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"Doctor", Parody of "Starman"Another lonely night in Leadworth by myself
Nothing to do, I was bored you know ow ow
This crack was scarin' me, something bout Prisoner Zero it said
Then a loud sound, then a man (not ginger)
Made me cook him up custard and fish fingers
That weren't no policeman, this was something much more weird
There's a Time Lord waiting in the sky
He's coming down to meet us
But I think he'll blow our minds
There's a Doctor waiting in the sky
He took me on his spaceship
Said he'd need me for a while
He tells me:
"I've heard children crying
To save them all I'm trying
And just this once, not lying."
He took me up and showed me everything ing ing
Left my fiancée and engagement ring ing ing
Met up with Van Gogh and with Winston Churchill too
I got pregnant, had a baby girl irl irl
She grew up and was then feared by every world orld orld
She was my best friend too, now tell me, is that not right?
So I'm Amy, floating through the sky
Then Rory came to meet us
But he always seems to die
So we're h
Watched by a godA god sat on his throne of clouds and observed the world beneath him. This was one of his least favourite planets, a pathetic little blob of green and blue in an old-fashioned section of the universe. He didn't know why he'd chosen to watch them, barely paying attention, the way they watched their televisions.
The inhabitants had named it Earth, but it was known by a much more offensive name in ethereal circles.
The natives here, a mostly sapient race called humans, had messed up. Many planets had races that had failed, but few had failed as dramatically as the humans. While other cultures explored the limits of knowledge and scientific advancement, humans had apparently given up, inventing instead a billion and one ways to amuse themselves without achieving anything worthwhile.
The slacker species of the universe a species predisposed to play.
Last time the god had watched here, the humans had just worked out exactly what gravity was and how it worked. It was hardly a mystery b
Xanthic LightAlice and Edward stepped closer together, examining one another in the streetlight. Both of them had aged since they'd last seen one another and looked curiously the same but so different.
"Can you believe it's been fifteen years?" Edward said, raising his hand to stroke Alice's hair.
"Don't," she said. "Edward, please don't do this."
"Fifteen years," he said again. "Great Scott, you can't tell me that the feelings aren't still there, even after all this time." He begged her to agree with him.
"I can't," she said, refusing to look at him now he was so close. Just run, she thought. Kicking herself inside, she wondered why she had agreed to see him. Love didn't fade, even after all this time.
"Maybe I should just go," she said.
"No," he said, firmly. "Oh please, don't go. Please, I made such a mistake when I left you. Queen of my heart, forever and a day." Roaring cars passed them on the bridge, a few of them wondering who the two people were chatting over the water. She wished she had j
Deceased - IIIDying hurts, and don't let anyone tell you any different. People bang on about how, "Oh, he died peacefully in his sleep" and shit like that but don't believe a word of it. OK, my death was violent anyway nothing prepares you for being catapulted through a windscreen but I've spoken to people up here who've died in their sleep and apparently it's no less painful. It's something to do with the soul having to be ripped from the body "ripped" being the key word here.
On the whole though, once you've gone through that, it's actually quite peaceful. I thought I'd be worrying non-stop about the people I've left behind but as it turns out, I'm not. That's not to sound selfish, it's just that once I'm up here, there's nothing I can do about them. Well, OK, so I can help one person, but you don't get any choice in the matter.
Everyone's a guardian angel up here, see. You die, you cover someone's back until the time they're destined to die, making sure they don't pop it firs
Painter - IIWith Josh gone, I don't know what to do anymore. I know we were together for just eleven months, but it felt so right. I guess it always feels right at the beginning if it didn't, you wouldn't press on. Art is my final class of the day but I'm not really with it. We're supposed to be painting the still life in front of us a mish-mash of fabrics, fruit, stuffed birds and the top half of a mannequin but my mind isn't on it. Everyone has made some progress but I still have a pure white canvas staring back at me.
