Eyes to TellGeordie knows what happened to the 'sno-cone man. Why he don't come round no more. Same time the Reverend's bright, handsome boy Dennis went to visit his relatives in the 'States.Eyes to Tell by leyghan
He knows too what's buried 'neath the empty lot, next to the old brewery on Fairview Hill.
Thinking over the things he knows, Geordie gets a sly-puss smile on his face. ‘I got a roof need fixin 'fore hurricane season and me without a dime to spare.’
He’s been letting this one sit. Two months gone and sure bet the Reverend thinks his secret’s safe. But the Bishop’s coming for the dedication of the new church. Now’s the time to make his play.
He makes sure his lettering on the note is just right. It takes a couple tries―he don't got the steadiest hand no more—then he seals it up good in a nice new envelope and goes to wait patiently by the door. It ain't quite morning bright but he knows the postman likes to beat the sun.
Sure enough not more'n a few m
PreloadThirtyseven sat on the edge of his bed, kicked off his shoes and fell heavily into his pillow, not bothering to peel off the white coveralls he normally couldn't wait to get out of. He was exhausted.Preload by SRSmith
He lay staring at the ceiling, the last few hours of the day still fresh in his mind, although today blended seamlessly into yesterday, and last week, and a month ago. Or more. He'd lost track.
Each day played out pretty much the same, he awoke in the same grey six by nine room, showered, dressed and ate the breakfast that was delivered to him, then he made his way to the simulator. Here he learned how to ride motorcycles, slalom cars, canyon race executive jets, operate forklifts, tractor trailers, maglifts and exo-skel loaders. He'd logged countless hours in freighters, cruise liners and speedboats, gliders and heavy cargo planes, jump-packs and helicopters with countless different rotor configurations.
He had no idea what they were training him for, or even who they were, he never saw a
InstrumentsThe beautiful mistress of the house had bought four new forks and two new spoons to replenish the dwindling supply in the cutlery drawer. She put the forks away and turned round to find the handsome master of the house examining the other new utensils.Instruments by SCFrankles
“I can play the spoons you know,” said the handsome master and he did a quick demonstration, tapping the spoons between hand and knee, and then running the spoons rapidly across his fingers. Luckily the mistress was as kind as she was beautiful, and she kept her thoughts on this to herself.
The handsome master got to his big finish: “Ta-da!”
“That’s lovely, dear,” said the beautiful mistress of the house, and she took the spoons from him and put them carefully away in the drawer.
“Wow,” said one of the forks. “I didn’t know you were musicians. You should have said!”
The spoons attempted to look modest. “We didn’t want to show off,” said the first. &
he cries for himselfswan-necked and beautiful,he cries for himself by introverted-ghost
you are limited to flying between the middling sky
and the colours torn from dusk.
words, wonderlight has faded and words are heavy,words, wonder by Lissomer
but there is a delicate magic
twisting between your fingers.
it is all a-scribble
melisma without music;
syllables stitching terra firma
to firmament in intricate
stanzas that require
neither breath nor sound
to echo, infinite,
within the depths
of susurrous souls.
it is cold and it is dark,
but there is a fire in you
and you use it with a fierce grace
that illuminates the shadows,
and ignites the demons
until not even the grey spaces
that haunt and harry
can hold dominion.
they are exposed
they are broken
into shards of sunrise
and rays of a quiet
you scare away the night
with exhalations that blow
away the fogged emptiness
inside, over and over,
sparking fireworks from
what was thought
to be ash.
|Featuring the works of the talented members of the dA lit community.|
|. . . If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;|
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools; . . .
Current Residence: St. Kitts|
Favourite genre of music: Anything that moves me
Favourite style of art: Fantasy, gothic
Operating System: Vista
Skin of choice: His
Favourite cartoon character: Batman FTW
Personal Quote: In matters of taste, there is no dispute
|Nature's first green is gold,|
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.