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★ The Smeargle's Studio Writing Thread
- Thread starter Alchemator
- Start date
a day in the life
he was presented with two options. he could jump, or he could live. he looked down at the masses trying to comfort him - if only they knew. he wanted to play with their simple minds. these people, these people. he took a step back and put his hands up. at least try to hit one of them on the way down. these people clapped and cheered as he took a step back. he felt as if something dark was behind him, something nobody could see but was dark nonetheless. he could see it behind him, closing into him, pushing him. but he could not turn around. no turning back.
one, two, jump
he heard these people gasp in shock and horror as he jumped
simpletons.
what are these? who's are these? i don't have any lingerie in this colour; where did you get these?
15, 14, 13
what the fuck, this isn't even my size; in fact this is a cup too large. what the fuck else did you pick up at the grocery store?
12, 11, 10
i can't believe you did this to me, you cheating fuck. i poured my heart and soul into this relationship, every ounce of love that i had was yours - and you have the nerve to take that and twist it and take everything i love and turn it black?
9, 8, 7
get out of this house, i don't ever want to see you again. if i ever see you near this house i will blow your fucking head off. what the fuck do you have in your hand?
6, 5, 4
stop! please, god, please! come on baby, put that thing down! i was-i was kidding! i dont want to die; please let me live. i want to live, please, no, no, no
3, 2, 1
blam
criticism please i dont know if this is any good or anything i don't really writeSure let's put this up.
It would be (and was) longer but I had to fit it into a word limit since it was for an English Assessment at school (it still doesn't fit but shhhh).
Also you'll probably notice that the characters, like most characters I create for English Assessments, are named after people from the Pokemon games.
Cobalt
“Fuck. You.” Despite Kamon’s predicament, his voice still carried with it an air of unwavering confidence.
“I should have expected as much” was the reply. Cyrus’ sophisticated voice too retained its usual authority. He smiled grimly before continuing. “I daresay your stubborn persistence causes me much amusement. You claim to be an advocate of change, but surely you can agree it’s quite ironic that you simply refuse to change your mind.”
Kamon simply grunted and spat at his oppressor’s feet.
Cyrus chuckled briefly, and then went on. “Well, if you’ve decided to retain that vile attitude of yours, then I have but one thing left to say.”
He leaned forward, putting his mouth to Kamon’s ear and whispered:
“Fuck. You. Too.” And with that he pushed his enemy into the abyss below.
~~~
Like unachieved ambitions, an endless expanse of identical towers reached for the sky above but to no avail. Tall and thin, the skyscrapers were spaced evenly apart like the bars of a prison cell, and the inhabitants were similarly trapped. The sky itself was cloudy, and the sun, hidden behind the grey expanse shone only a dim, diluted light over the city below, which served to enhance the overall glum monotony of it.
This was the city of Cobalt.
At the very centre, a particularly tall and sturdy building stood watching menacingly over the city around it. Inside, the leader (some might say dictator) of Cobalt, Cyrus Valamar, sat listening to the ambience of his domain. He was very much accustomed to the low industrial drone of distant factories and the quiet murmuring of the populace. In fact he enjoyed it – it meant that everything was in order.
Much to his dismay however, today this atmosephere had been replaced with a loud chorus of shouting and chants, for a large crowd of unhappy citizens had gathered at the front door of his palace. Not that he hadn’t expected this; rumours had been circulating for months that the people were becoming discontented with his rule. Apparently a small resistance group had formed to oppose him, and had stirred up the public with promises of freedom and change.
Reluctantly, he got up to address the restless crowd from his balcony.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” A high-class British accent rang out. Cyrus’ had a confident, charismatic air about him which held a great deal of authority, and his voice was a vessel of this quality. Responding to this, the masses fell silent.
“This is quite a turn-out and I feel compelled to applaud your efforts, but could you please enlighten as to what brings you here today?”
A tall, athletic man within the crowd stood on some pedestal. Cyrus identified him as Kamon Roth, the supposed leader of the resistance.
“CYRUS!” His deep, rugged voice was a stark contrast to that of Cyrus, but had the same confident authority, and seemed to invigorate the Audience.
“Your reign has lasted long enough and we’re fed up! We want CHANGE!”
“CHANGE!” The crowd repeated in unison.
“We want FREEDOM!”
“FREEDOM!”
Cyrus chuckled loudly, chilling his audience. “Fools! I’m not sure you comprehend the severity of our predicament. My reign is what keeps Cobalt from collapsing! Without me there would be no order, only Anarchy!”
“No! We’re sick of your lies! We want change! We want freedom!” The crowd then erupted and followed his chanting, but Cyrus could see they were unsure, conflicted. He hadn’t lost control yet.
As he retreated back inside a guard approached him. “Should we take him out?”
Cyrus pondered this. “No.” He eventually replied. “That would only confirm his suspicions in the minds of the people. The entire city would turn on us and revolution would be upon us. We must be patient.”
~~~
Cyrus awoke suddenly as an alarm pierced his dreams.
“The palace has been breached!” A guard informed him over a transmitter. Hurriedly he dressed and swiftly made his way to the scene. By the time he arrived the battle was over. A few casualties from both sides lay amongst discarded shells, but his attention was focused on his guards and the captives they had imprisoned – with Kamon amongst them.
“Nice try” remarked with a chuckle, “But did you really think you could bypass all of my defences? I didn’t think you were so foolish Mr Roth.” Then he addressed his servants: “Spare him. Kill the rest.”
“NO!” Kamon blurted out, but too late; with several loud bangs his comrades fell to the ground.
“The people are conflicted Kamon; restless, confused. You’ve created quite a stir, and while they’re not completely won over you’re influence is proving to be somewhat of a nuisance. I could kill you, but who wins then? You’re dead, and my control over the public remains incomplete thanks to your legacy. So I have an ultimatum for you.”
The guards forcefully relocated Kamon to the edge of a balcony. The darkness of the night obscured the ground making it seem like an ominous abyss.
“I could send you over the precipice to your demise. Alternatively...”
Kamon glared and grunted.
“You could serve me Kamon. We could help each other. You’re a hero to the people – together we could wield more power than ever over Cobalt. You could have whatever you desire. We would live as gods among men! Does this appeal to you Mr Roth?”
“Fuck. You.” Despite Kamon’s predicament, his voice still carried with it an air of unwavering confidence.
“I should have expected as much” was the reply. Cyrus’ sophisticated voice too retained its usual authority. He smiled grimly before continuing. “I daresay your stubborn persistence causes me much amusement. You claim to be an advocate of change, but surely you can agree it’s quite ironic that you simply refuse to change your mind.”
Kamon simply grunted and spat at his oppressor’s feet.
Cyrus chuckled briefly, and then went on. “Well, if you’ve decided to retain that vile attitude of yours, then I have but one thing left to say.”
He leaned forward, putting his mouth to Kamon’s ear and whispered:
“Fuck. You. Too.” And with that he pushed his enemy into the abyss below.Infanticide, part 1.
OK, so this is a short story I submitted in an Arabic writing contest, so here it is, translated into English (warning: may contain grammar mistakes)
From a mountainside runs a spring that feeds the flowers and grass that has grown without any obvious purpose, and birds that takeoff as soon as they land.
He let his huge palm slide above the bumps in the wall, then he eavesdropped again. The moon was hanging in the horizon, a pearly white sphere amidst the condensing darkness. He turned on his heels impatiently, as he took a look from the corner of his eye to the door that stood ajar, and at a shadow that nearly faded on the doorstep. He searched his inside pocket for his cigarette packet, which was empty but for one last cigarette. He lit it, and felt as the smoke filled the corners of his chest, and in the air its fog mixing with the paleness of the moon. He turned on his heels with his back against the door. The cricket continued his chirping relentlessly. Suddenly, he heard a sound of someone stepping on something, and a scream came from within the door. He hurried to the source of the disturbance, and there she was lying on the light sheet, legs apart, her arms hanging over the bed in fatigue, her gown retreated to her waist and her knees against her chest.
As for her hair, it had scattered over the pillow, and one of her hands covering her face, still as a leaf on silent water. And to her side, the Daya holding between her hands the baby, tossing it, until she holds it upside-down, and hits her bottom with a sign of approval. She had tried to open its airway, hitting softly but surely on the little infant's chest until she takes her first breath of life, revealing and back that was like a soft piece of meat, in the middle were spinal bumps that reminded him of the wall's bumps at first sight, over a round mechanism split in two. The soft meat had been stained by blood. He advanced the baby that was hanging in the Daya's hands in silence, as his feet crossed the light sheet that was spread over the rough floor.
Worry pulsed through his body to an unknown beat, feeling a chill in his body, and a sweat that ran to nowhere. He kept shaking, closing his eyes and tensing his fingers.
The knuckles retracted and hooked inwards. He took a few steps towards the old lady who was sitting squarely on the floor. He took the baby from her hands with eager, and ran between her thighs on the light coming from the lamp oil. The light stayed there for a period of time, in which the baby had stopped crying. And when there was no room left for doubt, the picture came together. He gave it back to the old lady, and leaned over his laying wife. He lifted his leg and let it come down on his wife's side, the worn leather colliding with flesh. And he barked.
"YOU DAUGHTER OF A DOG! I TIRE MYSELF ALL DAY LONG, AND YET YOU BRING ME GIRLS?! What need do I have of them? If I had a son, there would be someone to help me on the earth which I work in! But woe! My mother had warned me 'She will only bring you girls!'. But I didn't believe her! Now look at me... "
And as his torso retreated, his right leg aiming for his wife, the old lady threw himself on his leg, pleading, "Fear God! Haven't you wondered as to why she is still until now? She's dead, she died giving birth to this bride! Sweat came down her face, and saliva from her mouth, and her breath stopped! She sacrificed herself to give you this miserable baby orphan..."
