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The Rules of the Game

Hello traveler! Welcome to :iconthecritiquables:.

some simple rules:

:bulletblue: Submissions are accepted only in the "Submission" folder

:bulletblue: mature content is surely allowed, with a tag.

:bulletblue: If you submit art, you will need to comment/critique on works featured in "Unappreciated works"
and comment on the journal with the title of the work or link

:bulletblue: Each work submitted will get one critique/comment from the Admin

:bulletblue: If either party (writer/criticizer) is rude, I want you to contact the Admin and they'll deal with it.

:bulletblue: We are accepting Admins so if you are interested, Note NotenSMSK!

:bulletblue: all the regular dA rules apply

:bulletred: Here is the Link to the present unappreciated feature!…

Folder information:

:bulletyellow: GiD / DiD / Mature; Guy or Damsel in Distress. This means somebody is in peril.
I think "mature" speaks for itself really.
:bulletyellow: OC = original characters so for when YOU have created your characters
:bulletyellow: Fanfic: for fictions with character created by somebody else
:bulletyellow: The one Shot folders are for stories that only have the 1 part that you want to submit
:bulletyellow: Chapter stories folders are for when you have written/are writing a piece that consists out more then 1 piece.
:bulletyellow: Poetry is where all the poems and the like go.

:bulletyellow: Featured is the folder where a work we feel should be appreciated, goes

:bulletpurple:If you have any questions, suggestion or issues please don't hesitate to let us know :bulletpurple:
The new feature for the month of September is up!

August really was a surprising but worthwhile month here on TheCritiquables - there were many interesting submissions to the group from new as well as old members, so lets give all of them a warm welcome, eh? :D

The works are in two divisions:

from members:


[Sonic] Sick of It: Ch. 1"OK, guys, we're bound to be getting close now.  Step lightly and try to keep up."  The smell of crude oil and countless other chemicals filled the air as we followed Tails through an intricate maze of pipes, tanks, and other industrial equipment.  Off in the distance, tall stacks resembling radio antennas piped out exhaust gases that made the golden hues of the setting sun waver as if seen through a fire.  It had been ages since I had personally set foot in a chemical plant, and I knew for sure that it was a first for Knuckles and Amy, who kept in tight formation right behind me.  The only reason why we were here in the first place was because Tails happened to be flying over the plant the day before, and his eagle eyes spotted some kind of suspicious activity at ground level.  What exactly that activity was, he hadn't made clear to us, but having already encountered and disabled (to put it politely) several of Robotnik's robot goons, we had no reason to [Sonic] Sick of It: Ch. 2With every passing day, I allowed myself to get more comfortable with spending time at the beach, and on the last day we were there, Tails and Amy succeeded at getting me to splash around in waist-deep water (but nothing deeper than that).  Time really does fly when you're having fun, and before any of us knew it, a full week had gone by and it was time to head back home.  Packing up our belongings seemed to take a bit longer this time around, though I wasn't sure if that was because we'd worn ourselves out from too much fun, or if we had to spend extra time beating the sand off the umbrella, blanket, etc.  But in any case, by late morning, we were up in the air again.  I couldn't help but notice Amy jamming a finger in her ear from time to time, and I overheard her telling Tails that she'd gotten a bad case of swimmer's ear.  I couldn't hear Tails' response over the noise of the plane's engine, but based on Amy's reaction, he must've known how to fix it. [Stella] The Savage Beast: Ch. 1Ever have one of those days where your mind just blanks out and entire lengths of time pass where you aren't aware of what's going on?  That must've been what happened to me today, because I surely had no other explanation of how I found myself on a cobblestone path, passing underneath the foliage of different kinds of trees.  But the day was warm and sunny with a few fluffy clouds in the sky, so I guess things could've been worse.  Around me, I could hear the sounds of children laughing and playing...I must've ended up in a city park.  But exactly why I was here continued to elude my mind; I didn't have any recollection of planning to go to a park today, but figured that if I was here, it had to be for a reason.  Hoping that I'd spot something to help jog my memory, I continued walking along the path, continuously panning the landscape with my eyes.  Nothing about the park seemed unusual.  But I wish I'd paid a little more attention to [Stella] The Savage Beast: Ch. 2That night, I found myself dreaming of the jungle I had seen in the travel book earlier that day.  Every step I took introduced me to another exotic plant or animal, and though I knew what many of them were, it was such a wonderfully different experience to see them in their natural habitat.  Onward I continued, admiring the sights and sounds, when I came to the bank of a swiftly-flowing river.  The water was crystal-clear, untouched by man, the complete opposite of what surrounded me on a daily basis.  Crossing the river on foot certainly would've been too dangerous, so I chose to sit down and take everything in, removing my shoes and immersing my feet in the edge of the water.  Above, I could see the clouds passing lazily across the sky, and there came a break in the cloud cover that streamed warm sunlight down on me.  It was all so relaxing that I leaned back and just closed my eyes, focusing on the water and the sunlight and the sounds of the jungle. &


