tristan fou
My visual gallery, for what it's worth.
Newest
Fairfax ManorThe linden trees were slow to turn this fall. In September, he did not find the manor grounds swathed in the glorious reds and desperate golds of anticipation, but dim and soggy from a week of rain, barely stuttering into liver-spotted yellow. The train ride had been long and arduous, an exercise in somnolent non-thinking broken by frequent spells of homesickness, but now that he was home, he found himself disenchanted, longing to be somewhere else again. The motorcar spluttered to a stop by the entrance, and the driver came out to take his bags. He could not recall having said anything prior, but he found himseFairfax Manor
by ~pelafina
untitledIt’s an electric train, so why does it go ssssssssssshhhhhhhh like its innards are running on steam, like a machine with a penchant for nostalgia? I don’t understand it, but where I am in car D, comprehension isn’t paramount. Sometimes the lights are on and sometimes they’re off, and when the latter happens my heart really jumps. It’s gotten a little better now that I’ve discovered working headphones, and though they’re a little grimy, I’ve always been of the opinion that what you don’t know won’t hurt you.untitled
Probably a mistake. But that’s mortality for you.
The he
by ~pelafina
blondie against the undeadHe had never done a zombie invasion before and wondered how they worked. Dying at this point was not ignoble or unexpected, but the concept of beingblondie against the undead
disemboweled and eaten alive remained mostly abstract, a little
ridiculous—wholly counter-productive. There were two-dozen trailing him now, he estimated, though in the beginning
there had only been the three nurses, the new widow, and five or so accident
ward patients with sufficient leg mobility. As he led them through the
streets and winding gutters, avoiding dead-ends as best as he could, the
hungry entourage
by ~pelafina
a trip to the plaza with daisy“What the fuck is going on up there.”a trip to the plaza with daisy
Obscenity and near-apathetic skepticism being, of course, a staple of our teenage dialect.
I meant behind the sheet glass wall of the plaza’s third story, where a pair of arms were swinging wildly in the air: now up, now down, now up again. When I think of them now they loom unusually large, white and long in my memory, though for the sake of narrative, the arms, as I saw them then, only clashed a little with my grasp of reality and made me laugh.
I was sitting on a bench outside with Daisy, trying to finish a strawberry cheesecake that tasted “
by ~pelafina
Random Favourites
deviantID
No deviantID yet.
Devious Info
- Interests: sincerity, ultimate fighter
- Favourite movie: a tale of two sisters
- Favourite band or musician: final fantasy
- Favourite poet or writer: melee round: haruki murakami, milan kunderas, dave eggers
- Favourite cartoon character: oprah
- Tools of the Trade: carbs
deviantART Community Board
Comments
Site Map
©2009 deviantART. All rights reserved
if you see this message, i'm going to put together a little literary zine and would like to see a story by you in it.
--
JoshTierney.com
--
JoshTierney.com
--
JoshTierney.com
--
JoshTierney.com
-Ark
--
JoshTierney.com
Previous Page12Next Page