Fruitful FrankThrough June, Frank Stein's cloak hid a grotesquely disfigured body. If one didn't know better, one might even think the shape resembled that of a spare head, but of course that would be freaking ridiculous. Nobody approached the derelict building, and Frank, frequently caught in bizarre situations, gradually deteriorated. He threw fruit. The villages watched from a respectable distance, forming opinions: their eyes wide and their mouths whispering rumours.Fruitful Frank by camelopardalisinblue
Frank Stein was well-known for being unique. He kept to himself, talking only to his butler - a man with a penchant for dried figs, and a predisposition to solitude. He threw fruit. He could frequently be heard muttering to himself. When the butler disappeared, the villages assumed he had fled. Nobody fretted, and life went on. Frank took to wearing a cloak that made him resemble a double hunchback.
Under the burning of the August sun, Frank Stein laboured. His thick cloak left him sweating, but the grotesque sight beneath would hav
Wrong Turn"So help me God, I will throw this bloody pan at your head! Don't tell me you're sorry!"Wrong Turn by camelopardalisinblue
"Don't you 'but darling' me, you pile of bird's droppings! You're worthless, you can't even mow the bloody lawn properly! I'd be better off with a lawn ornament for a husband than you!"
The crash of crockery hitting the wall echoed in the morning air. Melanie stretched out and closed the window, muffling the argument. Despite the regular domestics, at least the couple on that side weren't as bad as the neighbours on the other side.They drove her mental. She'd thought when they moved in that they were a gay couple, maybe from one of the Asian countries or something. She hadn't realised they were bloody monks, and their chanting never stopped. Even when they slept, they played a recording of the blasted chanting. It was the reason she now kept all the windows on that side of the house shut at all times -- if she didn't, the sound would get into her head and torment her endlessly.
SecretaryCeleste filed the latest stack of books and sighed heavily. This wasn't what she'd had in mind when she'd agreed to help out Death. Literally all she did at this job was file things and occasionally grab a ghost-coffee (because of course, real coffee would slosh straight through their skeletal frames) with one of Death's other associates. Her favourite colleague was a man who had been there so long he'd completely forgotten his own name. She and the others referred to him as "Nameless He", and despite his poor personal memory, was full of stories about being Death's apprentice. He'd held the position in the early days, and retired here to the paperwork section by choice after about 300 years riding.Secretary by camelopardalisinblue
Aside from those chats, the highlight of each... well, she couldn't really call it a day, as time passed strangely in Death's realm, but the highlight of each period of time for her was that point where she could kick back and maybe read through someone's life story. For some obscure reason
The DreamcatcherShe wove the string deftly, threading on coloured beads and gem stones every so often, and as her fingers worked, so did her mouth. Singing, she filled the thing with prayer, good wishes, and all the love within her. The trailing feathers, too, were added with ease, and she smiled at the finished product. The dreamcatcher, now complete, would be a perfect gift for Michelle's house warming - a gift that the girl would need, with 'most all of her family gone.The Dreamcatcher by camelopardalisinblue
She wrapped the dreamcatcher and placed it inside the ukulele for delivery later.
Mishi Stevens juggles her belongings and keys, barely managing to unlock it before kicking her door open. Two days after moving in, she is surprised to discover a package addressed to her. It looks official, and bears the landlord's return-to address. She figures it's the condition report and will take time to fill in, so she had best get the ukulele in from the car before tending to it. Despite the lack of strings, and the fact that it is boarded
Savin' MeJanine hunched on the couch, eyes plastered to the flashing screen. “Come on, Fredric,” she muttered. “Look behind you.”Savin' Me by dragoeniex
A man in a ski mask was sneaking up on the handsome detective. He kept his breathing low and his steps quiet.
Fredric noticed nothing. He kept dusting the lamp for fingerprints.
“Idiot,” Dr. Stevenson hissed. He waved toward the teenager. “You know her fourth wall is deteriorating! You should have brought her in. Why would you let her near the television?”
