|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Dead of Night: Preview 1DEAD OF NIGHT
A man with no name. An unsuspecting but concerned coroner who should have been an artist. A vampire with a penchant for scalpels. A dead little boy who wants to find out what he left behind.
He crept in further, glancing nervously up at the rough brick walls, then instantly drew back and froze.
"I'm fine, Dr. Achenleck."
"Please don't, uh. Don't call me doctor," he said faintly, staring at the Detective and the ragged man holding him up against the wall. He was wearing some kind of long, thin coat that had once been white, bursting with matted fur at the throat and cuffs. He turned and his eyes flashed white like a cat's in the sudden glare from headlights. A low growl, prickly and sourceless, rippled through the narrow black alley.
"What I mean is, I think you should leave," the Detective said over the gnarled fist strangling his tie, voice forcibly, aggressively calm. His pretty almond eyes flickered up to the lips curled inch
TallyThere was the moment.
Of course, there were no end of moments with a guy like Luce. Hell, even the way the scrawny eight-year-old punched him in his generous nine-year-old gut with a fist like a goddamn ice-pick and told him to forget about his fucking baseball was one that would never quite leave Lamont Toucey's mind. At that age, the way Luce wielded his curse-words was just about as impressive as the way he handled his elbows, but Lamont was a quick study and had a bit of chubbiness for protection. Older, they barreled through alleys behind bars, laughing and wiping at each other's bloody noses. Not cleaning, mind, just wiping, and then snapping at each other, demanding why they wore their best shirts when this happened every fucking time, you bastard.
The individual punches really weren't noteworthy anymore, but rather a dime-a-dozen. They were some sort of investment in the blood-based bank that was Lamont and Luce, cramming them closer with every new tight ba
MercyOh sweet God how the grassland
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
Keep in Touch!
A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More