"Are you aware that this is a girl? In the future she will grow up and all the youth from the estate will chase her! And for what? Her body, nothing else!"
She interrupted him with her words jumping out of her mouth.
"So what if she's a female? You've got me. Sure I'm a widow, but I have bundles of meat in my house. But only God knows. My father, may God's mercy be upon him, was kind to us girls! By God, did you ever hear anything bad from me? By the white hairs in your head, can five of you do half the work as I? Why are you silent? Speak!
"And what guarantees me that she won't grow up to be like you? Have you forgotten about the baker's daughter last month? Woe to this sex! Here! Go to the butcher and get some meat for them! A bride, you say..."
And her hand pressed upon a small bundle of money he had given her...
She tried to run towards him in feeble footsteps, outside the doorstep, her weak torso had penetrated the darkness. And when he went outside to discard of the cigarette butt that was still between his fingers, he found her leaning against a wall with her forearm, her hair covered by a white scarf that had been untangled. And in the moonlight, he saw congestion in her eyes, and a remnant of tears.
Ooh, this looks like a cool thread; neat idea for a 1k Alch :)
I might find some time to contribute (working on a story right now, kinda half FF/half not [you can swap some words out and it won't be a FF, so....yeah])
Only thing is that story's a bit long (even what I have so far is...big), so I dunno about posting it here though :[
Look forward to contributing here in a while, but now I gotta go to college x_xBad Ass, that story made me go "WTF?" in a good way. I probably have to read it a couple of times more when I got time. Interesting to say the least.
Jesseus, Admiral, I haven't time to read yours right now but I will edit my response here when I do have time.
Zari, just post it :P More is better, right? I have a story that is ~2.75 pages in word, text size 14, 1.5 line distance. Only reason I haven't posted it is because... It DEFINITELY isn't safe for kids. And I haven't fully translated it yet.
If you don't believe, ask alch. I shows him one line and he was all "what the hell dude, that is psycho".
Confirming. Fuck being safe for kids, it's not safe for anyone o_______o
E: We have a total of 10 stories now ^_^Ok, I wrote this when bored one day. In fact, this is the first time I'm ever writing it.
*Title undecided as of now*
Foster opened his eyes, he looked around at the screaming crowd around him. He knew what he had to do. He saw his opponent about 30 feet away starting to charge at him with a broadsword. Foster pulls out his knife and throws it at the opponent. He lands on his knees in pain. Foster pulls his arm back as the crowd sees his new technique. The knife is attached to a nylon string that goes down Foster's sleeve, allowing him to pull it back when needed. Foster walks toward his opponent who is kneeling with blood pouring out of the wound. Foster lifts the knife and kills his opponent.
The arena erupts in cheers.
"FOSTER BRAZIM HAS WON THE ANNUAL TYLON ARENA TOURNAMENT ONCE AGAIN!!" Every year the small village of Tylon held this tournament to give the citizens something to look forward to. Nothing else happens as the town is near the outside border of the kingdom of Argrona. The tournament also decided who would be fighting in the war that was bound to happen. The empire of Grutrin has been expanding and has captured most kingdoms on the continent except for Argrona. Tylon wanted to make sure it didn't go down without a fight. After the battle in the arena was over and they were all celebrating in town, they heard a large mass approaching. They villagers looked outward and saw the Grutrin army advancing with General Cyrus leading. Cyrus was the military general who was the commander of all the missions used to take down other kingdoms. All of the townspeople's faced became flushed immediately. The army advanced into town when all of a sudden.....
Foster jumped in front of the army. "Move along little boy" said General Cyrus. "No" replied Foster. "I'll kill you and all of your soldiers before I let Tylon fall." "I'm intrigued, how do you intend to do it?" asked the general with a smile on his face. "With THIS!" Foster says as he holds up his knife. Cyrus lets put a laugh and says, "I respect you, I'll give you a fair shot. Men, don't kill him too early." Foster decides he has heard enough and lunges at the army with a speed they didn't expect. Foster begins stabbing, throwing, retracting his knife as he dodges the lances and swords as he dances around the cavalry and knights with great agility. Foster throws his knife at the cavalry soldier next to Cyrus and as he pulls back the knife, he moves his hand so the knife flies behind him and stabs an unsuspecting knight in the head. Foster dodges his way back to the point where he began the confrontation. Cyrus is fuming at this point. "KILL THE BOY!" He shouts at the army. "Hold on a sec." The voice comes from nowhere until a figure wearing a vest and pants with long blond hair comes from the shadows. "One against an army, that's not very fair now is it?" "Who are you?" Asks Foster. "My name is Flint, I've traveled from kindgom to kingdom trying to prevent the Grutrin forces from conquering it. So far I've been unsuccessful but today I stop them." Says Flint as he pulls out his Halberd. "Come get me."
The entire army charges forward. Flint swings and hacks his way through the front lines. Foster realizes Flint needs help and backs him up, killing the men Flint wasn't able to. After a while fatigue started to set in and a solder stabs Flint in the back. Flint lets out a huge lion-like growl. His hair grows longer, he begins to grow claws, and his muscles increase in size. Cyrus stares in horror "He's a beastmaster" he says to himself. Foster goes into a rage frantically slashing everyone. He throws his knife at a knight.
The knight catches the nylon.
He takes his lance and cuts the string, causing Foster to lose his onyl weapon. Meanwhile, Flint lets out another growl and has turned into a full lion. Foster jumps on FLint's back and finds a dead soldier's axe to use. Cyrus sees how incompetent Foster is and takes advantage. Cyrus raises his lance and throws it and Foster.
Foster gets hit in the side.
Foster falls off of Flint and passes out. Flint gains enough self-control to turn back into a human. Flint yells, "CYRUS YOU COWARD. COME OUT AND FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN. I CHALLENGE YOU TO A ONE-ON-ONE DUEL." Cyrus calmly says "I accept." The battlefield clears to make room for the two fighters. Cyrus pulls out his sword as Flint takes his halberd. They begin to fight. Sparks fly as the metal blades continuously hit each other in an attempt to block and hit. Finally Flint takes control and disarms Cyrus with a swing so powerful it could break down a wall. Cyrus can see the fangs growing and realizes Flint is gaining control of the battle, but losing self-control. Cyrus taunts Flint to get him to swing. When Flint is vulnerable after taking a head-on swing, Cyrus kicks him in the gut. Cyrus then pulls the sword from Flint's back that was stabbed there earlier, and kills Flint with it.
Silence in the town.
Cyrus walks to Foster's unconscious body and picks up his lance that he threw and landed beside Foster. Cyrus lifts it up and is about to kill him when he hears.
"STOP"
Two horsemen part of the Grutrin army charge forward and stop beside Cyrus with their arrows pointed at him ready to fire. "Samuel, Will, what are you doing?" Asks Cyrus. "Cyrus we have had enough of your reign of terror, do not kill the boy, stop attacking other kingdoms, it's wrong and is hurting many people." Replies Samuel. "Yeah, you better listen." Adds Will. "Very well." Says Cyrus. "It's a shame, you two were by best, I even appointed you as my successor when I die, Will." Samuel and Will lower their bows are a second and Cyrus screams "KNIGHTS, SEIZE THEM" Knights surround Samuel and Will and take hold. "Hahaha, time to end this says Cyrus" as he raises his lance too busy to hear the struggle that is going on behind him. Cyrus is about to drop the lance when he screams out in pain and looks down to see the blade that went through his chest. He drops dead to the ground with the horrified expression still on his face. When he falls it reveals Samuel behind him with a smug look on his face. When all of the sudden, Will realizes something. "I'm the successor, I'm in charge of the army now." Will orders the army to attack. Samuel, surprised that Will would do this, quickly grabs Foster's half-conscious body and runs. He doesnt get far when a knight takes his lance and slashes Samuel's kneecaps, causing him to fall. Samuel looks up and sees Will drawing back an arrow with an evil grin that Samuel has never seen before.
Will lets go.
The arrow goes through Samuel's heart and he dies. Then, out of the shadows came a thief who was watching the whole time. He stanches Foster's body before Will can kill him and runs away. Tylon surrenders to the Grutrin army.
Foster regains full consciousness back at The thief's shack. He wakes up alarmed. "WHO ARE YOU?" He asks. The thief replies, "My name is Julian, I'm a simple thief. I saw you were in trouble so I saved you when I had the chance." Julian proceeds to tell Foster about how Cyrus killed Flint, Samuel killed Cyrus and tried to save him, and how Will became corrupt and killed Samuel. SKWAWK. Foster turns around to see what this noise is and Julian says with a laugh. "Oh that's my parrot, Kaela." "Listen, I overheard some soldiers talking about how they will invade the Argrona Capitol in a month." "What?!" Replies Foster. "Yes, I am going to have to teach you how to dodge and improve your endurance, as those are the most important things in a battle. Meanwhile I'm going to steal enough money to afford traveling to the Capitol so we can warn them." Foster takes all of this information in. "Very well"
Half a month later.......
