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January 14, 2013
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This week we celebrate Prose.

Please enjoy beautiful prose from our members!

Lost PrincessShe never wanted to be royal. That was the most striking quality about her. She was always willing to put away her tiara and be normal. That is, in fact, all she wanted. She would never let her servants call her 'Your Highness' or bow to her. She was humble and kind but always knew what she wanted and how to get it.
When I saw her on the street amongst the mud and trash. I thought, 'She looks out of place it's almost as if she wore her gown out of the palace'. She stopped and leaned against an abandoned bread cart. I felt awkward to bear witness to such a private moment in which she realized what kind of life her people lead. I closed my eyes to be swept into a day dream.
I saw her walking through the street in a pure white ball gown. Her hair black as night in contrast. The dirt swirled around her feet with each step staining her hem terracotta. Her eyes held a look of devastation that was deeply rooted in her soul. It was the dead of night and the street was deserted. She collapsed o



my beloved IHe told me he loved me.
With tender hands he'd rake his fingers through my hair in the afternoon, when nothing but passing lights from the street flickered across the walls, shadows dancing lightly onto his strained face. With warm lips he'd whisper honey flavoured asphyxiating words whose meaning I could never fully grasp, nipping slowly, dangerously high up my shoulders, playing cold fingertips onto my feverish skin. He'd close his eyes and kiss the base of my neck hungrily, growling huskily at my stubbornness and foolishness.  
I was sitting upright every time, blinking lazily through the fog in my head and trying to remember the name, anything.
His cigarettes were long and kept in a silver cigarette case with his initials beautifully engraved into the metal. He used to cup one of my cheeks while holding a cigarette holder and blowing the smoke high into the thin air, framing my face with doggerel, menthol flavoured circles from time to time.
"Sir, please, l



Game NightIris showed up at exactly the wrong time, as usual.
There was a rather large amount of screaming as a forrest worth of nymphs stampeded out of the room in surprise, leaving Zeus scrabbling to obscure himself from the giggling eyes of the rainbow goddess.
"What?" he snapped, humiliation lending his tone a tempestuous edge.
Iris, in an uncharacteristic display of self-control managed to scale back the giggling and say "It's Wednesday. You know what that means."
Zeus groaned with that peculiar whine native to all those facing down the business end of an evening in with the Spanish Inquisition's most eager new employee, and said "Must I?"
"She insists" said Iris, turning on her heel and exploding out of the hotel room in a burst of colors that would've made a bird of paradise cry.
Snapping his fingers and materializing a fresh suit of clothes from essentially nowhere in impertinent disregard of physics or logic, he groaned and resigned himself to his fate. Why? Why did it have to be tonigh



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She's The Girl 2.0i.
She was the girl who ran in circles because geometry had taken hold of her mind ever since she had missed the parallel lines in the middle of the road and crashed into an oncoming car. It's been 3 years since the accident and you can still see the scars on her side from where they had to remove the splintered fragments of her ribs and a piece of her ruptured spleen. They say she's lucky to be alive but she'll just tell you she's lucky to have passed geometry.
ii.
She was the girl who would listen to the same song on repeat for hours because she didn't like change and found comfort in the fact that she knew what was coming next. One day her iPod died and she felt more lost than ever, even more than the time she wandered through her neighborhood in the dark for hours. It got to the point where she sat huddled on a street corner until light broke the horizon and some old man walking his dog startled her as he raced by. The only thing she remembers is his wry smile and slight flick of h


Air of Trust        A second day of faithful peace brings warm thoughts, and as they remind me of much more than what I know, I discover an air long lost in absence. Its cold, quiet, and all too soothing for it to go unnoticed. I breath it and so I trust it. Here it is now comforting my time and memory... holding me... reasuring me of a promise done long before my time. It's breeze whispers all too silently for ears to hear what so calmly speaks. It whispers again... with a tone so pure within grace that it reaches the essence of my inborn nature... and so from the depths of my next breath, I began to feel my fall... I fell not to the ground, but into an invisible presence... below and all around me it swirled in harmony to a rhytmn deep in silence... Air a medium so fine in thread which now weaved itself into me... Endlessly flowing seemingly silent and always at ease. this breeze of serene grace brought me to the edge of known space where the very silence

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Contemplation   (I am chaos)
Introspection is painful, and the pain piercing-
knowing yourself, your inner workings
discovering the piece of you that
frightens
your
soul.
   (I am deciding)
Judgments are harsh when a heart feels this way-
desiring nothing but complete and utter destruction of the thing
disturbing the inner workings
of rationale
of logic
of sanity.
     (I am worn)
It means so much and it means so little, warring with the self,
deciding for tomorrow-
the dance
the dream
the lies
the truth.
    (I am terrified of the whispers in my mind.)


AsylumEvery day is the same here at St. James'.
For those on the outside the sun rises, the sun dies.
But for those within these stone walls the sun no longer exists.
It is barely a memory.
Our spirits fade within this place made to help us, and by the time we're released…
…we are only shells. Useless.
-----------------------------------------------
Whitewashed stone walls line the way, blank, and empty, and white. People file past me at random, two by two. Always two. One always in a pale blue, the other always in white. Always.
This place seems to carry no smell other than the ones given off by the sanitary gels. Only those who have been here long can find the faint traces beneath it.
In this place I doubt that I still exist, the only real color is the red of my companion's lipstick. Bright and dark… Like blood…  
This place is so white it makes me pale at the thought of it.
Even the patients, in their white uniforms (for clothes carry expression and these hav


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:iconquintessahalo:
Quintessahalo Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2013  Student Writer
OMG a Feature!!!! Thank you so much ^^ you just made my day!
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:iconthedarkenedbride:
TheDarkenedBride Featured By Owner Jan 19, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
:clap: :clap: :clap:
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:iconkagamin3len:
kagamin3Len Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
oh, wow! Thank you!!!
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:iconalidamnit:
alidamnit Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
whoa.. that you for featuring me! and my least popular piece too :-) wonderful!
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:iconriseandbe:
RiseandBe Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for featuring my piece "The Day I Discovered I Was Broken" :heart: I rarely write prose, so it's nice to see that side of my writing getting some recognition as well. :nod:
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