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About Literature / Hobbyist IsengimMale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 7 Years
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A Bargian, Set
A girl travels the alleys of the Hive. A thousand levels below her, the city tears into the earth, stretching and mining low. A thousand above, it batters the sky. Hundreds of kilometers in any direction. The Hive is the world. Her grandparents told her of when the Hive was small, and there were deserts and grasslands all about it. But that might as well be children's fictions. It may well be.
The girl is on the cusp of womanhood, and knows all the dangers this brings. She carries a knife up her sleeve, a cruelly serrated blade. Her grandfather's grandfather used it in the Miner Rebellions. Its weight deadens her arm. A cloak hides her face, tucked about her. The hood forms a silhouette of an eagle's crown, bringing a tapered beak low over her face. Such is the fashion, and the girl knows advantage when she sees it.
Every tale-abiding child in the Hive knows how to find the Ravens. Every constable too, but they would never. The Ravens would not forgive them, or their families. The girl
:iconisengim:Isengim 2 5
The Litany of I
So you want me to tell you how it goes? It's alright. Not everyone figures it out. See, it starts with a problem and solution. And like most things do, it's the solution that makes things worse.
    The rocks cut my feet, so I will make shoes.
    My back it weak, I will make a crutch.
    The wind bites my skin. I will make a cloak.
See a pattern yet? Hold on, it gets better.
    My skin is vulnerable. I will make armor.
    My legs tire. I will ride a horse.
    My fists are weak. I will make a sword.
Ah, now we're getting somewhere. Now try these on for size.
    My voice is weak.
    My faith is weak.
    My will is weak.
Well. That's an evolution. Waves from ripples, you might say.
    My kind is soft.
    My spirit lacks.
    My self is weak.

And that was the end. There was no coming back from it, the supposition that we could
:iconisengim:Isengim 3 12
Mature content
The Philosophers' War - Ontology :iconisengim:Isengim 2 7
Screen Shot - dA Lit submission problem by Isengim Screen Shot - dA Lit submission problem :iconisengim:Isengim 1 2
After the Fall
Morning comes achingly slow. The sun percolates above the Sierra Madre, shining sodium-flavored glare across the cityscape below you. There didn't used to be mountains there, you think. It's hard to be sure these days.
The invitation was left on your windowsill the night before; a map drawn on a napkin, a feather, and a pack of cigarettes. It's only an invitation because you can see it that way. You imagine there are hundreds of invitations left around the cities, discarded as junk. Most wouldn't see the pattern in it. Their loss, you think. You tap out the first cigarette and light it with a match struck against the wall. It tastes of cinnamon and longing. The next will taste better, you tell yourself.
Every map needs two things: orientation and a point of reference. Origin and vector. Compass rose and landmark. You unfold the map slowly, as if afraid to disturb it too much. You've been waiting a long time for a map like this one. It was drawn with a fine-tipped pen, on a napkin like
:iconisengim:Isengim 3 16
Mature content
The Way of the Knife - Adagio :iconisengim:Isengim 1 12
The World Ender's Club - The Serpent
The serpent moved with the current, far enough below that the surface shadows couldn't be seen. The boat was up there, the serpent could feel, but not see. The weight of it spread through the water, even far above. The pole moved steadily through the deepest parts, and the serpent kept clear of it. It thrummed in the dark, and the serpent could track it from afar.
    Memories did not come when called. Above was a boat, and in it was... what? Prey? Enemy? Something else entirely? The serpent did not know. The current pushed it lower, close to the sand and stone of the riverbed. It lashed its tail in frustration, and drove upwards against the press. The water was cold near the bottom, and the river-body not much warmer. But there was heat above. The serpent could feel heat coming off the boat in waves, sinking down into the depths. It wanted the heat, the burning source that it could not see, but feel as surely as it felt the current's insistent push.
    Memories ca
:iconisengim:Isengim 3 16
New Houston: The Morning Star
New Houston is a broken city in its soul; it gives the indistinct sensation of past disaster. A visitor has the itching notion that if they could shut out the noise and neon, look past the walls, they would see evidence of cataclysmic ruin. As if they could see the streets from far enough away, from enough height, they would see the bowl of a volcanic caldera in the geography. Or perhaps that the flagstones of the shops, crowded so tight the walls scream, conceal the bones of a city razed to dust. It's geography doesn't do the tourist industry any favors, a few too many bayous that run black, too little foliage of the non-plastic variety.
The port-side half of the city was every bad dream Vegas had ever had, and everything Revolutionary Paris proved to be. Daylight there is a rumor, a cultural myth perpetuated alongside mermaids and the Chupacabra. Vietnamese is the lingua franca, shot through with fragments of pure Texan. Xuống y'all.
The dockside visitor has much to contend wit
:iconisengim:Isengim 3 12
Phoenicia I
    It wasn't that violence made him itchy, but his muscles did ache afterwards. Adrenaline crash, someone had once told him, a grinding of chemical gears. No issue, but he did feel odd, rubbing a kink out of his neck while pointing the pistol with the other. He certainly felt he was losing traction with the hostages, and that annoyed him. He hadn't counted on the local police dragging their heels, or certain federal agencies pecking over the situation like competitive vultures.
    All that was left for him was the wait, and the furtive glares of hostages. In truth, he regretted much of what was happening. The last few years had been good ones. He'd had a good job, and dependable friends. But if all went well, Mickey Kincaid would be another dead alias, obsolete. Mickey, who had recently come over from Ireland with certain connections and a reputation in small circles. Mickey, with the shy smile, who popped his knuckles compulsively, and could sing the Irish nation
:iconisengim:Isengim 2 28
Mature content
Roma Victor :iconisengim:Isengim 2 8
The Wall
It was when we lost contact with Voyager 1 that it began. We lost Voyager 2 and the Pioneers sometime later. They’d been streaming anemic flows of data for decades, barely above background solar radiation. Then they just stopped. We had ways of tracking what happened, of course, a legion of eyes, parabolic dishes to point towards the heavens. They had quite literally, just stopped. As if they’d hit something, the satellites had rebounded in pieces from their paths. We were of course, aghast. Decades of work, and mankind’s farthest flung achievements had become bugs on a windscreen, solar dust. There was despair at legacies crushed, rage at imagined incompetence, and above all else: wonder. What had happened? How could this be explained, multiple satellites on different courses all being destroyed? What in God’s name could have happened?
We had our first clue when some brilliant number-cruncher proved that all the satellites had stopped, crashed, at the same rang
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The morning sun cast a dim ruddy light through Frank's single window. He missed the cheerful yellow light of Sol, though in this incarnation he had never been to Earth. Though his heart was attuned to his home planet's local star, his eyes weren't. He pulled himself from the Jesus tank and towelled himself dry.
"Curtis, blinds," he ordered the room, squinting in the Betelguesian glare; he stumbled to the wall and unfolded the kitchen. "Koff, breakfast." Without further instruction Curtis produced a mug of synthetic coffee and a plate of egg material grown in a vat from imported tissue.
"Curtis, sitrep," through his 'plant, Frank heard the usually sarcastic, mostly sardonic, frequently cynical and for some reason, Russian accented voice of his AI.
"White team mission successful. Target adequately nullified. The strike leader's remains were returned to his quarters for resurrection."
"How bad was it?"
"They found your toe, Sir."
"Indeed, Sir."
Frank folded the kitchen away, unfol
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"Get up."
The fallen scout doesn't move.  Banner isn't sure North can get up again, wounded and exhausted as he is.
"Get up, soldier," the lieutenant demands more forcefully this time.  He makes no move to help.  "I thought you were some fancy scout or something.  You've got us lost."
North doesn't dignify this with a reply.  He pushes himself up from the snow, painfully regains his feet.  He checks his rifle over with great care.
Banner comes forward now.  "Easy."  She reaches under North's coat to check the bandages.
"Let him be, Medic," the lieutenant says.
Banner half turns and glares at him from under her hood.  "I'll not.  He's bad hurt, and you're pushing him too hard, sir."
"I'm trying to get us out of this miserable hellhole.  He's the only one who knows this trail.  I shouldn't have to remind you, we don't have a lot of time."
Banner ignores him and turns ba
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Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Current Residence: Immediately behind you.
Shell of choice: Electron
Personal Quote: "Ha! No."
... and I absolutely, definitely, without fail... will get to it soon-ishly?

