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Plastic :iconcupofcharlie:CupofCharlie 9 15
Literature
Who's At The Window? ALTERNATE ENDING
'Tiptoe, through the window, by the window, that is where I'll be'
                                                                                                                                                                             - Tiny Tim.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
I open my eyes sleepily. I am lying in bed on my side facing the window, my body curled up into the foetal position. I feel my boyfriend's warm body behind me, our legs overlapping one another, his arm protectively holding me and making me feel safe. I can hear him breathing deeply. He is fast asle
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Literature
Who's At The Window?
'Tiptoe, through the window, by the window, that is where I'll be'
                                                                                                                                                         
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Literature
It Wasn't Jack: A Halloween Tale
“Jack, I thought I told you to tidy your room?”
“I’ll do it tomorrow mum. I promise.”
I look around my son’s room with visible exasperation. His bedroom floor is completely strewn with bits of lego, books, clothing and video game controllers. The dark blue carpet is barely visible beneath all the mess.
“Okay but if it’s not sparkly clean by this time tomorrow then I will cancel our trip to Disney World. Trust me.”
Jack sighs. “Finnnnne.”
“Come on now, it’s well past your bedtime. Go and brush your teeth and then get into bed honey. It’s late.”
Jack drops the pieces of lego in his hand next to the large castle he is constructing out of the multicoloured blocks. He runs out of the room toward the bathroom. I ruffle his hair as he rushes past.
I start to pick up some of the clothes he has left across the bedroom doorway. I walk across his room, fold them roughly and place them on the rocking c
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Literature
The First Time I Saw Him Part 2
‘I wanna fall in love, but all my tears have been used up on another love’
- Tom Odell.
Despite the fact that I still felt ridiculously embarrassed, his words proved to be very reassuring and made me feel a lot less self-conscious. I felt very thankful toward him for that. My cheeks began to soften in colour; not quite the violent scarlet they had initially turned. I still felt slightly flushed, though I couldn’t quite explain why. When he attempted to keep the conversation going by asking my name, I couldn’t help but feel suddenly shy. I wasn’t sure whether he was just being polite or if he was genuinely interested in me. The thought that he might be interested caused my stomach to flutter ever so subtly. His mannerisms were all very laid back and casual – nonchalantly slipping his hand into his pocket for instance – but I couldn’t shrug off the feeling that perhaps he was trying to play it cool.
I cleared my throat before
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Literature
Mr Snidey
Mr Snidey slowly lowered himself into his worn old armchair, the seat indented to fit his shape, for so long had he occupied it. His knees creaked like ancient tree trunks as he descended. As he settled himself down, he spread his arms against the armrests luxuriously, much like a king would on a grand throne. Every movement he made appeared to occur in slow motion, his body no longer able to deal with life at what most people would describe as normal speed.
He slowly removed his brown slippers and lifted his legs to rest on the footstool before him. Getting up to turn on the television was an arduous task for Mr Snidey, and he tired easily. He exhaled deeply, and closed his eyes briefly, savouring the calming few moments when his aged muscles began to relax.
His face was deeply wrinkled; marking the many years he had inhabited this Earth. His skin was yellowed with age, much like the pages of a worn book, and was scattered haphazardly with liver spots. His pale eyes radiated kindness;
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Literature
The Destruction Of Millie McGuire
‘You may think that he’s a demolition expert when he’s finished with your self-esteem’
- George Ezra.
‘I could not eat for days, I cried so much my face has never been the same’
- Hard-fi.
Millie McGuire pushed open the door to her favourite coffee shop at 1.10pm, as she did at precisely the same time every day, and hurriedly escaped the bitter chill of the unforgiving outdoors. She welcomed the whoosh of hot air cast down upon her by the shop’s heating as she removed her winter hat and stuffed it into her bag, before firmly wiping her boots on the doormat.
Flintwood’s Coffee was the pride and joy of the town. It offered delectable sandwiches and cakes, deliciously satisfying tea and coffee, and possibly the comfiest seats you could ever hope to find. Millie always came to Flintwood’s during her lunch break to escape the stresses of her job as a solicitor. No matter how much work she had left to do, no m
:iconCupofCharlie:CupofCharlie
:iconcupofcharlie:CupofCharlie 13 14
Literature
Clip Clop
The train sleepily pulls into the train station at 10.30pm. I close my book and slide it into my bag before standing up and walking towards the train doors. I stifle a yawn as I step onto the platform and make my way to the station’s exit. “I need to stop putting in so much overtime”, I think to myself. I can barely stand up I feel so tired. The station is deserted except for one or two other commuters waiting on the various train platforms.
As I reach the exit and begin my walk down the main road, I coerce my earphones into my ears and select ‘shuffle’ on my ipod. ‘The Sound of Silence’ by Simon and Garfunkel begins to play. The only sounds I can hear outside of my earphones are the noises of impatient traffic, my shoes hitting the pavement and the rhythmic movement of my crisp suit swishing as I walk.
The autumnal air is unpleasant against the nakedness of my face and brings a chill to my spine. I skip the song on my ipod, in need of a song m
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Literature
Stay With Me (Dancing In The Moonlight)
‘Tonight you’re saving my life’
-The Gaslight Anthem.
I open my curtains and look at the world outside my window. White cloud dominates the sky leaving no suggestion of the blue behind it, no hint of the sun struggling to break through. As I stare at the beginning of a new day, my thoughts inevitably turn to him, as they always do. I wonder if he’s awake. I wonder if he’s thinking about me too. My heart beats just a little bit faster at the simple thought of him.
It’s strange to think how one person has grown to mean so much to me. Someone who, a year ago, I didn’t even know. But just as the white cloud has overwhelmed the sky above me, his love has encased my heart. So perfectly. So completely. A love that is so strong, that whenever we are apart, a veil of melancholy inescapably rests upon me. The hardest moments of my life are when we have to say goodbye to each other. The happiest are when we say hello.
In the last few months,
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Literature
I Need You So Much Closer...
‘With just one look you cause an avalanche in me’
    - Midnight Lion.
‘I’m never gonna love again.’
    - Lykke Li.
 She drops the bombshell.
“I’m leaving.”
My body goes numb; the following silence a cacophony of sound to my ears.
“You’re….you’re what?”
“I’m leaving. My dad got a job in London - in England - and so we all have to move over there with him. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
She speaks in an emotionless tone. As though she can’t allow herself to think about what she is saying or she will break down and fall apart. I see her fighting back the tears; her eyes never quite meeting mine, knowing that if they did then she would lose the battle.
‘But...when are you coming back?”
I search her face for an answer. Her skin is pale, her eyes look red and swollen, her dark hair is t
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Literature
The Nowhere Man
 'No need to disguise or to pretend,
Don't misconstrue and don't misapprehend.
There's nothing left, no fortress to defend'
- Placebo.
'Make up something to believe in your heart of hearts,
So you have something to wear on your sleeve of sleeves.'
- The National.

