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About Literature / Professional David M. CramptonMale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 9 Years
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Rail Station by dcrampton Rail Station :icondcrampton:dcrampton 0 0 Valley Greenhouse 3/3 by dcrampton Valley Greenhouse 3/3 :icondcrampton:dcrampton 0 0 Valley Greenhouse 2/3 by dcrampton Valley Greenhouse 2/3 :icondcrampton:dcrampton 0 0 Valley Greenhouse 1/3 by dcrampton Valley Greenhouse 1/3 :icondcrampton:dcrampton 0 0 Wizard's Tower by dcrampton Wizard's Tower :icondcrampton:dcrampton 1 0
Literature
Part Ten
The young blond blinked innocently at Megan and Nicholas.  “You're looking for your mother?”  Megan nodded, and the girl tilted her head.  Long, straight hair cascaded as it rearranged itself.  A waterfall of gold.  “None of us have fathers or mothers any more.  Family is an alien concept, like sipping coffee or loving.”  Her eyes were a crystalline blue that spoke of horrors, while her face was a picture of youth and innocence.  “No, you are looking for the one of us that brought a curse to the one who brought it to you.”  She nodded to Megan.  “Why do you seek Her?”
Megan stared at the wisp of a girl, enraptured.  Nicholas could not comprehend the dichotomies.  She was so old, but only a girl.  So wise, but a blank slate on the surface.  Was it possible that this waif could be the Mother?  Had he really foretold this?  Megan spoke to the girl in a slurred vo
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Literature
Part Nine
“Do you feel it, Nicholas?  Has the weight been lifted?”  Nicholas slowly smiled as he passed between the university library’s towering shelves.  He could smell the musty odor of old books, and it pleased him.  He relished the scent as he would a victim.  “Is the journal ready for the Mother?”
Nicholas trailed his fingers along binding after binding as they strolled through the stacks.  “It is.”  The release had been euphoric.  The words had formed and the pen had moved on the pages.  The texture of the paper had felt like landscapes; he had written it all with his eyes closed.  “Megan, did the one who created you have the… talent for telling the future?”  Each binding felt tantalizing underneath the pads of his fingertips.  “Why have you told me nothing of that one?”
Megan stopped and her shoulders slumped.  Memories flooded over Nicholas, bringing
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Literature
Part Eight
“The Devil is not a creator, my son.  He only has the power to destroy.”  The hunter accepted the coffee mug from the Father.  Its scent flowed over him, and his panic faded away.  It felt like a warm blanket; he was finally ready to admit to needing a rest.  “He was God's first, and the closest to Him.  You and I both know that Lucifer was cast down for his pride.”  The hunter sipped the bitter drink and tried to concentrate on the other man's advice.
“What are you saying, Father?”  The priest's face showed compassion and love.  His wrinkles were those of concern, smiling, and laughing.  His hair had not become silver from stress, but from living life as a servant of the Almighty.  “These are... I don't understand.”
The priest sat down next to the hunter.  “In a passage of Genesis, it says that God created all manner of creatures on the Earth.  The animals in the rain
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Literature
Part Seven
Nicholas sat in the park's amphitheater, shifting his weight as he eyed the book.  His nemesis: a machine-bound construction of fabric, cardboard, and paper.  How fucking ironic.  He could almost ignore Megan's lighting of candles if he stared hard enough at the book.
She finally finished, and Nicholas sat surrounded by a circle of flickering yellow flames that made him oddly uncomfortable.  The night was overcast, but a breeze made it feel cool and free.  The candles cast enough light to read by.  Or to write.
“Tonight, you will do this for me.  Not for the Mother.  Not for yourself, Nicholas, but for me.  Take the book in your hands and open it.”  She squatted, then, just outside the circle of fire.  Nicholas clenched his teeth, his fangs grating on his gums, and picked up the book.  He brushed a few blades of grass off of its cover.  He balanced the spine on the heel of his hand and let the book open to a r
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Literature
Part Six
Once again, the act of reaching his destination caused the hunter to cease marching.  His eyes scanned the subway station as his body became idle.
It was too clean.  The grout between the tiles was practically a bleached white.  The fluorescent lights made the tiles swim in the glowing grout.  The hunter shook his head.  He'd gotten very little sleep since his interaction with the elder at the dilapidated theater.  What little sleep he had managed to get had been filled with vague nightmares.  The swimming tiles--the illusion of swimming tiles--was simply sleep deprivation taking its toll.  Simply that.
There was no trash here.  No garbage cans overflowing.  No bums begging him for money.  The hunter had heard stories about this city's cleanliness.  He was irritated that such a small detail could enrapture him for precious seconds.  He should be finished sizing up the travelers.  Instead, he kept letting his eyes dri
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Literature
Part Five
Nicholas sat in front of the desk that the hotel kindly provided in every room.  The journal lay open on the heavily polished wood, both pages empty.  A plastic pen, branded with the hotel's logo, rested in his right hand.  It hovered over the page, as if afraid to write.