I pick up a paintbrush and continue to think about Josh. It's been a week now. I had a few days off school for it but because I'm not family or anything, I can't get compassionate leave or anything. I've just got to press on. It's hard to think of him laughing and joking now I've seen him with his blood and brains smeared across the front of his car. My leg still twinges a bit from where it was caught under the dashboard, but it's not severely damaged.
I wake up.I wake up.
I'm on a dark desert highway and I don't remember how I got here. There are a few stars in the sky but no moon and not enough light to guide me. I reach into my pockets and pull out a torch, but with nothing for the light to bounce off, I cannot tell how far I am from anything.
I begin to walk, and I walk for several hours, or maybe days, or maybe just a couple of minutes. I arrive at a house with lights burning from every window. I knock on the door and the wood sounds like metal. There is a clank and a clang and the door opens slightly.
An old woman's face looks out at me. She screams something in a language I don't understand and I feel a bullet lodge itself in my lung. I choke and I wake up
I'm leaning against a set of lockers in my school corridor and I don't remember how I got here. It's after hours, still light outside but the school is empty. I walk down the corridor, which seems longer than I remember. It takes an hour to reach the door at the end. It's locked
Letter To The Future21st July 2010
To Whom It May Concern:
If you have found this letter, congratulations. I am writing this in the year 2010 and hopefully, nuclear war permitting, it will have reached you in the year 2110. The language I am writing in is English which, while I assume will still be a dominant language in one hundred years time, may have been killed off by the Chinese.
2110 sounds so futuristic, but once upon a time 2010 sounded like that, yet here I am. It's weird to think that this year is now history to you, the way we look back at 1910 and think they were a bit backwards. You probably think that about us.
It's 41 years since humans first landed on the moon (unless that has since proved to be a hoax) and we've currently no signs of heading into space again. They keep talking about it, but there's nothing happening. I hope we're on the moon by the time you read this. Hopefully you've got to Mars by now. Maybe you're reading this on Mars!
Are there aliens yet? The closest we get is Doctor
Excerpt: 2117The first noise I heard in one hundred years was a gentle hiss. I felt dizzy and realised that I was lying on cool marble table wearing only shorts. There was a mask over my mouth, feeding me oxygen. I turned my head gently to the side and noticed that the mask was connected to a tube, which fed down into a small glass dome. Inside the dome was what appeared to be a bonsai rainforest.
What I presumed to be a clock was on the wall just above it, although it was hard to tell. It had no hands but instead four circles of various sizes were in place beneath the numbers, one of them ticking with what I presumed were seconds. One was moving too fast to be properly seen.
The hissing continued, very faintly. I wanted to sit up but I quickly realised that my wrists and ankles were fastened to the table, although I could feel no fastening at all. It was almost like I'd been magnetised and stuck to the fridge.
I heard a door open and someone entered the room, and at the same time, the oxygen mask
Character Study: Jazz ClubLively jazz music plays. The club is dark, square lights allowing for just enough vision through the fug. You can almost see the music circle the clientele. Three people sit in the corner booth, all of them smiling and laughing together.
The first is Dexter Ruggles; dressed in a black shirt, black trousers, black ankle boots and a black trilby balanced on his black hair. Just a slim white tie adds colour to the ensemble. He laughs loudly, baring straight teeth, nostrils flaring. He's a writer, a novelist (one book published) who also works as a waiter. He's happy with his lot and his friends.
The second is Rebecca Lowe; dressed in a white top with red swirls all over it, and a short grey skirt. Grey boots reach up to her knees. She has an unlit cigarette behind her ear, tucked into the dark red hair that has been sprayed, straightened and waxed so often one would think it wouldn't bother messing itself up again. She sleeps around, sleeps with anything. She wants a relationship but does
Final WishesFirst letter:
Love, I have to tell you this. I know you won't believe me, because I don't believe it myself, but I have to tell you.
