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About Literature / Student N W RavenOther/United States Group :iconlonelypumpkin: LonelyPumpkin
Writing with poise.
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Deviant for 4 Years
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This is a gallery of my attempts to show you the wide assortment of things I find intriguing. Enjoy! Or not, if they don't quite suit your fancy.



     "Y'ever t'ought 'bout work as a merc'nary? Y'look suited fa it."
     The voice was mottled, the accent thick enough to curdle most of the meaning. Neither were enough to pique the interest of the traveler being addressed. And yet...
     Against her will, her ragged excuse for shoes scuffed to a stop on the uneven stone road. Sounds of the town around the two carried on: marketplace rubbish rambling on from their stalls about various forms of great deals, the clerk for the shop down the way chopping up firewood to stock their hearth for another frozen night, children tripping over too-long skirts and trousers while running from some unseen enemy, guards clanking by in their identical emotionless metal faces. All around was noise, but in the moment the traveler turned to face the owner of that mottled voice, there was just a beat of deafening silence.
     The words were drawled out like being a sword-for-hire was a secret path to unlocking her destiny, closed to all but a select few. Perhaps it was. Perhaps that's why this man had had the audacity to address her so suddenly. Perhaps that's why what he said interested her, when on any other day she would have ignored a man and voice and words like this. Then again, the man himself soured the spell in his words. His skin was dark, thick and cracked and almost scaly about his neck, his hair scraggly and knotted and refusing to be tamed by the leather strip binding it.
    He had all the usual indicators of a life lived more abroad than at home, teetering on the thin ledge between comfort and poverty. Mismatched pieces of armor, tweaked here and there to fit or where they been welded back together and rusty and dented enough to betray he'd seen many battles. His sword held a few small flecks of blood, missed when he'd been polishing it, and the leather strips on the handle were frayed where his hands had gripped tightly. The act of polishing itself, however, told the traveler all she needed to know. It betrayed a pride but also an embarrassment of his line of work. It showed that the sword was his most prized possession, that he wanted it gleaming and spotless. But this also showed that he wasn't proud enough to flaunt his exploits, that he wanted to hide the bloodshed he dealt in. Adding to this was the duality of the sun-cracked, grimy skin and the pudge subtly lining his jaw. It spoke of a man without the courage enough to truly live as a mercenary, and a man that used his small coin for indulgences and luxury.
    Delilah let a small grin peel her lips apart. His hands were dirty, both figuratively and literally, bathed in the blood of others that he'd tried so hard to scrub off and ingrained with the grime of years on the road. His fingernails were chipped and cracked and lined with who knows what, but he had failed to notice the blood caked under hers.
The Hand That Rocks the Cradle: An Introduction
The first taste of what will be a novella loosely inspired by my own exploits in Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.
Title courtesy of this song:…
I've become the Davy Jones of the modern world
Find my organ in a chest and coddle the bloody runt
Then stab it while it beats before it gets any ideas

I created a box from inhibitions and chemicals
Forged by disillusion and non-committals
Glued with laissez-faire emotions and frigidity
Then fear chipped in some air holes
Psuedo-gloved hands clawing at frayed fabric
Gnawing holes into the pillow in their death grip
Voices screeching in the night, is it only in my mind
Seal my eyes shut and pray they never open
Sleep refuses acknowledging even knowing me, much less embracing me, as he always does
Preferring rather to leave me to bask in my insanity prolonged by bloodshot spheres

Why can't I get warm? Though my hands are burning from the friction of the cotton
Why won't they be silenced? Though I plug my ears and chant my disbeliefs
They're not real, they're not real, GOD PLEASE, they're not real
Is the scratching on the walls around me or from the inside of my skull, betraying demons' escape plans?
Is the laughter wafting from the phantom in the corner
A memento from my past sent to haunt me all my days?
My bulky comforter tangles around me, but the warmth never sets in more than skin deep
There's a chill deep in my bones that's impenetrable, icicles that have conquered my arteries
Eyelids frozen open, doomed to never rest

Voices marring my brain with obscenities and petty jabs
I wouldn't be surprised to find an angry mob within my skull
Chanting and screeching and bellowing their violent plans
Brandishing their torches, poking rusty pitchforks into mushy brain matter
4,754 deviations

Paradoxical Truth

It all happened so fast. I have no idea what happened, no idea why I'm here now, and no idea who they are. It just…happened.

