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WhispersAll he wanted was her heart...
It's always been the only thing he wanted. To hear her laugh. To see her smile. To feel her beside him.
But she didn't want him that way. Flat out rejected him.
10 months later, she had the nerve to invite him to her wedding. Did she want to see him suffer?
Watching her, it felt like a new door had opened, a new path. The road that would save his ever deteriorating mind.
She still looked beautiful in her dress, her make up smeared and her hair a mess. She still looked a gorgeous as ever.
Even while she was bound to a chair. Even as she struggled and pleaded.
He pulled out the ring, the same one from that dreadful night. The one she had rejected and walked away from.
Once last chance... he would give her the last chance to be his.
She told him to go die.
As the ring slipped from his fingers, so did his last shred of sanity. All his memories of her faded as he came to a realization:
If he couldn't have her, no one could.
She would forever be his, he knew, e
The sound of loveThe sound of sadness
Has the same tune of love
As graceful as a dancer
As peaceful as a dove
raining from above
Tears staining your heart
A strung out tune fills the room
What is this joy?
It brings a smile to her lips
As she weeps in pain
The ghost of a laugh joins the sound
This sound so sweet
it's almost painful
This is the song of love
a bittersweet melody
When will I find my song?
Who will match my tune?
SweepAs soon as he stepped into the open field, he slung the minesweeper from his shoulder and pointed its nose to the ground. It was old, worn and heavy, and old and rough, calloused and breaking, and old. The metal between his hands was cold and chilled his fingers. If he was not careful he could step on the very mines he was trying to find. They would have to pick up the pieces of his body and to send the tags home where his wife would cry and hold his son and daughter close with nothing to show them of their father but a piece of metal engraved with "Ajeet Singh".
One sweep, than another.
This war had taught him to never trust open spaces. Open spaces were where the mines were planted, where Prets lay in wait. France was green and damp just like the uniform he wore. It had been days since he was separated from his unit, and now the Allies were breathing on his neck, searching for POW’s, searching for the enemy of which he was one. &
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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