Contrary to Popular Belief by Heavy-hearted, literature
Literature
Contrary to Popular Belief
Once, there was a small child with a red bowl-shaped haircut. He liked to ride his bike all around his neighborhood. He grew rather quickly, and when he was nine, he still had his bowl cut and his bike. He rode his bike down to the community swimming lot, where a girl named Persnickety (her parents had a problem) looked at him from her roller blades and challenged him to a duel. So they raced. Down a hill, around a bend, up a very slight hill, and down to the island at the beginning of their neighborhood. It was a dangerous trek, but the two children made it anyway. Persnickety beat him. He was very furious, and vowed that, if it lasted the r
This is what happened. There was once a girl who knew warmth. However, the fire that provided said warmth was unaware of its actions. It only knew that it burned with a bright, steady flame.
One day, the girl moved to the ocean. The ocean is very cold, and left her very, very unhappy. Her perspective on life changed, and she no longer had any faith in humanity. Sometimes, she pawed her way out of the ocean long enough to see the flame, but she blamed it for her newfound chill. Despite the fact that this blame was completely unfair, she couldn't help herself. She threw it to the ground, and the bright flame went out, and became a vent of harm
What Happens on a Rainy Day by Heavy-hearted, literature
Literature
What Happens on a Rainy Day
One time, an evil sorceress named Marissa (Why is it always Marissa?) was baking cupcakes. Marissa was a stupid, fat woman with a eel that didn't really like her, and often explored other caves to get away from her. One day, the eel explored a cave and found a woman named Ayn. (Why is it always Ayn?) The eel became best friends with Ayn. They laughed and made many jokes, and they hung out as often as the eel could steal away from Marissa.
One day, Marissa followed the eel to Ayn's cave. She saw Ayn and her hang out, and she exploded with infuriation. She stormed into the cave and broke all connections between herself and the eel. She told th
Once... a mythical fire-breathing dragon-beast met a retarded pickle.
Fire-Breathing Dragon-Beast and Retarded Pickle became best friends. Fire-Breathing Dragon-Beast introduced Retarded Pickle to the real world--a world of music, and prose, and art, and joy, and the sweetness of the first bite of a summer-warmed peach. They swam in the pool together with Fire-Breathing Dragon-Beast's and Retarded Pickle's families, and they took many pictures.
Retarded Pickle was very fond of Fire-Breathing Dragon-Beast, as they were best friends. She lectured him on a world of film, and digital medium, and magazines, and fear, and the satisfaction of the
Once, there was a great sea cow that wanted to walk on land. She was capable, but not yet willing, because she was used to the temperature of the warm waters she basked in at any given moment, really. She was a great fan of the upside down bask move. Which ended up ending her life. I'll elaborate in a moment, but now, for a spot of tea. That's right. I'mma ease on up and get myself some warm tea. Because even in the summer, the nights can be mighty chilly.
The sea cow nosed her way out of the shallow water, and wormed her way onto the land. Once on the muddy banks of a various gulf, she looked around. There were reeds and beautif
Do You Think I Am Annoying Yet by Heavy-hearted, literature
Literature
Do You Think I Am Annoying Yet
once
there
was
a
happy elephant
who
wanted
to fly.
but
he
couldn't
find
anyone
to
give him lessons.
he
wondered
why
nobody
could
believe
he
could
fly.
i,
myself,
did
not
believe.
until
i
went
to
the
tanning
booth,
where
he
was
floating on the bed.
so
we
became
best
friends.
soon
we
were
sunburnt
and
he
was
floating
in
the
air.
so
we
ate
magical
fruit
and
ascended
to
the
moon.
our
sunburn
was
worse
after
this
occurrence.
we
could
not
find
feet
on
the
moon.
the
americans
lied.
The Infamous Ten Minute Tale by Heavy-hearted, literature
Literature
The Infamous Ten Minute Tale
Once, there was a strange flying donkey.
Normally, there are only flying horses. These are called Pegasus, due to Herculese, who was very selfish.
But a Flying Donkey. They can't even reproduce, why should they get to fly?
Anyway. Once, there was a strange flying donkey. His name was Jeshua. Jesh had a long ponytail on the back of his head. He liked pineapples and often had a great craving for them. Much like drugs, he enjoyed engulfing them and feeling their sugary goodness working through his body.
Anway. One day, Jesh met another flying Donkey named Alexia. Alexia also liked pineapples. So they shot fruit together and got crazy ideas
Once, there was a little boy named Willie. He liked to sew and knit. This is as if it wasn't bad enough that his name was Willie. Of course, he grew to like boys. More than usual. And tapeworms. He admired their penis fencing. Willie wanted to do more than penis fencing.
Willie eventually grew out of the sewing, knitting, and tapeworms. He became very popular, very preppy, boy, who wrestled and held many drunken soirees. He often partied and had a boy come to the back room, where they stripped and did many kinky things. Of course, everyone just thought it was a weird dream. After all, Willie had a pretty girlfriend.
One day, Willie decided
The Professional Waiter by Heavy-hearted, literature
Literature
The Professional Waiter
There was once a professional waiter. He was an expert at thinking of new, preposterous, generally exciting things. When a person no longer cared to wait, he or she could hire the waiter, who would take his or her place in line until the waiter was at the front of the line.
Essentially, the waiter was always in limbo. Let's say he was waiting for a sandwich. He stands there, doing basically nothing, while his client has fun with friends. He never has fun with friends--nor does he obtain a sandwich. His mouth waters for it, and he may really and truly want the sandwich, but he'll never get it. His job is only to wait for the sandwich. He's a
The first chapter of Fang Shu by Heavy-hearted, literature
Literature
The first chapter of Fang Shu
When you're chained to a wall some time way ahead of everyone you've ever known or loved, you come to wonder why the man holding the stake to your chest doesn't just shove it through. Fang closed her eyes, her chest heaving. It was so humid in this room, so rough and painful. She was wearing an outfit she'd worn since medieval times, the blue skirt and the corset that showed the tops of her bosoms. As of late she'd begun to wear a bat clip to pull her black hair from her brown eyes.
