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Deviant for 12 Years
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Literature
The Inevitable
It becomes clear to her that Death is a doctor.  His appearance signals the end.  He bears bad news; he wears it, an aura of black, along with a white coat and a stethoscope.  His face is shimmering with the sweat of shared despair, but is still bright with discovery.  He watches them – awaiting their reaction.  
Pip sits in the chair next to her – his hand in hers, his life in the hands of others – and his face is carefully still.  He has schooled his expression (he has had practice at this), but even he cannot completely hide the pulse jumping against his jaw.  A single vein, heavy with blood: bad blood.  He stares straight ahead at the doctor – stares death in the face – and he doesn’t make a sound.  She would almost think he wasn’t affected at all, if it wasn’t for the way he is crushing two of her fingers between his own, her bones bending and flesh fol
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Literature
Tree
He is a tree.  He burrows into my flesh: thin, white roots twisting around tendons and networking through nerves, drinking blood.  I can feel the grasping, greedy needle-tips pressing against my heart, puncturing holes.  My lungs are filled with frayed edges, rootlets that go delving into fibrous tissue – finding words and worship.  It makes me wheeze – a disease.  My throat is full, bursting with all the things I cannot say around him.  He kills me.  
But at least he is living off me – needs me.  
Before he was self-sufficient – a seed.
It is progress, of sorts.
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Literature
The Succubus
I can feel the worlds moving.  I can feel it in my bones, my pores, my soul. The subtle shift of magic, the monumental turn of time: finally my world is coming back to this one.  
I long to feel the air push against me, thick with power.  I crave that feeling of belonging.  I want to be with my own kind again; I want to be home.  But still, I’m scared.  As the worlds come closer and the magic quickens my blood, an unavoidable truth becomes clear: the magic doesn’t sing as it used to.  I can’t embrace it, as I should.  Something is wrong with me.
I have become too human.
*
This is the man I have been stalking: this brave, arrogant being.  How he can be so unaware of his own mortality I cannot know.  He thinks he can live forever.
I’ve only danced with him a few times at a club, to the grinding bass and with my clothing scandalously short, but I’ve visited his drea
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Literature
Fog
My skin is too tight today.  It doesn't move with me, and I can't move within it.  It binds and constricts, and I can feel my nerves burning.  It's too soon.  
Fog surrounds me, the water in the air clinging to the strands of my hair and the fibres of my clothes, bejewelling my eyelashes with glittering droplets.  I can feel the mist pouring into my lungs as I breathe, cold and slow and thick like cobwebs, coating my insides with soft snow and sharp shards of ice.  The air caresses me, moving around me, lapping at my ankles like the sea and pulling like the tide.  
I can feel the thickness; feel the pure, palpable whiteness of it.  I just can't see it.  
I stand on this hospital balcony in the fog and let the cold damp sooth my fiery skin, quenching the blistering feeling that won't leave.  I lift a hand to run it over my face, and although my fingertips can feel, my face is numb.  Numb all over.  It feels wrinkled and hard, leather-like and work-worn, too crude.  It's bubbled with sor
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:iconmissmidge:missmidge 10 24
Literature
Softly
"Don't do this to us," he tells me, but I can only shake my head.  "You know you don't want to do this."
I don't think he knows what I want.  I don't think even I know what I want.  
*
No matter how much effort you put into something, it must always come to an end.  What goes up must come down.  What starts must stop.  I don't even know where we went wrong, where we ended, but I remember where we began: at a party, when everyone else was too inebriated to talk.
Cameron was beautiful, which seems like an odd way to describe a guy, but it was true.  Chiselled cheekbones, long lashes, deep soulful eyes.  He looked like a tortured artist and we spent all night talking about our favourite films.  The porch outside the house was wooden, and the air smoky with citronella candles.  
"You know what I hate?" he asked suddenly, looking out over the scraggly garden.  Whoever owned this house obviously didn't care much for appearances.  "I hate how you can't just do what you want.  There's always c
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Literature
Toilet Humour
There is something to be said for graffiti found in toilet cubicles.  And I mean real toilet graffiti, not just the uninspired tags that rebellious teenagers scribble across walls.  Real graffiti that has absolutely no artistic merit (that stuff is saved for the bus interchanges), and is usually witty.  Mostly wryly-observed commentary about today's social standards.
That, or toilet humour.  But it's understandable.  
To tell you the truth, though, I think graffiti has been going downhill since the '80s.  Oh, sure, street art has flourished, but it seems nowadays that people are quite happy to bitch about the world's problems in public, instead of saving them for a quiet moment in the public loo with a permanent marker.
But, if we're being serious here for a moment, it's rather pathetic the obsession I have with graffiti in public toilets.  I'm a 20-something who thinks that toilet humour is funny.  I don't actually vandalise myself (I'm much too respectable for that) but the witticism
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Literature
Famished
When she first started smoking at sixteen it was her way of saying 'Fuck You.'  Not to anyone in particular, but to the world in general - the world that wanted her to conform and have a nice house and a clean job and no problems.  And she didn't have problems, really, but that didn't mean she couldn't rally for the cause of those who did.  For those who society disregarded with disdainful glares.  And so she smoked, a symbol of her rebellion against all things government and capitalist and consumerist, even though her money went straight back into the pockets of those people anyway.  She didn't care.  Her curves were full and her hair was dark and she hadn't a trouble in the world past how she hated her school uniform, because all she wanted to wear was black.  
When her parents found out they raised living hell.  She was doing the teenage thing, blowing smoke out of her window, watching it stream out into the cold night air.  She tried to blow smoke rings and breathed out her nose, f
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Literature
Ten Rides
Every bus pass came with ten rides, and she remembered every one of them.  She hardly ever caught buses, finding them too claustrophobic, and so each time she did it stuck in her memory, as sticky and shiny as a piece of glitter that would not go away.  
She much preferred walking.  She could get almost anywhere she wanted this way, and it was a lot cheaper.  But one day she needed to catch a bus to the other side of town, too far away to travel by foot.  She missed her bus at first, and had to wait for another hour at the bus stop for the next one to arrive.  It was blisteringly hot summer weather, and she cursed the idea of public transport as her skin darkened and her nose burnt.  When the bus finally pulled up it was smelly and sweaty, and the open windows did little but push hot air through her damp hair.  She arrived at the shopping centre when it was close to closing anyway, four o'clock and ticking onwards.  She decided to walk home, and by the time she was turning the key in t
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Favourites

