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About Literature / Artist A.B. MeyerUnited States Recent Activity
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Literature
The Princess and The Boy from The Sea part 2
     Noah's body was numb, he was drifting on a cloud of air. He had a dream that seemed to run for the longest time, that a small voice was speaking to him calmly, that he was in pain, that was slowly fading away. He saw strange images of girls he used to like, his friends speaking to him in bed, foreign voices discussing what sounded like nonsense, and strangely a frog's ribbit, that sounded like a giant of a creature.
     Many times he felt the sensation of opening his eyes and stepping into the waking world, but now he really was awake. His vision was still foggy, but he was certain he was laying in a bed. A girl about his age looked at him quizzically. She had bright brown eyes and was wearing a strange sort of armor like some kind of costume.
     “Where am I? Who are you?” His words were slurred. His mind was able to run, but his body could not even move much at all.
     “My
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Literature
The Princess and The Boy from The Sea Part 1
     Diana found Angelina faster than she thought, walking down the hall of cabins.
     Angelina looked her up and down with a grin. “Ah, much better now. How does it feel to wear such fine Druid clothes?”
     Diana smiled back. “Better than my old training clothes.”
     “Good, good. Now I heard my quartermaster told you about our special case that requires your attention.” Angelina took her by the shoulder and started to guide her back through the hallway.
     “How exactly does it require my attention?”
     “It's to my understanding that you are quite proficient at healing magic. Is that correct?”
     The question stung her. For the last person she had tried to heal had been her sister even though she knew that her soul had long since left her small frame. They had to drag her
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Literature
The Princess and the Cruel Fate Part 3
     The six stood before the airship floating in the sky. Diana's hair was whipped around by the wind coming off the hover engines. Angelina spoke loudly over the noise, “Fia if you don't mind.”
     The Witch spoke a quiet spell.
     Diana felt a strange presence under her feet like an invisible film of glass and within an instant the six including her faithful tiger were floating up off the ground. They ascended slowly but Aiko still complained with a chuff, she didn't like magically flying. Diana stayed looking up, it was sister that loved to fly with her father's magic not her. Finally after just a moment they landed on the deck of the airship.
     The Witch waved her hand and the spell dissipated.
     The ship was massive and could easily ferry a hundred people to any destination. It held a crew that looked quite large. The center mast was thicker than an ancient oak
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Literature
The Princess and the Cruel Fate Part 2
     The fluorescent lights were dim in the grocery store break room as Noah perused through a social media app on his phone. Nothing new so far, just sharing of pointless content. People with their kids. People younger than him with kids. While they had children, he had a job as a courtesy clerk at a grocery store. Why would people want that much responsibility? College and work was enough for him.
     Noah had already finished his meager meal of a prepackaged lunch for kids and was currently nursing a bottled lemonade. Occasionally, he would glance up at the news playing on the TV attached to the wall. It was mostly fear mongering balanced out by puff pieces. He was too lazy and too tired to get up and change the channel. He had been on his feet and running around for the last six hours, he wanted to maximize the time he could sit down, if possible. He was tired. School, work, and exercise, was all hard to fit into a schedule when each one was
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Literature
The Princess and the Cruel Fate Part 1
Blood beaded then gushed forth from the young princess's neck. The gash went from ear to ear. The assassin gripped her face with a bony gloved hand. In one small insignificant gasp she departed this world for one free of pain. The blood was black against the white sheets and her pale skin. Her dead eyes once a brilliant green shined slightly in the moonlight as they stared blank at the ceiling. 
The assassin's fat brown lips curled up in a wicked smile as he collected what he came for from her tiny body. He wiped his curved blade on the pillow and slid it silently back into its snake leather sheath. His enchanted boots made no noise as they stepped across the stone floor. The room was under construction and was not meant to be slept in for several more weeks. A tarp with warding symbols stitched into it hung where the masonry was still being laid. The assassin had bypassed the wards easily with the amulet that his employer had offered him.
 
