Movie Photos: Julia Stiles in 10 Things I Hate About You
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  • Ellen Page
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  • Siren Story NUMBER 8
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    SIREN STORY SURGE ends today with a rather looooong story (Laura didn't know about our 500 words limit, but we will forgive her, won't we?). You can read about how it all started here. Please welcome our 8th and final SIREN AUTHOR, Laura Morrigan, a time-traveller from the 19th Century, who accidentally found herself trapped in Modern Day Australia when the sherry that powered her time machine was drunk by thirsty New South Welshmen. While awaiting rescue, she spends her time writing, watching urban fantasy and period dramas, and looking at pictures of lolcats. She is addicted to Gothic and steampunk literature, and in the process of creating her own steampunk world. Photo by Noukka Signe Siren Story NUMBER 8 by Laura Morrigan This story is set on the Australian farm where I grew up as a child. We didn't have cows, but we had blueberry trees, and two rivers, and a lot of long grass. The place has a timeless feel to it. I used to hear her voice, out at the back of the property, down near the river. I would hear her song when I was lying in the grass on summer afternoons, daydreaming. At first I thought it was part of my dreams, but it would carry on, long after I awakened. It was a long time before I realised it was her voice that gave me those dreams. I met her on a long, lazy summer when I was eight years old. The grass was bone dry, and as high as my waist, in the back paddock, where my daddy never mowed. It was so dry, I wasn't afraid of leeches. I was striding through it, pretending I was an adventurer, in my gumboots and my straw hat. I saw a flash of red towards the river, and made my way towards it, thinking it might be a robin, or some other bird. Imagine my surprise when I found a girl, a girl, bathing in the river. She was tall and slender, with long, curly red hair, and freckled skin. Kisses of the sun, my mumma called them. She was also naked. I could see her breasts, and I had to look away. Her lack of shame made me ashamed. “What are you doing in the river, miss?” I asked her. “Did you lose your clothes?” She gave a silvery laugh. “Oh, no, just bathing!” her accent was odd, and I could not place it. “You do know that this is my daddy's land don't you? He'll be angry if he catches you here!” She laughed again at this. “Your daddy hasn't caught me once, yet! And he won't. Most grown men can't see anything beyond what they understand to be real. Anyway, if he comes too close, I'll sing my other song”, she opened her mouth, and the most horrible sound came out, a sound I will never be able to describe. I felt like my brain was melting, and running out of my ears, and felt nothing but the will to run away. Dark, grim images of war, of corpses dead but still walking, filled my mind. I stumbled away from the river bank. The girl closed her mouth. In an instant, the terror was gone. It was a summer afternoon again, and I was in the most peaceful place in the world.I would no more think of leaving it than this girl would. Besides, I was curious now. “How did you do that?” The girl smiled. “ I would have thought that was obvious. I'm a siren.” I looked at her blankly. “Like at the fire house?” “No, silly, haven't you ever read a book? We used to lure sailors into the sea with our voices, back in the old days. We were famed for our beautiful song. You've heard it yourself, you've dreamed the dreams.” I thought of the dreams I had, lying in the grass in summertime, that sweet, elusive song, that I thought a part of them. “That was you?” “It was.” She smiled at me, the sweetest smile possible, and I could not believe that she would ever hurt me. After a while, I stripped down to my underwear, and we played in the water together, splashing each other and laughing, until the sun began to sink below the horizon and I had to leave. The next few days, we played together in the river, the sun making my skin as freckled as hers. But the days began to get longer and colder, and she talked of swimming back upriver. She would not tell me where she was going. One day, she was simply gone. I waited for her for years, but she never
  • Young Photographer Takes Surreal Self-Portraits to Cope with Depression My Modern Met
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    Art is oftentimes an outlet for creative and emotional expression, something that 20-year-old Christian Hopkins knows all too well. The young photographer uses photography as a coping mechanism for depression. He says, "I've been suffering from Major Depression for the past 4 years and it has manifested itself throughout that period in many ways, photography included." Hopkins' friend, Redditor Musketman, decided to share some of the gifted photographer's powerful images as a means of saving them online because Hopkins had planned to delete them all. The images reveal a vulnerability that speaks to just about everyone. While Hopkins' mental and emotional state may be heightened at different intervals, there's an incredibly relatable sentiment in his work that mirrors bouts with depression, loneliness, lethargy, and a mental battle with oneself. Since posting the images through Imgur, Hopkins has joined reddit and shares, "I did tell my friend that that I was going to delete my…
  • The Sketch Book
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