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Chapter Three: The Replacement Chosen Ones (or the chapter in which we meet the second rate replacements that are going to try to revive the chosen ones.)
In the corner of the tavern a lone traveler sipped at his ale. He was not in a good mood this evening, and looking at how events around him seemed to be headed, it did not look like his mood would be getting better any time soon. He moved to the side as an empty pitcher sailed by his head, the ends of his shoulder length black hair. At least they still had the sense to throw empty things. Right now it only seemed to be some really drunk Scotsmen with the bright idea of tossing everything when they had emptied it. That was why all of the dishes were made out of metal, apparently, he mused as he gazed at the reflection of his dark grey eyes in the side of his tankard. He ducked another hurled object, no the real fighting had yet to start, but by the steady increase in fr
Chapter Two: Fallen Heroes (or, the chapter in which the chosen ones get their butts kicked by a little girl.)
As he flew under the gigantic subtitle, Dejwin knew that he had to hurry, for the first and foremost reason that subtitles never lie. Or they do not normally, in any case.
Dejwin glared around, trying to find the mysterious source of the disembodied voice. "So is it lying or not?"
No, it is not lying this time. Please, though, can you try not to be so..so, well obvious when you are talking to me? It generally does not work well when characters talk to the author.
"Well who am I supposed to talk to?" He questioned indignantly, "Mr. Clucky? He might be a mutant, but that does not mean he is a good conversationalist."
Well sorry, I am not just going to insert a random character so that you can have someone to talk to. I have this too well planned out for you to go and make a mess of things by making me d
Chapter One: Abdication (or, the chapter in which an old man decides to retire and hands his campaign off to his reluctant son)
Below lay the blue ocean and above spread the clear sky; the horizon was lightest of blue lines far out in the distance. But it was getting closer as the sky and sea passed rapidly by. Even in this paradoxal wonder there was perfection, only marred by a single black speck very close to the horizon. Larger and larger the spot grew until it was recognizable as an island. Blackened shores of old lava flows revealed the nature of the island's formation. If that was not enough of a clue, though, a large, solitary mountain with a caldera like opening where the tip of the mount should have been. Actually, the entire island could be considered part of this monstrosity's slopes.
Rich, black volcanic ash covered the place, all the way up to the peak of the central cone formation. If what was sa
MercyOh sweet God how the grassland
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
Life is but a DreamWe are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded bo
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More