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Epileptic sensualists“Hellfire awaits you” tiny naked women danced around her when she came back. And she laughed. As if the gods didn’t know that sensuality was part of her? She played around with her long hair still around her beautiful face.
She looked at herself in the mirror, putting kajol on, rolling her tongue over her lips, seeing her soft thin lips getting wet and shining; she looked at the shape of her body, the round bulges, the subtle curve till her torso and her slim legs. Delighted in her voluptuousness, she laughed as a crackling sound mingled with her laugh. Astonished, she turned around to see an old hag of a man laughing. He was more of a silhouette but from what she could see, the man was revoltingly hideous. “You belong to me now, my love!” The crackling sound tore her ear drums. “Who are you?” She moved away. He moved swiftly and overtook her. There was a sound of crackling of her bones, a convulsion and his laugh. There were shadows, som
United states of corrupted mindsThe sensualists, the sadists, the broken the corrupted of the lot. Vagaries of nature and its cruel jokes on human mind. The disoriented eyes, the shameless behavior, devoid of inhibitions you walk huddled together you vermins of the world. There you can see her exposed bosom and the dark pink disgusting lipstick on chapped lips. She has returned like a ruffled bitch which has been with tens of dogs. The bulge under whatever is left of her dress is either going to be reduced to blood after an abortion or will soon materialize into another of those dead bastards.
That man with disoriented eyes, touching himself in the middle of the road is another one of them. His kurta and shalwar have stains of mud and oil. His overgrown beard is entangled like a mesh of steel wires. He doesn’t care if that lady in the car is disgusted by his utterly inappropriate behavior. A man passing by spits at him and swears at him.
That pockmarked face boy has ran away from home. The peeping tom was
A womanSome women are only women by nature. Not wives, not mothers. Just women. And they delight in their womanhood.Reproduction to them is the death of their femininity.
Why is it so unnatural to imagine that a woman abhors her child. She gets stuck in the menstrual cycle while she is still in her frock and plays with dolls. The little bastard is ever ready to come out if some child molester decides to fuck the little girl. There is always a chance.
Now then when she turns into a beautiful teenager, she can't be promiscuous like her male counterpart. The small piece of crap straitjackets her sexuality. She has to suffer the intense pain of menstruation every month and gets sick and nauseous every time. She has to throw away lumps of clothes soaking with her own blood, she has to flush her blood. It is like she is flushing her dead baby, which she could give life to had she chosen to sleep with a man. The little mean th
Die my darlingDie, will you, please?
Can I kill you, please?
for us both it is not a bliss
but at least you will die
leaving me alone
craving for sun to scratch my ugly darkness
till it turns to red
the crimson red, the color of your blood on my knife
or on yours, whatever you wish.
But die, please. Pretty please with cherry on top.
Letter to the belovedDarling - thank you for all you have done. If ever in my bearing you encountered any bitterness, please know that it was all well-intentioned and out of my unchecked loving expectations of you. My dearest no day ever did or ever will fade away the tenderness and love that I feel towards you.
Sweetheart you may not comprehend my love fully but know that as long as I am alive I have the longing to be safe in your arms. See my love, its hard when one has experienced completeness and then one has to let go of it. I can not explain fully but I know dearest that you'll understand it for have you not always understood me?
My beloved, I have thought about what you said and I am in complete accord with you. Sometimes even though you love someone the most, you just can't be with them. And in that know that I have acquired meaning of love. Mortality of the beauty makes one love and I love you in all the brief spasm of completeness.
Not a day passes, not a place I go keeps me from remembering y
One eye cries One eye laughsQuietly does she ascend from the well with thousand snakes.. Naag devta follows her.. obsessed with her every move.. charmed by gaiety of her manners. She walks with her long brown hair trailing behind her on the coarse ground. She chuckles and her delicate voice chimes through the old deserted city. Femme fatale that she is, the people of the city told tales to young men of the countless unsuspecting victims of the enchantress, the snake-woman that resided in the well. She knew, she knew all, for those objects of immolation could not escape the Goddess. She knew and she laughed knowing nobody could combat the temptation. She didn't allure, that was beneath her, no, she was sin herself. Where could the man run from a rogue god unless some other god would save him, but don't we all know gods don't speak, they do not intrude on man's behalf. They are silent diabolical spectators laughing at the silliness of people heaving bundles of prayers, deriding the expectation of imbecile human tha
I know I'm damned Godoverpowering sorrow... makes me scream and cry at times.. while i'm crying i hear weird sounds of creaking coming from inside me.. shattering and creaking and sounds of metals thrown on ground with full force.. or complaints of the old women in a vague shaky language.. I scare my reflection
I am damned and I know
I smell of roses though
like a bride on the first night absorbs the smell of roses around her on the bed
or a dead body covered with itr('pure' perfume) and rose petals...
I scare my reflection..
