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First timeIt’s a simple premise, really. People take people by surprise. The cousin you thought was so sweet showcases a hell of a temper. The friend you had so much in common with you now walk past with a sigh, avoiding each other’s eyes. The person you didn’t really talk to is the one that holds fast when your world shatters around you.
But sometimes, you can even take yourself by surprise. And nothing is as surprising as your first time.
One day things are as you are used to. You wake up with the usual struggle against comfort and warmth, go through the usual debate as to exactly how healthy your meals that day are going to be. You persuade yourself that yes, you really DO have to step away from the computer now. You get dressed, step outside, and see something. Someone.
And everything changes.
It confuses you at first, because it’s not as if they- or you- have done anything new. A familiar gesture. A laugh. A particular turn of phrase. The brush of shoulders. But that
Hello, DarknessI almost changed the name of my website this weekend.
About a week ago, a good friend of mine reminded me of the musicians Simon and Garfunkel. I had heard of them before, and love one of their songs (being me, I didn't realise that the song was by them before that night). Still, over the last week it resulted in me listening to some of their music. Their talent is undeniable, but it was their lyrics that most drew me in. So many times, they seem to be singing to or even about me somehow. Especially The Sound of Silence.
I have always thought of my writing as a shout into the void; a scream into the darkness. I am one of the crowd in that song, talking without speaking and sometimes hearing without listening. These pieces are my songs unshared- except with you, of course.
I couldn't seem to get this out of my head- thus, the aforementioned almost-website change.
I believe it was compounded
Virgin SacrificeI've been thinking quite a lot about virgin sacrifice lately.
This odd topic is mostly because of a very odd chain of thought from the Lizzie Bennet Diaries fandom, but it's stuck with me for long enough that I have to get this down on... epaper, I guess. You see, I'm typing this in sta.sh. Because I'm not sure if I'm going to be posting this to my public dA account or not. If you're reading it there... I guess I did. My uncertainty as to whether to post or not has little to do with what I thought the issue would be at the end of my last Introvert piece (which, in part, just goes to show how odd life is).
My uncertainty has more to do with the topic.
To understand this particular piece better, it may be necessary to leave dA for a bit. You need to see the twitter conversation that started it all. To make it simple, I've storified it- here's the link. You don't need to read the entire thing (it's rather long). But I t
RealityThere's a very strange irony that surrounds my "Introvert" pieces. I write them; I post them online. I have a link to my deviantArt profile on my facebook page. But somehow... I don't really expect people to read them.
Yes, I know that technically my followers here are "people", but you're people from Ireland. America. Europe. Australia. South America. Canada. It'd be great to meet you guys, but I doubt I ever will. By "people", I mean those I actually know and hang out with outside the internet. Most of my "real life" friends don't dig through my account here. Frankly, I doubt that they even dig through my account on facebook!
So it was a bit of a shock to have one of said friends walk up to me and start talking about my last piece, Soul Stealer. I've been wondering ever since... how much of my work has he read?
Let me first say that there are several extenuating circumstances. The friend in question is very likely reading this piece as well, since he's a writer/ artist/ musician with
Over the weekend, I’ve heard the word thrown more than once in my direction. It’s well-earned, I know. For years, ever since I first held a camera, I’ve loved to take shots of people I know- and even those I don’t- in unguarded moments. A laugh as they talk with friends. Just walking across the room. Dancing with their other half. Bending over and cooing at a friend’s newborn. I just love those pictures.
Of course, because they’re taken unaware, people object. I guess they see the camera as invading on private moments- even when it’s not exactly “private”. I can understand…. But I still can’t stop. It’s like a fire, an impulse I can’t control, this need to capture their images as they go about their lives. Over the past weekend, I’ve had some time to sit down and, for the first time, think of why.
I detest posing for photographs- have I ever mentioned that? My head looks strange, my features
WaitingShe watched the blood spread out from his fallen body. The gun was so heavy in her tiny hand, the steel burning her poor palms just as she'd known it would, but she couldn't seem to put it down. Instead, she sat on the carpet, the heavy black gun wobbling slightly as she still held it on him.
Just in case.
Her ears were still ringing from the blast- vaguely, she wondered at the silence. It was never silent in this place. Someone was always yelling. Crying. Complaining. She was the only quiet one.
But now he was quiet too.
The carpet itched the backs of her bare legs- by reflex, she began to draw them to her chest.
The gun finally dropped as she whimpered and clutched an arm to her chest. Had he broken something inside again? Maybe this time he'd let Moira take care of her. Moira could take care of anything
But maybe maybe she could sneak out and go to her while he was lying there? She could reach the door in less than a minute; be back in less than fi
MistakesTenzin sat alone in the darkness, mind in turmoil.
He had always known this day would come. When he would have to face the full folly of his youthful mistakes.
Korra's recent news confirmed what he had feared for a very long time. That his past indiscretions with the one he once called friend had led to tragedy. He couldn't tell Korra the truth. Not yet.
Hopefully, not ever.
His eyes drifted shut as the images flashed by.
Hearing the tale of the Lion Turtle from his father.
Being persuaded to accompany a group of the airbending students to a local tavern.
A single night of allowing them to persuade him to try the fire whiskey. Just try it
The Lion Turtle. It was supposed to be a secret, held in trust for the next Avatar. Instead, in one night
His eyes opened, half-glad to see Pema walking- actually, these days it was more of a waddle- towards him. Not that he was going to tell her that. After three kids, a man began to learn.
"Are you okay? You've been out here a
GoodbyesThey say that you can't truly get to know someone over the internet.
That, in my case, is very true. I throw up so many barriers and false images that not even those who believe they know me best online know me at all.
Although sometimes, they do surprise me.
So maybe they know me better than I thought they would.
But I digress. That debate- as to whether you can truly get to know someone you've never actually met, whether you can grow to care about them as you would anyone else, can be raged another time. But right now, I want no part of it. Because I know that those who deny the power of internet friendships simply have no idea what fellowship can do.
They can open your mind to unexplored planes.
They can bring you comfort and laughter in the darkest hours.
They can remind you to stop and look before it all goes away.
They can remind you that today just might be your last day.
Some time ago, I joined a website called FooPets. It featured realistic(ish) dogs and cats that you could pe
AsleepShe was fast asleep.
Golden eyes hidden by closed lids, paws and tail still.
Such a gorgeous bundle of white, I thought as I stared at my two year old Persian cat, Juno. So peaceful in sleep. Such a touching sight.
I looked around the room. The curtains were torn in long, jagged shreds. The few ornaments I'd left out now lay on the floor; a shattered vase and spreading pool of water creating a dark circle in my cream shag carpets. The cushions of the sofa were damaged- possibly beyond repair.
I looked back at the sleeping Juno as her tail twitched. One large eye opened, staring straight at me. She rose. Walked away.
Note to self: never leave brand-new cats alone in a cluttered house.
HomesickI am the river's son,
my arteries flowing turquoise
and turning to rapids
rushing around my frame,
filling me with this sense
of buoyancy, minnows
tickling my sternum.
I am the river's son.
My palms caress each
silty shoreline, every
battered bank and bend,
and these places I know
so well become me
as my fingerprint,
even the bridge above me
inflamed by the afternoon
sun-glow, burning rusty and
the steel blue sky.
I am the river's son;
I bring my home along
like hermit crab,
where I step
I pull water from the earth.
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More