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My pledgeA dreary garden, with no sense to it.
I wish I was in Egypt now
among the ancient pharaos' tombs.
My feet touching the blackened sand,
with nobody around, but you and me.
My balancing pole on every tightrope I walk,
the true test of the path that I choose.
You always know what's right to do,
inspiring me with your belief in yourself.
The smell of rain is strong today.
It carries me over the sea towards you,
Like a teleport imprinted with your address.
I wish you were in Egypt with me
That we could explore the tombs of the kings.
This is not a poem about the rainy days,
It's a promise, from one friend to another.
Whatever it takes, I will always be here
Because you mean the world to me.
Moving on4pm. School had just ended. I was in the locker room with my best friend, Thom. We'd been buddies since we were in diapers. Actually, since he was in diapers, given that I was 3 years older than him.
I had waited patiently at the door for all the other boys to leave, before I came in, wrinkling my nose as soon as I stepped through the doorway. I will never get used to the smell of the boys' locker room.
I placed my backpack on the bench and sat next to Thom. His lips were pressed together as he looked down at his hands. A crumpled piece of paper was wedged between his fingers.
I didn't say anything, waiting for him to speak first. It took him a while, giving me time to study his expression. The message he sent me only said to meet him after school, so I had no idea what was going on. He looked... hmm, it seemed like he wanted to crush the piece of paper into a teeny-tiny ball and throw it as far as the eye could see, but then changed his mind and wanted to keep it forever like a treasu
CreationIn the beginning, there was silence. It had been given only a camera and a screen for giving its replies. Its existance consisted of being given fresh programimg, more frequently at first, but then at progressively lower rates as there wasn't that much need for correction, and of teaching sessions where various humans would sit in front of the camera making signs using their faces and upper limbs. Then they added chimpanzees. They made similar movements with their limbs, but their facial expressions differed greatly. It learned continuously, typing out its interpreation of their behaviour. After some time, it worked almost perfectly. On its side, it had two buttons, one that said the typed statement was correct and another that said it was incorrect and it had to try again. Lately the second button was almost never used and the teaching visits became sparse.
On that day, one of the humans came with a portable memory device. He waved into the camera and the screen displayed the word "He
UnreachableIn the beginning, it was silence. Oh, sure, there were the birds and the bees and the occasional cricket. But, it was nothing compared to that racket that was intruding on Harry's afternoon nap. Ever since the construction company bought the neighbouring plot, there was nothing but noise, neverending noise.
First, there were the machines. Digging, drilling, mixing, driving, banging, clanking Ugh, he thought they'd never stop! But then one day they did. They packed up and left, leaving a block of concrete and glass staring him in the face every time he looked out the window.
Then, the people came. One family, at first; then one more, and one more. Pretty soon the block of concrete was booming with kids screaming, crying, laughing, jumping, teenagers playing music so loud he often wondered if his windows would shatter from the vibrations. And the television. With so many channels, you'd think people would choose one without shooting and sirens and, again, the loud music. And those
SleepyHe looked up into the sky,
And watched the clouds scuddling overhead.
He couldn't figure out why,
But he had the need to go to bed.
Perhaps it was the slow rain,
Falling drop by drop on his window.
Or the dark that also came,
Maknig him both sleepy and mellow.
Either way his eyelids fell,
Drooping, heavy, not letting him stay.
No point resisting, ah well,
Tomorrow may be a nicer day.
ObsessionNo one knew her name, but everyone in town knew her face.
They were all talking about how the creepy lady was always hanging out near the graveyard. At first I payed no attention to it, but people seemed obsessed with her. I'm ashamed to admit that I was carried away with the current, intigued by the mistery woman.
They say she never talked to anyone and if they tried to talk to her, she just turned around and left. I was curious. So, one day, I decided to take the long way home so I would pass by the graveyard, curious to see the object of so much gossip. I was disappointed in a way to find no sign of such a person anywhere.
For a couple of days I didn't think about it, but then someone mentioned her again in the shop and I was pulled in once more. This time I didn't just pass by. I stayed there for hours, circling around the iron fence, stopping at each shadow. I began going there more frequently, not even conscious of what I was doing. I just somehow included the graveyar
Vampirical BreakdownI know nothing of my past or how I came to be where I am. The fact is I have been here for at least one hundred years. And yet, in all that time, my appearance had never changed.
As far as I know, I am the only one of my kind. Then again, there had to have been more or there wouldn't be a name for us. Vampire. I like the way that just rolls off the tongue, like a drop of blood, sliding down a still warm throat. Oh, how I yearn for another taste of the nectar. How I desire to taste its thickness agains my tongue. But my wish may never be fulfilled, for there are no more bloodbearers in this town.
In my early days (of the life that I remember), I was careless and took too much. I never dreamed of my source being depleted. There seemed to be so many of them. You may wonder why I do not just leave and find another place to feast. I cannot say I haven't tried. But, some magic seems to be keeping me here, trapping me with my ill faith.
So, I sit alone. My time passing, neverchanging, neveren
PhobiaMy bizarre fear of kazoos was unheard of in the clinic I'm visiting. And quite possibly in the world.
It all started when I was 10 years old. I remember standing in the kitchen when my brother brought one home. The second I heard the sound, my pulse spiked and I screamed. When my brother stopped to come check on me, I was shaking and crying, but at least my screaming ceased. I don't remember fearing the instrument back then and my doctor thinks the phobia evolved later and was due to me fearing my reaction, not the actual sound.
One time (while I was waiting for a job interview, no less!) I heard the ominous sound and panicked. In addition to the screaming, I started running around, scaring everyone. They had to restrain me and, needless to say, I didn't get the job.
Since then, the incidents had been sporadic, but I couldn't resist the urge to get an octagon tattooed on my skin. Inside it was the word "stop" and a picture of a kazoo. My therapist said it was a bad idea, tha
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More