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Civil War Story, UntitledA young boy, barely nineteen, lay asleep on a medical cot. His light blonde hair was strewn across his pale face. His round, boyish features twitched with discomfort as he remembered an unpleasant dream. The white sheets were neatly tucked around him, and his right arm, bandaged in his white knitted pyjamas, rested on top of the covers. His grey uniform lay resting on a chair next to him. Dry blood crested the elbow of the left sleeve.
He started, sitting upright; his left pyjama sleeve was pinned up, covering the sump that once was his left arm. He thought he could still feel where his left arm once was. Shaking his head to clear the feeling he spotted a calendar hanging near the tent opening. He spotted the date with ease. January 3, 1864. He had fought two days earlier in a small scrimmage against the union solders. There he had sustained two bullet wounds to his
The time is 4:44... Are you sure? Those were the last words I heard from her. My best friend It was supposed to be an average night, as average as any camping night can be. Lori, my best friend, and myself had decided to go camping in the local forest. Just two young girls getting away from the city.
Lori was this serious, short bleached-blond brown hair, and stood around 57, the average height for a 16 year old girl. She generally wore jeans and a simple T-shirt, along with basic 5Star tennies. I, on the other hand, seemed to be the complete opposite. I wore my brown hair long, and I only stood 54, short for a 16 year old girl. I liked to wear skirts as well as jeans, though I did wear them for the camping trip, and my T-shirts all were either yellow or orange my dads favourite colours.
The Path I WalkThe path I walk is never straight,
Full of twists and turns,
Some days the path is cool and smooth,
Others it puts on my feet burns.
But I know the path I walk now is only for a short time,
And a day will come, be I young or old,
When I'll leave my path behind,
And walk the road of gold.
Trail of HayAs I walked along my path one day,
I stopped and looked back to see,
The path behind was scattered and thin as hay.
I pondered this for a moment,
Then continued to walk on,
Suddenly I found myself singing a strange song.
What the words were I could not tell,
Though the wind must have heard my ghastly knell,
As it danced around me, pushing me on.
Now I look back on that day and see,
That a narrow path was being trodden by me,
And had the wind not aided me,
Then I may have never been set free.
Setting of the Black Sun Pt 2Zennith sat up, sweat clung to his face. He was in what seemed to be a tent. Rosé was sleeping silently beside him, though her face was contorted, as if she were having a bad dream. The fox anthro looked around, his reddish-blonde tail swayed back and forth on the ground. Placing his hand on the ground, he prepared to get up, but the white fox girl who seemed to have abducted both of them came through the flap tent. She was frowning.
"You shouldn't strain yourself, Zennith Michel Ginthe." Zen stopped at the mention of his full name. He frowned deeply, then opened his mouth to respond, but the fox cut him off again, "I have been watching Rosé and those around her for twelve years, I know who you are, what your habits are, what foods you like, what you do on an average day, just about everything."
"Who... who are you?" Zen forced himself to say. His mouth had gone dry. The young f
Setting of the Black Sun Pt 1Zen... A soft voice called, Zen, wake up... "Just five more minutes," came the reply. Zen, wake up... Come on... wake up... the voice came again. "Please, five more..." came the second reply.
"ZENNITH MICHEL GINTHE! WAKE UP THIS INSTANT!" came a loud, shrill voice that seemed extremely close.
"Gah!" A reddish-blonde haired boy cried as he fell out of his desk. Mrs. Krije's tall skinny figure was looming over him, frowning. A brunette girl in the desk behind him was shaking her head. The boy opened his mouth as if to say something, but Mrs. Krije's sword sharp voice cut him off.
"This is the third time this week Zen. Try to stay awake in class. Weather you understand what I am saying or not, I expect you to do the work!" Mrs. Krije scolded, rapping a ruler on the desk. Zen groaned, as he got up and sat back in his seat. He shook his head and rubbed his tail
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More