|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Lost Angel--Part TwoMy shout strained away into a wretched cry, punctuated by disbelieving hiccoughs and my gasps for breath. A sick feeling gripped my gut, clenching and unclenching my stomach. Slowly, I opened my empty fists, tilting my tear-blurred gaze to the heavens ablaze with deep yellow and orange-reddish cotton balls.
"You promised," I muttered to myself, a stinging salty liquid wetting my parched lips. "You said you'd never leave me…"
I turned to retch, wheezing dryly, wiping my mouth roughly with my torn sleeve. Ashion couldn't be dead. He couldn't.
A scorched wind staggered weakly over the mounds of rotting bodies, lifting my hair limply and tossing it across my tear, sweat, and blood-streaked face before moving on to examine the rest of the carnage.
Resolutely I stood, hands balled into fists at my side. I turned my head, looking around at a valley that had stretched green to the horizon before this morning. A glint of white in the far corner of my eye caught my interest, and kneeling, I took
The Calm Before the StormThe sun beat gently down on my face from its apex in the clear azure sky, reflected millions of times more brilliantly in the tranquil waves of the seas surrounding Destiny Islands.
My toes were busy burrying themselves in the warm, wet sands, water creeping up occasionally to lap at my feet. I yawned, arms stretched above my head as I reclined in the sand, enjoying the peacefullness of another summer afternoon.
A sudden crash of thunder deafened me for a moment, and I shot up to a sitting position, scrambling to put my shoes on as a spiral of dark, angry clouds circled above in the inky black sky.
Strong, howling winds pushed me about as I stood, raising an arm to shield my eyes from the sand and dirt carried by the gales. I took a few stumbling steps forward away from the maddening ocean, hair whipping painfully against my face. "Sora? Kairi? Where are y--"
A flash of lightning filled my vision with a blinding white, followed shortly by another furious roar of thunder. I clapped my h
Dreaming of YouI've been having these weird dreams lately...
His hand reached toward me, fingers loosely open and beckoning me closer. Slowly, my arm lifted from my side, stretching, striving to reach him. For some reason, I couldn't move my feet--it was like they were cemented in place, and I wobbled and flailed as I tried to grab hold of his hand.
And all the time he was smiling at me; that small, knowing, comforting smile that encouraged me. Eyes hidden in the shadow of his silver hair watched me patiently, waiting for my fumbling fingers to lock with his.
The tip of my index finger brushed his, and I strained to reach further, eyes clenched shut in the effort.
"Come on," I heard him say gently. "Just a bit more."
"Riku--" I opened my eyes to glance up at him, only to find an empty black space where he had been.
My feet came unglued from the floor, and I toppled over, bruising my elbows and forearms and knees. I pushed myself up immediately, turning in small, quick circles.
DesertionEmpty frames of photographs
Torn out long ago are scattered fro and to
Dying echoes of joyous laughs
Faded quickly through a stiffled atmosphere
Withered petals dew-dropped of rain
Left abandoned in their vase of stagnant water
Sillhouettes of silent pain
Banished forth to corners darkened by unseen light
Frayed curtains of dullest silk
Billowed out and in on a gentle gust of breath
Dirtied sheets of likely ilk
Rested with burdened age of memories long past
And invisible to those who look
And ugly to those of highest taste
And hate by those whose hearts shrink not
Empty frames of dying laughs
And faded photographs
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
Keep in Touch!
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