A Handful of Moths The mountain is a pincushion for cactus. It looks like some irritated desert deity just threw saguaros like spears at the hillside until s/he ran out of spears.

It's movie night, and that means that tires crunch through the gravel at the drive-in to see the latest stars-and-explosions movie. It's robots tonight, great city-wrecking things with Hollywood voices and gears spinning behind their ear plates. That means that we pile into the cars and go, plaid rugs flung over the backs of the seats, plaid shirts over tank tops, team bumper stickers. Go Team! It's cooled down to seventy-five degrees and the condensation on my soda cup drops down t

Transdimensional Super TeamNotice: The full length version of this tale, which is far more palatable, is available right here.

The magical computer pool glowed.  We stood around it like gods.

"Place your palms upon the unimetriscope," said the man in the top hat.  "Validate your identities to Her Majesty, the Queen of the Multiverse."

It all seemed a bit hoity-toity to me, but there's a lot to be said for peer pressure when some extra-dimensional fancypants tells you your "peers" are a lady with wings, a James Bond looking guy, a giant robot, and a little girl and her psychic-bondmate, a white pony.

The guy in the top hat called hims

The WeekendI show up unannounced, like clockwork, and when you let me in, the act of opening the door flows smoothly into the act of pulling me against you. This is our weekend. We won't leave this room for another forty-eight hours.

You pull me over to the couch and ask about my week, and we trade stories of minor frustrations and negligible disappointments. The sun sets in a glory of flame, and our weekend officially begins.

Usually these things are unplanned—just a shapeless succession of quiet moments—but you've planned something this time. You have a horror movie. Popcorn for you. Crunchy fruit-shaped candy for me. "You know me too well

BrackishAfter the wet season, before
the midsummer night's drought,
I flight for the floodplains, where
the northern downpour bleeds out
and sweeps its love to the mouth
of my lungs. I sleep in the crux
of an oxbow, let my dreams flux
and flow fractured, deltaic. For this
is the way I piece myself apart,
a resolution, my absolution
in a new avulsion.

During the day, I move south
towards the river mouth, picking
pebbles, coral fangs from the riverbed.
A loose tooth is a common truth
in these parts. Bones are febrile,
eyelashes are made of chalk, salt.
Tears turn brackish. They cake
and crack on the flats of my hands.

This is my Pang

Actinium DreamsY'all have any idea how downright frustrating it is to be the granddaughter of one of the most powerful and celebrated superheroes ever — Ulysses Randall Martin, the iconic Mr. Uranium — and yet have no special talent of your own?

I mean, it's not like I don't have my own elemental superpower: like almost all of Grandpa's progeny, I do. But how much good is the ability to produce hard-hitting Alpha and destructive Beta rays if you can barely control it and never quite turn it off? At least I'm not as bad off as my son Frankie; I love him to death, but when left alone the poor boy is totally unstable and downright dangerous: the wor

So Long, I Must Be GoingWashington - The American space agency Nasa has lost contact with the 9-year-old Prometheus I space probe to Alpha Centauri, officials have announced. Prometheus was the first to pass through the Oort cloud and send to Earth close-up images of comets and proto-comets found there, on its way to our nearest neighboring star system. Catastrophic hardware failure is suspected, perhaps as the result of collision with space debris.

--

As it turns out, the galaxy is teeming with intelligence, and I found it. Or it found me. Wait, let me back up and start over. I'm new at all this story telling stuff. Never had to do it before.

I'm a deep-sp

MemoryI stand and stare in awe.

'It was quite damaged after the accident, so we couldn't save it,' the woman is saying. She is dressed smartly, with her hair scraped back into a high ponytail, and she looks a bit like a headmistress, but she speaks quite kindly. 'Most of the contents were unharmed, though, and so we've put them in boxes for you to look through – it's a fairly long drive from here to our destination.'

There is a brief silence, during which she gets into the car and puts on her seat belt, and then she seems to finally notice that I am gaping. 'Ah,' she says. 'We did tell you that your mother was a photographer, but I think we

The Farmers SonWe sat sipping grappa as the storm clouds rolled in from the ridges
like the smoke from some great unseen inferno,
the wood walls and shingles of the house complained to us
in low groans,
of the wind coming up hard, through the valley,

and there was flickering light from a candle,
and she told me how light from a prism dissects into different colours that correspond
in some way to our bodies and that all of life was a rhythm

and I believed that part,

and I believed there were stars beyond the sight of man on any grey day
and that they might hold some greater secret than prisms or rhythms
or any question a farmers son could ever

Perfect ContritionIn a proper Catholic church, everything echoes. Any sound uttered within the building bounces of the floor and the walls and the high, vaulted ceilings, so much so that I imagine that they could easily reach the ears of God himself. It's a rather poetic thought, the voices of mere mortals ringing towards Heaven with the help of good acoustics, but that thought's tempered by the fact that it includes every single noise: the coughs of emphysemic old men, the rustling of an impatient young girl's dress, and the taps of even the softest rubber-soled sneakers are no exception. On rainy days like this one, those shoes tend to squeak, which probably

The Business Wolf stopped gnawing on his third plate of Lapin Bleu d'Auvergne and pointed at Deer with his fork. "The problem," he said, "is that you've got a bum deal going on with your agent. You're paying him far too much if all he was able to get you was public affection. I mean, there's what-- thirteen million white-tailed deer in the United States alone, right?"

Deer looked down at his glass, which was half-full of some white wine. He was a little unsure whether or not he liked it, as he didn't really know what made wine good or bad or even what type of wine it happened to be. He'd looked

HubrisThe world is not a skeleton. It does not ache bone-deep with our atrocities, nor is it fragile and ready for the breaking. It knows nothing so human, except perhaps to forgive our pride. Let me explain:

Young, I am a bright star with small, pudgy hands for guiltless flower-crushing. Before even that, I am a wispy squall for food, unused to knowing anything but myself, and warmth, and hunger.

