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Chapter 1: Bewitched
(A Sunny Adventure)
Usually people start with introducing themselves. They sum up all the facts they think will tell people who they are. What defines them. It is common to start with a name. But the information a name can give is based upon prejudices. A religious name might say something about a person's ethics and moral. Or not. Very few people know my birth given name. I believe that is between the Goddess and me.
A name holds a lot of power. And in a world full of people of all kinds, everyone should be very careful as to whom they trust with their full, birth-given name. But interacting with people requires a name. So we, the Wiccans, choose a name for ourselves once we get Marked. The day I got Marked, I had just had a fight with my mother about my negative attitude. This, of course, did not make me more cheerful and positive, and as I solemnly walked up the aisle to the Priestess and Priest to tell them my new name I had a brilliant idea. I was going to name myself "Sunny".
Chapter 1: Still Doll
They say dolls don't have feelings. They don't have nerves, no brain waves. No heart.
That is all true.
If that is how you define feelings.
Instead of nerves I have flawless porcelain skin. Instead of brain waves I have an empty shell. And instead of a heart I have cotton.
But I have feelings.
My eyes do not move, but they see.
I see. And I understand.
I look distant, but I am here.
Always watching, always waiting.
My baby arms with their small, delicate porcelain hands are aching. Aching for revenge.
My name, is Luna. I used to be a Witch. Not a great Witch, though. If I had been, I would not be stuck in the body of a doll. My real body would not be six feet underground, rotting away. The reason why I was not a great Witch is quite simple. And silly. I did not do my homework. If I could just remember that one spell. That one spell that would make me able to move. Then I could get my hands on that other Witch. That so called «good» Witch Liliana, named after the head of
SpringFlowers and guns walk hand in hand
The truth is now officially banned
In seconds houses are turned to ruins
The rich are proud of their brave doings
Underneath a pile of bricks
Beyond the point of a simple fix
Between frantic screams sounds a small yelp
A civilian's desperate cry for a little help
She hadn't wished for it to be this way
But her life is a small price to pay
For the freedom her country urgently needs
Heroes will be honored for their deeds
A soldier grabs a child's tiny hand
He offers protection, completely unplanned
Another bomb is on its way
He holds her close and they both pray
To different gods indeed,
But equal is the blood they bleed
The greatest sacrifice he gave
For another's life to save
Covering her is a dead man
A tragic failure of a game plan
Corpses lie around her feet
But the bomb attack is not complete
Two GirlsThe Western girl has lipstick in her pocket,
While the poor African girl has water in her bucket
She walks to a studio to get tanned,
While the other girl covers for the sun with her hand
A normal day,
But both are in dismay
One's date was fat,
And she left him like that
Another date's fatness
Is proof of future happiness
For a girl whose husband she cannot choose,
While the other woman walks away like a goose
Both are concerned about how much they eat,
None can allow themselves a little treat
But the reasons why are like night and day,
For one, hunger is the only way
They share so much,
But the world is as such:
Divided in two,
And I wish we knew
That if we just dared to share,
We could show how much we really care
HappinessA sweet scent
A soft touch on your lips
The taste fills your mouth
Endorphins run through your system
You close your eyes
Indulge yourself to the overwhelming taste
Chapter 7: Abracadabra
(A Sunny Adventure)
Pen, check. Paper, check. Somewhat an idea of what the spell should do, check. Katnip was sitting behind me, peeking over my shoulder. Okay, firstly I had to figure out which aspect of the Goddess to turn to.
«Katnip,» I asked, «Could you recite the names of the Goddess?»
«Sure,» she replied, «Let's see... Aphrodite, Arianrhod, Artemis, Athena, Bast, Ceres, Ceridwen, and one of my personal favourites, Demeter... Then there is Diana, Eirene...»
«Baste! Yes! Thanks Katnip!» I grinned at her. «She's perfect!»
I started writing the words that first came to my mind.
Utchat, held by the Goddess Bast
all seeing eye of Horus, help us cast
a successfull spell to get our bodies through
slim cracks and openings, Bast we turn to you
I looked at the words I had written down. My sloppy handwriting made it all look awful. Nothing to do about that now.
«Now, what do we want the spell to do...» I thought for a minute before I continued.
Make our bodies flexible and soft like the cat
A World of WordsThis written word strung together,
Played off in a cacophony of beauty,
Dancing around in a field of verses.
Visible to all with eyes in their heads,
Or ears sensitive and perked,
But only known to those who watch.
Those chosen few who sit in silence,
Listening to a mute orchestra,
Or watching an invisible ballet.
The truth behind what is visible,
Is seen and created by their worn minds,
Lips upturned with furrowed brows.