slo.w :iconsnjezanajosipovic:SnjezanaJosipovic 338 35 The Queen :iconscummy:Scummy 108 18 The Sad Truth :iconstudiohq:Studiohq 444 135
Literature
Farmer
I sink my tools in the soil of you
determined to inspire change.
But I am always out of rhythm
with the invisible seasons;
It is winter when I, oblivious,
bear my hoe.
In receptive spring I am elsewhere
doing otherwise.
:iconare-bee-s:are-bee-s
:iconare-bee-s:are-bee-s 1 7
Last Day of Summer :iconil-tramonto:Il-Tramonto 731 140
Journal
The Ugly Contest
:postit:The Ugly Contest::postit:
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Well, we want you to kick some dirt into the eye of anyone reading your piece of poetry or prose!
Get Your Ugly On
This competition is open to all writers who feel they’ve got a little bit of ugly in them. Y’see, beauty is everywhere. It’s in the notes of a songbird, the fire of a sunrise, or the curves of a lady (or man, whichever is your interest). We don’t want any of that rubbish. We want to see the places where the cracks open up, where the make-up comes off and the true image is seen*. We want to get a feel for the streets through the holes in our shoes. After reading your piece, we want to wake up cold and hung-over, dragging grimy clothes over our grimier bodies to go and work in a grotty little kitchen washing disgusting dishes caked with pork fat**.  We want to see the breaking point of human decency in the line at a soup kitchen***. Corruption, despera
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:iconapocathary:apocathary 97 97
Journal
fotoFRIDAY Anniversary Contest Results!
We challenged writers and photographers to find inspiration through progress, and we were not disappointed by the result!  Aided by three amazing photographs and one specific theme, over 95 entries poured in to help us celebrate fifty-two weeks of fotoFRIDAY picture prompts.
    