Sorry. I did real-life things, and now I have thousands of things to look at, answer, answer with vehemence, and spout obscurity at. I will tell y'all how awesome your work is, and mean it... just as soon as I get through to it.



Oh, and screw April Fools' pranks.

One Punch Man, Saitama

They are evil, and must be destroyed.
  • Listening to:
  • Reading: Tea-Leaves
  • Watching: Jessica Jones
  • Playing: Not Fallout 4 - yet


Add a Comment:
Isengim Featured By Owner Aug 9, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
No problem! Keep it up!
AxelMedellin Featured By Owner Mar 16, 2015  Professional Digital Artist
Thanks for the watch!
JoeSlucher Featured By Owner Feb 16, 2015  Professional Digital Artist
Thanks for the fave!
Isengim Featured By Owner Feb 19, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
LimonTea Featured By Owner Sep 30, 2014  Professional Digital Artist
Hey, I'm very thankful to U 4 watching me!
Isengim Featured By Owner Oct 5, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
And thank you for making such wonderful art!
dark-precipice Featured By Owner Sep 4, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Okay, so I looked up 'Der Graf' and tried to translate the lyrics all by myself and it all went well until I got to 'der Graf hat Angst, Angst vor HIV'

I'm still giggling. 
Isengim Featured By Owner Sep 6, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
It's brilliant, no?
My German teacher introduced me to the band. She played the video for "Junge" to my college class. We were shaking by the end.
dark-precipice Featured By Owner Sep 8, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Ah, I'm sure you guys weren't so bad. :lol:
Isengim Featured By Owner Sep 8, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Nah, we were loving it! I owe a lot of my taste in modern German punk/metal/rock/rap to her (which is therefore broad, yet questionable). We'd grind over genitive case for two hours, and she'd end class with a music video. It was pretty phenomenal.

Of course one day she played Die Arzte's 'Schlaflied' and were all creeped right the hell out. Well, the ones who could follow the lyrics were. The rest just followed the video, and were only slightly creeped out.…
(1 Reply)
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