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About Literature / Hobbyist SlashmanMale/United States Group :iconjustforwriters: JustForWriters
 
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Literature
Untitled
Awake, and afraid. The two things that at this point, were my only weakness. I was armed to the teeth, with grenades and ammunition, and a Kalashnikov that needed no explaining. I awoke behind the trenches. I had fallen asleep next to my buddy Arthur.
He was there no more.
I wasn't startled. Nothing could surprise me anymore. Fear was the only factor that hindered your decisions. Surprise was just a nice name we use to give to things unexpected.
Nothing was unexpected on a battlefield.
It was as if the world had given up, even before we had. But guns and tanks don't give up fighting. They never really do. Only those whose fingers pull the triggers care. And even their apathy would penetrate the enemy, as the bullet penetrated their skull.
I awoke alone. Arthur was not by my side. I had never really asked myself what connection friends have that tells them when they're in danger. But i didn't feel anything. And that was the worst of signs.
But I knew it would happen. We all did. Arthur,
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Literature
Sit back
We all have something we desire,
Something from the person we admire.
We all have our down days,
People that we'd set ablaze.
Things you don't want anyone to find out.
Things every single one of us would love to talk about,
but never could.
There is no doubt in my mind,
That we do not need to be confined,
By our fear, our emotions,
By our incredibly absurd notions,
That we're weak,
That we're nothing,
That we're bleak
and we're bluffing.
Who are we kidding? It's nothing new,
For every dream we misconstrue,
Another fear falls in place.
And every single person in the human race
Is one and the same.
We're told to that we're unique, never to blame,
Left to maim,
Ourselves to shame,
For the scars and wounds we've become.
Our memories are all we have.
Our friends all we'll grab,
while being flung through the darkness and evil.
The world is still primeval,
this much we know.
What can we do?
Just sit back and watch the world burn.
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Literature
Billy
Walking down a silent hallway, floorboards creaking, moonlight illuminating the empty doorways. Every step brings a new eerie sound, one that sends shivers to the bones, and with every step, less and less hope of survival. A door, complacently ajar, fixed to a set angle, hiding something from the outside viewer. The moon shines brightly through the window.
Billy lay in his bed, looking at the moon through his open window. Despite it being November, Billy liked the breeze. It kept him cool during the night, yet he never woke up shivering. He thought about what he had learned in school, how the moon only reflects the sun's light.
He felt warm knowing it was always sunny if he could see the moon.
The creaking in the hallway stopped, and the noise from downstairs reigned supreme. The TV, much to Billy's relief, meant his father was asleep on the couch. At least for tonight, the belt would stay around his waist.
Billy could hear the TV quite distinctly, even from his room.
***
"Our soldiers
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Literature
30 second writing piece
He faintly nodded. He was incredibly restless, yet he was weak. He lay half-naked on the table, flailing his arms. His mother looked through the window, frightened and sweating. The doctor looked down on the boy.
"Do you want to die?"
He faintly nodded.
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Literature
La Torre del Casino
There is a tower about a mile away from the town I go to in the summer. It takes a half an hour to get there and you have to go through the woods. Unfortunately, there's no other way. I've never found anything out about the tower. All I've ever known about it is that it's filled with names. Names of lovers. Names of random passersby. Names of famous people and celebrity crushes. Names of people that have gone there for the last 50 years.
I go there with my friends. A lot. If we have nothing to do, we go there. We still haven't uncovered everything about this mysterious place. I know that the houses around there were used as hunting lodges, yet many things are left untold about those places.
The tower is a very small one. You only have enough room to walk and its two floors, with a ladder in the middle. It's covered in dust in every inch of the floor, but since no one actually goes and sweeps, it's not unlikely that that would happen.
I went there on the last day of summer with a good f
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Literature
3-100 Deaths
He walked through the desert. Step by step, toward his death. Slowly insanity crept towards him. Laughter was a habit. Crazy, uncontrollable laughter. He looked to his right, and saw death walking besides him, holding his hand the whole way. He grasped his flask, yet nothing was in it. He looked around, to find himself viewing always the same, sandy color, land and sky. Sand ruled his world, created the boundaries that he was confined to. Yet he imagined himself a crusader, a hero; rather than to be taken prisoner, he would die nobly. He would kill himself rather than to stay in this sandy prison. He pulled the knife out of its sheath on his waist. The knife penetrated the skin protecting his heart, and as he lay on the sand, the blood trickling into the terrain, he would not only die, but cease to exist. For those who die in the desert are never found.
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Literature
2-100 Deaths 'The Little Red Dot'
The red dot ran across the room. The cat jumped on the wall to get it as it jumped around the room. The cat lay down, restless, still looking intently at the little red dot. As his owner bent down to pat his head, the cat looked at the little red dot, that crept up the side of his owner's head. As the silent shot rang out, the cat pounced on his owner, as he fell to the ground, the cat still in pursuit of the little red dot.
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Literature
1-100 Deaths
She held her fathers hand as her little shoes lit up.
He brought her with him as they crossed the street.
The blinding light closed in on them,
