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At the BlockAaron had played many roles before; he knew his parts well. Background players: the blurry face in a crowded diner or a bustling street. Simple props: the aunt’s ex-boyfriend who received a passing mention, the bum on a street who spoke a single line.At the Block
At the moment, however, he was stuck. His last novel had been shelved, and with it, his most advanced role yet. He had had a full three lines to speak—three lines!—and it had all been taken away by a publisher’s pen.
And here he was. Sitting, once again, in Paulson’s inventory room by order of Literary Services, with manacles on his wrists and
by =cairnthecrow
Penny for Your Thoughtsone nickel. that's all I'm asking, all I want for my thoughts. one nickel. one nickel to change a life. get it, do you? I'm begging for change. change is the stuff that jangles in loose pockets, the forgotten wealth that batters against phones and wallets and keys; it's the stuff of sugar-spun clouds, weaving cotton-candy bridges between our hopes and dreams and, yes, our fears. one nickel. one nickel for ephemeral promises and for five percent of a burger, yes, friend, can you spare a nickel for such things? I'm just asking for change, away from grimy sidewalks andPenny for Your Thoughts
by =cairnthecrow
Inker - Entrance//FictInker - Entrance
Payton’s mind was elsewhere while Nuriel inked him, but the bird-boy didn’t mind. It was easiest to write the letters while the inker’s sharp eyes weren’t boring into his thoughts.
The pen crisscrossed the bared skin of Payton’s forearm, leaving behind white streaks that quickly disappeared beneath a thick coat of ink. Nuriel’s penmanship was unrivaled—the bowed lines and bold serifs were crisp, clear. He held Payton’s quill pen between two talon-capped fingers, grasping the boy’s arm with his other hand as he bent over his work, carefully working his way up to the
by =cairnthecrow
You bound our spines
 It was summer. He braided daisy chains and called them flowers; she tangled words and called them speech. I was the only one who knew the truth; that the thin lines of cellulose that run beneath the tender skin of a leaf are not so different from the veins of blood and sentiment that pulse through syllables as they smack against your teeth. I was the weaver. To the art of his flower arranging, I added in her words, until it was no longer clear whose work was whose... Read the rest here: [link] |
Dear ---,
somehow i know that we are not finished. --today i downed a bagel before the sun and you woke up after i had had my lunch; i was penning essays while you first struggled with your hair. but while you slept, this morning, i was sleeping too. i had dreams on my eyelids and it was your hair smiling in my mind that first tipped me off to the fact that i miss you even as i refuse to call. i cannot shake the mismatched circles of your not-eyes, nor can i forget your disgusted voice; i cannot forget that you are my oldest friend. i cannot forget that there is a shirt on my desk and that it belongs to you... Read the rest here: [link] |
Wake
The sun was falling through the sky, and Sara shivered; the atmosphere was too thin. She crouched low on her hoverboard and leaned forward, hugging the ground as she zipped past the air buoys that marked the allowed paths. The buoys bobbed in the air with the undulations of the atmospheric currents, little orbs of color set adrift in the heavens. It had been a while since she had needed to race the sun home, since she had seen it this low in the sky, dull and orange and more than a little hazy. It was so much more elegant when it was balanced above them--it was fuller then, more majestic. Dusk was not a beautiful time. Read more of Wake here. |
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There and Back Again
Anguish
Critiques
by *aillesdors
I just discovered your work after reading part of the #LITplease transcript, and let me begin by saying that I am quite impressed; I do...
by `Memnalar
Wow. Fast-paced action, totally realistic fantasy, and a twist at the end to boot! It's been a while since I've read your wor...
Devious Info
- deviantWEAR sizing preference: Small
- Interests: CTY, hopping, writing, breathing, and being distracted by floating dust specks.
- Favourite poet or writer: I can't choose. Tim O'Brien? Orson Scott Card? Jasper Fforde? It's too hard!
- Operating System: Vista. :(
- Skin of choice: Plain old dA.
- Tools of the Trade: Pencil, pen, Word, Photoshop CS3
- Email: flyingwyvern@gmail.com
Fave News
- 69 (free) Text Art Lessons in the TextArt chatroom! - May 26, 2009
- 74 Daily Lit Deviations for May 23th, 2009 - May 22, 2009
- 158 The Summer "Tell Me a Story" Contest - May 2, 2009
- 317 Critique week begins! - Apr 18, 2009
- 59 "This is Madness; this is Fantasy!" Competition - Jan 29, 2009
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As much as early termination of CTY sucked, I'm glad I went, I'm glad I showed up at playground funz and had the chance to meet you. Really hope the next time we see each other is very soon.
--
Teehee, BonBon; that's me. I am so so so glad I met you. Wasn't Playground Funz epic?
It really was a good year, despite the early ending.
--
Somewhere out there is a field full of happy, hopping bunnies, all rolling around on the green grass and cooing happily at the stars.
Thought I'd leave a friendly
--
Yet what is any ocean but a multitude of drops?
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