Forum Micro-fiction: MonstersMonster. Slayer.Forum Micro-fiction: Monsters by fenicksreborn
“Murderer is more like it,” he said in a disgust-tinged voice as the last shot rang out. Grimly surveying the carnage, he lowered his weapon. Shaking his head and running his free hand through his hair, he continued, “Not like more of these things won’t just pop up tomorrow…”
“Or the next day…or the day after that…” he heard from his left. Glancing that way, he saw a woman; girl really, in faded blue jeans and leather jacket.
“What do you want?” he asked, looking away again, keeping watch for more dead rising.
“Is that anyway to greet your little sister, huh, Nicky?” she asked in a singsong voice.
Turning towards her, he harshly replied, “You’re not my sister, Jesse. Now, what do you want?”
Deciding it was better not to argue, Jesse told him, “The boss wants to see you.”
He motioned her to lead the way.
Forum Micro-fiction: Nightmares“NOOOOOOOOO!” she woke up screaming, anxiety clawing at her insides like undead fingers from a grave.Forum Micro-fiction: Nightmares by fenicksreborn
She remembered the feel of their greasy hair and wet lips moving along her neck; of being held by large hands against a wall; the cold steel of the dagger against her throat; and the sound of her garments tearing as they were roughly removed. A thin red welt now flattered her neck like a necklace of shame.
In the grey early morning light, Locke dressed. Work did not stop just because one had recurring nightmares.
Donning dark brown boots and matching mask, she strapped on her ash bow. Smirking at the reflection in the mirror, she turned and left the room that had been her home for the last few months, a spring in her step.
It was time for a reckoning.
Forum Micro-Fiction: FairytalesRunning. She was always running. Though, given that she was someone who had a habit for acquiring items through less than legal means, she understood it. Not that this made her enjoy it anymore.Forum Micro-Fiction: Fairytales by fenicksreborn
“Stop! Thief!” she heard someone exclaim. Turning her head, her obsidian hair whipping, she collided with a solid wall of giant and fell.
Sprawled on the ground, she looked up through twilight bangs. The giant loomed over her, arms crossed, glaring at her with his pig eyes. She began backing up, as the guards closed in through the crowd, her hand brushed against something round and metallic. A bright blue flash, and she was gone.
There were gasps around her. Looking down at her hand, she found the amulet pulsing blue. They could not see her, not wanting to see if they could touch her, she got up and slinked away, picking pockets as she passed.
We're giving away gifts for the holidays!Happy Holidays from deviantART!We're giving away gifts for the holidays! by hq
We're preparing the tree, unpacking the ornaments and lights, and humming our favorite carols. But, something seems a little off. Some of the holiday magic is missing, and we need your help to bring it back. Join us in decorating deviantART's Holiday Headquarters by adding some of your own holly and jolly to the festive atmosphere!
How can you help?
We want Holiday Headquarters to look and feel as festive as possible and we're asking you to put on your creative thinking cap to make the magic come alive with your artistic touch. We're hoping for an outpouring of seasonal comments!
Here are a few ideas for how you can contribute:
Creating a comment drawing in dev
Know What You Write! (Folder Now Open)EDIT: Hey guys, the folder's only open until Thursday, and then we move on to a new workshop. I mean, it's been open since the 8th. There's only 4 days left of critique week and no one's submitted anything We don't bite, I promise. If there has been a problem with submitting work to the folder that I'm not aware of, please let me know.Know What You Write! (Folder Now Open) by Writers-Workshop
Just in case the new parenthetical in the title didn't tip you off, the current workshop folder (entitled Know What You Write! December 2011) is open for submissions So, start submitting those stories!
Welcome to the brand new workshop!
Well, hi there! I'm Lucy-Merriman, and I'll be your host for this workshop
For novice writers, certain glib phrases of advice are likely to be thrown their way over and over again. “Write every day,” “Get feedback from writers you respect,” and “Write what you know.”
Unfortunately, that last piece of advice is often taken a smidge too lite
dA GUIDE: HTML, TEXT, EMBEDdA GUIDE: HTML, TEXT, EMBED by caska1979
Codes with this green symbol can be used to: comments, deviation description, journal, user page widgets, dA forum.
Codes with this yellow symbol can be used to: deviation description, journal, user page widgets.
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<strong> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </strong>
<i> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </i>
<em> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </em>
<u> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </u>
<s> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </s>
<del> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </del>
<small> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </small>
* This code doesn't work in
Seeing and reading this is kind of timely for me. You see, yesterday we went shoe shopping for me. I wanted a new pair of sandals and to look into a pair of shoes for the wedding. I also wanted a pair of ankle boots I had seen on the website, but sadly, those were not meant to be. Due to various things, I have to get flats and wide width. This makes it difficult to find decent shoes at times. I had already looked at the the bridal shoe offerings online, and while I hadn't been impressed, I was hoping maybe there would be something different in store. There wasn't. All the flats offerings looked like crap, while the heels looked gorgeous and pretty. In the end, I got two pairs of the same sandal, one in white and one in black.
