deviant art

Deviant Login
Buy ArtBuy T-Shirts & Gear Buy adCast Buy Premium Membership
Shop		  Join deviantART for FREE Take the Tour
[x]
FFM 08: Old WoundsWhen Tom Angelo and Hank Brewster first met, no one had ever heard of "Saint" Thomas or "Butch" Brewster.  Nasmon hadn't recovered the art of Guncraft; the word Slinger didn't even exist.  All of Westirn was still recovering from the plague, and the New Faith was spreading like wildfire amongst the survivors.

   Before all the drama and gunsmoke and betrayal, they were just a pair of young working hands in a little town outside of Boca.  A local drover had hired them to replace the four Savages the plague had taken from him, and the two found their dynamic easily.  Tom dubbed his co-worker "Butch" in light of the man's rough exterior and te
similar but not the sameThe young girl sat down in the grass, her black dress poofing out around her. She had worn a dress so similar to this, a white one, not too long ago. At least, she thought it wasn't too long ago. Time seemed to fly by.

She saw a little blue flower and picked it up. She had worn flowers in her hair with that white dress. There had been flowers everywhere, in vases, on the ground, in that little wicker basket that had hung from her wrist.

Her curly blond hair flew into her face as gusts of wind tumbled around her. Her hands, longer and more elegant than they used to be, reached up to fix her carefully-done hairstyle. The same hairstyle as whe
Blood Flow"I can't stand you, Cora!  You make her cry constantly.  Sometimes I wish she would rip you out and throw you against the wall!"  Orberec was furious.  He and Cora were having one of their usual fights.  Everyone loved Cora and thought she was so beautiful.  But none of them had to live with her.

"You could always make her do it, you know," Cora said calmly.

Orberec just glared, refusing to respond.

"But of course," Cora continued, "we both know it wouldn't solve anything.  And you would be the one to feel the pain, not me."

Orberec was losing this argument way too quickly.  He needed to focus on being rational instead of on his anger.  I
sea feverThe bedroom shakes with a latent Atlantic fury and he knows the storm is almost there, not because of the sea-brine scent heavy on the winds or because the greysky lighting has turned everything into an old silvertone photograph, but because of the way she rolls across the mattress and into his arms. Her long hair catches between them like a dark river and he can taste the saltspray like a promise on her lips. Thoughts stream from her faded temples, dripping down the coastline curve of her cheekbones and nestling into the pale pearl shell of her neck as he moves his thistle-worn fingertips to the hollow inlet of her hips, breakers crashing ag
Systematic Amnesia [10.2.12 Daywrite]They came for us at four in the morning. We had stayed up all night, of course we had, peering out of the windows into the darkness, foreheads pressed up against the icy glass. Our breath fogged our vision, but it didn't matter. We knew no number of sentries could keep us safe when they finally came.
    So they waited most of the night, just one more step in their game of playing with our minds. We were tired when they came, fearful. Edgy. But they arrived in silence, just a whisper as they surrounded our house.
    Then Cole's cell phone rang. Its trill in the deathly silence shocked us all out of whatever level of unconsciousness we ea
Accident Captured the mammoth.  With fire.  A chiseled stone flew.  Killed.  We all did.  Helped.  The usual way.  Not hard.  We ate.  Feasted.  Firelight and firestories.  Meat.  Laughter.  Girl glanced my way.  Happy.

Not me.  Bow to you and swear not me.  Night like always.  Stars and no fire.  All sleeping.  Had idea.  Thought prepare hide now.  Help out.  Surprise.  Happy.  I nothing wrong.  Swear nothing wrong.  Sad swear nothing right also.  Not me.  Not plan.

Made torch.  Cut at hide.  Hide moved under fingers.  Told me.  Said move hand here knife this.  I followed.  Easy.  Like sleeping.

Morning I saw was big.  Like tree.  Mountain.  S
Iron Henry UnzipsIt was the early hours of the morning when they arrived at the castle Ferris called home. He was glad to see it--Henry could tell from his face.

