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Finding the Safe RoomMerritt made her way through the tunnels, slinking along as quickly and quietly as she could. She couldn't wait to get back into any open space, whether it was a sewer room or the safe room. She was trying to distract herself from how close the walls were around her by keeping her thoughts elsewhere- she closed her eyes and listened carefully to all the sounds around her, and realized her steps were louder than she thought. She slowed down a bit and tried to quiet her footsteps.
Fahne likewise was quickly moving through the tunnels, but unlike Merritt he wasn't very concerned about how close the walls were. Neither was he trying to keep quiet: the small black fox was highly entertained with the multiple puddles along the way, and giggled as his paws made small splashes. Though Ainu had explained to him where the safe room was, Fahne hadn't been there yet, and didn't seem to find it all too important at the moment. He was content exploring his new home.
Had Merritt not slowed down, she
Late One Night...Crylark sank onto the dirt floor of the safe room. Her silver eyes glowing in the darkness of the young aeniama's only safe place, making her seem even more ghostly in the dark room. Letting out a puff of breath, she turned. Rolling onto her back so the fine silt would clean her fur of caked mud and rubbish, but also because she had an itchy shoulder. Restlessly, she sighed, rolling back to stand on her brown paws. Before padding off to a different corner so she would have room to pace as she tried to keep her glowing effect subdued, as to not wake the others.
Over by the waterfall, another Aeniama seemed to be having trouble sleeping. As she watched the flow of pure liquid into the pool, she leaned over and lapped a bit more, moistening her tongue. She saw a moving light in her peripheries, looked up and saw a fox moving from one corner of the safe room to another. Merritt decided to go and find conversation, at least. She hated being awake at times like these; she hated having nothin
Merritt's Villanelle: Private ThoughtsBorn as an Aeniama, bred in sewers dark and dim,
I live my life with certainty and for myself do fend.
Quite rarely do I think of it as risk of life and limb.
The sewers can be dangerous, and I cannot yet swim,
But seldom does that matter. In the tunnels I do spend
My hours, as I avoid the sewage tanks, enclosed and dim.
Exceptions come upon occasions when I go and skim
Some sewage from the surface, dark in color for to blend
Into my fur and well obscure the color of my limb.
I have a secret pining, little more than just a whim,
To find someone to share my time an Aeniama friend.
We'd help each other make it in the sewers dark and dim.
If ever he (or she) and I did find things looking grim,
We'd use affinities and all our energy expend.
The problem solved, we'd find the Safe Room whole, with every limb.
But still, if I did find this friend, I'd want some more from him.
We'd make a pact that soon, we from these sewers would ascend
And always we'd remember helping out when things w
Playing DefenseIntramural soccer game:
third loss. Not that I care fun to play.
Overcast the second half, and
as they score the drops start dripping,
mingling with our sweat until the
final goal is scored.
Suddenly, the heavens open,
pouring sheets of tiny drops and
all are light on players' skins. The
others start to leave and gather
all of their belongings while I
lay out on the sidelines and just
let it cool my face.
Minutes later, I stand up and
all the fields are full of faeries
dancing in the wind in spirals
to an ancient tune. The clouds are
parting in the sky just west so
rays of sun are visible and
tint the wings all white.
I was never one for dancing
but this time I get caught up in
all of the excitement from the
grass and rain and sky. My heart is
lifted from the earth, ascending
like a soccer ball that has been
swept from near the goal.
Writers' MemeWriters' Meme
Hello, and welcome to the writer's meme! Let's start with an easy question: how long have you been a writer?
-I've been writing just about as long as I can remember. I love creating stories, even though they're not always that good, and I don't actually get the ideas down all that often.
Ah, I see. Do you enjoy writing, or are you only doing it because you lack drawing skills?
-A little bit of each. I'd like to practice both, but I'm better at writing as of right now.
If you had to rank your skills as a writer (Pichu, Pikachu, Raichu), which would you pick?
Do you like to write in 1st, 2nd or 3rd person? Why?
-Each has its advantages. Most commonly I write in third person, but that's only because there's a lot of difficulty involved in writing in second person well. Second is probably my favorite, if only for the challenge.
Do you focus on the point of view of only one of your team members, both, or do you switch depending on the mission?
-I've only got o
HelloThe wind is made of dragonflies.
It picked up as I walked blindly, unthinkingly, down the sidewalk. My head wasn't in routine; my head doesn't get into routines. My body was in routine and my head was in the clouds when I felt their legs tickling across my skin and they started flying faster and faster and I felt the cloud pushing against my face, changing direction all at once, flying synchronized in a current of insects. They all followed the shifting slope fields across the plane of my existence, whichever one that was.
