ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
There are discussions that should never be overheard.
Observations that should never be made.
Questions that should never be asked.
I knew this, of course. Not everyone needs to know everything. But when you see changes in the people around you or hear things about them- the people you care about- then it's impossible not to make those observations. Wonder about those discussions.
Ask those questions.
I asked. Oh, I asked, and you have no idea how much I've regretted it. My stomach roils and my head hurts and I'm so worried that in asking too many questions I have put at risk something very dear.
You would think, after the disastrous wreck I've made before because of asking too many questions, that I would learn from my mistakes. Block the curiosity. Deny the befuddlement. But no. I'm as stubborn a learner as they come. I refuse to learn from others' mistakes. I refuse to learn from my own.
And the price is holding Pandora's Box in my hands, wondering if I was right about the whisper that escaped when I cracked it open. Confusing the hell out of myself trying to save my own sanity by convincing myself I was wrong while internally debating if being right would be the best thing to happen to me- or unmitigated disaster.
Trying to figure out how to force the whisper, the comments, the observations, the questions, back into the box and seal it shut until I can deal with all the possible answers.
Observations that should never be made.
Questions that should never be asked.
I knew this, of course. Not everyone needs to know everything. But when you see changes in the people around you or hear things about them- the people you care about- then it's impossible not to make those observations. Wonder about those discussions.
Ask those questions.
I asked. Oh, I asked, and you have no idea how much I've regretted it. My stomach roils and my head hurts and I'm so worried that in asking too many questions I have put at risk something very dear.
You would think, after the disastrous wreck I've made before because of asking too many questions, that I would learn from my mistakes. Block the curiosity. Deny the befuddlement. But no. I'm as stubborn a learner as they come. I refuse to learn from others' mistakes. I refuse to learn from my own.
And the price is holding Pandora's Box in my hands, wondering if I was right about the whisper that escaped when I cracked it open. Confusing the hell out of myself trying to save my own sanity by convincing myself I was wrong while internally debating if being right would be the best thing to happen to me- or unmitigated disaster.
Trying to figure out how to force the whisper, the comments, the observations, the questions, back into the box and seal it shut until I can deal with all the possible answers.
Literature
Letter's from Luceal
June 6th
It's been a year. A whole year, has gone and went in a blink of an eye. Damn.
I didn't really want to start writing. I think it's kind of stupid, but Hope talked me into it. Say's it'll be good to get stuff of my chest.
I don't even know why I'm writing these. It's not like your ever going to get them. Not like I'm ever going to send them.
Still, Hope says I should write down what happened. Holy Hell a year. I've been gone a year.
Damn I don't know where to start.
I asked Hope. He says to start from the beginning, but I don't really know where that is.
Did I ever tell you about my life before we met? Before Az brought me back?
I
Literature
Prologe
Thump thump
The town, Aegron, had been destroyed, Katrina knew this, had seen it. The Sekers had come and wiped it out, it happened sometimes, a way of life. The survivors would pack up and move to another town or they would wait for the brothers of Ammit to come and rescue them. This time Katrina new that no survivors would leave this place. Glancing toward the huge wardrobe where her two children had locked themselves, Katrina firmly told her self that someone would walk away, her babies would survive and go on to the next town.
Thump thump
Katrina's husband walked into the bedroom closing and locking a thick door behind him. In his hand
Literature
Farewell
Dear, Jessica.
Today Ronnie Childs died. Lucky me. The boys don’t want me to walk out and walk freee.
I can’t blame you for finally leaving me those months ago, but I know you too well.
You wouldn’t have ripped me from your heart, even though you should have. I don’t regret loving you, but letting you love me is the greatest sin.
Or second worst. The first was joining a gang.
I went numb as I ran out of things to care about.
Stopped caring about the taste of blood drawn in a fight, the bruises and cracked bones of my boys and myself, or what the other guys looked like.
Stopped caring about breaking into stores, robb
Suggested Collections
Wrote this a couple of months ago, so I guess this is yet another-this-too-has-passed piece from me. Needed to clear it out of my stash.
I was actually going to write more around this, but who am I kidding. I'll never get around to it.
And just because you may be wondering, Pandora's box is locked, bolted, and hidden away in the shadows under my bed.
I was actually going to write more around this, but who am I kidding. I'll never get around to it.
And just because you may be wondering, Pandora's box is locked, bolted, and hidden away in the shadows under my bed.
© 2014 - 2024 myah5000
Comments1
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Hey you need to tell your friend capt-ba.deviantart.com/. That me MUST CONTINUE HIS SOKKLA FANFIC PLZ FOR ME