Hello members and visitors!
Now that NaNoWriMo has finished, we will be bringing back our weekly features! Since we placed our features on pause for November (and the beginning of December) we have decided that each co-founder and founder will be choosing two deviations a week to be featured! All-in-all there will be eight fabulous deviations for your viewing pleasure Just a warning two of these deviations contain Mature Content so I will place a warning in the title for those pieces Now without further ado, here are your fellow members fabulous pieces.
~horrorwriter34 [Mature Content]
Comment: Justification for a Wanton Lifestyle is a fabulously dark flash fiction that is written in the style of a letter by her character Tosya Sobaka Chechelnitsky. Have you ever read a story about cannibalism on deviantART that isn’t grossly graphic? Me either so this is definitely worth the read. In a weird way, she makes valid points and justifies her characters opinion on cannibalism and why it should be allowable. You understand her characters standpoint even if you disagree and feel sickened by it. This unique piece definitely deserves to be featured. ~ !Kymira12
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Christmas at the Chechelnitsky's. Christmas Eve. One of the things about America I have come to enjoy. Though I despise the cold, I must say it is downright scenic when the snow's gently falling outside the window, the all-too-familiar, stereotypical Christmas setting unraveled within the home. You know, the tree flashing with perky white lights, their reflections dancing on the cylindrical surfaces of the ornaments hanging about them. The smell of fir trees and crackling fires, perhaps a few cinnamon scented candles or gingerbread men adding their own distinct scents to the air. I love that especially about this time of year--even the air seems to join in on the festivities.
I also adore how my child and little brother gaze in wonder at the orbs of multicolored glass as they hang them on the tree, their reflections comically distorted in them. How they frolic about...it's simply adorable, though my brother Maks is no longer a sm
Call Me Cicatricein a sloping curve, the scar covered his back
like an indefinite symbol of defiance. puckered
at the ridges, slithering across his shoulder blades, it was
something special in the way it interrupted his skin
/chronicle incomplete/ I reached out to touch it,
he caught my hand "you always did find beauty
in the broken." they always had more stories to tell.
I was something inexperienced (but never innocent).
I fell for his natural enjambments and
inability to meet my eyes. he fell for
the fact I was freshly born (but never young).
our first kiss was under a sycamore tree
that watched the world pass by. he said
he wanted to
Comment: “Call Me Cicatrice” by ~intricately-ordinary is rich with imagery and emotion. The narrator brings us along for the ride of her relationship with a mysterious and broken boy with many scars, both on the inside and on the outside. The very first line is extremely intriguing and hooks you in, keeping you hooked for the whole story. This vignette is so well written that you feel everything the narrator feels; love, pain, abandonment. This is truly a wonderful piece of literature ~ =HillsOfMyst
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Nostalgiashe fell in love with the sound of
dying storms, and lost herself in
the blind spots accompanying her
every furtive glance
her downturned spine labeled her:
and her relentless divulging to
overcast skies defined her as
needy; but still she offered the
seeds of her pomegranate heart
to anyone willing to settle down
inside the breeze
and she was abandoned, long ago,
(once upon a time, no one cried)
by wolves with insipid fangs
and human eyes (her glittery irises
never quite belonged)
they discarded her when she asked if
self-delusions were a state of mind
she is poorly veiled, so see-through under
catch a falling star, put in your pocketthere's something about those little broken
dreamer girls with misproportionate promises
and lingering whispers,
who walk like angels, lost, and trying
to find a way back home;
whose hearts bleed abnormally loud
and resonant- those girls with
shadows like ghosts [dead and haunting],
that make them a flavor
to taint your tongue.
if you listen close, you can hear the
unraveling words that once knit the hollow space
between their bones,
you can hear their shallow sighs like
sun sets for a final time.
you can hear their ticking time bomb lungs
and you can touch their secrets, because they
wear them on their skin. not like wounds
My Wonderland.Daily trials, a slip, a smile.
Come and walk my path a while.
Don't be shy, I'll pull you close,
I'll show you what I fear the most.
Here's the key, the choice is yours.
Do you dare pass through the door,
To leave the normal world behind,
And catch a glimpse of what's inside?
Be careful as you reach across,
Into this world that never was.
It might sink deep into your bones
And start to feel a lot like home.
Step into a world of dreams,
Held in place by breaking seams,
Feel the ghosts of doubt begin
To settle deep beneath your skin.
Don't be scared, here take my hand,
I'll show you through my wonderland.
