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IgnitionSparks were flying off of car tires as they drifted around the car park, the tires worn down to the steel belts beneath the treads after a long evening of drifting. Headlights swung around, illuminating cones, broken body panels, and other cars as the beams of light cut though the heavy smoke. Taillights left glowing streams as they flashed, and flicked to the other direction. It was New Year's Eve, and the racetrack was hosting its final drift event before the end of the year with a free run in the autocross car park.
Yosha pulled into the pits after a four-car run around the car park, his Silvia's rear tires still smoking. As he pulled up to the put area, his Silvia's headlights illuminated Elisa, who was waving him down to have him park his car next to her Mustang.
“That run was amazing, Yosha,” Elisa spoke as she leaned into the open window of Yosha's car. She knocked twice on his helmet, then opened the door to let him out.
“What did the GoPro catch?” Yosha
Midnight SightYuma shifted around in the snow, unable to sleep despite the warmth provided by her fur in her wolf form. She looked out from her hiding spot under the spruce tree, only to see a vast, dark valley stretch out ahead of her. Despite the light snowfall around her, she could clearly make out the beautiful, undulating shapes of the valley's many ridges and dips, the silhouettes of trees and rock formations dotting the landscape, coated in a thin layer of snow.
She glanced over at Kiyo, the big ball of fur shifting around behind her, as the rippling of muscle under warm fur drew her attention away from the valley. He finally settled down after turning over, revealing black fur that contrasted with the white snow stuck to the fur on his other side.
Yuma couldn't help but smile at him. Her smile soon turned to a frown, as she remembered why Kiyo had brought her up here in the dead of night in the freezing temperatures. He somehow convinced her to come with him to watch Santa Claus make h
Broken Wings (teaser)A one-thousand mile fall is terrifying.
Especially for an angel.
The Earth we watch is so small from our view in the heavens, that we think it to be so insignificant if we were to fall off of the edge of the world and come crashing down to the surface of the Earth below.
We have wings to help us fly back up, after all.
But once one of those fragile wings snaps like a twig, you're going down.
And down is the only direction I'm going.
The Earth is actually quite pretty up close. . .
. . .was my final thought as I watched the surface of the Earth come up to greet me.
Everything is AlrightEntry: who knows. It's been almost eighty plus years since I last did a journal like this.
Date: I know it's 2163, but I don't recall the date. Probably May 14, if I remember correctly.
Time: my clock is broken. so I have no idea what time it really is. It's almost evening time, though.
Location: what used to be the bustling city of Manhattan.
I found a piano today.
While exploring Central Park (or what used to be Central Park - it's just a landfill for the rest of New York state nowadays, just like the rest of Manhattan Island) today, I didn't know I would come across the piano that Atsushi would take me to on every date.
It was a public use piano - meaning anyone who wanted to play the piano could walk up to it, take a seat, and play out a little tune for anyone who passed by and decided to stay for a while and listen. Atsushi loved going out to this piano on almost every date we went on. He would always draw a small crowd whenever he played, and he was always able to hold the
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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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