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Kaylee stomped through the small house just outside of Latimer, Mississippi, causing the brick and wood to tremble beneath tiny, determined feet.
The aroma of half scorched pancakes filled the even smaller kitchen, crisp green lingered with a rising, waking sun, embers sparking across grassy horizon, grogily coming to brighten the day.
Even the sun could barely stand this.
Travis Morgan ignored the pulling of his hair, by both a brilliant neon orange hair clip which wreaked of ambergris and imitation rosewater-a favorite fragrance of his mother- and a tiny bedazzled scrunchie, from his strong face. He kept one broad shoulder propped up, as to keep his cell phone from slipping into the churning skillet. A powder pink apron, with 'I-heart-Dad' in solid white on the chest, adorned with lace to match, clashed against cowboy boots, dusted Wranglers, and his old black shirt with the sleeves cut off.
"Da-ddyyyyy!!!!!" Cole clung to his shin, tiny legs wrapped in firm pro
He Who Strikes First WinsRon gnawed on her sleeve, fabric fraying upon force of teeth and will.
For three days, Near and Ron, bpth prized products of Wammy's house, shadows of L's legacy, odd to the world yet ingenious...
Were locked in a chess match, alabaster and ebony neatly poised on the plain tiled floor of the SPK's headquarters, locked behing titanium and steel, humming computers mingled with inhuman metronome ticks of clocks, all timezones out of sink yet natural.
Flurecent light flooded the cold space, the only life breathing shallowly, silent as to not overpower digital mechanics.
Ron sat on her knees, flesh clingging to porcelin from chilled exposure, humanity clashed with creation, draining life as she gave it. Near sat as always, knee tucked beneath his chin, a hand ontop the cap as the other leg laid sprawled about him. He took a lock of white hair between childish fingertips, rolling it about as his habit.
"You have to move sometime, Ron," Near ground out, practiced and robotic, "We've been at t
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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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