The secret to this whole plot had
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Literature
Cutter's Anonymous Part three
     Part Three:...for the triumph of evil...
     Perspective: Kyle
    
    
     “You ever thought about running off a one story building to kill yourself?” Benedict asks, shifting in the folding chair. “I don’t think it would kill you, I think it would just mess you up. Maybe if you ran really fast and into something maybe that would help, I don’t know. I used to think about that stuff a lot. My dad had these cactuses planted in the yard and so I thought that might help but then I thought what would happen if I lived. And what if I lived with like cactus needles in my eyes and stuff and that made me rethink it. Well, that and I would have to get a ladder and I don’t like heights. So yeah.”
     “Why would you share something like that?” McKen
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Literature
Cutter's Anonymous Part two
      Part Two:...to see if I still feel
     Perspective: McKenzie
     Fighting a sleeping pill is a battle where nobody is victorious. I stood there however in the shower, my head against a bundled towel and the towel against the shower wall, struggling with that little measure of medication. What stupid battles I pick.
     The water starts to cool, its bite dulled. I twist the handle more, much farther and it will cease turning. The new water burns but the stabbing, stinging sensation is near numbness to me.
     My head is a haze, eyes begging to be closed. A small part of my brain however refuses to slip into the deadness of sleep. The hot water may be smothering my nerve endings but to slip off into the arms of a sleeping pill is like dying. I took the appropriate amount like I do every night. I don't listen to the idea that says to up end the bottle and dry swallow a lump o
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Literature
Cutter's Anonymous pt 1
Intro: McKenzie
     As I watch a couple pass by outside, their arms linked like their jackets were stitched together, a part of me wonders how brain matter propelled out the back of my skull would scatter against the window of the diner. Would the bullet break the glass or cease with me? Neither I or it would have to keep moving forward then. For forward is the only direction for a piece of lead to travel from the barrel of a gun. Just like my journey started by being shot out of a semblance of cold steel that biology calls a mother.
     Would they call her when my mind was a bloody Rorschach behind me?
    I grip the sides of my coffee mug, which despite its watery contents burns like hot concrete on a summer day. I welcome the heat, though it reddens my palms. This is the pain of life. Not the pain of life that makes you want to stick a loaded sho
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Literature
Cutter's Anonymous Kyle's Intro
Intro: Kyle
My heart beats out a bass rhythm as she grabs hold of my jacket sleeve with two slender fingers. She peeled the fabric back like gauze. I twist my arm, hiding her prey. With a swift motion she torques my arm so that my palm and forearm lay exposed.
Her face turns sour like lemon juice sprayed into my eyes. It hurt to look at her. She ran her palm over the cuts, the scabs, the faded scars, and even what remained unharmed. Her hand holds my wrist down on the cold wood table.
“These look angry,” she says.
My head rests on my free arm, my eyes unable to meet hers. “Every brushstroke shows the feelings of its painter.”
“This isn't art, Kyle, this is your arm.” Her grip tightens on my wrist.
“What difference does it make if my canvas is my flesh and my brush a razor?”
She ignores my comment like so much else over the years. “You can't keep hurting yourself. You need to do something to get out of this state you're in.”
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Literature
Response
 I watch as she crumbles sun-dried leaves in the palms of her hands and sprinkles them like gold dust across the sidewalk, though her mere contribution to their decay has made them more valuable than any precious metal. She towers over me her long legs devouring great lengths of the walkway so that I am almost in pursuit as she continues her decoration of the concrete. Each sway of her perfect hips conducts a symphony of rippling fabric harmonized with the clatter of her high heels. Only a year older she gives credence to the lie I am years younger.
“Where are you going to school this year?” she asks with actual interest unlike the million other adults who use that question to fill voids in conversations.
“I am not.”
In one flawless motion she stops and turns on her heel. Her ebony curls halt seconds after her. “Why not?” Those two simple words hit me harder than all the complex reactions and lectures I have received over the last two weeks.
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Literature
Today
They say 12/12/12 happens only once a century
But can you answer this quandary
Doesn't today only happen once?
Or am I standing here saying this looking the dunce
You sit there reading this rhyme
I wonder, do you have the time?
Or have you convinced yourself it will all be fine.
So if tomorrow never comes
Tell me how many marathons will you run
Sitting at home in your chair
sitting, stuck there
And if you dislike racing
How many masterpieces are you not painting
speeches are you not speaking
while you obtain ten more hours of sleeping
and does your inaction cause you weeping
So please tell me how many secrets you are keeping
how dreams are you sneaking
fantastic wonders are you withholding
when pure hopes you could be molding
How many glass ceilings could you shatter
if your ideas were gathered
I hope your pure thoughts could scare me
that you could become everything you were meant to be
Don't let your dreams fade away
Do what you know you should today
Don't wallow in your sorrow
Don't
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Literature
Imperfections
“Jason, do you know why the Earth has a leap year every four years?” she asks. Her long legs are brushed by a cotton skirt and her skin shines in the moonlight. We are no where near the sea, but looking at her perched on that window sill I fear a thousand ships may launch at any moment.
“Because every year we are left with a quarter of a day. And to keep the calendars correct they add the extra together and slap an extra day on February,” I reply, picking at the shag carpet that covers my bedroom floor.
“Your diction and syntax leave something to be desired, Jason.” For a moment she dangles a strap of her sandals on her toe before letting it fall with a light thud. “You speak like a child, stumbling over words like a hiker tripping over tree roots. It also appears your education was rather abysmal. Do you know what that word means, abysmal?” Slowly her fingers start to trace the lines of her calf and ankle, whilst her green eyes punch hol
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Literature
Drowned
She sends texts because her thumbs say more than her lips can express. Out of a thousand messages one stands out to me, like a man screaming in a library. Even though it's not too surprising to see. It's says "He left me." I don't know exactly what it read but that's exactly what I understood. And I punched the voice that screamed "Yay!" because I had all but prayed for this day. But what can I say, I am pathetic that way. He was the worst person for her to be with and I was the best.
But then I called her, I broke her cardinal rule that at three hundred feet away there are no room for voices just typing. Her thumbs were tired, though it was to only me she was expressing. I was the one life line towards which she was swimming. I can hear her eyes leaking like if the hover dam was hit by a nuclear bomb. My soul ashamed to hear her sobs, I hang up, and let my thumbs do their job.
Her tears drown any sense of twisted joy I might have. And it is not going to last. For it has no idea how to
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Literature
Gravity
I fell in love with my best friend. She didn't fall with me. Off the crags of Mount Doom or the highest mountain you can assume. I fell. I fell like rocks fall on heads, and they don't need to take me to the hospital to pronounce me brain-dead. I fell like a girl with too high of lifts. Like lemmings throw themselves off cliffs.
Like rain falls from water heavy clouds, it was only natural. I fell like the apple on Newton's skull. I found gravity in you. Found peace in the cavity between your belly and thigh. A place for my head to lie. A way to get by. I found truth in you, spectacle in your rose-pedal lips, grace in the width of your hips, your smile alone could sink ships, the essence of joy flows from your fingertips. In every facet of you I found beauty confirmed by every patch of skin viewed by me. From your mouth I treasured every sound, like every single syllable was profound. Like through all throats should your thoughts resound. But your beautiful eyes watched me fall to the g
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Literature
The Girl on the Swing
 She sat twisting the stems of flowers into the hilts of daggers for it was a shape familiar to her. Lush grass washed out by the sun's radiance gently tickled the bare soles of her feet as she swung in the air. The braided vines which suspended her seat creaked softly in protest. They were accustomed to much more lithe Nymphs not a voluptuous woman such as her, whose broad hips consumed the entirety of the carved wooden seat.
 She was safe under this tree's corded branches that shaded some of the ground and left others to the sun's will. Safe. The word repeated over and over becoming a mantra whilst she made her weave more complex.
 In the meadow beside her lay the armor she'd stripped off like a snake's old skin. It reflected no light, it was too tarnished and saturated with blood. Clad only in her undergarments and a layer of grime she wondered how long it would be until she would have to don her second skin once more. She wondered how many more people she would need to kill, she'd
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A-B-Meyer
A.B. Meyer
Artist | Literature
United States