Julian and Foster have acquired enough money not only to travel to the Capitol, Bringlim, but also to afford armor, a sword, and an axe for Foster to fight with. Foster also grew his hair so he was not recognized after being embarrassed at Tylon. When they arrive in Bringlim they see a man in the town square giving a speech, they decide to see what is going on. "THEY WILL ATTACK TOMORROW WE MUST GET READY." Says the man. "GRAB WHATEVER WEAPONS YOU CAN AND WHATEVER PROTECTION WE NEED TO FIGHT!" "Excuse me sir, what is this about?" asks Foster. "The Grutrin army is invading tomorrow, I know because I am a knight who deserted. I swear, I'm the knight who slashed Samuel's knees and almost cause Foster's death. After that I ran away in shame of what I had done. I know that they will attack tomorrow!" "Just like those bastards to confuse the townspeople of Tylon" mutters Foster. "YOU'RE A LOONY" Screams someone from the audience. "HEY! You listen to him good, better safe than sorry, we should assume he is right and get ready. You never know when they might attack." Replies Foster sharply. The audience grumbles in passive agreement. "Who are you?" Foster asks the knight after everyone goes to get ready. "My name is Lorenzo and I wish to stop the Grutrin army once and for all."
The citizens of Bringlim wait with Lorenzo and Foster at the edge of town at sunrise. They become impatient when Julian screams, "HERE THEY COME!" They saw a large mass of people advancing toward them when they couldn't believe their eyes. Leading the army was Will except....
He was on a dragon.
Everyone looks worried and then they hear the word "ATTACK" come from Will. Both sides charge forward. Will, surprisingly doesn't go into the brawl, he flies above watching and giving hints to the Grutrin army. Foster has no trouble fighting off men when he hears Lorenzo goes down. Foster runs to Lorenzo. He says, "Foster, I'll be fine, take this" as he hands over a bow and arrow. "Use it wisely, it is a battle-changing weapon." Foster takes the bow and thinks of what to do, when he sees Will flying higher up and he realizes what he should do. Foster takes the bow and shoots the arrow at the dragon.
The arrow hits the dragon's neck.
The dragon dies as it and Will start falling. Will falls until he lands with a hard THUD on an outstretched gargoyle on a very old church in the town. Foster sees him and runs toward the church. Foster runs all the way up to where Will landed. He sees Will crouching in pain and brings back his axe when. Will pulls out his sword and blocks the attack. Both of them begin to duel on the gargoyle. Will's sword gets caught in the space between the axe's blade and handle and Foster swings so hard both weapons fall off the edge. While Will stares as they go down, Foster grabs will by the neck and holds him over the edge of the gargoyle. Foster is ready to drop but.....
The old statue breaks after years of weathering and the weight.
Both of them start falling. Foster is closer to the building so he grabs on to a large windowsill, but Will grabs Foster's ankle at the last second. Foster has no choice but to pull Will up as well. As Will is being pulled up, he quietly pulls Foster's sword from his belt. When Will enters the building, he immediately starts attacking Foster. However, using Julian's method of dodging, he can avoid all of Will's attacks. Will gets frustrated and just punches Foster in the face when he is coming back up form a duck. Foster is dazed and Will pulls back the sword and is ready to kill Foster when........
A large wind blowing in a spiral direction enters the church with such speed it makes Will stumble. The wind begins to surround Foster.
The wind lifts him up.
The wind spirals around Foster.
Foster starts glowing brighter and brighter.
In a huge flash of light, the glowing figure of Flint lands on the floor in Foster's place. Will is so astonished he steps back a bit in disbelief. Flint lets out a growl so loud, do frightening, so vicious, it momentarily stops the battle down in the down. Will jumps back in fright.
However
Will already was at the windowsill when he backed up. His sudden shift in weight caused him to lose balance. He tried to regain it but to no avail.
He lost balance and plummeted out the window to his doom. Every person still fighting stared in awe as Will fell from the tall church window and hit the ground. The fighters for Argrona let out a shout as their boost in morale was able to give them enough strength to force Grutrin to surrender.
Back up in the church room, the figure of Flint disappeared and Foster looked out in front of him and saw a ghostly outline of Flint in front of him. Flint pointed down to the battle scene. Foster looked out the window and saw Argona celebrating. The two of them exchanged a smile before Flint's ghost turned to wind and flew out the window into the rising sun.
The end.
By the way Cyrus is NOT named after the pokemon character.
Finally settling down into college life >.> So! onto the story; It's only got one [HUGE] chapter so far (don't expect another one for a while, as I'm both busy and I love making my writing perfect :p)
Chapter 1
~Lone white flower~
With the ease of practice of one long accustomed to chilly weather, the young woman wound her scarf snugly around her shoulders, sighing happily as warmth gradually seeped back into her shivering body. It had been a gift for her seventeenth birthday, not seven days past; hand-made of wool dyed spring green, it was embroidered with a small floral motif, within which six letters were strung together like a chain of flower petals. They spelled out a name; her name. Mariah.
Oftentimes she would head outside like this, not because she was forced to, but rather that being surrounded by nature’s work filled her with a sense of peace, especially during wintertime. There was nothing she enjoyed more than wandering across landscapes swathed in snow; after all, just being outside reminded her of the snow-white waterfall atop her head.
Originally she was distraught by its presence, locked into a state of gloom because of what it brought upon her—staring and the like, all because of the ivory color. But that negative mind-set had changed completely when the Healers—Clerics who wielded the highest form of Nature’s might—found out what had been going on. They were the ones who taught her to love her hair for what it was; a gift from the gods that she should be proud of, not ashamed. But while that issue had eventually been resolved, another, larger problem still hung over her head.
Her Gracing had failed.
In the distant past, millennia ago, Man had been granted the power of Nature, to use and control as he or she saw fit. But Nature had locked this power away, concealing it within the human soul, only to be awakened in a process known as “Gracing.” From that point on, all children, boys and girls alike were born with some degree of Nature’s might.
Everyone except her.
Her peers cared little about its absence, once they got to know her, but the adults of her village were a completely different story. They tried to hide it, but their disdain was obvious enough to her. Only her parents—both powerful Clerics—and the other Healers who stayed in the village still gave her their support. Whenever she was feeling down, or just needed someone to talk to, they had been there for her. Always.
No amount of work could repay their kindness… she thought to herself, letting a small, sad smile work its way onto her face. It would be take many years to pay off her debt to them. But even though they were and had been there for her, the truth remained unchanged. Her Gracing had still failed. And that wouldn’t change no matter how many friends or allies she had. Heaving a long sigh, she spun around. It was time to head back.
Staying out in winter weather wasn’t really worth it when you were in a gloomy mood.
--------
The sun was sinking below the horizon by the time Mariah reached home, its light painting a collage of oranges and reds across the snowy canvas. For a while she stood outside the front door, hand on doorknob, transfixed by the picturesque landscape. Her house was situated right on the edge of town, just inside the line dividing man and nature. It was a sheer drop off between the two, as if a giant’s knife had split the land neatly in half. While fascinating to watch, the magic had to end eventually; when the sun finally sank fully below the horizon she turned and unlocked the wooden door before her.
For all of her parents’ high status, they owned a rather modest house. It wasn’t grand or anything, just comfortable and…cozy. It was composed of a mere 5 rooms—a small foyer, 2 bedrooms, a kitchen, and a larger room where everything else took place. Scattered along the walls were watercolor paintings, the results of her father’s hobby. Oil lamps were placed here and there, glowing like enormous fireflies in the dim light. Various forms of furniture were sprawled around the largest room, the slight untidiness only cementing the friendly atmosphere in place. Sitting upon one of the larger chairs was a girl of about five, drawing in a coloring book while kicking her legs into the air. As Mariah closed the door to the foyer, she looked up, her blue eyes wide.
“Mai~ah, where’ve you been? Kitty wants to play!” The youngster pouted, holding out her arms when Mariah came into the room, demanding to be picked up and pampered.
At this the elder girl could only smile. If there was anyone who accepted her in this world, it was her little sister, Catherine. Kitty was just her nickname, and deservedly so; at every possible opportunity she would pounce upon whoever was near and stare at them, demanding attention, just like a cat. And—like now—she usually got what she wanted.
Mariah couldn’t help but giggle along with her little sister, delighting in the youngster’s shrieks of laughter. And yet the joy she felt had an uncomfortable edge to it; she couldn’t help but remember what her own childhood had been like, especially at moments like these. There had been no big sister to comfort her when she was little, only adults who were….reserved in their affection. No matter what, she didn’t want anyone else—especially her little sister—to go through what she had back then. Though I doubt that’s possible, considering her gracing was a success…
She couldn’t help but let out a small, sardonic laugh at the irony of it all; it seemed that every emotion she felt came with a bitter aftertaste. To the uneducated mind, nothing about that would seem ironic at all, just sad. Only if you knew the language of the ancients was the irony revealed. Bitter. That was what her name meant. Bitter like the wind chill of a midwinter storm. She took a deep breath. Everything would work out if she could avoid falling into that pit of self-pity again. Now if only she knew for certain that that was the truth…
“Mariah, don’t be sad—Kitty will ward off the bad ‘uns!” Catherine whispered, hugging her sister’s neck in a death grip.
“Okay—now let go! I need to breathe you know!” Mariah gasped out, take off guard by how strong her little sister was.
Kitty obliged, giggling once more as they both toppled onto a nearby cushion.
“So…” Mariah drawled, tucking a few cerulean strands behind the younger girl’s ear. She couldn’t help but envy her little sister’s luck. It was never enough to make her stop loving the little girl, but…. She shook her head in frustration. There was just no end to the long list of everything that was wrong with her life. When Catherine tried to mimic her earlier motion, she smiled, tilting her head downward just enough so that the white strands clutched in her sister’s small fist would fall behind her ear. Once the small ritual had been returned, she cocked an eyebrow at the younger girl.
“You want me to fix us some hot chocolate…?” At Catherine’s nod she got up, just in time to hear the front door slam shut.