Every day he walks into the same store. Every day he walks the same route to the lower floor. Every day he looks at the same shelves of merchandise. Never buying anything. Never speaking. Just staring. He doesn’t make eye contact with other customers or members of staff. He just looks through the same items. Every day.
His entrance could be timed to the minute. Every mor
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Literature
Cover Up The Cracks
'I don't need any help to be breakable, believe me'
- The National.

She sits cross-legged in front of her bedroom mirror and stares at her reflection. Not a flicker of emotion reveals itself upon her naked face. Automatically she begins to look for imperfections. A red spot on her forehead. A small broken vein just above her left cheek. Tired and swollen eyes. As she searches, a semblance of emotion begins to break through across the blank canvas of her face. It looks like discontent. No. It looks more like anger. It looks like a tragedy.
She picks up her make-up bag and takes out her foundation. She squeezes the paste onto the palm of her hand and begins to work it into her face. Covering up the red spot on her forehead. Disguising the small broken vein just above her left cheek. She then takes out her eyeliner and mascara, decorating her eyes. Until they no longer look tired. Until they no longer look swollen.
In a society obsessed with appearance, nothing less than per
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Literature
'It's Over.'
'It’s over.'
You say the words so casually. Completely devoid of any emotion. You stare me dead in the eyes. My mouth opens in shock. My eyes search your face desperately for any indication that you’re joking. You’re not. Your expression remains the same. Impassive. Serious. Resolute. You watch me as I fall apart before you. I drop to my knees. Broken. Without another word you turn around and walk away from me. I reach my arm out and desperately try to think of something to say. Anything to make you change your mind. Anything to make you stay. But no words reach my mouth. You are gone forever.
 
 
I wake up with a start. I find myself sitting upright in bed next to your sleeping body. I feel the warm dampness of a tear roll down my cheek. I must have woken you up because you turn toward me and sleepily ask if I’m okay. I wipe the tear away hurriedly and reassure you. I say it was just a nightmare. I say I was being chased. You roll over and g
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Literature
April 2014 Interview
Charlie Vinall is an aspiring novelist from England. She has penned numerous short stories and has just begun work on her debut novel. Today we interviewed her using questions that her fans have sent in. This is the result. Enjoy!