As if it was as afraid as he was.  Megan had told him that it would be disastrous if he didn't finish the tale before they found the Mother.  He forced himself to inhale, then let out a resigned sigh.  He forced the pen's tip to the paper, and resumed his tale.
I had seen the fire escape when I'd returned to the building.  I hit the metal bars hard, and haphazardly fell down the first flight of metal stairs.  If I'd still been human, there would've been broken bones, I'm certain.  I righted myself and scrambled to my feet.
The orange, fiery dot played across my chest, and my feet rooted themselves to the fire escape.  I looked back up to the window, and saw the hun
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Literature
Part Four
The hunter entered the remains of the city's theater.  It had been a long march, and his legs were tired.  He stopped for a moment, and his calves twitched in protest.  The hunter squatted, stretching them out.  The place was abandoned; nothing lived here.  The dead, on the other hand...
Velvet curtains, cushions, and ropes rotted everywhere.  Most of the seats and benches were missing.  They were either destroyed or stolen in the fifty-odd years since the theater closed.  Debris, garbage, and corpses of bums littered the floor, but no police officer in his right mind would enter the dilapidated building.
It was haunted.
The hunter smirked, and then inhaled deeply.  Tiny motes of dust hung in the air; any that had been stirred by the enormous gathering had settled in the weeks since.  Blood hung in the air.  They had feasted on the sick and the derelict that night--culling the herd.  But this scent was fresh; the blood was les
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Literature
Part Three
Nicholas leaned carefully over the balcony's railing. He had a clear view of the hunter below him. Megan stood behind him, in the exact center of the empty apartment's living room, staring thoughtfully down at the broken body of the hunter's informant. Nicholas let her concentrate, and looked down upon he who would end them.
The hunter stood so still that he seemed part of the dead brick and grit of the city. He stood in the center of the city's slums, an attempt at "housing development projects." Over his head hung a broken street lamp, leaving the alley between the hi-rise apartment buildings pitch dark. Nicholas knew from personal experience that darkness was no impediment to this man. And despite all of his dealings with their kind, a living, breathing human is what he remained.
Automatic gunfire rang out nearby, followed by a woman's screams and the squeal of tires. A low rider decorated in reflective paint and neon lights illuminating the undercarriage sped by. It fishtailed wild
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Literature
Part Two
In his mind, he is always marching.  For ever and ever, one foot in front of the other to the beat of his heart, for ever and ever, amen.  In his mind, the march turned any distracting emotion into useful kinetic energy.  The motion, propelled by anger, frustration, rage, anguish, loss, sadness, loneliness, all focused his actions into an everlasting and eternal prayer to the Almighty, his Lord and Savior, amen.  It all remained mercifully clear and blank as his life's blood dictated the speed of his walk.  The Devil is not in the details, nor was he limited to idle hands.  The Adversary lurked in rest.
The hunter adjusted one of the many straps on his pack.  He was standing still.  His thick black hair was cut in a standard crew, short and utilitarian.  His clothes, though military in style, were a flat gray that blended well with the city brick and grime.  He stood rod straight, as if every muscle was tensed.  His almond-shaped e
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Literature
Part One
Megan set the journal on the desk in front of Nicholas.  She opened it, and turned it to the first lined page.  She set an uncapped pen to the right of the book.  “Write.”
He scowled up at her, picked up the pen, and began to write.
I remember that night as a dream.  The moment I opened my eyes, I knew that I had been made a vampire. It was, of course, nighttime, and I was in a city with tall, looming skyscrapers. One of the buildings was abandoned, and I lay in its collapsing rooms. The one who made me squatted nearby.  She had been a friend to me before either of us said goodbye to the sun.  Megan was tall enough to stare at my chin, and she had fiery kaleidoscope eyes.  Her skin, even now, had an olive shade that mine lacked.  She broke many hearts in life, and was beautiful enough to be a movie vampire.  Vampires are always stunning in movies.
I rose and moved toward her.  My movement was no more smooth than before,
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Literature
Squishy Time
I was terrified. He had cornered me, slammed me up against the side of the building, and was screaming at me to pay attention. His coat was past waist-length, and it seemed to fade from gray to reflective and back as it fluttered in the storm's wind. I narrowed my eyes, blinked film from them, and looked more closely. The fabric was made up of thousands of scales, each perfectly shaped and layered, one on top of the other. My scrutiny earned me another slam against the wall, which made my spine pop painfully.
I focused on the man in front of me. I looked through my own eyes into his. I marveled at his ability to wear contact lenses, and at my being able to see the boundary. I relaxed my focus, taking in his whole face. My face. “What do you want with me?”
He squinted at me, as if in distrust. “You're not trying to muddy the situation with philosophy right off the bat, are you? I figured it would take at least a few minutes.” I shook my head, wondering at his phy
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Critiques

