WhiteWolfCub16

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Join the Waiting List for DeviantArt Eclipse

Nov 8, 2018

UPDATE: Eclipse is now released to all deviants! Click the "Eclipse" toggle on the top navigation to try Eclipse. Thanks to the efforts of AriBanks and her supporters, you’ve gotten a glimpse of DeviantArt Eclipse. So now you probably want in? We’re stoked that you want access to the new redesign and to experience DeviantArt in dark or light. To get DeviantArt Eclipse: Favourite this journal Comment below (and while you’re at it, feel free to tag a friend or two who may want to try it too!) We’ll add you to our growing list of deviants interested in stepping into the new phase with Eclipse. Keep in mind Eclipse will be steadily rolled out to deviants in batches over the coming weeks and months, so don’t fret if you haven’t received a notification just yet!

Journals

18 deviations

Helpful things

46 deviations

Literature

A Cup of Coffee (Full)

On the first day I know I saw him, I woke up early in the morning for work. I got out of my bed and folded the sheets at the edge. It is more important than most people realize to make your bed every day. Then, the first task of the day is done. The day is started with accomplishment from real work, even if it is only a small effort. It gives you the right mindset of organization and productivity. Next, I showered. I used the best soaps and shampoo I can get. Personal presentation is always important. Even if it seems no one notices, your cleanliness will affect how people treat you, and can be the first obstacle to success. I shaved with

Writing

45 deviations

A Cup of Coffee (Full) by AMBM-DA, literature

Literature

A Cup of Coffee (Full)

Road Trip by SgtPossum, literature

Literature

Road Trip

I put a bullet in her head, but she keeps coming back to my front door. That's my fault. But what isn't my fault, what I will never accept as my fault, are the things she leaves on the doorstep for me to find after she staggers back into the lake. They're photographs and diaries, addresses and phone numbers. It's always something horrible--the first photograph was of four men in hoods surrounding a little girl on a plinth in a large stone room. They had cut her vertically along the belly, and her face was distorted. Another time I decided to go to an address; it was in Pittsburgh, a long way from my home. All it was, was an abandoned projec

In The Closet by BunnyPir8, literature

Literature

In The Closet

My parents had always said I have an overactive imagination. I hope that my imagination is only acting up again. My parents would probably laugh at me right now, a twenty year-old still scared of what lurks in the closet? I heard the scratching noises coming from across the room where my closet is at. I covered my head under my pillows and tried to stay still. I was very afraid that something might be in my closet. I thought about how my parents would check the closet to prove that nothing sinister was in there. I would have normally just ignored the noises, but tonight it just would't stop. It quieted down for a moment, until I heard the qui

catching sand by sylveda, literature

Literature

catching sand

He had a habit of catching things. Usually, good things. A basketball, or a cat falling from a tree, or his baby sister, one memorable time, as she fell out of her crib. It was instinct to him, second nature. He didn't need to think about it—his hands acted independently from the rest of him, completely on their own accord, risk and volition. His hands, to him, were unbearably selfish. They thought very little of consequence. Didn’t they care about the potential pain? Did it matter to them that what they caught might. . . hurt? He was still rather young the first time he caught a knife that had fallen off the kitchen counter.

macrocosmic by scheherazades, literature

Literature

macrocosmic

i. i have a theory that the size of the universe is measured in negative numbers: so small that it looped over became big again thus we are all collapsing into ourselves and each other brilliant clusters entwined with the void and our expanses are startled and crossed when we touch and the universe isn't enough every nebula or space where a star was re- placed with something that wasn't nothing or a nothing becoming something ii. lately the hole in my chest is growing, so i will observe the vacuum and wait for infinity recurring a bleak space imploding chemicals corroding stark ribs contracting volatile, reacting is this a refr

''Punchlines'' -- Chapter 1 by Abbi-Normal, literature

Literature

''Punchlines'' -- Chapter 1

"I'm here to take you to The Other Side," the chicken said, cocking its head toward the thin strip of road. The man looked around himself, then blankly ahead at the road for a moment. It looked newly paved, and mirages shimmered in the desert heat just above the hot blacktop of the highway, which disappeared out of sight in both directions. To either side of it, the parched clay ground baked in the sun like a kiln. There was nothing all around, but this terracotta desert that peeled and cracked like a bad sunburn, and the road. And the chicken. "Is this a joke?" the man said. "No," said the chicken, "This

Moments by MusicAddict26, literature

Literature

Moments

Remember that time we sat on the bench together, waiting for the bus? You were quiet, like you always were, and I thought nothing of it. But then you turned to me, an unreadable look in your eyes, and you asked me what I liked most about life. I just stared at you, unsure how to answer. You seemed to take my silence as something bad. “Never mind,” You mumbled. “It was a stupid question.” “No, no.” I hurried to assure you. “I was just thinking. What I like best about life would probably be all the little moments that happen that end up meaning so much and all the people you meet along the way.”

nervosa. by coffeegrounds, literature

Literature

nervosa.

i. i was six years old the night my mother crept into my room, spread a second quilt on top of me, and began to quietly brush the hair of my barbies. she laid down on the cold wooden floor, one ear down - as if she could hear the small specks of dust moving across the downstairs hardwood. "we're moving to waterford," she said, staring fondly at my lovingly-kept pocahontas doll. i hadn't seen her swipe it, and she played with the silky ends of the doll's purple-sewn hair in silence. "i don't want to go," i told her, bleary-eyed and whining, "who wants to live in a place named after water? don't they have anything exciting to name it after?"

letters on leaving. by arabesque-o, literature

Literature

letters on leaving.

i wrote my first suicide letter in 10th grade. they told me it didn't count if you felt like dying unless you had it down on paper like a vetoed birth certificate. i've rewritten it enough times since to realize i could never leave with a proper goodbye. goodbye is too heavy a word for paper to hold and i was never brave enough for the kind of courage it takes to tell them why. why they weren't enough to keep me here. but i'm finally learning a different kind of bravery- the kind it takes to stay. stay. i learned to wear death like rope burn my junior year my senior year we became friends but i finally stopped cutting the insides of wrist

When Nothing Changes by PetKing, literature

Literature

When Nothing Changes

Every week is the same. Nothing changes, Nothing is gained, and they are filled with pain Of loss and hopelessness that they cannot Escape. No asylum for them to seek, Only tyrannical silence to keep Their eyes focused on unfair addiction, Already claiming lives too young, futures That hadn’t yet begun; their smiles, admired And sincere, spread sorrow like wildfire here. No words are spoken. Tears begin to flow Among the woeful, staring down gravestones That now belong to friends with no safe home. Every week is the same. Nothing changes, Nothing is gained, and there is no clean vein Available, brain stains permanently Unerasable.

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