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AloneYou open your eyes to a blissful silence, punctuated only occasionally by the soft hum of the oxygen scrubber. You unzip yourself from your sleeping pod and float gently and slowly toward the window. You look out onto the planet Jupiter. The station’s inclined orbit has placed you directly of the Great Red Spot this morning. You smile softly; for all the surrounding beauty, this is your favorite site. The Great Red Spot, a storm, thousands of kilometers wide, spinning wildly for the past few hundred years. . .which reminds you: “What day is it?” You take a look at the clock. July 17, 2142. Tuesday. Ew. You hate Tuesdays. Everything bad happens on Tuesdays. It’s only been five years since the Readjustment. Five years since the Unified World Government ordered the evacuation of the dying planet Earth. You sigh to yourself; you were one of the useful, lucky ones that got off first. You guess being an astrophysicist has its perks when you have to go live in space. .
It Was Only a Matter of Time.They watched as oxygen levels in the other section dropped lower, and lower.
They watched as the engineers working at the breech choked and died.
They who were sealed off, behind a layer of steel and rubber gaskets watched.
They knew they too were doomed, it was only a matter of time.
Nobody else would come.
They had seen the flashes of nuclear war, watched as the world tore itself to pieces.
Nobody would come.
They knew the station's orbit would decay.
It would enter the atmosphere and burn.
They would die.
They watched the needle drop.
It was only a matter of time.
BEN DrownedThere is a ghost named BEN Drowned.
In Majora's Mask is where he's found.
He haunts this game to make you scream.
It is as disturbing as it seems.
The backwards Song of Healing will chill your core.
You think that it's over, but wait, there's more.
His black orbs with red pupils bright,
You'll find is quite a horrific sight.
He'll drive you insane. You'll beg it to end.
Your Cleverbot messages will be the last thing you send.
Wait in the corner to die for there's not a thing you can do.
You've met with a terrible fate haven't you.
Creations Of The SoberA smirk crawls upon your face,
As the pretty bright blood leaks down your arm,
Part of you is whispering,
"what have I done..?"
But you can barely hear it over the demented laughter,
That is emerging from your throat.
Your whole body is shaking,
With fear or with excitement, still remains unknown,
You look down at the bodies around you,
Drowning within their own blood.
You clench your fist,
Digging your nails into your rough skin,
Until your royal blood starts to flow.
You begin to laugh louder,
Dragging your feet through the mixture of their blood,
You walk past them,
Leaving a murderous trail behind.
You simply pick up your weapon,
Licking off the remaining blood,
And tighten your grip around it,
Ready to attack,
Your best friend stands in the distance,
Eyes wide and mouth open,
He's too frightened to say a thing.
You flash a smile his way,
When you realize he's crying.
"T-Those w-were yo-ur f-friends.."
He trails off,
Silent tears rolling down his cheeks,
Home AloneSay something, I'm giving up on you.
I'm starting to believe every word was true.
I can hear the sound of the dial tone beeping
And I wonder if it's the sound of your lies sleeping.
The phone line is calling my nickname,
Asking me to scream in tune with its game.
I thought home was where I heard your heartbeat.
But this house is empty, desolate, bittersweet.
Don't say another word you don't mean,
For the poor paint caught envy, it's turning green.
Even the plaster is curdling with shame
At the sight of your face in a picture frame.
This house, it was ours, thick with false flowers.
I've been tearing up perfumed petals for hours.
This place is perfect for a funeral bride,
And I can attest that 'us' has died.
Just point to where I sign,
And I write it on the line of Divine.
Hush up before I stay here with you.
I need to find some oxygen, my soul is blue.
I'm not interested in dial tone morse.
You're past due on your bill of remorse.
Say nothing, I'm getting over you.
It's time I call up
Nothing MissingIf I said I missed you,
I'd be admitting that I breathed
On a time where seconds slipped free
When we were two halves wreathed.
But something can't be missed
If it never did exist.
That knife I will not twist
With my own remembering wrist.
There's nothing missing from my puzzle.
Those silent holes grow content
With the splatterart guzzle
I smear across the rent.
It's nice to live in a blindfold,
Carefully glued to be whole,
Listening to the tale I've told
Of well mannered dirt in a hole.
I leave no mossy stone turned,
For I need no compass to pave
The weary headstone of brave burned
On the chapped lips of your depraved grave.
Masque of the Black DreadMasque of the Black Dread
From Mask of the Red Death by Edgar Allen Poe
Far up yonder in the remotest reach
Of the vast sands of the Sahara
Where few if any men have ever walked
And nobody dared to dwell
There stood a castle of dark stone
Maybe obsidian or black quartz
And within the walls
The inhabitants, under the eye of the lord, Prince Faisal,
Partied throughout the night.
They raved and ranted for many nights
But neither came a soul to stop them,
Nor did anyone think to stop.
Then, one late night in October,
Maybe near All Hallows Eve,
He wore long gowns as black as the walls of the castle
And long flowing locks of dark brown hair
But most outstanding was his mask
A dark mask of somber features
Like no face seen anywhere in the world
Stranger still was that whoever looked upon this mask
Went finally, utterly mad
Faisal saw his guests descend
Into madness's depth
And demanded to know the identity of that mask
The guest spoke just one word
Jeff the KillerThere is a boy by the name of Jeff
Who likes to bring to others death.
His face is white like a snowy eve,
But no purity does his soul conceive.
His eyelids are missing for he burned them to black,
Black as his heart and his need to attack.
He'll forever smile with his carved in grin.
The only lifestyle he knows is sin.
His mind is frayed from insanity,
A concept that causes others to flee.
But he finds it beautiful and helps share his art
Of ripping his innocent victims apart.
He'll climb in your window in the dead of night.
There's no point in even trying to fight.
Hush now. No tears. Don't you dare make a peep.
It's time for you to go to sleep.
As the Candle BurnsAs the Candle Burns
From Lovecraft's "Whisperer in the Darkness"
He sat at his desk in the parlor
Pouring over a volume of lore
The author of which was not mentioned
As the candle he had lit burnt low
For a moment, he looked from the corner of an eye
At the shadows thrown on the wall
Then he saw something move among them
Creeping slowly towards his desk
His ears pricked nervously
A whisper issued in the darkness
It foretold of a future
Worse than what anyone could expect
"The Old Ones will be your future. I have come to start."
How It Began"God, your two o'clock is here."
"I have a two o'clock?"
"He's been here since 7:45. I figured it's only polite to... sir."
God sighed. "Fine, send him in."
While He waited God cleared His desk of papers and blueprints; no need for outsiders to see His plans. Soon enough the door to His office opened and God stood, smiled, held out a hand towards one of the two visitor's chairs.
"God! Great stuff you're doing in sector 2-7-0! Great stuff!"
The man's hands were clammy, his handshake limp. Rumpled suit, porkpie hat, briefcase... oh Jes-- oh dear, a salesman. God's smile slipped a little but He soldiered on gamely. With luck He could shoo the poor guy away in a few minutes.
"So, what can I do for you?"
The man sat, briefcase across his knees. "Sector 2-7-0! Everyone's talking about it! What do you call it? Man and merman?"
"Man and woman, actually. And thanks. But we're pretty busy around here, and..."
"Oh! Right! No time for the wicked, eh?" The salesman winked and popped his briefcase,
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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