And now, I, Josie Carter, sit here in this car --- my husband, Noah, tied up next to me --- with no escape. But what do we escape from? They are right outside the car, possibly deciding our fates. Are we just victims of a spontaneous need for thrill? I can't imagine what either of us did to be in this position as Noah turns his head to smile woefully at me.

I try to make my answering smile a bit more uplifting, but it only comes out grim and brutal. "What do they want?" I inquire, my voice cracking in all the wrong places. Once again, I spare a glance outside through the highly tinted windows as I try to make out faces instead of only silhouettes. The figures are menacing and poisonous, like a foul-tasting liquid you would instantly spew from your lips. Yet, their faces still evade me.

My husband's smile fades, his expression turning even graver. "I-I just don't know." His voice cracks at the end then trails off until it is barely audible. He hangs his head in shame and I reach over to run my tied hands through his soft jet-black curls. Those warm brown eyes of his search my face for comfort as he stretches his tied legs in the confined space of the compact car.

"We'll get through this together.” I whisper in his ear, laying my head on his broad shoulder. Even in this peril, I find peace in Noah's presence and his reassuring hands entwined with one of mine. The obscurity of sleep embraces me.


My mind screams at me. You're going to die! You're in DANGER! Wake UP, you IDIOT! But the deep of sleep won't release me; my brain won't register the reality. I'm stuck in thoughts of fantasy, in the tranquility of my own head. I don't want the surroundings to encircle me. I want to stay ignorant.

But my mind just won't let it be, and, all too soon, my eyes snap open in horror. Reality crushes me under so many emotions I can't handle it anymore. A scream explodes from my lips but is stifled by something taut and coarse between them. Reaching up with my tethered hands to check, I discover what I feared --- a piece of ragged fabric, gagging me.

I moan in panic as my head thrashes frantically. My red locks slap my face mercilessly. Where am I? All around me is a fathomless dark, so I strain my eyes to at least discern one clue as to my location. When none can be found, I keep up my panicked moaning, on the verge of hyperventilation. I have never liked anything covering my mouth; and I especially have never liked being unaware of where I am --- even more when I’m in the dark. My urge to hyperventilate finally gets the best of me as my surroundings seem to move closer.

I am suffocating. I am claustrophobic. I can’t stand it!

Another scream bursts from my lips before a rough hand grips my shoulder firmly. I hear breathing next to my ear before the assailant speaks. “I’m sorry, honey. They got livid. You were mumbling and yelling in your sleep. They swore they’d shoot you if I didn’t ‘shut you up.’ It was a last resort. I know how you hate it. I’m sorry,” he whispers sweetly to me. Noah runs his joined hands through my curls, caressing them soothingly. I finally realize I’m lying down on something and Noah is now on my opposite side. Reaching down to run my hands along the hard surface below me, I discover it’s a leather seat and the realization hits me that I’m still in the car.

“How-how long have we been driving?” I moan lightly, almost inaudibly, struggling to make myself heard through the fabric. I can feel the seat vibrating beneath me and grasp that it means we are moving. My head begins to thrash slowly again as I fight the urge to scream. Noah’s firm hands stifle me.

“For about 4 hours, I think.” he replies, slowly and gently removing the gag from my lips. ‘Behave,’ he mouths to me, placing a finger over his lips in a motion to stay quiet.

For the next few minutes, the ride is silent except for the faint mumblings between our captors, heard through the screen in front of us. Fear gets the best of me and I close my eyes in an attempt to, yet again, suppress it. The deep breaths soothe me and soon I am calm once more. Noah runs his hand up and down my arm, humming a lullaby I vaguely remember from the days before. My memory is fuzzy --- I can’t recall much beyond the past few waking hours --- but now I realize something is different. My wrists are chafing under the cruel grip of rope, but it seems tighter, knotted more, almost in an attempt to torture me and test my patience. And as my husband’s soothing hand caresses my arm again, my realization no longer evades me --- his hands are unfettered. Gradually I sit up, dazed, my glances around finally focusing. No, they must be more merciful to him. I’d rather I than him be the target of their wickedness.

