Like Trees and Your C-section Rival Lopped Your Head Off—was both helpful and unnervingly specific. I’ve taken everything it says on board and, though it’s hardly smooth sailing, I feel that I’m making good progress. My wife, who died shortly before me, seems to have acclimatised much more quickly and has already succeeded in gaining employment with a local magazine.
My real problem is that while I am content to slowly adjust to life after death, my wife is pressuring me to commit regicide once again. This causes no end of worry, as not only did it not work out so well for me last
Black Throne White Noise “Another mead.”
The barmaid slid the mug across the bar, watching in fascination as the leather-clad patron tipped his head back, angled the drink over the slotted faceplate of his helmet, and poured. It wasn’t exactly neat, but the chugging noises suggested that it was at least effective, and that was something.
“Hey, honey,” said the regular with the ample bosom and prominent Adam’s apple. “That’s quite a talent you’ve got there. And I like your style. Want to make me scream like a baby?”
“No.” He set the mug down and sighed.
There was a pause. The barmaid dunked a dirty glass into a bucket of water.
“This is really going to bother me if I don’t ask...are you a man or a woman?”
“Honey,” said the regular, “I can b
Bowie Day (FFM 26)I’m just reaching the peak of the arpeggio when my voice snaps like a twig.
I hiss plumes of colourful profanity – bad idea – that quickly degenerate into a great hacking cough. That very same cough has haunted me ever since the laryngitis; I run for the tap. Did anyone ever tell you that attempting to drink while coughing is a truly dreadful idea? No? Well, they should have. It results in a saga of cough, drink, choke, and literally repeats ad nauseum.
At some point during this lovely display, Cameron enters the room, looking concerned.
“Carmel, babes, you sound like shit – can you sing?”
I grimace. “Judging by my extremely scientific self-assessment, my vocal chords have gone on strike. Lost a full third of my top notes. It’s not looking good, Cam.”
Any other night this wouldn’t have been a problem. But tonight’s my night on lead, and instead of my usual flirtatious coloratura soprano, I’m cur
A Damp Squib Professor Hattersley took his place at the podium, ignoring the less than kind murmurs that spread through the audience as he crossed the stage. Talk didn’t bother him. For one thing, he was used to it. For another, after this conference the talk would be different. He set the shoebox-sized casket of gold and lapis lazuli before him.
“Esteemed colleagues,” he began. “I am aware that my research has drawn a certain amount of scorn in the past, and I appreciate that a degree of scepticism is only healthy.” The murmurs showed no sign of abating. If there was one good thing about being an academic pariah, it was that it did wonders for one’s public speaking skills. He spoke louder. “The idea that the deities of ancient Egypt were not merely the invention of a primitive society, but powerful visitors from another dimension, will no doubt have a dramatic effect on Egyptology, and indeed the study of all
PeacockEmily was a cross-dressing member of the peafowl family.
For weeks she’d been collecting feathers from her brother Dave, and now with his help, and the use of some pine resin, she’d managed to fashion herself a fine, full tail.
It was beautiful—she couldn’t stop admiring her reflection in the pond.
But Mrs. Peahen was there looking on. “Maybe we should talk about this…”
Emily sighed at the interruption. “I know you don’t approve, Mum but I’m just trying to be myself.”
“It’s not that I don’t approve,” said Mrs. Peahen. “I just worry about you. Your father does too.”
Emily turned to her mother and sneered. “I don’t care what you both think. I’m going to go and see my boyfriend.”
The wind caught her tail feathers and ruffled them.
“You look gorgeous,” said Trevor the Magpie.
Emily was so happy. Trevor understood her. As she smiled at him,
FloraThe breeding process had taken seemingly forever but it had led to the hoped for result.
Bruton cackled fanatically. They had called him foolish—even mad—but at last he was ready to unveil his multi-headed creation to his contemporaries.
He flung off the cover.
Five hundred people gasped. And then the selected representatives of the UK’s Flowering Plants Associations applauded wildly.
It really was a particularly fine polyanthus.
Spring faded into summer but his polyanthus continued to flower. She was beautiful and exceptionally fragrant—attracting a great many bees and butterflies.
Bruton frowned. She was his and ought to be faithful. And he had found evidence of more sinister interest: deliberate damage to the stem bearing that multitude of blooms.
His friends all sympathised.
For how could they know that secretly Bruton was his own flower’s stalk-er?
He had tormented her and neglected her, and left her frying in the hot sun. Finally there seemed to be n
Little Angels“You shouldn’t be here!” said Ezriel. “You’re not an angel.”
“I am!” said Luth. “Daddy’s a fallen angel but he’s still an angel. So that makes me one too!”
Brother Cuthbert raised his eyes heavenwards. “Oh Lord,” he muttered. “When I received my calling, there was nothing about having to babysit supernatural beings.”
He brought his gaze back to Ezriel. “I must admit it was surprising to see Lucifer’s little girl here today but Luth is quite right—she can join the troupe if she wants to. So I expect you to behave. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Brother,” muttered Ezriel.
Cuthbert gave silent thanks for the Church’s insistence on celibacy. At least these… blessed children would be going home later today.
He set off down the pavement, followed by five cherubim and a… Luth, all in their uniform of white t-shirts and blue shorts.
An elderly lady
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More