My heart flutters like butterfly wings though a choppy breeze, as your green eyes hold mine.
It’s too strong. Too raw.
You see everything. I feel everything.
My only defense, I look away.
But your firm hand is on my chin.
Raising me up.
It is ok. Your murmur a heated puff on the cold night air.
The butterfly lands.
The moment holds.
Shaking, I try to retreat. Away from this. Away from you.
But you are there. Strong arms. Wide Chest. Towering Height.
Wrapping around me.
It’s ok. Hot breath caresses my ear.
I’m sorry. My head snuggles into your woolen jumper.
I drown happily in the man and spice you are.
The butterfly ta
Everything seems dreamy and impossible,
Yet at the eye of the hurricane I find you.
I want to believe it so much. So. Freaking. Much.
But I just can’t. It’s too risky.
The heart is a strong muscle. But this? It might just break.
To be offered so much.
Love.
Oneness.
Completion.
And have it whipped away from me. To have it not exist.
The pain would be unbearable.
I know your name. I know your face. I know the feel of your hand as it brushes against my cheek.
But that’s just dreams.
That’s just imagination.
Isn’t it?
Yet at the eye of the hurricane, here I am, calling your name.
James.
I’m here. For you.
Ju
I am... I don’t know.
Ok, ok. Maybe I’m something. I guess I haven’t made up my mind yet.
And it doesn’t help that I have all these others around me, telling me what they are.
Become me! Become me! Become me! They all squawk. They all bellow. They all bark.
But I want to be me.
I just don’t know what me is? Is that so bad?
Why must identity be the corner stone of living?
I am alive, I am breathing, I am here. I know that much.
Can I not just be grateful for those things?
Why must I add more?
I am beautiful. I am intelligent.
I am ugly. I am dumb.
No. I am not those things.
And neither are the others.
It happened slowly. Like a snail sliding up the green stem of a lavender bush. Finite increments. Finite changes.
They lived in the red zone. We could always hear them. We could always see them. We could always smell them. The Deathly Ones. Ignorant to us.
An ignorance that marked us for death. Yet they were dependent on us. For so much. We always questioned the logic behind their purpose.
That is why we sectioned them off. Red, a beautiful colour. A vibrant call. But in the red zone any colour meant death. Death for the singular. Death for the whole.
For decades we never strayed. Our scouts avoiding the boundary between our two worlds.
My heart flutters like butterfly wings though a choppy breeze, as your green eyes hold mine.
It’s too strong. Too raw.
You see everything. I feel everything.
My only defense, I look away.
But your firm hand is on my chin.
Raising me up.
It is ok. Your murmur a heated puff on the cold night air.
The butterfly lands.
The moment holds.
Shaking, I try to retreat. Away from this. Away from you.
But you are there. Strong arms. Wide Chest. Towering Height.
Wrapping around me.
It’s ok. Hot breath caresses my ear.
I’m sorry. My head snuggles into your woolen jumper.
I drown happily in the man and spice you are.
The butterfly ta
Everything seems dreamy and impossible,
Yet at the eye of the hurricane I find you.
I want to believe it so much. So. Freaking. Much.
But I just can’t. It’s too risky.
The heart is a strong muscle. But this? It might just break.
To be offered so much.
Love.
Oneness.
Completion.
And have it whipped away from me. To have it not exist.
The pain would be unbearable.
I know your name. I know your face. I know the feel of your hand as it brushes against my cheek.
But that’s just dreams.
That’s just imagination.
Isn’t it?
Yet at the eye of the hurricane, here I am, calling your name.
James.
I’m here. For you.
Ju
I am... I don’t know.
Ok, ok. Maybe I’m something. I guess I haven’t made up my mind yet.
And it doesn’t help that I have all these others around me, telling me what they are.
Become me! Become me! Become me! They all squawk. They all bellow. They all bark.
But I want to be me.
I just don’t know what me is? Is that so bad?
Why must identity be the corner stone of living?
I am alive, I am breathing, I am here. I know that much.
Can I not just be grateful for those things?
Why must I add more?
I am beautiful. I am intelligent.
I am ugly. I am dumb.
No. I am not those things.
And neither are the others.
It happened slowly. Like a snail sliding up the green stem of a lavender bush. Finite increments. Finite changes.
They lived in the red zone. We could always hear them. We could always see them. We could always smell them. The Deathly Ones. Ignorant to us.
An ignorance that marked us for death. Yet they were dependent on us. For so much. We always questioned the logic behind their purpose.
That is why we sectioned them off. Red, a beautiful colour. A vibrant call. But in the red zone any colour meant death. Death for the singular. Death for the whole.
For decades we never strayed. Our scouts avoiding the boundary between our two worlds.
A Tribute to Hans Ruedi Giger by techgnotic, journal
A Tribute to Hans Ruedi Giger
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by techgnotic (https://www.deviantart.com/techgnotic)
He was an artist you might not know.
But you’ve met his children…
It’s rare that a “new” iconic monster is born and becomes forever identifiable,—— no matter the variations, by generation after generation. So it was when George Romero created the ultimate “zombie” in his Night of the Living Dead in 1968. Zombie Apocalypse fans today may have never heard of George or seen the original “Night,” but the zombies they so love in fare like The Walking Dead owe their existence to Romero’s original vision.
In 1979, screenwriter Dan O’Ban
I've been writing since I can remember. It's a part of my soul. A part of who I am. I have so many worlds and characters in my head waiting to come out and tell you their stories.
I write flash fiction on www.narehs.com, I love putting visual art to the stories. I always ask for permission and always credit the artist. If you would like to commission me to write a story to a specific picture let me know. I also write stories based off music and historical events.
Only some of the stories I've written are posted here. You can read more at my website below.
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