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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
My mind deals with
Overcomes my judgement
Today it's no different
I can't take it anymore
Observing my image but
Nothing is revealed
Before My Mouth Told You I Was Sickbefore my mouth told you i was sick, there were
the fingers that wrapped around cups and cups of tea.
i sipped oceans.
i sipped the seven seas
and my ribs were the rainstick that
sent shivers pattering like some
down your swaying, praying spine.
there were the hurricanes.
that is what you came to call them,
my eyes burst into lightning,
my chest quaked with thunder,
when my ribs heaved with the monsoon
that was my breath
until i collapsed, shaking, into your
beach house arms.
there were the missing beats.
sometimes my heart slowed, stopped,
staggered home drunk to gasp morse-code warnings
between my aching ribs.
sometimes the stillness was so perfect
(and alone so tempting)
that i wished for the beat
to wander far and
to be forever lost.
there were the ribs, and the collarbones.
i was a mountain range with
blood in my rivers,
you saw the carrot sticks
(oh god how could you)
and you let me feed myself with
there was the blood i was suppose
little victories.when i was younger,
i thought i was the strongest
little girl in the world
because i could easily
beat my older brother
at arm wrestling.
it wasn't until years later
that i realized
To the person who holds my best friend's heart...I know that is is kind of weird
But I felt that I should write this down.
I need to tell you what I feel
And tell you what he means to me.
He's my best friend and he's a good man.
Please, give him the love and respect he deserves.
He may seem goofy but he's very sweet.
I know this because he was always there for me when I was sad.
Now, I know that you're not bad
Cause he would never choose someone who's mean.
But I still want to tell you just in case you forget in the future;
Please don't break his heart.
He's been through so much
And he doesn't deserve something like that.
He is the kind of person who smiles even when he's hurt by others
And would take any pain for the people he loves.
I know, I've witnessed it.
I know he may seem kind of childish sometimes
But don't let it get to you.
It's just his way of expressing himself.
He's very caring and I'm sure he'll do anything to make you happy.
He doesn't look like it but he's very kind and thoughtful.
He'll put your needs before h
in which I gain sentiencesave room
for doubt, in the silence between
religious guilt and stolen
body heat. I am made of helium.
in my dreams they
pop me and
watch me flutter. I wonder if everyone
else’s head is so congested as mine,
hyperactive with inattentive people.
you are never serious--
he stares at me in a different
set of eyes; there are words
I cannot say, there are
things I cannot tell you.
(twice a week
I watch the people I love
leave me for good.
spiders in my throat,
you're wearing isadora's scarvesoh, i hope you never love me, satyr-girl.
misanthropic mistress, i am coughing up
crows & bleeding blue beneath pocked
vessels; these worn teeth may be ink-
cavities, but i have never been your poet boy.
3:00amThere's always fear amidst his joy,
a little voice in the back of his head,
warning him of everything that might go wrong.
Yet, the nightly ghosts and the monsters
who lurk and scratch the floor under her bed,
were just the myths of a man who
wanted an excuse to hold her each night.
He doesn't think like this anymore,
he lies awake and ponders as the shadows
sway in their tribal dance along the walls,
and wholeheartedly hopes, that they
will rip a frustrated scream out of his throat
one that's loud enough to conceal the nagging voice.
"Oh my boy, haven't I warned you?
Love is a sin, don't come near
fairy-tales are only meant for books,
but you dove right in, driven by a foolish need.
You've tasted the bitter end of a blade
roles switched, now you're the monster she fears."
"She says your smile is beautiful,
like a sun shining so bright, a strength through your pain,
yet she fails to see the poisonous thorns
you nurtured with treason and grudge.
She doesn't know
Can you look deeper?You see that girl you just bullied?
The one you harassed over her choice of art?
The art of a man beating a woman to death?
She saw her father kill her mother when she was five.
You know that man who likes to photograph himself in dresses?
The one you called a homo because of his choice of clothing?
Well, his parents wanted him to be a girl instead of a boy.
So they made him dress like that everyday to pretend he was a girl.
You know that woman who writes stories about child rape?
The one you bullied until she didn’t know how to cope with life anymore
Her uncle has been in jail for the past eleven years.
He raped her daily for seven years of her life.
What about that guy who favored abstract artwork?
Do you remember him he liked to use the colors red and black a lot.
He was nearly beaten to death when he was fourteen.
He only knows nightmares because he remembers seeing his blood on the wall.
What about me? Do you remember me? Even just a teensy little bit?
You bullied me because
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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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