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Lyle Datchery is Dying
Ora daydreamed of lazy summer days and blue skies to escape the fog of despair that washed over him. He knew there was no use living in the past, no matter how desirable the idea; the filthy present he hid from always found him sometime or another, and the feeling of his almost-joy being ripped from his grasp by reality's cruel hands was worse than not remembering the old days at all. He cursed Arkin for being such an easy target because if they had taken the threats of attack seriously, perhaps he wouldn't be sitting in concreate rubble cradling in his lap the head of the only person he had left to care about.
The stone cold Lyle Datchery was afraid. The towering and stoic Lyle Datchery cried. The silent and emotionless Lyle Datchery pleaded with nobody. He was cold, scared, and screaming because what else could he do? Lyle Datchery was dying.
Lyle did not receive the peaceful departure he was promised; he was viciously torn away, surrounded by the sounds of chaos, terror, and confusi
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Untitled
I had never seen a dead body before. Well, I hadn't until now. It was disturbing, it didn't look like he was sleeping peacefully like the bodies I had seen in movies. Kyle's face was frozen in pale terror, his dead glassy eyes wide open. I never believed that eyes could look dead, but I was obviously wrong. His eyes were empty, like a dolls. It was horrible. His insides were spilling out of him and his warm blood was on /my/ hands. It was because of /me/ that my best friend was dead, /I/ was the one who insisted we stayed  in the damned forest when we heard noises outside of our tent. /I'm/ the one who made him go check because I was too much of a coward to see what was going on. I knew I screwed up when I heard Max's terrified screams mingled with those of some inhuman /creature/. The worst part is I huddled away in semi-safety while my best friend was torn to shreds by a monster. I only unzipped the blood splattered tent when the noises stopped and he heard crunching of leaves i
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Ora daydreamed of lazy summer days and blue skies to escape the fog of despair that washed over him. He knew there was no use living in the past, no matter how desirable the idea; the filthy present he hid from always found him sometime or another, and the feeling of his almost-joy being ripped from his grasp by reality's cruel hands was worse than not remembering the old days at all. He cursed Arkin for being such an easy target because if they had taken the threats of attack seriously, perhaps he wouldn't be sitting in concreate rubble cradling in his lap the head of the only person he had left to care about.

The stone cold Lyle Datchery was afraid. The towering and stoic Lyle Datchery cried. The silent and emotionless Lyle Datchery pleaded with nobody. He was cold, scared, and screaming because what else could he do? Lyle Datchery was dying.

Lyle did not receive the peaceful departure he was promised; he was viciously torn away, surrounded by the sounds of chaos, terror, and confusion consuming him in his passing.

Ora's emotions escaped him an a violent fury; he screamed and screamed for Lyle to come back until he couldn't anymore. Hoarse whispers recalling everything that the two of them had faced together, the good and the bad alike, all of it seeming so trivial to him. Nothing mattered anymore, Ora had lost all he lived for, all of his hopes, dreams, and love had been flushed away replaced with a burning rage that tore him apart from the inside out.

Ora stood with every intention to demolish the troops of monsters that infested Arkin, his city. Reason did not return to him until he was face-to-face with five red clad soldiers; only then did he realize he was unarmed and helpless, not even wearing shoes. Ora wasn't in the right mind to stay calm, and so he ran. He ran faster than he ever had in his life. He ran until he

couldn't anymore, and when that happened, the red soldiers with shiny black boots and guns pointed at him were right behind him.

It dawned on Ora that his suffering, that anyone's suffering, was meaningless to the red soldiers. They weren't bothered by the devastation they caused; they lacked that little bit of empathy that made them human. At that moment, Ora envied them. How wonderful it must be to be numb to the rest of the world, nobody ever getting close enough to be ripped away from him.

It was the glint of the guns that finally broke him. He was covered in blood and dirt, his home was destroyed, and the only person he had left, his only reason for living, was gone. Ora sprung into action, leaping foreword towards the other men. His screams and demands for vengeance mingled with his helpless cries for help. Ora viciously tried to kick and punch at anything he could, but as soon as he started, the men retaliated. Ora was no match for them, his assault was stopped as soon as it started. The only thing Ora could remember was the butt of a gun coming down on him. From then on, he slipped in and out of reality. He was only vaguely aware when a man was kneeling over him shining a blinding light in his eyes.

"...Can you tell me your name?"

He only comprehended the last of the sentence.

'My name?' his thoughts were cloudy, 'What's my name?'

'Do I have a name? I'm sure I do, it's on the tip of my tongue...' Ora closed his eyes to escape the light so he might concentrate.

