The Menoa Tree

arms length

2010-02-08T22:35:00.001-07:00

i smile gladly as i befriend thee

and reach hands out to you

to hold you at arms length

i won't open my heart

no, not at all

won't risk another scar

no, not another

no, not at all.

Sew

2009-08-02T19:23:00.002-06:00

so i haven't posted here in forever....but i have been posting occasionally on another blog.....bwa ha ha...
anyway, this is a poem i wrote just now, from the idea of "sewing thoughts."

when my mind is burdened
many thoughts within
take a piece of parchment
pull out a pen

drawing like a needle
pulling ink like thread
leave a mark of many words
don't leave things unsaid

leave a picture pretty
or complicated be
of sorrow, sad, or gladness
let thread be heart to see

a mark on former fresh is made
a permanence is sought
just speak the thoughts inside of you
and sew yourself a thought

Three Men

2008-12-14T21:11:00.002-07:00

"I can't save all three of you. Only one of you is walking out this door." The door referred to slams shut, leaving the three men and three knives alone in the circular room.

The blond man's eyes dart frantically between the other two, then to the knives on the ground. He hesitates, then dodges forward and grabs one.

The brown haired man mimicks these movements, moving only an instant after the first.

The third man moves slower to grab the last knife.

They stand facing the center of the circle, each watching the other two out of the corner of their eyes. The smallest movements of anyone makes them jump.

Finally the blond man springs at the brown haired man, and they scuffle, scratching and cutting with the knives. They roll and fight for several minutes before the third man stabs the brown haired man in the back. They all pull away again, the brown haired man gasping in pain.

The blond haired man goes for the third man this time, swinging the knife in an arc. The third man dodges and swings his own blade downward, landing a blow to the blond man's shoulder. The blond man falls back against the wall.

The third man stares contemplatively at the other two, then steps forward and finishes off the other two, stabbing them each through the heart. The screams echo off the stone walls.

In a stone room, a man with black hair holds a knife in his chest. The door is locked, and he is alone. The man falls on his face with a grunt.

Hospital Room

2008-12-14T11:36:00.002-07:00

The room echoed with the sound of weak, ragged breathing and a steady beep. Richard lay in the bed, the sheets barely moving as his chest fought for air. His eyes were closed in restless sleep.

The door opened and closed quietly, the chair next to the bed squeaked, and a hand grasped Richard's. It was several minutes before the eyelids fluttered open, and he turned his head slightly to see who it was.

"Visiting hours already?" His voice was low and gravelly with age. The woman smiled at him.

"How are you feeling today, Richard?"

He turned his eyes back to the ceiling, searching for the answer there. "It has ceased to be amuse. If you know what I mean." The side of his mouth twitched in amusement.

"Yes, I know. You have been too long in this hospital bed, I think. It doesn't suit you." She smiled again.

Rasping breathing filled the room again for several minutes. The woman traced the veins on the back of Richard's hand. They stood out like roots, blue and trembling with his pulse.

"You know, Richard, I think it's time to get up."

"Get up? But...but I'm sick..." He muttered feebly, shifting beneath the sheets.

"I think that getting up is just what you need right now. It's time to get up, Richard. Let's walk." She stood and moved toward the door, then turned back, waiting.

Richard lay there, staring at the ceiling, muttering any excuse he could until his mouth ran out. "Aye. I think...I think I want to get up..."

"Then get up, Richard."

He pushed himself weakly to a sit, then began pulling off the wires. Blood pressure monitor...brain wave detector...the straps around his chest to help him breathe...the tube at his neck for the dialysis machine...and last of all, he drew the IV needle slowly from his arm. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood.

He wobbled on his feet before taking a careful step. Like a child, one step at a time, he made his way to the door. With each step, his back straightened more and the lines on his face fell away.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" She reached for his arm and tucked her hand into his elbow.

"No...no it wasn't. I feel much better already." He smiled down at her.

"Well, shall we go?"

With a last glance at the bed, he turned to the door and stepped confidently away.

As the door shut behind them, the body in the bed ceased moving. The chest stopped pulling at the sheets. The steady beep turned into a single tone.

Win or Lose

2008-12-12T23:14:00.004-07:00

"Well, what will it be? Make your choice."

Michael stood stock still, unwilling to accept this new turn of fate. There was Benjamin, his best friend, on the left. The one who betrayed them all a year previous. The one who came back, full of remorse, begging for forgiveness. He was forgiven, and Michael welcomed him back with open arms. After all, they were the best of friends since childhood; how could he turn against this man with whom he shared a bond as close as brotherhood?

And there was Melanie, his other best friend, on the right. The one who used him, swore her heart to him only to tear it out and leave it broken, bleeding. The one who left him and then returned just when he had learned to live without her. But she changed, truly, he could tell. Deep down, she was a different person. They both agreed that friendship was enough, and it was. Melanie and Michael were not meant for eachother, but they were close friends.

And the two...they were engaged. Deep down, Michael felt pained at having his two closest friends torn from him like this, but his happiness drowned out his sorrow.

Each across the room from the other, one on Michael's left and one on Michael's right. Tied up, bound to a chair each.

"Michael! Don't listen to him! It's a trap!" The voices of his two closest friends bombarded his ears, resonating in the concrete room.

"Michael," pleaded Melanie, "please, just run! Save yourself!"

"Yeah, we'll be alright, don't worry about us," Benjamin yelled, attempting reassurance but failing. "Don't waste your time with us!"

The man in the shadows laughed, the deep sound silencing Benjamin and Melanie. "There you have it, Michael. The rules are simple. One person must die, and then I will set the others free. And you need not choose. We shall leave it up to chance. Or rather," the man said, drawing something from a pocket and setting it before him on the table, "by the luck of the draw."

Michael wavered on the brink. If he saved himself, one of them must die. If he played the game, he risked each of their lives. But for them both to live... What are the odds? This was his game. His brilliant mind for statistics won him card games in the past; could he win this game too? A game where to lose was to win, and to win was to lose?

"Please, Michael, don't give in!" Melanie broke into tears, shaking with sobs.

"Michael, don't play his game! You can't trust him!" Benjamin's voice was hoarse with tears.

But as Michael looked into the eyes of the man in the shadows, he knew that the man would keep his word. All Michael had to do was win the game...

He strode across the room into the shadows and sat at the chair across from the man.

From the Journal of Chrsam the Siren

2008-12-12T11:34:00.001-07:00

Markunder the 9:

I wouldn't have believed it of a siren if I hadn't seen it with my very own eyes. I mean, honestly! It's despicable! She's disgusting, I feel sick just thinking of it...

I mean, maybe I could understand that she does not sing, her voice is despicably weak after all. But flying out to meet a ship, to watch over it? Oh yes, I followed Melodrion on her most recent little outing. She was flying over one of the human's ships, circling and circling, singing in her pathetic voice. And what was she singing? A warning! She was warning them away from this island!

She doesn't deserve to be on this island. She does not pull her share. I have not yet told this blasphemy to the other sirens, though I don't know what's stopping me. She promised never again...never again...