Broken hands feeling no pain when creating,
Their minds, hearts and souls filling the page,
In a cacophony of beauty, spilling across the world.
comatose.i never told you:
i hated the way you smelled
like winter, like
fog or listerine or
something long forgotten.
i guess i miss you the way
i miss brooklyn,
all thirsty for a song
i've never heard, pining for
a place i've never been.
i never told you:
i keep your old promises all tucked up inside,
like bruises sleeping fallow
along my hipbones.
i promise i'll love you always, i promise
i'll fix the coffee machine tomorrow,
and if you let me,
i'll fix you
well, you never were a fixer.
what you are is tired, and you never understood
why this fucked-up little town
unmade its bed, swallowed an ambien,
swallowed you. listen:
we were always comatose, clutching
hands gone cold
Nighttime Ramblings and InsufficiencyYou drop your jaw,
and you pull words out from
hiding, deep in your throat.
You wretch up a mass of
unfiltered, unedited, reality
because you believe that's what it is
to be understood.
You leave a trail of mutterings
wherever you go
no one will ever want me
it's not enough
and i'm sorry, i'm
so so sorry
Do you remember the difference between
a shadow and a ghost? (the world ends
the day the sun won't shine)
Instead of sleeping (maybe
tomorrow won't come if you
don't say goodnight) you wait;
you will not be remembered, and
that is the scariest part-
you were never loud enough.
i'm so sorry
The night presses too hard,
pulling you down, even though
you plead for one more day to prove
you aren't just passing through.
In the margins, you breathe:
Give a man a fish he will eat for a day.
Teach a man to fish he will eat for a life time.
Give a man a gun he will rob a bank.
Give a man a bank he will rob the world.
We adapt and adjust.
Constantly dithering on the cusp
Of what is considered wrong and right,
Ensuring that our ambitions remain in sight.
We would be willing to do anything
In order to get what we truly desire.
We would be willing to risk everything
Even putting our friends in the line of fire.
We may share the bounty with others,
Allowing them to experience the fruitful taste.
Given the option we will even care for our brothers.
Just as long as we are well endowed with songs of praise.
We are opportunists.
We are convincing and ruthless.
We are the modern day Judas.
cadavershe was born with arctic lips
and overcast skin.
her hair fell like fresh snow
and she was far too thin.
her bones in locked closets,
joints creaked and shrieked
like a rotten floorboard
under gossamer feet.
BrokenThe lace of my skirt was only as perfect
as the flesh that it covered
my childhood stretched until the woman inside
could be seen, raw and bleeding
He left behind calloused fingerprints
on every seam that he tore
The lace of my skirt is only as perfect
as the attitude I put into every pleat
my fingers burnt flat with blistered scars that left me
negative, flawed and reviled
She left her signature on the stitches, scribbled
with needles and veins
The lace of my skirt will only be as perfect
as the stranger looking in the mirror
Man Made the Money.Man Made the Money.
We think that if we had more money everything would be different.
That we would suddenly be able do all the things we always desired.
Because the lives we lead right now have become predictable and consistent.
And should we choose to, we could be the ones that are rejoiced and admired.
We could be the ones on the front cover of every magazine.
We could be the ones appearing on everyone’s television screen.
We could be the ones that the paparazzi haunt and terrorise.
We could be the ones that have our every move televised.
With the aid of money we could have unlimited vacations
And have access to an infinite amount of beneficial relations.
We could be the ones flocking and flaunting the finest fabrics
And every trivial experience we encounter will cause a global panic.
We could give back to charity and help to make the world a better place
We could cosmetically alter our bodies and readjust the features on our face.
We can become anyone we choose and crave.
Athazagoraphobiato see you again
is to walk through the pages of a history book
each word graced by the wonder of truth
I watch grimy fingers crease and turn the pages of time backward
revealing our story
I know it's hard to understand,
that somewhere my heart still pulses with the sweet venom of your love
never have I forgotten the secrets we hold
nor the secret meetings that we held
our tale as old as time
plays back in my skipping record of a mind
an endless song
one I will never forget
one I seem to have forgotten
Encroaching TerrorHuckle-hunting crack-backed worms
'neath jeering, leering tangled forms.
Branches breaking, bending, sending
shivers down my mangled spine.
Fine, everything's just fine.
Backward glancing, I see dancing
shadows, shadows that aren't mine.
Time, time ever racing, chasing,
pacing, my footsteps ever hastening;
tasting the seconds as they fade away.
Decay comes quickly, sickly;
stenches, wrenches my groaning gut.
Moaning, roaming through the leaves,
weaves the yearning, burning thing of night.
Sight, I am robbed of sight.
Blinding, something hidden binding,
twining, snaking round my aching useless eyes.
Sighs, the sighs of something very close;
those whispered, blistered wrecks of breath.
Death, the final fleck, silently shivers,
my withered slivered, writhing neck.
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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