Living is a cry for help,
unheard over billions more.
I wonder what cries
I haven’t heard.
The Sand Castle
He must have fallen asleep again. The sand pressing on his body had accumulated so slowly, it was suddenly impossible to breathe. Luckily, the dune had only accumulated up to his neck. He hacked out a dry mouth full of sand and attempted to get his bearings. Then, very slowly, he worked his way out of the sand dune. He wriggled out his shoulders, then arms, then torso, and his legs.
The man stood up and looked around. He wasn’t sure where he was, and all he could see was desert. He didn’t panic, though, as he couldn’t die out here. It simply wasn’t the right place for him.
Suddenly, a spark flickered in the back of his mind, and he got down on his knees and started digging. After a minute of so, he pulled a letter out of the ground and shook the sand out. He opened it up, and all it said was:
“I’m just up ahead.”
The man looked forward and started walking.
Difficult Decisions
Let me give you a hypothetical situation.
You’re trapped in an elevator,
and you had to choose-
No, the fire button is broken.
The safety mechanisms are gone.
I don’t know why! Let’s try…
Ok, you’re trapped in a room.
The door is locked.
No, you can’t kick it out.
No cell reception.
You don’t have a cell phone.
N- Forget it.
You’re on a deserted island.
No, no cell reception.
You don’t have a cell phone.
You left it in the plane.
No! There are no survivors.
You can’t eat the dead people.
I dunno, they were poisoned.
The plane crashed in the water.
Know what? No.
Just tell me,
Did you want KFC or Taco Bell?
N- just pick one!
The Businessman
I see you.
I don’t see you, but I hear you.
I hear you breathing from over here.
I hear your nostrils flaring
and your lungs gasping.
I hear your eyelids flickering,
your eyes darting around the room,
and your tear ducts watering.
I hear the scattershot heartbeat,
as if it’s trying to escape your chest.
I hear your stomach gurgle like it’s
being beaten to death.
I hear your hair standing up on end,
and your pores flooding with sweat.
I hear every cell in your body
crying out in unison.
I hear them screaming, “Help me.”
Which is too bad,
because I’m the only one listening,
and I don’t even care.
Last Gasp
And the sun glowed a deep red,
just enough to color the inside
of the room a deep mahogany,
stripes of color on the walls.
And the clouds formed in the distance,
just enough to cradle the sunset.
And as if by magic, the rain fell down,
undisturbed by any wind,
undisturbed by any thoughts.
And I watched in great longing,
wondering what the world has
left for me to witness,
for even if I can not leave this room,
I can see everything just outside.
I watch as the color fades from the sky,
and the mahogany turns a brilliant lapis,
and then to nothing.
As the clouds reflect the last gasp of magenta,
As the world fades to black, the rain dies down,
reflecting what little color remains,
and then I turn on the lights.
And The Rain Spoke
I looked outside,
maybe I didn’t need to,
and I saw the rain,
dotting the ground
in a brilliant lattice.
And so I stopped the
humming fans in my room,
and I heard the faintest sound
of a billion drops,
begging to be heard.
They whispered to me,
Can you hear it?
There is no reason,
there is only sound.
Sound, and those
who notice it.
And if you’re careful,
you can feel the world
like it was tied to your feet.
So listen closely…
Parking Lot
Below the rusty chain link fence
kids found an empty parking lot.
the air around was warm and dense,
the ground below was scalding hot.
The parking lot stretched miles away,
you couldn’t see the other side,
just heat waves flowing like the tide,
so they decided they should play.
They ran between the faded lines,
played tag until their legs were sore.
They dangled from the parking signs,
Not knowing what they’re hanging for.
The clouds above grew dark and grey,
The kids decided they should stay,
but not without a little pain.
The kids were hit by bullet rain.
The faded pavement turned jet black
There was no cover in the park,
They couldn’t hide from the attack,
just watch the pavement turning dark.
The rain cleared up and on the ground
Reflecting pools infinity,
Along with crimson and its sound
they marveled at the trinity.
They left the lot with no more light
And jumped the fence with no resistance.
What an amazing little sight,
A thousand headlights in the distance.
Man With A Gun
So he found my wallet,
and gave it back to me.
My money was gone,
so I yelled at him.
Then he gave me his own money,
to replace the missing money,
so I punched him.
He apologized and I kicked him.
I hurt my foot kicking him,
I couldn’t walk home anymore,
so he offered me a cab ride home.
I put him through a window.
He kept me company all the way back,
while I screamed at him non-stop
for the duration of the trip.
Then when we got to my apartment,
he opened the door for me
and I shot him.
You have to understand, officer,
it’s the WAY he did it.
Thief (Poem)
They stole my loneliness,
my precious, precious loneliness.
They watched and listened to my words.
recorded them, made transcripts,
and sent them over the wires.
Everybody read them intently,
because now that I might
have  said something incriminating.
And then I realized I had the spotlight,
So I opened my mouth to speak,
and they went back to ignoring me.
Nobody was interested in my motives,
only the incidents that surrounded me.