I will let it go just this once. But I will keep an eye on her...she's not to be trusted....

From the Journal of Brijul the Siren

2008-12-12T11:18:00.002-07:00

Jenover the 41:

Chrsam won't shut up...she is far too confident. Disrupting the peace and quiet...

Though, if she knew what I knew about Melodrion, she would have a stronger argument. Yes, I have kept my eye on that young one...she is no troublemaker, at least not intentionally. But she is making foolish choices...

She favors humans, and one human in particular I think, though I am not fully sure of this fact. This is far too dangerous, though I will say nothing...it is none of my business, after all. But if she disrupts the already shaky peace of this island by her actions, it will not bode well for her...

She will be found out soon, if she continues to swim out to sea and fly over the ocean for days at a time. And I know she is not going to bring her gift of silence to some sailor's ship.

I shall have to keep a careful watch on that one...

From the Journal of Chrsam the Siren

2008-12-09T17:27:00.004-07:00

Jenover the 29:

I never realized how annoying some sirens can be. I mean, I've been one my entire life, but of course I'm not annoying. I'm quite a successful siren after all. Singlehandedly led no less than five ships to an ocean grave in my relatively short lifespan of 59 years.

But sirens - or perhaps i speak of just one siren. Melodrion. Oh, she so aggravates me! Her temperament is exactly the opposite of what we sirens must be. Ah, if only she were not also cursed to live forever on the Isla de Sirena along with the other sirens...

And another thing! Who was it that placed this curse upon us? Why must we be plagued with wings and feet of birds? Could not we seduce more easily if we had a more...pleasing form?

Ah, but it is not for me to question the gods...

No more for today, the other sirens are restive. A ship on the horizon, methinks....

Oracle

2008-11-01T14:52:00.003-06:00

The prince, after climbing the Great Mountain of the Oracle, stood before the cave now. His face contorted with a vicious confidence, he demanded loudly, "Oracle, come forth and tell me my future!"
The wind howled and the trees shook, but no one was forthcoming. The prince yelled again, then again and again.
"Silence, fool! You know not what lurks in this mountain!" The disembodied voice echoed off the boulders, twisting and churning.
A small boy stepped from the cave's darkness. "What is your inquiry, lord prince?"
The prince, having recovered from the shock of the echoing voice, drew himself to full height. "I demand an audience with the oracle of this mountain. Take me to the oracle, boy!"
The boy stared at him a moment, then turned. "Very well, lord prince. Follow me."
The boy led him into the darkness, down a spiraling staircase and through numerous caves. The prince saw many sights beneath the mountain.
Finally the boy paused before a clear, dark pool. A light shone somewhere in its depths. The boy sat at the foot of the pool and gestured to the prince. "Have a seat, lord prince."
The prince was stunned again. "Do not play me like a fool, boy! Where is the oracle?!?"
The boy spread his arms wide. "He sits before you, lord prince. What would you ask of the oracle?"
After a few minutes of pondering, the prince sat and stared at the boy hard. "My fortune. I want to know if my plan will succeed. I want to know if I will rule the kingdom."
The boy nodded and spread his hands over the water. The surface of the pool quivered and shook as the boy's hands began to move, twisting and molding the water in strange patterns. The light shimmered and grew, shining brightly from deep within the earth. The prince shielded his eyes, wanting to watch this strange feat but too afraid of its power.
The water spun around and around, dancing about the boy and the prince, then suddenly receded into the pool. The light faded, leaving the prince blinking blindly.
"Your fortune, lord prince."
The prince looked up excitedly. "Yes, what is my fortune?"
The boy sat completely still, eyes closed. His voice rang through the cave eerily. "Lord prince, your fortune is good. Your plan shall be successful. You shall rule the kingdom, yes, and even the entire known world." The prince jumped up, shouting ecstatically. "But! But, lord prince, you shall not be happy. Heed this." The oracle stood and pointed with his small hand and watching with closed eyes. "Listen well. There shall be dire consequences. You will lose much and gain little. Your plan is successful, but not worth the losses you will encounter."
The prince laughed. "How could I not be happy if I rule the world? I thank thee, oracle, for this knowledge." And, laughing the whole way, he strode away from the lit pool.
"Heed me, prince! You shall regret even this day for the rest of your life! You shall never know happiness again! Heed me!"

Overcast

2008-10-28T16:12:00.004-06:00

"Anna."
The sound of a clock ticking echoed through the empty room. Empty, save for the bed in the corner by the window. A dull light shone through the panes of glass.
The aging man in the bed turned his head from the view out the window to call again. "Anna, where are you?"
Silence met him.
"Anna?"
The clock beat its tattoo like a beating heart.
"Anna? Where are you?!? Anna!" The man's hands fluttered in agitation and fear.
"It's alright, Will, I am here." Another sound interrupted the clock's rhythm, followed by the woman. She opened the door to the empty room and moved to the bed, taking up the man's veined hand in her youthful ones.
"Oh, there you are. I was afraid..." the old man said as his panic subsided.
Anna smiled sadly. "It's alright, Will. I am here."
Will let out a small chuckle which quickly turned into a wheezing cough. Anna's expression changed to one of concern as she helped him to sit up.
"Anna..." Will muttered through half-closed lips once settled back on his pillow.
"What is it, Will?"
"Can I go outside today?"
Anna did not even glance through the triple-thick glass window, did not cast her gaze upon the barren landscape shrouded by thick green clouds, did not even pause to think. "Not today, Will. It's too cold."
"You always say that." Will pouted as only a sick old man can pout. "At least tell me if the sun is out today."
She longed to say Yes the sun is out today, but it's hidden by the perpetual clouds. Yes the sun is out today, but no one has seen the sun in fifteen years. Yes the sun is out today, but even if you could see it, Will, it is not the sun you remember.

"Yes, the sun is out today, and the sky is blue, just like you remember."

random post time!

2008-10-27T00:14:00.002-06:00

so one of my friends posted a link to a nifty thing which mixes up words. you put in some text, and click Bonsai! and it mixes them up into perhaps meaningful things. here's a few renditions of some poems i wrote a while back. the originals are somewhere...mua ha ha ha...

i am the paradox of light and no home to shreds
beaten broken bleeding then poorly mended again a lie
i am truth less than what it was
i am a truth less than what it was
i am the beast with no home to speak and no home to shreds
beaten broken bleeding then poorly mended ...

i am a lie i am truth torn to
i am the paradox of innocence
i am a lie i am truth less than what it was
i am the paradox of light and foe
i am the paradox of innocence
i am the beast with no home to shreds
beaten broken bleeding then poorly mended again ...

i am the picture of innocence
i am the paradox of light and foe
i am the beast with no words to speak them to
i am a lie i am a truth less than what it was
i am the paradox of light and no home to speak them to
shreds beaten broken bleeding then poorly ...