Remember when we were both kids, wishing on stars? I remember our first night – we were lying on the hill staring up at the sky, and then we held hands and together we wished that we'd be together forever and marry and have a kid who could change the world, and we held hands and then – this hurts to write, I'm sorry, I miss you so much
but, well –
it came true, didn't it? We married. And you're still with me, more or less, even if I can't see you and all you can see is these bloody letters, and – and our little girl can change the world.
She wished for a cat last night, love. I wish I could have told her no. We can't take care of one. But she didn't ask me, did she? She asked the stars.
I can tell you which star she asked, too. The centerpiece of Orion's belt is missing. And in her room, I can't even walk, there's not any su
Flying Dreams“I don’t know why I love you.
I just…can’t stop thinking of you.”
said old Mr. squirrel slowly caressing
the nut in his bed beside him.
He pulled the glasses from face and set them down
on the nightstand beside him
letting out a sigh. A picture of himself
and another sitting beside him.
He rolled back over and kissed the nut
falling into a deep sleep.
Mr. Squirrel dreamed of flying,
just as his cousins could.
Flying from tree to tree.
Like an overextended wonderful leap.
Safe from danger. Safe from the predators below.
A dog snapping and growling. He paid it no notice.
He was free and happy sailing through the trees.
Through the clouds. He could reach out
with his paws and touch them.
SO soft and fluffy
just like her…
He awoke from his dream startled.
It took him a second to catch his breath,
and he played with his graying beard hairs.
He had been much younger in the dream. So much younger.
“It’s a dream my sweet. Nothing more then a drea
It's Burning Down Anyway"You shouldn't play with matches," she said. "You'll hurt yourself."
I lit a cigarette - with a lighter - and remembered Annie Venter telling me that in the eighth grade as I lit matches behind the school. I had stared at her and lit the whole matchbook on fire, and then I had dropped it in the grass. She made me stomp it out.
I stood on the porch of my apartment, listening to the rain and staring out at the fog and the clouds and thinking that somewhere out there, Annie Venter was probably sleeping, not thinking about the time she told some stupid kid not to play with matches. I flicked the lighter on and off a few times to see if it would feel the same way the matches had all those years ago, but it didn't.
The smoke curled above me in the cold air, a visible metaphor for addiction as it hung off me. Everything in my life smelled like that anymore: like ashes.
I dropped the cigarette on the deck and I stared at the small red ember, letting it burn and smoke, letting it become
the quiet musings of an almost dead womani feel the world. it weighs on me in the empty hours between dusk and dawn, the hours when the birds are nested and the grass can do no more than whisper beneath the touch of the wind.
i feel the world and it is both new and old, both stillborn and throbbing with well-lived life, and it is heavy with its own weightlessness.
i feel the world but the world does not feel me; i do not feel me. my skin is a prayer to the soft curves of the oceans and the hard ridges of the mountains instead of a testament to my being.
i feel the world echo within my confines-- i feel myself become the world.
the last magic I believe inIt's been years and I'm still here. Recycling the same sentences. Stuck in the same words. Buried in a past that doesn't quite belong to me anymore. It's funny how with enough distance nothing ever looks real anymore. It's like the way I can stand four miles from the lakefront and can still see the horizon. Clashing blues and greens. A straight line of water against an even straighter line of sky. And that's it. It's everything and it's nothing and for a little while I can pretend I'm somewhere else. Somewhere new. That I can see an entire ocean sprawled out in front of me, instead of the dirty familiar waters of Lake Michigan. I've grown up here and I've grown apart from here, but I'm stuck at the top of the hill on the corner of the street that my sister lives on and I just want to run and run and run and never look back, but that's not all there is. That's not all that's left.
It's so much bigger than that so I trace the familiar roads back to my home and I sit in my living room and
My Knee Hurts and I Hate David BowieThey're at it again.
I've grabbed the broom and smacked the handle against the ceiling, but the neighbours upstairs take no notice. I think about calling the police, but I hate doing that without at least talking to them. Everybody deserves that chance, I think. Still, the prospect of standing outside their door and talking to them isn't one that sits comfortably. When I think I'm going to explode if I have to listen to another second, I give in.
