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Deviant for 12 Years
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Guardian Angel
The ink splotched as she wrote on a fresh sheet in her notebook. Perhaps she was pressing a bit too hard. Lyrial ripped out the page and stuffed it in her pocket. She stared at the new page and began to start the same letter again. But what was there to say? There was nothing in particular she wanted to write. And would anyone care enough to read it? She doubted it.
Lyrial heard the soft clacking on the hardwood floor as footsteps approached her in the corner of the library. She quickly stuffed her letter under her textbook.
"The library is closing in 10 minutes, Ms. Anderson. I suggest you leave," the librarian hissed through gritted teeth.
Lyrial watched her retreating back. She was not surprised by her attitude. After all, she was a grumpy old woman who ceased to see much of the world outside this building. Although it might have also had to do with the fact that Lyrial constantly stuck her gum underneath the table, but she chose to ignore that.
She stuck a fresh piece of gum in her
:iconria-devrai:Ria-DeVrai 117 87
A Day Less Ordinary
It was a day just like any other day, insofar as it was not actually any other day than that one, but was probably closely related to most of the others. On this day quite like many other days but not actually another day, James Francis walked down the street with his friend Sally.
The day to him seemed to be like most others. The sky was blue, as it usually was, the grass as always looked green and he found that he could breathe the air and live. As he walked he was going to remark to Sally how nice this day quite like any other day actually was when, to the ordinary day's surprise, something changed.
James fell unconscious to the floor. This could have been an ordinary happening, if not a regular one. However, the circumstances of it were not ordinary. A bowl of petunias had miraculously popped into existence some 40 feet above where they landed on James's head. No one but the Petunias noticed the sudden appearance until five seconds later as they crashed into James's head, with what
:iconsinopsis:sinopsis 160 155
an isosceles love triangle
If two angles of one triangle are similar to two angles of another triangle, then the triangles are similar.
Recalling the memory of His geometry makes me sick with longing. That's the real reason I don't call Him every night, don't spend hours stuttering out words onto paper in some tremulous imitation of a love letter. The space I have behind conversation and human interaction is where He really lives, ready for me any time I need to remember. I don't even have to close my eyes before His own stare back at mine, revealing the storm clouds and stars that hover around His midnight-black pupils. The angles of His eyebrows, the slope of His nose, the arches of His eyelashes, the degrees of His gait, the radius of His smile when He sees me, the surface area of His strong embrace; sometimes the formulas back me into a corner where I try to understand, try to meticulously calculate every possible equation. I never solve for the answer before I snap out of my stupor, realizing His abs
:iconfriedpickles:FriedPickles 174 92
The Littlest President
The Littlest President
At the age of eleven I was elected the 50th president of the United States of America. My analysts put my win down to youth (I was the youngest ever to run) and to the unfortunate late-October acne breakout of my incumbent rival, an eighth grader from Massachusetts.  I have a stronger faith in the New Rules than do my analysts, who are always looking at polls and running them through sacred formula.  I ascribe my presidency to the good sense of America, my hard work at Security School, and the stunning leadership of my handlers.
Once my presidency was officially announced, my face was given another coat of foundation and I was ushered up to a podium in front of a large crowd of my supporters.  There was a crashing sea of applause.  Most of my supporters were dumpy women in their thirties – just barely old enough to remember a time before we had the New Rules – these were my core demographic, although my handlers dutifully i
:iconfestivemanb:festivemanb 179 112
God Is Dead
God's robes flapped around him as he looked over the edge and onto the street below.
"Don't do it! Don't do it!" cried the security guard behind him.
God said nothing, climbing onto the raised edge of the building. Five storeys below, people were beginning to take notice.
"Jesus Christ! Look!
"Oh my god!"
"Where's my camera?"
He turned and faced the security guard, who stopped walking and gazed upon the face of God. He'd been crying.
"But... why? You've got so much to live for..."
God gave a wan smile. "So have all of you."
He spread his arms wide, closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh, falling back and off the building.
*     *     *
A crowd was gathering around the black, sticky mess that remained of What-Once-Was Our Lord.
"Is he dead?"
"Who is it?"
"Where's my camera?"
The bystander effect was operating at maximum efficiency, causing everyone to just stand there and looked at the mangled remains. Presently, however, a fine upstan
:icondeviantkupo:deviantkupo 1,193 977
A sunny day in the park.  There is a single bench CENTRE  stage.  GOD is sitting on the LEFT side of the bench.  He has long, white hair and a long, white beard, and is wearing a simple white robe.  He is reading a newspaper.  Enter PETER from the RIGHT.   He is wearing black pants, leather shoes, a white shirt and a garish, comical tie.  He is carrying a paper bag.  PETER sits on the bench next to GOD, setting his bag next to him.  He folds his hands and admires the weather.
PETER.  Beautiful weather today.
GOD [focusing on his newspaper]. Mm-hm.
PETER. [Extending his hand] The name's Peter.
GOD [shaking PETER's hand]. God.
[GOD returns his attention to his newspaper.]
PETER. Um… God?
GOD.  Yes?
PETER. Not to be rude, but… your name is God?
GOD. I am God.  Or at least I was God.
PETER. I… see.
GOD. You don't believe me.
PETER. Would you?
GOD. No.  But it doesn't matter whether or not you believe in me.
:iconbarnabus:barnabus 1,362 568



United States
You may call me corax.
I am a photographer, which is what the majority of my submissions will be under.

That's pretty much it for introductions, if you have any questions about me, comment on this journal and I'll answer here so that everyone who may think of the same question can find the answers under this journal. This will be like the "Corax FAQ".


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rpolson Featured By Owner Mar 19, 2007
Wow, you are crazy good!
Waiting for your next work!

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Totoism Featured By Owner Nov 30, 2005
hey Con ;) stop plotting... extending you my love and :peace: :hug: :worship:
Totoism Featured By Owner Nov 30, 2005
hey Con ;) stop plotting... extending you my love and :peace: :hug: :worship:
Smile-gurl Featured By Owner Sep 8, 2005
hey thats for watching me
ilovegravy Featured By Owner Aug 31, 2005  Professional Interface Designer
Thanks so much for the watch! :aww: :heart:
lagreca Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2005
thousand thanks for your fav!!!
edalod Featured By Owner Aug 29, 2005
Thanx for de watch :nod:
ImaginaryGoddess53 Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2005
Thanks for +watching me! *hugs*
shapeshifteronline Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2005   Photographer
Thanks for the watch ^^
2859 Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2005
:lol: you just watched people for the pageviews.... glorious.
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