The concept of a hero is a natural progression from understanding speech. I am Me. I am the one all the stories talk about, born special, to whom both innocence and wisdom are possible. I am so great a part of my own self that I do not know it can be de

Wild Hunt :: LongmaLike any good story, this one does not begin where it began. It does, however, begin where it ends—at a funeral.

The village was not particularly big. Rather, it was frightfully small, and just as frightfully remote. That said, it was little surprise that every denizen turned out for something so important as the funeral of a good man.

—and it truly was each and every one: every man, woman, and child; every son, brother, and father; every maiden, mother, and crone. It was said even the dogs followed at the heels of their masters, even the songbirds gathered in the trees, and the livestock unable to free themselves from their pens

Fold Overi.

across the vaults estimated by every milky tone
the curious whirl in old friends gather a surface
wholly between each divide of behavioral light
cones bend to placate our amass combustion

that is

until her legs uncrossed absolving my repetitive
nature to forget what conditions a truth has also
to submerge and share in upholding closely
the uniqueness of love we each must extinguish

our self

to then

ii.

across
the vaults

estimated by every
milky tone

the curious
whirl in

old friends
gather

a surface
wholly

between each
divide

of behavioral
light

cones bend to
placate

our amass combustion
that is

unti

Recycled DreamsI was halfway down the second floor apartment stairs when I realized I'd left my left arm on the table.

It's no surprise of course, for I've always had a habit of misplacing important things like keys, documents, and identification cards, but to leave one’s arm on the table is truly embarrassing. I would have run back to get it, but the bus driver is always a bit early on Tuesdays and I could already hear the distant hum of the engine making its way to me. And it's not like I really need it for work anyway. So I left it behind.

It's penguins and oranges today; my latest client is a fairly normal one. The last dreamer wanted marsupia

The Trouble With HomonymsI suffered quite badly from Medical Student Syndrome in my first year of studying, to the point where I no longer trust myself to diagnose even the common cold when it comes to my own body. Not that it was ever the simple ones I thought I had - it never works that way. The rare ones, the ones that are hard to diagnose, the ones that have such few outward symptoms that they slip past professionals time and time again, those were the ones I obsessed over.

That was twenty years ago and I still don't trust myself to self-diagnose athough I'm sure I'd never make those mistakes again. I've devoted my career to those rare disorders that had me so h

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Trial at Nurembergby =star-blazer

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^{Awarded a DD on 10/06/2011
Featured at ~Lit-Twitter 2011
Featured in #WritersInk's Weekly Round Up 2011
Published in Writers' Block Literary Anthology 2012

My first ever Daily Deviation. It was written as my first short story submission for my Fiction Writing 300 class. Trial at Nuremberg is a short piece based on characters from my novel that is to be released in January 2013. It in no way is how the actual story ends, but was simply a piece inspired by my larger project.

My first short story for my Fiction Writing 300 class this semester. It's due tomorrow, but won't be work-shopped until next Thursday. Overall, I'm rather proud of the outcome, but there are still a few things that I'm iffy about. I appreciate the help from people that looked this over for me before hand and gave me their opinions-- it definitely helped! Also, since my friends wanted me to put it up here, here it is.

Hopefully it's somewhat enjoyable.

Story and characters (c) E. Sinnott 2011}

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Submitted on: September 28, 2011
File Size: 21.9 KB

Views: 8,665
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Daily Deviation

Given 2011-10-06

Trial at Nuremberg is a well-written piece of historical fiction by =star-blazer. ( Suggested by ~Richtor-Blitz and Featured by $wreckling )

love 4 4

joy 1 1

wow 3 3

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

`KathrynODriscoll Jan 10, 2013 Student Writer

_{Hey there I featured this piece here and just thought I'd let you know.

Thanks!}

=star-blazer Jan 10, 2013 Professional Writer

Thanks!

~revampyre Aug 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I was pointed over here from the literature forum and I have to say I agree with so many of the other comments. This is probably the best written WWII related story I've ever read (: Both on the site and in general. Your writing skills are amazing both with character creating and in general. I definitely want to read more of your work.

=star-blazer Aug 23, 2012 Professional Writer

^{Oh! Thank you so very much I'm so glad that you enjoyed reading!

Your comment has made my day}

~IchigoNeko1997 Jul 14, 2012

Okay, I've only read two of your short stories and I already think your really good

Keep it up ^^

=star-blazer Jul 14, 2012 Professional Writer

^{Aww! Thank you!}

~IchigoNeko1997 Jul 15, 2012

welcome

~FuneralSong42 Jun 16, 2012

I really have been trying to read this for a long time but never got around to it. I've skimmed it before and saw the wonderful comments and that you got a DD for it

It deserves all the praise that it's getting. This is beautiful.
I honestly think this is my favorite piece of writing on deviantart like a few other people have said. You have such a talent with your word. Please never stop writing.

=star-blazer Jun 16, 2012 Professional Writer

^{Thank you so much! I'm hoping to do quite a bit with this one. I actually am submitting it after one more polish to a big literature magazine. If it gets published, it could be the start of something really big for me in the literature world! I just need to decide when I want to submit it.

Your comments seriously have made my day}

~FuneralSong42 Jun 16, 2012

Really? That's great!

I wish you the best of luck, dear. You already have so many awards and credentials on that piece that you don't need to worry. I'm sure it will get picked up by another publisher somewhere. It already was published once so that's good enough, but if you can get the big literature mag that would be fantastic. Please please please keep us updated

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