The girl's father seized his coat. “I couldn't help it!” He pulled the good doctor closer. “She said she would die if she missed this.”
“She might die because of it.” Stevenson pulled himself free. “Quick. Why was this episode important?”
“Her favorite character came back after ten episodes?”
Stevenson's breath caught. “Oh no. That means-”
Fredric crumpled, the
ChimeraOn midsummer's morning a boy found his way to the top of the hill. He met with the face of a lioness.Chimera by GDeyke
She spewed fire into the sky, and said: “Child, be ever proud: be ever regal: fear not the fire, but wield it as your own. You shall find strength, and all barriers shall fall before you.”
Awed, and frightened, the boy carved her words into his heart.
On midsummer's midday a man found his way to the top of the hill. He met with the face of a serpent.
She spewed fire into the earth, and said: “King, you have forgotten yourself. You have forgotten your people. Too long have your eyes gazed heavenwards: frail is your might, and brittle: you must bring yourself back to the earth.”
These words he heard; but he forgot them.
On midsummer's evening a beggar found his way to the top of the hill. He met with the face of a goat.
She spewed fire into his eyes, and said: “O Graybeard, you have fallen far. All your fancies have led to failure, and the fury of your heart
FloraThe breeding process had taken seemingly forever but it had led to the hoped for result.Flora by SCFrankles
Bruton cackled fanatically. They had called him foolish—even mad—but at last he was ready to unveil his multi-headed creation to his contemporaries.
He flung off the cover.
Five hundred people gasped. And then the selected representatives of the UK’s Flowering Plants Associations applauded wildly.
It really was a particularly fine polyanthus.
Spring faded into summer but his polyanthus continued to flower. She was beautiful and exceptionally fragrant—attracting a great many bees and butterflies.
Bruton frowned. She was his and ought to be faithful. And he had found evidence of more sinister interest: deliberate damage to the stem bearing that multitude of blooms.
His friends all sympathised.
For how could they know that secretly Bruton was his own flower’s stalk-er?
He had tormented her and neglected her, and left her frying in the hot sun. Finally there seemed to be n
your teeth leave different scarswhat they didn't tell me--
August 31, 2013
Daily Lit Deviations during 2014
I Am More Than BPDDon't tell me you know me better
(March 13, 2014)
Daily Lit Deviations during 2013
Your Non-Existent CompetitionMy fingers hover over numbers I have not needed to think about for years, and I urge myself to make the call. Still hesitant, I pick out the digits that still translate to "home" in my mobile, though for years it has been only a house; sometimes mine, sometimes not. It rings once and I hang up, then try again and again and again. Third time might be the charm, but today it takes five of these hang ups before I stay on the line.
(we all are the) monarchwe are not born noble.
(November 17, October 13)
I Am Not Your ReceptacleI am not your receptacle,
Artist Reviews and Compliments
(aka, people say really nice things about me and I don't want to ever forget them):
bloodawni is an incredible ray of sunshine. Regardless of the hardships she has confronted and continues to take charge of, she manages to bring smiles to the faces of so many and brightens our lives just by being here. On top of all this, she has an intensely breathtaking poetic style that holds audiences captive, and strikes straight at the heart.
Great work, Dawni. Please don't ever give up on your dreams. -- by a wonderful deviant who chose to remain anonymous -- dACompliments.
You are a bundle of wonder and goodness. Whenever I see you doing something it's with determination and love. You are bounding and exuding such a positive, lovely energy that is truly remarkable. We've only just started to get to know each other, but I all ready know that you are an amazing person who strives to help others. ♥ -- by the beautiful and amazing IrrevocableFate.
bloodawni has always been a really kind and caring person, on top of being really talented with such moving and inspiring poems. Just as inspiring is the strength and determination to carry on in life rather than get her down. Even in her 'down' moments, she never gives up and never lets its affect her optimistic side, something which takes courage as well as strength.