by Treyos

Despite the initial jarring of present tense first person storytelling, I am definitely feeling like I am getting to know the protagoni...

Activity


I have returned, and I have brought my ridiculous deviantID with me!

After three straight weeks of updating Todd's Story, I feel safe in saying that I intend to have a presence here on dA for a while to come.  At least, long enough to make a few journal entries worthwhile.  ;)  I intend on keeping up with the Monday night update schedule, and will shuffle things around when Todd's Story completes.  I'll remove the entries from my Featured gallery, and leave them in their own folder.  Then, when I start the next story, which I already have picked out, the cycle begins again.

Actually, I've got the next couple of stories picked out.  I hope I didn't just jinx myself.  Ah, well.

Also, I'm looking for an artist to do a book cover.  The genre is urban fantasy, and I would like to pay for the artwork.  The cover will appear in both print and ebook editions.  If you're interested, drop me a line.  If you know someone who's interested, have them contact me here or over at my writery page davidmcrampton.com .

Be well, and stay safe.
  • Listening to: Digitally Imported - Glitch Hop
  • Reading: Crooked Little Vein by Warren Ellis
  • Watching: Farscape
  • Playing: Myst 3: Exile
  • Eating: BW3 Classic Wings
  • Drinking: Mio and water

deviantID

dcrampton's Profile Picture
dcrampton
David M. Crampton
Artist | Professional | Literature
United States
Current Residence: Lansing, MI, USA
Operating System: Windows 7
Shell of choice: Pistachio
Skin of choice: Epidermis
Favourite cartoon character: Optmus Prime
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Comments


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:iconmarkalester:
markalester Featured By Owner Oct 18, 2013  Professional Traditional Artist
Thanks for the watch, David. :)
Reply
:iconmikeruyle:
MikeRuyle Featured By Owner Aug 1, 2013  Student General Artist
Thanks for the Fav Dave!
Reply
:icondcrampton:
dcrampton Featured By Owner Aug 1, 2013  Professional Writer
It's my pleasure. :)
Reply
:iconsoullessmist:
soullessmist Featured By Owner Aug 11, 2010
Hiyas! XD Thanks for finding and watching me ^ ^
Reply
:icondcrampton:
dcrampton Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2011  Professional Writer
No problem. :)
Reply
:iconpurplegoddess:
PurpleGoddess Featured By Owner Apr 7, 2008
Dude! *pokes* its so empty on here, need more stuffies!
Reply
:icondcrampton:
dcrampton Featured By Owner Apr 8, 2008  Professional Writer
I have no idea what to put up here. I've already got stuff on my free fiction page. Should I just duplicate?
Reply
:iconpurplegoddess:
PurpleGoddess Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2008
Sure! better to get it everywhere!
Reply
:icontreyos:
Treyos Featured By Owner Apr 6, 2008  Hobbyist Writer
Heyyyy... I know you! ;)
Reply
:icondcrampton:
dcrampton Featured By Owner Apr 7, 2008  Professional Writer
That you do! :) So I hear you've got a novel you're looking for feedback on, and it's up here. Trystan's Star?
Reply
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