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The Falling SkyGreen & brown grass, warm temps, short-sleeve shirts, late-day sun
Bullets flying, pinging, scraping against metal and brick
Flashes and gun haze thick in the heavy air
Camouflaged faces and bodies, black tee shirts and combat boots,
Glinting glasses and broad-rimmed caps hiding telltale eyes
Open land crowded with fear, fury, courage, and the brave.
Seeing from multiple angels as the rage hits the strings
As the lead lets loose and the bodies fall;
Kneeling on bended knee, behind walls, bushes and trees,
Laying on blood-soaked gunshot-residue dirt and grime
Firing rapidly like the heart beating adrenaline
Screams of generations reaping all around you.
One, two, three, four, five, six
Searing, scalding, ripping flesh and breaking bones
Not a warning—too late for that with the pieces so scattered
And the rocking weeping holding their lifeless children
Even the end shatters their own minds and steals them away
As all around the sky comes falling down...
The Hours Before They CameThe day started like any other.
Warm sunshine filtered through the thin shades in her room, heating the bare wood floor and giving the atic loft a sense of coziness, making it near impossible to climb out of bed. A soft breeze ripples the curtains in her open window and brought with it the sweet smel of summer apples and fresh laundrey from outside. Brds chirped and crickets asang, a dog barked two houses down, a train blasted its horn in the distance and all seemed well with the world.
Slowly, she stretched her arms over her head and her feet as far as they would go, until both feet and hands touched the oak borders of her bed, and yawned. The spring quilt her mom had made for her eigth birthday, which had been a few days ago, stayed tucked in around her, and she smiled as she looked at her name etched into the blanket amongst the blue, yellow, green and white blocks, in frothy pink lace: Grace. Her parents had chosen that name for her, as they often liked to remind her, because she w
Genghis Whenever we were bad my mother used to take us to the mall to see Genghis Kahn. They kept him in a dusty diorama of a Mongolian steppe, all tall grass and yurts. He sat on a throne of bone (well, plastic shaped like bone), scowling in incomprehension at the American kids who flocked around him like startled lemmings. My mother would usually push us toward him, saying things like “Tell him what you did to your father’s stamp collection.” Genghis would give a grunt, spit a wad of phlegm onto the tall grass, and give us a wizened, wrinkled grimace, as if he had to go to the bathroom.
He terrified me.
My brother couldn’t get enough of him.
When my brother got caught in my mother’s evening dress, my mother grabbed us both and dragged us to Genghis. It was a slow day, and we were the only kids crowding him. “Tell him what you did,” my mother hissed a
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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