Hanging her coat on the rack by the doorway was their mother, Carissa. Not unlike Catherine or Mariah, she was taller than most of her age, keeping her long aquamarine hair bound up in a tight braid at the nape of her neck. Like many others in the village she wore a similarly blue robe, that, while beautiful, still allowed for a full range of movement. It was the mark of a full Healer; one who had completed his or her training at the small academy on the north side of the village. Mariah had and continued to study there, of course, but when lessons turned towards to Gracing or anything else related to wielding Nature’s power, she was permitted—forced—to leave class. A scant few of the other students taunted her occasionally for this, but nothing too substantial.
Still....sometimes I wish I could stay in class, just to see what was happening…. Mariah thought to herself as she waited for the water to boil. It wasn’t as if there was anything to hide from her, was there? After all, she saw people wielding Nature’s might every day, all the time. And yet…everyone was so insistent that she leave every time the discussion shifted in that direction. Was everything really as it seemed? There were many plausible explanations that her mind had conjured up, but she couldn’t shake the suspicion that there was…something more than everyone let on about. It was possible that they would tell her whatever it was, but…
Yeah, right. I’ll be a Healer before they tell me anything—which won’t happen. Ever. She sighed. Whatever thoughts she had on the matter would have to wait for a bit; the water had boiled, and there was no point in letting it cool. But the simple task of filling three large mugs with steaming hot chocolate—she figured her mother could use one as well—only made Mariah realize just how tired she really was. After trekking more than a few miles through shin-high snow, the soothing aroma of hot chocolate was enough to make her legs wobble. For a minute she contemplated staying up for a little longer, then thought better of it. Draining the still-steaming mug of hot chocolate in three big gulps, she trudged slowly upstairs. She was asleep almost before she made it to the bed.
Almost.
Originally it was going to be a Fan Fiction based off of the game Golden Sun (if you haven't heard of it, google golden sun wikia and you'll find everything you need to know), with Adepts and Psynergy and the like. But, being me, I wanted a new character, because it's always fun to make your own stuff :x That in turn led me to making up ALL of the characters in the tale; by that time it was almost not a GS FF, so I figured screw it, and took out the GS references.
Aside from that, I've always loved nature, so this story will be revolving around that and how the characters deal with it (plus the idea of making trees grow out of the ground like 400x faster than normal was too good to pass up ;] )
other than that, it's purely coming out of my already over-active imagination, so we'll just have to see where it takes us next!
~Zari
Chapter 4 of Mr H.Sight is here! :O
Chapter 4: The Toad’s Arse
I wondered how long it had been since someone had last remarked on the cobbles of London streets. It was probably a very long time, since though there was some slither of beauty in the rain splashing against the uneven surface, no-one had looked at them this closely for a very long time. Lying face down, swamped in muck spewing from the muddy crevices between the stones, suit torn, soaked by the torrential downpour, I was irritated.
To hell with that, I was irritated.
“Mr.Sight, please get up.”
“I am muddy. I am wet. I am annoyed.”
“Ah but Mr.Sight, you are only the last of those statements. You are not currently lying face down, swamped in muck spewing from the muddy crevices between the stones-“
He took a breath at this point.
“-with your suit torn, soaked by the torrential downpour. In reality you are lying comfortably, albeit still face down, on your apartment floor. You only feel wet because your mind thinks that you should be, given the realistic circumstances my illusions produce.”
Despite it being difficult to tell in such a small creature, he seemed to puff his chest out at this point.
“So why am I dripping?”
“Ah, that’s a very good question Mr.Sight, I’d expect that it’s – uh - oh my, a distraction!”
“Where?”
“Do hurry up Mr.Sight, we have an appointment to keep.”
I stood up and brushed myself down on impulse, only managing to spread the mud further down my shirt. One minute it had been eating a cookie, the next I was face down on a London street. It looked like London anyway, judging by how there was a pub in every street. Death and his accompanying flames were disappearing into the midnight gloom. I hurried after him, cursing and irritated at my bedraggled state.
“Where?”
“We are going to an esteemed watering hole, wherein we shall observe the discourse of two of your acquaintances.”
“So that’s where the distraction is?”
Death narrowed his hedgehog eyes slightly.
“We’re going to a pub to spy on a conversation.”
After over an hour trekking through damp alleyways and dank streets, I finally came across something alive (Death seemed alive, but that probably makes a black hole somewhere – best not to get into that). It was concealed beneath a black cloak, with blue brooches holding it together. It was almost floating across the uneven cobbles, but I’d seen stranger things tonight. Today? This morning? I paused for a while.
Hell it could even be tomorrow.
We followed the hooded figure, and came across a small pub. There was light inside, but a pale, old light that comes from a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, probably fitted by the cat. The letters above the entrance had been stolen long ago, but for anyone who was interested (that is, not many) one could still make out the name as “The Toad’s Arse”. Without hesitation, the cloak slipped through the door. It attempted to anyway, and managed after kicking it viciously. I slipped in after it. Death floated through the wall.
The figure dropped the cloak and untied her hair. I gasped, not caring if it was clichéd.
“Liz!”
“She can’t hear you. This is an illusion, remember?”
“If it was an illusion why did you make me walk for over an hour in torrential rain and make me appear in a puddle?”
Death contorted his furry lips in what could only be a smile.
“It was highly amusing.”
“Hilarious, I’m sure.”
What would be funnier would be skewering the damn thing with – uh – something and watching it bleed to… life?
“Oh Mr.Sight that hurts me very deeply.”
“What does?”
“Knowing that you’d like to skewer me with an Uhsumthing. Can’t imagine how you’d do that though, they’re completely spherical.”
“They are?”
“Nope, I made them up.”
He squeaked in amusement. I turned to Liz, who was making her way through the deserted pub to an unkempt man on an unkempt barstool in an unkempt corner.
“You are Mr.Sight.”
He belched and looked up through eyes glazed with brandy.
“Uh. Wossit to you?”
“That was a statement, an answer was not required. I can sit down.”
She positioned herself precariously on the edge of a nearby barstool. She was wearing a flattering, royal blue dress complete with a sapphire necklace. This was definitely Liz.
“Good evening Mr.Sight. I am Elizabeth Fjord.”
“Hoho isn’t she a woman lads! Hoho!”
“Mr.Sight, you are currently the only patron of this public house.”
“Hoho!”
Liz ignored him, and continued with her introduction.
“I am a colleague of your son. Upon my own initiative I am attempting to reunite you with your son.”
“Hah! My son! My son was-”
Liz sat patiently, weathering the tirade of curses and insults until he stopped. He drained his glass in one gulp.
“Are you finished, Mr.Sight?”
“And he’s a bliddy guano magnet! Am now.”
“Mr.Sight, your son believes that he is not at fault, you are. From careful analysis of the evidence and circumstances presented to me, I am inclined to agree. You left a pregnant woman and disappeared off the face of the earth, have not replied to any attempts of contact and have so far as to evade your son when he has tried to contact you in person. This, I believe, is not being a terrible father. It is not being a father at all.”
Mr.Sight slowly picked up his glass, stretched out his arm, and dropped it. The smash was his reply.
“Mr.Sight, I am not fooled by your drunken pretence. You have an extraordinarily high alcohol tolerance level.”
Mr.Sight took out his glasses and smoothed his hair back. Suddenly he was no longer a drunken, raucous old man but an intellectual. The drunken glaze of his eyes was replaced by a more solemn, dark one. He rustled his jacket, the expensive brown leather settling more uniformly on his shoulders. For some reason he now had a tie, but where that had come from puzzled even Liz. Nevertheless, it was a plain, black tie pressed neatly to his pristine, white shirt which was now free of the creases and blemishes of what could only be called his drunken persona.
“Miss-”
“Ms.”
“Ms. Fjord, I applaud you on being the first to pierce deeper than a flawed exterior. Then again, I tend not to see many people these days. Save the bartender of course, but I believe he is currently robbing the neighbouring house.”
A pause.
“…As per routine.”
A longer pause. Ms. Fjord certainly wasn’t the merriest of clerks. Mr.Sight dismissed his joke with an eccentric gesture and continued.
“Ms. Fjord, there are many reasons why I have been avoiding my son. Reasons the like of which you would be best not to hear about, as you will likely enter the same predicament as me. I have not much life left in me, and I prefer not to impart my deadly curse unto anyone else.”
“You will tell me.”
“So be it.”
There was no popcorn around, but Death was content with munching on some mouldy peanuts at the bar.
Chapter 2
~To Wither~
Morning came far, far too soon for her liking.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like mornings, just that…she’d rather sleep in. But there was work to be done, gardens to tend to, and streets to sweep clean of snow; the general routine needed doing and time stopped for no one.
Her legs thought otherwise.
The problem was that they were as listless as lead, the result of all the walking she’d done the day before. It wasn’t any sort of serious injury or anything, and the stiffness wasn’t terrible, but the muscle spasms were painful enough to make her cringe. Even wiggling her toes wasn’t worth doing because of the pain.
She sighed, both out of frustration and out of resignation. Never mind cleaning up and sweeping streets, just getting out of bed was too big of a hurdle to jump. And it wasn’t like her parents would be totally oblivious to the matter either; both of them hounded after what she was doing night and day, every day. She knew they were only doing it because they cared for her, but still—wasn’t it a bit much to follow what your child was doing all the time? And it wasn’t like she couldn’t take care of herself, either. After all, she was seventeen now, already a year into adulthood by local standards.
I bet one of them will be here any second now, ready to pelt me with questions about what’s going on… She heaved a sigh once more, clutching a pillow to her chest. At least she actually had an excuse this time, if only a rather feeble one….
There was a knock on the door.
“Mariah? Are you in there?”
Speak of the devil….Mariah rolled her eyes skyward, idly flicking a few ivory strands out from in front of her face. The voice on the other side of the door could only be her mother’s—no one else could put that particular note of worry into their voice, especially when the subject at hand was her. Other people would get worried over her health occasionally, but not that worried….