Waiting for the Clock to StopClock in the middle of the wall. It was a white wall,
and the clock was brown, somehow way too small.
Ticking, ticking... away from the hating
to another problem. I'm still waiting...
...for a huge ship which sunk.
...for a weird trip when I'm drunk.
Not that many days were silent, thanks to the clock.
Neither that many moments because of our talk.
Can you remember, when there was no time?
There wasn't a single clock breaking my initiated rhyme.
Be Aware of the Weak Ice!Hyvät naiset ja herrat!                  (Ladies and gentlemen!)
Varokaa heikkoa jäätä!                   (Be aware of the weak ice!)
se polttaa jalkojenne alla               (it's burning under your feet)
tarttuu olkapäistänne kiinni             (grabs you by the shoulders)
kaksin käsin                             (with both hands)
syyttävin sormin                         (with blaming fingers)
Siinä on halkeama                        (There is a crack)
johon te putoatte                        (into which you will fall)
jos otatte vielä y
Puzzles"We all used to make puzzles,"
she says to everyone
"First we made the edges of life."
She wonders about the last piece:
"Something is missing..."
as the last piece is wandering off
The edges of life
Built a barren person
in her nervous version
It's true
We never finished our puzzle."
"The baby is dead," he says
"So what?" she asks
"Maybe we can try again," he begs
"The baby is dead," she says
"So what?" he asks
"I can't take it," she answers
She rages in the corner
Maybe the puzzle
was too hard
She worries
Maybe she has
no mind anymore
Men are puzzles
Women are puzzles
Puzzles of children
becoming adults
Puzzles of adults
accepting death
The rules, love and life
they are all pieces
Given by nobody
Taken by everybody
"Now the child throws
all our pieces away," she cries
Between WallsThis information is only passed between walls that can't listen nor see. It is possible to hear it outside, but not so easy to believe. When reality and truth collide, an explosion happens and dies down before anyone notices it. Then people don't think about facts, but they believe that everything is normal when it comes to the walls. So they start looking at the first room they see...
This evening is spent at a dusty and empty table. It is full of surprises, mostly because there is nothing on it. With only one cup of coffee and a room with a window with curtains over it. The curtains have patterns on them, red butterflies flying free of the fabric.
There is a twenty-five year old man watching TV and wondering about simple insults he has encountered every day. The air around the room stinks in his mind, but he can't quite tell pinpoint the reason. He can't see the other person still sitting at the table. He feels like he's alone.
This reminded the man that the child had been left outsi
Problem Child in DevelopmentI don't remember when this started
I was halcyon
but wanted to have everything
All the time, something on the mind
I wished for this and that
And my parents gave it to me
Now I'm a rotten man
And my parents call me lazy
say that I'm a burden
They say that
over and over
I'm no expert, but I trust my instincts
and say
"It's your fault,
not mine"
Pointing fingers in
every direction
Searching for reasons
why I'm not good enough,
why I have no patience,
why I am so lazy?
Is this really me or rubbish?
I was trained to live like this
Raised like I'm not worth a damn
Problems never thought about
Now my flight falls short
As I can't take a single step away from home
It feels like it's too difficult
To live
To breathe
Forgive me
Help me
I'm tired of being useless
I'll try so very very hard to fix myself
Look at me, I'm doing stuff on my own!
Does anybody care?
Or is this "just for show"?
It takes my whole life to be like everybody else
Trust me, I won't be a burden anymore


