Dark-Eye-Creative

Clayside, USA. There is a man, walking slowly, at six am in the morning, down the IronLong Road. He doesnt know why he's walking. He doesn't know his purpose. All he knows is he's looking for something. 'It's six am!' He thinks, 'There's nothing even open at this hour! What...what am I looking for...' His heart begins to thump, a low, dull noise like a secret he has kept since he was a child that was finally worming it way out of him. The sky looked like a drawing he would make as a child, his pastel crayons smudging all over the wax paper to create a strange indigo mixed with a dark orange. "Morning." He would say to his mother, showing her

The world sleeps. An artist does not. The early hours of the morning and the latest hours of the night belong to artists... Even when you sleep, your brain is working, thinking about every brush of the pen or every palette of the keyboard. Because a painter is just a writer who paints his words, much like a writer is just a painter who uses his words to paint. Our emotion is the real paint, the real ink is our worst fears and most powerful desires, and so, even when we and the world sleep, there is a single candle stick that continuously burns in our minds, which lights a small desk at which our minds sit and sift through everything we feel a

Hell. Kyle karter feels hell with every breath. His raw nerve endings scratch and wrench against the metal and wires mercilessly entwined within his muscle and flesh, wires that grow with his eternally evolving cells. It was black. It was darkness. And then he felt the pain of shattered glass and rain.  Water drizzled into his wide open pores as lightning lashed against the night sky. Blinding pain wrenched at his joints and threw him backwards as the light streaked across him. He screamed as the feeling of hot magma flooded into his being. His vision blurred red as he desperately tried to hide his skin from the rain that burnt his raw flesh

Sometimes I lie, sometimes I wait. Sometimes I wonder if I'll go and I'll be remembered. Or will I be forgotten. One thing I do know, And I will always know. Is I have you. I may be forgotten by others but never you. You will always know me, always remember me and I you. I caa always remeber your head against my neck, your hand in mine. You watch over me, you hold me when I'm unwinding and you see me for what I am. You unlock the feelings that are locked deep within me and you are the reason I write like I do. You are my inspiration. Becuase you create the moments of passion that allow me to be the artist I am. And I love you.

The Darkness is constricting, a snake slowly wrapping around my throat. But I hold my own. It tries to hold and never let go. The hurt is my own But as I walk alone, I see a candle I see it in my own. The candle burns brightly, dispelling the blackness from my eyes. I look around. I'm not on my own. It may look sometimes like I am. But I'm not. But when you finally reach your light in the Darkness you realise, just as I realise. Just as everyone else realises when they're in the dark. There are others that walk it with you, just to make sure you get to that candle. You don't need to do it on your own.

Now Barry finished the bottle of water. "Slow day," he murmured to Cisco. "Heh. Slow day," he looked at Barry who frowned, "get it...cause you're the flash... And when we have a busy day you... Go fast.. And then... You know what, never mind." Barry smiled, breathing out a small indication of a laugh. "Okay, shouldn't you be at work or something?" Cisco asked, going back to his computer. "No not really... Only when there's a crime scene I need to examine or something." "Right right so when you're not fighting crime you're sitting here not taking jokes." Barry laughed, standing up. He walked over to his suit and looked at it through the glass

Anger sets in, trust me I know the feeling I hope... Certain things in life burn and leave you reeling. I hope.. All this emotion tugging at you, pulling you to the ceiling I hope. Pain and frustration written in the stone this world is crafted on I. Hope. If you discriminate and turn to hate you leave people aching to wait Till your gone So I hope you learn from this And let others be happy as one.

Superhuman name: Deadbolt Secret identity: Dontez Hush Superhuman ability: Manipulation of Kinetic energy, minor physics laws and chaos. Ability potential: catastrophic Applications of abilities: projectile enhancement, mild superspeed of movement, beams of pure kinetic energy, full ability applications unknown at this time. Weapon of choice: small projectiles and beams of energy Age: 17 Parents: Gareth and Marissa Hush. Parents superhuman abilities: N\A Application process: pending decision from superhuman pantheon. Notes: origin of abilities require immediate further investigation.