I am damned and I know
I smell of roses though...
Fucking Bedtime storiesMy rapist told me the best bedtime stories. He told me tales of sadhus(mystics of India), their love for the supreme being, the spiritual journey that ends in salvation, the journey to discover impossible, to solve mysteries unknown. His hand would move down my spine and keep fidgeting on the hook of my bra and I'd innocently look at him thinking its to make me sleep. I'd put my head back on his shoulders lovingly and close my eyes. He'd kiss on my head slightly, and then my cheeks, my eyes, my nose(lol he called it nosy) and then my lips. He would keep telling me stories... He told me a story of a bookish stepdaughter of a sadistic army officer, Ofelia. Ofelia found out that she was a lost princess of the Underground Realm. According to the faun she meets, she was curious about the world above so escaped to the Earth, where she forgot her past. Ofelia's mother conceived a child and was severely ill. The faun tells Ofelia of a way to restore her mother's health: placing a mandrake root
naked raceSilently looking at the naked corpse beside the old sewage pit at the far end of the slums.. bruises at her rising-tomb like breasts.. the right breast has cigarette burn on the pink taut nipple ... once her bosoms must have been supple and beautiful... oh but they are still as beautiful... the charred patches just seem to adorn her private parts.. they add a teasing mystery to her otherwise bare brutally denuded body... she must have had put a lot of struggle... there still remain blood drained dregs of her clothes scattered around... she is around sixteen since the rest of her unscorched body is still supple with signs of youth that were yet not drained out of her even after the excruciating torment she must have had to put with... she is lying there as if she is still gestated in the mother's womb... its as if she is attempting to contain herself.. her beautiful bare disfigured legs all crawled up to her bosoms... she has a serene grace on her face though... she is drained in blood
Parable of the LanternThere were once two men seeking wisdom under the tutelage of an ancient master. He brought them into a dark room. In the center were two metal lamps, each containing a flickering flame.
"Grip your lamp by the base, endure the heat, and gaze into the flame," instructed the master. "If your faith wavers and you look away, or your strength fails and you let go, even for an instant, you will be lost. You will never be wise. But gaze at the flame and, if you prevail, you will know truth."
And the master left them.
The two men gripped their lamps, and gazed into the light. Soon the lamps grew hot from the fire within, and began to burn their hands.
One man let go and stood up. "Aha!" cried the faithful man, as he continued to grip his lantern. "You have shown yourself too weak to become wise."
"Who is wise, the one who holds fire, or the one who lets go?"
The faithless man's eyes adjusted to the dark, and he saw that
Soaked Stars [More Doomsday? Of course] The final day was partly cloudy with an 80% chance of rain.
The umbrella-clad crowd swarmed around me. People going about their melancholic lives.
I was the girl who wasn't holding anything. The girl who was out of place.
At first, I wondered- like any other person- why me? Why was I given these memories?
Somehow, I knew.
The crowd opened up their umbrellas in unison. People going about their uniform lives.
I was the girl who stood still. I was the girl who stood in the rain.
A girl who was once another in uniform. Just a black and white shape wandering the world.
Once the same- I'd lived. I'd loved.
That all changed. I was handed the truth. I died.
The crowd thinned. No one was there to watch as an eery smile spread across the girl's face.
Her hair, littered with human ideals, colored
Voyagers in the VoidI am a traveler. Just like you, except the places I go are the fictional worlds you make. I am the Partisan, without home but within hope.
You see, there are three "spheres" or "areas", of existence: there is the physical universe, from where I departed and from where so many of my fellow readers come. Then, there is the spiritual realm, home to all things mystical - from pantheons to psychic projectionists.
Finally, there is the fictional world. A multitude of fictional worlds thrown together, created from your world and which can only be visited by hearing of them and imagining them. I move between the various universes grouped together under this realm of fable and make-belief, exploring the worlds that prosper on their own and develop into something else.
I can spend centuries exploring worlds where all the author wrote was one word, but the characters change and advance into new things. They were and are created by an imagining human, a mind thinking, a heart tearing, and a soul f
Bubble BubbleAutumn, Year 754 of the New Age
Oakfern, The Warren
Falasnornia, Vawter (NPC)
“Vawter, give me those onion stalks."
As soon as the stag passed the pungent herbs her way, a sleek blade of water sliced them and they fell into the small bubbling crater in the floor. Their scent rose with the steam and Falasnornia wrinkled her nose as she turned to the patient receiving them.
Ah the joys of rut; making poultices for those insane enough to throw themselves at death's door for a doe's hind quarters. Fala suspected she would never understand a stag's mad desire for the fairer sex, though fair her gender was.
She checked the steaming concoction of melting honey and onion juices before gently lulling a glob of it toward the injured stag. His shoulder was sliced open, and although not at all deep; infection could set in quickly without a poultice and a wrapping to keep it clean. Infections sprung up from much less and in shorter time frames.
