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Cut :iconblusteryautumnbreeze:blusteryautumnbreeze 1 0
Literature
Priorities
The lilting white noise of the fan was not enough.
The comforting and assured tapping of the keys was not enough.
The incessant whine of electronic devices was not enough.
The words, snaking through her skull and tapping on her forehead, were not enough.
Because the words were left unwritten, as they so often are.
But the laundry was done.
The bed was made, sheets tucked in and quilt straightened to ninety degree angles.
The sink glistened and boasted its emptiness.
The dog had been washed, brushed, and fed, and now sat panting happily by the door.
The urgent emails had been sent, with a friendly but emotionally distant tone.
Hair had been coiffed to perfection.
Coffee had been made, and served, during an afternoon chat.
But the notebook sat empty, as the keys clicked away.
Another email, another form, another assignment.
Writing could wait. It had been waiting this long.
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Literature
Running Away
She was running again, running through the downpour and running through the pain but mostly running away, away from him and his lies and his wonderful words and the way he caressed her cheek and breathed her name and the way he broke her in half. Her lungs burned from the effort of running and hatred. Her throat burned from the effort of holding back the tears. And then, as suddenly as they started, her feet stopped and her body lurched from the abruptness. There was a park bench a short two steps away and so she staggered towards it and sat, heavily, as if all of the burdens weighing her down fell onto the bench with her.
And then the tears came. Again, as they always did. There was always this fighting and this running and this crying and the eventually return and acceptance. She would apologize like she had done something wrong and he would graciously envelop her in his arms as if he was the kindest, most forgiving person in the world. He would never apologize. Why should he, when s
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Literature
To be Wanted, to be Used
There was something in the way he spoke
Symphony in his words
Magic in his fingertips
Kindness and pain in his eyes
He had felt much
And seen little
He was medicine to her
For a while.
Her broken mind
Her lonely heart
Then he was a parasite
Feeding off of her love
Off of her innocence
There was darkness for a long time
She forgot how to see the light
He tried to teach her, but
She
Didn't
Trust
Him
Anymore.
He didn't understand why she
Was so afraid.
Fear of everything.
Everyone.
Fear of him.
And he couldn't understand.
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Literature
Another Time, Another Place
As they stood at the railing the lined the road, staring out into the water in a graceless cliché, she turned to look at him.
“This has to be the end.” She said quietly. The corners of her eyes were wet, and her throat was raw from the effort of repressing her tears. “We can’t pretend this is nothing anymore.” The waves crashed against the side of the road, rhythmically and relentlessly, but they did not move the road. The tension hung between them like an unspoken injury, curling in and around them; both pulling them together and driving them apart.
“I don’t want to leave you.” He said, his jaw set, his gaze fixed on the horizon in a stalwart attempt to keep his emotions in check. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her arms cross, a nervous habit she had adopted from him.  
“I know.” She said quietly, her angst tempered with sympathy. “But this can’t happen and we are incapable of…” Her v
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Literature
Midnight Run
Jump City was never quiet, but at three in the morning there was an almost serene background noise that lent itself to the dark sky above. The hum of machinery, the crashing of waves, the stray car alarm, all collaborated for this beautiful night music. It was the perfect time for a run.
