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Painted LoveI had never gone to the Wishing Well before. It's not that I didn't want to go there; it's just that I had never had the incentive to go, being occupied with my studies, both academic and magical. The latter was a secret though, known only to Mr. Gold, aka Rumpelstiltskin, my elder witch, and myself. It had taken a recommendation from him to finally get me curious about the old well. "A good place to commune with your element," he had said. "Or at least to just sit and think."
And as Saturday was my regular day to drop all my work and have fun, run errands, and/or explore, I had decided to go to the Wishing Well. It was quiet, misty, and slightly chilly as I walked down the main thoroughfare. I knew nothing would open until 9 at least, but it still felt a little strange, walking down the, normally busy, street by myself; it was a good kind of strange though, almost magical.
As I walked past Granny's Diner, the
The Secretive KnightThe stocky, greasy bald man opened the oblong wooden box with great haste. Rummaging through the stuffing of red cloth that appears to protect its true contents, he pulled a long smile, revealing the holes in his set of teeth.
Letting out a raspy laugh, he gently closes the wooden box. "Now this is what I call quality service!" he said, looking across the table at the other person seated with him.
He turned behind him and yelled to a waitress, "Fetch me your best concoction, lass! 'Tis a night to celebrate!" Turning back to his companion, he added, "On me, of course!"
The other person said not a word. With arms crossed and seated straight up, the person was fully clothed in dark overalls. A wide plumed atop the head, it did well to hide the eyes. The rest of the face was covered with a scarf. Hands in gloves and feet in leather boots, there was not an inch of skin exposed to sight. With the scarce lighting that the tavern could afford to give in the time of the dark night, it was nearl
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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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