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Cecilia FliesFive stories high doesn’t sound like very much until you’re standing on a plank extended out over a swimming pool so small and so flimsy even toddlers give it a wary eyeball.
“I don’t like this, I don’t like this, I don’t like this,” Cecilia repeated to herself as she took that last step to the end of the board. “No, no, no, crap, crap, this is bad. What am I doing?”
Down below, a couple hundred people sat in the stands around the center platform. Their heads leaned back, gazing at the tiny ballerina balancing precariously above. Cecilia only looked for one person in the crowd.
There! A glimmer of glitter, silver and white, the unmistakable sequins of her friend and guardian angel, Lina. Cecilia couldn’t see her face, but she imagined her as she always was, book of spells on her lap, reading the familiar words.
It was Lina who made Cecilia fly. Lina who made the tiny ballerina a star, so much so that she had become the face on
Deal With It“There,” Philip said, and stuck the tip of the pick axe in the dirt.
“Are you done? Took long enough.”
“Oh, pipe down, Mack, I did what I needed to do.”
“All you had to do was kill him, dude, I think this is a little excessive.”
The younger man turned his head as Philip kicked body parts into three separate holes, then picked up the hoe and helped fill them without looking.
“Well, I can’t sleep at night if I know somebody I killed could come back.”
Mack stopped the hoe and looked up at Philip in shock. “You mean, you do this because you’re afraid of…of zombies?”
“It’s not likely, but the fact is, it could happen. Not gonna take my chances. When you’ve killed as many people as I have, kid, you have to find some way to deal with the ghosts in your head.”
“All right, whatever, but I really hate your coping skills.”
Happy AccidentsSometimes I wake up in the morning, blink against the blue light coming in the window, and forget for just a second that the rest of the world is dead.
When I was a kid, I read stories about how some of the best inventions and discoveries resulted from accidents. “Happy accidents,” my mom called them. I grew up hoping that one day I would be a scientist, and “accident” into something incredible. I achieved my goal—I’m not unhappy and it was something incredible.
Three months ago, I walked into my lab like I do every day, coffee in one hand, cell phone in the other, ready to work. An hour later, the entire lab went up in a puff of green smoke. I managed to make it to my safety bunker before the explosion went off, but by the time it was safe to emerge, the damage had been done.
I stayed in the bunker a month, waiting for my detector to tell me that it was safe to exit. When it still hadn’t gone off after a month and my food supplies were running
StrangersLauren laid on her bed, scrolling through stories on some paranormal website her sister raved about. Standard fare, really—ghosts, demons, nearly-there-but-not-quite photos, clearly faked photos, curses, unexplained deaths—nothing to make Lauren so much as lift an eyebrow.
She clicked on one story labeled “The Stranger” and skimmed through it. “Yada, yada, cursed because she was unbearably nasty, morality tale, etcetera, etcetera,” she said as she glanced through it, then closed her laptop with a sharp click.
Sighing, Lauren slid off the bed and grabbed her coat, heading down stairs and out the door. Seriously, rotting her brain believing that crap, she thought, and pulled her coat closer to fend off the chilly drizzle.
Five blocks to their favorite ice cream place; she met her sister there every week, and she hated it. She would have to pass at least three homeless people only to listen to her sister talk for an hour. At least she could get t
ChupaSheila crawled out of bed, eyes barely open, and slammed her hand against the alarm clock. After a trip to the bathroom and a half-hearted glance in the mirror, she shuffled her way to the kitchen.
Then, just as she had every morning for the past fifteen years, she poured herself a cup of coffee and thought, for the millionth time, what would I do without coffee on a timer? Then leaned against the sink, letting the aroma work its way into her system, and watched out the kitchen window.
This habit resulted from the hummingbird feeders her mom had put up before she died, and out of respect for her mom and, she had to admit, some personal interest, she kept them filled during the warmer months. Most mornings, a few hummingbirds would zip around the feeders, and she would start her day with them, marveling at their speed.
As she watched, two hummingbirds came up to the feeders, a blue and a green, and a territorial fight broke out, one chasing the other in huge arcs around the feede
Becoming a ManThe day my mother brought home a brand new book for my brother, I knew something had happened. He was too young to know, though. “Aces!” he yelled, grinning, when she put it in his hands.
I didn’t look at him; I looked at her. The joy of the gift didn’t mask the sorrow in her eyes. The deep wrinkles branched out from the corner of her eyes like leafless winter branches, and the exhaustion etched in the lines on her forehead read loud and clear.
Somehow I knew, without a word. I waited until she walked into the kitchen and followed her. “He died, didn’t he?”
She let out a shaky breath and started putting the other things she’d brought home away. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”
“Late last night.” She set down a magazine, and I glanced at the back cover. Ham in a can. I wondered what it tasted like for a second before I remembered what we were discussing.
“So what now?”
