Seven Is HeavenCars rush past in the other lanes. I can see them clearly through the glass but I roll down the window nonetheless. Air rushes inside and the cars become more real. I can feel every one zooming by. Yet it's all a blur. Everything. Life. It seems to zoom by but at the same time it seems to stand still. All colors seem to be grey, all warmth chill me to the bone. I feel the wind grazing my wet face.Seven Is Heaven by AspiredWriter
I see her face swimming in front of me not as it was an hour ago with a tube in her mouth and bruises so bad barely an inch of skin was visible. No, I see it as it was before the accident: cream skin, brown eyes, dark chestnut hair and a smile that was irresistible.
It was not just a figure of speech. She truly was irresistible. I never could deny her that extra candy, that expensive toy in the shop window, the car keys. I can only wish I had been stronger. It was my fault she drove that night. Her fate was my doing. She had, the doctor had told us, no brain activity. "No hope of recovery" he
Repressed Memories Ch. V - RetreatGeorge stepped outside and looked over the parking lot. There were only a handful of cars at this early hour. He shivered against the chill and marched over to a black Mercedes.Repressed Memories Ch. V - Retreat by AspiredWriter
Within minutes he was speeding down the highway. To get to the coast, however, was half a day's drive. He did not know why he wanted to go down to the ocean but it seemed clear to him that it was well worth the countless hours on the road.
State after state came and went. After a nearly twelve hour non-stop drive he finally got out in Cape May, New Jersey and stretched his legs. He breathed deeply the salty air engulfing him and felt his troubles melt away. His mother seemed much smaller somehow as if she were merely a villainous character in a mildly interesting show.
Strange that it is here, in his childhood neighborhood of all places, he would flee to escape his past. It has all changed though, the houses, shops, even the roads. George strode down a path leading towards the beach. The houses on both sides se
Warming UpFrozen water pelting roadsWarming Up by AspiredWriter
striking with vigor at passersby for the moment
Liquid water massages streets
rubbing gently pedestrians all day long
Gaseous water suffocates boulevards
filling lungs of amblers drowning them forever
The Monkey In The MirrorAs I stand before the mirrorThe Monkey In The Mirror by AspiredWriter
with a suit and tie
looking back at me
is a monkey wearing a turban
As I stand before the mirror
with a diamond ring in my hand
looking back at me
the monkey holds another's hand
As I stand before the mirror
I feel the weight of my wallet
looking back at me
the other monkey steals the first's banana
As I stand before the mirror
with bunches of tool behind me
looking back at me
the second monkey covered with dust
I bolt through the door
leaving the monkeys behind
WingsI strap the wings on tight and start to run uphillWings by AspiredWriter
and when I reach the edge I leap into the air
and as I soar above I flap my new found wings
I shoot high into space much faster than a rocket
The sun is up ahead I'm blinded by the light
but fascinated still I keep the course the same
and as I'm close enough to touch the scorching ball
my waxen wings melt down and I begin to fall
|a part of story i had written|
Reaching OutThe darkness leaches around me looking for something to sink its claws into. To draw from. My whole body trembles with a yearning for life. Not for blood, but for spirit. The other part of me that is no longer human but a growing immortal calls to every part of my being. It pulls at all my resistance. For now I have none. I am still the pawn I was in life only dead. Now with suspended immortality that can be easily revoked, I suffer paying its price. I now hold a craving need that drains away all my sanity.
It pulls until I am only a wavering shadow of the person I once was, now overrun with the minds of them. Each spirit yearning for freedom as my much as my own. Wanting to breathe and feel, if only once. I snap out if this dark demise of the mind as everything in me suddenly strains with the feeling of being drawn forward.
The final spirit to freedom.
There is no wavering thought that brings doubt of it being anything else. I sense every part of me reaching out for this one sp
The RomanceIt happened that on midsummer day, when the sun was streaming down from cloudless skies and all the birds rejoiced for the beauty of the season, that Sir Esforcer took his leave of King Arthur, citing a need for adventure. This was most willingly granted, and the brave Knight rode from the castle as the sun began its journey back to the horizon.
Taking the main road west, Sir Esforcer admired the villages and farms he came through and graciously thanked the adoring populace for all their offerings of refreshment and rest. He declined the latter, however, telling all that he was determined to seek out adventure in the distant lands.
As the cloudless day faded into starry night, he saw a strange and uneven path winding into the forest on his left hand side. It was partially blocked by branches and rutted from many bad winters. He turned his horse and took the strange route, pushing into the forest and giving thanks for the bright moon lighting his way.
As he began to consider stopping to
DuetSeattle is iconic for the Space Needle, but it's famous for two things: Starbucks and rain. Pike Place Public Market boasts no less than fourteen distinct coffee shops. Some of them serve coffee and tea and baked goods; some branch out further into sandwiches and soups; a few even dare call themselves restaurants. It is one reason I adore the Market; it has retained the individuality that small businesses are supposed to exude.
