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Walking ShadowsThere was no moon the night my father died. He always said the darkest nights were his favorite because he felt like a walking shadow. People think they can’t be seen in the darkness, but I saw them.
My father and I were in the forest on a hunting trip. I made a circle around our fire, looking for extra firewood or anything else that caught my eye. I was behind a tree looking over at his face in the fire when two shadows came up behind him and started stabbing him.
I saw their faces in the light of the fire, even recognized one of them. Then I ran. It was a long time before I stopped running, and when I did, I hid in a bush.
Cowards, both of them. I thought as I cried. Sneaking up behind him, two on one; that wasn’t a fair fight!
I decided right then that when I killed them, it would be face-to-face.
Eight years in the woods taught me a lot of things, and I knew the sky as well as I knew my own face. It was a few days before the new moon, 10 years since my father’s
The Gauntlet28. Thwap, slam. 26. Smack, thump, thud. 23. Kill 23 more, that was the objective.
One more body fell under my weapon, and I took a momentary pause to wipe off the blood. The small break allowed me to look around at the carnage: a sea of corpses.
I didn’t want it to be this way, this was supposed to be the last resort. Plan A didn’t show up, and that left me alone. I heard the sound of more footsteps.
I steeled myself for the oncoming attack and raised my fly swatter.
Zombie PieThe “A” Area, B Chair contained it. Swoosh…bloop. The first feverish, bloodless cadaver stumbling far to get victuals fell across it. Splish went the pie…kerplunk. Mmm!
BootlessBilly came out of the womb looking for something. That’s what her momma said, anyway. Even as a child, Billy seemed unsatisfied with what she saw around her—she would stand at the edge of the yard, leaning over the gate, looking away in the distance.
Without meaning to, she made people uneasy. They always felt like she was looking past them, never at them. Billy was only ever sort of present in any given conversation; her mind was elsewhere.
When it happened, only Billy came out unsurprised, as she had expected the world to end for years and wondered why it took so long. “And after all,” she told the others, “the world didn’t actually end. We’re still here.”
It came on the wings of war, on the back of a hatred that stewed between nations for years until someone stopped walking around the elephant in the room and just bombed the heck out of it.
Billy loved the new world, though she didn’t say it. The one time she had, it almost got h
Best Friends ForeverSharon brushed her hands against her jeans, a reflex for the irritation from the dirt on her hands. She found the spot behind the boulder where she had stored the metal trash can and began to take off each piece of her clothing one-by-one, dropping them into the can until she was a naked woman in the dark desert.
The matches—four of them—fell into the can, and fire licked up from the bottom. The heat felt great in her current state of dress, and Sharon stood by the fire as if she were roasting marshmallows. For a moment, she wished for s’mores.
She poked her clothes with the end of the shovel, and when she was certain they were ashes, she put the lid on the can and looked around. Still no one here, thank goodness; she didn’t want to run in front of anyone naked.
Once back in the truck, she slid into her fresh sundress and flip flops, took a sip of water, and cranked up her country music. She sped out of the sand trap with a grin a mile wide on her face—the
A Spoke in the WheelI shouldn’t be here, he thought. It wasn’t supposed to last this long. Daniel shuffled toward the door of the saloon, drawing as little attention to himself as possible. The dust prickling his bare ankles—darn the pants he had borrowed—told him he had reached the door, and he pushed on it with his back.
It didn’t open. He turned his head half to the side, but before he could see anything, something pushed him forward. He hadn’t even straightened up when a hand came down on his collar and he felt himself being dragged outside.
“Now listen here, you stinkin’ flannel-mouthed four-flusher!” You come in here with yer potions ‘n got our women all fussed and now—LOOK AT MY HEAD!” The cowboy Daniel only knew as “Big Jim” took off his hat, revealing a mass of messy, bright pink hair. “Show ‘im, boys!” he bellowed.
The other cowboys reluctantly removed their hats, showing off their
Windows“It’s blue,” Henry said out loud to no one. “It’s not aqua, it’s not turquoise, it’s not cerulean. It’s just blue.” He looked out at the sky again, clearest he had seen in a long time. A few clouds drifted across the expanse, the thin, wispy kind he thought was cotton candy when he was a kid.
“You can’t eat clouds, Henry!” He could see the two of them in his mind eye, he and George, playing outside. George was 7; Henry, 10, and they were best friends. “Clouds are made of water!”
“Well that don’t make any sense,” Henry could hear himself saying. “How do they stay up there if they’re water? And how come they look white? Water don’t look white!”
“I dunno,” George shrugged. “They stick together somehow, my teacher said.”
Henry looked up at those clouds now and smiled sadly. George had stopped coming over one day. Henry didn’t kn
Thanks for the Memories“No no no, honey,” Sylia muttered, kneeling next to the crumpled body in the pavement. “You have to wake up now. It’s time to wake up, you have to.” She pushed the being’s gray face back and brushed away dirt and gravel. “Wake up now, please,” Sylia pleaded again.
Sirens raised a cacophony around them, but she knew they were safe for now. This was not the only one, this was not the only body that had rained from the sky—there were so many more. Sylia could see three from where she sat. None of them moved.
As she sat there, she heard a sizzle and a loud pop, and looked up to see a newscaster appearing on one of the huge display screens in Times Square. Somehow, they had piped in volume, because she heard him say, “…threat has been neutralized.”
Neutralized? Such an inhuman word—ironic, considering, she thought.