When We Dead Sing.Whenever I think of Death, I picture a fleshless form, buried inside a hovering and torn black cloak; a face with gaunt features and sunken eye sockets, empty of emotion and meat, long, knuckled fingers cradling skulls like infants, while the dead behind him sing. And then I remember it’s the twenty-first century and that he might come as a handsome man wearing a black suit, driving a black, classic shiny Chevy Bel Air and drinking Dalmore whiskey from crystal-made glasses, the kind that ring when you snap them with your finger.
I never pictured him like this.
There’s only one thing I like about this world, and that’s the sky. The feeling of soaring above anything that holds you down, of touching the endless blue hue with wings that are not even your own, of effortlessly gliding—hanging, lingering—between two worlds, one so different than the other. The way you can see how small you are: a speck drowning in all the vastness; the way you can realize how suf


You're an ocean in one drop.You are not alone in this life. Take the time to realise those who may be counting on your strength, those who’s heads fit perfectly on your shoulders, those who need your arms to hold them up.
You may be one person in the world, but you could mean the entire world to another, in many different forms. Company is what it comes down to; someone you can be alone with, someone you choose to spend your moments with, people who are more than a chapter in your story, those who are main characters, those who move you, those who linger on.
If you were really alone in this world, you wouldn’t feel alone; you’d feel complete, strong, immense. You would be everything you need, and you would stand tall without realising. You’re not alone, do you understand me? Do you hear me? Do you feel me? We’re both alive in this instant, isn’t that something?
What a crazy notion –– in these billions of years worth of existence, we’ve managed to stumble acros
SelfI’m afraid of being afraid, worried about feeling worried, and anxious about my anxieties.
Confusion, confusion, confusion, sense.
Losing self while trying to gain my strength, finding nowhere while trying to escape my somewhere.
Smiling only to end up wiping away my tears.
Crying only to end up intensely inspired.
Writing to let my soul drip ink; over pages as I blink away the ache falling from my eyes.
Feeling so alive, feeling so untouchable, feeling like I can fly.
Cowering into a corner when I’m what scares me most.
Holding my hand out until I grab it on the other side.
Confusion, confusion, confusion, sense.
I blossom, only to shrivel up, I shrivel up, only to blossom. I live only to die, I die only to live.
© Rocio Belinda Mendez


