Typistmy typewriters sat in all of the corners, perpetually whirring. once each year i looked at the keys, touched them. i would reach inside and feel the bones beneath.Typist
colours and shapes,(they echoed), blending together and taking over the places that need them the most. his eyes. brown, blue, green. so i block out everything remotely pertaining to him and the things which he says to me; but it's thrown back faster than before, stinging my wounds like dry sand. his mother has green eyes. his brothers, i also assume, but without much anticipation.
whirr
you promised to take
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I do recall right after signing up with DeviantART, someone sent me a welcome note. After I cleaned out my gallery and left , all the names of people that first commented or left something on my page were gone, and that was a bit dissapointing, so I'm surprised to see your name show up, ~soiree !
I'm thankful for the watch, and you should submit something, be it writing or a photograph.
--
when she walked, her knees cracked like a pick-up truck driving full-force over a deer carcass.
~stupidvagina
--
[link]
Thanks for the welcome note, that was nice of you, and it's valued.
- Nick
What you know you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it your entire deviant life, that there's something wrong with the story. You don't know what it is, but it's there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad.
You take the blue pill, the story ends. Your browser closes and you believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, you stay in wonderland. And, I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.
I offer only the truth, nothing more.
Take: The Red Pill
Take: The Blue Pill
--
The Angry Deviant
Random Deviant
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