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A dream, perhaps
Once again he's flying halfway around the universe, trying to lose himself. And he's lost control again, in that way he does when he just doesn't care. It's saddening, so very saddening, that he's terrified of death so much he must burn the whole world down before he finally lets his fire die. And he knows it, and he's ashamed. But of course he's too stubborn to die in the middle of flight. He won't leave like the coward he's been living as. So he lands, and steps out to the regular wind-blown techno sound. And then he's almost hit, by a girl with a single wave of short brown hair, blue eyes fierce and sad in a wicked blend of life-killing rubbish blasting away on a bike. She skids quickly, turning but tossing herself against the wall of a nearby rusty barn, that for which she was no doubt aiming. He cries out for her, worry and anger and distress and sadness twisting about and entrenching his voice
SomberEven before she walked through the door of the church, the young Princess Selene Nocte Luna of the Equestrian Empire had decided she disliked funerals. The clothes were terribly scratchy, and silence among so many ponies was unnerving to her. Though Princess Luna enjoyed silence, with so many other ponies milling around morosely in the courtyard, afraid to break it, she was utterly disturbed. Her sister, the young Princess Helios Diem Celestia of the Equestrian Empire, seemed perfectly at home, however. Princess Celestia was known, at least to her sister, as an impeccable actress that took joy in adapting to the environment around her; she walked beside her sister with carefully-planned somber footsteps, her expression a mask of fragile and broken sorrow for a pony she had never met.
That pony was Queen Callista, a very distant cousin of Princess Celestia and Luna’s mother, the queen of the earth. Queen Terra strode beside her daughters now, alongside her husband King Cielo, rule
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More