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  • Mood: Questionable
Hi guys. I guess I might have another sort of block. Not a writing one, I just, I don't really know. I went into hysterics yesterday over something that hasn't even happened yet, my sister's making me feel insecure, and everything I write seems like crap to me.
So, should I clean up my gallery? I want to get rid of some stuff and completely delete it off my computer but then I'm worried that years from now I'll want to see it again. I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with me now. Oh, and Mr. Davis has pneumonia. Probably no one really cares, but now my life has no meaning. Off to draw some Davfruit.

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Be-Back-Soon
Charlotte
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
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The winners of the elements contest at The-Literature-Files!

Here are some beautiful pieces by our first place winner in the elements contest, TheVictoriousWolf

TeardropTeardrop, oh dream catch me. Oh catch me, blue glass of pain and joy. Dualistic opposites, converging on each other in eternal fury and competition. Equality kept them in check, the forces of the universe bound in them.
And She emanated them.
Controlled them.
Loved them.
For who else could love such a thing as a teardrop? A sign of sadness, yet one of joy and laughter. Such hate… such confusion. Who else but her could love something like that? Well, barring Him, but he had a completely different domain entirely. Change.
Steering back to topic it had been so very long since she had actually used her domain for what it was meant for. She used like any pretender. To pretend. Pretend she had power over water, when she did not. She did not control it, She made it act willingly to her desires. For her domain, teardrops, controlled something far greater than water. It, controlled emotion.
Yes.
The trees have eyes, the hills have ears. Everything feels. Everything can be controlled. Of co

The Senseless Boy. For Rhys Murphy.And then I was running, running for my life...
Pulsing.
Turning.
Twisting.
Snap.

Night filled the sky. Though it hid behind clouds, the glow of the moon was visible enough to be pinpointed. Below, cement filled the ground. Before Him, a rapidly moving concrete jungle. No. It was He who was rapidly moving. No. Running. No. Limping. His right calf ringed with pain, and He let out another strained groan. Yet He carried on regardless, using his dominant arm (Luckily, his right) to pull himself across the expanse of streets and rundown houses, clawing onto anything He could grab, though fences, lamp posts, and cars were his main targets. He had to... he had to keep going. They were still following.
He could hear the shrieks of those left in their wake.
Drunkards, with nothing better to do but... No. He didn't want to think about it. He had to keep himself focused. On everything. On breathing steadily, so He didn't collapse, for one. Though he doubted very much he had, he felt
Dawn of the DuskIn the wake of a new day. In the path of the new. Following, day, night. Repeat. Details change. Details always change. However, nobody cares about details. Why should they? Details are not to be planned; they are to be appropriated for.
Adjusted.
Twisted.
Mocked.
Any fool can turn a detail to his advantage, provided he knows how. Despite this, it is details that are remembered. Have to be remembered. For it is the details that matter. That always matter. They are the half the plan. Half the fun. Unpredictability. Nothing should be predictable. Least of all wolves.
But that was what'd happened. He had become predictable. The same routine. Every day. He had to. Ruts were what kept him alive. The grim foreboding that the after days had brought with them kept him here. True, wolves had recovered the land. The Humes had gone now. Been made to go. Killed. Wiped out. Their greed, faults and determination to destroy had brought them to ruin. And virtually everything else, too. His ancestors h

The Lonely OakThese had once been rolling plains, stocked with beauty, and a plethora of vegetation and wildlife. Liveliness filled these plains, where Lamb would lay with Lion, where Deer would roam, and Wolf would watch. Greenery flourished. Then came Man.
Man brought his Horsemen. The beasts of his own unmaking were his own production. War and Pestilence and Famine and Death. Man slew tree, beast, and even It's own, in It's senseless need for power and destruction. Like a raging bull, blinded by It's own red hazed fury it ploughed on. Where it would end, or if it already had, no one knew for sure. All simply watched helplessly on, hoping to avoid It's monstrous gaze, but it was no use. They hid, but they were sought out. War came to these rolling plains.
Thunder clasped in the heavens. Clouds licked the ground, creating a fog that hid the autumn-coloured sky. Instead of the sunset, glorious and majestic, lighting the sky, storm clouds darkened it. Like the sword darkened any hope of life below. I
Rebirth of a RemnantDarkness becomes light. Light becomes dark. The never ending cycle of madness, death, and, hopefully retribution, littered with man's twisted certainties of morality, and their resulting afterlives. When are we born? When do we die?
Where do the Lonely Souls go?
Darkness becomes light.
A man is writing his memoirs. His legacy. Not because of his age, but because he simply wants to be remembered correctly, to not have his life distorted by future generations. And to leave something to his children when she comes for him.
The cabin comes to view, as the reader imagines such things worth imagining. It is night. Blacker than the deepest wretches of mens desire. A single light inside flickers. Open window. Closed flame. Wooden building. Candle light.
The interior can be seen now, the next logical step in this tale. A man, barely twenty, hunches over a desk, quill in hand, sword on his belt. His description matters not- in is not a necessary part of the tale- and why bother with the unnecess


Here is some brilliant work by the second place winner in our elements contest, HazeReality!