Permanent Relocation“Well, here we are, floating in a tin can in the middle of space.” The stocky blonde with short hair shoved her bag under the sparse bed in the room.
“Funny, I thought it would feel different,” said the brunette behind her.
“Welcome home, ladies,” said the tall, severe woman who showed them to their room. “Dinner’s in an hour, and we don’t wait.”
When the door was closed, the blonde laid down on the bed. “What’s your name again?”
“Stephanie, but I like Stevie better.”
“All right. Nice to meet you, Stevie.” Pearl pulled out her things, putting them in the small dresser beside her bed. There wasn’t much—some clothes, toiletries, a few books, and some pictures. Stevie noticed that she shoved these under the clothes. The curvy brunette sat on the bed when she finished and looked at the blonde across. “So why are you here?”
“Had to get
BoomI ran for my shotgun as soon as I heard the blast. No way I was going to get caught off guard, no sir. Another one followed the first, insistent, and with the sound of crackling that could only mean shrapnel.
Great, and I’m in my pajamas. I loaded the shotgun and walked with a purpose through the living room. The patriotic music from the July 4th concert still played from my radio—fitting, I realized, and I stood taller.
The last notes of America, The Beautiful rung out loud and true as I opened the door. As soon as I stepped outside, light and sound assaulted every sense. I refused to waver, and I shook my gun and yelled, “Come and get it, you pansies!”
The booming intensified, and I raised my gun. I might not be able to see my attackers, but if I shot in their general direction, I could provide covering fire for our boys. Good thing I brought extra rounds.
I leveled my gun at the tree line, knowing that whoever lead the charge of those exp
Helper“Forget the car, Gene, it’s gone.”
“Cars don’t just get gone, Marsha.”
“Yeah, well, people don’t just get gone either, do they?” the blonde looked out into the woods. “But twenty years in this business and I’ve gotten plenty of people just gone.”
“You’ve been doing this for that long?”
Marsha looked up at him in perplexed amusement. “You mean the gray roots and the wrinkles on my hands don’t give it away? I’m touched.” She turned and started walking back down the highway, muttering to herself. The short, stocky guy behind her hesitated, then followed.
“Why do you do it?” he asked as he fell into stride with her.
“Sometimes people need to go. Someone’s gotta help ‘em.” Gene nodded silently, and the two walked on for a while until Marsha turned down a small path into the woods at the edge of the highway.
“Well, I appreci
Death followed my father home.Death bought a new pair of shoes from my father. It left and hit a woman right in front of my father’s store. It dragged her thirty feet across the parking lot before speeding off, leaving her to bleed in front of Target. It brought my father out of his shoe store to direct traffic around the body, blood trickling against his shoes. It tapped the shoulder of an employee with CPR training. It got blood all over his clothes and sent him home early for the day when there was nothing he could do.
Death followed my father home. It called my father’s cell phone with an invitation he couldn’t turn down. It put a new playlist in my father’s Pandora shuffle that brought him to tears. It picked out the finest formal wear my father owned and laid it on the bed. It cancelled the plans my father had with his grandson.
Death gave my nephew an empty balloon. My father took it away before he could choke. It wheezed a skeletal laugh and patted the boy on the head.
a youth without flowerswake up, dress in your sunday best - that white church dress with the ribbon collar wound tight like a noose around your neck. don't wince when mamma pulls your hair back into twin tails, even though your scalp feels like it'll split open.
get in the back seat. wonder why your uncle is driving the family car down wheezy roads, but only wonder silently. from the back seat you see his fat old stomach wobble as the ford jostles down a gravel road toward church. apologize to mamma when your head smacks into the window - it's your fault, anyway.
smile like your daddy is the preacher, but don't seem too happy. mamma told you that today is a sad day. this thought rattles around in your tiny head; it doesn't make sense. how can the sky be as blue as a bird's belly on a sad day? there aren't many clouds in the sky.
don't fuss when mamma pulls you away from the kids playing ball underneath the big oak tree. she's only doing that to help you - you wouldn't want those pretty black shoes to get scu
Blood Regent: FaithfulThe beads were cold on his fingertips. The old brick of the church smelled of mold; corroded by the decades of winds breezing up from the loch.
“O my God, I am heartfully sorry for having offended thee,” he rolled the bead along the edge of his finger. The words spilled from his lips, memorized but still genuine. He lifted the stick until the candle finally breathed flame.
“- and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishment, but most of all because I have offended Thee my God…”
“Garrett,” a voice called from behind him.
“- Who is all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve…”
“Garrett, haven’t you asked enough?” Garrett felt a hand brush his shoulder. His scar rubbed against the cloth and the feeling was unpleasant.
“That is the point of repentance, Duncan. It will never be enough. Leave me to my prayers, please.”
Garrett watched Duncan’s shadow dance across the walls. He p
Generations - Through the Years1956
“So tell me, do you think I can get away with this on the beach at Nice?”