'i seek you cannot see me!' i can't see me!' i know you i feel you are near me i scream defiantly and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and weep in the open with my eyes i hide?
if i keep persistence on my side hiding in loneliness i find you, what do i hide?
if i laugh and laugh and laugh and weep in loneliness, persistence on my back turned, hands over my eyes in loneliness i find you, what do i wander blindly, hands over my eyes ...

my friend once told me in a dream that i can only stand and stare into the future with tears streaming from my eye
my eye
my eye
my friend once told me in a dream that i can only stand and stare into the future with tears streaming from my mouth
it's over, all over, then?
i see it in my throat keep it all over, then?
i can only stand and stare into the uneasy feeling
run down my friend once told me in a dream that i can only ...

my friend once told me they will all go forward
see it in my world is crashing around me in a dream that we are no longer children is ending my mouth
it's over, all over, then?
i cannot follow i see it from bursting from my mouth
it's over,
all go forward i see it in my mind but i see it
the rainbow is crashing around me they will
all over, then?
i can only stand and stare into the future with tears streaming from my mouth it's over, ...

random poem just right now

2008-09-29T22:49:00.002-06:00

I am not alone.

The words I speak
the things I feel
they lie on my skin
as proof that I exist

and all around there are voices
words of good and evil
kind and hate
warm and cold

i can hear them
i feel them on my skin
they seep through
into my soul

the evil words
burn my mouth
break my soul
leave me weak

but kind words come
and water dry ground
quench my thirst
and all is well again

there are kind words
kind words meant for me
they lift my head
and hold my sanity together

and so i can look up
and see that i am not alone
there are strangers all around
with kind words just for me

So i just decided to post a poem like 2 minutes ago
and this spouted from my brain. weird, huh?
sorry for the uneven punctuation and capitalization and...grammar too, probably.

wedding dress

2008-07-31T10:39:00.004-06:00

k, so here's a poem i thought up on the way back from getting immunizations at the clinic.
it has nothing to do with the clinic....or immunizations....
...

anyway, here.

In my wedding dress
I'm all alone, there's no one home
There's no one here to take my hand
To dry my tears, to help me stand
To help me leave this wretched place
To save me from this life of pain
To bring me to a home that's kind
And all i can do now is cry

Where is my shining knight so brave
Where is the one who hides in dreams
What do i do, or should i wait
Or is there anyone for me?

that's all i've got of it...can't think of anymore. the end!

League of Heroes

2008-07-18T14:20:00.004-06:00

I was a happy child growing up.

I was born in the big city, surrounded by people on all sides. Noise constantly battered my eardrums and I grew used to it. Silence disturbed me; I felt like there should be sound always.

My life was peaceful; my mother was kind, my father was gentle, my older sister not only tolerated me, but often gave me a kind word. Everything was great, except for one incident, and only the one.

I witnessed a murder attempt on my father when I was 6; it horrified me, but I knew everything was okay. Because he didn't die. Someone saved him. And not just any someone. One of the League of Heroes. I'm fairly sure it was Maximum-he wears blue and grey.

After that day, I became obsessed with the League. I never had many friends, so my attention was completely focused on the League of Heroes. They were like no other-a group of twenty-some men and women who watched over our city. They were well known, yet not known at all. Everyone knew at least who they were, and many were familiar with some of the heroes.

When I was 13, I started Hero Hunting. I wandered all over the city, searching for them or for the crimes which would draw them. I got myself into a few tricky situations, but I caught many glimpses of my heroes. With my handy-dandy camera, I snapped photos of them in action. Granted, they were pictures of hands or blurs or half-people, but it thrilled me to be able to see a hero like that.

It wasn't until I was 16 that I could take them seriously. I had come upon Maximum, my favorite hero, finishing up with the police in a case of theft. I grabbed his arm and told him how he was my hero and how he saved my dad when I was little. And his reply was, "I'm glad I could help, kid," and the expression on his face struck me, and when he left I only stood there, confused.

His voice was tinged with sadness, and in his eyes was the weight of the world. I couldn't understand it; why would he be so sad? He was one of the greatest heroes! He saved the city everyday, earned the respect and love of the people. What could there be to be sad about?

My obsessions focused now on discovering that sadness. Yet for the two years that I researched I could not find it. No, I did not understand until the day of my 19th birthday. The fateful day when I answered the knock on the door to find Maximum, Flite and Rush standing on my doorstep.

"Michael, we would like to invite you to the League of Heroes."

2008-05-04T22:01:00.002-06:00

okay, sorry that i never post
i'm talking to myself....pathetic...

anyway, i may possibly might be revising my vampire story. the way it's going has no direction really, and i have some ideas that might maybe possibly work. more about vampire-ish nature...defined by me...

so..someday i'll post that, if i get to it...
and i have random story ideas, and if i ever get the scenes from my head to the paper, then i'll post them.

the end!

Crystal Maiden

2008-02-26T16:49:00.000-07:00

i feel like i posted this already....but i don't remember
it's been hanging out on my compy's memory for a while, and i haven't read through it, so if there's grammar or spelling or inane-ness, comment and i'll fix it if i can
said the author to her three readers...

Long ago, two foes met on an epic battlefield: An evil wizard, long the foul dictator of the country, and a peasant maiden, bearing an enchanted sword.

The wizard cared not for the people, only for his own twisted means. By the wizard’s hand the king was slain, and his power was so great and the people’s fear so deep that no revolution could oppose him. Many had died in their attempts for freedom, and the people lost hope.

The maiden was no one special. She found the blade in a deep, clear pool in the high mountains where no foot has trod. But that is another story for another time. The maiden was brave, and despised the evil treatment of her people. None of her people would stand with her, for they were afraid. Alone, the maiden challenged the evil dictator to a fight to the death.

The two faced off, in a hidden valley. In the wizard’s hand, the evil black blade Gurthang, and against it stood the enchanted blade Gil’estel.

The climactic battle lasted from sunset to sunset to sunset again, and at every stroke it seemed to the maiden that her power fled and the wizard’s power increased. The wizard was strong, skilled in swordsmanship and magic, while the maiden was only a peasant. She could barely defend herself, let alone defend a whole nation. What could a mere maiden do against a mighty wizard?

With that thought, the maiden fell to the ground. The wizard struck, the black blade Gurthang slicing deep into her shoulder. She cried out as blood poured from her many wounds and tears of hopelessness poured from her eyes. And as the wizard stood over her, laughing with vile pleasure at his victory, the maiden’s eyes closed.

But this was not her last moment. Even as her breath slowed, and her heart barely quivered, a faint memory came to her mind. A memory, of long ago, before the ensorcelled blade had fallen into her hands, of the one she loved, the one whose death inspired her to take up arms against the vile wizard, and the words he spoke to her with his last breath. “Never give up hope,” he said to her that time not so long ago, “never lose sight of that beautiful hope that shines from deep within you. For with that light, you can conquer the world.”

The maiden remembered these words, and who she was fighting for. With a loud cry, she stood; despite her injuries, despite the blood flowing from her shoulder, despite the overpowering evil of the wizard’s heart, she stood. Her hand tightened around the blade and she lifted her arm, pointing the sword straight for the wizard’s evil heart. The wizard, startled that she still lived, raised the blade Gurthang with a twisted grin on his face. But before the wizard had a chance to cry out, the maiden rushed forward, blade gleaming in the light of the sunrise.