“Noah?” I whisper, but also straining my ears to hear any snatch of conversation between our captors. A laugh resounds through the car, and one of them turns to stare at me. His eyes are a dark abyss, hatred swirls in each glimmer. His lips begin to curl in a wicked smile --- his stare looming long after he turns away. My breath catches, my eyes stay rooted to the spot, and I am frozen in the terrible fright of the moment.

“Noah?” I whisper fiercely again, looking forward still.

There is no answer. Fear begins to overtake me. When the car abruptly stops, my eyes are still glued to the same spot. When I hear my husband’s yelp from beside me and a door slam, my eyes are still rooted. It isn’t until the hand comes over my own mouth that I glance away.

. . . Darkness.


The room smells of chloroform. My nostrils are filled with it. My tongue is coated in it. Breathing seems impossible as my starved lungs slowly come to life. My sluggish eyes lift inch by inch, like drapes far too long closed. I want to rub my eyes to dispel the blur, but the movement seems too complex for my brain to process and my muscles to perform.

“You’ve been out for five hours,” an unfamiliar voice informs me from my indiscernible surroundings. “It’s almost dawn.” I sluggishly sit up and blink until my vision seems intact. “You must be hungry.” the voice continues in a concerned tone. I nod eagerly, finally realizing how dry my mouth is, how empty my stomach feels. Wait! Could I perhaps have found a loophole --- the one traitor in the midst of assailants? It couldn’t possibly be like a movie, could it? Could this be the one to help me; the one to free us? My world fills up with hope, and my weak muscles begin to renew strength. I’d escape. We’d escape! My husband and I both would! We’d run away to someplace far off and never see this city --- this state, this country! --- ever again. We’d go to exotic places, see-

“Then you’ll die starving.” the voice hisses, moving closer. Not only does this comment break my thought, but it diminishes any hope I gained in the past few seconds. He is no traitor; he is merely an actor --- a taunt, a fake, and a torture to add on to the list of all insults beguiling me. But as his sentence finally strikes me, a new emotion emerges and explodes inside me --- horror. Unadulterated, unmasked, total horror envelopes me in a tight, sickening grasp. His comment is not only a cruel joke, but a warning --- a window into the future.

I would die.

I would die here. In this dark room, with my senses numb from chloroform and my heart drained of hope, I would die.

His form streaks across the room into the light with a self-important air and an egotistical chuckle, winking at me with a grimace full of deathly excitement. His face is pale, a corpse, and his arms are huge --- enough to squeeze the life out of me, right here, right now. All the same, he leaves the room, slamming the steel door behind him in one callously swift movement.

Loneliness overwhelms me with a wish to know where Noah is. I sit there, longing for --- craving, even --- his presence. When it seems my mind is about to drift off to an anxious sleep once more, I hear the door slowly creak open. For five too-long seconds, there is no figure pushing it open, it is simply opening. However, when the individual does appear, immediately I start up and run for him.

I fall into Noah’s arms, wanting to embrace our last seconds together for as long as I can. He is unfettered --- no ropes, no handcuffs, no ankle braces restrain him --- unlike myself, whose arms are restricted once more in the front, yet tighter this time. His arms hang loosely around me, nonchalantly and dispassionately. I wonder at this. Does he not know? Is he not going to save me? Are they going to make him watch? I finally disentangle myself from him and move back a few steps to eye his expression. It is neutral, blank, controlled, forced --- I can see nothing there. He takes a step toward me, and by some unknown reflex I trip backward. Those chocolate eyes I used to love are on the brink of revealing a truth I should not know, yet I can’t put my finger on it. Dread and sweat begin to saturate me as I continue to back away. One fatal trip, and I’m flying backwards towards the too-close wall.

