It was Saturday and I paid him to create. It was a week. The money I handed over- paper too, but greenback bills with numbers, seemed so worthless compared to the world he’d created. I wondered if I could ever do something like that. The thought changed me and made the world around me technicolor- I asked, could I make a different world? The paper in my hands laughed.
the sales person took my clothes away, she made me look at those shirts, god damn, those are some ugly shirts. by god why did i buy them. commissioned.
In a city that was corrupt and filled with fear, one man, decided to face the whole city with different type of ideal. He was an ordinary man, unlike that new vigilante, he possessed an insatiable desire to get things done within the bounds of the law, no matter how corrupt they may be. His goal and dream was to inspire those around him to do good, so that they may stare into the darkness of criminals and hold their gaze.
He had only himself to blame. He had commissioned the artwork, sight unseen, from his wife’s sister’s friend on a word of mouth recommendation. He was unaware of the artist’s fondness for including live animals in his work. As he looked down at the thousands of chickens in the courtyard, he consoled himself with the fact that at least next year, he wouldn’t have to worry about an art exhibit for open day; as the trustees would not want to let something like this happen again.
I looked at him. He was an old man; in his seventies I imagined. I wondered why he wanted this portrait. I guessed for his family or something. He looked at me silently, and nodded. That was the most communication I got from him the whole session.
“Do I get commissioned for this?” asked Lindsay, a starting saleslady at cell phone carrier. She stood before her boss in her best clothes and she was itching to go out on the floor.
“No, just the $10 an hour we talked about earlier,” he said, and he waved his hand out the door, “Now go, and remember to smile.”
It wasn’t hard for her to smile, as she was already beaming.
I remember my brother once told me that he intends to be a commissioned officer at PMA. To make this possible, he needs to take a graduate degree. I guess teaching soon-to-be soldier is better than him being a full-time soldier.
We walk huddled together, his arm around my shoulder, my hand at his opposite side, down the wispy winter sidewalk. Just a boy and a girl. Just a couple out for a morning stroll.
He tugs me closer, as if it’s the most naturally thing. I feel Will’s lips against my ear, “You have a tail.”
I smile up at him, feigning girly bliss. “I know,” I snuggle into him, “I’m pretty sure Cedric commissioned her to spy on me.”
“Spy?” He takes a peak at the woman in a brown overcoat examining a newspaper stand in a passing window. “Hardly seems fair,” he grins, “for her.”
The blank canvas stares at me, urging me to be honest. But an honest artist would paint this pig-of-a-child in a way that would get me fired at the least, ruin me financially at worst. There are … disadvantages to doing things the way that I do them. I live in a gilded cage if you will. But it is quite comfortable.
She was upset. She was angry in a flawless kind of way. In some distant sense it was crazy and daring of her to go into that house. Sure they commissioned a family portarit and she was known for her skill with a brush, but the overal audacity of that woman hiring her was mindblowing. She made her mind up then that she would have to do it. She would go in there and paint her ass off, and it was going to be the best portrait ever, so good that she couldn’t help but hang it in their hidious family room. Every time he saw it, every time, he would think of her, she was willing to bet on that.
Commissioned into the homeguard at the tender age of seventeen, Talsi had all but grown up within the unflagging rigidity of their ranks. It was second nature for her to respect the chain of command, in whatever form it presented itself; it was what they trained her for, after all.
So, when Lady Mirala smiled THAT smile and told her to undress, who was she to argue?
I have been commissioned by the powers that be to educate you into the higher awareness of mental stimulation. This will be a fine process for you to embark on a new journey to yourself.
You will find that you are already halfway there in the journey.
It is a most apropos way for you to find destiny with yourself and your life.
The painting I had commissioned arrived at my doorstep the day I had been told to expect it. However, it was of the wrong subject. I had asked that the man, Arturo, to travel through the rainforest and paint a picture of the finest orchid he could find in the new world. Instead, he sent me back a painting of a horrible monkey with squinted eyes.
“Can we not right now?” Grantaire yawned. “I’ve actually got a really important commission I need to be working on –”
“Ah, right,” Enjolras spat. “And how long have you put this one off?”
