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Within the Woods, Ch 1My footsteps echoed through the cobblestone hall and bounced off the stone walls as I made my way down to the third level of the villages old prison. The torches lining the walls gave the place an unwelcoming glow as the flames tongues licked at the stones.
"Hey Bruce" I said to the lump in the corner of the cell. I put down the tray and slid it into the small opening. There was movement in the corner as Bruce shifted and reached towards the tray with a grime covered hand.
"Thank you dear" Bruce replied in his thick, raspy voice. I remember my first year as caretaker, when Bruce's voice had scared me. Now, aged twice as fast in his cell, I only felt sad for the guy.
"I'll see if I can get you a wash cloth." I said, standing up from my crouched position. I knew Bruce wouldn't say more as he nibbled on a piece of stale bread. My footsteps echoed back up the stairway and down again as I returned with a small pale of water and cloth.
"Thank you dear" Bruce replied again as he so
Bloodlines.Amber eyes stared back at me through the mirror as I pulled my hair - an angry red mass- back into a high ponytail. Wisps of wavy hair tickled the back of my neck and I sighed heavily. Today is the first day back to school, but for me it's my first day at Charleston High.
Fact: I'm the new kid, again.
I'm in grade ten and have been to eleven different schools. Sometimes I get to stay for a couple years, sometimes a semester or even a week.
Fact: My mom and I move around a lot.
Tammy, also known as the woman who gave birth to me yells from the bottom landing of the stairs, telling me she doesn't want me to be late on the first day of school. Every clock in the house is set five minutes fast so that the household consisting of my mom, my younger sister, and myself are somehow early for things. Yet we all know its fast, so all we do is subtract five minutes constantly. The only people it tricks are house guests that don't come often.
I know this may just be totally surprising t
Gone AwayFirst, is the little things. Yes, the cheesy little saying throughout every cheesy tail. The little things in life that manage to be beautiful. That cause you to take a moment and think about. Things such as the way the sun hits the trees before sunset, basking the edge of each leaf. The look of rocks under water when the summer sun hits the glassy surface, and when you look closer you can see smudges of colours. The sweet smell that wafts through the house when mom bakes cookies. The warm, cozy feeling that spreads through your veins as you drink hot chocolate on the coldest of days. The refreshing, awakening glass of ice tea on a boiling summers afternoon. The laugh of a child. The call of a bird. The wind through your hair. The crunch of autumn leaves. The feeling of home when your wrapped up in your favourite blanket. The taste of chocolate. The chomp of the first bite of an apple.
There are all sorts of little things that make me regret my recent decision.
ABOVE: Chapter fifteen"We'll head back to the camp and check out how things are." Damon says, explaining the simple plan.
"What if there's still raiders." Mia argues, leaning against the wall groggily.
"The raids usually only last a night." Damon says with a yawn.
I stand leaning against the door, not wanting to make an effort to get back to my spot only to have to leave the tree house.
Patrick scratches his head in thought. "But that wasn't a normal raid."
This catches me attention and the words slip from my lips. "It wasn't?"
There heads nearly turn to me in unison, acknowledging my existence for once in this conversation. "Uh, no. They usually just come in, steal stuff, record stuff, and shoot a couple people. Maybe set something on fire within a half hour." Damon says with a shrug despite the anger laced through his words.
"But this lasted longer, and was different." Mia says.
"Different?" I echo.
"Different." They all nod in agreement.
"Longer." Patrick says.
"More shots." Damon says.
"And they did one
Break AwayHeart beat
pound pound pounding,
rythem like a drum.
flow flow flowing,
smooth as a stream.
beat beat beating,
quick against this cage.
But the key won't
click click click,
because it just doesnt
Body keeps on
thrash thrash thrashing,
against these metal bars.
Lungs keep on
breathe breathe breathing,
this poision laced air.
And the girl continues
scream scream screaming,
but no savior comes.
I don't want to die,
but I don't want to exist either.
ABOVE: Chapter FourteenBoth Tyson and I jump, the gun shots exploding through the night. A distant scream comes down the road and through the walls. I stand up, pain throbbing in my legs as I do so, Tyson stands to, grabbing my hand with his warm one.