WHERE WERE YOU BORN? 
I was born on the outskirts of London, England. I come from an English family and am an English girl through and through.
DO YOU LIKE YOUR CURRENT PLACE OF RESIDENCE?
I do! I have lived in London all my life and couldn’t imagine living in any other part of the world. London, and in fact England, is a wonderful place to live in my humble opinion.
WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO START WRITING?
I think a main inspiration to me was definitely my parents. They encouraged me to read from a very young age. I would spend almost all of my time as a young child reading. Every weekend my parents would take me to my local library where I would take out several books and read them all for the following week. I loved readi
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Literature
The Shadows Of Your Face
'Sometimes you can't make it on your own' 
- U2.
 ‘You didn’t see me I was falling apart,
 I was a television version of a person with a broken heart’
- The National. 
The deafening silence hangs over the house like dust. I stare at the empty dog basket in the corner of the kitchen. His thoroughly chewed tennis ball still sits in the centre of it, frayed and discoloured, waiting to be played with. But not today. Not anymore. Even though it hurts to be constantly faced with reminders of his absence, I can’t bear to take them away. Because that would make it real. That would make his death undeniable; something I would have to face. And I’m not ready to face it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.
The house seems so quiet now. So empty. It doesn’t feel like my home anymore. It just feels like limbo, like a place I inhabit that bears no importance to me whilst I wait for things to chang
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Literature
When Love Breaks Down
‘Sometimes my heart hurts to watch you’
- Wild Beasts.
 ‘Now you’re just somebody that I used to know’
- Gotye.
I walk along the muddy path adjacent to the football field. With each step the thick layer of mud underneath my feet squelches satisfyingly and further encrusts itself onto my black boots. This late autumnal weather is beginning to turn bitter and unpleasant. Even my thick black winter coat cannot stop my skin from forming goosebumps or prevent my lips from shaking. The strong and violent wind collides against my face; my ears begin to ache and my head begins to hurt from the sheer force of it. The wind flirtatiously plays with my long blonde hair, throwing it around my face and deeply entangling it, whistling happily as it does so. Resentfully, I pull my coat tighter around me.
I look up at the overcast sky, dark clouds looming above and threatening to rain down on me. The wind chivvies them along and the
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Journal
October + November Literature DD Roundup
:iconthemaideninblack: Features by TheMaidenInBlack

:iconbrennenxr: Features by brennenxr
The Mute King and His Songbird, Part 1 by ChikitaWolfgrow up they said by lealsfeelssepulcher by moondrums
:icondoughboycafe: Features by doughboycafe
Spunion Gamble by SssorryGuam by PrudenceWryThe Latest Omens by TheBloodWriter In Vain of Venus by Domaexpsychosomatic serenade. by comatose-cometRight by saartha  1666 by Serendiipitii The Old Fisherman by roadkillKittenA storm in springtime by williamszmTechnique by LiliWritesBoiled Frogs (Historical Fiction Poem) by MagicalJoeyThe Traveler by copper9livesEden Eternal by SolidMarsFor Gus on His Last Day by Braxton-T-RutledgeAutumn or the Fall of an Empire by wordeeaMy Great-Aunt, Ms. Tara Dactyl by WinteroftheSoulFingerprints by Rieal-DragonsbaneDeathmatch by RalfMaximusTransexcendence by tmulcahy21.15 Mnemonics by TheBrokenBride
:iconbrennenxr:brennenxr
:iconbrennenxr:brennenxr 23 14
break :iconsayonararolling:SayonaraRolling 264 13
Literature
There she lies
Dropping down
to plead with a god
I don’t believe in
that this life is
nothing more
than a dream
disguised as a
nightmare and instead
you never left and
my hand is still in yours
and there is still life
in your eyes instead
of the closed lids
in the velvet lined box
where my dreams
have gone to die.
:iconVertigoArt:VertigoArt
:iconvertigoart:VertigoArt 3 2
Journal
THE GROOVIEST LIT IN TOWN: VOLUME TWENTY-SIX
 Welcome to The Grooviest Lit in Town, where some of deviantART's very own writers are featured for their all radical, all gas, and all hangin' works and projects. From prose and poetry, to the depths of novels, soliloquies and articles - it's all here! So hang loose, get jazzed, and keep on being right outta sight. Love
THE GROOVIEST LIT IN TOWN: VOLUME TWENTY-SIX
groov·y
 ['ɡro͞ovē]
adjective,informal
1.enjoyable and excellent.
GROOVIN' LIT...



