Friends of the Revolution, December 2014

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HAPPY DECEMBER. :eager: It's now december and yaaaay december. I like December because it means sparkly lights and winter. :D (Or if you're in the other half of the world--summer!) For all those that survived NaNoWriMo good on you! Now you should write for our promt. I mena what shameless group promotion? NEVER.



Apocalypse-writing


 For people who enjoy writing and or reading apocalyptic stories.
Apocalyptic fan fiction is welcome!

From zombies to aliens to meteors to other worlds. What's your story?

What will you do when the apocalypse comes?  

- From Apocalypse-writing's Group Info


Admins of Apocalypse-writing



Founder


:iconcorporal34:

Co-Founder


:iconezradeacon:



What else?





Apocalypse-writing



  G is for GoodbyeA few decades ago, the Final War began. The world went to hell and the war itself lasted two weeks before the nuclear bombs fell... I don't really know much about it besides what my parents told me when I was a child. All I know is that my parents managed to survive because they were in a cave system when it happened, along with fifty-something other people. The cavern was obviously large enough for all those people, having been a popular tourist destination before the war. There's a medical bay, restroom, small library, storage area and a steady supply of natural, if slightly irradiated cave water. There's also a communications room, but nothing works so outside communication is impossible. In the days after the apocalypse, apparently a quarter of the people in the cavern left. Their emotions and worries for their loved ones understandably got the better of them and their survival instinct. None of those people ever returned. Claimed by the fallout of the war.
I was born a few weeks a
Arterial MotiveMy arteries still ache from when you rummaged through my arms
To find something more inviting than my eyes.
You bumped into a little chunk of fear leftover
From some faraway past,
And you thought I was weak enough to comply.
He flung words, like birds, into my eyes.
His pro-order (new-order) lies
Solidified at my ears, then cracked,
They fell to the ground -
He collapsed in tears.
We danced in the dust between the roses
And brought ourselves pearls to play skipping games with,
And the rotten ribbons of your throat spread your lips wide,
They reached out to choke me
But the tattered ends just flopped in the breeze of my breath.
Now I don't have to say a word,
Just breathe and you're gone.
2013-2014
Scorched Earth-Grace's journal, April 29th
Passed by the Michaelson's farm today. We saw movement through the window, but couldn't tell who it was. No one alive in there anyway. The front door was boarded up from the outside.
Gran's house is on the other side of the hill. No more excuses. I'm not sure what we'll find, but I can't stop thinking I'll see Janet and Aaron again. Maybe everything will be ok...
---
Everything had turned to ash.
“This happened a while ago, Grace, the scorch marks are old,” Joanna said.
“I haven't been back since Thanksgiving,” she said, “But I called before we lost phone service. They were fine.” She heard the note of panic in her voice and tried to take a breath. It felt like trying to suck air through a plastic bag.
The earth, the foundation, the now skeletal support beams---the fire had left nothing more. There wasn't enough left of the walls to give them protection from the winds. Even the garden Gran had fenced off and lovingly tend
Is This The End?I have it on the very best of authority that time will stop within thirty minutes. Don't ask me questions; I'm a physicist. I am to be trusted. In a half an hour, slightly longer than the average cartoon runs, time itself will come to a complete halt. At that point, every single process that is ongoing in the universe will cease to move any further, will hold its position.
Matter-antimatter annihilation will cease, leaving particles to stand side by side, quasars will forever release the same burst of photons, and that annoying couple you allowed to come into being in high school will forever be half-standing from the sofa very early into the party, one permanently in a state of coming up with an excuse for their premature departure at the urging of the other. Sorry, that's just the way it is.
I haven't got much time. It's taken me ten minutes just to figure out the right way to pose that witty (if I do say so myself) quip about the couple leaving early. Soon I won't be able to say muc
Plagued by PhantasmsAurora bolted upright in the bedroll and felt her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest. The fire had died down to embers and she was glad for it, because anyone awake would have seen the terrified look on her face and that she was trembling.
To reassure herself that it was all just a dream she reached down and touched the rifle she slept next to. It was well worn from the previous owner, but since coming to the surface after her home was destroyed by raiders she had put in her own wear on the rifle.  There was a small emblem on the stock that he'd asked someone to put on it, it was her name in fancy script. Touching the emblem calmed her down a bit, but she still felt uneasy. If she tried really hard to could convince herself it was because she felt they were going to be attacked by raiders or refugees at any second, but the real reason was the nightmare she had over and over again.
"Aura, why are you awake?" Kevin's voice startled her and she glanced over at him. In the


