My Friend, the Reaper by Shyanne-Kai on DeviantArt

Theme

Display Mature Content

Suppress AI Content

Get Help and Send Feedback

This deviation has been labeled as containing themes not suitable for all deviants.

Deviation Actions

Daily Deviation

January 20, 2014

My Friend, the Reaper by Shyanne-Kai

Featured by BeccaJS

Shyanne-Kai

Published: May 31, 2013

6.1K Views

Literature Text

This content is unavailable.

More by Shyanne-Kai

Literature

TUiUT: One - Edited Version

The biting wind clawed at where Hyriko’s ear had once been, tearing at the the stitches, wanting her to bleed for the mountain. The taste of iron reminded her why she had to keep stumbling across this frozen, rocky path. Soon the nearly indiscernible track would disappear and she'd be facing the mountains in their wildest form. It wasn't a territory she was used to; her only exposure to the place beyond the iron gates were through her reference books. The verbal rantings from her experiments were always in languages she could not understand. Hyriko stopped running and tried to sense the vibrations of the skryll coming after her, but this strange terrain and weather was disorientating. Her head spun. For all she knew she had turned around and was headed back to Aguez- She was convinced the rumbling below her feet was now so intense that it felt as though it were inside her and, had it been noise, would have been so close to her ears that- A swish of movement. A displacement of air:

Recommended Literature

Literature

A Bloody, Stupid Miracle

The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic. But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when

Literature

Her Catalyst

As she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble. So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together. But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot

Literature

What I Lost

“I lost a finger,” Dolph proclaimed in a manner of startling, distant normality to his father, who had just ghosted by him into the kitchen to find something. His father paused like a clogged clock and spun suddenly on a hinge to see and confirm, and Dolph held up his hand to reveal his organic matter’s metallic replacement. “It’s just the pinky one.” His father sluggishly pulled up a chair and printed sentences and fragments streamed from the printing compartment on his patchwork-junk face which Dolph had labored so fiercely to build and jumpstart over three years ago. Dolph reached for the re

Suggested Collections

Poetry

Literature

never become a writer

i.never become a writer. you will become a perfectionist, picking life apart with a magpie's eye, hunting for the beautiful bits until you can make yourself a sparkling throne in the center of a junkyard. ii.you will write when you're sad. you will write when you're happy. whenever you feel something, you will vomit the emotion out into some sort of literature. when you're finished, you'll be empty and surrounded by pages and pages of everything you once were. iii.you will try to make pain sound delicious, painting over the ragged wounds with pink paint and candy-coat lies. you will learn how to decorate graveyards. everyone will play

Literature

here's to losing you

hey, wow,you look... great! you do! I'm well, and you? good, good. are you happy? great! am I? no, but here, have my nervous laughter, see me turn myself upside down when we run into each other. while you are shaking hands and kissing babies still smiling for smiling's sake, I've seen the real you crying into wine. I've felt you stain my shirt black-streaked with hidden away things creased things, folded and-tucked-under-heavy upturned-lip things and in the process, you soaked my soul in everything you. spooning your vulnerability was better than exchanging virginities in one blind night, better than the electric jolts you sent burni

Literature

Spaces

When you said you needed space, you meant more between your fingers, so you could hold someone else's hand.

Prose 'n Poetry

Literature

Grommets for Hanging

The buildings so tightly packed that the roofs became a city unto themselves, new roofs erected from detritus hauled up from the streets below, built by human versions of same. Old rooftop was floor space now, shingled and tar-papered carpet subfloor under layers of cardboard bedding and lean-tos and currogated shacks thrown up against exhaust vents. The sun was blocked by endless tarpaulin of vinyl sheeting stitched with baling wire and shoestring and power cables from obsolete machines, held aloft by whatever the roof dwellers could prop up. Cymbal was picking mushrooms under the blue light cast from noon sun filtered through the vinyl ove

Literature

Growing Pains

The day I grew roots was a messy collage of sap and broken dreams. I had studied trees in the first and second grade but never realized how close I would grow to becoming one. At that root-growing, fifteen years were in my tree—my deciduous spine, some days more willow than pine—and it was smeared into my canvas that some in the world take pleasure in logging. My father once told me that man cared nothing for forests, for the purity in nature, and in that moment I saw its truth: I was no longer someone I knew, but a girl with handprints on her chest and quiet in the way that I halved myself to die. In the moments my eyes were clo

Charlie-Bowater on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/charlie-bowater/art/The-Fall-509078021Charlie-Bowater

Poetry

Literature

A Letter For A Deceased Mother

Dear Mother, A glance at my calendar, much to my distress, right now these feelings, I must confess. It's Mother's Day once again and my heart is filled with sorrow, that may never mend. I'm trying to make it through today without tears this year, just like all the rest of the years. I sit here to dwell and morn with what once was had, has now been forever torn. This day never ceases to remind me how I'm without and fills me with an overflowing doubt. Makes me regret how little the days with you were spent and I ponder where all those precious memories could have went. If only I knew back then what I know now and my life, the knowledge,

Literature

Family Tree

If we're tied together by blood then I'm anemic Coughing up the words I swallowed for years like I'm bulimic The bird still bears the stumps where you severed off its wings I bet you'd chop down a tree just to count all its rings If you keep breaking branches you don't think belong There will be nothing left for you to cling on Have fun falling to your death

Literature

epitaph

the girl i did not run over looks at me with eyes that say that i am part of the problem, when i could have been her solution, looks at me like she’s blaming me for swerving away, like she’s measured every one of her steps from her door to the curb, and i am the one thing she failed to account for. i almost double back to try and tell her all the same things that i have been told but i do not. her feet are too heavy, by now. her stomach too hollow. she does not need more empty words to swallow, she does not need stop signs or yield signs or ‘for the love of god think of everyone you are leaving behind’ signs. i do no

Featured in Groups

Shyanne-Kai on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/shyanne-kai/art/Sekiro-888686151Shyanne-Kai

Shyanne-Kai on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/shyanne-kai/art/Ammy-358494179Shyanne-Kai

So, this is a prompt for the amazing group

We had to use the following:

One Car
Two Letters
Three Days
Four Girls
Five Minutes
Six Times
Seven Years Ago
Eight Feet Tall
Nine Miles
Ten Dollars

I had a few vague images about an assassin that kind of mutated. Was nice though, I've had writer's block for about a couple of months now, but the more I got into this, the more I just couldn't stop writing. Some of the numbers just slotted into place and helped develop the story, but others were a bit more stubborn with what they wanted to be. However, this is probably the most fun I've had with a prompt.

Although I think this still needs a heavy edit, any comments are welcome, and constructive criticism is appreciated