Helen Forbes looked over at her daughter and said “I don’t know – you don’t think it shows a little too much?”
Katherine smiled as she looked at herself in the mirror. “Nah – I don’t think so,” she said with a smile. The sleeveless white blouse was open at the neck, the lapel folded back, and her red shorts had little pockets at the front. Her outfit was completed with a pair of white heeled sandals.
“I still think it’s a little showy,” Helen said as she went back to packing her daughter’s case. Her mother was wearing a blue blouse, the neck open and the lapels pressed back, and a knee length red cotton skirt that buttoned up the front, with white open toed shoes.
“Come on Mum – what did you wear when you were my age?”
“Short dresses, long socks and pigtails,”
Not a Date, simply an InteractionA lanky, slightly scruffy yet well-dressed man sat in the ornate cast iron chair provided him by the street-side cafe. His icy blue eyes were squinted with the kind of hatred only confidence, or arrogance, can bring a man, and his form is covered with a crimson and black pinstripe suit. This man had shooed away his waiter several times that evening as he gazed at the other tables, absent-mindedly sipping the merlot in his fluted wine glass. He was about to move over to a table where a lone, middle-aged woman sat when his vision was blocked with a feminine form dressed in blue. "I hope you don't mind the company," the stranger said politely, her voice like silk ribbons dancing in the ocean. "But I saw you were alone, and thought you could use the presence of another human." The man sneered, looking over the woman in front of him. She was clothed in an backless, single shoulder indigo-transitioning-to-cobalt dress, and her clear blue eyes were surrounded with smoky make-up of a similar h
SethEn la oscuridad del origen del mundo definí mi destino
La llave de la verdad yace enterrada en lo profundo de mi alma
Mi sangre inerte clama por el conocimiento perdido.
.:Selfish:.I’m just a little bit cowardly
A little bit selfish
Holding onto a blind wish
I’m the one who cries while others laugh
Counts the cars that pass
Hands out my trust too fast
I’m the one who chases down falling stars
Dreams too big
Loves too hard
I’m the one who notices everything
Yet nothing at all
The one who would jump off a cliff
Just to see who stops my fall
I’m the one who wishes-
Wishes a lot
That whenever I say “I’m okay”
You would just hug me
And say, “I know you’re not …”
But I’m also the one who laughs
Even when I have no reason to
The one who smiles
Because there’s nothing else to do
The one who spends all her days
Wanting it to be night
And all her nights
Just waiting for morning light
I would wait for hours just to talk to you
Even if you wouldn’t do the same for me
I would complement you daily
Until you finally agree
And that is why my
By the sea shoreThere's a sound like the ocean when you put your ear to a conch shell. Or it's supposed to be the ocean. Lynn's always thought otherwise.
It's the sound of pulling and pushing and sighing and rushing.
Feral, fierce echoes.
There's a bone in your ear that's shaped like a shell. Lynn thinks that's why the conch is so special; it’s a link, a familiarity that grasps as deep as your bones.
She found her conch on a trip to Cedar Key, with Tommy and Lizzie and Helen. They wandered along the sand, skipping in and out of waves, watching the water eat the shore. Lynn liked the way each wave flattened along the beach, grasping greedy at her toes. Tommy and Lizzie whooped war cries at seagulls. Helen chased a hermit crab from the tide line to a tidal pool. Lynn gathered driftwood and seaglass, searching for the perfect natural knicknack. The conch shell was half-buried in seaweed. She washed it, standing calf-deep in the body of the
Commission: veenderEverything was dark. All he saw was darkness. Painbolt was conscious. His sight was hidden by a black blindfold. The young brown haired man tried to move, but his body was bonded in tight ropes and was seated in a wooden chair. Painbolt moved his lips, but what came up were muffled cries and grunts. Where was he? Why was he tied? And more importantly, why was he kidnapped?! Finally, the gag and blindfold were ripped from his face. Painbolt opened and blinked his eyes to see a group of scientists standing in front of him.
He shouted, “What’s going on?! Who are you people?!” The people didn’t answer, but they moved a bit and a woman walked towards him. Painbolt recognized her. It was his annoying rival The Muse. She was a redhead with a black dress with yellow outlines.
The Muse smiled very mischievously, “Hello, my friend! Guess what?! I have a new experiment I want to show you!”
Painbolt grimaced, “Oh, god! Not one of your s
Bling“Carry me across the threshold,” she told me. “It’s tradition.”
“Well, dear, it’s a simple question of weight ratios. A five ounce bird cannot carry a one pound coconut, after all,” I quipped.
“Are you calling me fat?”
“It’s impossible for you to be any other size, love.”
“Just what are you saying?”
I realized at this point that perhaps I hadn’t thought this through enough. “Nevermind, dear. Up you go!”
My knees shook as I lifted her, shuffled forward, then sat her down.
“Now that wasn’t so bad!”
What could be done? I was in love with a robot.
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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