:iconapocalypse-writing:





Writing-To-Save


 :rose:~This is a group dedicated to helping people who need it — through literature!~:rose:

:bulletyellow: Whether you are going through a rough time in your life, suffering from depression, suicidal thoughts or tendencies, or just need to relax and want to enjoy some great literature, go no further!

:bulletred: We are here to offer our support, no matter what you are going through. Having writing as your emotional outlet is one of the best ways to try to heal. No matter what, we are a group that is full of friendly people who know and understand what you are going through. We are here to keep you strong. :heart:

Write What You Feel.
Feel What You Write.
No matter what,
writing can save your life.


~ No judging or being rude to people. You don't know what they've been through.

~ No stealing other people's work! Not only is it unfair, but horribly rude and cruel. It will not be tolerated!

~ Submit literature to the proper folders, please!

~ No submitting to Featured! That will be where contest winners, or work we find exceptional will go.

~ Be active! There will be plenty of amazing people to talk to and get some writing ideas from!

~ Come here whenever you need to. We are here to help!

~ Have fun! :)  

- From Writing-To-Save's Group Info


Admins of Writing-To-Save



Founder


:iconsky-full-of-stars:

Co-Founder


:iconcopper9lives:

Contributors


:iconessieo-novels: :iconcrazy0n389:



What else?





Writing-To-Save



  Gated CommunityThere’s an underwear ad just outside my apartment window. It’s the one that they never changed; the one they thought little enough of to leave. The model has a tear across her breasts—all she is now is a face and a pair of scanty purple panties. She stares with frighteningly angled eyebrows, more drawn than grown, with a lengthened face, distorted cheekbones, voluptuous blonde curls. When it rains I could swear her mascara is running, and when the weather dries the tear stains are still there.
My apartment lost power about a year ago. I had a generator going for a little while but I ran out of gas. No fridge, just assorted nonperishables stacked into my cupboard like an apocalypse hoard. There’s just me and Cassandra, the model, and at night I pretend I can see her through the darkness.
My watch stopped working and I never found another to get me by. I just kind of guess, skirting by on the sun with my pack over one shoulder or the other. I’m not afraid of
Waning GibbousMisty-mouthed,
staring at a pearl on velvet,
softly cradled over
the burnt-sienna maples,
the moon lies tilted sideways
unaware of the girl
the dog
contemplating craters and whether or not
they look like a woman's face
or a child idly dancing
on ground that remembers all footprints.
Remember UsWhen you go home, I
hope you look up to the stars
and remember us.
dear depression,(master of the umbra)
i hate you.
broken whispers, lonely promises,
you are the worst of lovers, owning all, but
never seeming to be satisfied
even with your name branded scarlet into my wrists.
i am no longer the golden songbird as when you first met me,
but yet
you still hang onto me
your claws
raking across my heart like
my pen ripping across the bloodstained page, like
lightning across the skies, (vengeance
raining down from the gods i used to believe in)
"don't let them catch you,"
you breathed into my ears.
an ounce of life, in exchange for a cloak of darkness (i thought i'd only stay one night)
the fog was sluggish and deep.
so blinded, I hid
in the shelter you offered me
(i still hear those echoes)
my rib cages are my prison bars, my heart bound by these chains...
you chopped off my wings and left bleeding stumps
and told me i was never bound for the skies.
(shattered glass, lifeless eyes)
Set me free.
:thumb491257714:

:iconwriting-to-save:


>>All hail GinkgoWerkstatt for this beautiful skin.
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NamelessShe's avatar
Thank you so much for featuring my piece! :hug: