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"We are here, all of us, to celebrate a day that once lived in infamy and has since become the anniversary of our rebirth as a people, and as a nation. Many of us remember the night our futures changed forever, the night of the Old Bailey even if we didn't recognize it as such at the time. We remember the fall of Norsefire, and that terrible, wonderful moment when we realized that we are the only ones who can control our own destinies.
"Tonight, I want to introduce you to a person who made all of this possible for us. Without this person's courage, and determination, and love, our world would have been lost. It's taken a long time, but I think now you can finally meet one another
" 'I don't know who you are. Please believe. There is no way I can convince you that this is not one of their tricks, but I don't care. I am me, and I don't know who you are, but I love you ' "
Turning Point[Author's note: This is a one-shot prequel of sorts to "Apotheosis". 'Twould be advisable to read that one first. ]
Inspector Finch quickly shut off his torch and held still. He could hear voices further down the tube tunnel.
He frowned There shouldn't be anyone else down here at least, no one foolish enough to allow themselves to be heard. Then again, this section of the tunnel shouldn't even be open.
Rounding a corner, he stopped in shock at the sight of an utter impossibility. An underground train faced him at a platform some fifty metres distant not the sleek steel-and-glass construct that had ruled down here for decades, but an elegant gold-filigreed confection from a century long-gone. A shudder rocked him as his brain fought the initial instinct to leap clear of the mechanical behemoth the train wasn't moving.
Staying in the shadows, h
AwakenEvey Hammond awoke with a small gasp, her heart pounding. Something was wrong.
Her first impression was one of softness and warmth that bordered on the otherworldly; such comfort shocked her terribly. This was followed by an awareness of thick silence where once had been muffled cries and echoing shouts of anger. She lay unmoving in this womb-like state, confused into immobility. Only her eyes moved, reflecting her mind's racing as they darted back and forth with a curiosity that felt alien. Gradually they took in the sand-colored stone curves of the vaulted ceiling sweeping gently above her in the soft light, and with a dull jolt she suddenly remembered everything.
The storm... It had been nighttime; the first connection she'd had with a real time of day in she-knew-not-how-long. She remembered the feel of the raindrops on her skin, stinging deliciously and awakening her every nerve ending with their coolness.
FrustrationIt was happening again, and V was getting desperate. It had everything to do with his "houseguest", Evey; he hadn't truly appreciated the new pressures - however subtle - she would be adding to his life.
He had thought he had it under control earlier. Everything was just fine until he rounded a corner and spotted her curled up on the sofa with a book. Then, sure enough, his body developed its own ideas again. What was worse he knew she had noticed.
She'd been glancing at him all evening, although she'd tried to be discreet about it. If not for the fact that his eyes were almost continually drawn to her, he might have missed it entirely.
Thanks to a few awkward moments in the first days of her stay, he'd learned to shift his head slightly to one side as he watched her so the mask would not seem to be "staring" at her. Using that little trick, he'd noticed her furtive scrutiny easily which on this night, of course, didn't help matters at all.
It had caught him very muc
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More