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:iconvivalajane:

~vivalajane

slept with your applesauce baby
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About Me Member Wannabe Novelist nadia baguardiaFemale/United States Recent Activity Deviant for 1 Year
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birthday presentI am named after seven different men I’ve never said more than two words to in my entire life. They all pronounce it like its something special, a family history for people who don’t really have one. They say its something to be proud of, I am the sixth Jonathan and I look like my father. Strong heritage.   Blood doesn’t care about our heritage, just does its job as it races to cuts on his skin like quicksilver and I know I cant touch it, he’s sick. I’d get sick. I am the sixth Jonathan in my family and I look like my father, but when he cries I cringe with it. It’s a horrible sound.   If I co birthday present
by ~vivalajane
drabbleWhen it rained, you could see the end of the world.   
As the dust settled you could see for miles, our land was flat and covered in yellow green crayon wrapper grass shoots, interrupted solely by suburban new growth houses in alternating pastels. During dry spells you could hardly see four feet in front of you, as the wind pulled up centuries old walkways and uprooted your neighbors plants with ease. But on the days it rained, no, you could see the end of the world.   
When it came, it wasn’t as if we stopped what we were doing and ran outside, these moments happened in between breakfasts and class periods. No one dr drabble
by ~vivalajane
zeroes. prologue-2.Grass was never really green: it was cracked or muddy, wet while it formed yellow green crayon wrappers fields with occasional brown spots where kids had kicked doomed sprouts to Kansas dust. Under spotlights it was blotchy, but looked as if we were staring at a three year old on sugar rush’s picture of a tree.     Our football field had sprayed on white lines and paint peeled field goal spires. Our bleachers were wooden and splintered, but we were proud. Gold and burgundy uniforms were worn almost religiously, handed off to mothers who screamed when you tracked practice mud inside, or girlfriends with matching cheerl zeroes. prologue-2.
by ~vivalajane
zeroes. prologue-1.      My parents were not the type of people that bred thinkers or revolutionaries. They were the kind of people my neighbors would call “mister” and “misses”; people who celebrated my birthdays in backyards with matching table kitchenware sets and pitchers of “homemade” lemonade. They had no stories of horrible childhoods, only history lessons in dining rooms on Sundays. While speaking of relatives from Ellis Island and long lines of farmers who’d moved all the way from New York City to Bermuda, just to make a new life for themselves, my parents did not make me a rebel. They di zeroes. prologue-1.
by ~vivalajane
Browse Gallery

homo

Wed Jul 8, 2009, 7:32 AM
"what," i said, words snipping at the last three fingers that held his forearm to mine. "what?"

he sighed, "nothing," and let me go.

"never anything." i mumbled.

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  • Listening to: lenka- anything im not

deviantID

i am skin and bones and half a heart
fake and empty
you're the first real thing ive felt in a while

Devious Info

  • Favourite movie: brideshead revisited
  • Favourite genre of music: indie
  • Favourite style of art: trippy-mindblowing

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Comments


~vivalajane:iconvivalajane: Jun 14, 2009, 5:48:29 PM
*leafblower*
*blows it away*
*splats on the wall*
TRY AGAIN

--
they burned his horses
~limsey:iconlimsey: Jun 14, 2009, 5:53:55 PM
Thwarted once again!
~vivalajane:iconvivalajane: Jun 16, 2009, 5:38:33 PM
you evil henchman, you!

back, back i say!

--
they burned his horses
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