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Daily Deviation
November 17, 2016
The Chase by Ladygentlemanbastard is a quick paced, well described vignette that will get your blood pumping.
Literature Text
Run.
Cold, damp air seeps through skin to bone. Soil stained soles pound along a winding, barely-there path among the trees. Trees. A laughable word for behemoths that, at the smallest, is four times as wide around as she is. Swaths of leaves shape a dark green expanse, blocking out nearly all of the sky. The light that does find a way down is weak, pinpricks suffocating in the umbrage. This is a true weald, dark and deep.
Run.
She wishes she could deviate from the path; delve into the endless shadow and hide. A ruinous wish. Thin strings threaded with countless trinkets crisscross all empty spaces. This is old magic, learned from the spiders to catch those that stray. One step, one trip, one stumble off of the path is certain death.
Run.
The wind kicks up, sending a song silver and bone flitting from giant to giant. She almost shivers. No wasting precious energy; on her trail are things darker than the surrounding blackness. She would not flee otherwise, for she is great and terrible in her own right. Behind are worse creatures. Behind are terrors tall, nameless, and without constant form. They should be whispered about only when the sun shines bright. They are coming for her.
Run.
Her breaths are short and hard, the bottoms of her feet torn and raw. She knows she cannot run forever, but this is no battle looming overhead. It is a slaughter waiting to pounce. Salvation lies with escape. Her only hope is to
Run.
Cold, damp air seeps through skin to bone. Soil stained soles pound along a winding, barely-there path among the trees. Trees. A laughable word for behemoths that, at the smallest, is four times as wide around as she is. Swaths of leaves shape a dark green expanse, blocking out nearly all of the sky. The light that does find a way down is weak, pinpricks suffocating in the umbrage. This is a true weald, dark and deep.
Run.
She wishes she could deviate from the path; delve into the endless shadow and hide. A ruinous wish. Thin strings threaded with countless trinkets crisscross all empty spaces. This is old magic, learned from the spiders to catch those that stray. One step, one trip, one stumble off of the path is certain death.
Run.
The wind kicks up, sending a song silver and bone flitting from giant to giant. She almost shivers. No wasting precious energy; on her trail are things darker than the surrounding blackness. She would not flee otherwise, for she is great and terrible in her own right. Behind are worse creatures. Behind are terrors tall, nameless, and without constant form. They should be whispered about only when the sun shines bright. They are coming for her.
Run.
Her breaths are short and hard, the bottoms of her feet torn and raw. She knows she cannot run forever, but this is no battle looming overhead. It is a slaughter waiting to pounce. Salvation lies with escape. Her only hope is to
Run.
Literature
Fingerprints
The movie credits rolled and I handed her another tissue. It wasn’t a sad movie. I chose a funny one to cheer her up. It must have been the wrong kind of humour then. I didn’t know her that well. Guess I should’ve asked her. She was like thirty something, so she probably didn’t care for this stupid stuff.
“Do you have anything you wanted to see? For next time? Anything. I’ll get you anything.”
With her mouth behind the tissue, she coughed a sob. I’m never going to do this again. He can’t make me do this again.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“You can have stuff that&
Literature
recovery crawl
beating
is kinder
than leaving.
sometimes I wish
your last words were
movements.
a hand against my cheek,
a fist to my chest,
an arm around my neck,
nails on my wrist.
the ache more real
and easy
to find.
every night I ache and
I point all over.
mostly my heart,
mostly my mind,
to the words stuck
that won’t loosen
that wedge themselves
in my teeth and fall out when
I’m drunk,
in his lap. he doesn’t need them, boy
that loves me until his
teeth rot, who says I don’t
deserve you who constricts
my waist with his hands and who
whispers I love you before
we fuck. he’s got courage like
the front lines of war
Literature
Wind Chimes
I am reminded
that even solid metal
breathes
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Wow...a story with no adverbs (at least, I think I edited them all out). That was tough but it was also a good challenge and I had a lot of fun!
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Very nice!