Newest Deviations
The Bleeding Ceiling He tapped his slim and pale fingertips down on an angel's head that had been carved in to the white, mantel piece above the fireplace. His other hand slid up and down the side of his pants, fiddling with a string that was near to the point of falling off. The boy's crystal, blue eyes would gaze across each welcomed, and yet not so welcomed, face, peering at every wide- open mouth and slitted eyes, watching them laugh and occasionally sip their wine.The Bleeding Ceiling
His uncle, the "Billionare Man", they would call him was no where to be seen. His aunt; however was on the other end of the fireplace, pointing out each angel
by ~8Destined-Warrior8
A Tragedy's Strategy He portrayed me as a mother; it was Heart warming and yet- Sad. Now that I had become as such, and knew how awful his parents were, I couldn't leave him. I was bound to stay with him forever rather it not be his choice, it was the right thing to do.A Tragedy's Strategy
As much time as I had spent with him, I knew my days would be Long and Weary, but I, as his "mother", had to act like a mother should; Caring and Loving. It was a challenge to be a "mother" at such a young age with an enternet "husband" whom my "son" had not enjoyed nor embraced as much as he did me. I feared they would never get along.
&nb
by ~8Destined-Warrior8
Evil at Work The smell of blood filled the young man's nose. Beneath him lied the body of a twenty- year- old whose brown, tangled hair soaked in the blood from the bullet wound that had announced itself on the young man's forehead.Evil at Work
With a quick wrinkle of his nose, he grabbed the end of his jacket and quickly tossed it aside, slipping his hands in to the soft fabric of his pocket, then quickly removed a handkerchief, pressing it to his nose as he staggered back, falling on to the wall behind him. Slowly closing his eyes; [eyes] slowly rolling to the back of his head, he tried to regain consciousness .
&
by ~8Destined-Warrior8
Agrivation Overload I was ready to draw today, but did not continue, because my sister came in and blurred my thoughts or is that my stomache had settled long enough (from lunch) and, as usual, tired me? I will blame it on both since my sister always harrasses me when I ponder for ideas.Agrivation Overload
Lately, I've been looking out for an Inspiration (for writing 'and' drawing). Sadly, I have found none, but that's because I am not in the presence of a Writer or an Artist (like myself). On that note, it seems as if, when I read or "hear"/ hear that some one is writing a story, I get an idea to start my own. Why is that so, exactly? &
by ~8Destined-Warrior8
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