Thank you for being such a wonderful and inspiring friend Keep up the good work -- by a wonderful deviant who chose to remain anonymous -- dACompliments.
*bloodawni is a talented and modest individual with a heart of gold. -- by a wonderful deviant who chose to remain anonymous -- dACompliments.
*bloodawni is one of the kindest and bravest people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. On top of which, she is incredibly talented! Definitely a deviant you should know. -- by the lovely RiseandBe
"~bloodawni, while a fairly new addition to my own watch list, has ensnared me in the beauty of her words and left me wanting--needing--more. There's a sense of real life to her pieces that is bound to leave readers breathless; the emotions pouring from each word is enough to knock a reader over and make it hard to get back up until the end. With a kind heart and an enthusiasm for participation that can't be beat, ~bloodawni is one deviant you should definitely keep an eye on!" -- by the beautiful TwilightPoetess
Dawniface, you are one of my favorite people here on deviantART. You have so much strength, courage, and love in your heart. You are such a beautiful person and your poetry is almost as good as your pure heart. But, not a lot of things compare to your loving spirit, lovely Dawni. You are an amazing person and I love you. You inspire me to give more love everyday. -- by the wonderful chromeantennae
I've written this several times, apparently writing about myself is difficult. I caved and asked my partner to help.
30s -- female -- Aussie (Caboolture, Queensland) -- defacto -- diagnosed with mental illness -- mother to 2 butterfly children -- crazy/weird/'special' (not to be confused with the aforementioned mental illness) -- cheerful -- loving -- cheeky -- friendly.
I believe in a llama for a llama, but I don't watch people simply because they're watching me & I don't do fav-for-fav trades. Please don't feel obliged to fav my work or watch me just because I gave you a random llama/fav/comment/whatnot. Fav or watch me because you like my work by all means, though!
PS, a million, billion thank-yous to the wonderful SilverInkblot who made the pretty boxes for me.
CloneClones are so underrated. Nestled deep inside where no one can touch me, I sit back, relax, and flick at the controller in my hands. Get up, Clone. Take a shower. Pull on a shirt and jeans. Go to the breakfast table. Slide some eggs onto your plate. Act natural, careful, careful—oh! Down go the eggs on the placemat. The yolks break and run. Good going, Clone. Excellent. Now the parental units are alerted to your presence. No point activating the invisibility shield now.
Far away from where I watch, I poke at the controller buttons in irritation, trying to see if I can undo Clone’s actions. True, his graphics are topnotch, almost an exact likeness to my own features and mannerisms, but sometimes he likes to defy my commands. I’m the player, damn it. He’s just the avatar. Undo, undo, come on ... nope, cannot be undone.
“That’s too bad, dear,” the mother character clucks. “Have some hotdogs?” She slides two on Clone’s plate. The
Just Eat ItThe cruelest irony of working as a server in a restaurant was not lost on Kristy -- starving at the end of the night, surrounded by food, no time to eat. She was used to it. Didn’t mean she liked it. Her aunt Linda didn’t understand how she could go so long without eating.
She crawled home after a double, a pocket full of cash but a belly as empty has the heads of the customers she served. All she wanted was some comfort and to not hear anything about it when she walked in the door. All the lights were off in the apartment. Linda’s door was closed.
Kristy went to her room, took off her work clothes and put on her yoga pants and tank top. The kitchen was clean and waiting for her. She went to the cabinets in search of something just for herself, nothing to worth getting into a fork-fight over. The night’s tilapia special was split six ways with her hyena-hungry co-workers.
Extra chunky peanut butter with tripl
FFM20: What Did You Say Your Name Was?Hiring a new assistant was a big deal. The Paranormal Researchers and Investigators Society was so broke, it didn't spring for new staff unless we were stretched so thin you could almost see through us. I should have known it would go wrong.
