|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
The Dreams of the Ones...There's a dead man on my couch. I sit in the chair across from him with my legs curled up beneath me, watching the rain fall outside the open window behind him. There's no wind, but the air is fresh and smells clean. The sound is comforting as the rain falls against the concrete ground three stories down. I hear other sounds as well. People talking, some cars driving through the alleyway. But mostly just the steady fall of the rain.
I don't know what to do about the dead man. He's been here for a few hours now. I've lost track of time. Rain does that to me sometimes. I don't know who he is. He doesn't say much. Just sits there looking around at the place, as if trying to take in what I've done with it. Which isn't much.
He doesn't look sad, which I find a little confusing. He looks... bored? He turns around to look out the window. The sofa doesn't creak. I guess dead people don't weigh much. At least not their ghosts. The rain drops are big and heavy, the kind of rain that will get you
Here Before,Here Forever: Ch.1"Ms. McEnroe, I hope you're aware of the fact that if your friends out there are telling a different story than you, there'll be hell to pay."
I try to nod, but find that I can't move.
"I know, Detective."
The middle-aged, heavy-built man sitting across from me nods slowly, deliberately. He lifts his coffee cup, and notices that it's empty. Sucking his teeth in disappointment, he points it to the mirror on the wall to my left. I don't need this gesture from the detective to know it's a two-way mirror and that we're being watched. Well, that I'm being watched. I quickly look away again, and my eyes settle back on the detective. A smile is playing in one corner of his mouth, and creases the nettle of fine lines around his eyes. My skin crawls, and I wish I could blink.
"Good," he finally says, leaning back in his chair. "So start again. Tell me the whole story from the beginning."
The first body we found was that of a young woman in her early twenties, though her short,
In the Midst of LifePushing my boyfriend off the cliff was a conscious decision, and something I'd been thinking about for days. At the very least. Maybe even weeks. I brought him to the canyon to take pictures of him silhouetted against a magnificent July sunset, as preparation for a photography class I wanted to take at university in the fall. It was all too easy. He strolled up to the edge of a cliff, taking in the view, before turning to me.
"How do you want me," he asked. For a second he looked surprised when he realised I was standing a lot closer than he'd thought. Then he smiled.
And I smiled back.
"How do I want thee?" I echoed, moving in closer. "Let me count the ways..."
The suggestive grin on his face didn't have time to fade before he fell.
I didn't wait to watch him disappear into the
untitledThe cold, hard steel tickles against the roof of his mouth and clangs against his teeth as his hands start shaking. The taste of it is strikingly similar to that of blood. With the 4-inch barrel of the gun hidden in his mouth, its impossible for any casual observer to see what hes doing. With his right thumb on the trigger hes hiding the handle completely with both hands. Not that anyone would look that closely anyway. People keep walking past him. Only a few throw a glimpse in his direction, and even they look away quickly, uninterested.
A nearby store plays Tiny Dancer, and the music spills out into the street. He thinks maybe hes the only one who notices. He listens for a while as the gun seems to swell and shrink in his mouth in time with his breathing. There seems to be a memory attached to the song, though he cant quite grasp it. Hes not even sure this memory is really his own. Maybe its from a movie. Back when he u
Not So Sure The WorldIm talking to my Dads shoes.
His black, dusty size 12s with worn-out soles and an old piece of chewing gum under one of them. Its been there forever.
But they dont talk back. Funny how it is.
Theyre very chatty in the busy mornings, pacing the kitchen floor, hurrying me to finish my breakfast so they can drive me to school. On days like that they step firmly on the brakes in front of the gate to let me off before they make the wheels spin and carry the car out of sight.
As I walk home at the end of the school day, I imagine the sound of them next to my own. I walk a little bit faster to keep up with them, even though theyre not really there.
Theyre tired at night, as they come in from work. Shuffling across the floor, into the living room, where they are usually left until the next day. They watch TV a lot.
On weekends theyre not very chatty at all. Mostly they stay underneath my Dads bed. Sometimes they drag his feet downstairs, al
Lilacs Where can I take you... sir? The taxi driver looks at me in the rear view mirror. And looks again.
Anywhere you want, I say.
He hesitates, opening his mouth to speak.
I mean, just drive, I add, not caring to explain. Away from here. Please.
As clearly as if I have eyes in the back of my head I can sense the house disappear behind me as the car pulls out of the driveway. The house with all its familiar smells and familiar items. Like her perfume. Like the warm, damp smell in the washing room. Like the cold steel of the front door handle. Like the mirror in the hallway which catches the sun from the window and throws the rays all around the room. Sunspots on the walls and the floor, and on the passers-by. Usually meaning me
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More