Grantaire had been doing well with swallowing his anger up to this point, but that last jab had struck true. “Listen, you goddamn /deity,/ I know you like to point out my flaws just so you won’t have to spend any time looking at your own, but that doesn’t mean you get to fucking /make shit up./ I’ve been working on this goddamn thing for three weeks now and if that’s such a goddamn surprise then maybe you should pay a bit more attention to your boyfriend’s fucking /livelihood/ every once in a fucking while.”
He’d commissioned a portrait of her, after all. He couldn’t exactly refuse. The lovely girl smiled shyly, perched like a bird on the stool placed behind the easel. He tried to smile back, failing to capture the way she moved slightly; the way she glowed. It didn’t matter. The recipient would never notice these things about a girl like her.
She was commissioned to kill him, but she failed to complete the job. She thought the job would be easy, and it was—for him. She didn’t know that he was also commissioned to kill her, and they were both pawns in a twisted game.
I was commissioned to see if Firefox was allowing me to post. It better, since a ton of oneword users use firefox, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed, which makes it hard to type.
Alas they all gathered
among the leaves and cherry blossoms.
two people set apart
bu time and circumstances
yet waves of connectivity
lingered and kept them bound.
giving them the strings
that tied them together
transcending through time
Sometimes help has to be commissioned, but more often than not, one offers a helping hand without expecting anything in return. There are times in our lives when we do not want to ask for help for fear that people will look down on us, our intelligence, or our being, but the truth is asking for help is simply what makes us human.
He’d been commissioned to do this, Nate had to keep reminding himself that. This was completely platonic, he said inside his head as he outlined the basic figure of the man’s anatomy. And what a nice thing to outline, too, completely nude. Briefly, he wondered whether the portrait was for someone special.
“I don’t know. But I know who will be commissioned at our class.” Marko said.
“After the exams we will know who will be at the top.” May said.
“What do you mean we will know? We already know it’s Eliza. As usuall” Keena said.
“Yes, your right! As usual.”
“As Usual. “Everybody said.
I was commisioned last week to write a piece about depression. Having never been depressed myself, it was quite the difficult assignment. However, I found it easier to write about it if I went to online blogs about it and researched. That gave me insight. I enjoyed the piece.
I’ve never been bought
nobody ever asked me for something
never been bought out
there’s no price on my head
give me this or give me that
you can’t ask me for
what you have in mind
there’s no set way for me to give you something
I’ve only got me, myself and I
half the time I don’t know
what the words coming out of my mouth will be
what is dripping from my fingers
what is left
I held the commission tightly, enclosed in my fists. “Sir, are you sure that this is a good idea? The Shwru is considered to be Deadlands. No one ever returns.”
“I am your King!” he yelled. Thrusting a finger into my chest, he sternly said, “And you’d do well to remember that.”
His eyes skittered across the court before he again focused on me and my company of men. “I’m sorry, Levi, he whispered. “God be with you.”
As was customary of a sendoff, he handed me a short sword and spoke, “Te esse cum Deo. Et ipse erit vobiscum.” When he grasped my hand in his, I felt his death grip and trembling knuckles and imagined that he was trying to save himself with it. “If you are still alive, come in ten years.”
With confusion stirring in my heart, I bowed low to the ground before strapping my commission to my bag. “Et erit Deus tecum.”
“Something was not right with that, Commander,” Warren said once we had reached the stables.
“I know, but we have our orders.” Climbing upon my steed, I pressed some coins into the stablehands fists.
“Yes, sir. But will we die?” he persisted.
“When have we ever died, Warren?”
The man commissioned me to take a good photo of his horse and paint her in a desert background to match her heritage. When I got done, the pure white socks stood out. I hadn’t known to gray parts and blue parts like a real artist would.
You commissioned me
that painting once, do you remember?
that gorgeous and curiously challenging painting;
you asked me to paint life.
So I drew with blood, dreams, hopes and regrets
million of black dots and purple lilacs
in a white and silky path.
It makes no sense,
but this is how I see the word beneath my shy gaze:
dots and lilacs.