Come and taste a brok
Comment: The poems that can paint pictures in your mind and make you hear the whispers they describe are the ones that stay in your mind forever. This poem is one of these: beautiful, well-written, well-rhymed, and a piece that sent shivers up and down my spine. Everything that is described has a very surreal feel to it, and that gives another, deeper level to the piece. There’s enough ambiguity to keep you thinking as you read it, though, and that adds to the piece’s sense of mystery. A gorgeous piece of work! ~ *MistressofQuills
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My Closet.My closet is full of porn.
Fluffy handcuffs and lingerie.
And the sex draw lies at the back.
My closet holds all the passwords.
To laptops full of yaoi fanfics.
And bad poetry.
My closet is brimming with secrets.
Bones that trap me in shame.
Time to set them free, and air out the place.
Fantasies of Titanic relationships.
A crushed wish to whisper "I love you."
So far from my Ice Queen persona.
My closet keeps all my fears.
Tucked away and buried.
My social anxieties and issues.
My family ties, all but cut
Through pain and hate.
Failed attempts to fix the unfixable.
My closet is big, but it's getting full.
Of paranoia a
The Funny Side Of Bitter.The wind runs fingers through my hair,
My legs burn as I run.
A whispered dream of innocence,
Fading with the sun.
The ugly side of beautiful,
The pretty side of fear.
I wonder why through all of this,
My twisted grin's still here.
Lips drawn over quiet fears,
Clenched teeth flashing white,
As the stars push back the dark,
And tremble in the night.
Arms stretched wide, I breathe in deep,
And stare into the sky
The taste of freedom on my lips,
As seconds trickle by.
For past the edge of broken dreams
The wings of hope remain,
And though my world was torn apart,
My fire will not be tamed.
The lessons of naivety
Sparks in the midnight skyBeautiful sparks in the midnight sky
Lost forever to the sunlit eye
Try in vain to find a place
On this earth's transient face.
Their talents lie scattered around
Celestial gifts, never to be found
Since humans do not understand
That for a spark to fire , it must be fanned.
At last after years of pain,
They shall find their hearts are chained
Following years of disdain
For their talents which are now in vain.
Eventually these sparks will die away
Like a cloth in fire left to fray
For they don't advertise their wares
As others do in shimmery fairs.
So take heed now and do attempt
To share your talents without contempt
Comment: This poem is at once a warning and an in depth look into human nature. LCB will captivate you with a lilting rhyme scheme. LCB reminds us all in haunting words that our talents should not be wasted and to live our dreams without selling ourselves short, or selling out. ~ *H-A-Cooke
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The Skies bleed redThey shout,
The skies are red, the skies are red,
But that's not what I see.
I see a land that seems well bled-
A sight saved just for me.
I watch as clouds of cotton floss
Shed bombs through spiral stairs.
I watch them shatter upon the earth,
And leave it burnt and bare.
Oh, where are the cold stone buildings gone
That once stood tall and strong?
Where are the bustling, bursting throngs
That filled the streets? What's wrong?!
At once the world swells and sways,
The reds turn ghastly white.
Through the mists of my cluttered mind,
I see a flash of light.
It leads me out into a park
With a noise I can't shake off
I hear them
An ode to the rainDiamond dew drops suspended in mid-air,
fall to the Earth born of Heaven's despair
for the parched, brown world that suffers below
in suffocating heat and rabid winds that blow
through every leaf in every branch, till they quake in prayer
answered when Heaven cloaks the Earth in her tears.
Each sphere encloses the myriad colors of existence.
Alight on the Earth that she awakens from her summer's penance.
the museher moonbeam hair
falls around me
on my hand—
forsaken by athena,
after the harrowing
and armored glances.
want to hold her,
the thin sultry
[blind to her
she brings out
the poet in
with her low
slipping on her
i want to be
the day she
says too much
and she and i
oh, she and
i—; yes, i
will bring reality
Comment: "the muse" by ~melodysnow is an incredibly beautiful and heartfelt poem about lost love. A combination of wonderful imagery, interesting metaphor, the occasional rhyme and repetition is what makes this poem so brilliant and unique. The use of allusion to Greek mythology in this poem, namely Medusa and Odin, makes it all the more intriguing. I found the last few lines were captivating and really summed up the feeling of being left behind. ~ =HillsOfMyst
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i was never very good at chess."It's good to see you again." Glasses clinking. The thin, hazy scent of liquor filled the room. Slight hum of wistful rapture before the fog rolls in.:thumb309712650:
"To old times," Antone raised his glass.