"Tyson?" I whisper, wanting to hear his reassuring voice.
"We have to hide. Climb under your bed!" He demands, blowing out the candle on the bedside table.
I drop to the floor and begin scrambling under the bed. Tyson does the same, groaning as he fits into the small space. We stay quiet, apart from my breathing that feels loud in the silent room. Gun shots, screams, and running feet surround us before the door creaks open.
I stop breathing. Heavy footsteps move across the floor, uneven footsteps made of a group of three people. Light glides over the bed tops and I can see Tyson's unmade bed.
I look at him to find him looking at me. He's hardly visible from under the bed, but I can see him begin to mouth the words as one of the invaders speaks, "check it."
ABOVE: Chapter ThirteenNight settles in slowly, the light and heat drawing away secretly as we hang out in the old abandoned barn after the tour. Mia throws a knife, an airy sound slicing through our silence as we watch it lodge itself in the center of the target. She laughs as Patrick's knife plants itself somewhere in the middle of his target, but still an inch or so away from the goal.
Damon steps up, his coppery hair falling in front of his grey eyes. His arm comes back skillfully before he hurdles the knife towards his matching target, a large circle with a number of red and white painted rings on it. The paint's peeling off a bit in some parts, the wood revealing many battle scars. He hits it dead center like Mia and is rewarded with shouts and howls from the other refugees watching.
"That's what, five to four?" Damon says, winking at Mia.
Patrick tosses his knife in the air and catches it, repeating the process as he speaks. "Hey, I'm still in the game with an entire score of two, guys." He puts on a
Shut.Up.Shall I scream,
Or shall I shout?
Heart hammering to its own beat.
Blood boiling, enriched with angry heat.
You don't know me,
I don't know you.
Now stop spitting words like you do.
Thoughts pounding against my skull.
This argument has become utterly dull.
Accuse me of arrogance,
Do what you please.
I'm not what you label,
I'm not an enemy.
Let it go,
You narrow minded idiot.
ABOVE: Chapter Twelve"Get up." An irritated voice says. My entire upper body gets suddenly cold and I shiver, hugging my arms around my chest. "Ugh. I don't know why I signed up for welcoming committee. Oh, right, Patty signed me up. Yet I have to do all the work." Mia mumbles as she pulls the remainder of the sheets wrapped around my legs off and drops the comforter to the floor. "Up. Now."
I groan and sit up, immediately noticing Tyson's absence. "Where's Ty?" I ask. It's odd saying his nickname, but that seems to be what he's telling people to call him around here. My mind draws back to the day he told me his name yet I knew the real version. Then my mind flips forward to yesterday and our kiss, his words echoing in my mind. 'I thought I lost you.'
"Making out with some chick in the forest, rather scandalous." she says with a sinister smile.
"Ha, ha. He wouldn't do that." Even as I say it, the picture of him and some other girl dances around my head and yanks at my heart. "Where is he?" I've pulled my k
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-
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,
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.
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.
Ideationlocked in a room
with only one escape,
or so it seems.
your hands shake and you drop the key.
Suddenly you're unsure.
Do I want to pick it up?
Do I want to find it?
Do I want to leave?
you think to yourself
there's no other choice.
find the key or corrode, or rust
wear down the hinge
use sadness as the key.
You have the answer now.
Just open the door.
Just walk outside and don't look back.
Let yourself leave with no regrets.
And yet you can't.
You're afraid, you think,
but you are actually strong.
Don't run away.
Don't take that leap.
MuteKept away from the dreams,
a wondering shell just looking for true meaning.
How does one know,
whats up and whats down,
when they've lost their solid ground?
How does one try,
when they cant find reason?
How does one speak,
through the strangling silence?
bruised and torn.
salty tears welling.
no words seem to be coming.
I'll keep my silence,
thats apparently what I do.
I'll stay silent,
I'll save you.
how do I speak,
when nobody cares to listen?
How do I explain,
what I dont even seem to know?
I'm not falling,
I'm way past that.
I've smashed to the earth,
sudden shock in the truth of reality.
My excapes all lead to the same place;
trapped in a corner with the shadows looming over me.
so much screaming.
Screaming utter silence.
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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