And now,
I’m way too old to live anymore,
the only thing of you which remains
is that ugly painting full of hidden emotions.
The army had sent the details through. He was due to leave at sunrise tomorrow. Barely even a chance to say goodbye to the one he loved.
Panic shot through him like it hadn’t before at the thought of never seeing him again. The idea that he could die out there this time, and he realised he couldn’t do this. But he couldn’t back out either.
A hand on his shoulder settled him, fingers clenching as a voice spoke. “I will be here. I will still be here when you return.” Tilting his head back, he looked at the man standing above him, and smiled, nerves settling back into place.
“I know.”
Three officers had been commissioned to protect the Hades Mansion, which was the largest, flashiest, and of course most targeted estate in the entire city. Its owner, a bloated belly of a man with the stereotypical walrus mustache, asked for one of the officers to stay in front of the door of his room, in order to feel more protected. Officer Tandy had never seen the man’s daughter roll her eyes so violently.
Brian had commissioned a piece on the latest scandal at the police station. The detective inspector had allegedly tampered with evidence on one of the biggest trials of the year. But there was no proof. The proof of his tampering had been tampered with itself. The police commissioner could do nothing but bring in the civilians.
The order was commissioned by the head of guard. He stood tall and regal in front of his men, who were waiting to be released.
“The king is wanting results to find out what the enemy is planning. You know your orders. Dismissed.” The guard said firmly before the rest quickly filtered out of the room.
“Sir, what do you think they are planning?” A young man asked. He looked to be about seventeen with dirty blond hair and sharp blue eyes. He stood next to his superior apprehension clouding his eyes and tone.
The older man sighed, running a hand over his face, “I do not know Erik. I do not know.”
The baby was hideous. Ruth was mortified, she was trying not to retch. What an ugly child she, she thought to herself. Fat and dark, flat wide nose, saliva dripping out of the half open mouth, dripping from the purple and think lower lip.
So truly ugly.
The little beauty nature had commissioned had been in the eyes. But turns out, now the child had a sty.
Begrudgingly, Ruth smiled at the mother and picked the baby from the floor. ‘What a beautfiful baby’, she said, not believeing her own voice. ‘I’m so glad to be working for you Mrs.Fisher, Timothy is the cutest baby I’ve every come across.’
She tries not to retch.
We commissioned an investigation on the oil spill that happened last week. According to the report, the spill occurred after a pigeon blocked the ship’s exhaust pipe, causing the ship to explode. Ta
The team and I were commissioned to explore the ocean floor. We went about finding nothing out of the ordinary for weeks. It was during the 26th day of exploration when we found something so truly amazing. It was a grand castle made of golden coral. It was so shiny and bright. As our submarine neared this magnificent building, I felt a chill of fear go through my body. How can such a colossal structure go unnoticed? It beamed with such a beautiful golden aura. The closer we got, the more movement I noticed around the castle. Once we got close enough to make out the figures, I came to the shocking realization that what I was seeing are mermaids!
This shouldn’t be half as shameful as it felt. he had a burner email, and untraceable gift card. But he felt it, the burn of shame down to his bones.
I want you to draw Natalia Thomas for me, as she appeared in Rivers.
The cursor blinked at the end of the line, accusatory as a dagger dripping blood, and he wondered if anything else needed to be said about it. Did he need to describe the way he saw her…? Did he need to say to draw her on point, or recumbent, r with a smile on her face?
Did he need to ask that he not be included in the picture?
After a moment, Kitt added another line.
Forge her signature (it doesn’t need to be perfect) and have it made out to Mister Mister. Thanks again. The money should be there.
He was breathing raggedly thinking about this, pulse pounding. One last line.
It was Saturday and I paid him to create. It was a week. The money I handed over- paper too, but greenback bills with numbers, seemed so worthless compared to the world he’d created. I wondered if I could ever do something like that. The thought changed me and made the world around me technicolor- I asked, could I make a different world? The paper in my hands laughed.
the sales person took my clothes away, she made me look at those shirts, god damn, those are some ugly shirts. by god why did i buy them. commissioned.