Gil’estel struck the blade Gurthang, shattering it and plowing through to the wizard’s heart. Deep plunged the sword, deep into the depths of the wizard’s chest, to where his evil heart resided. The maiden drove the blade in as far as it would go, piercing the wicked heart.

Such evil was pent up in that vile heart that when the pure Gil’estel pierced it, it was rent asunder. The blast of the explosion consumed the wizard, and the forest all around him, leaving a scorched crater. Everything that had been in the crater was destroyed.

Everything, except for the maiden, that is. For the blade Gil’estel had a deep, strange, enchantment upon it. As soon as it pierced that vile heart, great streams of light shot out from the blade, encasing it and the maiden.

When the light faded, the maiden still stood, her arm stretched out, the blade poised. Yet she could not move, for all around her was the clearest crystal. The blade’s enchantment had shielded her from the blast.

The maiden triumphed, destroying the corrupted heart of the twisted wizard. The few people who saw the explosion from afar, and the even fewer who saw the black crater, and the maiden in crystal, knew that the vile wizard was dead. They spread the news among the people, telling great tales of the maiden’s epic victory and the wizard’s demise. As the tales spread, they grew in size, till it became an impossible battle.

So this tale has fallen into myth. And so the maiden, encased in stone, waits. She will wait, until someone awakens her, if it is the will of the Most High. And if not, she will wait in her crystal chamber until the end of time.

And they lived happily ever after.

The Third

2008-02-10T21:07:00.000-07:00

hey look, it's 2008
so if anyone still reads this, here's the beginning of a story, first draft of the prologue-type-deal. and i'm not gonna explain anything, so be confused.
and i've changed the plot-type deal some, so this isn't completely accurate....
but whatever

“So what’s wrong with her?”

“Just a minor case of pneumonia. She’s on antibiotics now. She should be good to go home in a day or so.”

Paul sighed with relief. The coughing and rattling in Marci’s chest had terrified him, so terrified that he didn’t even stop to drop off his nephew at the neighbor’s house.

“Thank you, doctor,” he said, as he carefully bounced the fussing baby. The doctor turned away, and Paul looked to his sleeping sister. She looked so peaceful…until her body shook with coughs.

Paul sighed again. At least her fever was going down. He sat next to the bed and picked up the baby’s bottle. A yawn escaped him as the sound of suckling filled the room.

A loud crash woke him with a start. His hand clenched convulsively, but it was empty. He glanced down, but could just barely see the shattered bottle on the floor. How many hours had passed? “Marci?” he whispered, looking to his sister’s bed.

No sister.

“Marci?” he said louder, standing quickly only to realize that his nephew was no longer in his arms. “Marci!”

A white-clothed nurse stepped into the room. “Is something wrong?”

“Marci’s gone, and the baby’s missing!” Paul ran from the room, followed by the nurse raising the alarm. Where would she have gone?

He called himself every kind of fool. He should have told the doctors, but he selfishly tried to protect her from scorn. The kidnapping, rape, and psychological problems that followed… When she had appeared on his doorstep after a year of hiding in the witness protection program, he took her and the baby in. She ignored the baby for two weeks straight, refusing to acknowledge it. But after that, she was fine, only relapsing occasionally.

It would have taken only five, maybe ten minutes, to stop at the neighbors.

“She’s not in the building,” said a doctor quickly striding toward Paul.

He swore and pivoted around, running for the door.

“Marci!” He looked left, right, then left again. The pond. “No…” He sprinted in that direction.

A scream tore from his throat as he saw a hospital-gowned form floating in the water. The water splashed around his legs as he reached to pull Marci out.

No baby in her limp arms. Another pair of hands reached for her, and Paul plunged back into the water, searching for the baby. After a few seconds of searching, he pulled him out quickly.

“No, no no…wake up…” A nurse took the blue child out of his arms. He stepped back, trying not to panic. Marci’s skin was terribly pale.

Soon, the baby cried loudly. Paul barely held back a sob of joy. But his joy was quickly suppressed when the doctor stood, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry. She’s dead.”

Paul stared in shock at the doctor, lifting the still form of his sister. No…no… It would have just taken ten minutes.

“How could you, Marci?”

Vesta

2007-10-25T20:03:00.000-06:00

yeesh, i haven't posted in forever, have i?
okay...not so forever ago...it just feels like a long time since i've posted anything of much interest on here...
maybe it's just me... anyway, this is part of a story i thought about but haven't actually gotten around to writing. dunno if i'll ever write it... anyway, here it is

The birds sang loud and cheerily on a warm, cheery sort of day. Preparations were in order, and people surged about excitedly. Well, mostly excitedly. It was only an arranged marriage, after all.

Vesta sat quietly, in her bedroom, dressed and currently being fussed over by a few of the older women. Her face was a mask of nothingness, a docile young woman, so it seemed. But within, her heart quaked in fear; her mind raced, and she fought every second the tears that threatened to flood. Why me? Of course, she spoke no words aloud, for the women would only scold her. No, she could say nothing, do nothing, save for what they told her to do. And they told her to go through this marriage ceremony, and be wed to a person she didn’t even know.

She bit the inside of her cheek to force away the new surge of tears that attempted to coax their way out. This isn’t fair! How can two families decide the fate of their children so easily, without even caring what the children think? She wished that the women would leave her alone; she didn’t know how much longer she could keep from crying.

In the back of her mind, she wondered how Telem felt about this. Maybe he didn’t care; maybe he wanted to be married; or maybe…he was afraid, like her. Afraid, yet concealing fear with false compliance, like her.

But then, it’s not as if they could refuse, for their parents had already given them over in the arrangement ceremony, ten years prior to this day. Soon, now, the time for the ceremony would come, and the dance of binding after that, and all would be lost.

What could she do? Was she so desperate to beg, or plead to a god? But what god would give her any assistance? The only gods she knew of were made of clay and stone, and sat on mantles and beside doorways.

Except for…what was the name of that God, which that traveling priest served? A…living God, he called it. Elos Harana. The priest said that Elos was a good God, that he loved his people.

“I am ready.” This sudden declaration caused the fluttering women to pause, glancing at her. Vesta looked at the oldest of them and nodded. This was the only way to get rid of them. Eora, the older woman, ushered the rest out, as they murmured small meaningless things. Eora glanced back at her. “It won’t take long. We will be back soon.” Vesta nodded, and Eora left.

A single trembling tear escaped her eye, and Vesta took a shaky breath, trying to calm her nerves. Dropping to her knees, she bowed her head and placed her palms together, imitating that traveling priest in prayer to his God. She must hurry, for the ceremony was under way. Soon they would come for her. Soon her last chance of escape would be gone.

“Elos Harana, I pray to thee this day, and beg of thee that thou wouldst intervene in this ceremony. I…” here she ran out of formal words, yet her heart prompted her on. “I’m so afraid, Elos. I do not want to do this. Please, please stop it somehow. I beg of you.” With a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet again. The prayer, though she did not understand fully, brought her some comfort, that she had someone to share her heart with.