The man before her was pacing, his boots hitting the ground with a self-satisfying 'click.' He was wearing a long over-coat. On top of that was a cloak, and a
Sonja was never particularly talkative. She was quiet, the kind of person nobody noticed. When they did, they noticed her as part of the crowd. Never someone special.
George insisted on being dominate. He was the person that stuck out. He had a rep for abuse--he was the man that had to be in control, or else he went psycho.
When Sonja met George, she thought of him as a sort of god. He adored that as much as anything else. The only problem was how far away they lived--she got into a college in Texas, he studied in New York. Long distance phone calls was calling them a fortune. Every night, George would say, "Write, okay? So we don't have to
You don't understand.
Whispering soft, melodic graces.
Take my hand.
Lift me from this pit.
There are some things only love can erase.
Even then they leave an ugly smudge.
Sip wine, watching the moon take its place.
We'll stay up all night just to see the sun raise again.
It's a beautiful cycle.
Unchanging, never failing, hold it close.
Enjoy it most, even though it's simple.
I try to give you what you want.
That's what people who love each other do.
Viciously, you break from gratitiude, demanding more.
As for your feelings, I haven't a clue.
Just another slow song playing.
All of this about romance.
Pledges of love--all
Do you believe that we all fall apart?
I think that some day we just might.
Our kisses wash away too fast--
There's nothing to enjoy these days.
Watch out; just don't be paranoid, love.
Maybe--some day--we'll get this right.
But in the meantime we should still try.
And all the voices in my head--
Telling me different things to do.
Letting go is the worst mistake a girl can ever make.
Saying goodbye is just as bad, so let's just not speak it.
Words can't express what I need to say to you--
Maybe that's all we should ever say.
With you, everything ends up hopeless.
Have some composure, listen to me.
You don't always have to hold
Woeful Emo Period Poem by Heavy-hearted, literature
Literature
Woeful Emo Period Poem
You need to realize just one thing:
This will never be something simple.
You've turned into some creature:
Our two, as one, walks on the water.
Lips meet in passionate embrace.
Don't you have patience for this?
She's got fire burning in her eyes.
Sooner or later, it's one or the other.
Some things are better by themselves.
This is one of those simple things.
Whispering kisses; passionate embrace,
Feel for the light and the trace,
The trace of her fingers against your skin,
And that shadow, jealous again.
For every girl to weep for him:
His hear was closed, his head too dim.
Sometimes love is all you need.
Sometimes hate begin
She slammed down the phone and gave the finger to the night stand in desperate attempts to reach her frustration out to him. He was always so stupid!
She was standing in the upstairs bedroom of her mom's house in her bathing suit. Mom was in Florida doing God-knows-what, leaving her alone to house-sit the place. The two-story house was placed in a nice sub-division. It had no yard, but the previous occupants still managed to jam a gigantic in-ground pool in the back yard.
She walked down a set of stairs and stepped onto the back porch. She dropped the towel on a chair and snatched up a floaty donut. She eased herself into the pool, plopped
1:21
I wonder if the time on that clock is accurate... I hope it is.
I hope Alicia doesn't think I got this idea from her.
I kind of wish I had gone to the black and white dance.
_________ had a black, white, and red dance. Where did the red come from?
1:23
I hate Fly Me to the Moon. BAD song. I love Utada Hikaru. I love Mitchel.
That could lead to some unbidden thoughts. Should I write everything I think? I will.
I should listen to Final Distance.
I will.
1:25
He's smart. I wouldn't let our friendship end.
I wish this afternoon wasn't a total waste.
This is kind of a diary deviation... Maybe I'm mislabeling it.
I want cereal
Current Residence: Michigan deviantWEAR sizing preference: Medium Favourite genre of music: I tend to lean towards rock'n'roll, but I listen to everything. I don't want to ruin MP3 player of choice: iPod, of default
Dear Blaze:
I can't find you and I don't remember how to anymore. If you should stumble upon this journal, please message me. I'm not sure that you even have a dA account anymore, or if the Good Old Days even exist.
Thank you for your time, dear sir.
I've always had the most confidence in you.
Yours Truly,
Mitchel recently alerted me to the fact that, to an outside view, my recent ten stories don't make... any sense.
One day in a various class, I was very bored with two very wonderful people. And Alicia ( !Alicia-K (https://www.deviantart.com/alicia-k) ) asked for a story. Which ended up roughly being http://heavy-hearted.deviantart.com/art/Chunky-Peanut-Butter-103960494 . But the boredom ensued, and slowly the stories grew.
Anyway, a trimester passed. And a lot of stories went digitally unrecorded because they were in various notebooks. So sometimes they went right onto dA, which ended up sort of being a recording ground for them.
Here's the secret about the stories: They
After reading nearly
a thousand
secrets on
~DeviantArtSecret (https://www.deviantart.com/deviantartsecret)
Or more than a thousand, like I counted? onethousandtwohundredandthirtysix...
I find myself realizing
the best appeal is... Emotional appeal.
The best songs are always love songs.
--Or songs about lust, but again, emotional appeal includes pleasure, so hell, why not?
Did you know that the human brain feels more sympathy towards one suffering person
than the suffering of one million persons?
I want to break that trend with every fiber of my being.
P.S.
I hate two commercials.
One is the Christian guy that sits there with the starving children in Africa asking for