But this made me depressed and it snowballed into a bigger thing. I ended up breaking down on Brian twice last night. Not only am I under a tremendous amount of stress with planning the wedding and making sure we can pay for it all, but with school, my health, and going through the bankruptcy. To add this on top of it, and I just don't feel pretty...beautiful. With all my health problems and the machines/meds that go with them, I tend to feel like a freaky monster of nature. I was wearing one of my soft, elastic headbands yesterday with some bobby pins to hold it in place because my hard headband has been making my headaches worse, but all I could think about was people seeing me and comparing me to Richard Simmons like my brother did one time, and it hurt. No, I shouldn't worry about what others think, but I do. I want to look good when I go out. At times it feels like the only thing I can control.
It's hard when I have days like this. It can be devastating when little things can have such a damaging effect.
Tips For the Novice
Tips For The Novice
It's an all-too common occurrence on my periodic forays into the world of internet poetry - writing weakened by a lack of fundamental knowledge concerning the essence of poetry writing. There are no rules set in stone about creative writing. The writer that strikes new trails can make a lasting impact on the world of poetry, but the chances of a writer stumbling upon golden words without a solid knowledge base are slim to none. The following tips for novice writers are intended to help shore up those fundamentals, to help the young writer breathe the essence of life into their poems, and to better share that essence with the reader.
The most important element you can inject into your poetry is imagery. Imagery is made up of sense data: color, sound, smell, temperature, the feeling of physical contact. When we remember anything with any vividness, we remember in images. When we fantasize or hallucinate, it is i
Tales of the Empire I could not sleep. Illogical thoughts burrowed themselves deep into my mind, something that was excruciatingly embarrassing for me. I was a philosopher, an explorer to the darkest realms of the human psyche. One would at least think I would have control over my own mind, but alas, the more I focused on the thoughts the worse my insomnia became. I was thankful to be in my own bed, my own chambers; I could roam freely around the three rooms uninterrupted. Of course this would have been impossible if the Pæasre had requested my presence tonight, though I was sure he knew my limitations by now. If he wanted me to complete whatever whimsical assignment he had given me it could not be interrupted by his desires. However, he only gave me the first night of a new assignment to myself, and any other free nights were an exceptional and rare gift. I often wondered if he did not understand how difficult it was to solve a murder case, fi
B of a TW pt. 2
When Natalie arrived to her room, she found it trashed by Duke, her five year old cockapoo who still thought he was a puppy. Everything was a mess and in disarray. Clothes were strewn everywhere, each blouse and pair of pants now unfolded in heaps around her room. The books that she treasured so dearly were laying everywhere with the spines up, pages open and causing damage to the companions of many a lonely night. The table lamp given to her by her mother was shattered on the floor, never to cast its friendly glow over her room again. The trashcan was overturned with all the contents strewed about the room, her collection of porcelain horses smashed and the pinto missing, her paintings that had been laying on her desk were ruined beyond repair with streaks of paint form opened tubes and torn from little claws, and worst of all, the book given to her by Mr. Paulo was missing within the chaos of her room. It was almost like it was done on purpose, but it couldn't have been.
Silver Nights~Silver Nights by Jean Zapata~
Dedicated to Sarah, my ninja and photographer extraordinare.
Latvia: world of the Twin Moons, home to the Kingdoms of Laveria and Cordelia.
Laveria, unlike its sister, is a metropolis and modern city with towers that could reach the sky, and is prominent for its culture of poetry, religion, literature and art.
Cordelia: a humble Kingdom of beauty, vegetation, and nature. Due to its many valleys, forests, rivers and mountains, Cordelia resorted to living a feudal life with minor use of technology and the like. This Kingdom also has a dark past but its people, apart from the Monarchy, know of it. There are many urban legend of 'monsters' and howling that occur in the holy grounds at times.
Both Kingdoms are faithful to their Moon of Laveria, the first Moon as it is known. In the faith of Laveria, there a priest and priestesses that perform ceremonies for the dead, the living and the harvest. Beautiful cathedrals can be seen in either kingdoms in h
Quest Of Something More Part 1In a small village, in the forest of Sugoi Riku. There are two friends who spent every minute together. Their names are Kumo and Anki. The story begins with them sitting at the river.
"Hey Anki, what do you feel like doing?"
"I don't know, let me think."
"Alright let me know when you figure out what to do." Kumo said while laying down in the shade.
"I know what we can do!" Anki Yelled.
"Hmmm? HEY! THAT'S COLD!" Kumo yelled while rushing to stand up.
"Why'd you splash me?!" Kumo asked Anki.
Anki started to giggle. "You asked me what I felt like doing."
"Well now it's your turn to get splashed!" Kumo said while starting to run towards Anki. Anki started to run away, they both began to laugh while Kumo chased Anki.
Out of no where a arrow hit near Kumo's feet and he stumbles to the ground. Anki runs over to him "Are you ok Kumo?"
