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The ConscienceDear Evelyn,
I must confess that I have not been truthful.
I am exactly what you thought me to be when I appeared in your living room so many years ago. Everything about that day resonates so clearly in my mind, from the telephone chime to the sirens on the streets. It is strange how my memories are framed with sound.
Bells rung, it was twelve o'clock; dried leaves scattered across the deserted street. The door shut as you entered and it only took a moment for you to realize I was there. The way you clutched your groceries made me smile inside you began to panic. You did not speak, you only stared. Silently, you looked away and slipped into the kitchen to sort your groceries. I did not see you for quite some time.
I remember, as you walked in, the distinct aroma of smoke.
Night came, and I expected you to watch the evening news
Wishing Lanterns I remember a day that happened about three years ago, when my parents woke me up in the earliest moments of the morning. It was a bit chilly and the sky was still dark as we packed up a few blankets and crawled into our little green car. Dad had the radio turned off and mom was looking out the window as a cool but refreshing breeze tickled her hair. I clutched at my stuffed dog and placed my chin atop his fluffy head, all the while resisting the urge to fall back asleep.
The car came to a stop and I awoke with a start, pretending I had been awake the whole trip. Mom just smiled as she pulled the blankets from the back and took my hand as we followed dad to the edge of what appeared to be a massive hill. It was a steep drop to the bottom, but it was probably the greatest view I'd ever seen of the houses and parks that made up our town.
We sat together on a wooden bench and mom wrapped a large chunk
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
longdead leafa longdead leaf
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More