The Lady In Red: Chapter Five by blizzardwolf1 on DeviantArt

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blizzardwolf1

Published: Mar 20, 2007

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Literature

On The Originality Of Ideas

Let's face it. Original ideas are in short supply these days. The global apocalypse has been done to death. Martian invasions, rogue artificial intelligences, and sappy love stories where the hero gets the girl, and pulls it out against all odds in the end are boring. Like a bad magic trick, we've seen it all before. It's the same old notion that there's nothing left to write about, the one where everything has been done, and everything else is just a rehash of it in some way or another. According to the literary doomsayers, originality has run out, or if it hasn't yet, it will. Any long-term writer has heard this arg

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Notice of Intent to Stalk

Form ITS1993(d) Notice of Intent to Stalk Date: ___________ Print or type name of Stalker: _____________________________ (known henceforth as STALKER) Print or type name of person to be Stalked: __________________________ (known henceforth as STALKEE) Please be notified that effective this date the above named STALKER has filed an official Intent To Stalk Declaration targeting the above named STALKEE in accordance with Obsessive/Compulsive Personal Pursuit Code of Conduct Act of 1993 (OCPPCCA93). I, STALKER, hereby declare Open Season upon you, STALKEE, and pursuant to OCPPCCA93 section 1, paragraph 5 intend to engage in the following

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Like a Man

"Please," he whimpered, eyes cast up from the polished linoleum as if in prayer, a single rivulet of blood trickling from a nostril. "I… I have a family." "A family?" Charlie glanced from one crumpled heap of flesh and gristle to another, a distinct disinterest building behind insect black eyes. "How many kids?" "I… t-two." "Boy or girl?" "Both boys." He squatted next to the man, spinning the massive .357 on his finger like the protagonist of some spaghetti western. The barrel whirled around the blur of his hand like Death's private helicopter, gaining and losing momentum in an evident but indecipherable rhythm. He blew a

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Troy...or not

Troy…or not “By the Gods!” snapped Helen, standing resplendent in the middle of the battlefield, “will noone ask me whether I want to go back or not? Even though I’m the one being fought over, no one even tries to ask my opinion about it!” The two rival armies had come to a halt on either side of the legendary beauty, gaping at her in amazement. Menelaus was standing at the head of his army, holding an unsheathed sword, with his mouth hanging open, looking utterly stupid, as his slow brain tried to figure out why his wife was behaving like that. From the time he had known her, she had always been so meek and ob

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Home

My parents bought the house on April Fools Day. It was something of a running joke: should have known, Dad would say, tightening yet another leaking faucet. It was a sign, Mom said, staring down a nest of carpenter wasps. In truth, they were never lucky with dates. Got married on D-Day, had a kid on Thanksgiving. JFK was assassinated on my Dad’s birthday; Brenda Ann Spencer went on her killing spree on my Mom’s. Holidays were always a touchy thing. My second birthday was spent in the new house—a gorgeous, rambling affair in the heart of what had been a boom town during the years of the Erie Canal, and was now just a s

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High Fantasy, Low Intelligence Ch. 1

Once upon a time, let's say a hundred years ago for a rough estimate, in a land called Frilas that was so far away that nobody could ever possibly reach it, unless they had one hell of a travel agent, was a great and powerful warlock. - (A warlock and not a wizard. While the differences between the two are subtle, they're there. For instance, a warlock usually favors a hood rather than a pointed hat in order to appear both suspicious and stylish without compromising protection from sunlight. For clarity, warlocks in the world of Frilas are essentially evil magic users who disliked the stereotypical image of an old man in robes who practice m

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The Dead God

The room was large, quiet, and empty, and it smelled like death. It should have smelled like weathered stone, or dust, or moss that grows forgotten in dark places so long it forgets its name, but Rat knew death. He had tasted it the moment they walked inside this ancient church, and he longed to adjust and stop smelling it. He wished he could walk closer to the three adults behind him, but he would get in trouble. He wasn't a scrawny child today; his job was to walk carefully and take the brunt of any traps he triggered so the adults would be all right. They were needed, after all: Theodora and the silent man had the magic, and Flim was a mi

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How to Raise a Sociopath

How to Raise a Sociopathic Serial Killer from Birth: Ages 1-3: be nurturing, it is necessary in order to raise a physically and mentally strong child. keep only one stuffed animal. anytime the child misbehaves (after the age of 2), hit the stuffed animal (or remove a limb) and say, "look what you're doing to teddy! you're hurting him!" Ages 4-8: buy a puppy and keep it until it's old. let the child become attached. whenever the child cries, beat the dog and say, "you're doing this to your puppy every time you cry!" Ages 8-10: the child reaches an important stage where love is starting to be reciprocated. this is when children start learnin

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Two poems about poppy's

one: Poppy dear Oh dear poppy, where I lay my head, you are my pillow, you are my bed, born from blood, of people passed, it is here I have found, my peace, at last. two: The moment Crouched amonst the red, the green, and the yellow, I stare into the poppy's spots, I raise my photobox, and capture the moment, I am savouring the sensation, and preserving for the future.

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Swallowing Stars

galaxies cling resolute to negative spaces

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Despoema de amor

Deveria lhe compor versos perfeitos Que homenageariam todo seu ser Te diria que o meu sonho é te ter Mas fico com preguiça e não faço tais feitos Diria que desbravaria todo o mundo Somente pra defender seu nome Só que eu esqueci dele, to usando um pronome, Então é melhor guardar isso num buraco fundo Doaria pra te uma parte de mim Se necessário até meu coração Mas na hora do transplante eu daria uma de fujão É melhor a essa estrofe eu dar um fim Falarei então que até Lua eu te daria Mas agora de me lembro de um problema: Não consigo nem sequer puxar

Literature

Desire

Your smooth skin, It drives me crazy I want to touch you, And just maybe, You...will let me... The look in your eyes, It really drives me wild I shouldn't be surprised, That you're so tempting... You are all I can see... Desire... Taking over me Desire... Controlling me I can see... The light in your eyes, Every time you see me... The beads of perspiration, Are rolling down your face As you look away, I lean in for a little taste, Because you let me... I can see your curves, Move underneath your shirt And I can't place a price, On what this moment's worth... So revealing... Desire... Taking over me Desire... Always controlling me I can s

Literature

Our Last Kiss

If I had known that it was our last kiss, I would have inhaled you deeper within me. If I had known that it was our last kiss, I would have seared your taste onto my tongue. If I had known it was our last kiss, I would have scorched your scent into my skin. ... If I had known, I would have frozen time ...

More by blizzardwolf1

blizzardwolf1 on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/blizzardwolf1/art/A-screenshot-62382954blizzardwolf1

I decided to go ahead and post it up earlier than I said, because I know there were a lot of people that were itching to read it, and I didn't want to keep making em wait.

So here ya go!

The stock image for the preview was provided by *liam-stock, with changes made to it by =Raichana

Mature