THE GROOVIEST LIT CONTINUES...
BloodlustStephi
:thumb586143258:
:thumb585795208: :thumb587375240:
FROM
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:iconnaktarra:Naktarra 4 5
Literature
Someone
I want someone who won't want me to change,
but will bring out the best and the worst of me,
and still love me.
I want someone who can bring back
the love I gave away,
and make me realize why it will never work out
with anyone else.
I want someone who will look into my eyes,
and understand everything behind them.
I want someone who
I can give my heart to,
and trust them not to break it.
I want someone who isn't perfect.
but knows I'm not perfect,
and loves me in my imperfections.
I want someone who will
give me a chance
when no one else has.
:iconCassieCros13:CassieCros13
:iconcassiecros13:CassieCros13 18 18
Literature
setTimeout(void)
There I am again typing away my life.
Why I pour my heart into these dark pixels I'll never know.
Whether I'm dripping out functions a mile a minute.
Forcing my computer to bow.
Or typing out rhymes that seem infinite.
loop-ing around and around my head.
Are visions of beautiful years from now.
But one day this stack will overflow.
And the objects of my heart will be driven out of fashion.
String's of half finished projects and shattered dreams.
Lay there on my desktop.
Not dead but idle.
Dreaming of the life they could have had with a more productive god.
But it seems my imagination.isFinite().
But I know I can keep trying,
I'm parseFloat()ing around on this pebble in the milky way.
And the words and code will keep flowing around me.
Even if at a slow trickle.
I won't escape() this array of woe before me
I'll live it.
Programming and writing a new life into existence around me.
:iconEpicaracacy:Epicaracacy
:iconepicaracacy:Epicaracacy 5 0
Journal
Howdy Partner... and Partneress
Hey hey hey people! So I got around to reading the submissions (I think I got them all?) for the Halloween prompt. I forgot to mention if you're writing for any prompt in a journal to drop the submission in the "Monthly Prompt" folder, so I also poked into "Horror" and "Suspense" as well as skimmed our LOG for anything Halloween or Samhain themed.
If you think I might have missed your submission - because it's in a different folder, not titled in a way that instantly associates with either holiday, etc - please let me know! ("I didn't get picked as a winner" isn't a reason to believe your work has been missed!) If I picked your story but it wasn't submitted as part of the prompt, don't fret. There weren't many in the prompt folder or the horror / suspense. You were all automatically submitted to the contest if you fit the criteria and time line for submission.
So from what I've found and read:
:bulletblue: 'Scariest' Halloween story - None of the stories this year were particula
:iconShort-Stories:Short-Stories
:iconshort-stories:Short-Stories 1 4
Literature
The First Time I Saw Her (Part 2)
Despite the fact that I still felt ridiculously embarrassed, his words proved to be very reassuring and made me feel a lot less self-conscious. I felt very thankful toward him for that. My cheeks began to soften in colour; not quite the violent scarlet they had initially turned. I still felt slightly flushed, though I couldn’t quite explain why. When he attempted to keep the conversation going by asking my name, I couldn’t help but feel suddenly shy. I wasn’t sure whether he was just being polite or if he was genuinely interested in me. The thought that he might be interested caused my stomach to flutter ever so subtly. His mannerisms were all very laid back and casual – nonchalantly slipping his hand into his pocket for instance – but I couldn’t shrug off the feeling that perhaps he was trying to play it cool.
I cleared my throat before saying in the most collected voice I could muster, “My name is Sarah”. Immediately I felt really paran
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Journal
May Literature DD Round Up
:iconSingingFlames: Features by SingingFlames

