He sits, rigidly.
Fingers twitch – little girl dies.
Eyes shut. Plot lives on.© Devina S.
He sits, rigidly.
Fingers twitch – little girl dies.
Eyes shut. Plot lives on.© Devina S.
Here’s my piece for this week’s Picture it and Write!
This isn’t right, he thought for the hundredth time. Mathew stood well within the reach of the shadows in the corner of the room. The old women, oh these women, their wills were thousandfold the force of their heavy wrinkled and gnarled hands. They had gotten it in their heads that Petr must live. Why, he’s far too young for this fate.
Fools. Who are they to decide against nature? Petr, the rambunctious lad he loved and knew, the boy who wanted to fly. Pretended to do so as he ran down the hills at breakneck speed just to feel the wind. If he’d been allowed to die in proper peace would have turned in his grave at the very though of such imposed suffering his soul must endure. It pained Mathew to see his friend binded to this lingering existence.
The soft light of dawn stroked Petr’s pale immobile face, a picture of perfect, undisturbed rest. Continue reading
Here’s my bit for this week’s entry. It’s an Avengers fanfic :) Here’s the thing, it turned out to be longer than I anticipated which is normal but I wanted to keep on point that it’s a prompt piece. I will definitely post the other part as sequel since I already finished writing it. Fact: this is my first writing of this sort for this fandom. I actually like it.
I couldn’t sleep, I finally decided as I fell on the floor face first after much tossing and turning. I’d come out of a panic attack only an hour ago (it’s one in the morning) after learning that my scrambled mother sent all of my freaking socks to GoodWill, except the pair that I have on. I just can’t even, anymore. I have yet to meet another soul who truly knows the importance of socks, the spiritual aspect of the things.
But something strange happened between that time and now.
Now, I was … I haven’t the foggiest idea where I am. It was by a dock, that much I could say. It was almost quiet, the ringing in my ears is almost audible.
Not far off I could see the city skylight taking definition in the horizon. It was one of those shipping yards where those hella huge container ships dock. I’m perched atop a stack of them, five stories tall. It was cold, environmentally sure, but the pealing metal was approximately 6°C, with no vibrations except from the tiny ones coming from the ground conducted by the four containers below. A night bird called, a nervous shiver raced through me like an internal minor earthquake.
I can’t explain it, but I just know this stuff. Live feed on the energy signatures around me and this is just the one dimensional stuff. I noticed it three years ago. I wish I could talk about it but it’s the kind of thing that gets you in a sealed room and on a dissection table courtesy of some vague and menacing government agency. No thanks, not that I have friends anyway.
There wasn’t much traffic here, however, I’m pretty sure I’m still in New York. That made me kinda edgy being here out late. Then again weird shit happens at any given time. Last year there was an alien invasion at high noon. Our saviours had disappeared as quickly as they had appeared but I do feel safer knowing that they exist at all. Ask any one. You can take a peek at my room. The faces of the Avengers dominated my walls. First class ass kickers, that bunch.
Back to the now. I don’t know how I got here. One moment I was about to nod off. The next I was standing in front of this normal sized corrugated metal box, a nondescript thing really. I shouldn’t have noticed its dull blue-grey paint, but I did. I knew it was trouble the five seconds after. Trouble had energy emissions too, not that the average human could discern.
Impulsively I’d reached out and touched it, fingers grazing the cold dead thing. With a strangled gasp I wrenched my hand away. It wasn’t dead like it should be. My hand been glowing teal and silver-white along the bones and nerve tissues, making it abundantly clear this was going to be one crazy night.
The beautiful lightening ran from that arm to the rest of me like … like fresh blood, I guess. Energized. Alive like I’d never been. The world was sharper, the scents were stronger and separate. Basically all of my senses leveled up by a lot than what I was used to. There had to be something alien about it. Hell, it practically was alien tech for all I knew.
Then I hear voices approaching, gravel crunching under brisk footsteps.
There wasn’t a lack of hiding spots and just for the heck of it, I tried a thing and tested these heightened abilities. I took a few steps back, bent my knees and sprang up with all the force I could muster. And dear Lord almighty, did I jump. I needed to work on the landing aspect.
Now (five minutes later)
Check it! I’m published with fellow Picture It and Write contributors. I can’t speak for myself but there are great stories here. Available in both e-book and paperback. Eeeeep :D
Originally posted on Ermilia:
After much toil, the paperback is officially available for purchase on Amazon! Thank you so much to the contributors and others who donated time and work for this publication. It is truly an honor to work with you to support The Girl Effect, a movement “leveraging the unique potential of adolescent girls to end poverty for themselves, their families, their communities, their countries and the world.”
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The air was frigid
Like soup left on the table
The wind blew in forceful gusts
As if blind the to long dead heat
The night was a hungry child Continue reading
Here’s my offering for this week’s Picture it and Write! photo prompts hosted by Ermilia Blog. I must admit this was was a half hearted attempt but I would truly appreciate your thoughts. Cheers!
Another day has caught up with me. The night giving way to the morning, but not without a struggle, for I sensed the rain before I heard it pelting on the cold zinc roof. The chaotic many-tiny-fisted pounding echoed with the way I’ve took a habit of feeling these days. What am I doing staying up, reading books that only feed imagination? At this point Percy Jackson is having a ball finding his path on his way of becoming a hero. In what way was that helpful? When see people my age getting jobs and slowly becoming adults, it prods an uneasy spot in me that gives way to hopeless panic.