In a city that was corrupt and filled with fear, one man, decided to face the whole city with different type of ideal. He was an ordinary man, unlike that new vigilante, he possessed an insatiable desire to get things done within the bounds of the law, no matter how corrupt they may be. His goal and dream was to inspire those around him to do good, so that they may stare into the darkness of criminals and hold their gaze.
He had only himself to blame. He had commissioned the artwork, sight unseen, from his wife’s sister’s friend on a word of mouth recommendation. He was unaware of the artist’s fondness for including live animals in his work. As he looked down at the thousands of chickens in the courtyard, he consoled himself with the fact that at least next year, he wouldn’t have to worry about an art exhibit for open day; as the trustees would not want to let something like this happen again.
all I can think about is how much I hate exams. Sorry “commissioned”.
I looked at him. He was an old man; in his seventies I imagined. I wondered why he wanted this portrait. I guessed for his family or something. He looked at me silently, and nodded. That was the most communication I got from him the whole session.
“Do I get commissioned for this?” asked Lindsay, a starting saleslady at cell phone carrier. She stood before her boss in her best clothes and she was itching to go out on the floor.
“No, just the $10 an hour we talked about earlier,” he said, and he waved his hand out the door, “Now go, and remember to smile.”
It wasn’t hard for her to smile, as she was already beaming.
I remember my brother once told me that he intends to be a commissioned officer at PMA. To make this possible, he needs to take a graduate degree. I guess teaching soon-to-be soldier is better than him being a full-time soldier.
We walk huddled together, his arm around my shoulder, my hand at his opposite side, down the wispy winter sidewalk. Just a boy and a girl. Just a couple out for a morning stroll.
He tugs me closer, as if it’s the most naturally thing. I feel Will’s lips against my ear, “You have a tail.”
I smile up at him, feigning girly bliss. “I know,” I snuggle into him, “I’m pretty sure Cedric commissioned her to spy on me.”
“Spy?” He takes a peak at the woman in a brown overcoat examining a newspaper stand in a passing window. “Hardly seems fair,” he grins, “for her.”
The blank canvas stares at me, urging me to be honest. But an honest artist would paint this pig-of-a-child in a way that would get me fired at the least, ruin me financially at worst. There are … disadvantages to doing things the way that I do them. I live in a gilded cage if you will. But it is quite comfortable.
She was upset. She was angry in a flawless kind of way. In some distant sense it was crazy and daring of her to go into that house. Sure they commissioned a family portarit and she was known for her skill with a brush, but the overal audacity of that woman hiring her was mindblowing. She made her mind up then that she would have to do it. She would go in there and paint her ass off, and it was going to be the best portrait ever, so good that she couldn’t help but hang it in their hidious family room. Every time he saw it, every time, he would think of her, she was willing to bet on that.
Commissioned into the homeguard at the tender age of seventeen, Talsi had all but grown up within the unflagging rigidity of their ranks. It was second nature for her to respect the chain of command, in whatever form it presented itself; it was what they trained her for, after all.
So, when Lady Mirala smiled THAT smile and told her to undress, who was she to argue?
I have been commissioned by the powers that be to educate you into the higher awareness of mental stimulation. This will be a fine process for you to embark on a new journey to yourself.
You will find that you are already halfway there in the journey.
It is a most apropos way for you to find destiny with yourself and your life.
The man in the yellow hat commissioned fanciful fables for his pet monkey, but it was a curious thing, seeing at the little guy couldn’t read.
The painting I had commissioned arrived at my doorstep the day I had been told to expect it. However, it was of the wrong subject. I had asked that the man, Arturo, to travel through the rainforest and paint a picture of the finest orchid he could find in the new world. Instead, he sent me back a painting of a horrible monkey with squinted eyes.
“Can we not right now?” Grantaire yawned. “I’ve actually got a really important commission I need to be working on –”
“Ah, right,” Enjolras spat. “And how long have you put this one off?”
