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About Literature / Artist foodpsychoMale/Australia Recent Activity
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Mature content
The Arrival :iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 0 2
Her Silver Arrow, Part 2
  The soldiers moved quickly.  Their lanterns flickered in the cold, sputtering dull light and shadows across the snow.  General Kallock glowered as he watched them return, all bunched together like helpless pups.
  "General, sir," Anders gasped, and saluted.  "The night grows colder, and the wind takes the lanterns out one by one, so that soon we will have no light.  We cannot continue, sir."
  Kallock's scowl took all of them in.  His men didn't dare shiver, though he could tell by their faces the chill had soaked into their bones.  Many had their teeth clenched to keep from chattering.
  "You call off my search, Anders?"  His deep voice reverberated with irritation, his gaze as piercing as the hunting knife strapped to his belt.
  "No, sir!  I merely…"  Anders shook snow off himself and gestured to the soldiers.  "The men are weak
:iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 0 0
The Snow Leopard
  Snow leopards cannot roar.  We cannot scream our frustrations to the roiling clouds, or the snow-strewn peaks.  If we could, would our cries be lost on the wind, a blistering flurry of needle-sharp snow that paints the mountainside and sweeps aside any weaknesses?  For only the strongest can survive the Peaks.
  We were once strong, but our numbers have dwindled.  Food is scarce.  Man invades our territories, as they have for centuries.  This time they hunt in packs.  It is a sport for them, to come after us.  Sometimes they wear us, a mockery far worse than killing.  If we kill, we do it only for our own survival.  We are not proud of it.
  I have killed five humans.  I still remember each man's distinct scent.  Sometimes I can even taste their hot blood spurting into my mouth.  It is a worse feeling than any imagining, but r
:iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 8 19
Before the Storm
  The rebels were coming, as promised.  Their ships – perhaps a dozen or so – appeared as tiny black flecks on a twilight canvass, distant enough that they seemed harmless.  But Mystrus had seen these ships up close: bulky war machines armed to their teeth, and so heavy that they groaned and shook when they flew.  In half an hour, they would be upon the colony.  It was time to rally her troops.
  Mystrus sighed and leaned back against the deck railing.  She sucked deeply on her cigarette and about an inch of it crinkled to ash.  She took pleasure in slowly blowing the smoke at the rebel ships.  For a moment they disappeared in the haze, but a huff of wind swept the cloud aside.
  Wouldn't want you disappearing on me now, she thought to herself.  That would be a disappointment.
  The breeze was warm and carried the bitter stench of Pomlarian top
:iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 4 7
Her Silver Arrow, Part 1
  Arrows rained down from the hazy sky with deadly speed; they hit the snow with a vicious crunch and disappeared completely, while more seemingly materialised in the mist overhead; the onslaught was endless.  Desperately half-crawling, half-digging through the deep snow, a young girl – not yet seventeen – tried to evade the falling sticks of death, though her arms were weak from shivering and the cold.  Her blue eyes, rimmed with ice, streamed tears that froze partway down her face; tangled and drenched with snow, her soft, purple hair flowed out from a dark grey beanie.  Then, with a puff of steam, her blue lips opened and a rasped cry came out.
  An arrow had found its target; she could feel the sudden, sharp pain searing in her shoulder, but not until she turned her head to look did she see that only the feathered end of the arrow was visible; the sharpened stone tip poked out the front, inches from her breast.  
:iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 2 18
My Little Emilie
With the simple pull of a trigger, my daughter's life fell away into nothingness; I felt like I even saw her thin, yellow lifeline shrivel and evaporate in the surrounding blackness.  But still, I clutched at her body, for all it was worth – and it was worth so very, very much, even now.
The splashing of the gunman's footsteps faded rapidly, till the only sounds were the rain, falling into its own puddles on the bitumen, and the sobbing of a broken father.
I held her to my breast; her blood was still warm, and the rain was steadily washing it away.  But I couldn't let go; I had to feel the last moment of warmth from this young, beautiful body I had so often held.  But even when she'd been asleep, and I'd carry her to her bed – she was so warm – she had a beating heart, a loving soul.  Oh, my beautiful Emilie…
The rain splashed down.  I wanted to hold onto her little body forever.  The police finally pried m
:iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 3 13
Solace -excerpt-
  Colonel Rastov witnessed the chaos from a distance, and already he was racing towards the action.  Unlike most of the soldiers, dazed and confused, he could see the Skruns surging onto the landing pad towards them.  He'd already dropped the heavy rocket launcher.  As he ran he fired blindly at the Skruns with his shotgun, and four of them tumbled over and disappeared under the charging, hissing, unstoppable wave.
  An unusual furrow deepened his brow.  This wasn't happening the way it was supposed to.  Why were the Skruns in such a position of advantage?  How had things come to this so quickly?!
  "My God..." Karos gasped.  The Skruns in the front lines leapt into the air, blotting out the sun, and they fell with horrific grace upon the bodies of the wounded soldiers and civilians below.  Karos watched helplessly as men and women, screaming with uncontrollable terror, tried t
:iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 2 16
Mature content
The Demon's Kiss: Chapter 5 :iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 1 8
The Demon's Kiss: Chapter 4
  I couldn’t do this anymore.
  My body turned to ice.  A soul-wrenching fear gripped me and shook my body like a rag doll in a blizzard.  My body was ready to give in; my mind was ready to shatter.
  Because there was blood, splattered across the school fence.
  I’d been teetering on the edge of sanity’s precipice all morning.  I’d clung to every hope I had that everything had been another nightmare, that it would all go away.  But when I went to have a shower, and I saw the Mark glistening black on my skin, I lost my grip.  I slumped against the tiled wall and cried.
  And yet somehow I didn’t fall all the way to the bottom.  I managed to hold on a bit longer and drag myself downstairs, yearning company, but I was greeted by a world of silence.  The tension from last night was so thick it acted like a sound barrier.  Mum, Greg, mys
:iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 0 9
Mature content
The Demon's Kiss: Chapter 2 :iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 0 9
The Demon's Kiss: Chapter 1
  I’ll never forgive the demons for what they did.  To me, to my family.  They left a hole in my heart, one that throbs with sorrow, aches for revenge.  One that can never heal.
  Dad goes on as if nothing happened.  That’s possibly the worst way to deal with it.  Soon it’s gonna catch up to him and hit him all at once at a million miles an hour.  When that happens, what shambles remain of our broken family will fall away.
  My older brother Greg acts in pretty much the same way, keeping it bottled up inside.  He was never one to talk about feelings – his or anyone else’s – but even more so now.  Mum holds her tears back.  She’ll never cry in front of us because she knows we’re trying hard not to upset her.  I’m sure she saves her tears for when she’s alone.  Who knows, maybe she cries at night when
:iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 0 12
nyu's Art Meme foodpsycho by foodpsycho nyu's Art Meme foodpsycho :iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 1 12
The Tower - Part 1
  Jet squinted accusingly at the strange, old church of Obaru.  This building certainly stood out from the black and grey structures around it; there was something classical about its neat brickwork and slanted tile roof.  A steel cross stood high atop the roof, silhouetted against the hazy, yellow-brown sky.  But there was something apart from the church’s obvious visible differences that made it appear so intimidating…
  With an indifferent shrug, Jet opened the large wooden door and went inside.  He immediately felt eyes on him, though the foyer was empty.  Dozens of pictures – interpretations of God – hung on the marble walls, and though they were all apparently of the same being, it was hard to see any similarities between them.  Jet poked his tongue out at one of the pictures hanging close to him, then giggled at the picture’s predictable lack of response.
  The serv
:iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 0 4
He held her small, sobbing body across his, stroking her head gently.  Under the cold, bitter night sky, their bodies shared a warmth that reached into their hearts.
Pete nuzzled against her ear and whispered, “I can feel your heart beating.”
Melina peered up at him, her face pale, her eyes yielding rivulets that trickled down her face, sparkling in the moonlight.  Her breathing was short and shallow yet remained controlled.  She managed a weak smile and said, “We have lost so many moments like these.”  She sniffed.  “I don’t remember what else I should say.”
“Then say nothing,” Pete said, his voice like the wind.  He leaned in and kissed Melina.
They remained that way for several moments, oblivious to the crickets chirping around them and the gentle swish of the trees.  When their lips parted (though reluctantly), Melina drew back across his lap.
“You’re crying,
:iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 0 6
Miscreant's Nightmare
When you are asleep,
Can you feel it in your dreams?
A scratching, in the background,
Beyond your cries,
Beyond your sin,
Deeper than anyone knows of
Or cares to believe in.
It lurks there like a virus,
Sometimes sleeping,
Never resting.
When you awaken from
A cold-sweat nightmare,
It’s there.
When you feel alone
And there is no one
To turn to and
Nowhere to run,
It twirls in
Fiery delight.
When you lie,
About to die,
Upon your conceited deathbed,
It blossoms like
A black rose;
More evil than
Death itself.
And it grows.
You must not seek it,
Must not unleash it;
For this demon you keep inside
Will not hide.
And if it comes to prime,
Not even God will save us
This time.
:iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 0 10
We go round.
Our hands
reach out to fate
before our face;
sliding over,
never grasping.
The soft
and a chime
and we go round again.
:iconfoodpsycho:foodpsycho 1 1

