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Literature
The Passenger
At Wall St., the subway doors groaned open, permitting passengers to get on and off the train. It was a futile gesture seeing as how Jim was the only passenger on the train and they were stopped at the first of twenty-five deserted stations in the Holocaust Sector, otherwise known as Manhattan Island. The war left most of New York City in some form of ruin but Manhattan was hardest hit. Several million tons of high explosive ordinance tends to have that effect.
The #2 train was the only train functional enough to ferry him from Brooklyn to the Bronx without wading through mountains of rubble for tens of city blocks to find an operational station on the other lines. The conductors stopped at all stations because it was their duty to do so. Duty. Now that was a foreign concept in the aftermath. For two years after the war, there was no duty. No law & order. There was just survival by any means. It took 3 more years for the five boroughs (well, four boroughs - Manhattan was too far go
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Pink Elephant!!! :icond0wnsp0ut:d0wnsp0ut 0 0 thumbnail :icond0wnsp0ut:d0wnsp0ut 2 3 Medzinuul's Tower :icond0wnsp0ut:d0wnsp0ut 0 0 gentle waterfall 2 :icond0wnsp0ut:d0wnsp0ut 1 0 gentle waterfall :icond0wnsp0ut:d0wnsp0ut 0 0
Literature
A New Son
He didn't know how long he lay unconscious on the stretcher but when he came to, it was a scene straight from hell. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard cries of pain and anguish from all directions. He looked around for familiar faces, neighbors, co-workers, locals at the pub, but found none. With wracking pains shooting through his body, he managed to stand up amid the chaos to get a better look around. The large tent he found himself in was little more than barely-controlled panic. People lay dead or dying everywhere. Some were so disfigured, they could scarcely be called human beings. He staggered through the entrance and found a bench just outside and collapsed into it. Someone in a blood stained hospital gown propped him up and tried to speak to him but his ears were ringing so loud all he heard was a monotone mumbling. They looked him over quickly, gave him a nod then darted into the tent. The war had finally come to his town. The military has warned that air raids where po
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Literature
Princess of the Park
He took a seat on the park bench close to the oval fountain near the staircase that lead down to the botanical gardens. The day was pleasant and warm with birds and squirrels providing ample entertainment for most folks who came to enjoy a peaceful lunchtime. Nibbling on his sandwich, he sat watching her in almost reverent awe. Even from this distance, she was absolutely radiant. The warm sunlight on her face, the soft glow of her chestnut-amber hair - just one look at her and he forgot about his dreary existence. She was at the far end of the fountain, singing a song of romance and dipping her hands in the water without a care in the world.
Over the past few months, he had seen her frequently at the park. Whether she was singing songs at the fountain, savoring the aromas of the flowers in the garden or dancing on the flagstones with the musicians that played in the square on the other side of the park, she did it all with an elegant combination of grace and frivolity. He, on the other
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Literature
Broken
Tears rolled down her cheeks as her lower lip quivered. "But you promised," she said.
"I'm so sorry, honey," he whispered. He had built up his daughter's hopes for weeks and now he had just dashed them to pieces. Children didn't understand the complexities of adult life, they only understood a promise given, a promise fulfilled and a promise broken.
The Victorian porcelain doll he got for her when she was 3 slid from her grasp, the head shattering as it hit the floor. A promise broken, a dream crushed, an heirloom destroyed and two broken hearts – it was more than he could bear. He didn't try to stop the tears as he slowly turned around and started to walk away.
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Literature
It gets easier as time passes
Ryan rolled into a ball and slowly slouched into a sitting position. His vision was blurry and there was a loud ringing in his ears. The air was crisp and cool, which had a calming, soothing effect on a fleeting headache. As he looked around, he found himself in a featureless room about 10 feet square. The walls, ceiling and floor were pure white and emanating a soft glow allowing him to see clearly but not blinding him.
He made an attempt to stand but quickly flopped down. His muscles just didn't want to respond. Content to simply sit there and recuperate for a bit, he busied himself with checking for injuries – cuts, bruises, broken bones. As the ringing in his ears faded, he could make out some kind of noise. Over the minutes, he could make out voices, like being in a crowded bar, all jumbled together, talking, laughing, singing, but all a mumble.
Hello Ryan.
"Who is that?" he said, startled and looking around. "Where are you? Where am I?"
You died. Welcome to the
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Literature
Computers Don't Lie
"You say you have definitive proof that the election was rigged?" his voice was rough.
"Yes, right here. I have documentary evidence that the electronic voting machines were tampered with and the vote counts altered," she said, patting two cardboard boxes of stuffed folders.
"Well, inquires will have to be made, of course. And each incident investigated to authenticate the claim. Who else knows about this that can help?" he walked over to the mini bar and poured a glass of brandy.
"Just me so far. I was going to report it to Brent, my supervisor, but when I counted the number of compromised machines, I felt I needed to bring this to your immediate attention." Susan wasn't sure if she was going to get reprimanded for breaking protocol or be praised for her investigation.
He gulped his drink. "And I'm glad you did. We have a real situation on our hands. The President of the United States was elected in a fraud election. I'm sure you can appreciate the magnitude of this and maintain absol
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Mature content
The Chase Begins :icond0wnsp0ut:d0wnsp0ut 0 0
Literature
Hunting the Betrayer
"I'm looking for the betrayer Marcus," Angelo said. The soft glow of a cigarette was the only indication of a presence in the shadows.
"What do you want with me?" replied a voice that sounded like gravel tumbling in a steel drum.
"I was told you survived the Death Squads. I was told you know something of their weakness." Angelo stood up a little straighter, pushed his chest out a bit further.
"You are a fool. A heroic fool looking for glory where only death awaits." He paused, crushed out his cigarette and lit a fresh one. "What do I care. Your death won't be on my head, but know this, the Death Squads don't kill any more. I was merely the first victim of their new power."
Angelo took a step back, "And what power is that, betrayer?"
"They rip your soul from your body, turning you into an empty shell to waste away." Marcus shuffled forward, slowly emerging from the shadows. His skin like dried, cracked earth, eyes deeply recessed, a stench of rotting flesh so thick it was almost visible
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Mature content
A Cleansing Fog :icond0wnsp0ut:d0wnsp0ut 0 0