Grantaire had been doing well with swallowing his anger up to this point, but that last jab had struck true. “Listen, you goddamn /deity,/ I know you like to point out my flaws just so you won’t have to spend any time looking at your own, but that doesn’t mean you get to fucking /make shit up./ I’ve been working on this goddamn thing for three weeks now and if that’s such a goddamn surprise then maybe you should pay a bit more attention to your boyfriend’s fucking /livelihood/ every once in a fucking while.”
He’d commissioned a portrait of her, after all. He couldn’t exactly refuse. The lovely girl smiled shyly, perched like a bird on the stool placed behind the easel. He tried to smile back, failing to capture the way she moved slightly; the way she glowed. It didn’t matter. The recipient would never notice these things about a girl like her.
She was commissioned to kill him, but she failed to complete the job. She thought the job would be easy, and it was—for him. She didn’t know that he was also commissioned to kill her, and they were both pawns in a twisted game.
I was commissioned to see if Firefox was allowing me to post. It better, since a ton of oneword users use firefox, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed, which makes it hard to type.
Alas they all gathered
among the leaves and cherry blossoms.
two people set apart
bu time and circumstances
yet waves of connectivity
lingered and kept them bound.
giving them the strings
that tied them together
transcending through time
Sometimes help has to be commissioned, but more often than not, one offers a helping hand without expecting anything in return. There are times in our lives when we do not want to ask for help for fear that people will look down on us, our intelligence, or our being, but the truth is asking for help is simply what makes us human.
He’d been commissioned to do this, Nate had to keep reminding himself that. This was completely platonic, he said inside his head as he outlined the basic figure of the man’s anatomy. And what a nice thing to outline, too, completely nude. Briefly, he wondered whether the portrait was for someone special.
commissioned are we, these sinners scores
who pound upon those ivory doors.
To whom we ask, with our retched plea
shall we give thank for this gift which we
“I don’t know. But I know who will be commissioned at our class.” Marko said.
“After the exams we will know who will be at the top.” May said.
“What do you mean we will know? We already know it’s Eliza. As usuall” Keena said.
“Yes, your right! As usual.”
“As Usual. “Everybody said.
I was commisioned last week to write a piece about depression. Having never been depressed myself, it was quite the difficult assignment. However, I found it easier to write about it if I went to online blogs about it and researched. That gave me insight. I enjoyed the piece.
I’ve never been bought
nobody ever asked me for something
never been bought out
there’s no price on my head
give me this or give me that
you can’t ask me for
what you have in mind
there’s no set way for me to give you something
I’ve only got me, myself and I
half the time I don’t know
what the words coming out of my mouth will be
what is dripping from my fingers
what is left
I held the commission tightly, enclosed in my fists. “Sir, are you sure that this is a good idea? The Shwru is considered to be Deadlands. No one ever returns.”
“I am your King!” he yelled. Thrusting a finger into my chest, he sternly said, “And you’d do well to remember that.”
His eyes skittered across the court before he again focused on me and my company of men. “I’m sorry, Levi, he whispered. “God be with you.”
As was customary of a sendoff, he handed me a short sword and spoke, “Te esse cum Deo. Et ipse erit vobiscum.” When he grasped my hand in his, I felt his death grip and trembling knuckles and imagined that he was trying to save himself with it. “If you are still alive, come in ten years.”
With confusion stirring in my heart, I bowed low to the ground before strapping my commission to my bag. “Et erit Deus tecum.”
“Something was not right with that, Commander,” Warren said once we had reached the stables.
“I know, but we have our orders.” Climbing upon my steed, I pressed some coins into the stablehands fists.
“Yes, sir. But will we die?” he persisted.
“When have we ever died, Warren?”
One more commission. Her eyelids were growing heavy, sliding shut quickly as she slid down in her chair, head resting on the keys of the laptop.
The man commissioned me to take a good photo of his horse and paint her in a desert background to match her heritage. When I got done, the pure white socks stood out. I hadn’t known to gray parts and blue parts like a real artist would.
You commissioned me
that painting once, do you remember?
that gorgeous and curiously challenging painting;
you asked me to paint life.
So I drew with blood, dreams, hopes and regrets
million of black dots and purple lilacs
in a white and silky path.
