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Bright EyesShe was eleven years old, born September second. Standing a modest four foot seven, she was small in the eyes of her elders but a giant in her own world. Her name is, or was, Elizabeth--Eliza by her friends, and her stay at Camp Sunshine was one that will remain imprinted in my memory for years to follow.Bright Eyes
Camp Sunshine is a respite for families-- that is, brothers, sisters, parents, aunts, uncles, friends, everyone--whose children have been diagnosed with a terminal illness. I was there as a visitor on my church’s 2003 mission trip. Originally our plan was to help repair the grounds and fences, but I was eventually offered a cou
by ~spazma
Fishing With a FriendHis ship pulled towards its final destination. The morning coffee had been gritty, a fact of life so certain that it was the name of his ship. Dark muscles, too dark to tan, pulsed as they pulled the oars back and forth. Water sloshed along the edges of his boat, melting smoothly like butter he would never have. The tourist’s boat, surrounded by buoys and traps built not to sow but to kill and squander lolled close by, abandoned. Two nets, knotted rope which held the web of his life, rested at his feet. Once pristine beaches that were now becoming laden with excess began to fade from his sight. From the stern of his shipFishing With a Friend
by ~spazma
NamelessStaring through hollow eyes I watch her voluptuous shape move to the sound of an endless dance. The innocence in those eyes, radiant and colorful, damned to be stripped away by the hands of another in a single night of hasty motions and a slow harmonious dance. I take her hand, unwilling to let her be lost to me, even after but one night of passion and fiery romance I know not her name, but she is so familiar to me, like a portrait painted in years of cruel uncertainty. Holding her like a brother and a lover, a protector and a defiler, I refuse to undo my grasp, holding her like a precious trinket that was certain to tarnish over the years. ANameless
by ~spazma
bull, part 3Wednesday July 7th 1989 Last night I couldn’t sleep. Some stupid dog was barking at the moon. Signed, Mick Simmonsbull, part 3
Friday
July 9th 1989 I can’t say what I saw just now, but something is wrong with Rudy. Very wrong. She keeps calling for me.
Signed, Mick Simmons
Saturday
July 10th 1989 Right now I’m sitting in my chair, struggling to gain a hold of myself. Mack is sitting on my lap, shaking in fear. Something went very wrong. Last night my wife got up for once and went to feed Rudy, but something wasn’t right. His pen was broken open. Whi
by ~spazma
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: CT
- Interests: That one girl, guitar, writing
- Favourite movie: Team America! good memories
- Favourite band or musician: Opeth, Hate Eternal, Therion, Umphrey's Mcgee, SRV
- Favourite genre of music: Extreme metal, classic, rock, blues
- Favourite artist: Gaudi
- Favourite poet or writer: William Carlos Williams
- Favourite style of art: prose, suspense
- Operating System: Windows 98 SE. I need a new comp. Badly
- MP3 player of choice: Winamp
- Shell of choice: Turtle?
- Wallpaper of choice: Album cover of Opeth's 'Still Life'
- Skin of choice: Invicta
- Favourite game: Halo 2
- Favourite gaming platform: Xbox
- Favourite cartoon character: Meatwad
- Personal Quote: "Bitch face."- i love you too dear
- Tools of the Trade: Schecter C-1 classic, music theory, Word, pencils
- AIM: mattm0157
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