Grimm Truths: The SpinnerDon’t ask me my name – that's a bit of a sore point. Just call me "The Spinner", like everyone else does.
No one ever comes up here, you know... not that it bothers me. I can’t say I blame them. There’s nothing to do up here, nothing to look at. No trees, no flowers. Everything’s dead. No life of any sort in sight. I think someone would only come up here to die, to sit here and wait for Death. That's my plan, at least... and it seems like he’s never far away.
I think about the others down there sometimes: happy and safe in their little village, with their houses and their families. I wonder if they’re still talking about me? Maybe they haven’t given me a moment’s thought… it wouldn't surprise me. I’m old news now. It was all lies, anyway – not a word of what was said is true. But that didn’t matter, it still spread like wildfire. Everyone started using that bloody word I hate so much. The “K” word
The Person from PorlockYes – it was me, OK?
I made that foolish poet pay.
I just wanted to save the day:
to save the world from
another endless epic
filled with lines and images
that are total nonsense
but which academics
come to blows over
trying to define,
while those who say
“He's just rambling on!”
are labelled philistine.
I couldn't take it anymore:
the endless chatter and debates
over non-existent things
that becomes an all-out war.
So, I went up to his door -
talked about
and the taste of gingerbread
until I bamboozled that dream from his head
and he put down his pen and wept instead.
Full Moon in the ForestThe silver sphere rises, cov'ring the world
In shimmering crystal light.
Among the bare trees and brown dead leaves,
a wolf pack roams in the night.
They sniff at the ground, determined to find
The scent of their frightened prey.
But as they grind their teeth and claw at the mud,
their brother dashes astray.
The orb of the night has forced him to flee
From the thrill of the hunt, and his clan.
He howls and contorts as his fur peels away -
And there, in his place, lies a man.
The LAFTAW Agents - Beside the SeasideOfficial mission report by Agent Indigo Maxwell – filed July 30th, 11am
July 29th
07.30: Arrived at seaside resort – speculated location of The Great One's newest global takeover attempt: an aquatic doomsday device. Agent Miles Bandura acting as mission partner.
07.45-13.00: Device located and destroyed.
13.05 onwards: Peaceful R&R at hotel.
Private notes of Ms. Laura Phoenix, mission observer, Chief of Global Protection Unit
July 29th
07.00: Arrive in disguise at seaside resort for mission observation.
07.30: Agents Maxwell and Bandura arrive. Observation begins.
07.45-13.00: Aquatic doomsday device located and destroyed by Maxwell and Bandura.
13.05: Agents in giddy mood. Bandura suggests trip to funfair. Maxwell agrees.
13.15: Agents arrive at funfair. Bandura suggests riding rollercoaster. Maxwell agrees.
13.20-13.30: Agents ride rollercoaster. Maxwell's face takes on greenish tone.
13.31: Maxwell runs into public bathroom to vomit. Bandura eats hot-do
Plus SizeI.
I don't worry so much
about what size dresses I wear,
how many chins I have
or how many pounds I weigh.
I'm not all that bothered
if I don't really match
the airbrushed and edited standard of beauty
the media sells as the modern ideal.
I don't beat myself up
for eating the odd slice of cake,
tucking into a cookie
or savouring my favourite snacks.
Life's too short for all of that.
What scares me is the size of my heart.
Sometimes, my heart feels so big
I don't know if I'll ever fill it -
if there'll ever be a love
or a desire
or a dream big enough
to stop the pangs,
the cravings
and the feelings of emptiness.
Then again, at other times,
my heart feels so heavy
it almost weighs me down:
it stores sad thoughts
and negative reflections
of all the horrors in the world
and feels solid, like a stone
sinking within my chest.
Maybe my heart is a little too big.
Perhaps I could try a special diet -
like the “I Don't Give a Damn” Plan,
“Care Less
Hot Off The PressesI. Named and Shamed
I always thought the “freakshow” -
the parading of people who looked different
or who didn't fit our rigid rules of appearance -
went out with the Penny Farthing and gramophone.
I was mistaken.
Here and now, in the 21st Century,
it still goes on,
but we have scrapped the wooden platforms
and hand-painted signs
for flashing bulbs, glossy paper pages
and multicoloured ink.
Week after week, month after month,
the vultures fly after their prey:
people who have worked their way
into the bright, blinding spotlight
for singing, dancing, acting -
or even, on the odd occasion,
no clear reason at all -
and expose their flaws
for a slavering legion of “readers”.
Every ill-advised fashion choice,
every hair out of place,
every spare-tyred stomach,
every forming wrinkle -
anything considered less than perfect
is circled out and presented to the world
as though it were some sort of shocking offence.
The crime, Your Honour? Being human.
And, of cours
Evil Minions Union - Episode 3: The Aftermath by bookloverblue The Domestic MuseI beg your pardon
for not knowing
how to get any stain
off any surface,
how to make floor tiles
gleam like galaxies,
or for failing to memorise
every setting on the iron.
You'll have to forgive me
if I choose a microwave meal
as my plat du jour,
since my home cooking
is hardly worth a Michelin star:
like that time I made cupcakes
from packet mix
and they ended up resembling
the title creature
from some old sci-fi B-movie.
I apologise wholeheartedly
for not being able
to make my own dresses,
to stitch my own shirts
or to darn my own socks -
although I do, on occasion, damn them
for going into the washing machine
and then travelling, unseen
to some hitherto undiscovered dimension,
often callously abandoning their partners.
My skills, you see, do not lie
in bowl and spoon
or needle and thread,
but in pen and ink.
Ideas and images
whirl around in my mind
while the washing machine
is on its spin cycle.
I find myself plucking
adjectives and pronouns
as I de-fluff the tumble dryer.
The Photocopier FandangoThe light starts flashing.
The constant beeping provides the perfect melody.
I assume the primary position:
I clutch a pile of A4 paper
and hold it up to you,
to allay you and control you,
like the bullfighter's cape in the paso doble.
With clunky work shoes and starchy uniform
in the place of satin and sequins,
I dart back and forth
in a mix of cha-cha-cha and quickstep:
a routine well-practised day after day,
pulling open drawers and covers
with grace and sleight-of-hand,
clanging them shut again
with powerful pushes.
You, my dance partner, disobey,
your beeps growing louder,
your mechanical wrath growing.
I continue to try and appease you
with offerings of ink and reboots,
and yet you still refuse
to perform that much desired grand finale
and produce my much needed document.
Ah, screw it – I'm calling the technician.
Rubik's CubeI:
Rubik's marvellous, eponymous Cube:
symbol of the 1980s
and best known puzzle in the world.
I decided to buy one and try one
to better learn the virtue of patience.
I can now go three whole minutes without swearing at it.
(That's quite a good improvement.)
Little coloured squares on larger square faces -
constantly twisting and turning,
changing and contorting,
and yet never quite aligning.
You sometimes sense the solution in your grasp,
solid and sturdy, like the cube itself,
only for it to slip away again
after one sharp, ill-judged move.
Life feels like that sometimes.
You have all the pieces, all the little squares,
and yet, they never quite line up.
Something will always stand out.
Something will never fit in.
You'll feel frightened and frustrated,
as if you're falling, slipping and sliding
in every possible direction
just to find some meaning or conclusion...
and yet every move just brings more perplexity.
Career, love, personality, progress -
different aspec