I power up the stairs like nobody's business, and pound on their door. I'd knock like a normal person, but if they can't hear the broom hitting their floor, they won't hear a knock, either. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the door opens and sound washes over me in a wave that's all but solid.
The figure in the doorway looks like a reject from an 80's concert. He's got a blinkin' mullet, and he sparkles... but he's got nothin' on the fella behind him. Bloody queer's wearing a dress, and more makeup than an entire row of beaut
The Cat Curls UpAnd a very good afternoon to you. You catch me looking at a catalogue of old chairs – nothing I would sell in my store, but from an aesthetics viewpoint it reminds me of some of the – things we used to think were fashionable.
Take this one for example – the infamous box seat, so popular in the early seventies for the style conscious and space conscious young person about town. Actually, the only thing they really turned out to be good for was walking into or falling off.
There was a flat I visited in the Knightsbridge area in the mid seventies, when Habitat, god rest their soul, were just starting out and making this sort of thing popular. I had thought it was empty, but after raiding the bedrooms I discovered the error of my ways – walking into the main room, I disturbed this eighteen year old girl, wearing a short sleeved white crotched top, pale blue mini skirt, white knee length socks and flat shoes, sitting on one of these box contraptions
[TGB] Leave The Light OnIt seemed only natural that she found him.
Her paws had been weary, her mind restless - home no longer felt like home and he .... he had always had a calming presence upon her soul. His smirking blue-green eyes soothed a fire in her soul and made everything shift when she hadn't been aware it was askew in the first place.
He held her steady, whether he knew it or not and right now Arya felt like a leaf in a thunderstorm.
"Fancy seeing you again - if I didn't know any better I'd say you missed my dashing looks."
Perhaps it was in the way Arya fumbled for an appropriate response, or perhaps it was how her grass eyes misted over with unshed tears - full to the brim with emotion Arya usually kept hidden from her companion.
"Arya?" His brow furrowed slightly and he took a hesitant step forward. His firefly was strong ... for her to be so shaken ...
She wasn't sure when the tears had started, hadn't noticed their slow descent down her cheeks until Idek's nose was touchin
AshesLife took a lot of turns on you, that was for sure. That I was today scattering the ashes of a woman I shouldn’t have met by fate’s standards, much less married, was the injustice that slithered beneath the surface of everything on planet earth.
I was born on a dirt farm to a loving family. Summers are my best memories, picking rattlesnake plantain and wild strawberries in the yard with my big sister and Mama. Scrounging in the dust and heat for dinner wasn’t unusual or bad, simply the way it was. We went to bed giving thanks directed by Mama; I still hear her soft voice though she’s been gone 15 years.
I feel the wooden footbridge sway under my feet, and can almost find Carolina’s face in the reflections shining off the water’s mirrored surface. We are given many good gifts in life. But the more you have, the more there is to lose. And when I found myself an adult orphan and still alone in middle age, the fight went out of me. Until Carolina.
Grapevine - IYou'll never guess what I heard! No, wait, I mean it! I shouldn't even really be gossiping about it but I had to tell someone. Do you remember Pete? You know, Pete thingy? The one who was going out with Tina but they broke up when she slept with his brother? You must remember! Think back, it was huge news like, last month. No, two months ago. I don't know. Yeah?
No, well anyway, you remember his mate Duncan? Oh you must know! You'd know him if you saw him he's the one who got really wasted at Anne's eighteenth? Jumped on the table and declared himself King of the Lesbians? Long hair? Anyway, never mind him, it's his brother, Josh. You have to remember Josh! That's right, the one who spent last Hallowe'en making eyes at you and your pumpkin costume. Totally hot.
Anyway, yeah, you'll never guess what happened! He was out driving with his girlfriend Becky you must know Becky and anyway, what they're saying is that he swerved to avoid a deer and crashed and he's dead.
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More