Taking a deep breath before replying, she steeled herself for the inevitable lecture that was about to happen.
“Of course I’m in here; I can’t move.”
The door closed.
“You can’t move…?” Carissa looked her daughter over, clicking her tongue softly in annoyance when she noticed the awkward way Mariah was cradling her legs.
“I’m guess you went out on another one of your ‘adventures’, correct?”
Mariah couldn’t help but flinch at the acid contained in her mother’s words.
Trust her to know where it hurts… She opened her mouth to fire off a retort, only to close it moments later, frowning. Was there really a point to arguing about it? After all, it was her fault she was in this mess…
“Mariah, look at me. We need to talk.”
Mariah remained silent, carefully keeping her expression neutral. Her best course of action was to stay silent; at least that way she couldn’t be verbally flayed for launching a snarky remark.
When it was apparent she wasn’t going to get a reply, Carissa dragged over the sole chair in the room, sitting down with a grace her daughter could only envy. Much to Mariah’s surprise, however, the lecture she was expecting never came. Instead, Carissa only smiled.
“I’m not going to lecture you on where you spend your time my dear; I just wanted to know what was going on. Though from the look on your face, I bet you’ve already played through that particular conversation on your own!”
She smirked as Mariah’s jaw dropped, patting her daughter reassuringly on the shoulder.
“Now then, let’s get you fixed up, shall we?”
Still slightly dazed, Mariah nodded, craning her neck to see what was about to happen. It had always fascinated her to see Healers at work, even if she couldn’t practice the techniques herself. But when Carissa’s hand gently pressed against her leg—the way every Healing session started—everything changed.
What started out as a usual routine quickly descended into madness; instead of the normal sleepiness “after-effect” associated with a Healing session, every iota of her body convulsed with pain. She tried to scream, to somehow alert her mother that something had gone horribly, terribly wrong. But all that came out was a whimper, no more audible than a blade of grass shifting in the wind. Unable to move a muscle, unable to speak, Mariah found herself calling out mentally, though she knew it would do no good.
Someone make it stop MAKE IT STOP MAKEITST—
Everything went utterly, completely black.
--------
Mariah opened her eyes at the sound of ghoulish laughter. But having them open was no different than before; everything was still pitch black. Had she really opened them, or just imagined doing so? Vaguely she could recall the sensation of opening them, but…. Moreover, where was she? How long had it been since she was last conscious? And if she wasn’t in her room, had she died back then…?
“Oh yes, you most certainly did.”
The voice cackled softly, almost directly in front of her. But when she tried to reply, no words came out.
“…How stupid are you? Of course you can’t talk. You’re DEAD.”
She frowned, or at least imagined she was frowning. It was becoming harder and harder to distinguish the two…. Seconds later the voice cleared its throat, bringing her attention back to it. Just who was speaking to her…?
“That’s simple; you can call me Death, the god of the underworld.”
The voice laughed again.
“You called?”
--------
The funeral was held the day after it happened. No one spoke of the matter to her family, for Carissa had almost lost it when the death was confirmed. But while every other part of the process had been rushed, the burial was to be delayed, and the body preserved, upon Carissa’s request.
She was only a ghost; a remnant of the past. Yet that did not prevent her from watching everything as it unfolded.
“Delicious emotions aren’t they?” Death said from atop her shoulder. He had taken the form of a small mouse. A rotten, maggot infested mouse corpse. Yet she did not flinch at his hideous form; no longer could she feel anything, smell anything—she didn’t even know if she still had sight. Nothing made sense anymore. Was all of this scenery conjured up by Death, or was it the real world?
“Oh it’s the real world alright. Real as real can be. Though considering we’re here now, is it really reality, or is this reality? Whatever the case, I’m granting you sight for now. After all, I did take you rather abruptly out of that world.”
So that was how she had come to be here. But getting an answer only gave rise to more questions. For instance, if Death loved to see pain, why had he ended hers…? Was that kindness, or something more?
“Ah, finally. You see, Mariah, I have plans for you. Wonderful plans. Provided you can cooperate with me.” Death jumped off of her shoulder, coming to rest suspended in the air in front of her.
“You see, I’ve been bored lately. Nobody comes to visit me anymore, because they all go to that nasty white place up in the clouds. And forcefully taking people is against the rules. So, I wanted to play a…game.” One of his eyes popped out of its socket, landing with a splat against the hard ground.
“Here’s how the game works: You become my slave and send me lots of new toys to play with. In return, you get to go back to the world of the living.”
He cackled, laughing harder as more parts of his body broke off and splattered against the ground.
“There’s a catch though; if you don’t send me a toy within a period of three days, you’ll die for real. But if you do send me something to play with in time, that timer resets, of course.”
The mouse-form exploded, showering bits and pieces of itself everywhere. Death next spoke as if he himself was the world surrounding her.
“How long will you survive….? Anyways, LET THE GAME BEGIN!”
Darkness overwhelmed everything once more.
Warning: tale has become dark (ish), so don't read it if you don't like that kind of stuff (It's not too dark, I promise =] )
Ch3 is coming up next, and it's even better ;)
~Zari
Chapter 3
~Bloodwood ~
There were no words to describe how good it felt to be alive again; just being able to feeling sensations again was enough to make her cry with happiness. And yet, while that was all well and good, she couldn’t help but notice that something seemed…. different than the last time she was here. It was as if she hadn’t been fully awake before; everything was sharper and more in focus. From the lilting caress of the breeze to the smoky scent of meat cooking, there was nothing that escaped her notice. Still, despite this…oddity, it felt good to be back. She sneezed softly, sending a few dried petals into the air. It didn’t feel good, however, to be covered in mounds of old flower petals, even if they were from roses.
She suppressed a grin. There were oh-so-many possibilities on how to ‘come back’ to life. But she knew better than to just jump out of her ‘coffin’. It would be better if she ‘gradually’ came back to life, rather than scaring the living daylights out of someone.
Although on the other hand, provided someone saw her, the mere act of opening her eyes while in her coffin was certain to cause almost as big of a stir. Normally she’d be all for counting coup on the rest of her village, but this was a separate matter. If she wasn’t really, really careful with how she managed this, the other villagers would try to truly put her to rest, if only out of alarm.
Some slight wiggling revealed that she was resting on top of some sort of raised platform; a perfect situation for her purposes. If she could make it look like falling off from this table or whatever had brought her back, all of her problems would be solved. The only problem with that, of course, was contriving everything so it looked like her personal box had been blown over; a feat easier said than done. It took some waiting, but just as her patience was about to snap, a gust of wind picked up, blowing in just the right direction. It took a little more shifting and some squirming, but at last she was off—
—and falling the remaining 6 feet to the ground.
The impact hurt worse than hell.
I guess I’m heading back there after all… She thought feebly, feeling herself losing consciousness. It was only moments later that the world went white.
--------
“……”
“………….”
“…………iah”
…am I …still…alive…?
Weakly she opened her eyes, only to snap them shut moments later as pain lanced its way through every particle of her body. That was enough proof for her; there wasn’t supposed to be pain if you were dead. She was alive, though only slightly.
I’d rather be dead and free of pain, She thought with a shudder.
“Mariah…?”
Somehow she managed to find the strength to reopen her eyes. As her vision cleared, she noticed that she wasn’t alone anymore. Kneeling beside her was none other than Carissa, looking as if she was about to break into tears.
It wasn’t long before she did.
“…Mother, you’re…killing…me…” Mariah gasped out as her mother ensnared her in a bear hug. Immediately Carissa’s embrace faltered. She gazed down solemnly, eyes choked up with worry.
“Hold on, Mariah. I’m going to go get the rest of the Healers. Promise me you’ll stay alive until then.”
But as Carissa quickly strode away, Mariah couldn’t help but notice that something was happening to her body. Something extraordinary.
It wasn’t possible supposed to be possible. But here it was, happening to her right now.
Her body was regenerating.
--------
I must look like a bloody mess, Mariah thought to herself as she dusted what was left of the burial gown off. The left shoulder had been torn off at the seam, the direct result of the coffin landing right on top of her. In fact, now that she thought about it, most of her injuries must have stemmed from the box landing on her, not the actual impact itself.
Whatever the case, I’m going to be mistaken for a zombie if I don’t get out of this blood-soaked dress. She eyed it with distaste. It seemed a waste to trash the lovely thing, but she knew there really wasn’t any other option; when the blood had already dried—like now—it was far from worth the effort to try and get it out. It was possible that the remains could be used for bandages, but… she shook her head. What she really wanted was to take a shower and get clean again. But that would have to wait; just after that thought her mother entered her range of sight, the rest of the village on her heels.
This is going to be one looooong day… Mariah thought as she watched the crowd approach. She took a deep breath, not quite ready for the inevitable confrontation. The other villagers were bound to ask her thousands of questions, most of which she probably wouldn’t be able to answer. After all, how the heck was she going to explain her speedy recovery, much less her reentry into the world of the living?
When they saw her standing and on her feet, the rest of the village—Carissa included—slowed their pace. Trying her best to conceal her distaste, Mariah waved at them. This of course only made the other villagers mill around in confusion. She rolled her eyes skyward.
Now I’ve gone and done it… She thought as everyone but her mother picked up a weapon before continuing their advance. What was she, a bear? Mariah shoved the rest of her sarcasm back into the recesses of her mind. It was probably better to be straightforward and honest with the crowd…
She gulped as a new problem worked its way into her head; the other citizens of her village had picked up pikes, deadly spears that were one and a half times the height of a human. Normally they were used to pierce the tough hides of wild boars from a safe distance. Her heart fell to her boots.