And all that was left was a little shoe, still colorfully litten.
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Literature
Fuck You
"You two only lasted a month," she said.
"I knew it wouldn't last. It lasted a lot longer than I expected," I replied.
"How so?!"
"I knew it wouldn't last long. I knew it wouldn't last the first time I looked into her eyes. When I saw her the other day. The way she walked. Knowing I was there for her to fall back on. I knew it when we talked late at night and I had to comfort her. When I held her hand. When I looked into her eyes and she smiled. I knew it wouldn't last. I knew it wouldn't last when I told her I loved her and she said the same."
"Oh... ok," She said apathetically.
"Fuck you."
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Literature
Untitled
I don't know why I do things.
Maybe because I trust
people enough
to keep their mouths
SHUT.
But they don't. They never do.
And I get the blame.
People tell others
the wrong things
and I'm misunderstood.
I'm antagonized.
Turned into the bad guy.
So that a joke
makes me lose
a magnificent girl.
True, I shouldn't say certain things.
But, if someone really loved me,
They would accept my mistakes.
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Literature
Untitled
     He looked up at his wall, scribbled with notes. He turned around, and lay again on his bed. He tossed and turned, until finally he was able to read everything above his bed from the position he lay in.
     Everything was written over everything else, until the only thing that could be read was, "Do I want to die?"
He turned back and lay again in his bed. Fully dressed, he rolled on over to his right side and put his hands under his head, instead of a pillow. He faced the wall.
     Crayon in hand, he made two columns.
     PROS.
     CONS.
     He turned over onto his other side, leaving the crayon behind him. He sat up, startled by the sound he had heard.
     The door flew open, yet there was no visitor. Death had come, and would assess him.
     He turned round, and grabbed the cr
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Literature
Gloves
He walked towards the house. Cigar in one hand, briefcase in another, he strode. It was 3 in the morning, and there was no one around. The house was only surrounded by lawn; perfectly trimmed grass, for miles around. A road passed about 50 yards from the house, yet a car hadn't traveled across it for days. He approached the house, slowly, feeling the grass. He stopped in front of the stairs that brought to the front door. The house was rather small, 2 stories high. It had stairs leading up to it, yet only so people would know where the door was when the grass grew too high. He looked through the window. He saw his reflection. A middle aged man. Blue eyes, dark hair. His hair glistened in the moonlight. He looked down at the bed in the room at the small boy that lay in his bed. Snug with his teddy bear, he felt his heart warm. For a second.
He lit a match. He moved it towards his cigar. One puff. He shook it, to put out the fire. And threw it to the ground.
He opened his briefcase. He t
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Literature
A Poem
What should a poem do?
Does it please its audience?
Or mock it?
Does it fool the reader
into false emotion?
Or make the audience realize
its true emotions?
Does it wish to depict
a sad and lonely man
sitting in the rain?
Or the flower
still attached to its stem
swaying in the wind?
Does it tell
epic adventures
across high seas
and many dangers?
I dare say it does all this
and more.
I am only the creator of these stories.
God created us all in his form.
Yet I doubt he wanted us to turn out this way.
I am the creator.
And this is my poem.
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Literature
Perfection
We all strive for perfection. Humanity has always strived to perfection as long as it could. And it keeps trying. Everyone wants to be perfect. Yet as the old cliche goes, nobody's perfect. And people can't cope with that. They try and try to be perfect, yet they can never reach that which is always so far from their reach. They dream of being prefect and perfecting themselves, yet they can never achieve what is godly and unearthly. To be human is to not be perfect. And we cannot accept this fact. The closest we can get to being perfect is to accept our misfortunes and our flaws. To accept our follies and our strife. And then we come to see the world more clearly. We know how bad the world is. We know how much suffering certain people have to go through and how much trouble people have to go through just to keep healthy. We pray for these people, yet we pity ourselves because of our small imperfections. After we accept our faults, we have to be as we were. It is hard to accept our faul
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Literature
She's
She's my sister.
My mom.
My aunt.
My friend.
My nurse.
And doctor.
My patient.
My jockey
and my horse.
My life
and death.
Torture
and
Bliss.
My chains
and my key.
She's my home.
She's my cook.
My slave
and master.
Controller of my destiny.
She is
Mine.
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Literature
I Don't Know
The phrase that a teenager says the most is "I don't know". Because sometimes we don't want to know. We don't want to have to make a decision and stick with it. We want to go back to when it was ok to to say something stupid. We're indecisive. We want to know, but we don't want to be tied down to our decision. I wanted to run away one day. As I left my house, all the consequences popped into my mind. And I just sat down in my tracks. That's why we need parents too make our decisions for us. Not small ones, but big ones. We don't want to have to make up our minds because we will always be curious about how the other option would have planned out. If we have our paths chosen for us, we don't have that pained feeling of stupidity. That we chose the wrong thing. That we didn't do what was best. So that's why we try every possible thing out. So we know that that choice is not one we want to make. We procrastinate because we don't want things to happen. We don't want to have to do homework,
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Love
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And make you feel like a fool.
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Hi there