The screen flipped to a woman, somewhere in Times Square as well, holding her coat together
Spring Has Held Life in Her HandsSunlight is pouring past her lips as she cradles newborn fawns. Vines twist and spiral into a calligraphy of green memories; she bats her eyes causing petals to glide on softened breezes. As she hangs leaflets on branches and tucks in tree roots with blankets of moss she smiles. Mountains cry, with snow trickling down their peeks. She places circlets of white flowers at their feet; her hands brush the sliding snow away.
She builds a castle of iris and lilies over the world with purples, pinks, and reds dotting the horizon. The people look up and shudder as a sudden peace engulfs them. Spring digs moats of morning dew beneath drawbridges of grass. Placing a tiara of clovers against the sides of dead trees, grass spurting forth from their wounds she sings. Birds flit between the branches of her hair, chirping a song of return into her ear.
The clouds stretch awake at the sound of Spring, chuckling hello with a wave of white. Forests clamor for her touch and she obliges, unfu
BoysContains: Gas fetishism. Female.
Liliana awoke to rain pattering against her apartment's window. She felt mild discontent.
She could see the overcast through the glass sliding door that lead to her balcony, moody gray light bleeding in at an angle. Liliana groaned.
Oh, the woman wished she could've gotten a few more moments of sleep, dozing off to the soft dripping of gloomy precipitation, but a hand trailing along her side alerted her-- no, reminded her of last night's events.
Calloused fingertips ran against her silky, tan skin, the palm cupping the fat of her hips before moving towards her inner thigh. She lay in the nude under the sheets, not a single garment or accessory on her besides the piercings in her navel.
A masculine grunt came from behind her as the rough hand attempted to make its way between her thighs, only for Liliana to growl and snatch his wrist. "You've overstayed your welcome," She muttered, narrowing her eyes. It was way too early for her to deal wi
Bird In a CageHe didn't understand his attraction toward her; she had appeared merely a week before. She had a mysterious air around her. Of course, she never left the house. Something about her seemed off, yet he couldn't stop thinking about her. Hell, he jogged past her house every day during his daily jog hoping he'd spot her looking longingly from her window. Her light was never on, but he could see all her details. Her green eyes sparkled with curiosity. Her blonde hair bounced in curls. She dressed in white dresses; he had never seen her in any other type of clothing or color. Her skin was the color of a white sheet. He knew she had never been in the sun for long. He thought of her as something that was foreign to him.
She's a swan trapped in a cage.
A beautiful cage that she did not want to be locked in. He wouldn't deny her house wasn't gorgeous. The walls were made of brick. A wall of brick surrounded the property with an iron gate blocking his entrance into the brick palace. A white, woode
Two's company, three's a mistake"Alright... Now send me down the cable. Make sure the cover's still on the end so you don't get it all wet with your spit..."
"There we go, perfect. Now at least it won't be so boring in here."
The screen of a Nintendo DS flickered to life, illuminating the space surrounding it. A pudgy-hipped blonde girl with glasses sat cross-legged inside what was unmistakably someone's stomach, stylus between her lips as she focused intently on her video game. This was Chelsea, who, weeks ago, had been swallowed whole by the dorky stoner girl who sat in the back of her Calculus class and doodled in her notebook margins.
Now, in the warmth of June, she was sitting in that same stoner girl's stomach, a blush on her face as she tried to ignore the nagging feeling of excitement she'd been working on forgetting about for a while now. She managed to keep her attention on the game and off of her temporary captor's warm stomach - and outside the bloated belly, its owner belched rudely and cove
Kate (day-dreamer)Kate paints her nails teal with black speckles because she says they remind her of egg shells left to warm themselves in the summer sun.
(I tell her I've never seen a teal egg but she tut-tut's at me and presses our lips to the pages of an old book until our tongues are tattooed over by words from a dead poet's mouth.)
Kate cuts her own hair with scissors she found rusting in an old, waterlogged box in her grand-father's attic.
(I tell her rust doesn't cut, only bruises, but she rolls her faded eyes like dice and tells me that's nice but I shouldn't believe everything I read.)
Kate uses honey and paper bark to wash her face because she says it's all made of star-stuff and she likes to touch the night sky.
(I tell her it doesn't equate to the same thing but Kate is a believer and my soft words don't change her.)
LoveEven roses will bloom - can I?
Blinded by heartbreak, scarred from before,
every part of me screamed "No!!"
But in his eyes, forgiveness beckoned...
At Fate’s edge. One step… then…
I fell. He followed. Love blossomed.
Old ManThe Old Man is sitting on his porch sleeping. The glasses balanced on the tip of his nose reflect the grey clouds rolling in slowly from the west. Then,as the warm winds bend the branches of a lonely willow, he is finally woken up by a thunder that bursts with smothered energy. In the horizon a lighting bolt now shatters the quietude and the drums and darkness come into play. A purple light slowly caresses the man's frozen face. He is scared. More drums, tribal beats echoing through the rain, wich is beginning to fall in drops of green and red. The old man is screaming and crying. He is scared.
- Please... What have I done? - He pleads for an answer.
- Please, please... Tell me. What have I done?- The sound of the rain is now louder than the drums, the noise is deafening, the man cannot speak. He starts feeling drousy, his clothes are drenched, his hair is heavy. He mumbles.
The storm then ended as fast as it began and the old man is calm again, because he knows he'll now sleep f
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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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