I can follow up on the AL biology texts I’d thrown in a corner. But it’s not like I get into that field. I haven’t a clue in which way direction to stumble towards. The wind howled past me, sending the closed window to my right into a fit of nervous shuddering. I fancy it was trying to make up its mind too, hearing my mental distress and was attempting to choose a proper cardinal point.
If I was honest with myself I would admit that I knew exactly what I wanted but I find that my sense of duty a somewhat reluctant obstacle. I mean, it’s not like I could pack up and go exploring. I’m almost broke and living with my aunt and her husband to whom both I already owe a lot.
I should probably find a profession that involves traveling and learning. Archeology was shot down pretty gently and I’m quite embarrassed for myself for submitting to that conclusion they’d drawn up so confidently; my “Indiana Jones” phase. There’s this restlessness inside me that stirs at the glimpse of the churning sea, or at the uneven horizon of mist shrouded mountain tops, the drifting scent of fresh dew and the far cry of a high flying bird.
Aunt Em says that I am pining for my parents. That I want to somehow go out in the big yonder in search for a long gone trail. How do I explain to her that I gave up on them? Continue reading
You see me on the train
Usually your gaze passed over me like a light drizzle
You noticed me, today’s eye of the storm
An innocuous fixture
In your dream-scape of blurry reality
You focus on me (dunno why, not that special)
On my sand brown skin and longish chestnut hair
Your eyes probe my prone form
I grow nervous, but I stare right back
I’m too tired to care this second, ginger boy
What do you see,
How sharp is the harpoon of your gaze,
Will it pin my soul in place, at your mercy?
You seem kind enough, black depth-less eyes glisten with curiosity
You might have been shy once, what makes you so bold now
Stranger mine, that you brazenly attempt to read me
Stretched out on the back seat
I close my eyes and pretend,
My head rests on vibrant green grass
The edges beaded with dew
I see the stars above,
And they moved as we drove
Like feeling the earth spin
But yet these sparkling stones remain
Piercing my human eyes
With mysterious light of a familiar Sun
And I think about that,
That connection and the distance
Then in between the noise
Of my breath, The Proclaimers, and the breeze
A silence settled over me like a blanket
An inaudible click, felt
The stars seemed to smile brighter
As if they knew
I’d never feel the same way
Ever again as I did on this long ago drive
This night when I felt
Myself one with the universe
All at once sound rushed in my ears
But I never did un-click
Because … I belong
I was made of the stuff of stars
I hear it’s poetry month, so I’ll try to write once a day. I think it’s neat, poetry month, a poem can say much more than whole paragraphs could and there’s so many ways to write them!
Good evening, folks ;)
The night I’ve been cloaked under has lasted so long. The seasons come and go before my eyes, like watching the world go around from my bedroom window. I’ve driven people away yet I need them close. I … I am a tangled mess, like old hair stuck in the bristles of a brush.
A snowflake tentatively approaches me, as if knowing that I’m too hot to touch but still wants to feel the burn. That impulsive snowflake melts before landing on my face. I’m too hot even for me to bear.
And when the cool fall breeze breathes along my body, it chafes at my skin.
Who will love me when the morning nears? After the witnessed darkness of my nights? Who will love me with the sun decides to shine, illuminating the drying trail of tears? Your beautiful face comes to me shining in the pale moonlight.
Do you think I have anything left to give? Does that molten emotion still flow in the husk of me? It’s a question you’ll have to be brave enough to seek. But I’d swear it to you, your memory is what’s been keeping me alive. Come closer and let me gather you near. Come a little bit closer like you used to do. How else can I make you feel my love?
Hi everyone, I’m terribly sorry for not visiting in such a long time, sadly enough posting these days end up just being an afterthought. Today is Phagwah, the festival many of us Hindus celebrate to mark the beginning of spring. Today we throw coloured powder and water on friends, family and agreeable strangers (who can be of different religion and race) not only for the new season but also to commemorate Krishna’s fondness of pranks. This week’s Ermilia’s Picture It and Write! reminds me of the holiday, particularly the clouds. So here’s my bit. It’s been a while.
The pain at my temples throbbed like the beats in a Hall and Oats song. I stayed home today, and work was out of question with all of the indecision and confusion and plain all out frustration that had condensed into a dripping orb in my chest. I take a sip of the stuff of the bottom of my mug and nearly wretched. A day and a half old black coffee can do that to a body, served me right I supposed, I hadn’t gotten around to change the grounds. Nevertheless, picking it up made me feel a whole lot better for it revealed a recent postcard from some picturesque lake in Scotland from my best friend Riley.
It wasn’t very hard to believe such serene beauty was real, I grew up to long stretches of road with views of sun-lit cane fields on one side and rice on the other, took shade under coconut trees and shared that ever sentimental sky. Instead of feeling homesick, I wanted to pick up and drive off to where the sky met the ground in the far flung horizon.
The likes of lochs and miles of impossibly high mountains were utterly magnificent to my eyes that never beheld them. Continue reading