Wiping away the trace of tears on her face, she stepped through her doorway and into the main room. They will surely come soon.

Why is the door so far away? She blinked, and it was where it always was, in the wall. The air inside felt hot and damp, like a dog’s fur after it has been hunting. That was to be expected; that’s what they get for deciding on this the hottest day of the summer to have the ceremony.

But it was late autumn. It’s so warm… The breath within her caught in her throat, cloyingly sticky and hot. She could not breathe now; the dress, a simple gown and cloak, was tightening around her, like a great snake. The collar, which dipped to the hollow of her neck, seemed to come up around her throat and squeeze like a hand, stealing her breath.

Gasping, she collapsed into a nearby chair. A great ringing sound came to her ears. At long last, they have come for me. Yet the sound of ceremony bells did not fill her head. It was a buzzing, high pitched and loud, so that she could not think. Her mind pounded at the sound, throbbing with every heartbeat.

And now she could feel each and every heartbeat within her. The blood, rushing through her every vein; she could feel it. Why is the room spinning? I wish it would stop… Her eyes darted around, trying to make sense of the scene before her. The room danced around in the binding ceremony. Why is the room dancing with me?

A chill ran down her spine. Her skin was clammy and cold, but it felt as if she were burning up. The air was thick; she could not breathe. Her vision was going dark on the edges, like in a dream. Ah, if only it were a dream.

The darkness at the edge of her vision stretched, becoming a blanket of warmth that enveloped her, blocking the sight of the spinning room, covering up her fear, and taking her far from the cruel reality.

Quiet again…oh so quiet…

A last quiver raced through her as her limp form slipped from the chair and collapsed onto the floor. At that very moment, the door opened, and Telem entered with the sound of the ceremony bells. At the sight of his collapsed bride-to-be, he froze. The bells halted. Voices paused where they were, and the people crowded around the doorway, trying to see what had halted the procession.

A shriek came from Vesta’s mother and a cry for “Doctor!” from her father. Telem still stood, frozen in shock. Vesta’s father picked her up and placed her on the long couch, as the doctor gently but urgently pushed through the crowds.

Telem shook. None of this seemed real; since the day began, he had been walking in a dreamlike fog. Perhaps more nightmare than dream.

Now this sudden reversal of events, and he didn’t know what to think. It’s not as if he was completely opposed to the marriage; they had met several times and knew about each other. He thought her quite pretty, and she seemed kind. Yet he knew nothing else of her; how could they be wed like that?

He only questioned his father on this matter once. Never again after being told to his face that he was a fool, a rebel.

His mind was void of anything in that first moment. The next, his mind was stampeded with fragmented ideas, an unconcerned bundle of everything. His second cohesive thought was this: Why did it have to happen like this?

The Edge of Sight

2007-10-19T16:02:00.001-06:00

At the very moment before your eyes close to blink…At the very edge of your vision…At the very instant before sleep overtakes your weary mind…At the very instant between sleep and wakefulness…

What do you see?

That point, where sight is not so faithful, I can see things. They are not clear or very discernable. But if I sit very still, and blink slowly, my mind catches sight of something far different than the world before my eyes.

So have I done for days upon end, only stopping to sleep and eat, and those I did carefully so as to refrain from disturbing whatever lurked at vision’s edge. People thought me slow, or mad, but these remarks meant nothing compared to what I might find if I only wait.

Years passed, and I waited for sight to work slightly better, or perhaps slightly worse. And finally, when I was old and feeble, my wish was granted. At the very instant my sight failed me completely, I could see it all. No longer did it lurk at the edge of sight, impossible to see directly, nor did it lurk at the edge of sleep and wakefulness. I saw it fully.

The world is not always as it seems.

Something Beauty

2007-07-28T20:00:00.000-06:00

[Edit] here's the most updated part of the beginning, not posting all i have right now cuz i haven't finalized it all. will add more as i fancy.

The dream of most girls like me was to fall in love. Some were very determined to find their one true love as soon as possible, so they could get married and start their happily ever after’s. It seemed like love was all some girls thought about. I thought I was no different.

Well...for a while, at least. I realized my ambitions weren’t the same. If I let myself, I would think about love, but not in the same way. Rather than seek true love, my goal was to avoid it altogether.

It sounds strange to say, but I was afraid of love. Not friendship love, nor family love, but the “falling in love” type love. My parents didn’t help appease my fear, either.

I’m getting ahead of myself. I should start this story at the beginning…

Once upon a time, there was a small kingdom, with a generous king and a loving queen. However, the king and queen were sad, because they very much wanted a child, and they had none of their own. The people loved their king and queen very much, and they were also sad.

So, when the news arrived that the queen was with child, the entire kingdom celebrated; every person waited anxiously until the day the baby would be born. And finally, that day arrived.

The babe, a girl, was born with a head of golden hair. Even at birth, her beauty charmed everyone who looked upon her. The king and queen were overflowing with happiness, and they immediately began to plan a feast to celebrate the birth of their new child.

Sound familiar?

Syringe

2007-05-31T20:18:00.000-06:00

Rebecca closed her eyes, turning her head away as her right hand clenched a tiny, squeezable football. The doctor swabbed the curve of her forearm, then turned around for the needle. David held tightly to her other hand as the needle pricked her arm.
"Almost done..." The doctor depressed the plunger, then slowly pulled it back out. The syringe slowly filled with bright-red blood, and David's hand clenched tighter to Rebecca's.
"There! All done." The doctor pulled the needle out, then capped it and put it in a chill box. Rebecca drew her arm away, sighing a tiny bit with relief. David loosened his grip on her hand, but did not release it.
"Thank you for your time, Miss..." The doctor looked at the data sheet. "Miss Williams. We will be sure to contact you if there are any problems." He turned to the door.
"Thank you, doctor," Rebecca's voice called after his receding form; it carried no feeling, but was merely formality.
Nathan, the youngest, appeared from the back of the tiny house, glaring at the space the doctor had occupied.
"Are all your things ready, Nathan?" David called from his place at the table.
"Yeah. And I checked your packs too."
"Good. I'll go get them. Then we can go."
Rebecca stood with David and followed him as far as the back half of the house. As he went out the back door, she turned to the right to the bedrooms. She donned her backpack, and picked up the other two, moving them to the front of the house.
David returned, dragging several big bags into the house. Rebecca moved to help him open the bags and set out three large items. Nathan stood by, scowling as he put on his own backpack.
When all was in readiness, David and Rebecca stood back, checking to be sure all was ready. David picked up his backpack as Rebecca went into the minuscule kitchen to set up the toaster. She pushed the plunger down, then fastened it with some string.
"Every thing's ready. Let's go," she said as she returned from the kitchen. David led the way to the back of the house again and out the back door, followed by Nathan with Rebecca taking up the rear.
The following day, when the doctor returned with several government people to 'follow up' on his visit, it was to find the house burnt to the ground. Upon further inspection, they found the cause to be a toaster with a frayed cord. They also found the charred remains of three people: one young adult male, one young adult female, and one young teenage male. The one that interested them most, however, was the corpse of the woman. The doctor, after looking at the remains, was sure that these corpses were the very ones he met the day before. He gave his report to the government people, who made note of it and left.
Their job had been taken care of for them, by the frayed wires of a toaster. Anna Williams was dead.