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:iconsammylovesyoulots:
Sammylovesyoulots Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2015  Student Writer
Thank you so much for the favorite :heart: 
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:iconmoritz-fuchs:
Moritz-Fuchs Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2014   Writer
Thanks a lot for the fav! :)
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:icondylanseto:
DylanSeto Featured By Owner Sep 7, 2014   Artist
Hey~~

Just wanted to thank you for the fave!

Also, since I'm currently focusing on music, I was wondering if you'd be interested in supporting me in that endeavor of mine?

If you are, I can link you to where you can find that stuff!
Reply
:icona-b-meyer:
A-B-Meyer Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2014   Writer
You're welcome. :D Love your short poems, they hold a lot of weight to them. 
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:icondylanseto:
DylanSeto Featured By Owner Sep 13, 2014   Artist
Meh, I prefer doing longer pieces, but I don't have time to do them anymore since I'm working on a sitcom pilot script now.
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:icononlinedpaper:
OnLinedPaper Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2014  Hobbyist Artist
Thanks for watching me. I'm looking over your gallery - the work there is impressive. I won't lie, the diction could use improvement, but that's a paltry thing next to the story or emotion lying beneath it. They say there's no such thing as talent; only practice, but I'm more than inclined to think that there's something in your writing worth watching improve - so watch I will :)
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:iconjenfruzz:
JenFruzz Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
Welcome to deviantART! 

:iconwow-macros:

This new group is dedicated to macro nature photography. If you're a photographer and looking to get some feedback, this could be a good place to start!

If not then you've still found the best place on the internet to share and find whatever form of artwork you enjoy!
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