:iconirrevocablefate: Features by HugQueen
These Melted Years by Parsatsinging with the wind by cattservantEvanescence by PaperbackRevelationsButterflies by ExtempiTwo Hundred Miles West by gummyrabbitDonnie's Decision by sincebecomeswhyUntitled by creightonwritesi, eclectic by crimsonletters
:iconthemaideninblack: Features by TheMaidenInBlack
Birth of Moonkata by moonkata84My England by Rheic-ocean
:iconliliwrites: Features by LiliWrites
:thumb531161544:
:iconelandria: Features by Elandria
From Idea to STORY by OokamiKasumi
As always, an extra special thank you to all our wonderful suggesters this month: LiliWrites, neurotype, DeiSophia, saiun, Carmalain7, Nichrysalis, and BlackBowfin
Want to suggest a Daily Deviation?
Send a link or thumbcode of the deviation you want to suggest via note to the appropriate CV. There is a "6-month rule" which means an artist cannot receive another DD
:iconLiliWrites:LiliWrites
:iconliliwrites:LiliWrites 19 9
Literature
Jumper
Dreams crushed. Hope lost. Peace visible.
:iconRogueTeamplayer:RogueTeamplayer
:iconrogueteamplayer:RogueTeamplayer 8 2
Journal
Writers Weekly: Contests, Articles, and Forums
:star: Stay up-to-date on the literature community. :star:
[Last updated: March 9th]
This is theWrittenRevolution's blog for literature community news promotion. I'll post highlights from my 'Love DA Lit' news series, the DDs for that week, as well as listing some updates from our affiliates! This journal will be updated once a week, on Sunday, along with my news article. Please feel free to comment or send me (HugQueen) a note with any comments, questions, or suggestions! I am always happy to include literature relevant things[or things from our affiliates I might have missed]! :eager:
Love DA Lit: Issue 257
Literature Community Relations
:iconbrennenxr: brennenxr - brennenxr's DD Suggestion Guidelines
:icondoughboycafe: doughboycafe -
:iconHugQueen:HugQueen
:iconhugqueen:HugQueen 114 289
Journal
Literature Articles You Should Know
I don't take the time to write good community-building articles, I'm no good at it. But organizing good community articles? I'm all over that! Many thanks go to the great people who put so much of their time and energy into this site. If you don't know these people, they are intelligent, kind hearted, and entirely too good to be associating with layabouts like me. They deserve a lot more, but I recommend thanking them with llamas, points, gifts, praise... or :+devwatch: watch them. I've yet to see anything bad come from any of these guys. Oh, and if you aren't watching CRLiterature you should be. :eyes:
I'm going to try and catalog the most recent postings of various literature articles that the crazy amazing people of our community produce. It's hard to keep track of them all, but somebody has to try! And in the "those who cannot do" mentality, I can handle list-making as opposed to creating a series of my own. Everything that ends up on this p
:iconMotleyDreams:MotleyDreams
:iconmotleydreams:MotleyDreams 83 100
Journal
Daily Lit Recognition for May 1st 2015
Daily Lit Recognition for May 1st, 2015
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Recognition!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.

Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!
Poetry
Featured by: AyeAye12

"Blood Parade" by :devniedic:
A haunting narrative piece with very personal ties to the author.
Featured by: moonkata84

Thought Sketch 30 by C1nderellaMan
Simple and beautiful.
Prose
Featured by doodlerTM

My Sister's Dolls by SurrealNacre
A p
:iconDailyLitRecognition:DailyLitRecognition
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CupofCharlie Portrait :iconlubrian:Lubrian 11 4
Literature
who i'll watch forever (or, maybe forever)
also known as a poem
where i'll name-drop
every poet i've ever fallen for
and then make clever
references and play with usernames
and ultimately end
on some sort of joke
because that's all my poetry is,
wordplay wrapped in sarcasm.
and obtuse
obscure scientific language
until my shit is shipwrecked
and i'll need a captain
to get me back on track,
so i'll choose ian
and say AyeAye12.
or aye aye captain
and ay ay, let's see
if i can do this
in alphabetical order
and i'm starting off well
'cause i would've started
AlphaManifest had
she not have deactivated
her account.
and that's why
i don't believe in forever
'cause as soon as you
fall in love
they can disappear
outta thin air--
oh shit, wait.
i'm freaking out right now
'cause i realized that
A-Lovely-Anxiety 
probably should've gone
before Ian but don't think
about that little slip-up
'cause i'm really trying not to
right now and i'm nervous
but that's okay
because it's all a part of my charm?
maybe, maybe not. but
this nervousn
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:iconchromeantennae:chromeantennae 55 185
Literature
Step, Step, Step
I stood at the top of a long, foggy road with only the low whistle of the wind to cover the silence.
Step, step, step
Step, step, step
Step, step, step

The sound of my shoes hitting the concrete echoed and joined the wind in its efforts. When I went towards the ends of the road’s width, I had found nothing but a hazy gorge on either side. So, with only one way to go, I continued forward.
The road looked newly paved and clean, and the air was fresh and chilled. I walked cautiously; always apprehensive of what the fog might reveal, only to see that nothing had changed from before. I felt a swell of relief and my pace became more consistent while I swallowed any sickness of fear.
Then, eventually it happened. A change. A tree appeared. Then another and another, until it seemed endless. A steady row of trees marched in the center of road and I couldn't see their roots or any sign they were connected to the floor, rather, just their thin trunks balanced on the black tarmac.
I
:iconSilence-:Silence-
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Activity


  • Listening to: Hard-fi
  • Reading: The Girls
  • Watching: The Walking Dead
  • Playing: Red Dead Redemption - Undead Nightmare
  • Eating: Chocolate
  • Drinking: Flavoured Water
Hello everyone,

I am completely overwhelmed. I have been working really hard full-time in a bookshop for the last few months, and whilst I haven't stopped writing, I haven't given it my full attention. Life has gotten in the way. And then I wake up this morning to discover that my short story "Who's At The Window?" has been awarded a Daily Deviation!