She pulled her hood far over her head, with just enough space above her eyes to see. Never mind her lack of peripheral vision- she didn’t need her eyes to have a keen sense of her surroundings. There was no easing into the run, she just set off at a mad sprint, her small, birdlike body cutting through the city streets with the ease of someone who has done this very thing many times over. There were many things she ran from: she ran from her past and she ran from her future. She ran from her family and her memories and her responsibilities and her strange, panging loneliness, until her throat ached from her labored breathing and her muscles screamed for relief. She ended up at the pier, and collap
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Literature
Of Coffee and Quantum Mechanics
A calculated risk is often worth the reward, but a foolish risk will leave your life in shambles. If my father were a man who condoned tattoos, I am sure he would have this quote trailing around his bicep, for all the world to see. Unfortunately for the world, my father detested tattoos and the people who sported them, so he settled on a plaque, hung above his desk in his lavishly furnished office. Unfortunately for my father, he was saddled with me: Twenty-one, dead-end job, no degree, and positively rife with tattoos. Sorry, Dad. My life, I’m sure, was the cautionary tale my father used when showing the plaque to his clients. And such was the tenuous relationship my father and I had. I really shouldn’t have been surprised when his receptionist told me that Mr. Madison didn’t have time for lunch with his estranged son, but I had hoped if I reached out and made the effort he would return the favor. But he probably thought I was trying to get money out of him or someth
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Literature
Over
"I'm waiting."
The note was barely legible; the paper looked as is it had been crumpled up and then smoothed out several times. Those two words, written carefully on the index card, were obviously a source of great inner turmoil for the author.
The phone lay next to the note, as it asking him to end the waiting, to end the suspense, to end all this fighting and to just let be.
But he couldn't do that, not after what she had said. She had hurled those words like throwing knives at him, and she was an incredible shot: each had found its mark.
And as much as he loved her, he couldn't pretend it had never happened. He could not forget that she had lost faith and he could not forgive what she had said.
He reached for the pen, head and heart still warring within him, and shakily wrote "I'm sorry" beneath her words.
That was it. The game was over.
She had been sitting by the window for hours, reading the same paragraph in her book over and over, never fully absorbing what it said. Absentminde
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Literature
Rain
The colors melted together on the asphalt, the bright reds and whites of taillights mingling with the yellows of the divider lines and the greens of the stoplights. There was a small café, tucked in between two apartment buildings, that sold decent coffee and cheap, fresh pastries. It had a long bench that ran under the window along the street and a mix and match of tables and chairs that didn’t, in theory, go together but in the tiny shop somehow created their own eclectic theme. Regular customers referred to it as a gem, some sort of refuge away from the fast pace of the city and harrowing stresses of life.
They went there every day, for at least fifteen minutes after work. Two teas, sweetened passion tea for him, earl grey with a splash of milk for her. And they would sit in the window, talk about their days, laugh at the stupid thing his boss said or her co-worker did. On most days they left when the tea was gone, to walk the two short blocks to their home, but on that occasi
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Literature
Anger
     Sometimes, you don't know it's there at first. Sometimes, it comes upon you all at once, bubbling, broiling, filling your chest cavity with heat and passion and ferocity you didn't know you possessed.
     It takes root in your heart and it spreads it's stalk, then it's leaves, then it's buds, throughout your entire body, and shoots it's tendrils into your arms and legs.
     It tangles itself throughout your ribcage, curling and knotting around your bones.
     It integrates itself deep into your core. It becomes a part of you.
     And you can sit there, quietly, not even knowing the evil that's growing inside you.
     Anything can set it off, really. Once you start caring for it, nurturing it, letting it grow, the buds deepen in color and prepare themselves to bloom.
     And then something they say tips
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Mature content
Before He Cheats :iconblusteryautumnbreeze:blusteryautumnbreeze 1 0
Literature
A Day in the Rain
Rain. Everywhere, the great, fat drops fell and rolled and dropped again until they landed on the over-saturated pavement, making large puddles. Nothing was safe from its aggressive downpour. People, strangers, hurried by, anxiously tugging at their coat collars and trying to keep their umbrellas righted. As if offended by their pitiful attempts to save themselves from the inevitable, the wind blew an especially strong gust, causing all but the most determined of umbrella-wielders to lose or break their only protection from the storm.
A pair of sharp, catlike eyes surveyed the dismal scene from an unassuming perch and gave a small chuckle. People could be so fragile sometimes. A little rain, a little wind, was nothing to be afraid of. And yet, here was this supposed "technologically advanced society" running around like chickens with their head cut off when a little moisture presented itself.
Oh, the irony.