And now, without further ado, the winners:
  Poetry and Prose Writers
:trophy: Overall Winner
Progress Under Satellites

by ignia
Category Winners
:bulletblue: Drabble:  Tree by missmidge
:bulletblue: Haiku/Senryu:  The Light Switch by EveningDownpour
:bulletblue: Open Poetry:  
:iconfotoFRIDAY:fotoFRIDAY
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Literature
Dinosaurs
I see Michael Parker that first morning back. I think I’m imagining him. He has the same face, the same eyes, but the scruff of whiskers is gone from his cheeks and his untidy hair is neatly trimmed and combed. We make eye contact briefly, but then a group of people entering the church moves between us, and I can’t find him again.
As the service begins I realize that this is the pew where I sat during the first Sunday in my memory. I remember it because the new wood of the arm gave me a splinter, and that afternoon during my fourth birthday party my father took away a plastic Brachiosaurus seconds after I unwrapped it.
“There’s no need to get her asking questions we can’t answer yet,” he told my mother. I cried for an hour over the lost toy, and for weeks I drew pictures of it: a shape like an alligator and a giraffe, with careful green circles on its rump. Later the existence of dinosaurs was gently dispelled from my inventory of childhood fantasies along
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Journal
Great Prose Exposed: WordCount Feature #4
To help support Moonbeam13's quest, WordCount is supporting a small dA Lit contest.  See this journal for more information.  The winner receives a 3-month subscription (or dA product of equal value) and $50.00 donated to The Weekend to End Breast Cancer in their name.  Make a difference today!
  You may have noticed our nifty new avatar, which comes courtesy of Jumplion.  However, that's not all!  We also have a brand new deviantID in the works (voting's still out on that one), and we're pleased to annouce the winner(s) of our AfC Catchphrase Contest:
:bulletred: MSJames with "What's your story?"
and
:bulletred: Unluckycharm6 with "What a proser."
Look for these two mugs being donated to ArtistsForCharity very soon (and make sure
:iconWordCount:WordCount
:iconwordcount:WordCount 46 19
Literature
P.C.Preaching
I just spent 30 minutes on a bus staring at a wall;
someone wrote in Japanese, English, French
"drift away."
:iconbristoltheorange:bristoltheorange
:iconbristoltheorange:bristoltheorange 71 102
Ninja 3 :iconjasinski:jasinski 228 29 Flowers for K :iconjasinski:jasinski 619 69 Glow :iconsagittariusgallery:sagittariusgallery 303 49
Journal
Great Prose Exposed: WordCount Feature #2
  Summer has set in, and with it those lazy days where all you want to do is chill in the air conditioning or find shelter from the sun (or, for you beach bums, hang out 'til your heart's content).  If you're lucky enough to be in a part of the world that isn't (too) warm right now, just know that we'll be visiting soon.  Don't worry: our staff knows how to party!
Speaking of partying, please direct your attention to this month's excellent prose features.  It's been a quiet month from the WordCount account, but our staff has been working tirelessly behind-the-scenes to bring you something worthwhile.  Thank them (and thank yourselves) by plugging through each piece and giving prose its due!
:resume: 100 words or less
:bulletred: A Sign on the Road to Nihilism by IanAlmighty
Philosophical: Twenty-four words that pack quite a punch.
:bulletr
:iconWordCount:WordCount
:iconwordcount:WordCount 46 14
'illusion of clarity' :iconocheerioo:OcheerioO 712 108
Journal
fotoFRIDAY XLI: Invisible
After a fantastic "theme" month, fotoFRIDAY returned to its regularly-scheduled programming this week with an amazing picture that really made people think.
To be an Invisible man

