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SerenityGrant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. I internally mantra. When I'm finished reciting it to myself several times to gear up for the day and night ahead, I open my eyes and take in my surroundings. What a wasteland everything has become. Where there used to be lush greens and other vibrant hues are miles of muddy browns and deep sienna's that just end up blending in and making your eyes cross. The sun is high, which means I've slept too long. Not a good way to start the day out. Squatting down, I pick up a piece of scrap metal and tap it against my leg absent-mindedly as I wander down the desolate street. There is an abandoned Ford with the driver side door carelessly left open and the keys still jammed in the ignition that I scale to get a better scan of the canvas around me. My ears are already straining to pick up any sound to alert me of another presence. Complete silence. It's the moSerenity by MsStarryDuck
Right, Wrong and Good EnoughHayley was seeing three men. To the rest of the world they were known as Sean, Derrek and Mikey. She referred to them as Mr. Right, Mr. Wrong and Mr. Good Enough For Right Now in her mind. In the beginning she hadn't intended on ending up in this mess. Like most things in her life, it just sort of happened before she was aware of it. The sad thing was that each man served a purpose and she was reluctant to turn any of them loose.Right, Wrong and Good Enough by MsStarryDuck
Mr. Right was the type of guy that got all of the girls in high school. He was rich, popular and clean cut. The morals he walked around with were impeccable and out of the three he had been the only one Hayley had brought home to meet her mother. Of course her mother thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread and fawned all over him. When she called the first thing out of her mouth was always "How are things going with Sean?" The only thing really wrong with Mr. Right was that inevitably she'd get bored. There was nothing exciting about him. He was j
Can't Go Home Again My name is Jacob Mullins. I just turned 24 last week and got a phone call from my father telling me to come home. Now, as I get out of my car and head up the walkway, I'm not too jazzed to be walking back into the house that reminds me of my childhood. It took me a year and a half to move into an apartment and get a decent job and now I have to take a leave of absence to take care of the old codger before he croaks. If I lose my job over this there better be something phenomenal in that will of his to make up for it.Can't Go Home Again by MsStarryDuck
As soon as I open the door the smell of dust and sickness reaches my nostrils and my lip curls. I make my way down the hallway and into the old man's bedroom and don't bother to knock before I step in. He's hooked up to a oxygen tank and his eyes look glazed over as he fixes them on me. I lean against the dresser and fold my arms across my chest.
"So I'm here."
"And insolent as ever, I see." His voice is raspy and there's a t
St. Elmo's Fire Steven had met an angel at the bar last week. She had it all, silken voice, bombshell looks, and curves in all the right places. When he'd walked up to her and offered to buy her a drink, he'd expected to get shot down. She'd surprised him by accepting it and spending the rest of the night with him by her side. Her name was Shelia and she was a talent scout. When the bartender gruffly announced last call they were both beyond drunk and leaning against each other. Grabbing the nearest cocktail napkin, he'd written his number down and handed it to her.St. Elmo's Fire by MsStarryDuck
"I've had a real good time with you. If you ever wanna go out, give me a call." he slurred with a smirk.
"I'll be sure to do that." she purred as she slid the napkin in her purse.
When she'd called last night and asked him if he'd go out with her, of course he was all for it. He had found it odd that she'd asked him if he owned a suit and asked him to wear it for their date. Usually women wan
Shadows There's nothing quite as terrifying as going from being in a deep sleep to opening your eyes a crack and seeing a six foot shadowy form hovering over you. Your heart about beats out of your chest, you gasp and bolt up in surprise. By the time your eyes are completely open it's gone and now you're awake again, your heart still pounding. It makes you wonder if there really are monsters in the dark. It doesn't matter how hard you try to go back to sleep after that, all you can focus on is seeing that image again, even though you keep telling yourself it was just your mind playing tricks on you.Shadows by MsStarryDuck
What do you do when you start seeing them during the day as well? Pitch black shadowy masses skirting away in your peripheral vision. Once again you tell yourself it's all in your head. It's only sleep deprivation causing it and your eyes playing tricks on you. But is it? What if there's another dimension we're not fully tapped into that we can onl
Over a Wasp, Down a MountainDuring the years before I stuffed a Ford Taurus full of my earthly belongings and pointed it toward Texas A&M, my family had an annual ritual involving a dying piece of technology. Every year, never at the same time, either Mom or Dad would find some kind of reason to go shuffling through the Buffet, an ancient piece of furniture with which I grew up, guarded for decades by an ugly ceramic frog that Dad won in some contest or another.Over a Wasp, Down a Mountain by Memnalar
The Buffet was festooned with drawers, one of which was solely devoted to stacks of tiny boxes of Kodak slides. What are slides, you ask? You see, kids, before we could take pictures with our telephones, our cameras burned images onto thin strips of delicate and temperamental material called film. When we had filled up the film with photos, we would take it to some disgruntled teenager in a tiny booth in the middle of a parking lot somewhere, and about a week later we go back and collect the results, either in Prints or in Slides. Prints wer
|These are stories written by the members of this group using the prompts I've provided. This is where the "good writing" is at deviantART. Trust me on that.|
|These are my own stories from the prompts I've provided. I'd be a sorry-ass administrator if I didn't write the prompts with you guys, wouldn't I? Hell yes, I would.|
|It is Chris Cornell's mouth from a bootleg cd of a Soundgarden concert from 1993 (or 1989 or 1991, there's no telling with those things). The picture was stolen long before the internet existed so I think we can allow it to be grandfathered in as the group icon without too much static.|
Scream is the name of his most recent solo album, one co-produced with Timbaland. Old school Soundgarden fans still living in 1992 wrapped in their old flannel HATED this album because it wasn't like his old stuff. He took a chance and went in a new direction. That is what inspired the name of this group -- trying something totally new or something that might go against what you've been doing for years CAN be a good thing with good results. Seeing as the album is absolutely fantastic, I felt it was only right to see if that concept would apply here as well.