I smiled as the whisper echoed across the dimensions. Maybe somewhere there was a hurricane and they sounded like a swarm of locusts; maybe somewhere they were too distant and couldn't be heard; here, now, their whispers were like waves on a shore. Quietly, but powerfully, they rolled around me. Each one that passed close noticed me, stopped for no more than a millisecond to inspect me in that curious yet unaffected way they do, and continued on in the unending torre
a note from an angry feministdon't you think it's strange
(and with strange
i mean complete and utter bullshit)
that some ladies don't have the obvious right
to their own bodies
that hundreds of thousands acts of rape happen every year
and you can bet your ass
that it's the one fake accusation that makes it into the papers
that in media
seventy six percent of main characters are dudes
that women still have to fight
for the same wage
for the same god damn job
that breasts are threatening
if it's not in a sexual situation
that fragile societal structures
make less than ten percent of world population
that the gender binary
is actually a thing
that people will roll their eyes when you-
"feminism isn't needed anyway"
Digital synth pop makes you smile
Neon dreams color your eyes
And your room dances with fireflies
I want to hold your polyphonic skin
And drink the angels of your electric virility in
Beneath the black light's ice fire glow
As the beats and the rhythms swell and grow
And 3.14 here comes the music I never heard before
Echoing through your pulsing muscles
Pulsing through your rushing veins
Rushing through the guitar's strings
Right down to the electronicore
I want to hold your polyphonic skin
So we can feel the world's shaking vibrations and spin
I want the heart of the music that lies between the calm and the restless
And the soul of the music in the times that leave us breathless
The creme de la creme of auditory expressions
The Oldest Trick in the Book
The recurring theme of malinger and tomfoolery
pushes an envelope packed with counterfeit
bills across a desk made by the hands of hungry children.
So blatant a sin as to lie to a land of suspecting
psyches is that of a rape to every thought crossing
the pathways of synapses and morality.
The clueless neckties were never clueless,
as free will is the truest catalyst to the monsters
beneath the skin of miracles, like cannon fire in an orphanage.
Deception is a talent practiced while mastered by Hell,
and surely the envelope holds origins from places of evil?
Bills, from mangled trees, grow into newer roots of evil.
Rot can be proven and believed in any walk of life
in and across the world. A thing like evil is illusive
but worth the hunt. Thus end this cycle before it expands.
It is old and respected only by the evil and the ignorant,
the breeds who are related in sin. Let never a single demon win,
and take only the challenges that ring bells in Heaven.
OptimismI don't want to hear another rant,
Another sentence which involves the word can't.
All I ever hear is the moaning of the masses
Combined with the tossing of blame in the switching of classes.
What happened to joy and creativity
Which flooded the halls in Elementary?
We've gone from wonder to nihilism
Mixed in with sarcasm and narcissism.
I just want to lay back and talk about fun,
Maybe toss back and forth a pun.
But all I ever get to hear,
Is a scream of self-pity in my ear.
Maybe you could have it worse,
It's not like you've been locked into a voodoo curse.
So stop saying "Woe is me!"
And start being a little more gutsy.
Because the only way things are going to be ok,
Is if you go out and find that way.
The one that leads to a future and your posterity.
And you won't get there by going through your life covered in self-pity.
RainHave you ever felt the mud
Between your toes?
And sat there watching the bud
Fresh as it grows.
And thought "I am just carbon,
Dying with each breath.
My blood it is a dragon
Burning with that death."
Music cannot be just sound,
Neither can my laugh.
There's blood running through the ground.
I cannot do math.
Giving up, look at the sky,
Letting the grass grow,
Knowing you will not find why,
Decide to let go.
Cookie-CutterStaring into the mirror
Hair brushed and twisted elegantly
Lips coated with shimmery gloss
Eyelashes flared boldly
Cheeks artificially tinted pink
Eyes lined with purple-
Staring into the cracked mirror
Hair dull and matted from sleep
Lips chipped and chewed raw
Eyelashes limp from forgotten tears
Cheeks naturally discolored
Eyes shadowed by nightmares-
Bodies Are Not ToysLather on the makeup
and flaunt that new dress and skirt-
your body's such a toy-
but it's not when you're a boy-
AmericanI’m a firework on the 4th of July,
I’m a crack in a bell
I’m a 4-wheeler in the mud
I’m an apple pie
I’m a Friday night football game at a small high school
I’m a Coca-Cola and a giant burp, excused with a “Sorry” and a blush
I’m a cowboy in a 10-gallon hat
I’m Thomas Jefferson, Ben Franklin, and John Hancock
I’m a businessman on the top floor of the World Trade Center
I’m a child playing with a Barbie doll
I’m a striped flag flapping in the breeze
I’m an ambassador
I’m a hamburger with extra ketchup
I’m a teenager with angst and high texting charges
I’m a soldier on the field
I’m a song
I’m a prayer
I’m a love
I’m an American.
Men's SocietyNo one likes an intelligent girl
because women are meant
to be seen
and not heard-
we stifle them with insults,
battery, and rape-
thinking their innocence
is ours to take-
and it is our job
to not care
and to not weep
for fear we become
one of them
and endure the same treatment
by our own brethren-
is the cruelty of society
X's and Y'scomes down to the forty-sixth
I've got oaken leaves on the ashen strips
and they can't tell by looking in my eyes
there's nothing wrong with a simple life
based on anything else in the first forty five
but that's not what they want to hear me say
we could chat here for hours
about Halo or flowers
and there's no shame in liking them both
but at some point you'd ask me
to answer the question
so you could tell me which was wrong
I retreat to a world
made of crystal and pearl
with the beautiful boys
and the beautiful girls
so that I can be friends
with whoever I want
make a life for myself
based on what's in my thoughts
and can cry
at the near-perfect world
where the people are nice
and the morals are closer
to black and to white
it's a mess– pretty, though
and nature and harmony are king
but on earth I'm content
to hold ashes of oak
and of juniper
and hope that no one will ask
and hope that in October
the sixth, the forty-sixth
won't become a crude joke
about X's and Y's
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More