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About Literature / Artist KiriFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 8 Years
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PRIDEA - nightingale
Everyone had heard him scream, of course, as he sometimes did when it was all a little too much to take. Sometimes all he could do was let a dying roar knell out of his throat. Such was the anthem of his caged soul, and its pitiful attempt to be freed from this prison of glass.
He sat in a glass room, in a glass house, in a glass city, in a glass world. Despite the fragility, no one here walked with baby steps or crept around on tip-toes. Everyone stormed, stomped, pushed, shoved, screamed, and the glass stood as still as a statue, unbroken, smiling. They took it for granted, he knew. Once upon a time, in a land that he knew he used to live in, glass wasn't some monolith of a substance – it was weak and laughably breakable, never something to build a world out of. This world – no, this city especially – could take the blows and punches, it could still stand after the hustle and bustle of everyday life. And somehow, this city could even play an uneasy rhythm, loud, obnoxi
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PRIDEA - quality control
When the safe house was empty and lonesome like this, he and Erika would sit and drink tall glasses of chilled water — a delicacy in this part of town, especially when the alternative was spooning crushed hydration tabs in their mouths. He'd sling his arm lazily across the sofa's head, muddy eyes lingering on the glass she held in her spider-like fingers, watching her lipstick audaciously stain the glass. The mark stamped her presence on the edge, as if to say, "I'm here, look at me, don't just pass me by." But such an insidious imprint could be easily erased, unlike Erika's physical presence.
"There are some things that cannot be fixed," she had once told him, as she let her paintbrush waltz across her canvas. The art of her painting was almost an intimate affair; greens and yellows held each other, their passion forming each individual blade of grass, while reds and yellows melted together like forbidden lovers, their burning embrace illuminating what had once been a blank, unas
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Raspberry Wasp
When he asked of her name, the first thing to come out of her mouth was, "Charla."
It was a grievous mistake, almost ironic in its execution. Still, despite how his gaze undressed her, she kept her fingers loosely wrapped around her wine glass, lifting it to her lips, poised, as she always was. Cherry red fingernail polish seemed to blend in with the wine that sloshed idly in its glass, matching the sinful red ribbon tied around her neck in a gaudy bow, along with the red tresses that fell down to her neck. Devil, she was. Demon, they would scream. Succubus, witch, yokai! And she had just given away her true intentions.
"Charla?" he repeated, a honeyed grin appearing on his hazel face. The ice cubes clinked uneasily in the mug that sat by his side, bobbing up from the scotch, gasping for air as they tried to warn him of the danger that lay ahead. The man folded his hands together, brown eyes dancing curiously towards her, as he let the words fall from his lips: "Charla, as in, charlata
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Vitriolic by kiri-catastrophe Vitriolic :iconkiri-catastrophe:kiri-catastrophe 1 3
Life Lessons
A swinging tune waltzed through the clouds that day, up and over the angel's wings, around the golden gateposts and past the lazy cherubs, filling the skies with its melodious sound. It was an arrogant harmony - the trumpets blared with contempt as the piano notes elegantly drawled out, one beat after the other, claiming its rightful title as a musical masterpiece. Or maybe not - masterpiece was far too demeaning a title to give to this musical piece that had intruded amongst the heavens.
Even the seraphs stopped short, turning their heads while blinking back their confused, ocean blue eyes, while all thinking to themselves, "What mortal music dare invade upon our home?" Oh yes, it had to be mortal music - their beats and rhythms were not so contemptuous, for the angels and cherubs here were only versed in the playing of humble songs. This was a music so striking, so bold, that it had pierced the barrier between the mortal world and their own, daring to interrupt those who lived above
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“You ever feel like something’s missing?”
Max’s question hung in the air, putting a dent in their previously airy conversation. His light brown eyes searched those of his friends — fragile Jenny, boisterous Abigail, and grave Madison, who slowly took her eyes away from the thick mystery novel that was clamped in her shaking hands.  She closed the book, not even bothering to look at what page she had left off, and left it sitting at her weathered desk, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jeans as she trailed off towards the window. Mad stood there like a manikin, her eyes unmoving, looking out across the street as if over yonder held the answer to Max’s empty question.
The simple action of leaving their group left them silent for a moment, but for no longer. Abby placed her hands on her hips, pulling down her navy-blue Hollister shirt by the edges, snapping her bubble gum in a rhythmic fashion. “Come on, Max,” she sighed, her voice t
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PRIDEA - is this truth?
Never in a millennia would Selena had ever guessed that she’d be trapped in a race against time against her own mother, where her only allies were two friends who could barely be called friends on their worse days. Had it not been more than a couple days ago, where she swore that she never wanted to see any of them ever again? And yet, right now, she grasped both of their hands – a friendly gesture that she had long abandoned after being forcefully taken under Mikki’s wing. The warmth of their skin in this cold, icy palace was all the comfort she needed to keep running, no matter if this corridor seemed endless… She’d still get to the end, she knew, and if she didn’t, then maybe Mikki had lied. Maybe she wasn’t meant to help save Pridea…
Torches could be found amongst the cherry-glass walls,  slipped in-between pictures of various important Pridean figures – some long deceased, some still on their council, despite how elderly they
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It would be wrong to assume that the new student was ignorant in the normal fashion styles for girls her age, for that was not the truth at all. The brunette knew what was deemed socially appropriate for her, to the point where she wished she didn’t. Good girls wore pinks and blues and brandnames on their tops with jeans, sneakers and sunny-smiles etched over their faces with a timid hint of lipstick and blush. She wore fishnet stockings with black flats that she swore she saw The Little Princess once wear, accompanied by a plaid dress with a overall-like straps for the shoulders. Her hair was long, while others hid their locks away in swishy ponytails that bounced with every step. She wore purple mascara that made her spring green eyes illuminate under dusty fluorescent lights; a color that no one in the hallways could compete with.
She was a solar eclipse – stunning, yet risky to lay eyes on. No matter how long someone was chastised and scolded, thousands of kids a year wou
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WE DEAL IN DEMONS - prologue
The alcohol bottle was tipped upwards, sending the bitter, lifesaving stream down her throat like a rapid waterfall, churning uneasily in her stomach. Not once did she pause in her long drink, and in seconds, the bottle was completely empty. The woman sighed, already feeling the effects kicking in, but wondered if it would be enough. Should she seek out another bottle? Try other tactics, just in case this particular method did not work? A weathered hand clenched at her side, and she felt herself shake inwardly, both hands unconsciously resting on her enlarged stomach - the one sign of her pregnancy. Every time she looked at herself - every time she woke up in the morning, every time she tried to put on her old clothes, every time she tried to get out of the house without being stared at - she was always reminded of the life growing inside of her… and was reminded of the man who placed his seed inside of her in the first place. A blunt injustice.
It should be illegal for her to hav
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PRIDEA - prologue
As her hands grasped tightly on the windowsill, she found her eyes traveling downwards towards the people who strolled idly, safe on the ground. She had to be at least hundreds of miles into the air: a safety precaution the Council of Elders had taken to make sure that no one, absolutely no one, overheard their conversations. The height of their headquarters’ building, however, was just about the only thing the woman hated about her job. It could be ignored, as long as she stood and sat far away from the windows, but this horrid habit had grown to be routine whenever a meeting was called. It was as if she had to check and make sure that sure should be wary and slightly paranoid about the grand height their building was setup at, and while the woman never understood this bad habit herself, she didn’t have time to question it. Footsteps could be heard - a faint tapping and clacking on pure glass - signifying that her contemplation time was over. Running a hand down cream-colore
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Artist | Literature
United States
KIRI [KEY-ree] noun - A 22 year old lady who hails from the small land of Rhode Island. Is Jamaican, Trinidadian and British, but does not have an accent of any kind. Is one of those crazy "writer" types, who makes worlds and characters in her head in order to satisfy her god-complex. Loves roleplaying, and sculpts characters and worlds in her free time. Is an animanga enthusiast, as well as an avid video gamer (with RPGs mainly). Can't ever manage her time properly.
I'm late in welcoming the new year, eight days late, in fact!