Henry was gladder still to have Ferris home. His heart was still like a sledgehammer in his chest, still painful with every beat, and he knew that as soon as he had some downtime he would have to open up and adjust his settings. Not that he expected downtime anytime soon, what with a wedding and all scheduled for the upcoming day.

Henry extended his hand to the princess first, and she shyly took it as she descended from the carriage. He made her nervous--he was used to that. He did his best to smil
The Wizard of the ParkwayThe Wizard of the Parkway
   The streets buzzed with an ongoing cacophony of shouts and chatter. The people of Gulf Breeze were busy as always, watching their pies bubble to perfection and their spices being organized. Scents of freshly baked pastries and the icing that dabbled over them so easily flew through the air, resting gently on the slightly reddened noses of passerby. It was, in essence, a perfect day to laze about at one of the many sidewalk benches and tables, talking with friends or enjoying the rarity of cool breezes the autumnal season had ushered in.
   Every able body in this peaceful burg is pe
The Blue LadyI remember the Blue Lady and how her eyes glittered when she danced and her body spoke in words her mouth could not.  Her eyes glinted like light on ice. Her body surged like the ocean at dawn and Brother was swept up in the tide.

Sing this corrosion to me

She would hold me when the bad dreams swelled behind my eyes and she would take me out onto the hill and catch stars and weave them through my hair.   Sometimes she would take me and we would walk through the old streets where the houngans held strange spices and the sidewalks flooded with red.  

Gimme siren child

Do you hear me call?

We couldn't spea
Process of eliminationLungs.  Underdeveloped at birth. Asthmatic.  But some strong exercise in formative years. Played in the brass section. Took preventative and relieving asthma medication. Non-smoker.  Never had pneumonia.  No exposure to asbestos.  Safe enough.

Skin.  Some defined tanning, damage to the skin's pigments by the strong sun.  Plenty of moles dotted all over.  But never went shirtless, did not have the body for it.  Wore hats, wore sunscreen, sought shelter.  Twice-yearly skin checks with advanced equipment by an African doctor whose own black skin was much better suited to Queensland living. Still some well-minimised risk remained.  Remembering B
Better.I. White dress. You did your makeup in the upstairs bathroom mirror. There is hope on your lips  and powder on your skin. You are hiding your imperfections because how else would anyone fall in love with you? White dress you wore to make Tyler put his hands on your waist. White dress you wore in the summer. And in the laundry room, you wash blood off of a boy's hand, licking it once. Red blood you wished would stay in his veins. Red blood that goes straight to his heart where you once were. Red blood in the laundry room, where you make promises you'd never get a chance to keep. White dress you're wearing in the winter. White dress you press a
A Deviant Manifesto     Why should we write poetry? Why should we read the poetry others write? In this day and age of academic poets, a lack of real best sellers, and a general societal silence on the art of poetry, it seems that more and more people are trying to write poetry today without having a clear idea of what they're trying to do, or what they're trying to say. So we get a lot of poetry around here that's half-assed, simplistic, whiny, and lost. That's a problem. People go around eating this junk food poetry, thinking it's good for them, when they should be reading something better. But instead of sending you running away from
The Fox BrideThe sky is a kind of periwinkle; dusky and undecided if it is lavender or blue, and the full leaves of the chestnut trees are black against the sodium backlight from the streetlamps. Ethereal is the word for them, as within the wrought iron casings are nothing more than softly glowing orange globes. They may as well be faery lanterns.

But that is my imagination running away with me again, so I bring my attention back down from the sky and the leaves and the imaginary world that lies in the space between them, back to the quiet pleasure of my company. She's done up in scarlet tonight, which is my favorite color on her, and one she so rarely w
Impossible ExistenceMine is an impossible existence.

Every day, I do the impossible. I get up, eat Cornflakes, go to work. I work in an office. It is quiet. I like that.

I walk through the park on my way home. The birds are singing. The boys are playing football between the trees. Brown, crackling leaves are thick underfoot.