"No." Paper-thin nostalgia played on Mac's lips, as he lifted his glass. "To brotherhood."
Wry smile, "Salute."
"Salute." Downing the shot, a mildly pleasant bitterness spread through his chest, warmed his heart. Mac refilled their cups. Time seemed to stretch, dragging the seconds out like tectonic plates deep under the earth. Time is not linear. We're just going round an' round. Putting the decanter to rest, "It really has been a long time. I was s
~ConstantMirror [Mature Content]
Comment: A female on the sexual prowl… is it really as simple as that? This is a simple tale of a not so simple woman. This flash fiction piece is certainly a scene that can be seen in many clubs, pubs or gatherings and you can almost feel sympathy for her. A certain uniqueness in this story is the use of ’you’ instead of ’I’ which can place you personally into the story. A great piece of writing! ~ !Kymira12
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FleshOverbearing and tragic.
Under consuming and perfect.
Your sense of self is lost in all of her.
What a sad little story,
self destructive and boring.
Your face is in mourning for your self esteem,
Libido and feelings. Your very being.
Turn yourself in to something you're not,
To get away from who you are.
Turn yourself in to something you're not.
Walking away from life.
All trouble. All strife.
Walking away from life and everything you thought you were.
You're the same person,
Just wearing different flesh.
Comment: Izzy addresses the concept of losing oneself in a relationship with another person. The visceral images, "your face mourns for your self-esteem" and the image of climbing into a new skin really address the depth of the theme. If you want writing that will make you think, ~IzzyTFD is the Deviant for you. ~ *H-A-Cooke
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Fashionably UnderweightMorality is self denial.
Beat yourself up and wait a while.
View your stained mirror with someone else's eyes.
Repent - Clean - Guilt free
Do it all again with good intentions and closed eyes.
Wash- Deny - Insecurity
Do it again and never question why.
The billboard tells you how to smile.
Keep your mind - It's worthwhile.
Pull down your ugly facade.
Cut myself open just to see a different color.
The world is photoshopped and auto-tuned.
I want to kiss your ribs again.
Feel the bruise again.
See your hollow face above me.
A grim and bleeding ecstasy.
You're everything i never wanted to be.
I can't get you out of me.
You are everything you protest not to beHanging from the borderline.
Killing days and wasting time.
My sense of self is found in this red wine.
Your self assurance is so profound.
If you knew how wrong you were,
your unfounded entitlement would crumble under your feet.
Tell me again how much it hurts that nobody loves you.
Your self pity is overcast by your ego.
Your words are empty and i pray you let me go.
Just think melancholy.
Isn't it lovely?
Be adored for doing nothing.
Exiled from your own mind,
a messiah to your own kind.
Isn't it fucking fabulous to see yourself in such high esteem?
The beauty in your flawsThe soul behind your eyes
The truth between your lies
The scars beneath your skin
The goodness in your sin
The world beyond the doors
The beauty in your flaws
The light in your darkness
The cover in your brightness
The heart behind your walls
The danger when it calls
The kindness in your ice
The words that fool you twice
The calm in your fire
The speech of a liar
That life behind your locks
The ticking of a clock.
Comment: I love all the oxymoron's and contradictions in this poem! The rhyming adds to its allure, and I love the truth that it conveys. Each line has a deeper meaning that really make you stop and think for a moment and say, “yeah, that’s so true!” or “oh, I totally know what she’s talking about there!” All in all, a beautiful poem! ~ *MistressofQuills
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Starless nightIt was a cold, starless night. The moon was brighter, though, as if it had swallowed the stars for itself, gleaming like a pearl against the pitch black sky. Nothing apart from a soft breeze ruffled the tops of the dark emerald treetops moved. The mountains with their snowy tops and coal-black sides seemed to watch over the scene, daring it to move. It was almost like they were afraid to break the silence that had settled like a blanket. It was almost like the forest was holding its breath for something.
It was right to.
Something moved in the mountains, just a shimmer of movement, maybe a trick of the moonlight. Whatever, if anything, move
Love is a river that never runs straight “What’s this?” Sarah asked, holding a green note book by the top corner between her finger and thumb. She dangled it in between me and my history course work. I felt my heart sink to my shoes. She’d found Eden. I looked up into her bright blue and murky green eyes, broken by the few strands of red hair.
“Nothing,” I lied, gulping air. I felt like a fish out of water.
“It doesn’t seem like nothing,” Sarah said. I was waiting for her to tease me, to mock me or to do something. I couldn’t detect anything in her voice.
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