Journal Entry: Sat Jan 12, 2013, 3:20 PM
Hey there again i guess.

deviantID

Slashman24
Slashman
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Be not the slave of your own past. Plunge into the sublime seas, dive deep and swim far, so you shall come back with self-respect, with new power, with an advanced experience that shall explain and overlook the old.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Favourite genre of music: ^
Operating System: mac...?
MP3 player of choice: IPOD
Skin of choice: NOT PURPLE :D
Personal Quote: Only you can make your enemies.
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:iconpyrokiss1223:
pyrokiss1223 Featured By Owner Jul 24, 2012  Student Artist
happy birthday :3
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:iconslashman24:
Slashman24 Featured By Owner Feb 6, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
1,000 pageviews!!!!!!!!!! :D :D :D :D
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:iconpeterpan81:
PeterPan81 Featured By Owner Jan 27, 2012  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Hey man, thanks a lot for the watch :)
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:iconslashman24:
Slashman24 Featured By Owner Jan 27, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
ur welcome :)
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:iconsevasuno:
sevasuno Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2012
Thanks for the watch! Much appreciated.
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:iconslashman24:
Slashman24 Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
no problem! your artwork is amazing :D
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:iconcaptureaye:
CaptureAYE Featured By Owner Jan 23, 2012
:juggle: :love:
Thank you for the :+devwatch:
:tighthug::huggle:


JOIN THE DREAM

:icona-dreamy-world:
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:iconslashman24:
Slashman24 Featured By Owner Jan 24, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
ur welcome!!! :D
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:iconestallidos:
estallidos Featured By Owner Jan 23, 2012   Writer
thank you for the watch!
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:iconslashman24:
Slashman24 Featured By Owner Jan 24, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
ur welcome :)
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