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fr_refuge.forbidA long time ago, when I was in the eighth grade, I had a young friend in the same grade as I was, but from a different classroom. He always came off as odd to me and everyone else; he was the dark, silent, and morbid type, never talking to anyone and always sitting on his own, not even looking at anyone who passed by. Perhaps he just didn't know how to approach anyone. He took a strong interest to dark things, such as books with the horror genre, and he was a dark artist, the giant sketchbook that he always carried around with him riddled with spine-tingling, colorless, abandoned, and deadly-looking landscapes, and intimidating, made-up creatures with fangs and claws the size of monkey wrenches. Some of these creatures were more sinister versions of already existing creatures; once, I saw him drawing what seemed like one of those monsters from the Pokémon games; but I never got a clear look at it. I, though I feel odd saying so, was fond of his art style. I'd always see him drawin
Creepy Pasta PKMN - HATRED
I bought Fire Red once when I was going through an old garage sale.
It was worn and chipped but the inner workings were still in great condition. The box art was faded and greenish thanks to being left out under the sun no doubt.
The thing that struck me as odd was that there was clearly holes made in the eyes of the charizard on the cover and a big hole on its chest over its heart.
I asked the owner and showed him the box and the cartridge. He almost flinched when I was displaying the items to him. I could see fear in his eyes. Real terror.
I couldn't get him to answer me about the wear and tear, so I asked how much the game cost. He pushed the game away and waved his hands, "It's free, leave please."
I stumbled slightly and looked at him. "Are you sure old man?" He nodded and turned to speak to another customer. I actually considered putting the game back, NO ONE acts like that when you try to buy something from them.
Regardless I took it home and put it in my DS. My screen flickered
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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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