Kumo nodded to her but was still shocked.
"We better get out of here and fast, we got to warn the village that the war has come here." Kumo grabbed Anki's hand a
The SurvivorOnly one man made it out. That's what every single story of military disaster on this front ends with, every last one of them. The engineering disasters, the cave-ins, the underground ambushes that turn into desperate bloodbaths and massacres for both sides. What the grizzled sergeants that tell the stories don't tell, and sometimes don't know, is that that one man making it out is always the same one. It's been destroyed from most records, or simply hidden within the huge mess of bureacracy that is wartime book-keeping, but if you look hard enough the same name turns up on a lot more lists of survivors than it should do. In some cases, it is the list. Rarely any medals, because any battle that has a list of survivors rather than a list of casualties is not one anyone wants to remember, but the name's there, in every campaign. It might be passed off as co-incidence, as a mistake in the books, or simply a conspiracy theory or a regimental legend, except for one thing. That man is still
B of a TW pt. 1
Natalie glanced nervously around the dingy bookshop and its few shady patrons. Though she and her brother Mike had been there countless times before, today it seemed different somehow, as though the books themselves were whispering their secrets, as though today something special would happen. Dismissing the feeling, she braves the cool interior of the shop and goes farther in at the beaconing wave of James Paulo, the shopkeeper. Though Mr. Paulo in himself did not look like a bookish man, rather he was a grim soul who stayed inside most of the time which gave his skin a pale, waxen look and his hair a lackluster gleam, the job at the bookshop was all he had. A small smile played around his face as he examined the regular customers. Mike, like any 15 year-old, enjoyed reading horrors and thrillers, as well as scaring 13 year-old Natalie out of her wits.
"Have you come for more books in the Hangar series, Mr. Tayend?" asked Mr. Paul
The Stone .1
Once, on the banks of a small river, there was a little town full of simple people. The inhabitants lived in small cottages hollowed from the dead trunks of the great trees that grew beside the water. The overlord of the land had forgotten the little village, and so there was great peace and contentment among them. Every year they held a fair to celebrate the arrival of spring, and it was then that the gypsies came.
The gypsies were a kind, weary folk who had known sorrow, and who had experienced the world outside that village; every year they came back to the innocent little town for the week-long festival of spring, always bearing goods to sell, and items from the world beyond the limits of the forest. The villagers loved them all, but favored the kindly seer that rode alone in her wagon-home, who told fortunes and read palms for a penny, and sometimes, if a village child was lucky, the old gypsy would tell the little girl or boy a tale. The tales always had a lesson, but the old wom
Embers: Chapter IEmbers I: When Worlds Collide.
The night was quiet. Barely any ambulances drove in, and even the police cruiser was idle at the corner of the street. The usually busy emergency room lacked people save for a few late night fevers, or twisted ankles.
"It's still snowing, crossing my fingers we won't get snowed in here." A nurse commented as they watched the snowfall.
"Only five more hours until my shift ends, and snowed in or not, I'm going home. I ain't eating cafeteria food for another day." Another huff rose and stirred a few chuckles around the nurses' station.
"Why do we always end up with the graveyard shift in the ER? No fair."
"Oh, put a sock in it ladies, look at Elizabeth, she's not complaining."
The woman in question glanced up from her phone at the mention of her name and smiled faintly. She placed the chart she had aside and slipped out of her lab coat. "Well, I'm taking a short break. I have a date."
World of Vel part 1
A COLLECTION OF ADVENTURES:
DETAILED BY A TRAVELLING HALF-ELF
In the world of VEL
PART 1: THAT ONE DAY
THAT ONE DAY I was walking with my brother, Jin… It started very much like any other day in the tiny wooded village of Verseltra. Each morning began with myself darting from the confines of my home to the shady lands outside, greeted by the familiar trees and walls that kept our village safe. So, if it was such an average day, why begin the story of my travels here?
Simply put, it’s due in part to the fact that I imagine all the great travelers and heroes of Vel have a day such as this one. A day, where, at the end of their adventures, as they are peacefully soaking in the candle light, surrounded by their trophies and blades and treasures, they could trace it all back to that one moment in time.
Vicarious: A story of a Catfish Pt. 1It's a lazy Friday afternoon, and 22 year old Anastasia has spent five straight hours browsing the internet. Not something she normally does, usually preferring to be productive and work towards her goals in the physical word. Anastasia is an aspiring Ukrainian model whom, at odds, is rather socially withdrawn. She has not started any progression towards her future modeling career as of yet. Her own judgment of herself says she is not ready until she perfects the little things that only keen eyes will notice. She wants to audition to be a model in Siberia, in a place infamous for it's cutthroat judgement in the industry. It has one of the few places that is currently allowing opportunities for models past their teens.
Somehow browsing the web for beauty care has landed her on Ykran. A website that holds the highest popularity for Slavic social networking. She has spent the past hour scrolling through the website, contemplating on whether or not she should join. Lately she has bee