However, with a new year comes new goals and resolutions, so here's hoping 2012 will be more productive than 2011. I've got a lot of writing projects I want to work on —  especially PRIDEA, the poor, neglected thing — but this year I'm going to be focusing on writing, writing and writing. It doesn't matter what I'm writing as long as I'm writing something (and no, roleplaying posts don't count, not really).

I've made it a goal to write 200,000 words this year — either in short stories or in Pridea — which will, hopefully, get my butt in gear! I've also made it a goal to at least submit something to devART at least once a month. However, I'm not going to be submitting Pridea excerpts to devART anymore. If I write excerpts, they'll be in my semi-private LJ, so I can keep track of who sees what and to make sure my novel ideas aren't being displayed to the world, haha.

If I submit writing to devART from now on, they'll  be for community prompts or contests. I want to get involved in the Lit community here on devART as well; if not a lot, then just by submitting writing to the various contests, prompts or events that are constantly going on around here. In short, I'm going to start wasting time. There's 365 days in a year (but I've heard this year is a leap year?), and I'm not planning on wasting a second!
  • Listening to: Save Room - John Legend
  • Reading: Game of Thrones - George R.R. Martin
  • Playing: Skyrim
  • Eating: PB&J
  • Drinking: French vanilla cappuccino


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HugQueen Featured By Owner Mar 7, 2016   Writer
PopovaJr Featured By Owner Oct 26, 2015  Hobbyist
Thank you so much for the faav^^ 
MatchaEle Featured By Owner Oct 9, 2015
Thanks for the watch :heart:
neko-niki Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2015
Thanks for the watch :D
kiri-catastrophe Featured By Owner Sep 23, 2015   Writer
You're very welcome! <3
Naoukii Featured By Owner Aug 14, 2015
thank you for the watch <3
kiri-catastrophe Featured By Owner Aug 14, 2015   Writer
You're very welcome! <3
Swarelle Featured By Owner Aug 11, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the watch! :hug:
kiri-catastrophe Featured By Owner Aug 12, 2015   Writer
You're very welcome! Your art is so cuuute!! :happybounce: 
ZexyPineCones Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday? :)
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