And then he remembered everything at once, it was like a dam crumbled down, flooding his thoughts with the events that he wanted so badly to forget. His name came to him, dimly shining in the sea of confusion, and he willed his mouth to form the word. Lyle's name slipped from his tongue, and with that he was so overwhelmed he returned to the comfortable darkness he was in before.
Lyle Datchery is Dying
i submitted this for a writing contest but it didn't place. i have been waiting FOREVER (since january) to be allowed to post it online w/ no chance id be accused of plagiarism. this is in my journal too, cuz idk how to post literature on the website. the app is honestly so much easier to work lmao. tell me if you think this needs a mature content warning.
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I had never seen a dead body before. Well, I hadn't until now. It was disturbing, it didn't look like he was sleeping peacefully like the bodies I had seen in movies. Kyle's face was frozen in pale terror, his dead glassy eyes wide open. I never believed that eyes could look dead, but I was obviously wrong. His eyes were empty, like a dolls. It was horrible. His insides were spilling out of him and his warm blood was on /my/ hands. It was because of /me/ that my best friend was dead, /I/ was the one who insisted we stayed  in the damned forest when we heard noises outside of our tent. /I'm/ the one who made him go check because I was too much of a coward to see what was going on. I knew I screwed up when I heard Max's terrified screams mingled with those of some inhuman /creature/. The worst part is I huddled away in semi-safety while my best friend was torn to shreds by a monster. I only unzipped the blood splattered tent when the noises stopped and he heard crunching of leaves indicating the /thing/ had left. Hot tears were running down my face and my voice was silenced from the sheer terror that filled my entire being. It was still here, looking right at me with terrible soulless eyes. It wasn't like anything I had ever seen before, it was almost human. It had horrible grey skin, you could clearly see it's spine through its back and in the dim light razor sharp, almost knife like, claws were visible before it throw it's head back and let out an ear-piecing screech before it was gone, off into the hellish forest from which it came. I was left alone.
Untitled
short story i wrote on my phone. do you guys think this should have a mature content warning? cuz im not really sure. the monster is skinwalker/wendigo inspired. only inspired. it is NOT a skinwalker or wendigo due to some details that contradict the lore (wendigo would have taken the body, skinwalker has animal features).
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Ora daydreamed of lazy summer days and blue skies to escape the fog of despair that washed over him. He knew there was no use living in the past, no matter how desirable the idea; the filthy present he hid from always found him sometime or another, and the feeling of his almost-joy being ripped from his grasp by reality's cruel hands was worse than not remembering the old days at all. He cursed Arkin for being such an easy target because if they had taken the threats of attack seriously, perhaps he wouldn't be sitting in concreate rubble cradling in his lap the head of the only person he had left to care about.

The stone cold Lyle Datchery was afraid. The towering and stoic Lyle Datchery cried. The silent and emotionless Lyle Datchery pleaded with nobody. He was cold, scared, and screaming because what else could he do? Lyle Datchery was dying.

Lyle did not receive the peaceful departure he was promised; he was viciously torn away, surrounded by the sounds of chaos, terror, and confusion consuming him in his passing.

Ora's emotions escaped him an a violent fury; he screamed and screamed for Lyle to come back until he couldn't anymore. Hoarse whispers recalling everything that the two of them had faced together, the good and the bad alike, all of it seeming so trivial to him. Nothing mattered anymore, Ora had lost all he lived for, all of his hopes, dreams, and love had been flushed away replaced with a burning rage that tore him apart from the inside out.

Ora stood with every intention to demolish the troops of monsters that infested Arkin, his city. Reason did not return to him until he was face-to-face with five red clad soldiers; only then did he realize he was unarmed and helpless, not even wearing shoes. Ora wasn't in the right mind to stay calm, and so he ran. He ran faster than he ever had in his life. He ran until he

couldn't anymore, and when that happened, the red soldiers with shiny black boots and guns pointed at him were right behind him.

It dawned on Ora that his suffering, that anyone's suffering, was meaningless to the red soldiers. They weren't bothered by the devastation they caused; they lacked that little bit of empathy that made them human. At that moment, Ora envied them. How wonderful it must be to be numb to the rest of the world, nobody ever getting close enough to be ripped away from him.

It was the glint of the guns that finally broke him. He was covered in blood and dirt, his home was destroyed, and the only person he had left, his only reason for living, was gone. Ora sprung into action, leaping foreword towards the other men. His screams and demands for vengeance mingled with his helpless cries for help. Ora viciously tried to kick and punch at anything he could, but as soon as he started, the men retaliated. Ora was no match for them, his assault was stopped as soon as it started. The only thing Ora could remember was the butt of a gun coming down on him. From then on, he slipped in and out of reality. He was only vaguely aware when a man was kneeling over him shining a blinding light in his eyes.

"...Can you tell me your name?"

He only comprehended the last of the sentence.

'My name?' his thoughts were cloudy, 'What's my name?'

'Do I have a name? I'm sure I do, it's on the tip of my tongue...' Ora closed his eyes to escape the light so he might concentrate.