When I get home, I kiss my warm, flustered wife as she hurries past me out the door. She is heading to her shift over at the hospital. She works the evening shift on Wednesdays. She does impossible things there.

The kids - Annie and Michael -  are playing in and out of the hall, chasing each other. The TV is on in the front room. Tom is
PromptA man stood by his window, all crossed arms and tired eyes. His dreams of flying like the birds had disappeared long ago. The night was swallowing him whole, but so was nonchalance. It was a suitable escape.

The cars ran down the street, their lights distorted in the post-storm puddles on the asphalt; the water spewed by their wheels rained on umbrellaed youths. It hurt to look at the vehicles crashing down the highway, crazy and epileptic and dancing in the rain. They were nothing more than a force of nature, he assured himself, suddenly cold and mechanical. They were machines with people trapped inside and what they did was uncontrollable.
Browse More Like This
Download File
HTML, 1.6 KB more ▶

More from ~Wolfrug

The ObservedEverything was literally falling apart. Archie Wheeler's path followed that of a crack in the pavement, which reached as far as he could see into the ruined streets ahead. Sometimes it was small, so he could step over it, at other times it became giant, a v-shaped drop filled with refuse and – although he tried not to see – the starved bodies of those who had fallen in and been unable to escape. He walked as far from the walls of the buildings as he could, fearing they might crumble at any moment. Now and again, a tremor caused small pieces of rubble to appear to hover just over the asphalt, their little shadows trembling underneath
Reborn or "The Spider""But I seemed to fancy at times that I saw in some strange, incredible form that infinite Power, that dull, dark, dumb force. I remember that some on seemed to lead me by the hand,  holding a candle, to show me a huge and loathsome spider, and to assure me, laughing at my indignation, that this was that same dark, dumb and almighty Power."
        The Idiot, Part Three, Ch. 6.

"One of the last thoughts Ippolit had before he tried killing himself was that God came in the shape of a spider"

"What?"

"Ippolit. From The Idiot." I waited a moment for some dawn of recognition, but none came. "Dostoevsky?"

"I'm afraid I never read it." Did she
The SphinxThe Sphinx's tail devoured the buzzing fly in a single mercurial snap. A decidedly unhalcyonic silence descended between man and beast. Oedipus did not dare move, lest he would disturb the ungodly sepulchre that the Sphinx's lair had become.

"Well? What is your answer to my riddle?"

The body of the lion was strong and limber, the wings the wings of a bird of prey, but the woman – Oedipus' gaze vacillated from marrow-cracked bone to broken skull, anywhere but her visage. His spear was useless against such a foe.

"Oh, do not think I do not know what you are thinking."

He saw the black, keen-edged, cat-ungulae sweep past, heard the rust
FFM July 31 - IsabellaRich girl marrying pauper boy. It made all the newspapers too. She forgot the day afterwards; saw herself in her white princess dress on the photos, a smiling stranger. No smiles now.

She was supposed to be perfect. She'd finally found a good use for all that undeserved money. She hadn't realized he only wanted it, not her. Her perfect man took her pride, and turned it into shame.

***

Her bike crushed a snail with a sad crunch. The strength of its shell was illusionary, like it is with all shells. The doctor had looked at her hopelessly.

“I can't. They'll take my licence away. It's illegal.”

She carried his child. She did not w
FFM July 30 - King of Poisons“With humans” the android drawled “it's so easy to know if they're children or not.”

Speck shifted slightly, staring at the machine. It (in the form of a man) wore a cowboy hat, a purple vest with stuffed shoulders and too much sparkle, tight pants in the same colour that widened towards the end, where high-heeled, spurred boots peeked out. Speck supposed some girls just went for that.

“Human children are smaller than adults, it's as easy as that. You're born tiny little screaming piss and shit factories, and then you begin growing up excruciatingly slowly. And you're dumb, dumb as hell the first couple of years.
FFM July 29 - Nostalgia The old man beamed with pride as his grandson began. The grandfather’s hands were big and dry, still strong even if lined with more life than a fortune-teller would have time to decipher. His eyes were hidden in folds of wrinkles, peeking behind a pair of glasses that got thicker every year. He didn’t want laser surgery or lenses, he said, his glasses gave him an air of dignity.