not so strange a thing at all

2007-05-29T20:50:00.000-06:00

come in, come in
dear friend!
so good to see you!

indeed, 'tis good to meet you again
we have spoken so little
these past years
how fare you?

ah, though i did stumble
and stagger, and weep
long ago, when i was young,
i fare well now.
and yourself?

indeed, i fare well
spouse and children are well
business is well
thank you for asking

would you like a drink?

yes, please.
oh!

what is it?

that bookshelf!
i did not spot it till now!
what a color!
how came it to be such a vivid red?

that bookshelf?
ah, that one
it is a hardwood, walnut
stained with blood
here is some tea.

ah. i'm sorry i asked.

don't be.
it has a story behind it.
but no time now to tell it.

it is alright.
but, now i must attempt
to satisfy my curiosity once again;
that box, on the shelf
it looks strange indeed
so pale, almost as if it might be translucent
might i ask, what is it made of?

indeed, that box
the very one you speak of,
'tis carved of bone
and its inside lined with skin

ah, i see
i'm sorry i asked

don't be.
it also has a tale to tell
but no time to tell it.

i see.
let us change the subject.

lets.

how fares your family?

alas, all but my uncle are dead
and he near death himself

what? even your sister?

yes, even fair sister.
her weak heart did her in

i'm sorry, i didn't know.

it is alright.

...

...

if you might permit me
to change the subject again...

go right ahead

i'm almost afraid to ask...
but what is in that white box?

that box?
it is full, to the top,
of shattered, broken dreams.

...broken...dreams, you said?

yes.

and...how is that,
might i ask?

all the hopes and dreams of mine
and those of sister
and mother, and father,
and some uncles and aunts and cousins, too
all those that were shattered as life was lived
these were collected and saved
and put in a box
made of bone
to be saved on a shelf
stained with blood.

and...why, might i inquire?
it does seem a rather odd habit
to me.

not so strange, i think.
for whoever wants to dream
and hope
can come and look
into the box
and see what others might have hoped for
once
and then they can take pieces
and fit them together
like a jigsaw puzzle
and make for them self
a unique dream or hope.
would you like to look?

i think i would...
i am curious now.

here, i will open it up.

ahh...
what dreams...
though they are but fragments,
they reflect, refract, the light
like diamonds
though...imperfectly
i think i understand now...

i am glad.
sister would be pleased.

indeed...
not so strange a thing, after all...

Giant Update Thing!!

2007-02-28T19:30:00.000-07:00

omg time for a new update yay!
so...anyway...i'm gonna have to say that i'm currently in a giant rut sort of thing when it comes to my stories. i just...can't seem to make my ideas become a story....
and so i've been considering giving up on the story writing effort...at least for now. i might still write some...

but...whatever....

i'll still write poems, and....more poems
the end

we now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

Update Alert!!!

2007-01-31T19:02:00.000-07:00

k, so i've started a new story! i mean, besides the 12priest one.
but, with my skill of writing, it may not get as far as i hope...
but whatever. i'll post part of it...soonish maybe.
and maybe i'll post some of vampire, or 12priest, or something...
sometime...

Poem Time: Far Beyond

2007-01-05T22:08:00.000-07:00

i haven't posted in forever...
so here i go!
and...i'm glad i chose this one, cuz right now i'm kinda moody and this made me feel a bit better. sort of. kinda.

anyway, here's a poem

Far Beyond

I tread this path alone

None walk beside me

Behind me

Only ahead of me

Far gone, so that I cannot see them anymore

Past the curve I am trying so hard to reach

Yet my efforts prove fruitless

And I am left further behind

They understand what I don’t

They have the knowledge that I seek

But I cannot reach that point

That curve, so far away

No one feels what I do

For they do not walk with me

Or talk with me

They cannot comfort me

I cry alone

On this long, hard road

My lonely tears

Fall unseen into the dust

You do not see as I do

You may have once

But you have forgotten

And now you leave me in the shadows

This path is rocky

And so very long

I have no one to help me

To keep me from falling

I cry out for help

But you cannot hear

You don’t walk with me

You cannot save me

But, when I cry out

In pain, in sorrow

And my tears fall

To soak into the earth

A gentle hand reaches down

And wipes away my tears

That hand lifts me up

And sets me on my feet again

And when I stumble and fall

That hand comes again

To pick me up again

And with it, a strong shoulder to lean on

And when I am so weak

That I cannot go another step

Someone comes to pick me up

And carry me on, to that far off goal

When I look up

I see a face

Full of love, compassion

Strength, and power

Now, I do not walk alone

Though you are still far ahead

I have a companion

A protector

He walks with me

Stays by my side

Comforts me

And gives me confidence

Now, I can stand tall

And walk this path

Though it is still hard

I know I am not alone

I will reach it

That place that seems so far

creeeepy stoooory.....

2006-11-28T20:10:00.000-07:00

here's the beginning of a story!
it's creepy!

and...unnerving...stuff like that

anyway, happy reading!

43 Lyndon Street

Timothy Anderson hurried out the door on a sunny Thursday morning. Thursday’s were his favorite, because he didn’t work on Friday’s. Timothy loaded the truck with the packages for the day and, grabbing a printout of his route for the day, hopped in his truck and started off.

Timothy worked for a package delivery company, a well paying job. And it helped that he knew this city like the back and front of his hand by the time he was 10. He was hired immediately after his trial day, since he returned from delivering an entire truckload in only 4 hours. His ever-present smile and cheery attitude lit up the buildings he delivered to, despite the fact that he was in and out like a flash.

This day was like no others. Drive, stop, deliver, and drive some more. It was an average sort of day, the sort that made Timothy want to yawn. Nothing of interest happened on his route.

At least, not until he went to 43 Lyndon Street, to deliver the last package for the day.

The building looked like any other building. Brick building, with wooden window and door frames. Kind of old, but it still stood, and looked pretty sturdy, after all.

Timothy walked to the door. The sign on the door said “Please enter, Receptionists desk just inside.” So he did just that.

But there was no receptionist behind the desk. Looking at his watch, he noted that the lunch hour was upon him. A perfect explanation for the lack of people. He thought to himself, “What kind of business leaves the building unlocked and everything?” Out loud, to himself, for lack of anyone else to talk to, he muttered, “Ah, but it’s not my place to question. I’m just the delivery boy.”

I’ve never delivered here before, have I? he thought, walking about and calling, hoping at least someone was still there. No, not here. But I’ve been here. He knew it, deep down, but he could not recall exactly. No matter, he need only deliver his package and be on his way.

But no one answered his calls. He noticed that no sound permeated the old building. He turned down one of the hallways past the foyer, still calling out.

A sound, that he hadn’t noticed earlier, but that must have been going this entire time, caught his ear. Naturally, he turned toward the sound. “Hello? Is anyone here? Package!” The sound escaped from a white doorway at the end of the hall. Timothy murmurs, “Is that a copier?” His hand reached out, gripping the cold metal handle, and turning.

