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Release"Free me from this cage of modern entrapments," my soul pled it's case before the High Court. "Let me be free of the chains that disguise the snares of this modern century."
The only response that I received for year after passing year was a cold, stony gaze, accompanied only by a stern finger pointing back to the harsh reality of a generation that I had never fit into. This time though, as I begged and offered my case yet again before the High Court, I saw a moment of hesitation in their answer. Hardly believing my chance, I pounced on that opportunity and poured forth a torrent of words, excuses, reasons, proof- anything that might satisfy their obscenely high requirments. For the first time ever after hearing my case, they asked for a day to discuss things amongst themselves before coming to a final judgment. I, seeing no other option, agreed to their request, and returned home to a reality that I could barely stand up under the weight of, and began to pray to
The Playground"Look into the crystal ball," she had said all those years ago. "Don't just look into it though, take the time to gaze into it's murky depths and to understand the things that you see there."
I had, of course, done what she ordered. One did not lightly pass over the orders disguised as requests that my aunt made. Not if they wanted to survive, that was. I had gazed into the crystal ball, privatly thinking that the entire situation was stupid and a waste of time. To this day, I don't know what she had done, if she had done anything at all, but for the first time in my life, I understood what it was to see something in the faintly silky and glimmering contents of that glowing clear ball that was anything but silver as it shifted through an entirely random series of colors.
Some place in between the realms of sleep, and waking, between my mind and the cool glass beneath my fingers, I saw great and terrible things that left me shaken to my core. I saw children, whom I instantly
Tin Men"Oh, look, the tin men have come out to play again!" The taunt was heavy with hardly supressed glee as it floated down over the ramparts to reach the dwindling army below. "How many do you think we can take down this time?"
Just as expected, a flurry of angry responses rose from the enemy ranks.
"It's amusing," he said, turning to his companion archer, "You would have thoguht that they wuold have figured it out by now. We're provoking them solely for our own entertainment."
"Fools... but, it's entirely their own fault for trying to put a fully prepared city under seige, let alone try to raise this particular fight again."
"A few far off-target arrows careened over of their heads in the next minute. Instinctively, the two men ducked, despite the fact that the arrows clattered to the stone floor several yards away.
Racaus laughter followed the arrows' flight, but the two archers silenced it quickly with a half-dozen precisely aimed arrows of their own.
"Fools," he said
The Trapdoor in the CellarCarey shrieked and took several hasty steps backward. The laces of her trainers caught on one of the poles on the cellar floor and she tripped, raising a cloud of dust as she landed.
"Aunt Rosie! There's something weird going on down here." Carey scrambled to her feet and peered into the far corner of the cellar. "I swear I saw somebody moving."
"Perhaps it was a rat, lovey." Aunt Rosie walked calmly down the stairs. "This cellar could do with a good cleaning. So could you, by the looks of things."
"I tripped. Aunt Rosie, it wasn't a rat. It was taller than I am."
"We can talk about it after you're cleaned up. Come on."
"Alright then." Carey jogged halfway up the stairs and waited impatiently for her aunt to move on.
Rosie smiled. "I'll be knitting in the parlour when you're done, dear. Make sure that those jeans go into the washing basket, mind."
"I will." Blue jeans that looked like brown jeans definitely needed a wash.
When they emerged from the cellar, Carey bolted up the stairs an
Summer CampIt had been nearly a month since she had come this close to the beach. As if to prove the doctors and various other medical staff right, the beach was closed off, and appeared to have been so for several months. As it had always appeared, the wide beach and the lake itself was pristine. Too pristine, to be exact. She could feel the chemicals of the polluted lake tingling against her skin, and within only a few short minutes of silently remembering her last time there, she could feel her lungs begin to seize up and burn with pain because of the even higher concentrations.
The damage that was done here, at one summer retreat nearly a year ago was astounding. Only within the past week had the doctors even let her outside of the pure and highly filtered atmosphere that her room maintained. The various acids and mixes of chemical gases that the lake had filled her lungs with had all but burned them entirely, ruining much of her body's natural immunity and ability to filter out th
A Week Of KissesA Week Of Kisses
The first day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your shoulder,
Well before I thought about your lips.
Because I don’t know what I am doing, firstly,
But more importantly,
It’s because I know things can spiral quickly,
If things start shifting
After we lay down the concrete.
So I kiss the foundation,
Before we reach the soil.
The second day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your elbow,
Because it holds together the touch
And the flex.
To exhibit it,
I must kiss the joint that bends
And combines us together.
The third day I told you I loved you,
I lay my lips to your temples,
As I learned about the temple of reform,
For the Youth in North America.
Kissing you there signifying I will protect you,
As well as your temple,
As we re-form, into something more.
The fourth day I told you I loved you,
I’d kiss you softly on your forehead.
Because that’s what holds your brillian
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
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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