|My money and my mouth.|
BrainstormThe mind of The Writer began to softly shift. It started with a breath of air, just a subtle shiver of consciousness that even she did not notice at first. The air then strengthened and became a gust, then two, then three. It wasn't long before her skull was housing a howling phenomenon of an irresistible nature, and the wind that tore at the synapses had began to whisper words, to form images with swirling leaves of half-formed thoughts.Brainstorm by *justanoli
It was a brainstorm.
But not all was shattering sentences and violent verses in the mind of The Writer. There was a place just inside, within the center of the brainstorm that was calm. It was always calm, a shelter where nothing of the imagination touched. It was a clean place, so clean as to be barren. Shining white and chrome, a small cottage of metal built into a single, circular room. It was formed in the shape of a sphere, because the inhabitant could not abide the feeling of being locked into a corner.
In this single layer, safe from the angry
Among the WillowsWayne swiped his shoe over the glass shards, listened to the crinkle. Darkness crouched over them like a thief in wait, though the smoke faded fast. His partner walked the length of the room once, twice, then again before standing in place beside Wayne. "What," Colton murmured, "in the Sam hill is all of this?" While his blue eyes stared at his surroundings, he ran his fingers over the edge of the odd looking table beside him. He coughed.Among the Willows by ~Kazali
"Things. Contraptions." Wayne swiped his shoe once more over the shards, unearthing a palm sized rectangle underneath. "People here need more'n our creature comforts."
"Ya mean like a good woman and a bottle of moonshine?" Colton retrieved the object and brushed the glass off. "Where's the opening on this thing? How'm I supposed ta smoke this?" He tapped the surface with his nail, then tried to break it like a breadstick. It gave a bit. Shrugging, he shoved it in his pocket and twirled the cord dangling from it. The rounded ends clicked together.
on and onMonday morning Sonia woke up to jackhammers drilling across the street. She groaned at the stray bed spring digging into her side. It hurt like shit but she ignored the pain. She needed a new mattress like sex: fast and easy to get.on and on by ~rushingtide
DC humidity sucked when you couldn't afford an air conditioner. Sleeping naked wasn't enough to keep her cool. Sweat rolled down into her tear ducts and burned so bad her vision blurred. Her hand clawed around beneath her pillow for the Marlboro box and uncovered three cigarettes and the bent pack of matches.
She rolled off the bed and pitter-pattered to the window until her tummy pouch pressed the glass. She lit up a cigarette and watched the world from above. Seven stories protected her from most curious eyes. Sonia believed A-cup wasn't worth a peek, no matter what the ex said.
The hard hats in orange continued to uproot Southeast's foundation. Anacostia, Washington Highlands and her Congress Heights caused many problems for the District. Now they all sh
Breathe-Breathe by ~SardonicallyYours
You take my breath away. Could you please stop? I can see the lines bluring, just being here with you. And with the world spinning backwards, I gasp for air.
You're like smoke. You fill my lungs. I turn green- like the shade in your eyes -I'm lost. But your eyes are beautiful.
You're tainting my head. The walls are shifting, my consciousness is fading. What are inhibitions? I'm gasping, your laughing.
You're killing me. I need air. I need out. I need you. My mind's going fast, and the door frames are talking, tell me what to do. People Asthmatic, you call me, like it's affectionate or something.
Creative DifferencesI cast a quick glance at the crumpled paper in my fist. A summons. And from the tone, this was not going to be a meeting I would enjoy. I snorted, like they ever were. Not for the first time I wondered what on God's sweet earth had possessed me to employ the bitch in the first place. And then give her her own set of offices right in the centre of my consciousness. Can you plead temporary insanity in your own mind?Creative Differences by ~ArchArad
I knocked on the carved oak door and waited. My tired eyes reflected in the high sheen polish of her nameplate: Ms (pronounced mizz) Cartwright. Editor and Critic (Chief). This had to stop. "Come!" Her voice whipped out, and even muffled by the door, I felt its sharp edges cut into me. Wincing, I reached out and opened the door to my own personal hell.
The pinstripe-suited devil stood beside her desk. Her hip leaned against its edge, bunching the material of her pencil skirt and pulling the hem to just below her knee. I stood in the doorway, waitin
|These are all the submissions I get for #ScreamPrompts. Check them out; not all the submissions I receive make it to the group's gallery but they are all in this collection. You might find some hidden gems in here!|
Literary Compass - Vol. 13WelcomeLiterary Compass - Vol. 13 by `mirz-alt
If one is looking for Literature, you don't need to go far on deviantART. There is a large community of writers and a plethora of work to peruse. Featuring genres such as fantasy, mystery, horror, and romance, one would be hard-pressed to find an area not covered. However, due to the nature of the site, shorter works tend to get more focus. It's easier to quickly read a poem or a short story, and thus many of the feature articles on dA showcase those works. However, there are many novelists and serial writers among the mix, oftentimes fighting an uphill battle to have their works seen and appreciated.
With that in mind, I have started an article to spotlight some of those artists and their literary-worlds. The works covered in this feature will exclusively be long-form fiction such as novels, trilogies, etc., or fiction serials.
Current Stop - 1866 London
The next stop on our Literary journey is the Victorian-era London and featured in the nove
Giusto“N-o-o-o-o!”Giusto by ~DeniseCroy
He screamed at me, his goggly eyes opened like a frog’s. His voice was funny, it made me want to laugh - but he also looked scary, so I didn't. I stopped singing and stared at him. I wasn't sure if I had to close my mouth or not so I left it half open.
“No! No! No! That was not a mi sharp!”
I thought it would be good to close my mouth now. The man looked at Papa and pointed his tiny finger at me. He was all tiny, only his head was huge, with a funny mustache and the goggly eyes.
“Why did you bring this to me? Are you trying to mock me? You’re wasting my time!”
Papa was all red by now and not looking at me. I didn't know what was going on but I think Papa wanted to be away from the huge room with the piano.
“He was in the church choir” Papa stuttered. “The choir master told us he was very good – he has a very high voice – good technique -”
“Good technique? Good techniq