The Heavenly ShipOne day, it was early evening and the sun was just about to set, as the Little Sheep came to his friend Stalker Horse on the meadow, where he just took his goodnight grass, and asked: "You, Stalker Horse, you know the way to the heavenly ship? ".
"Hmmm," replied Stalker Horse, because he just chewed with relish on some particularly tasty herbs, "I think I can help you, Little Sheep. My grandfather often told about it when I was young and described me the way there."
"Oh, that is fine," cried the Little Sheep delighted, "can we go right there?". "Please," begged the Little Sheep the Stalker Horse that could not be fazed and still tugged at a few blades of grass. "It is my birthday today."
"All right. Come, get on my back. We fly together to the Heavenly Ship".
Stalker Horse knelt down and the Little Sheep climbed without difficulty on the back of his friend.
"Hold on, Little Sheep, here we go!" With these words, Stalker Horse got to move. He was faster and faster until he finally t
Cannot Get Enough of YouNeed you,
Want everything:
Hair, skin!
Lost in the Spiritual WorldMy Darkness:
I have been meditating since I was 12 years of age. It was not only to escape the world around me but it helped me a lot in doing so. A world full of bullying beings addicted to matter of all kind. At that time I lost sense nearly completely. I really was cut up from the world at my young age, seeking shelter in astral travel. Just to differentiate from them, not to put myself with them on one level, to detach myself from material the best I could. And I felt that I did not need it. There was no contact to other people and I neglected my body completely.
I came to know that it was a wrong way and I changed to another extreme that looked like helping others at any risk, running against walls, bashing my head, giving all but receiving mostly nothing, self-sacrifice as I was not able to help myself.
The last change took place in 1995 and I feel that this is now the right way for me.
During my astral experiences over three decades I have met a lot of entities out there, on the
Midnight Blue SkyDense veils of mist flow over the valley bottom.
Although it is already dawn, the black shadows
Of the trees tower mysteriously and bizarre
As mystical signs into the midnight blue sky.
Even if the new day already dawns,
It is still deprived of its radiant light.
No draught of air stirs,
Over the landscape lies a peaceful silence.
Then the always new wonder:
The cold night finally superseding,
The morning sun - arisen from the dark -
Colours the midnight blue firmament with delicate red and gold.
In boundless light of the emerging morning,
The night withdraws into the realm of shadows,
The silence of nightly tranquility becomes extinct.
Light as a feather, the wind strikes the tree crowns,
Whose leaves crowd mysteriously murmur and whisper.
Freed, birds swing up into the sky,
Rejoice over a bright new day.
Making LoveWanting your love:
Total body desire.
Give me more ....More material -
Greedy foam -
Blown away.
Yours is Mine- Your fortune!
- No!
- I kill you!
Twinkling Sylvie and her BabyJohn was employed at a forwarding agency as a truck driver. Usually, he had to pick up parcels no matter how big they were, even pallets and machinery in wooden frame boxes.
Today, the sun was shining from the sky. No wind troubled the air. John was happy. Probably he could be at home sooner. Possibly, he also could take his wife with him on the tour. Sylvie was pregnant and attending her baby. Oh, how sweet and calming it was to keep his ears to her stomach and to listen to the little movements the little one made.
Officially, it was not allowed to take private people on a truck tour. But he decided that all three should spent a nice day together. It was John's birthday today and he wanted to celebrate it with his wife and unborn child.
He drove home with the truck to pick up his family. His pregnant wife entered the truck and both went to visit all the customers where he had to stop by for delivery. Sylvie was shading her eyes with sunglasses. When she became pregnant, she really got
Golden BeachesThe panorama over the sea and the clear view.
The listening to the ocean waves which find their end ashore,
Finishing their far journey across the sea.
The golden sand – spread over kilometers –
Along the wide beaches ends plain and flat in the ocean.
The palm-trees tower up and dispense some shade.
The soul relaxed, the legs dangling free to and fro.
Smile and laughter cover all the face.
Summer is beautiful.
Time of recreation and refreshment.
Everywhere are happy and blissful people.
Each of them is touched by the sun without exception.
But it can be endured easier
When the sea breeze blows over the island.
A real treat all along the line; everything is free and fine.
In the evening, the sun bends to the horizon and the colors change.
A romantic scenery approaches and all fears and worries perish in it.
The sun is only half to see, with intensive colors,
Like a red-golden fireball that lies down into the sea-water at the horizon.
It is a successful day and an unforgettab
Summer RainGathering of clouds:
Sky is weeping.
ExtraterrestrialOther life from another planet: Alien. Simply the BestThe best?
Better than all.
CarelessnessNeglect of others' needs:
Emotionally dead.
Evening SkyYour last breath,
So cold,
So powerless,
You lie in my arms!
The colour of your life,
So red,
Runs through my hands,
Which gave you so much love,
Touched you to give,
To feel!
My lips tremble,
But they remain silent,
Boundless failure,
The world sinks in pain!
In me slowly burns
Your paradise to dust!
The ashes of your life,
The clear crystal of my soul,
So gently covered,
As the evening sky,
Hugs my loneliness!
Birds of night,
Glide on silent wings,
Through the land of my dreams,
In which they take my heart
And carry it
Over the abyss of my life!
There they tear it apart,
In thousands of pieces so small,
Raining down on my life
In my darkness!
I see through my silent tears,
Which blur the beautiful moon
In the evening sky,
I see how I cry red tears!
They dip the moon
In a silent red!
Just for you …
I cry the colour of my grief.
Just for you …
I cry the colour of my love.
Just for you …
I cry the colour of your life.
Just for you …
I cry the colour of my pain.

