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18.It's exhilarating to love someone that your'e not supposed to; sneaking glances to make your heart race, trying to speak clearly through a lump in your throat, letting their radiant smile shine past the glint of the wedding ring. He supposes that's why he allowed himself to love her, as if he could get off on the thrill and would never have to even touch her. Her hair brushed against the back of his hand one afternoon, and he could see stars as she walked so gracefully away. He had never seen stars with any other girl, even when they pressed his hands against their cheeks, even when they let their hair dangle over his face like a curtain hiding a secret that everyone already knew. And so he spent the slowly disappearing days counting the times she could make his stomach twist and flutter.
After, he spent his nights awake trying to remember the way she sometimes lightly touched his shoulder. What they don't prepare you for is how hard it is to reason a broken heart over someone wh
17.I stand inside your skeletal remains, a different heart beats against its breastplate, a different set of organs is sheltered by the ribcage. You wouldn't recognize it anymore, but it still feels like home.
That's the beauty of being left behind, though they never mention it. I can watch it all be moulded and shaped again, death and rebirth and whatnot. It's almost disturbingly beautiful, as if I became your protege, left to maintain the body you left behind, to feed it, water it, and ultimately grow to love it.
I never expected to turn into you, but as I leave this body, my body, behind, planting seeds for someone else to water and grow, I realize that I have. And I realize that in loving it, I grew to love you, clinging forever, to these old bones.
16.The library was burning down, and there was nothing I could do about it. The yellowed pages of our favorite stories caught fire so easily and formed smoke monsters that got caught in the ceiling and disappeared into the flames that lapped against the ceiling. In my watering eyes, I could see your body forged from smoke and, darling, I knew that our story had gone up in flames.
14.She was supposed to be at her grandmother's house right now. Her mother had worried about putting her on the train alone, but her father insisted that she would be fine. He used to do it all the time as a kid, the conductors always make sure that the kids get off at the right stop and they usually give them candy. Her parents' flight left at six in the morning, and they dropped her off for the five o'clock train. They kissed her on the head and told her that everything would be alright.
It was early in the morning, in fact, she had never been up this early before. She tried her best to stay awake on the train, but by the third stop, she was asleep. When the train reached its final destination, the train conductor woke her to get off. He helped her get her luggage from the rack, and led her off the train to look for her grandmother.
Blinking the sleepiness from her eyes, she looked around the station, but the familiar face of her grandmother was nowhere to be seen. She walked over to th
13.People will throw away the strangest things. Just yesterday I found a pair of nearly new baby slippers, several books, and a box of pasta that had never been opened (don't they know that this stuff never goes bad?). Usually I just throw this all into the back of my truck, I can only keep the really impressive things, otherwise my house would end up looking like a smaller version of the dump.
The problem is, I can't stop taking the things she throws out. Yes, I have yet to see her face in person, but I know so much about her already. She can cook beautifully, I've seen her leftovers, and she has been to so many places. Just last week she threw out a bunch of old, blank postcards from Venice and Rome. I always put her garbage can back up on the curb once I finish with it, she has yet to say anything, but I'm sure that she appreciates the gesture. Maybe I'll see her next Friday on the route. I'll be sure to wear my nicest uniform.
a time to rise, and a time to fallI have never asked her what it is that she misses so much. Whatever it is, it turns her eyes blue mid-winter and chases the heat from her cheeks. The truth is, I never thought it was my place to ask: after all, I'm nothing but a stranger in her quiet heart. And even now, years after we first met, I do not ask her.
She stretches one morning, all smooth edges and warm spaces. She looks at me as she always does before she tumbles out of bed, and her eyes are blue. Again. The weeks melt away and I am staring at six years worth of winters, all rolled into one. It chills me and my teeth chatter. She doesn't say anything but I know that she has caught me looking, has inhaled my shiver and tasted old winters in it instead of fresh laid snow. There is no fooling her, there has never been any chance of that: she always knows.
I give up all hope of further sleep and step out of bed and onto rich, plush carpet. It is a violent hue, bu
Awaiting the StormShe awaited the storm. She’d been waiting all winter for a good storm. Bring on the thunder, she thought, bring on the lightning. She craved the crash and boom of thunder, the electric streaks of lightning. She’d heard a roll of thunder. Not a crash or boom as she craved, but a rolling across the sky, deep and long, but not shocking or loud. The lightning was just a brief flash of light, no distinct bolt.
It seemed the storm would disappoint her. It was silent; the moon peeked out of dark clouds, its silver light diluted. She sighed, it seemed she’d have to wait longer for a proper storm. Still, she watched the sky, nose pressed to the glass of her window, her blankets spread around her.
She should be sleeping, she had work to do tomorrow and it was after midnight. But she couldn’t tear her gaze from the ever shifting clouds. It wasn’t raining, and, save for a few gusts, the wind seemed calm. The thunder and lightning must have just been a tease. Mother Na
FlowThere’s never been a time or place quite like this one. There’s a million places or times I could have ended up in, but this is the one that I ended up. A time half-formed, half-open, like a split melon.
I think of all the places in the world, one of the best I’ve ever been in is this tiny Christian chapel, meant to fit only 20 or so, for the evening prayer service. No sermons are extolled from that altar, just prayer. Earnest seeking. You can practically taste the salt in the air from the tears shed in this place. But the windows, rain or shine, always seem to be open, and the walls are white. It was the pleasantest place in the world. I’ll always think so, in some way. If I were a marrying man, perhaps I’d take a woman to this chapel and marry her on the spot.
The world has changed so much, and I’m somehow lost in the midst of it. Like that chapel in the bustle of life, things have passed me by. I would beg the infinite flow to c
The Black CatNew York in August can at times be rightly described as a hell hole, the heat so oppressive that your utility bills have to soar or you bake even at night. In the old days, the trade in ice blocks to cool the air was immense, but these days air conditioning has taken that place.
Even with that, however, some people prefer to sleep with the window open, and on this particular August night Cissy Barker had the window of her apartment open and the air conditioning going full blast. Even with that, however, she slept restlessly, as she kicked the covers off and lay in her grey silk top and shorts.
She mumbled something in her sleep, reflecting the dreams she was having – unaware of the shadow that passed her window, or the rustle of the curtains as they were moved to the side and a figure came in.
The woman wore a black leather jacket zipped up to her neck, tight black leggings and mid-length suede boots. Soft leather gloves covered her hand, and a stocking was pul
Friend's Are Friends Forever - V4YGR3's ATFriends are Friends Forever
At first this appeared to be a normal day. Shiori walked down the path to the school and a group of boys came in front of her. Because Shiori was reading a book as she was walking, she did notice them until she had bumped into them. "Oh, excuse me please," she said cooly. Shiori tried to pass them; however, they would not let her pass.
One of the boys snatched her book and threw it in the mud then lifted up Shiori. She kicked and screamed, but the boy did not let her go until the other boys had gone through her back-back and taken anything of value. Once they had what they wanted, the boy dropped her on the ground and he walked away with his friends. Shiori collected her scattered belongings then ran to class. She was late for class. When Shiina and Yumi asked where Shiori had been, she did not reply and hid her tearstained face behind a book.
Shirori spent her lunch on the roof like normal, but she read her book instead of talking to peop
FFM XXXHer name is Amelia, and she spends her life watching daytime television and knotting her sorrows away. She's got an ashtray by her chair and once-cigarette, now stick-of-ash dangling from her lips and her yellowed eyes stare off towards nothing.
Amelia also has a basket of yarn down at her feet, filled with sweaters for a baby that never existed.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More