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The DarknessLeft behind.
She walks in darkness
with not a soul to guide her.
Lost is she.
Ive got the devil inside me.
Dread, hatred, chaos
is all she can see.
Nothing but negativity.
Alone and crying all the while
hiding my tears, and faking a smile.
Is this all just a nightmare?
Will I wake up?
If it is, I'll go jump in front of that train
and see what happens.
No, you say?
Then indeed it IS reality!
OUCH, the sun burns my skin.
but the moon....the moon calls for me
the moon is my friend
darkness is m friend.
Why don't you want me to die then?
But all the while I'm here and alive
I'm suffering. Crying. Hurting.
No one hears, REALLY hears.
No wait, more like no one listens!
Why must I suffer?
Why am I like this?
The truth lies beyond any of our own comprehension
all the FRUSTRATION, never ending!
I cannot see anything but the dark.
The demons within are what guide me
to help me see my way through life.
I cannot resist temptation
when the voices speak.
I am darkness
I am pain
I am dread
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
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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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