And then he remembered everything at once, it was like a dam crumbled down, flooding his thoughts with the events that he wanted so badly to forget. His name came to him, dimly shining in the sea of confusion, and he willed his mouth to form the word. Lyle's name slipped from his tongue, and with that he was so overwhelmed he returned to the comfortable darkness he was in before.

Ora daydreamed of lazy summer days and blue skies to escape the fog of despair that washed over him. He knew there was no use living in the past, no matter how desirable the idea; the filthy present he hid from always found him sometime or another, and the feeling of his almost-joy being ripped from his grasp by reality's cruel hands was worse than not remembering the old days at all. He cursed Arkin for being such an easy target because if they had taken the threats of attack seriously, perhaps he wouldn't be sitting in concreate rubble cradling in his lap the head of the only person he had left to care about.

The stone cold Lyle Datchery was afraid. The towering and stoic Lyle Datchery cried. The silent and emotionless Lyle Datchery pleaded with nobody. He was cold, scared, and screaming because what else could he do? Lyle Datchery was dying.

Lyle did not receive the peaceful departure he was promised; he was viciously torn away, surrounded by the sounds of chaos, terror, and confusion consuming him in his passing.

Ora's emotions escaped him an a violent fury; he screamed and screamed for Lyle to come back until he couldn't anymore. Hoarse whispers recalling everything that the two of them had faced together, the good and the bad alike, all of it seeming so trivial to him. Nothing mattered anymore, Ora had lost all he lived for, all of his hopes, dreams, and love had been flushed away replaced with a burning rage that tore him apart from the inside out.

Ora stood with every intention to demolish the troops of monsters that infested Arkin, his city. Reason did not return to him until he was face-to-face with five red clad soldiers; only then did he realize he was unarmed and helpless, not even wearing shoes. Ora wasn't in the right mind to stay calm, and so he ran. He ran faster than he ever had in his life. He ran until he

couldn't anymore, and when that happened, the red soldiers with shiny black boots and guns pointed at him were right behind him.

It dawned on Ora that his suffering, that anyone's suffering, was meaningless to the red soldiers. They weren't bothered by the devastation they caused; they lacked that little bit of empathy that made them human. At that moment, Ora envied them. How wonderful it must be to be numb to the rest of the world, nobody ever getting close enough to be ripped away from him.

It was the glint of the guns that finally broke him. He was covered in blood and dirt, his home was destroyed, and the only person he had left, his only reason for living, was gone. Ora sprung into action, leaping foreword towards the other men. His screams and demands for vengeance mingled with his helpless cries for help. Ora viciously tried to kick and punch at anything he could, but as soon as he started, the men retaliated. Ora was no match for them, his assault was stopped as soon as it started. The only thing Ora could remember was the butt of a gun coming down on him. From then on, he slipped in and out of reality. He was only vaguely aware when a man was kneeling over him shining a blinding light in his eyes.

"...Can you tell me your name?"

He only comprehended the last of the sentence.

'My name?' his thoughts were cloudy, 'What's my name?'

'Do I have a name? I'm sure I do, it's on the tip of my tongue...' Ora closed his eyes to escape the light so he might concentrate.

And then he remembered everything at once, it was like a dam crumbled down, flooding his thoughts with the events that he wanted so badly to forget. His name came to him, dimly shining in the sea of confusion, and he willed his mouth to form the word. Lyle's name slipped from his tongue, and with that he was so overwhelmed he returned to the comfortable darkness he was in before.

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Eliott
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
sometimes i roleplay.
i suck at art, im mediocre at writing, and i am too queer for my own good

so my art is mostly doodles of my OC's, but i can never do them justice lmao. sorry this is a mess ahhhhhhhhhh.

i really love david eddings ok let me live

critiques and constructive criticism are always welcome
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:iconpersoninexistance:
PersoninExistance Featured By Owner 1 day ago
Thank you for the favorite! And welcome to deviantart!
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:iconrat--silk:
rat--silk Featured By Owner 1 day ago  New Deviant Hobbyist Writer
no problem, it was really good!!! and thank you for the welcome ^~^
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Danger-Broad Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Welcome to Deviantart, and thanks for the favorite! If you really feel like you suck at art, my advice is to record every creative idea that comes to mind, whether it's just a silly doodle or a snippet of dialogue for a project. I started doing this lately, and it's improving my work ethic immensely! People are right when they say not to censor yourself; it really is bad for your artistic side.
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:iconrat--silk:
rat--silk Featured By Owner 1 day ago  New Deviant Hobbyist Writer
thank you! also, i always have a sketchbook on me, i would post more on here but i'm still suuuuper shy about it lol. i am more comfortable with sharing my writing though. i hope posting on deviantart will help me improve, and get more comfortable with showing off my work. Thanks again for the warm welcome!
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:iconcharoday:
charoday Featured By Owner 2 days ago
    Thank u for the fav :iconimeanloveqaz:
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