Hopefully I won’t get skewered on the end of one of those…
By now the crowd had surrounded her, and it looked as if the inevitable confrontation would start at any moment. Because of this, Mariah couldn't help but blink in confusion when they turned not upon her, but upon Carissa. It was the Mayor who spoke first.
“Carissa…what is the meaning of this…? I thought you said she was injured, not all fine and healthy!” He boomed, his gray beard wobbling with each syllable.
“I…don’t…know…” She replied, aquamarine hair swishing softly as she shook her head.
“Well then,” The Mayor scratched at a particularly large zit on his weathered nose.
“Why don’t we ask the girl herself…?”
Mariah flinched as every pair of eyes there focused upon her. She shook her head.
“…I—I…don’t know either; I mean…my body just healed on its own…” She stammered, all too aware of the Mayor’s growing impatience.
It was only mere moments later that he snapped, wrenching a pike out of one of the other villagers’ hands.
Everyone gasped at his next move.
“What…?” Mariah faltered as her mother screamed. It was only as her knees buckled that she noticed the pike protruding from her chest.
“That’s that then.” The Mayor gloated with satisfaction, picking a splinter out of his palm before turning and shoving his way through the rest of the crowd.
Slightly shorter chapter this time, but it's filled with intense moments ;)
Ch4 begins the "true" tale (yes that's right, this is all pre-main tale), so I hope you look forward to it
EDIT:I will be going through Ch2/Ch3 to work out some stuff (those who have read those chapters should know what I'm talking about), soDid a runthrough; fixed some stuff. :)
Stay tuned for Ch4!Okay, I'm really self-conscious about my writing piece and negative on myself so I hope this isn't hideously awful. Or horrible in every way.
To break the trend, I only write in poems.
Freedom from a butterfly.
Seeing it from above,
The intricate buildings, worn out by time.
The garden, so out of place in the city,
The Butterfly.
Jade earrings hang from the wall.
Returning, finally,
To you’re once great home,
Realizing that it
has lost its elegance
A broken promise.
As the scarlet sun rises,
The snow seems to glow with life;
Sitting on the porch, enjoying hot chocolate,
We waste away the day, remembering our youth.
An obsidian oval egg.
Invisible is a word visible people think of as great;
A super power, but really, quite easily created,
As night falls, the visible leave, and the invisible come,
Invisible, or should I say forgotten, left to stare at the far away gates of civilization.
A clock.
The snow still falls, gently,
Listening to music,
Sleeves covering my hands,
Waiting for the snow to melt, and the water to return.
My ancestors drenched the radiance of clouds.
Umbrellas, defending me from the sky,
Give me hope,
First in a dream, then when I wake up;
Asking please, help me, and dream again.
The sun sets.
A box contains my childhood,
But now, my son’s,
As a soft song plays in the background,
I know the words my son does too, but he will never say.
The unopened letter, finally visible, sliced open,
And I can see, for a moment, the butterfly with my own eyes.
And I know, it has begun, even if I don’t know what it is.
And I talk with you, in the snow, with our hot chocolate, remembering our youth.
Jiggly, that's very refreshing! Apart from the "your" mistake...
Updating OP.
Also I feel like changing the title to "Heading in the write direction - A writing thread". Thoughts? xD
E: Updated. I'm slightly annoyed that Zari has overtaken Mr H.Sight in terms of length, time for a LENGTH CONTEST xD nahI approve of that new thread titleLawl at my post already!
Ok so I wrote this a while back but I just found this thread. :/
Anyways:
This is the proposed first chapter of a book I might or might not post, depends on feedback.
The Future Awaits
Chapter 1
Sometime in the future, New York City, former United States
Calendar date: Day 216, 102025 A.D (for those old records that use that, I don‘t even know what it means)
Dear Journal,
Well, to say the least, today was average and not so average.
I went to school around an hour after dawn. Dad had a chauffeur take me to the school building, which is about 10 miles away. Not to far on an aero. Once I was dropped off on the 20th floor lobby, I had to get with all of my classmates to class. Fist we had to copy down all the stuff we had learned yesterday as punishment for yesterday (well at least two thirds). You see, remember yesterday in class, when…. Oh, right. Well I’ll say it again. The guy who has to sit next to me in class (like I would ever get near him besides then) decided to bring an animal to school. The place is dead serious when it comes to stuff like that. Who wouldn’t when you have genetic testing on the human genome 2 doors down? Some genetic freak could come out of the embryonic chambers…. Yuk. I don’t wanna think about it.
Anyways, when they got wind of the animal, they locked down our floor and 2 floors down as well as above, not to mention the elevators. They took the squirrel where it was SUPPOSED to be (the Zoology Department) until Marc got out of detention. At least I don’t have to sit by him for a week.
After we got done copying, those who didn’t left to study hall for an hour and we started learning about the history of where we were standing - New York City. We had started a month ago, and we were already about 20,000 years after 9/11 (which is funny since the calendars put that date on as 47,999 B.S.E.). Apparently The USA had fallen about 3,000 years prior in favor of a corporate government, which ruled as the new C-C (Corporate Confederation) gained more and more territory until it controlled all of the Americas and the British Isles 200 years after its formation.
This reminds me, oddly enough, of something that happened a while prior. Apparently in the 1700s A.D. there was a company called the British East India Company that gained so much control while looking for spices, that when it dissolved several decades later, its home country got all of the Indian subcontinent, until it was liberated 100-something years afterwards.
Well, once we got done with our history seminar, we moved on to our math lessons, which didn’t take very long, since we were being fed simple algebra by our spoiled parents since we were 9 years of age. Our teacher bragged that her kids were the smartest within 1000 klicks of the school. I wanna say she was right, but Miss Solms is pretty darn cocky. We got some free time afterwards, but it was so boring that I think I took a catnap.
Then I went to my favorite time of the day - music class!! Since there are only three other people in this elective class, we did whatever we had in mind. Swift played on the guitar, Ling played on the flute, I messed with a drum (with an ocarina in my pocket), and Todd found a trumpet in the closet that he always used. It actually sounded pretty well. Then our teacher, Mr. Broburn, showed us how it was done when it came to a Tenor Saxophone. Man, I wish I had a recorder to catch it. That thing could lull me to sleep and wake me up it was so nice.
After we said our goodbyes for the day it was time to go to lunch. About a hundred other people came down to the 5th floor cafeteria. It’s hard to believe STAIRS go down there, but they do. I use them, but only because I’m a health nut due to my mom. I make a sweat, and pretty good time I had the local mush along with some fried.. ummm… tofu. Had some artificial orange juice to wash it down, though I think the manufacturers will never get all the chemicals of real oranges into a cup.
Then it was of to science class, where we did the same thing we had been doing for four weeks: Figuring out the genome of a chicken all by ourselves. To say the least I was just halfway done. No wonder I felt like napping half the time, even though our teacher is the most perky and peppy man I know. He’s probably sucking all our energy to stay that energetic.
When that ordeal was over, we went to fitness class, where some odd, buff holographic projection motivated us to work our bodies. Well, it was actually it was two. Both had no shirts to reveal a worked body. One spoke with a heavy German tongue, the other with a hint of Cantonese hidden in his harsh words. I remember asking the one with the black hair what his name was. He said it was Lee Jun-fan. No idea what that’s supposed to mean. Must have been some cultural icon from ages ago. They do that in all the public schools, since they can’t afford to pay for an actual teacher year-round, nor ones this customized. Most of the time it’s just a basic human shape projected to look like it’s there. Oh well. I guess I consider myself lucky for that.
Everyone has to shower before they leave for the day, myself included. Who wants to be sweaty in an aero that cost as much as a few small houses?! Though I must say the air vents will make you feel as if it never happened in 2 minutes.
Finally I thanked the chauffeur for the ride, and walked into my living quarters.
I had to some homework. Look up the date in which New York City was handed over to the largest corporation at the time, and convert it to standard dating for a free perfect grade. I had to compete with about fifteen other students, some fairly menacing. The chase was on.
Come to think of it, I had the advantage since we had to look in the Archives, and I knew this place like the back of my hand. Some were faster, stronger and bigger, but in this case I was smarter. Come to think of it, isn’t that how humanity got it’s start? Oh well.
I was sprinting down to section of the archives where I knew the records of NYC were kept. Then the largest guy in our class came barreling in my direction. He was Six feet tall with a sturdy build, with legs that could crush a back, and I would know because he will do that in self-defense. He was stomping in my direction at about half again the speed I was at. A small crowd was running behind him, eager to collect the spoils. I muttered some words that I shouldn’t repeat here. Dad checks these regularly, you know.
I threw some tacks down, since I knew something like this would happen. My pursuiters stopped for a few seconds, which was all I needed to get to the archives around the time that NYC was. If they didn’t pick it up, the cleaner droid will. Then I found a document that said something about NYC being handed over to Lancaster Moon and Space. I grabbed it, and hid in my own little place.
You see there are little chambers all over the archives that can be used to read in peace, and I knew where a fair few were. This is one of those times where they come in handy. I got the date (Christmas Day 26582 B.S.E.) and left the document where it was. Might as well give myself a chance. I then snuck out to my living quarters.
This only happened an hour ago, so I think I would remember.
It’s been like this ever since my parents made me go into school four years ago. You already know this, but I might as well tell it again.
For my entire life I have been tutored by my dad, who is the keeper of archives for one of the largest companies on Earth (In other words, the head librarian). Sound boring? Well the company has records going back millennia from around the world. Why else would they have an Archeology division? It’s Dad’s job to take care of all materials - digital or otherwise. Well, I take that back. There really haven’t been enough trees to make paper for about 20,000 years according to some records way in the back. Though we have records going back 103 millennia. Yeah. Apparently they bought these things called “the Dead Sea Scrolls”, if that is anything. Apparently it’s like some really old religious text about how an all-powerful deity gave his words to some guy named Isaiah. Oh well. Its in tight casing in a big vault SOMEWHERE in the archives.