The first was was a well dressed man who kept spraying himself with Axe body spray.
“You don't really want me to carry anything, do you? Because I'm more a reporter than an assistant. Like, you need someone to make this look legit, some one pretty. I was voted hottest in my class four years in a row,” he said. Somehow, I doubted that. Maybe it was because he looked like the offspring of a bulldog and a donkey
The second was an ordinary looking woman in a sharp suit. She got my hopes up until she opened her mouth.
“I know you said this was an assistant position,” she said, “But I'm on the fast track for management. In two years I will be running this place. We'll just skip all the entry level work and you'll start train
That's the Third One This Week! “Mirror, mirror on the wall...”
There was a loud crash and a shower of fairy dust. The face in the mirror flickered briefly, a look of horror upon it, before being replaced by solid blue. The message, “Unhandled exception. Contact your Fairy Godmother or technical support group for further assistance,” appeared in the extreme top left corner.
“Oh, bloody Hell!” snapped Medusa, stamping her foot. “Now how am I supposed to find out who’s the fairest of them all?”
The Bird Lady FFM20I’ve lived in NYC for over two years, and for so many people living there, it’s an awfully lonely place to be. Everyone is very focused on themselves, no one makes eye contact in the streets, and even the cabs ignore you. My job is the only thing that keeps me here. I make so much money, it would be stupid to move back home and work at my dad’s store for only a fraction of what I earn. That, and I have an old lady to take care of.
She’s one of those bird ladies in the park. She’s a sweet old thing, and it would kill me to leave her alone. It would probably kill her too.
We became friends because I was sitting alone in the park one afternoon, watching the clouds and daydreaming. She jumped out of nowhere and said, “Feed the birds?” I nearly fell off my park bench, I was so surprised.
“Sure, sure,” I said, pressing a quarter into her wrinkled hand. Gums showing, she smiled. She handed me a paper bag of breadcrumbs and sat next to me.
Medusa in Therapy“I wouldn’t say my childhood was bad,” Medusa started as she took a seat on the push red couch. “My mother always gave me everything I needed. And if I wanted it, she would move heaven and earth to get it for me. And being a gorgon, she could. One little stare from her and no one could refuse her. No, my mother truly loved me more than anything else in the world.”
She turned over on the couch so she was resting on her belly and drape her arms over the sides. “My father? He was never in the picture. My mom said he was just too cold of a man with a heart made of stone. He’d never have been a good father, so I don’t really miss him in anyway.
“To be honest, doc, it’s the lack of friends that really bothered me. Evey time I’d go out, track down a group of kids having fun, and try to join in their games, they’d get all stiff and not talk to me.” Several of the snakes that made up her hair twisted around and rubbed
The HuntThe naked boys and girls trounced through the valley bushland, grazing as they went. Their feet were toughened from having never worn shoes; their skins were caked in mud. None were older than eight. There was a clear hierarchy, the older leading the younger. Here and there, a girl led a toddler by the hand, sharing whatever berries she picked with it. Boys are more inclined to play-fight, but these wrestling matches rarely get out of hand. A few babbled, but no one said any words. They did not know how. Laughter and tears was the only language they spoke, a crude but pure form of communication.
None flinched when they heard the sound of thunder in the distance, but they instinctively shifted the direction of their grazing, back toward the caves in which they took shelter. As the thundering grew louder, a few began to whimper, growing uneasy. None were old enough to remember the last culling. However, the sight of horses, with men and women atop, with a hundred hooves pounding the eart
Forest Fires and RosesShe only takes off her pink rubber gloves after forest fires. Her billowy dress is stitched with a hundred magazine cut-outs of flowers dipped into nail varnish. She crouches on the dirt, stroking the soil until wild greenery explodes from her touch. Pine trees spin high into the sky while baobabs lick the earth with fat roots. She runs her fingers over the knobby trunks, leaving a trail of vines heavy with the most exotic of blooms.