by Treamus
Many of us have felt invisible, but how many times have we made others feel invisible without ever knowing?  There were several entries that explored the concept beautifully, but this drabble does stand out:
Rich

by missmidge
Other Notable Entries
:bulletgreen: Save Him by littlemissmoody
:bulletgreen: Sevenling - He had Coffee by Pinkatron2000
:bulletgreen: Unseen by Rushy
:bulletgreen: From Perspective That Varie
:iconfotoFRIDAY:fotoFRIDAY
:iconfotofriday:fotoFRIDAY 14 5

Activity


deviantID

missmidge
Midge Insert-Last-Name-Here
Australia
Favourite genre of music: Angry girl music of the indie rock persuasion.
Shell of choice: Sea Shell.
Skin of choice: Preferably human, but I’m flexible.
Favourite cartoon character: Tinkerbell. I mean, c'mon... She tried to kill Wendy!
Personal Quote: "I is blonde." And yes, I actually said that.
Interests
  • Reading: On Beauty by Zadie Smith
  • Watching: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel/Firefly
My devART:

Gallery = prose
Scraps = drabbles, poetry

--

Interesting Fact About Me:

I eat anchovies and sun-dried tomatoes right out of the jar.  

--

Personal Links:  

miss-midge.blogdrive.com for Blog
www.fictionpress.com/~tawnyfaw… for Fictionpress Writing
www.freewebs.com/miss-midge/ for pseudo-website

--

DeviantArt Groups:

writeaway.deviantart.com/ for writeaway, writing right now.
writersda.deviantart.com/ for writersdA, for dA writers.  
wordcount.deviantart.com/ for wordcount, to read good prose.
fotofriday.deviantart.com/ for fotofriday, for fun.  

--

Australian Youth Arts/Media:

(They are far too awesome for me to actually have anything to do with them.)

www.lipmag.com - 'lip' mag - the magazine for girls who think, create, speak out, feel, live.
www.expressmedia.org.au/ - Express Media creates literary arts and media opportunities for emerging artists.   
www.vibewire.net - Vibewire - rewiring youth media.
www.noise.net - NOISE is a youth arts initiative that develops and profiles young artists .

Comments


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:iconshieldedwords:
ShieldedWords Featured By Owner Feb 4, 2008  Hobbyist Photographer
No problem :]
Reply
:iconscummy:
Scummy Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2007  Professional Digital Artist
Thanks!
Reply
:iconlovetodeviate:
lovetodeviate Featured By Owner Sep 14, 2007   Writer
Thank you for watching me. :)
Reply
:iconil-tramonto:
Il-Tramonto Featured By Owner Sep 14, 2007



:rose:


thanks for your support!


Reply
:iconare-bee-s:
are-bee-s Featured By Owner Sep 13, 2007
.......and the dd!
Reply
:iconmissmidge:
missmidge Featured By Owner Sep 13, 2007
I was glad to suggest it - it's a great piece! =)
Reply
:iconare-bee-s:
are-bee-s Featured By Owner Sep 12, 2007
Thanks for the add back and favorite!
Reply
:iconbristoltheorange:
bristoltheorange Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2007
Thanks much for the favourite.
Reply
:iconamberlouie:
Amberlouie Featured By Owner Jul 5, 2007  Professional Writer
I found you through fotofriday :) So I checked out your website, and so I checked out the Youth Media. It's a pleasant surprise that you know of or are involved with Voiceworks. I just sent a piece out to them, and try to pimp them to fantastic, emerging writers. Kudo's.
!
Reply
:iconlipsbitten:
lipsbitten Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2007
thanks for the favorite, darling :hug:
Reply
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