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Art of DyingHe sits and stares over at her, looking into her pleading eyes.
“please, not yet,” she pleads. “my time isn’t done yet, i still have so much i have to do.”
He sits, and shakes his head, indicating that no, your time is done.
she looks up, straight into the eyes of the soul keeper, and sees not a skeleton, but herself. she stiffens, and countless thoughts race through her head. ‘am i the bringer of my own death?’ she thought.
The figure takes a step back, giving the girl her space.
she sat and thought, and worried, and grieved. over her life that she wasted, over the lies she has told.
“There is a better chance that it will rain flower petals and rose thorns than there is for her to live,” she remembers the doctor telling her mother. “At this point, there is nothing to do but wait for her death to come.”
she was only 10.
Her father left a year later. “I can’t take this shit anymore! We have a dying child who w
It Isn't Always What It SeemsEveryone always said that falling in love with your best friend could be the best thing you would ever do for yourself.
And I'm not sitting here disagreeing.
It's amazing. It's surreal. It's the best thing, falling in love with someone you know so well, someone that is exactly like you.
Why would you want anything different? Living the perfect life, the one you had always imagined as a child. Living with the perfect husband, or wife, in the biggest house on the hill overlooking each sunrise and sunset. Having coffee every morning with the supposed perfect man, smiling at each other, basking in the love of each other.
Everything was so perfect, all so perfect. What more could I ask for? He left for work one morning, same as always. Kiss goodbye, wave, and go our separate ways. I went into the house, and looked around, noticing things I’ve always overlooked. The feeling the house gave- I always felt so homey, so at home. Now... now, it doesn’t feel right. It feels as if I
Genghis Whenever we were bad my mother used to take us to the mall to see Genghis Kahn. They kept him in a dusty diorama of a Mongolian steppe, all tall grass and yurts. He sat on a throne of bone (well, plastic shaped like bone), scowling in incomprehension at the American kids who flocked around him like startled lemmings. My mother would usually push us toward him, saying things like “Tell him what you did to your father’s stamp collection.” Genghis would give a grunt, spit a wad of phlegm onto the tall grass, and give us a wizened, wrinkled grimace, as if he had to go to the bathroom.
He terrified me.
My brother couldn’t get enough of him.
When my brother got caught in my mother’s evening dress, my mother grabbed us both and dragged us to Genghis. It was a slow day, and we were the only kids crowding him. “Tell him what you did,” my mother hissed a
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More