“Hello?” The copier machine overpowered his voice. But it wouldn’t have mattered, for no one was inside the room. That is, unless they were hiding under the papers strewn all over the floor.

“Is anyone here? Looks like your copier’s on the fritz!” Still, no response came to his ears. The copier continued spitting papers, in a frantic manner. The papers he could see were alternating black and white, face up and face down. What in the world were they copying?

Pushing through the papers, he walked to the copier, noticing as he did so that something thick is in it, like a big book. Also, something dark oozed from the top of it. Oil, perhaps?

A shredder beside the copier was also running, though it was quiet, overpowered by the sound of the copier. The same type of dark something spattered the top of the shredder. But this time, he could see, and smell, what it was.

Blood.

He stood, stunned at the sight, for several minutes, before daring to reach to the copier and open the top. The sight before him made him feel sick.

An arm, soaked in blood, and ragged on the shoulder end, was set on the copying screen. The image being copied was that of the massive pool of blood oozing from the severed appendage.

His stomach heaved, and he vomited on the paper spitting from the machine. Wiping his mouth, his shaky hand reached to the shredder lid. He was afraid of what he would find, and afraid that if he didn’t look now, it would haunt him forever.

The lid came off with ease, dripping warm blood. Taking a deep breath and swallowing, he tilted the edge of the container towards him.

The sound of sloshing liquid came to his ears, and the sight of a shredded person came to his eyes. A horrified scream tore from his lips, and he stumbled back, unconsciously. The container unbalanced, tilting towards him, and toppled, spilling blood all over the copies of a severed arm and pool of blood. Another scream, and he collapsed, in a dead faint.

The last thought his mind imagined, before fainting, was this: This is the last time I come here.

Something or other

2006-11-21T21:34:00.000-07:00

here's a little something i got the idea for a while back(not a long while, mind you), and wrote today

it's not long, but that's okay

and I'll be going to Texas like tomorrow morning, so i won't be posting here for a bit...not like i post very often at all...

whatever

here's a thing

A perfectly average man waited at a perfectly average bus stop, with a small crowd of not-so-perfectly average people. A girl with a Mohawk and MP3 player, two men and a woman in business suits, and an elderly woman with purple hair waited alongside the perfectly average man. The bus was fifteen minutes late.

The perfectly average man was of the sort that is impossible to point out in crowds. He was of average height, weight, build, appearance, and overall texture so that he blended in perfectly with his surroundings.

Finally the bus rolled up, and the people shuffled on in an I-can’t-believe-it’s-still-morning manner. The perfectly average man followed along, averagely.

The bus was about half full, plenty of seats available for the oncoming passengers. Perfectly average man sat nearer to the back. The bus ride was uneventful.

The perfectly average man got off at the next stop, and the bus continued on its rounds. Eventually, the bus was emptied, only to be refilled again near lunchtime, and again the pattern was repeated in the evening. The perfectly average man did not get on the bus again. He had a good excuse though.

It is to be noted that he was not the only perfectly average person aboard that bus that day. In fact, a perfectly average woman, who, just like the man, was of the sort that could not be remembered or pointed out, got on the bus near evening. The perfectly average woman sat near to the back of the bus. Her bus ride was also uneventful.

At the next stop, she stood and walked down the aisle to the door. In her left hand she clutched her purse. In her right hand she clutched nothing, but it is also to be noted that in her right sleeve was hidden a slip of paper that she had found in the seat where the perfectly average man had been sitting, and where she had sat only moments ago. On the paper were coded instructions on what she should do should the perfectly average man not be able to complete his duties.

The perfectly average man’s excuse for not riding back on the bus? He was killed in a pedestrian accident only minutes after quitting the bus.

Coincidence? Hardly.

Poem Time: Defying Gravity

2006-11-03T20:50:00.000-07:00

hey look a poem for you alls!
i'm ...working on the everything else...stories, bla bla...
anyway, it's a poem i wrote on the back of that one java program and finished after the history test after i finished my Lit. book.
yeah
anyway, here you go!

Defying Gravity

The birds fly high

Upon gleaming feathered wings

While we, so pitiful, can only watch from below,

Exclaiming loud in awe and jealousy

We put on false wings

And flap and squirm, trying to reach those heights

We craft for ourselves wood and metal birds

To ride and pretend we are such

Yet these do not take us up to the clouds

Where we so yearn to reach

And breathe the air of that higher place

For indeed, it must be wonderful, if the birds fly there

Nay, none of these feeble attempts

Can help us defy gravity

For more than a few moments

And we fall, and weep

Yes, even the birds,

Though they seem to fly high forever,

They cannot fly ever up or ever away

From this trembling world

You faithful birds,

Blessed, lucky beasts

Who can defy gravity for but a moment in time

What joy it must be

While we on earth

Wait and watch

And wish with all our hearts

To reach that blue sky above

I wonder if someday, perhaps,

One of us feeble humans will sprout feathered wings

And stretch, and reach with all their might

And suddenly fly away, into that blue sky

I look to the sky with feeble eyes

Standing on uncertain feet

And wishing, for but a moment, to feel the breeze of that higher place

Reach up to the sky, to where the golden sun shines down

To where the snow white clouds do dwell and walk

To where the gleaming stars look down in darkness

To where the moon watches, and turns its face away

Reach up with trembling hands

And close your eyes

And maybe the wind shall see your wish

And catch you up, to that blue sky

To sit upon the clouds

And breathe the air of that higher place

And open your eyes to see

The birds flying all around

Laughing, singing, you shall fly

Upon the breeze, into the sun

And watch, as faithful moon comes again

To watch over this fragile earth

And suddenly you wake, and find

That it was naught but fantasy

A dream, so beautiful

You weep to let it go

Will you sleep forever, wasting away,

Searching for that golden dream?

So that you might taste the air of that blue sky once more

Even for but a moment?

Or will you stay here, and search for some better truth

Searching with eyes unclouded and wide open

And perhaps, find a promise of a forever when you shall taste something more glorious?

Will you watch the birds till then?

Update

2006-10-20T15:56:00.000-06:00

so school and stuff is happening still, and also i'm addicted to anime, so i haven't had much writing time. but i'm working on several ideas for the series, but i can't post yet cuz i don't have the order that i want....cuz i wanna post them in like chronoligical-ish order. so...working on that. and some poems are being written, one of which i might post here later. Also, i'm gonna start a new series, but it's more like a collection of short stories.....unrelated short stories. so....if anyone out there cares, that's what's coming someday.

Poem time: Translucent Soul

2006-09-28T21:55:00.000-06:00

working on ideas for the next chapter
in the meantime, i have a poem for y'alls

and i don't say y'alls very often...

and...honestly, i have no idea what this poem's s'posed to be about...but...it sounds cool...i think....and it might not be done, now that i think about it....