It was funny, the old man thought as he watched the little boy go through the preparations (painstakingly, slowly, but just as he had shown him), how much stock you can put to something that is just a hobby. He supposed it became more than a hobby as the y

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

July 1, 2012
1.6 KB
Link
Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 29
Favourites: 7 [who?]


Views: 233 (0 today)
Downloads: 8 (0 today)
[x]

FFM 2012, July 2 - Exegesis

:iconwolfrug:

"And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had made; and he rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had made." The lecturer quoted, barely glancing at the thick black Bible. "And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: because that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and made."

His students were still alert and awake – they had barely passed Genesis 1 after all. "Obviously, 'rested' here does not mean God was literally tired, for God does not tire. It merely meant he was finished, done, with his work of creating Heaven and Earth, and could now take a moment to consider it – the Hebrew word shâbath..."

Unfortunately, the lecturer did not have time to finish. The earthquake swept across the campus, uprooting trees and collapsing some of the smaller buildings outright.

The cracks in the ground grew ever larger, cutting the Holmes Memorial Building in half, before the shocked eyes of the students. And from the cracks streamed light, bright without being blinding, and from the light streamed winged forms, and from the winged forms streamed music and song. Everything shook and fell, and the lecturer and his students were all crushed under the debris, even as Angels – ethereal and not of this world – passed through the brick and concrete, singing their songs of praise.

And the world sighed, and yawned, and God woke up. And thus ended the seventh day.
:iconwolfrug:
Find the rest of the entries here: [link]

exegesis: noun, plural
critical explanation or interpretation of a text or portion of a text, especially of the Bible.

This was a silly. And so beginneth my set of "cheat" FFMs, as I will this very day be departing for my conference!
Add a Comment:
 
Preview   Add Comment
:iconthorns:
`thorns Feb 16, 2013   Writer
This gave me a good laugh. :giggle:
Reply
:iconwolfrug:
~Wolfrug Feb 17, 2013
:giggle: I'm glad it did. Thanks for the :+fav: as well!
Reply
:iconsilverinkblot:
=SilverInkblot Dec 28, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Hi there! Just a note to let you know I've featured this piece in my 2012 showcase of literature: [link] :D
Reply
:iconwolfrug:
~Wolfrug Dec 29, 2012
Woo! Features! Thank you!
Reply
:iconsilverinkblot:
=SilverInkblot Dec 29, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Features everywhere!
Reply
:iconmr-feverpitch:
~Mr-FeverPitch Jul 10, 2012
Very cool.

Also, found you through the DLD. Cool stuff, glad to see literature still sees its way to deviantART.
Reply
:iconwolfrug:
~Wolfrug Jul 11, 2012
There's quite a bit of literature on dA actually! And yay for finding it through DLD - love those guys ^_^ Thank you for the :+fav: as well!
Reply
:icondailylitdeviations:
=DailyLitDeviations Jul 8, 2012
Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by DLD (Daily Literature Deviations) in a news article that can be found here [link]
Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by :+fav:ing the News Article.

Keep writing and keep creating.
Reply
:iconwolfrug:
~Wolfrug Jul 9, 2012
:la:

AMG MY SECOND EVER DLD! AAAH! This is so awesome! Thank you thank you thank you ^__^ And thanks to ~Hesperie for featuring me as well :heart:
Reply
:iconangeljunkie:
~angeljunkie Jul 2, 2012  Student Writer
I really love the things that happen in your head.
Reply
Add a Comment:
 
Preview   Add Comment
©2013 deviantART. All rights reserved
About Us | Contact Us | Developers | Careers | Site Tour | Help & FAQ Advertise | Premium Membership Etiquette | Privacy Policy | Terms of Service | Copyright Policy