I am completely over the moon. It's easy to lose motivation with writing, but receiving such a brilliant accolade really pushes me to carry on writing. I have a massively supportive family and lots of encouraging friends too that would love to see me realise my dream of writing my first novel in the near future. Receiving this award has reminded me just how important writing is to me.

I want to thank everyone for their wonderful feedback and comments. And say hello to my new watchers too! Here is a link to the winning story if you're interested:
Who's At The Window?'Tiptoe, through the window, by the window, that is where I'll be'
                                                                                                                                                         


The first story I wrote which won a Daily Deviation is here too if you would like to read it:
Mr SnideyMr Snidey slowly lowered himself into his worn old armchair, the seat indented to fit his shape, for so long had he occupied it. His knees creaked like ancient tree trunks as he descended. As he settled himself down, he spread his arms against the armrests luxuriously, much like a king would on a grand throne. Every movement he made appeared to occur in slow motion, his body no longer able to deal with life at what most people would describe as normal speed.
He slowly removed his brown slippers and lifted his legs to rest on the footstool before him. Getting up to turn on the television was an arduous task for Mr Snidey, and he tired easily. He exhaled deeply, and closed his eyes briefly, savouring the calming few moments when his aged muscles began to relax.
His face was deeply wrinkled; marking the many years he had inhabited this Earth. His skin was yellowed with age, much like the pages of a worn book, and was scattered haphazardly with liver spots. His pale eyes radiated kindness;


Thank you everyone once again :heart: I'm sure I will have a brand new story up before long.

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This content is intended for mature audiences.


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Anna unbuttoned her work shirt in front of the mirror. It tried to stubbornly stick to her damp lower back as she took it off; the perspiration evidence of a long and tiring day. She unzipped her black skirt and stepped out of it as it fell to the floor. She could hear the distant sound of the bathtub filling up with water. The beginning of her post-work routine.


Still in her underwear, Anna scrutinised herself in the full-length mirror. Looking at herself from top to bottom. Noting all the flaws, all the imperfections. She had the hint of a double-chin at certain angles. Her arms were slightly too thick. Her breasts were not quite the same size. Her stomach had a subtle bulge that indicated she liked food a little more than was acceptable. She turned her body to the side. Her butt was far too large and was home to too much cellulite. She turned back to face the mirror. Her thighs were thick and consequently her legs touched each other. She felt disgusted with herself.


Anna looked at her outline. She was curvaceous. But she hated how much fat there was on her waistline. Her ‘love handles’. She hated that informal term. What is there to love about them? They looked horrible.


She longed to have a body like all the models she saw on TV and all the toned heroic women she read about in all the books she loved so much. What she saw in front of her, she detested. She would always look for things to criticise about herself.


She had a boyfriend. A wonderful and loving man who adored everything about her. He loved who she was as a person. A compassionate and caring young woman. He also loved her body. He saw it for what it was: a natural and perfectly normal healthy body. But no matter how many times he tried to reassure her, Anna felt as though he was giving compliments out of obligation. And pity. She wanted to believe him. And sometimes, for a moment or two, she did. But only for a moment.


She was rarely naked. She didn’t feel comfortable without something covering up her body. Without something covering up her imperfections. When they went to bed at night, she wouldn’t allow him to touch her unless the lights were off.


Anna longed her flesh to be made out of plastic, like her childhood Barbie dolls. That way she could mould her body to the perfect fit. She could melt down the excess fat, give her a slimmer figure, narrow the width of her legs. She could slice away any parts of her she didn’t want. She would never be happy until she looked perfect. She would never be happy.


The noise of the water running into the bath snapped her back to reality. Anna rushed into the bathroom. The water was overflowing onto the tiled floor. She gasped in shock and turned off the taps. Her feet were soaking. She looked down at them. Her toes were too long and the nail varnish was chipped and untidy. A surge of frustration and anger coursed through her. She hated herself.


She grabbed the pair of scissors from the bathroom cabinet she used to cut her fringe. Her eyes were flashing with anger. She positioned the two blades around the fat hugging the left hand side of her waist. The disgusting lump of fat. Her fucking love handles.


The scissors glinted silver in the light. Goading her to do it. To cut away her shame. She took a deep breath. She would be perfect.


She would make herself perfect.
Plastic
This is a little piece I wrote today. A few days ago I had a distinct image in my head of a woman staring at her imperfect waist (imperfect by society's standards) and wishing as though she were like a Barbie doll. I think it's a really interesting concept and is especially relevant at the moment with so much pressure being put on what size we are and what we look like - for both men and women.