A story of two friendsOnce upon a time, everyone was happy. They would all go around in there happy little lives, and do their happy little things and be happy. But one day, the happiness left. Everyone randomly decided to start being negative. Everything was bad, and negative and to be honest a bit shitty. What caused this sudden change. Why did everything turn sour. And all of these negative attitudes started to clash. People would start arguing about the pointless petty frivolities of life. And as time passed it only got worse. The skies darkened. The weather turned cold. All hope for a positive future or anything just left.
Then a miracle happened. Out of the blue came two close friends, who had a dream. A dream to bring back the happiness. And so they got to work. Starting with nothing they literally started talking, and making jokes. One of them created an impression of another person, and it stuck. And little by little these two friends became more famous. And as they became larger, and started doing
The Moon Comes CryingWinter, Year 757
Oakfern, The Warren
Falasnornia, NPCs Esmene and Ulula
"Stay away!" Falasnornia caterwauled over her shoulder, wild mane catching the light of the glowing moss as she raced through the tunnels. The echoes of her hoof beats chased her through the caves as a hollow plunking sound akin to rain drops. She occasionally sent up splashes when she crossed through puddles, covering a few unfortunate burrowing owls with water.
The small doe burst into sobs. She was too unhappy to care though- she needed the outlet after the day she had.
Coming to a split in the cavern, Falasnornia veered right, into the tunnel of teeth. Alternating in a braid-like pattern, the doe wove in and out of rows upon rows of stalagmites. When she was younger, she thought it amazing how many caves stood long abandoned by the Oakferns, as if they might not exist at all. It was so surreal, running through the watery blackness with only the glowing moss to light the way.
Societies PhilosophySocieties Philosophy
Short Story by: Michaela Seabrooke
We look at ourselves in the mirror, seeing nothing but a pretty face and empty eyes. Eyes that appear to have no passion in the walls of societies demands. Once we enter the real world we are filled with passion, and a yearning for creative freedom. She walks through the halls and does not make eye contact, because the moment she does people looks away because all they see is emptiness and the darker part of life they choose not to see. They hide behind fabrications and fictions of what they long to be in this world only to see that the world is not sugar coated, you cannot get everything handed to you. You cannot just stand by and wait for things to happen. You have to at least try. If you fail, then you fail simple as that. But, if you fail multiple times and begin to feel like you cannot do anything right. People tell you that you are stupid and do not have a passion in this world. Don't listen, just block them out the same way
Worth a Thousand TearsI didn't know him, I didn't know his name or what he looked like; he came off as kind of generic in that regard.
I only ever talked to him once and I never saw his face.
But I was still sitting here, doing the grieving thing...
..So he must have been important....
I looked up at the voice's owner, a boy with shaggy blond hair was looking at me funny.
I was in no mood to play with him...
“Nothing, go away!” I grumbled, back still pressed against the wall and eyes red from crying.
“Were you crying?”
“What if I was!?”
“Is it about that kid who died?” He was like a robot, processing information. “The one who committed suicide?”
“...go away, before I kill you...”
“You know, I'm glad that you're crying.”
I lunged at him, slammed him against the ground as I pulled back a fist.
“You shut the hell up you freak!!”
“I'm glad because it means he lived a life
Decent into MadnessHe peeled the label of yet another bottle. He opened it and guzzled the drink down, finding some comfort in the alcohol. It wasn’t his fault. None of this was. It wasn’t his fault!
He had been fine. A medical student! Hard and true science was his guide. He had been interning that summer while he worked hard at becoming a doctor. To hold someone’s life in his hands. And then to save it! That had been his dream. He supposed that was exactly what led him to Sarah Job, a girl who lay dying in her second round of cancer.
Hours were days, days were weeks, and every day Jerry would check in on this woman. Every day she was smiling. It made him proud, proud that she seemed to have so much faith in the medical world. Whenever he talked to her, she seemed almost at peace. He never asked her why, though.
He knew it was because she was looking for the doctors to come up with the answers.
BloodThe huge bugs crawled up on her ceiling. There were ugly grey hives all over her room. She'd repaint the hives bright yellow, she thought to herself while tiny droplets of slime kept falling upon her. She feared she'd get buried in the slime of those ugly bugs. She couldn't weep, couldn't move; this usually happens when you develop a certain level of queer intimacy with your tormentors. Her long hair spread around her, with her beautiful face particularly still and her eyes fixed on the bugs, she lied there. She wanted to blink, her eyes were paining and she did; the poor dear. It could have been a moment or infinity she didn't realize, as it gave so much relief to her eyes. Buzz.. She opened her eyes to see all the bugs flying towards her. Her eyes widened and came out of their sockets while blood poured out. Her blood followed a weird course; it spurted out of her eyes, made its way down the bed in streaks, crawled on the floor zig-zag like a red snake, hopped up the wall and a
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More