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''Survivor'' part 23: SavedHama’s POV
It happened all so quickly.
My father was the first to react, springing up out of his chair seconds before Tak hit the ground. I hear my mother give a shriek of surprise and despair, getting up as well. They both rush over to him, surrounding him, and I try to poke past them to see. However, my father nudges me back and shoos me away. I feel the breath in my lungs slip away from me and my heart skip a few beats when I watch my father lift the boy’s limp body off the floor. His head lolls around on the edge of my father’s arm and his mouth is agape. My father lifts the boy up higher into his arms, making the boy look weightless and frail. We all stand still and quiet, our breaths held, as we watch my father press his ear to the boy’s boney chest. My father’s eyes get wide and teary, his expression that of fear and shock. “Sage!” he suddenly cries out. He goes darting down the hall, Tak’s lifeless body still in his arms. &
''Survivor'' part 22: InsanityHama’s POV
As soon as I slammed the door behind me, I threw a fit. I flopped face-first onto the bed and just let out a scream and a curse in anger into the sheets. It was Tak who made me want to rip my hair out. He just made me so...angry sometimes. I loved him dearly, yes, but sometimes I just wanted to slap him upside the head. But as I lay there, I think to myself how lucky I am for Tak to be in my life and that he is alive after all he’s been through. I begin to feel ashamed, guilty, upset over what I did. It was wrong to say what I said. He was a little rickety at the piano, yes, but he surely played better than I ever would have. He would have mastered it within a few more times of playing it. I lay there for a while, feeling sorry for myself.
“Hama!” I hear my father call from downstairs, “Tak! Dinner!”
I scrambled out of bed and stumbled down the stairs, not wanting to be late in case it would irritate my father even more. I could tel
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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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