I have flagged this as Mature Content because I do drop the f-bomb once.

I really hope you all enjoy this piece. Please do leave feedback if you wish! I love hearing what you all think.
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'Tiptoe, through the window, by the window, that is where I'll be'

                                                                                                                                                                             - Tiny Tim.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

I open my eyes sleepily. I am lying in bed on my side facing the window, my body curled up into the foetal position. I feel my boyfriend's warm body behind me, our legs overlapping one another, his arm protectively holding me and making me feel safe. I can hear him breathing deeply. He is fast asleep. My George. I slowly sit up so as not to wake him, reach for my phone and touch a button which lights it up and informs me that it is 2:04am. I smile. I still have five whole hours before I have to get up for work. I love waking up in the middle of the night and realising that I still have hours of precious sleep to enjoy. I rest my head back on the pillow and pull my boyfriend's arm close to my chest, completely enveloping me in his warmth and security. Instantaneously I begin to fall asleep.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

I sit bolt upright. I register the noise this time, too sleepy before to take it in.

Someone is tapping at the window.

Despite the fact that we have a perfectly good set of curtains, we never draw them at bedtime. I like to look out at the night sky when I go to sleep, and because it is the middle of January, there is no risk of the sun waking us up at some god-forsaken hour. I know that my boyfriend George would rather have them closed as he feels disconcerted watching the trees in the woods beyond our one-floor flat sway wildly in the dark during this stormy winter, but I find comfort in them, and so he humours me. I like the idea that within our flat we are completely cocooned from the chaos outside. Safe within in our little bubble. 

I feel my heart start to beat faster against my chest. Instinctively, I keep as still as I can and squint my eyes at the window, trying to distinguish something. Anything at all. My eyes are taking time to adjust, but even as they get used to the darkness, I cannot see anything. Through the window I can just see the trees in the distance and the flower pot on the outer window sill, but that is all. There is nothing else out there.

I start to relax, conjecturing that it was a noise from next door perhaps. Even though this theory makes little sense, seeing as it is 2am, it is the most rational explanation I can come up with. I stare at the window a while longer, reassuring myself that there is definitely no one outside, and slowly start to lie back down. I still feel slightly uneasy but with every second of silence that passes, I am more and more convinced that it is nothing to concern myself about.

And then I hear the flower pot smash against the concrete patio.

SMASH.

I gasp uncontrollably with shock. I am too scared even to sit up now. I squint my eyes shut and refuse to look up at the window, too terrified at what may be looking back at me. I start to shake George's arm, imploring him to wake up.

"George.....wake up. There's someone outside the window. Please. George!"

My urgent whispering does little to wake him. Trying to wake him is like trying to wake the dead. I am scared to keep whispering as I don't want to be heard by whoever - or whatever - is outside the window. Besides, George has been unwell all day and he needs to sleep. I'm on my own now. Irrationally I think that maybe if I keep quiet then they will lose interest and go away.

I dare to open my eyes a crack. At first I see nothing. But then. Movement. I see a shadow move away from the window. Away from the flat. Away from me. Despite feeling frightened that someone is definitely outside and it wasn't my imagination, I feel a wave of relief wash over me as they are going away.

I lie awake for the next few moments, trying to fathom who it could have been, why they were outside our flat at this time of the morning and what they wanted. My mind is riddled with potential explanations: a locked out neighbour, someone who has knocked on the wrong house, a mindless yob. But none of them convinces me entirely.

And then I hear a noise at the front door.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Now I am really scared. Unlike the previous two times, this knocking seems urgent. Panicked.

I slide out of bed and slowly and carefully walk out of the bedroom and through the living room. I peek around the living room door and look at the front door. The door is primarily made of frosted glass so you can see if there is someone on the other side of it.

A shadow stands behind it.

I wait with baited breath to see what the shadow does. The seconds tick by. Eventually, the figure leans forward, puts it's hand to the glass door, and closing it into a fist, knocks again even faster and harder than before.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

I am frozen to the spot. Paralysed with fear. The figure takes a step closer to the door.

I run back to the bedroom.

I slide into bed and pull the covers over my head, somehow feeling protected by this layer of fabric. I shut my eyes and curl myself into a ball facing George. He is still breathing deeply beside me. I start to shake him roughly, desperate for him to wake. He still doesn't stir from his sleep.

"George! George! Wake up!" I hiss.

And then I hear a voice at the door. An urgent whisper with the weight of fear underlying it.

"Charlie! You need to get the hell out of there. There's something in there with you!"

That was George's voice. He is outside. Not sleeping next to me.