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The bar was almost dead at this time of night, and the question seemed to echo around the room - emphasising the sudden silence, rather than masking it.
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Only a handful of stragglers remained, the dregs of the evening clearing the dregs of their whiskeys. The lights shone dimly, and everything moved lethargically in the warm Texas night.
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She felt it every time. The rush. The adrenaline.
The thrill.
It was an accidental discovery. She hadn't meant to... it just sort of worked itself out. There she was, cramped up on the tube with everyone else, when Jane noticed the neck of the girl in front of her. It was beautiful. Such clean, soft skin, lightly peppered with hairs, snaking down to the secrets held underneath her pinkish collar.
No-one was looking. And they were all packed in so close together. So she just gave it a little lick.
Just a light brush with the tongue. A dab. She barely even made contact - just the faintest of pecks.
And it was beautiful.
The lady barely even knew it had happened. She looked around, absently rubbed the back of her neck, but continued flicking over her iPad as if nothing had happened.
That was when Jane realised that people didn't expect the unexpected, and as such they didn't react to it. The rush she'd felt.. that fleeting intimacy, that slightly salty taste just tingling on her tongue. S
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Pixie Wings, and Crackled Skin,
Her eyes were toffee brown,
Lined with purple smudges.
And baby's breath
Hung from the alcoves in her hallway,
Where she liked to wander
Fairy feet tapping at timber,
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Brushing her shoulders,
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Her nails caked in moss,
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Laughed with glee,
As she tiptoed along branches,
And revelled in dirt.
She had rosebloom cheeks,
On porcelain skin.
(lined with cracks)
Like the antique doll,
Left on my shelf,
As I grew,
And left my fairy wings behind
I grew old
And forgot to be kind~
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foodpsycho's Profile Picture