from administration:


Lethal Advice of Willow | DepartedIf I were a man of authority | A pursuing president
The collar on my chest,
that stands for the color of society,
wouldn't mean a god damn thing.
Pay wouldn't be an issue,
and there wouldn't be a plea.
No man would ever have to run begging.
No man would ever have to fall on his knees.
He would never miss a moment,
he'd be able to cry in peace.
To go home, to not miss out on the living.
The life spared,
each day amongst ourselves.
It makes a difference,
when we can be greeted.
Amongst our family.
Amongst our foes.
Those damn children,
would never have to ask "But, why?..."
To never miss a moment, I would have to be a man of my own authority.
You would never hear, "You were never there..."
If I were a man of authority | A pursuing dream in the mind of a believer
The working man could still live amongst his people.
Not having to stress abou
Dedain |The ravaging condition of the over contempt, coarse, and unrated tale of dire consequences could never be so true; that in this life -- time, period, and condition I should say, is life. It's not the days that are left upon us, or what is to become of those past tenses, and futures -- but in the moment we are a part of such a reality that it literally ceases to exist. A royal statement yes, however, being that we are simply toyed around from the revolving verse we call, reality, it has given us the act of free will, but has not given us the will to act upon it.
Therefore, we are unable to choose what is destined, to what is naturally destined, and alas what was never suppose to be brought forth. Our most appropriate course of living is simply being. The cocktail of disorders, mental like situations, and illnesses is a gracious turn to say that we are not promised anything.
The cosmos, or Gods some would prefer, have given us the act of controlling such desperation in solving the
O |We bleed amongst those who seem to drain us of all integrity, yet we bleed amongst those who seem to need our essence the most. It's utterly remarkable how much this blood is able to supply and be brought forth of many surrogates, before it is thinned out and truly ran dry. A way to embark on the journey we all master at some point. To be able to give and not let go, yet have the ability to forget what is given and never hold on to the love that is cherished within it.