I slowly pull the covers down and open my eyes to see what is in the bed next to me.


And all I can do is scream.
Who's At The Window? ALTERNATE ENDING
I originally wrote this short horror story a few months ago and uploaded it to deviantART then. However, this version has a different ending. My sister - Lubrian - suggested this alternate ending to me and I liked the idea of it and so decided to write it.

Here is a link to the original story I wrote: cupofcharlie.deviantart.com/ar…

Here is a link to the eerie song referenced at the beginning of the piece:
Tiptoe Through The Tulips - Tiny Tim: www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eQQKV…

Side note: The name of the boyfriend has changed in this version because my real-life boyfriend - called George - kept asking me why I didn't use his name and wanted to know who "Mark" was haha.

As always please do leave comments and favourite if you enjoyed it. Love a bit of feedback!
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  • Listening to: Hard-fi
  • Reading: The Girls
  • Watching: The Walking Dead
  • Playing: Red Dead Redemption - Undead Nightmare
  • Eating: Chocolate
  • Drinking: Flavoured Water
Hello everyone,

I am completely overwhelmed. I have been working really hard full-time in a bookshop for the last few months, and whilst I haven't stopped writing, I haven't given it my full attention. Life has gotten in the way. And then I wake up this morning to discover that my short story "Who's At The Window?" has been awarded a Daily Deviation!

I am completely over the moon. It's easy to lose motivation with writing, but receiving such a brilliant accolade really pushes me to carry on writing. I have a massively supportive family and lots of encouraging friends too that would love to see me realise my dream of writing my first novel in the near future. Receiving this award has reminded me just how important writing is to me.

I want to thank everyone for their wonderful feedback and comments. And say hello to my new watchers too! Here is a link to the winning story if you're interested:
Who's At The Window?'Tiptoe, through the window, by the window, that is where I'll be'
                                                                                                                                                         


The first story I wrote which won a Daily Deviation is here too if you would like to read it:
Mr SnideyMr Snidey slowly lowered himself into his worn old armchair, the seat indented to fit his shape, for so long had he occupied it. His knees creaked like ancient tree trunks as he descended. As he settled himself down, he spread his arms against the armrests luxuriously, much like a king would on a grand throne. Every movement he made appeared to occur in slow motion, his body no longer able to deal with life at what most people would describe as normal speed.
He slowly removed his brown slippers and lifted his legs to rest on the footstool before him. Getting up to turn on the television was an arduous task for Mr Snidey, and he tired easily. He exhaled deeply, and closed his eyes briefly, savouring the calming few moments when his aged muscles began to relax.
His face was deeply wrinkled; marking the many years he had inhabited this Earth. His skin was yellowed with age, much like the pages of a worn book, and was scattered haphazardly with liver spots. His pale eyes radiated kindness;


Thank you everyone once again :heart: I'm sure I will have a brand new story up before long.

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CupofCharlie
Charlie
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United Kingdom
I am an aspiring novelist from the UK and would love to share my work with the world and hear what you all think. I get most of my inspiration from music which is why I reference music in my written work :) I hope you enjoy my work as much as I enjoy writing it!

I accept literature requests, so if you would like a story written about a character, theme, song e.t.c just drop me a note with the details and I will get back to you very shortly!

Please don't be afraid to say hi :) Drop me a note or post a comment on my profile if you like :D

Why not follow me on Twitter to keep up to date with what I'm up to? My name on Twitter is: Cup_of_Charlie
Why not give me a like on Facebook: www.facebook.com/CharlieVinall…
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:iconthirteen4one:
Thirteen4one Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Here, a llama for an aspiring novelist. :hug:
Reply
:iconkubeti:
kubeti Featured By Owner Mar 25, 2016
thank you for llama.
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:iconroadkillkitten:
roadkillKitten Featured By Owner Mar 15, 2016
Thanks for the Watch my darling, very much appreciated!
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:iconcupofcharlie:
CupofCharlie Featured By Owner Mar 15, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
No problem! :D
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:iconroadkillkitten:
roadkillKitten Featured By Owner Mar 15, 2016
:hug:
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:iconepicaracacy:
Epicaracacy Featured By Owner Mar 5, 2016  Student Writer
Thanks so much for the fave Charlie :) I'm so glad your back.
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:iconcupofcharlie:
CupofCharlie Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome! I'm so happy to be back :)
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:iconmalco735:
Malco735 Featured By Owner Jan 2, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Hey there Charlie. Just want to wish you a Happy New Year! :huggle: Hope you have a lovely 2016
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:iconcupofcharlie:
CupofCharlie Featured By Owner Feb 29, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Happy New Year!
Very late I know haha.
You too!
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