Slowly, as if enjoying every sting from every raindrop, a figure unfurled itsel
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Literature
Just a Room
RecGolden sunlight filtered through the blinds into the musty,  empty room. You could see the particles of dust, trapped in those beams of light, swirling and soaring in a never ending attempt to free themselves. One ray of sunlight fell on a bedpost. The bed in its entirety was far beyond repair; the metal, rusty and corroded, with chips of white paint clinging to it here and there, and the mattress, rotted and thoroughly infested with vermin. But the one bedpost, the one encircled by the beam of light... it shone with beauty.
It wasn't perfect; beauty is not perfection.
But it was beautiful in its imperfection.
The cracks in the aged, white paint on the bedpost created a haphazard map, every broken, bent line a memory. Each tiny dent or bit of rust held some distant recollection, tucked away in that bedpost, forever.
The light glinted off that one proud bedpost, the one that would never give up. The one that longed to be remembered.
The one that knew its worth, regardless o
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Literature
The Massacre pt. 3
I was used to the surreal experience of my body going into shock but this time it was different. Every muscle began to shake and my feet found their way back to the wall, all the while my mouth methodically mouthing the word 'no' over and over. Annalisa was not an uncommon name, but I knew the message was meant for me. I was the only person who had survived their final strike and they wanted revenge.  But I don't suppose that it was still their final strike. What had happened at the library seemed like a comeback. A strong pair of hands grabbed my shoulders, speaking soothing words to try and snap me out of my panic attack. I don't know how long it took, but eventually something got through. One name.
"What about Phillip?" I asked. The man in the suit looked surprised.
"I didn't say anything about a Phillip. I just was talking about the new surgery.
It's much safer than the old one, much more successful. It's really your only hope of getting away from these people."
"I don't
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Literature
Summer Night
Days grow longer, nights grow shorter
Fireflies come out to dance
Stars shine bright in the summer night
And leave nature in a trance
A breeze waltzes through and with it
Carries the scent of adventure and hope
So little time to breathe it in
But do not ever let it go
A chorus of frogs bid you goodnight
Or good morning, perhaps, is what they say,
As dawn peeks through with salmon hues
The beginning of a new day
So hold on to the magic
Keep it with you when you leave
Remember that sweet moment when
On a summer's night, you believed
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:iconblusteryautumnbreeze:blusteryautumnbreeze 2 2
Mature content
The Massacre pt. 2 :iconblusteryautumnbreeze:blusteryautumnbreeze 0 2

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blusteryautumnbreeze
blustery is a great word. :)
United States
Current Residence: second star to the right and straight on til morning. :)
Favourite genre of music: all. (except country. which should die a slow, painful death.)
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:iconstargirl2791:
stargirl2791 Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
thank you for the fave!
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FERNL Featured By Owner May 8, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks very much for the +fav'S Thanks for everything!
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waywardgal Featured By Owner May 5, 2014  Student General Artist
You are so amazing for taking the time out to favorite some of my works! It means so much that you liked it, and I hope you will consider watching Heart
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SirDomPayne Featured By Owner Feb 8, 2014  Hobbyist
Thanks for the fave :)
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gorrin Featured By Owner Feb 7, 2014  Professional Digital Artist
thanks for the :+fav:
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johnnygreek989 Featured By Owner Feb 5, 2014  Student Interface Designer
Thanks for the favs! :D
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thedarkartistgirl Featured By Owner Feb 3, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the fave! :)
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BigBindahouse Featured By Owner Feb 3, 2014
thanks for the fave, feel free to check out my other work
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jennasartwork Featured By Owner Jan 3, 2014   Traditional Artist
I saw you stopped to fave my art, so thought I'd come by and wish you all the best for the new year xx :iconsmilieplz: :iconflyingheartsplz:
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Jessica-Nahulan Featured By Owner Dec 9, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks so so much for your fav on my Queen Elsa by Jessica-Nahulan
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