I scuff the toes of my boots against one of the newborn trees and watch her as she makes the forest breathe life again. She is standing back and admiring her work when I blurt out, “Miss, may I call you?”
She’s startled, as if I’ve woken her rudely from a wonderful dream. Her eyes search my reddening face. “Of course,” she finally says. “You alert me to an incident, and I come to do my job. That’s how it’s always been.”
I pull off my baseball cap and beat it against my jeans. “I mean . . . y
Day #21 FFM 2014Cameron Jacobs was nineteen when he jumped.
He was wearing orange Oasis shoes and grey jeans, his hair was gelled, and his backpack had just been dumped in an empty university garbage disposal. At the time, Cameron hadn't known whether it was really him who threw it there. He had listened to it clatter on the metal ground, a collection of pens spilling from an open pocket, the soft scrape of wire-bound notebook, and noted that he hadn't wanted to give anything away, not because he wanted to defy a norm set by suicides, but because he didn't want anyone to assume that his stuff meant something to him. To be honest, Cameron didn't want anyone to assume anything about him, which he realized was going to be impossible when he killed himself, but that certainly wasn't going to stop him.
He put in his headphones and jumped. He tried to remember that trick you're supposed to do at the doctor's office when you're getting a shot: you either chat with the nurse or your mom, or you think r
FFM '14.21 From the DepthsRick and Marta stared at the ruin of their wedding. The plastic chairs had been strewn haphazardly across the lawn, and were, in fact, hardly recognizable as chairs anymore. There was a gaping hole in the garden wall on the other side of where the guests had been seated, and a trail of slime and seawater led through it from the tattered temporary stage that had been the altar and summoning point. Above the distant rumbling of the beast stalking through the city toward the beach, the priest’s whimpers could be heard as he cowered behind the flower-decked arch that was the only thing left standing nearby, mostly because it hadn’t been directly in the behemoth’s path.
“So, I can see where doves would be appealing,” Marta said.
“Hmm,” Rick agreed. “But, hey, at least neither of us have to worry about in-laws now, thanks to the kraken.”
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
ChimneyBilly awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of scraping and cursing from within the chimney breast; someone appeared to be inching their way down it with a great amount of difficulty. Eventually there was a thump downstairs, followed by footsteps and the crashing of cupboard doors. A burglar.
Billy slipped out of bed and grabbed his wooden sword. Descending the stairs on tip-toes, he worked up all of his courage. He was going to be a hero. They might even put him in the newspaper.
Sooty footprints trailed across the hall carpet, leading into the kitchen. Billy leaned around the door and spied the culprit, a huge bearded man with a red coat and redder cheeks.
“Ho, Ho, HUUURRRRRRP,” bellowed Santa.
“Santa?” asked Billy, eyes wide, wooden sword hanging forgotten at his side.
“Heyyy,” said Santa, making a clumsily expansive gesture. “It’s Jimmy, just who I was looking for.”
“I have a big list of all th
Sparkler LoveWhen Mom comes home, she slams the door and throws her keys across the living room. It just barely misses my head. I pause Heavy Rain and say, “Take it therapy didn’t go too well then?”
She sighs and passes in front of me to pick up the keys. “You think it’s so easy? Why don’t you do it then? I’m sure you need it more than I do. If I have to spend one more minute discussing your father, so help me—”
“That bastard’s not my father. Don’t even remind me that I’m only alive because of his sperm.” I duck my head around her body and start playing my game again. Ethan’s just spinning around in the play park, screaming for Shaun, when my mother plops down next to me on the couch. She has her glasses on as she stares down at a notepad. Up close like this, I can see every line etched onto her once lovely face.
“Guess what I’m writing?” Mom says after a while.
“Another angry le
BeastlyThe hide was cramped and Hinchcliffe was tired. “I think I might go home,” he said to Anglesey. “It doesn’t look like we’re going to see them today.”
