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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
January 19, 2008
A delicate start to what may possibly unfold into an epic fantasy tale, There is a place.. by ~LittleLottexo is an introduction that hooks the reader and gives a simple floaty object an enchanting twist.
Literature Text
There is a place where balloons end up after they slip out of the hands of a little girl as she gropes for the string that slowly drifts further beyond her reach. Sometimes, balloons just become untied and slowly float away until they are out of sight.
Haven't you ever wondered where balloons end up once they easily glide out of the hands of lovers, friends, families? A place where moonlight shivers as it touches lost memories and licks the sweet shining fantasies only to be infected. So beautiful, so deadly. Memories like mercury in the moonlight.
There is a place sound goes when there isn't a soul around to hear it. A place rain falls and water rushes and trees snap. The air is thick and tastes of soft violets. Mirrors reflect space and the sky expands with the blink of an eye, opening the ground beneath you to a place you never knew existed.
That is where I live.
There is no Sun here. Light comes and goes. I live in the shadows of others' light. When someone blows out a candle, the sky is lit up with a bright fiery breath that slowly fades into dust. That's how I ended up here. I was blown out, just like a candle. I was invisible to everyone but the one who destroyed me, and now I am born of the ashes that poison me. My hair ties me to this world, my skin doesn't let me leave. This is who I am.
The balloons stay for a long time. I can smell their sweet intoxicating memories. A first trip to a carnival, a celebrated birthday, the welcome of new life, the woes of an ended one. I once tried to reach for one of them, but my hand shriveled before me. I can't touch memories that aren't mine, nor can I make them. I don't know what death is. Perhaps it's where I am now. Or maybe I'm just somewhere in between, brushed off by the world like so many have been before me.
When a balloon pops, my world shifts into darkness. A current rushes through the air like the electricity on your lips of newly discovered chemistry. My heart quakes underneath my skin and for a moment, it slides out from my body and I am left a lifeless form, engulfed by a lost memory. Lately, more balloons have been popping and withering away. Forgotten memories litter the grounds, the only thing I know to call home. People are forgetting. And I'm bound to the place that pumps this life-giving poison to my veins. I wonder if this place used to be beautiful. It seems I've... forgotten...
Haven't you ever wondered where balloons end up once they easily glide out of the hands of lovers, friends, families? A place where moonlight shivers as it touches lost memories and licks the sweet shining fantasies only to be infected. So beautiful, so deadly. Memories like mercury in the moonlight.
There is a place sound goes when there isn't a soul around to hear it. A place rain falls and water rushes and trees snap. The air is thick and tastes of soft violets. Mirrors reflect space and the sky expands with the blink of an eye, opening the ground beneath you to a place you never knew existed.
That is where I live.
There is no Sun here. Light comes and goes. I live in the shadows of others' light. When someone blows out a candle, the sky is lit up with a bright fiery breath that slowly fades into dust. That's how I ended up here. I was blown out, just like a candle. I was invisible to everyone but the one who destroyed me, and now I am born of the ashes that poison me. My hair ties me to this world, my skin doesn't let me leave. This is who I am.
The balloons stay for a long time. I can smell their sweet intoxicating memories. A first trip to a carnival, a celebrated birthday, the welcome of new life, the woes of an ended one. I once tried to reach for one of them, but my hand shriveled before me. I can't touch memories that aren't mine, nor can I make them. I don't know what death is. Perhaps it's where I am now. Or maybe I'm just somewhere in between, brushed off by the world like so many have been before me.
When a balloon pops, my world shifts into darkness. A current rushes through the air like the electricity on your lips of newly discovered chemistry. My heart quakes underneath my skin and for a moment, it slides out from my body and I am left a lifeless form, engulfed by a lost memory. Lately, more balloons have been popping and withering away. Forgotten memories litter the grounds, the only thing I know to call home. People are forgetting. And I'm bound to the place that pumps this life-giving poison to my veins. I wonder if this place used to be beautiful. It seems I've... forgotten...
Literature
Recalling
Once, I forgot my limbs.
I left them downstairs because I was in such a rush to get up to the second floor. I didn't even realize my legs were missing until I was halfway up the stairs. "No matter," I thought, "I won't need them for a while anyway." Only when I tried to reach for a paintbrush did I realize that my left arm had done just that, and the right away. Again, I shrugged it off (with only my shoulders) and went about my business.
My business is rather unconventional. There's no elevator in my office building, because I work from home. Thus, forgetting my limbs downstairs would be, as you probably assume, a hassle. And, well, sure,
Literature
and we found...
we love like we sin, terrified and breathless.
we are tea-at-midnight girls, naming constellations
that don't exist after lost tourists we meet on the
street, reminding our freckle covered shoulders
that even beautiful things can be made ordinary.
we are broken fingers and half-closed eyelids and a
penchant for mischief. we are ribbon skin and frantic
desires and incandescent hope. we are a voice spilling
secrets to falling leaves diving after their arachnid brothers,
mimicking the millions before us who were
judged unfairly, unjustly but all too correctly.
we whisper promises to dandelions because they do not
know how to hold gru
Literature
Out of Control
It's 6:46 and thirty-one seconds when the doorbell rings. My mom runs to answer it.
"Hi, Michelle!" I hear my mom call. It's my sister. She left her college friends to have dinner with us tonight.
I have four minutes before I can go out and greet her. I can only walk through doors when the number of minutes is divisible by five. 6:46 and fifty-nine seconds. Not happening.
It's the killer of what could be an okay life. I'm late for class all the time when I'm at school. A teacher will let me out at 1:50 exactly. I walk through the hallways in a straight line, starting with my right foot, ending with my left. I reach the door,
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Hmmm.
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EDIT: woww. A DD? I'm stunned.
Thank you to `Beccalicious for suggesting me
And to ^StJoan for the feature
© 2008 - 2024 LittleLottexo
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