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DystopiaThe doctor slammed the door behind him. They were angry. Angry and chasing after him. Every child and mother and father he had planned on euthanizing for the betterment of mankind broke free of the execution chambers and were destroying the dome. He stared out his office window and watched his life dream turn into horror. He was inside the main building on the north-most side of the glass dome surrounding the city of perfection. He could hear his doom approaching as the sound of shuffling feet marched closer to his office door. Puffy, swollen fists banged against the steel door and the screech of teeth against metal walls filled the atmosphere. Outside the glass dome was beginning to form cracks as the escaped ones raged on outside. Soon these monsters would be swarming the streets of New York, seeking help. But there was no hope for them. Their medicine would make sure of that. An orchestra of screams rang through the city up to the office room, screams from the ones down below being
Build UpMan's protective motto
to defend our own
Has always had a definition
We think it ends, but Man is stubborn
Skins and nations and relations hold hands with glass in their palms
Diversity with a price
Unique and divine with its own fine print
Contracted to avoid contact with deviance
Ends don't happen, just frays
The latest fashion of Don't
Let's get real
Chains take different forms
From the rusty irons around a human's wrists
to the ones digging into the neck of a fallen
Picking and choosing from the mold
So told we are by the same
Golden standards and there's a tendency to
Fold into the lines of the
Cold misunderstandings of differences
derailing and defacing trusts
Taking the heart of a mass and turning
changing the meaning to fit insecurity
Drives man to do silly things
And man fears nothing more than what it can't understand
It has a hold on the people and infects the veins
Rage lashing, words slashing, yet these hatefuls gain
Un roti de Cupidon"Patron.. je suis pas sûr que ça soit une si bonne idée..."
Un bruissement d'ailes presque froufroutant sur sa gauche le fit se retourner d'un bond, mais il ne put percevoir qu'un bref mouvement du coin de l'oeil. Ils étaient rapides, bien trop rapides. Jamais le vieux ne réussirait. De nouveau ce bruit soyeux, semblable à des ailes de tourterelles, mais bien plus proche. Dans son esprit il pouvait les voir, tournant au dessus de sa tête comme autant de vautours prêts à la curée.
Le bruit assourdi des détonations résonna et tout autour d'Emmanuel une pluie de plumes commença à virevolter tandis que cinq bruits sourds accompagnaient la chute d'autant de corps autour de lui.
"Ramasse les, petit. On a encore du boulot."
Avec une grimace mi admirative, mi dégoûtée, le jeune homme se mit au travail, enfilant des lourds gants de cuir pour se protéger. Son sup
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More