The archives are too big for you to find your way around easily, which is why even at my age, I’m only allowed in about a third of the archives - which is still enough that it takes me a good 5 minutes to walk to the other side
I feel really primitive writing in this. I mean, come on, it’s PAPER. Everybody keeps there records on holovid recorder, with all their fanciness. The only reason I’m not doing that (Not that I don’t want to - I’m a typical teenager after all.) is that my father is the librarian is where they don’t just keep audio recordings but - you guessed it - paper books. Not that everyone is an illiterate slumdog (only a good quarter of us) - most of us can. We just are too lazy. Which brings me to another topic which I only know since my dad is the tutor to the CEO in charge of the whole thing.
Humanity is leaving this Earth of ours in 5 years.
Yes, in the 300,000 years we have spent on this Earth of ours, we have single-handedly trashed it. We’ve been at it for some time now - and I should know because my living area is in the back of the library where all of the oldest documents (or things containing them) are. Apparently since the 1850s to boot. Actually, it would be around 48150 Before Solar Expansion, but whatever. We have gradually grown lazier until we can’t even be bothered to use our own bodies, so the rich people replace a leg or and an arm with a piece of metal made to look nice and pretty. I hate to sound snobby, but I just had the hand I don’t write with replaced 2 years ago. Hey, at least I punch better. But back to the subject.
Apparently the CEO of the Brokers (that’s what they’re called - they are really Solar Enterprises Inc.) has collaborated with the Board of Colonization and decided with a few “very startling words from your daddy and the scientists” that the Earth would be far better if we packed up and left. Apparently at one point, the Earth was a lush green paradise in many parts of the world. Now a good two thirds of the Earth is metro area. This has caused companies like the Brokers to become so profitable - we need minerals and other vital materials from off of this planet, which is very pitiful. But hey, how else are you going to feed the materialistic lifestyles of 15 billion people packed into every nook and cranny possible, including as far underwater as we can go, not to mention 3 billion in orbit?
The Brokers plan to reveal their idea to all of the major space faring companies tomorrow. I personally wish them luck, which they have. More like influence. They control 3 quarters of all traffic in and out of Earth, not to mention half of all goods on Earth. I think their plan will go through.
I’m looking back at all that I’ve written and thought “Ugh, I sound so much like Dad!” That’s probably because, well, he’s my dad. But that’s just an observation. I spent so much time tugging at his pants when I was much younger I daresay I believe half the stuff he says. I mean come on, the Rich living in STONE houses? No plumbing? Please. That could never happen. I tell my friends some of the “heritage” my dad says he found that day in the archives, and they just laugh it off. Oh well. If only Dad knew.
Dad says we started building cities of stone 210,000 years ago, and went from there, going through several periods of darkness, followed by a “renaissance”, whatever that means. Dad says it means rebirth in a really old language called Latin that was used by the greatest civilizations to ever exist in the early days of civilization. He says they were the best because they thought about life much, much more than we do today.
As a parting note, the CEO said I’ll be on the first and best ship, which has all the coolest people on it. That’s nice and all, but I want to stay with my friends. Oh well. Maybe I’ll actually get a holovid thing.
Now Good Night.
Aristotle Cahill
Age 17 as of day 53 of year 52025
Hello!
Chapter 5 of Mr H.Sight is here.
Dead Good productions™ does not take responsibility for any injury/trauma/laughter/vomiting/death/birth/hilarity/other [please state] during this chapter. Please keep all [remaining] limbs inside the vehicle at all times, and keep questions until the end of the tour. Thank you.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry Mr.Sight. I definitely need to work on this flashback business. Are you well?”
I was eating mud again, but decided not to give Death the pleasure of a reply. It was quite clear that he was doing this on purpose to satisfy his humdrum hedgehog humour. We seemed to be in the same area of London, but many years previously. It was however, much to my irritation, still raining.
“The rain is merely a theatrical effect, Mr.Sight. Do not be so anxious of it.”
“When you conjure up a theatrical umbrella for me then I might consider calming down.”
Death decided not to answer, only twitching his nose slightly before gesturing to what the most polite would call “a situation”. A man in scraggy clothing was sitting amidst the cobbles, swigging from a bottle of gin and telling the world about how terrible his life was. A young boy around the age of ten was struggling to drag him out of the street. The boy was surprisingly muscular for his age, but no amount of strength can overcome a stubborn drunkard.
“Cos y’see, I’ve-”
“Dad come on let’s get inside.”
“-of a son, goody two-shoes good for nothing but havin’ two shoes, an’ he ain’t even got them any more.”
The boy appeared to ignore this, and walloped the man on the nose. Wincing slightly at his hand, the boy pulled the unconscious man into a nearby house. I slipped in around the door and attempted to shake my ruined suit dry. I felt Death smile beside me, and grimaced. Leaving the immobile drunk in the hall, I followed the boy up to his bedroom.
While it was by no means pristine, the room was at least free of the pungent smell of alcohol that the rest of the house was imbued with, and effort to make the sullen walls brighter was noticeable, though unsuccessful. The boy knelt down by his bed and closed his eyes.
“Father God, please forgive dad for his sins, and turn him away from alcohol. Help me cope, and give me hope that I might be happy. Amen.”
He got into his bed and fell swiftly asleep, though he turned over every minute or so, crying to himself. Death carefully alighted on my shoulder, turning my attention away from the horrifying scene.
“We’ll fast-forward a tad here.”
My vision went black, and then I was tasting mud again. The same man was sitting in the street, and the same boy was attempting to drag him out of it.
“Death, weren’t we supposed to go forward in time?”
“Yes, and we did.”
“This happens every night? That’s horrible!”
“Horrible, possibly. Boring, definitely. Let’s get to something more interesting, shall we?”
We hadn’t changed positions, but thankfully it had stopped raining, and the sun was tangoing solo in the sky. The boy burst out of the house and began to sprint down the street. It seemed that we didn’t even need to move to keep up.
“Death?”
“Yes?”
“You know when we were in London, and you made me trek for hours in the rain to that pub?”
“Yes.”
“If I had to walk then, why don’t I have to now?”
“The same joke doesn’t work twice, Mr.Sight.”
The boy turned sharply into the gates of a school, taking a moment to catch his breath before walking inside with the rest of the children. His eyes were dark and solemn, and everything about him seemed tired. The boy sighed as someone shouted at him.
“Hey look, it’s Howard Sight! I thought I’d never see you again!”
The group around him sniggered; the boy – Howard – ignored them.
“So why are you late this time? Was it your dad again? Well, who can blame him? It’s not like you’re something to be proud of. You’re puny, worthless and, uh, puny! No wonder he’s on the bottle, he relies on you. Ha!”
Wham.
The bully staggered backwards and fell into the crowd. Sight calmly washed his broken knuckles and walked out of the door, out of the gate, out of his life.
“Time to fast-forward again.”
I've also gotten into writing some very (very) short stories occasionally, the fruits of which I am collecting in a series called Eyes of a Child.
The LamppostThere was a man. No, no, please don’t leave yet. This is important. Important to me at least.
When I was young, I looked out of the window if I could reach. I’d stand on the tips of my toes to look out into the night, wondering what was out there. Across the road there was a lamppost, the kind of normal lamppost that’s on every street.
Don’t go, it isn’t really about the lamppost.
When I looked out, there was a man sitting beside the lamppost, sitting on the grit-box. He told me his name was Mr.Garr, but his name was different depending on who he talked to.
He didn’t really talk to many people. Only me.
I spent all my free time across the street, next to him on the grit-box. He’d rumble and cough while blowing smoke into the cold, morning air.
“You’re lucky my son. You have a house. You have a family. You have friends. You have money. You have love. You have faith. You’re lucky.”
He’d stare at me with his teal eyes, his sunken cheeks covered in a mass of stubble, his cap hanging low over his forehead. I didn’t understand what he meant; surely he had all those things too? Those are the things given to you in life, things that we all have, aren’t they?
I’d bring a newspaper on the way home from school for him, and he’d glance through it, thank me and stuff it in his jacket. He’d blow smoke rings from his pipe and tell me the stories of his scars. He told me about all the things I needed to know, and even some things I didn’t.
As time went by, his eyes turned to a darker shade of grey, his hair to a shade of white in strands beneath his cap, and you could see the veins on his hands. He coughed a lot more, and didn’t tell me as many stories.
I sat next to him on the grit-box, trying to catch snowflakes in my mouth, Mr.Garr blowing smoke as usual. It was getting darker, frost began to appear on the lamppost, and only the dim light from above pushed away the night.
“My lad, you’d best be getting home.”
As I started to cross the street, he grabbed my arm.
“Remember this for me: value everything. Now go to bed, don’t forget to say goodnight to your mother.”
After I opened my presents the next day, I ran out to see Mr.Garr. He wasn’t sitting on the grit-box. This was odd, I’d never seen him move from that spot. I ran across the street, my slippers skating across the ice. I reached the grit-box and looked around.
I wiped away the snow, and I cried.
*******
The Forest
I stood, staring into the dark. I stepped forward. I felt the ground beneath my feet, but nothing else seemed to change. I knew I could breath, but I wasn’t. Nothing tired me as I ran through the endless night, trying to find a way out. I knew I could speak, but I didn’t.
Wait.