Luckily, or perhaps not, Noah’s tender arms are there to catch me, but I still catch myself on something cold and hard at his belt. He pulls me closer and it seems his face finally breaks into the perfect expression --- a grim, deathly smile. “Oh, honey,” he begins with an utterly fake concern, “I hate to say goodbye.” Immediately, I jump away out of his arms before his hand can even reach my face to wipe away the tears that have begun. Everything --- every memory --- forcefully stampede’s across my mind. No. No. It can’t be. And yet, it clicks.

My back is against the wall, I’m sliding down to the floor, every limb numb and slick with sweat. My head is not cluttered anymore, but clear --- completely and utterly clear. It is he.

As he steps closer, hundreds of escape plans shoot through my head only to fail at the end. “I can’t believe this whole time I had you fooled. Didn’t you ever realize that every second, every minute, every day was an act? You thought it was real. Ha! I shouldn’t have expected much more. I know everything about you, about who you are, and I’m going to end it, Josie. I’m going to end it now.” A broad, fatal grin spreads across his face, strengthening every second. “Know that I loved you.”

However, when he reaches down for his handgun, he’s bewildered to find it gone. Patting all around his belt, he begins to panic before a frozen, utterly shocked expression crosses his face. He looks up to find his stolen handgun pointed directly at his heart --- the heart that once belonged to me --- and finger the trigger. There is no hesitation, there is no qualm, love is dead.

He falls.

“Love you, honey.”

Paradoxical Truth
An old short story I wrote in high school. I'm actually really proud of this one, even if it still needs some work.
Part 1 of my Josie Page compilation.
As soon as I saw the shy people with multicoloured hair and backpacks, I knew I was in the right place. Deviantart meet-up? YES PLEASE!
Over the river and through the woods, to Sands Expo we goooo! No kidding, though. It took FOREVER to find our way to the Venetian and to find where we were supposed to go once inside. It was quite a trying adventure.
Once FINALLY to Hall C, I wandered around a bit and tried to figure out what to do. I was pretty sure no one I knew was coming and a lot of time was reserved for meet-ups. I was also surrounded by tons of amazing artists drawing with ease while my notebooks rested comfortably in my psuedo-hippie messenger bag. After looking around a bit, I spotted a fellow deviant I suspected was in my own situation. Now, I'm not too good a socializer. In fact, the thought of talking to a stranger makes me queasy. But I swallowed my fear, strode up to her and subject led to subject until we were both walking around the convention and talking like best buds!
This day may not have gone the way I expected, but it turned out much better. Along with all the souvenirs and experience I took away from this convention, I also came away with a new friendship with an UBER-TALENTED Momoko-Kawase . Definitely making this a regular thing.
#CAVE #deviantart


Reprogrammed's Profile Picture
N W Raven
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
Lyricist, Vocalist of Social Insomnia


And now, for something entirely different:

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

"Death Be Not Proud"
-- by John Donne

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Journal History


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WeatherDragon Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Danke for the watch! :3
Reprogrammed Featured By Owner Sep 27, 2015  Student Writer
No problem!
Wanna guess who it is? XD
WeatherDragon Featured By Owner Sep 27, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Uhhh hmmmmm could you be SOMEONE from the SoFurry server...? XD
Reprogrammed Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2015  Student Writer
(1 Reply)
FuneralRoseTeaParty Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2015  Student Writer
I just realized your birthday was yesterday! Happy Birthday! Thank you for the watch as well, it means a lot. ^ ~ ^ 
Reprogrammed Featured By Owner Aug 12, 2015  Student Writer
Thank you! I just found this comment. Lol.
birthdays Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2015
:woohoo: :party: :iconcakelickplz: !!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY !!! :iconcakelickplz: :party: :woohoo:

It's June 15th which means it's that time of the year again and your special day is here! We hope you have an awesome day with lots of birthday fun, gifts, happiness and most definitely, lots of cake! Here's to another year!

Many well wishes and love from your friendly birthdays team :love:

Birthdays Team
This birthday greeting was brought to you by: KoudelkaW
Reprogrammed Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2015  Student Writer
Thank you!
Jasperinity Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2015
Happy birthday! :D
Reprogrammed Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2015  Student Writer
Thank you!
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