IslandThe sun beat down, a great sleepless eye, hot and bloodshot and glaring. Far below, an old man sat, shaded by a lonely tree on a lonely island. The old man was not glaring at anything. He was planted, resigned, as the wind pushed by his papery skin on its relentless and unending quest to find someplace better to be. The old man didn't have any place better to be, or at least he didn't think he did. He sat and listened to the seeking breeze, and the hungry ocean that was lapping up the sand of the island, and he listened to the goat.Island by MoggieKitten
The goat wasn't listening to anything, or didn't seem to. The man could hear it eating the grass, hear strings and tiny molecular mechanisms snapping and shattering as the goat wrenched the plants from their home by the roots. The goat was eating the grass with a sort of single minded determination, as though the grass had done something to offend it or as though there was an infinite amount of grass available to eat, which was, in fact, not the case.
This is a very rough draft.So. Here I sit, on a transit shuttle, making a valiant effort to read a newspaper and failing utterly. Directly across from where I'm sitting is another peace emissary, a slim young human woman . Her face is familiar, but can't call her name to mind. Sonja? Sarah? Doesn't matter, I guess. She's too absorbed in the tiny holographic display emanating from her palm to be any conversation. No surprise, there. Newest model, it looks like. They're certainly cool, but only if you really like having bits of hologram generating machinery embedded in your hand.This is a very rough draft. by MoggieKitten
Glancing to my left I can see a small creature, sentient class C, from the look of it, perching on a nearby seat. Perching is the best word for what it's doing, I guess. It seems to have three sets of appendages, and none of them are long enough to reach the ground from its seat. I can't recognize what particular race it is, and I'm mentally kicking myself for this, since I know full well sometimes it's the simple gaps in know
gossamer, and yousome peoplegossamer, and you by escap-ing
(the lucky ones)
get songs stuck in their heads.
i, on the other hand,
am left with words
that beat incessantly against
the confines of my brain.
last week, it was "gossamer."
i thought it was whimsical;
that was pleasant.
i saw the word
every which way i turned:
a gossamer veil of sunlight,
a silk shirt like gossamer,
a spider hanging by a thread of it.
i hate the word now,
with all its whimsy washed away;
the hard g is too harsh and garish
against the roof of my mouth,
the double s too serpentine.
it feels numbingly stiff on my tongue,
like some sort of linguistic anomaly,
a could-be word that really shouldn't be.
today, it was your name.
(i never thought
proper nouns counted, but
evidently, they do.)
i didn't see you as much as i heard you,
in the whistling of the breeze
or the creaking of the hardwood floors.
your imposing yet warm presence
near the nape of my neck.
i admit that somewhere
in the recesses of my mind,
|I mainly joined deviantART to enjoy looking at other people's amazing art, but I'll probably get around to posting my own art and hopefully improving! ^_^ (As a side note, my avatar is one freely available for offsite use from the website recreatu.com, which shouldn't count as art theft somehow, if I understand copyright correctly. If it is, feel free to tell me so)|