Chapter 01: ProphecyI. Ember’s Story
Chapter 01: Prophecy
April 11, 2290
It’s always like this. It has been for years.
    I wait at the edge of the forest. The breeze is calm, the air is clean of any foul vampire’s scent. The camp behind me is relaxed. There are a few people out and shuffling about, muttering rumors about new children – who would be assigned patrol, who would be assigned guard, and so on.
    It seems peaceful. But I know, in all reality, that it’s far from that. We werewolves live in constant fear of the vampires, of Katherine’s Clan. Her clan came to be a monitor for our clan, to keep us “under control.” They’re ruthless about it, too. The vampires keep strict territory borders around our camp, and any time we want to leave, we’re escorted by the vampires themselves. They haven’t always been around, or at least, that’s what the elders say. Forty-three years. That’s how long it


white smokeLines (inclusive of spaces): 33
By the promise of the moon, that shines
Among the stars, where our ancestors stand
by the brave, the ancients.
There does our path lead us, to the paths
Where our spirits embrace platitudes held as truth:
We are made from Mother Earth and we go back to Mother Earth
Harken, oh heavens above, to the calls of the elders.
The white smoke carries the spirit to the heavens
Raised was the call, as the ashes burns
burns the remains, a sacrifice, to call out
for a moment... calm; the moon's translucence
All sing with the elder, beckoning you
farewell; we watch, as your spirit finds peace
It takes a thousand voices to tell a single story
Thus do we cry, dearly departed:
The white smoke carries the spirit to the heavens
The smoke disappears, as the mist embraces the skies
And I recall what the ancestors had told me:
When you die, you will be spoken of as those in the sky, like the stars.
Thus is the prayer answered:
By t

That's a lot of deviations eh :wow: but look on the bright side - the more deviations, the more variety to pick and choose from. For those who are new, as well as old members, here are the rules:

• One critique allows you to submit one deviations, two critiques allows you to submit three deviations and three critiques or more allows you to submit five deviations for the whole month.
• You have to link/thumb the work which you have provided a critique on, to this journal.
• It is not compulsory but will be appreciated if you mention “This critique is on behalf of TheCritiquables” in your critique.

One pint though:

• Number of deviations featured is based on how many critiques are given – they are equal to the number of critiques – one up till three.

this particular rule was not applied in the case of this September feature to tell everyone that this group appreciates critiques. So everyone will be given a chance to provide something in return for your work being given exposure to help you improve as a writer.

With that said, if your work was accepted, but you did not provide critique on any works featured in this journal, then you will be provided a reminder about the absence of critiques from your side. For those who had provided critiques in August, separate your links of August with September - put another way, I would appreciate links to your comments which you made in August, and would also like to see critiques for the month of September as well. :)

If you have any further questions, do ask – we will update them.

Happy submitting :) Cheers.
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Criminal Master Mind


Second In Command





Add a Comment:
LindaBostic Featured By Owner Jul 10, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Oh, hey..thanx for the add.....
astrid-chan26 Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2014
sorry for the stupid question but... how do i do this:
"comment on the journal with the title of the work or link"
i already commented on a unnapreciated work malintra-shadowmoon.deviantart…
shehrozeameen Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
1) Go here:  Unappreciated Works Feature #17 (new format)hi everyone :wave:
I do sincerely apologize for the temporary closing of the submissions folder. :raincloud: Really, really sorry for the inconvenience.
The new feature for the month of June is up.
And this time with some restructuring as well as a new layout that might be easier for everyone to follow :dummy:
*people's response*
So, the works for the month of June are:



The LAFTAW Agents - Alternative Character Intros by bookloverblue The LAFTAW Agents - The Hunt is On by bookloverblue
Spelunking by Fundelstein Masquerade by Fundelstein There's Lots of Splendor in Serkonos by Fundelstein
UNFINISHED: Night by mjponso Consequence by mjponso [Amy] Burn, Baby, Burn: Ch. 1 by mjponso
Now, the rules for submission are as follows:
• One critique allows you to submit one deviations, two critiques allows you to submit three deviations and three critiques or more allows you to submit five de

2) on your critique, add about 100 more words. Describe what it meant for you, whether you feel that it can be improved. Things like any line which stood out and why, or whether there was some book or concept from the poem which you really liked as it evoked a nostalgia or something. And finally, on an ending note, what was the take home message you got from the poem.

3) Copy the link of your comment (click on the "comment" link on the header of the comment) and paste it onto the journal which has been linked.

4) Then you can submit.

And it isn't a stupid question. Its an FAQ we get often, don't worry about it. Follow these steps and you'll be fine.

By the way, Welcome to the group :)
NotenSMSK Featured By Owner Jun 10, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Oh - an addition - there is no need for it to be exactly 100 words or plus. Like it can be as little as 80 words but it is mainly required to be meaningful :) I hope you enjoy submitting! 
shehrozeameen Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
... yeah... this one.
(1 Reply)
PaleAuthor Featured By Owner Jun 4, 2014  Student Writer
Why can't I contribute? What did I do wrong? 

Cry forever
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