Aria of the AirThe wind has always been faithful to me.
Even now as I look over this war-ravaged land, as I observe the desolate landscape, the wind softly tickles my ear, reminding me of its presence. It always blows gently, never stagnant, never roaring. It is the little life we have left, a good life.
Unlike blazing Fire, a fierce entity that burned down my one place to call home.
Unlike destructive Water, bringing the worst of floods to areas already desolated, and emphasizing the despair of the people even more so.
Unlike dying Earth, which does not bring us crops and food like before. Instead, the world is barren, never to be revived again.
Only the element of Wind is left useful, unchanged, moving through the world to show what life remains. It is hope. It is a voice.
It is a messenger.
Yes, the wind, as a voice itself, can easily carry voices of people throughout endless distances and can propel sounds to other parts of the world. This is the skill of the wind. I need this skill now, in order

Killing The Dragon-An AllegoryIn a small room at a hospital, shouts of joy were heard.
"You have a daughter," the doctor said, and he handed the newborn to her mother. She smiled happily, and her husband was almost in tears beside her.
However, among the cries of joy from my parents, something occurred in my heart that no one, not even the doctor, noticed at all.
A dragon hatched.
I grew up knowing of the dragon's presence, and one day the dragon flew me high above the clouds.
"What do you see?" the dragon asked.
I looked down below at the world. I saw people hurrying to work, a woman walking her dog, a group of children playing in the streets, and all the other people of my little town bustling about. A mailman, a jogger, a mother chasing a child.
"Just people." I responded.
The dragon smiled at me.
"Ah, but there is something you don't understand. Life is a powerful thing, and you have the ability to use it fully, young master. The meaning of life is to simply beat everyone else. Get ahead, become a god of this w
Always MovingOn the timekeeper,
I see the quivering needle
move.
When it moves sixty times
a second needle moves
once.
When the second needle moves sixty times,
a third needle moves once.
But the quivering needle
never stops moving.
What does it quiver with?
Fear?
Excitement?
Tension
that it is the only thing
that stands
between us and the rest of our lives?
The boundary between life and death
is in the power of
the quivering needle
It holds every one of my years
in its hands.
And yet no matter how much I beg it:
"Stop!"
The only response is
'Tick Tock'

DandelionIn order
                            
  for a wish
                             
   to come true
                              
    in your house,
                               
     how many weeds  
                        
Put Just EnoughLove
can be sweet.
But if too much sugar is added,
disgust will sink in,
and love
will turn to bitterness.


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:iconin-dis-guise:
in-dis-guise Oct 30, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
Thanks for the fav! :D
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kymyit Aug 4, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
thank you for the fav ^^
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seerstella May 29, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
thanks for the fave! :D
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CarmineDevian Dec 28, 2012  Student Writer
HAPPY B DAY FRIEND
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Be-Back-Soon Nov 12, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks so much!!
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:iconcarminedevian:
CarmineDevian Nov 12, 2013  Student Writer
youre always welcome
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AstaraBriarart Dec 9, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
thank you for the fav ^.^
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WorksOfTheHand Dec 8, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you for the OUAT Fave!
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gillix33 Nov 12, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
thanks for faving my evil queen
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diejjj Nov 12, 2012  Student Traditional Artist
Thank you for faving my Rumpelstiltskin drawing :D
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jogagirl Nov 8, 2012  Student
thanks for the fav on my piece: I've Got the Magic In Me (Once Upon a Time). please check out some of my other Once Upon a Time work, and, if you like my work, please add me to your watch list.
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:iconrivkakopp:
Thanks for the fav' :)
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mavinga Nov 4, 2012  Professional Traditional Artist
Thank you!
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Natafin Nov 3, 2012  Student General Artist
Thank you for the favorite. :)
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BelaRoseWolf Oct 31, 2012  Student Writer
Thank you so much for the favorite, my friend! :) I promise I'm working on our cycle!
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Shamoneness Oct 25, 2012  Student Photographer
Thanks for the fave! c:
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Be-Back-Soon Oct 25, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
No problem.
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TheVictoriousWolf Oct 25, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the favourite ^^'
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