Deasun T. Smyth
Bio
I’m a First Nations 17 year old young man, probably an old soul (not that there's anything wrong with that). I live in Saskatchewan, and I love reading, writing, conlanging, and collecting sarcastic T-shirts.
Stories (59/0)
The Wolf and his Dragon (1)
Alanar stared helplessly at the blanc parchment has he dabbed his quill in the inkwell. Why was putting stuff into writing so hard? He thought, looking through his high window onto the city below. The candle next to him flickered in the wee hours of night, casting a golden glow on his pale green eyes. Those eyes stared deeply with yearning for fame. Fulfilling his lifelong dream of being a great writer was a long, and vigorous test.
By Deasun T. Smyth2 years ago in Fiction
On the galaxy's edge.
CHAPTER 1 Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. And the frozen bodies of rebels that drifted endlessly in space had proven otherwise, their screams were frozen in time. 042907DS’s breath fogged up the window from his sleeping bunk. He stared down, not remembering were he was, or who he was. His pale blue face shone reflectively from the ribbons of plasma hovering above him. He looked up, outside of the cell stood a guard. He went back to staring out the window. Beyond the rebels was his home planet. Planith, plants thrived abundantly, like a shade of purple with a pinkish gloss. Splendid buildings struck the epic landscape, like golden scimitars that shone proudly when the early morning sun penetrated the mountains. But it was a guise… dreamt up by the sovereign. Wait! The sovereign, who was he? He can’t remember anything, his mind was blank. But why? He felt like he was born yesterday, he doesn’t even know his own name. He just has a bar code strapped to his suit: 042907DS. He sat down on his bed, he could feel the pulsing from the large engines vibrate through his bones. Until he couldn’t stand it anymore, he stood up and asked the guard “what’s my name?”
By Deasun T. Smyth2 years ago in Fiction
Around the camp fire.
The cabin in the woods was abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Sinister, was the way it flickered, like streams of death held its finger on it. Misha stared at it, from a distance. The eerie smell of the vomit-coloured sky wavered, like the peaceful blue sky was trying to punch through. But it was forlorn, the hazy smog chocked the life out of the forest. Leaving the trees bare, twisting with their spindling limbs. Misha lived with her father, and mother-of-step. Their small cottage sat in the dense woods of haze, the odd yellow house seemed like a swab for the dead forest. But miles away, was the old cabin, that held the flickering light of the candle.
By Deasun T. Smyth2 years ago in Fiction
The Dragons Tale.
“There weren’t always dragons in the valley”. Said Noelle, she tucked her baby dragonet in its rocky cradle. The tiny dragon looked at her with wide inquiring eyes, that sparkled like gold in the dimly lit home. “The great dragon king led us through an exodus, from our accursed home”. Noelle spoke softly, trying not to stir her other dragnet. Rip, he was sleeping soundlessly, in the corner of the room. His breathing echoed across the room. Though no-one knows why, it’s apparent that he hates his younger sister, Light. He never spoke of her, and when he did, he said it in malice. Light fell asleep before her mother finished her tale. Noelle wrapped her warmly in her blankets, she was as innocent as the day she was born. Which just so happens to be a very unique day, the dragoon's festival: She’s the only dragon born on the night, asides the king himself.
By Deasun T. Smyth2 years ago in Fiction