A pinprick in the distance. I couldn’t see what exactly it was, I couldn’t hear what it was, it was somewhere in between – a dancing and zigzagging emotion. As it came closer, I could hear a faint sound emanating from it. I reached out and found a leaf in my hand, the slow drone having become a recognisable voice.
“Good morning Mrs.Herriot.”
A voice that I recognised, but did not know.
As I relaxed, the leaf floated down to a modest pile around my feet. I was in a forest, my forest. Well, that’s what I called it anyway. I knew the position and texture of every root, every different kind of tree. I was always there.
“Please, sit down.”
My trainers churned up the mud beneath my feet, crunching the leaves as I ran. I grabbed a stick from the ground and lashed out at fictitious enemies. Stab! Kick! Punch!
“I’m afraid the news isn’t good.”
I ran over to my favourite tree, running my hands loving over the grooves. I slipped off my sneakers and jacket and began to climb. I imagined being at the top, a light breeze, the thrill of success. I kept going.
“Unfortunately your son’s condition has not changed over the past year.”
I gritted my teeth in concentration and leapt to another tree, quickly balancing myself and continuing the climb upward. I spiralled around the branches, steadily getting higher.
“He has not responded to any form of therapy, not revealing anything which we might call positive in a case such as this.”
I was almost at the top. I could feel the wind ruffling my clothing, the bark becoming smoother and the warmth of the light seeping through the leave above.
“I’m afraid to say that using such a vast amount of resources on a case such as this costs an enormous amount of money.”
Getting closer.
“It is in situations such as these that I need to evaluate the potential of each case.”
One more step up.
“Unfortunately, there seems to be little potential in your son’s case. In my professional opinion I believe it is time to make a decision.”
Snap.
-
“Did you hear something?”
She sat forward in her chair slightly. The doctor waved a hand in dismissal.
“Just the wind I expect. As I was saying, it is regrettable that your son has made little – if any – progress. He has remained in a coma for over a year now with no sign of recovery. You can trust us, Mrs.Herriot, that there is no chance of him being recovered from his severe condition. I understand that this is a difficult decision, but I recommend that we end his treatment and move on.”
A pause.
“Do it.”
Click.Generally you'll see Eyes of a Child contributions pop up on my tumblr, so please follow me!
Here are some poems I made recently:
The Mourning
Stares sadly at the full moon
With his wistful silver eyes
The wind jolting his sleek pelt
Howling in his ears
Sharing his deep sorrow
Stands at the top of a cliff
Looks down at the dusky forest
Trees sway in the bustling wind
And rodents scurry home
Looks back at the moon
Lets out a howl
That shakes the Earth
For his lost mate
Never will he see
A pelt so lustrous
Not in a hundred life times
The Light
The shimmer
Of brilliance
Lights up
Our many days
And gives tingling
Heat forever
I Can't Fly
He spread his wings and tried to fly
But couldn't and let out a sigh
He tried over and over
But he needed a four leaf clover
For penguins cannot fly.
Feel free to critiq them
Dude these are great compared to my poems.I just wrote a short story. I love the concept but it could probably be pulled off better. Feedback, please...or just steal the idea and do it better, whatever. I'm not a writer but was bored tonight. Note the lack of formal training of any kind beyond high school :D
It's called "Frank"
FRANK
I dislike how the most exceptional things can sometimes become mundane simply because people don’t take the time to make reasonable observations. This is how Frank feels every single day. Well, I imagine this is how he feels. It certainly is how I feel. I’ve never met Frank, but I watch him every day, sometimes for hours at a time. I don’t even know if Frank is his real name; it was my dad’s name, before the accident, and I feel connected to Frank. I feel connected to him so much so that I personify him with my father’s name.
I don’t think he knows that I exist. If he did, I’m sure he’d do something about this situation of ours. Well, technically it’s not our situation until he finds out. Until that day, it’s my situation. My situation hasn’t been the same since the accident that took my father occurred. I rarely leave my 5th floor apartment now, save for getting food and necessities. If I leave this place, they will most certainly hurt me. I’m not paranoid; I just like to play it safe. It seems with each passing day I become more and more obsessed with Frank. He mills about, here and there, usually within view of my window. He doesn’t move around much either, so I suppose him and I would have made good friends, under the right circumstances.
I wonder if Frank is lonely sometimes. Actually, I think he is lonely. Sometimes he tries frantically to intercept a girl that lives across the street from me. He’s insatiable when he sees her. Sometimes, he’ll move as fast as he can to catch up, stopping short of the doors. She’s a faster runner than he is. I’ve even seen him paw at the doors once, like an attention starved puppy, to get to her. It’s all in vain though, I don’t think she’d be very interested in him. Maybe my observations are slightly skewed in this case. I’m getting good at watching, I think my observations are pretty good. I notice things the others wouldn’t.
I would go talk to her myself, as she is gorgeous, but I don’t want to get between Frank and his girl. I don’t suppose Frank is completely obsessed with her though, he goes about his business after a short while and doesn’t appear to linger on the thought, but he does hang out in this area a lot. I wonder what he does when I’m not watching him. It would be kind of creepy if he made macaroni pictures of her or something.
I know I probably sound crazy, like someone that needs a friend. Truth be told, I really do. In my defense, in my situation, you’d honestly be like me too. Imagine being completely isolated from other people, so isolated that you cling to a desperate personification of something that would be benign to anyone else. I’m not crazy. I think this is something a sane person would do. It isn’t stalking if I don’t leave my apartment.
2 weeks later
I’ve been watching Frank for 4 weeks now, I think. The days tend to blend together now. As I watch him, I get jealous when others bump into him or touch him by mistake. It must be a mistake; they wouldn’t dare touch my Frank. I want to see if he would be exceptional. I know he would be exceptional, he has to be. He wouldn’t treat me like the others would; he would most definitely accept me and be my friend. The only reason he appears to act like the others is because they drown out his individuality.
I just hope that girl he is going after isn’t going to trump our friendship. She’s quite the little pixie; I’m going to have to lay down some ground rules if Frank ever gets up the nerve to get past the doors. I’d even call her a bitch right to her face if she took him from me.
Look at how pathetic this is. For weeks I’ve been talking to nobody about Frank and how much he means. How do I approach him? Do I say hello? Do I shake his hand? I don’t want to come on too strong, he might get aggressive. I don’t think I can handle that. Maybe I can lure him to the lobby of my building and confront him on home turf.
4 days later
He’s not like the others. He’s gorgeous, he’s more limber. His clothes don’t even look as ratty. He has better posture, too. He’s the pinnacle of his kind, the Adonis. No, don’t worry; I don’t want to bed him, I’m not a homosexual. I just want to be his friend. It’s not stalking if I don’t want to have sex with him.
I’ve set everything up. The lobby is ready. Today is the day I meet Frank face to face. I’m going to call him over. I’ll say “Hey, FRANK! Come over here” is that too forward? Maybe it is for some, but Frank won’t react in that manner. He’ll protect me from all the others if they try to hurt me. I know Frank better than anyone else on the planet. I observe him, study him; he doesn’t have the same violent or mindless tendencies of the others.
1 hour later
Everything was going exactly according to plan. I opened the door to the lobby, I yelled “Hey, FRANK! Come over here” and he came over as fast as he could. It couldn’t have been going better. When he got close enough, he almost bit my head off. He looked angry, just like all the others do all the time. I bet he knew I was watching and was waiting for this. He was plotting against me. This isn’t fair. He won’t stop banging on the door to my apartment; I wish I knew someone to call. Maybe it would have been a better choice to talk to his girl instead? I suppose I should just feel lucky he didn’t bite my head off, though he did almost get my arm off. This is a large amount of blood that is coming out of my arm. This is exactly how all the others would treat me.
Soon Frank and I will have enough in common for him and me to be friends forever. Maybe I can help him meet that woman he’s been trying to get to for the last few weeks. I just want him to be happy. I suspect soon I’ll be a zombie too, and then he will have to accept me as his peer.Saw this in your sig alch, thought it would be cool to check out. i'm impressed with the talent on this site, and figured, what the heck, i'll share a piece of my own.
If She's Listening
If she’s listening,
she should know
I searched the streets we ran through for some memory of her
I’ve made my way through my mind, trying to find that feeling of joy I had when I first met you
All men have that girl who got away
I never went after her, for to do so would ruin what we had
When she looks into my eyes I feel weightless
And when we embrace time stops
Because the only thing that matters in this moment was her
If she’s out there,
I hope she hears this
I’m not much of a dancer. But I would have danced like a fool if it meant I could make her laugh
And I’m not much of a singer. But I would have sang my heart out if it meant I could have hers
And so I write because it’s the only way I can keep track of my thoughts in the whirlwind she puts me through
And I need to keep track of my thoughts, because with them, I can write with hope.
Hope that I can save some boy from my same pain
Or make some girl realize how much that boy loves her
I have come to realize that this girl makes all men wiser.
So thank you
I make a toast to the tree under which we sat through sunsets
And to the cool green grass on top of which we watched the night sky
And I raise my glass to the women who will never be reached
To the women who love someone else
And to the women who befriend you, but never realize the depths of which your feelings flow
For these women teach us how to grasp each moment in life
And teach us how to love
Or rather, remind us how to love like we did when we were just small children
Before the sound of a broken heart was ever heard
Before we learned what it was like to lose a friend
Or to lose a parent
Or to lose our faith
If she’s out there listening,
I ask that she forgive me for not acting on my chance to bring happiness to her life
Because I’d forgotten what it was like to love before I let her in
If she’s listening, I hope that she keeps this close to her heart, like I keep her close to mine
If she’s listening, I hope that she knows…
I’ll always be waiting.Users Who Are Viewing This Thread (Users: 1, Guests: 0)
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