The crumpled and folded bills littering the inside of my saxophone case certainly add to my love of the place. I come here every Saturday afternoon, for the acoustics, but some think I'm good enough to pay for the pleasure of hearing me toot my horn. And it is a pleasure. There's nothing quite as satisfying as squealing past the high C before dipping down to an F only to start the wave all over again. But that's hardly the point. I come to feel the press of bodies and voices, and to let music loose on wandering souls.
My apartment on the waterfront is comfortabl
|Critiques i have given out|
How long have I been on DeviantArt?
I've been on DeviantArt since the dawn of 2010 so little short of six years now.
What does my username mean?
It was originally supposed to be AspiringWriter which meant that I had done almost no writing but wanted to become an accomplished writer, but it was taken by someone who was long since inactive so in my tiredness at the time, i chose AspiredWriter which isn't quite proper but I've since grown to like it. It has a nice ring to it and it has since become who I am.
Describe myself in three words.
Moribund, Reclusive, Ignominy
Am I left or right handed?
I use both, depending on the task in question but I write with my left hand so I guess I'm a left-handed man.
What was my first deviation?
A part of a story I have never continued: Hardship:
A loud thunder broke through the silent night as lightening tore through the dark sky cleaving it in half and spreading luminescent lines breaking off from the main stream of bright light and filling the cloudy sky. A long deserted road was flooded with light for a split second and was immediately plunged back to eerie darkness as the lightning vanished. The low buildings on both sides still glowed moments later on my retinas as I stood there at the road's end staring down the empty street. Before my eyes had grown accustomed once more to the dark however, a second lightning bolt spilled more light on the surroundings. It was dry so far but not for long I knew. Undoubtedly a torrential rain was heading this way and would soon wash the street clean. As I was unprotected from such a rain besides my long black hooded coat I set at once in a quick pace. My destination lay near, in this very street. Half way down the street I felt a soft plop on the top of my hood as yet another lightning c
What is my favourite type of art to create?
Short stories and novels though I have yet to complete a novel.
If I could instantly master a different art style, what would it be?
So many types of art out there and I would like to master them all from embroidery to wood carving, from oil painting to music composition. But the type of art I would most want to master is glasswork and crystal work.
What was my first favorite?
I checked. Apparentely it's this one:
I tried to block out his words, refusing to give in to his demands. I focused on the dripping water that I would hear coming from a pipe somewhere. I could not see anything; I was surrounded by darkness, but that did not mean that I was unaware of what was going on.
"Are you listening?" he said into the darkness of that filled the caged room.
I shook my head, not that there was any point, and wrapped my arms around myself. I was sitting, curled up, back against the walls, and ran my hands up and down my sides. I had grown so thin that I could feel each individual rib beneath my skin; even my chest had become nothing but a thin layer of skin and bone. I forced myself to stop feeling the bones, doing that would only make things worse, then I smelled it. As soon as the disgusting scent hit me I turned to my side and puked.
"Eat girl!" the man shouted, growing impatient with my defiance.
"No!" I shouted back.
What type of art do I tend to favorite the most?
Visually attractive pieces usually. I love lush and vivid nature photographs and I love vivid digital art and optical illusions (though the latter isn't as ubiquitous as I would like)
How has a fellow deviant impacted my life?
The first deviant i have ever met. She had introduced me to DeviantArt and the artist community as well as ScriptFrenzy and NaNoWriMo. Shortly after I became a deviant she left the site but in joining, I have not only improved my writing insurmountably, but also my drawing skills have sky rocketed since and I've created far more in various art types than I have done in the 2.5 decades before I have known about Deviantart. Moreover, this site is my online home. My place to relax, to be myself and to have friends. It has given me so much and for that I am eternally grateful to DeviantArt, the Deviants I have met since joining and obliquely this one Deviant (of whom I can't remember the name ) who above all is responsible for me being here today.
What are my preferred tools to create art?
As a writer I love my computer and keyboard I wish I had a good and suitable word processor I could use but I deal with what I can get my hands on. I've tried programming one myself but that's far beyond my capabilities.
What is the most inspirational place for me to create art?
I have no place but I would love to be out in nature, preferably on a high cliff overlooking the ocean with evergreen woods behind me, fresh salty cool sea breeze, and no bugs or people to annoy me, puff smoke in my face and make a cacophony.
What is my favorite DeviantArt memory?
I don't have one. It's just a wonderful routine place for me. It's good to get some critique though.
Happy birthday DeviantArt! may you last forever!
Long to write, Desire to be great! any tips suggestions and comments to aid this goal will be greatly appreciated|
Favourite style of art: optical illusions
Personal Quote: if hell were cold and i'd be bold i'd stride right through before i'm old