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Changing GearsMy morning oats taste particularly bland this morning. I look outside the clouded windows and see the city across every inch of my vision. Buildings of all shapes and sizes are formed from copper, brass, and iron. At all times of the day, the city's Gears are churning.
The Gears are the machines that run the city, the country, possibly even the entire world. Metals are formed together to form them, robotic men designed to replace our government. Their voices boom over the industrial noises of the factories and drown seem to drown out all individual conversations. We're free, I suppose, but they all say that there was once a time when freedom was all we had.
Across the street, I see Thayoden. He's a boy who works in the aircraft factory, constructing engines and attaching steering wheels and dials to bi-planes. I met him in Industry class when we were both eleven years old. Ever since then, we've grown apart, but I still see him and think of how much I miss being with him. But we're dif
Inhuman Resources: Chapter 1Cloud Computing
"Yeah, Dobe," I replied. "Start it up."
The portable generator chugged hollowly for a moment before finally rumbling into life, a brief green flicker from the computer bank announcing its success. A curl of exhaust issued forth, and to my nose seemed to fill the whole office block with its petroleum stench. Even this, however, was nothing compared to the sensation that accompanied it; subtle, but far more potent.
The computer had not been switched on for some time, and a number of scheduled tasks had accumulated. In my mind's eye, I perceived them, though the screen lay cracked and broken on the floor: toppled, no doubt, during the evacuation all those years ago. Nevertheless, though mute, though silent, the computer spoke, and I listened. Almost imperceptible beneath the heady drone of data streaming through the air, I could feel a faint whirr from within my ribcage and a dull warmth from the cable running up through my neck. The machine had begun its work
Argus ApocraphexOf the many tiny beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead, two fell down, further soaking his already dampened brow. Suspended, he floated upside-down in a padded room, dreaming without consciousness of his body or its position in space.
His mind reeled from slide to slideimages of adolescence pooling together and then streaming into an old time film: The Life and Times of Donald A. Silver. The yellowed silent movie showed a young man smiling and leaning against an old Chevrolet sedan. Cigarettes burnt the corner, and he was dancing with the woman he'd asked to marry him. But in the center of the shot, a blur grew from the inside of the lilies on her wrist. A quick rewind to remove the obstruction, but instead it continued to grow across the bare chest of a flexing boy at the public pool. And finally, it consumed the picture and gnawed it to the pit, leaving behind a carcass to rot in its old age.
The man awo
Battlegrounds 3 PrologueDey say etll send da toughest boy mad Dey say ets cursed, dat no one oo goes derell come back da same. Dey say dem greyskins dont need ta patrol et, coz dey knows its da one line us Orks aint crossin fer no wun. Its da Grey Line. Stay da zog away from et if yer like bein da way ya iz.
-Nazgro Ghurk, Ork Ardboy.
Ork warcamp, half a mile North of the Grey Line.
Burning space debris breached the thick layer of toxic clouds, scattering across the sky like fireworks. It was a far too common sight for the Orks; what was left of the once great Greenskin warships would smash down into the dusty, forsaken wastelands as little more than molten chunks of rock and metal on a daily basis. The toll in space was a heavy one.
Most of the Orks had learned that anything which landed below the Grey Line should stay there salvage crews sent into and beyond the Grey Line had disappeared on previous exp
the brightest flamesthey say the brightest love
will leave the deepest scars,
they say the brightest flames
will wound you through the heart.
darling, I was burned once-
a very long time ago, it seems;
but now the brilliant, flashing flames
only kiss me in my dreams.
the brightest love will wound you-
the scars that time isn't brave enough to heal;
it will hurt you and consume you-
but it will teach you how to feel.
the brightest flames will break you-
leave you in embers that are too brave to die;
they will make you and forsake you-
but they will show you how to be alive.
darling, I am burned no more-
the fire that fed my words grew cold;
the only aches still beautiful
are the ones that left soot on my soul.
they say the brightest things
aren't always gold,
but always glittering, they are,
they say the brightest things
last for a moment,
so leave the endless burning to the stars.
Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More