Artist | Literature
Hey there! I write weird and emotional short stories, and long fantasy epics.

I currently live in Thailand and spend my free time reading/writing, studying Thai, and ordering "how to write" books off Amazon. I really want to be published someday, but I need your help and advice to get me there. Every tidbit from every person is appreciated!

Oh, and I keep a travel blog.
  • Listening to: Bjork, Zoids OST, Sigur Ros, Radiohead
  • Reading: Empire of Ivory, Writing the Breakout Novel
  • Watching: Game of Thrones
Do you willingly follow the lead of the wild, tempestuous muse inside you?  Or are you afraid of where it will take you?

I wish we could all say we fall into the former category, but do you find you sometimes hold back in your writing?  It's all too easy to wonder what other people may think about certain themes, images, ideas conjured by our immature muse.  After all, the audience will accredit such ideas to "who you truly are"... because if your muse comes up with these twisted ideas, it must mean that you are twisted too.  Deep down inside.

It's scary.  The word "fiction" means nothing to them.

This is my challenge: to have an emotional honesty with my muse.  No one becomes successful from holding back.  And it's hard to write when your muse is on a leash.

If you're not already, I challenge all my fellow writers out there to do the same.  Find that emotional core in your writing and don't shy away from it.  I've read some wonderful fiction here recently by people far ahead of me on this front.  I would love to read more.

For me, it means I have some catching up to do.

And a muse to follow.


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Caipryss Featured By Owner Sep 20, 2012
This holiday season, there's a project going on-- giving 100 people 3 month premium memberships. It would mean a lot if you could/would help. For all I know, you could be one of the 100. If you would like to help, please donate to my donation pool and I will then donate all of it, which will be hopefully a large amount, on the last day to the account running this project for a holiday suprise.
I think what they're doing is great, just the thing to get into holiday spirit. So if you would like to grant 100 smiles this holiday season, please help by donating to my donation pool on my page, any amount is greatly appreciated.
I understand if you do not wish to, but if you could, at least help spread the word about this, that would mean a lot.
Thank you for your help and consideration.
starrkat Featured By Owner Mar 10, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Happy Birthday to you~ :D
foodpsycho Featured By Owner Mar 16, 2012   Writer
Yay, thanks! :)
starrkat Featured By Owner Feb 17, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for watching! Greatly appreciated, especially from such a writer as yourself :3
foodpsycho Featured By Owner Feb 17, 2012   Writer
I like your style. Do you usually write horror?
You're most welcome. :) And thanks for the kind words.
starrkat Featured By Owner Feb 17, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
I'm actually just getting into horror. I have a ton of writing of other genres, but I need to tweak them a bit more.

And no problem :)
foodpsycho Featured By Owner Feb 17, 2012   Writer
Cool, I look forward to them.
blood-red-ribbons Featured By Owner Jan 29, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the watch, favourites and comments,
They're very much appreciated <3
foodpsycho Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2012   Writer
No problem - well deserved.
ChamberlainOfRavens Featured By Owner Jan 19, 2012  Professional Photographer
Welcome to :iconjustkeepwriting: (:
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