It makes no sense,
but this is how I see the word beneath my shy gaze:
dots and lilacs.
And now,
I’m way too old to live anymore,
the only thing of you which remains
is that ugly painting full of hidden emotions.
The army had sent the details through. He was due to leave at sunrise tomorrow. Barely even a chance to say goodbye to the one he loved.
Panic shot through him like it hadn’t before at the thought of never seeing him again. The idea that he could die out there this time, and he realised he couldn’t do this. But he couldn’t back out either.
A hand on his shoulder settled him, fingers clenching as a voice spoke. “I will be here. I will still be here when you return.” Tilting his head back, he looked at the man standing above him, and smiled, nerves settling back into place.
“I know.”
Three officers had been commissioned to protect the Hades Mansion, which was the largest, flashiest, and of course most targeted estate in the entire city. Its owner, a bloated belly of a man with the stereotypical walrus mustache, asked for one of the officers to stay in front of the door of his room, in order to feel more protected. Officer Tandy had never seen the man’s daughter roll her eyes so violently.
Brian had commissioned a piece on the latest scandal at the police station. The detective inspector had allegedly tampered with evidence on one of the biggest trials of the year. But there was no proof. The proof of his tampering had been tampered with itself. The police commissioner could do nothing but bring in the civilians.
The order was commissioned by the head of guard. He stood tall and regal in front of his men, who were waiting to be released.
“The king is wanting results to find out what the enemy is planning. You know your orders. Dismissed.” The guard said firmly before the rest quickly filtered out of the room.
“Sir, what do you think they are planning?” A young man asked. He looked to be about seventeen with dirty blond hair and sharp blue eyes. He stood next to his superior apprehension clouding his eyes and tone.
The older man sighed, running a hand over his face, “I do not know Erik. I do not know.”
The baby was hideous. Ruth was mortified, she was trying not to retch. What an ugly child she, she thought to herself. Fat and dark, flat wide nose, saliva dripping out of the half open mouth, dripping from the purple and think lower lip.
So truly ugly.
The little beauty nature had commissioned had been in the eyes. But turns out, now the child had a sty.
Begrudgingly, Ruth smiled at the mother and picked the baby from the floor. ‘What a beautfiful baby’, she said, not believeing her own voice. ‘I’m so glad to be working for you Mrs.Fisher, Timothy is the cutest baby I’ve every come across.’
She tries not to retch.
We commissioned an investigation on the oil spill that happened last week. According to the report, the spill occurred after a pigeon blocked the ship’s exhaust pipe, causing the ship to explode. Ta
The team and I were commissioned to explore the ocean floor. We went about finding nothing out of the ordinary for weeks. It was during the 26th day of exploration when we found something so truly amazing. It was a grand castle made of golden coral. It was so shiny and bright. As our submarine neared this magnificent building, I felt a chill of fear go through my body. How can such a colossal structure go unnoticed? It beamed with such a beautiful golden aura. The closer we got, the more movement I noticed around the castle. Once we got close enough to make out the figures, I came to the shocking realization that what I was seeing are mermaids!
This shouldn’t be half as shameful as it felt. he had a burner email, and untraceable gift card. But he felt it, the burn of shame down to his bones.
I want you to draw Natalia Thomas for me, as she appeared in Rivers.
The cursor blinked at the end of the line, accusatory as a dagger dripping blood, and he wondered if anything else needed to be said about it. Did he need to describe the way he saw her…? Did he need to say to draw her on point, or recumbent, r with a smile on her face?
Did he need to ask that he not be included in the picture?
After a moment, Kitt added another line.
Forge her signature (it doesn’t need to be perfect) and have it made out to Mister Mister. Thanks again. The money should be there.
He was breathing raggedly thinking about this, pulse pounding. One last line.
Thanks again.
He was commissioned by the army to perform another act of duty.
I feel as if a lot of people on this site ignore the rules, the very simple very few rules.
I’m asking,
Do you think about what you’re writing?
Do you go past one minute?
Do you try too hard?
but now a question for myself,
Does it affect me if you’re not following the rules?