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Daily Literature Deviations for Jan. 2nd, 2012
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Daily Lit Deviations for January 2 nd, 2012
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Literature
Confabulation
       It's terrible what I did, and I know that. I should have just returned the book to her. Steal a girl's diary and watch the processes of her brain work in snapshots. You'll catch glimpses of her life—see the most intimate relationship someone can have with their memory. I read her diary from beginning to end—from the sunrise of her thoughts to that recurring dream she had last night, the one where she kept waking up only to find she was still dreaming.
       She limits how much of herself she'll expose to someone. It's like her eyes specifically go to her friend who always needs advice on what to wear, but she will never let said friend watch her eat. She listens to anyone who needs to fill a pair of ears with complaints, but they will never see her cry. She puts on this real fascinating show for people, comes off as this intriguing as hell person and only lets them see that much. She feeds off of th
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I'm very envious of those with artistic talent. Growing up, I would watch Bob Ross on public television. In 30 minutes he transformed a blank canvas into a remarkable painting. It was so effortless for him. I know that behind all that were countless years of painting, years of screw ups, years of trial and error. But it was so amazing to watch. Pictures aren't worth a thousand words, they're worth millions.

I've spent the better part of my life as a cog in the IT wheel: building computers, writing software, managing systems. Almost nothing in the IT world has any permanence. The systems I built years ago have been replaced with more powerful servers, the software I wrote has been either replaced or almost completely rewritten by someone else to do more than what I made it do. I'm still a cog in that wheel (it puts food on the table and keeps the roof over my head) but I have very little I can look back on and say "there, I did that."

Since I used up what little artistic talent I had in high school, I started writing. I've always been good at writing, grammar and spelling. Now I look at it as a means of creating...something. A world, a character, an event - something that others may read and enjoy. Something that can last longer than I will. But I struggle. I sometimes agonize over word selection, how to structure a thought into a coherent sentence or just how to describe the images in my head. It's frustrating, more so because of something someone told me a long time ago: Before you can be great, you have to be good and before you can be good, you have to suck. Right now, I suck and it's damn frustrating. It's such a painful process and a horrible state to be in. It takes me weeks to crank out 1,500 to 2,000 words and even then, I'm only just satisfied with it to share with others. The worst part of all this is: there is no guarantee that I'll get better.

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do not poke
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:iconwhydontlivelife:
WhyDontLiveLife Featured By Owner Aug 5, 2012  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you for the Watch!!
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:iconbigpanda94:
Bigpanda94 Featured By Owner Aug 4, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Hey, man! Thanks for the +watch c:
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:iconespillam:
Espillam Featured By Owner Aug 4, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks a lot for the +watch! :highfive:
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:icondeviantsimme:
DeviantSimme Featured By Owner Jul 6, 2012  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the watch! : D
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:iconvirukan:
Virukan Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2011  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks a bunch for the +watch! : D
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