Anglesey glanced at him and then went back to staring through his binoculars. “Just be patient a little longer. They do usually—”
He clutched at his companion’s arm. “Look! There they are!” Anglesey passed the binoculars to Hinchcliffe, who pointed them towards the horizon.
He laughed with surprise and delight. “I see them! I see them!” Ever closer and closer they galloped—the most enormous herd of adverbs Hinchcliffe had ever seen.
He handed the binoculars back to Anglesey. They weren’t necessary any more—it was already starting to be possible to identify the individual words by eye. A happily and playfully were frolicking together; a grumpily was attempting to bite a member of the herd that had got too close; a ubiquitously was— w
As 'Tis the Custom Long, long ago in a land far, far away, a knight rode bravely through a dark, dark wood. His armour was strong, and his sword was true, and so when he met a terrible ogre upon the road, he did not hesitate to step down from his horse and prepare to do battle with the evil creature.
“Hark, yon beast!” he said, levelling his sword at the creature. “I prithee, face my blade in honoured battle. Though thou be but a base monster, you must know this would be better than to turn away, and be run down in ignoble flight.”
“Sorry,” said the ogre, “I didn’t catch any of that.”
“Dost thine low intellect wrestle with my noble tongue? Then plain let me be. I challenge you to single combat, as ‘tis the custom ‘twixt knight and villain.” He made a flourish with his sword for good measure.
ChampionRed's Octoghast swallowed the opponent's Sharkadillo whole, and just like that, the fight was over.
“Congratulations, Red!” said the professor. “You're the new Battlepet league champion!”
Red looked at his Battlepet team. He'd dreamt of this moment since he was little, but now that he was here, it felt wrong.
“You've come a long way since you started out on your journey with Splatypus!”
Splatypus had been Red's first Battlepet. A blue little platypus with water powers, he'd carried him around on one shoulder as they went on their adventures. Red missed those days. At some point it had become clear that Splatypus just wasn't powerful enough, and that was that. He replaced him.
In retrospect, that was probably where it had all started going wrong.
Red's current team was frightening to behold. Octoghast had once been Octostar, a bright yellow starfish thing with a happy face. Now it was a monstrosity, bulging with eyes and tentacles. Red watched as his
FFM 23: Trophies“And this one, I got after I slayed the vampire of Gershon,” the Hunter announced, pointing at the two holes tattooed on his neck. “When I battled the Odd Ones in Goblith Forest, I got this one back here.” He turned to reveal chaotic black spirals twisting up his spine. “These ones--”
This had been going on too long.
Aloric stood from the bar, shrugging the furs off his shoulder. The tavern went silent as the audience’s gaze shifted. Ragged claw-marks tore down his chest, and his right bicep was encircled with a jagged ring that could only have been jaws. A cluster of arrow-sized dots marred his side, and a net a thin lines wound up one side of his face.
Leaning within inches of the hunter’s face, Aloric let out a low growl. “Anyone can buy tattoos. Scars are earned.”
AblazeAnd so the world ended, not with a whimper, but a bang. Fire rained from the heavens. Few understood the cause of the phenomenon; it didn’t matter anyway. The cause eclipsed the effect. He knew they had only a few minutes left. Why waste those precious few minutes raging against the oncoming fate?
He took her by the hand. He did not rage, but he could mourn. He wasn’t afraid of death… he just wished they’d had more time together.
The pelt of sparks began to burn, each little impact sizzling against his skin. “I just want to say… this year with you was the best of my life. By far.”
She smiled, and popped open her umbrella. It would buy them only another second, maybe two, but even that was enough. A second could be a lifetime with her.
They huddled under the umbrella’s shadow, and, as the world burned around them, lived that lifetime together.
|Please consider giving me a llama rather than thanking me if that's what you're here for (and know that if I haven't already given you one, I do reciprocate), but you're very welcome either way. |
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