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The Antechamber: Book OneIn the dim light, a page turns, upsetting the long dormant dust of forgotten years.

"The window, as I have called it," one book reads, "is a curious room crafted completely from an indestructible, green and glass-like substance; the substance is is quite thin, yet it is so remarkably durable that any force I have yet attempted against it has been completely ineffective in breaking it. It was fairly warm in there when Renard and I visited it; perhaps due to the mechanical whirring not unlike clockwork which can be heard, continually for the most part but stopping in short, twenty-second intervals. Renard said he felt the ground shifting, but

The Antechamber Ex.1 : HallwayI do not know what happened. My memories of that day seem to recollect a grand feeling of pressure and of cold. I remember the wind and I remember those words she said to me; keep your eye on the mirror. I remember looking out of a window, seeing the snow fall in malign torrents as though the world itself was decrying its people's right to comfort and warmth. I remember a distinct song playing in endless repeat; a tune, unfinished, but of such ambient buoyancy as to evoke feelings not dissimilar to the calm after a difficult storm.

That night, I had a dream, which I do remember very well. It was by no means an ordinary night-vision; whose sl

The Winters' Cafe: EdgeThere was a time, you see, when the gun and the bullet were considered the weapons of cowards and thieves. A blackhearted sort of weapon, they'd say, with some degree of truth to back them. The gun has a particular sort of ease to its operation, the bullet has a range able to best the swiftest and truest arrow and the wound it leaves is rarely a trifling one. To the untrained, it all seems too easy.

Point, click.

The bullet leaves the chamber and subsequently leaves its deadly signature on the victim's heart. To those watching on from the sidelines, there's a sharp crack and a thud as the body hits the floor. It's all over in an instant. Wh

Kiya Holmes: For CC123.The standard order of things was, I noticed, rarely the best way to get things done. A bumbling squad of ill-trained 'officials', doing some ridiculous dance around the crime scene, tipping and disrupting all evidence, causing all sorts of havoc, removing all chance of ever finding a satisfactory verdict. Conjecture would be tossed to and fro, attention paid to the most irrelevant details, and eventually the inspector would stand up from whatever seat he had fallen asleep in and yell;

"I have found the murderer! It was clearly the butler, for he was in the room with the victim and his clothes are stained with his blood! Besides the victim, h

Portrait.Such vibrancy,
Your sweetness is wasted upon those who care not.
I shall stand by,
As one observes a painting,
Able to see,
To feel,
But not to touch,
Nor to claim.
They pass by as one passes in a museum;
One hundred faces,
Each one noting the beauty,
To forget in a moment.
I shall not forget.
I shall admire you, malcontent.
They shall love you with their simple love,
Whose crude baseness
May be spent on any just as well,
While I admire you and all that you are,
From this, the safest distance.

Beneath.Pacing trepid through the ruins,
Dust and cobbles crush beneath,
Torpid winds creep 'round the rubble,
As the moon shines down beneath,
Smoky drifts flow low and sallow,
Drifting up from shafts beneath,
Take a whiff and try to swallow,
Fetid air that dwells beneath,
Swirling 'round a mighty tower,
Whose remains now lie beneath,
Rushing up from buried hallways,
Roiling restless from beneath,
Churning vapid cries of mourning,
Call from broken tombs beneath,
Disturbing plaited cloth and chalice,
In the grander rooms beneath,
Deftly climbing gilded stairwells,
Where railings rust and fall beneath,
Breaking loud upon the surface,

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Submitted: October 16, 2010
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Islands.by ~Interim7

Digital Art / Drawings / Landscapes & Scenery

©2010-2013 ~Interim7

It's like, completely unrealistic. A bunch of spire-like islands in the midst of a cliff basin situated in the middle of a desert. Shouldn't those islands be made of sand, rather than porcelain?

What on earth, man. You've messed it up something awful this time.

~Anubis7802 Mar 22, 2011

This has a bit of a S. Dali feel to it I think. I like most of Dali's work. I can only draw what I can see. I admire an artist who can draw from their imagination and make it seem like a real place.

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~Interim7 Mar 22, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

Haha, nice observation; I have such unending issues with drawing real things that I find it far less complicated and messy to simply make something up.

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*GrannyJae Feb 26, 2011

this is wonderful! Gentle, sweet, and just a bit quirky

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~Interim7 Feb 26, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

Thanks! I'm glad you like it! It means a lot. ;D

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!spottedleafe Dec 18, 2010

This is epic!

It reminds me of Dr.Suess!

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~Interim7 Dec 18, 2010 Hobbyist General Artist

Why, thankyou! Glad you liked it. I'm particularly fond of this one, too.

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!spottedleafe Dec 18, 2010

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