Translucent Soul

A soul, translucent, distant, fading

Like a sheet of frosted glass

Empty, hollow, waiting, fainting

Hoping for a truth that lasts

This is it, the end, no longer

Shall this grieving last in vain

See the sun shine on tomorrow

Yet the moon glows still today

Like a thousand crystal goblets

Gleaming, hanging on the wall

Like the glass eyes of a child

Shining like a porcelain doll

Give us hope this empty morning

Void of what we need so dear

Give us faith so we shall see thee

Singing on for us to hear

Answer me a simple question:

Who shall stay and who shall go?

If the fate of these mere children

Is too grim, we need not know

But please do not refuse to tell us

What we ask, unless you find

That every word each person utters

Is the same as past gone by

Let not the past control the now

We are not them. We are ourselves

See the empty one who calls

Please help him see and find himself

Chapter 4: Silent Inn

2006-09-09T13:11:00.000-06:00

chapter 4 already! another mostly serious one...don't worry, i'll write a funny one soon

anyway, here goes nothing!

Silent Inn

Silent Inn did not live up to its name. First off, it wasn’t an inn at all, but a tavern, the biggest and most respectable drinking establishment in the town of Birkley, in the county of Brikhamshire. Secondly, it was nowhere near silent. With hours ranging from before sunrise to far past sunset, and usually staying open on holidays, someone was always there. This was where men and women, young and old, would gather to share news, discuss whatever was on their minds, meet with friends and family, and most importantly, to drink. Beer and ale were served in equal abundance as tea and coffee; other drinks, such as wine, whiskey, and ale, were also available, as well as delicious food homemade by the proprietor’s wife, Millie Dorin, whom many affectionately called Aunt Millie.

There was always something to discuss; even if the only thing to talk about was the weather, they would come and talk. Today it was averagely full, for there had been few interesting tidbits of news recently, other than the funeral, and that topic had been pushed around quite a bit. The continuous drone of voices, punctuated by occasional bouts of laughter, filled the room today.

“Oy, where’s Jed today?”

“Didn’t you ‘ear? He’s down with summat ‘er other. His wife won’t let him out o’ the house.”

“Ah, a shame that is. Who’s gonna feed ‘is pigs?”

“His wife, o’ course!” This brought a few chuckles, which for the slightly drunken fellows meant a loud guffaw.

At a table across the room, the discussion was different, if no less humorous to those in the near vicinity.

“So I says to him, if you want the meat, you kill the pig!” Three of the women at the table broke into helpless laughter, and many of the rest chuckled for a minute or so.

At the bar, a small crowd surrounded a man who was telling a stupendously funny joke.

“And then the man says, ‘Hope you’re okay, sir, cuz that dog sure aint!!’” Everyone around him broke into uproarious laughter, some leaning on the counter for support, tears streaming down their faces.

At a small table, near to the middle of the big room, a slightly more serious conversation was taking place.

“Stephen, you’re shanorte ceremony is…next week, isn’t it?”

“Aye, Owan. Seventeen on Adulya next.” Shanorte, meaning “adult” in the ancient tongue, signified a youth’s coming of age. 17 was when youths became adults. Women were of marriageable age, and men, with the master’s approval, could end their apprenticeship and start their own business if they felt so inclined, or perhaps partner with the former master. The ceremony took place on the person’s birthday, and rarely were there double ceremonies; people with the same birthday tended to be different ages.

“Got yer eye on any fair maiden?” said Trevorr, who was 18 already, and married.

Stephen O’Connor only grunted. In fact, he did have his eyes on someone. Marie, daughter of Lord Richard. He had met her several years ago, when she came into town with her father. After that fateful encounter, he took every chance he got to see her. As a blacksmith, he was asked to shoe Lord Richard’s horses on occasion. And, on occasion, Marie came with the horses to assist with the shoeing. She would talk with him, and they gradually became friends. But a strange feeling lurked always in the depths of Stephen’s heart. He could not describe it, but whenever he saw Marie, his heart fluttered with joy, and when she smiled or laughed, it nearly flew from his chest. And whenever she left, his heart sank just a little.

He knew of Philip, and knew that Marie liked him. This made him a bit jealous, but seeing that smile on her face, even if it wasn’t for him, lifted his spirits. But the day she came into town wearing the black of mourning and with her hair cut short, along with her father who bore news of a funeral, his heart fell deep within his chest. What had happened, to make her so sad? Her eyes lost their spark, and her face was downcast. When the story was told in full, he understood: Philip, along with three other men who were acting as guard for Lord Richard, had fallen in a bandit’s attack.

They had the same birthday, Marie and Stephen. The Shanorte Ceremony would have been a double for the first time in five years. But now, with Marie in mourning, she would not have a Shanorte. She would not even consider marriage until her mourning was over, and only she knew how long that would be.

“She looks at Stephen with those liquid fawn eyes…anyone would fall for that gaze. She’s obviously smitten.” Stephen was suddenly brought back from his brooding. “What?” His obliviousness brought several chuckles, then Owan, the village healer, explained.

“We were just talkin’ about Rachel O’er-the-hill. If you haven’t noticed, she has her eyes on you.”

“Huh. I didn’t notice.” He sipped at his drink thoughtfully.

“Hah! Right. You didn’t notice her fawnin’ looks in yer direction?” A fourth man at the table, John, interjected loudly.

Defensively, Stephen responded, “No, I didn’t.”

John backed off, saying, with not a little hint of sarcasm, “Right. Okay. Whatever you say, Stephen.” Picking up his drink, he took a long draught, then said, “I mean, it’s not like I notice when pretty girls make eyes at me.” He ducked as a handful of peanuts flew at him. “Alright, alright! I’ll stop!” he managed to say through his chuckling.

Stephen sat back, glaring at John. They were friends, John and Stephen, since childhood. John was far more outgoing than Stephen, but Stephen stuck up for him when he got into trouble, which was often. He had not admitted to John of his feelings for Marie, but he knew that when he did, John would keep it all secret. He was not the type to betray someone’s trust; though he was outspoken, he most definitely was not a gossip.

The conversation drifted off onto other subjects, but Stephen’s attention was elsewhere. The other men at the table noticed that and respected his silence, though they could not help but draw him in on certain inside jokes. Stephen laughed with them when they wanted him to laugh, but mostly he drank his ale, green eyes staring into nothingness. He stared, and thought. He would tell John soon, but not yet. For now, he wanted to think about these feelings. Think, and wait on the lady.

Chapter 3: Funeral March

2006-09-06T22:12:00.000-06:00

chapter 3 finally! and...chapter 4's almost done...maybe
so, here goes ..something!

Funeral March

No rooster crowed this morning, as the sun’s rays just began to creep over a small village with its nearby castle. Light reached tentative fingers across darkened streets. Clouds above shone in varying shades of pink and orange, reflecting dawn’s overpowering joy at a new morning. All nature exalted at another beginning, shining with promise of many hopes and joys.

All, except for the villagers of this small town.

The tears that fell were not those of joy. Black funeral clothes reflected no promise of beginning. Stony faces held little hope on this bleak day.

The procession began at the castle and continued through the small village, increasing in number at every street and cross street. Sad faces peeked out from closed curtains, shedding their own tears for the dead.

At the head, no wrapped bodies could be seen, for there were none to bury this day. No sound could be heard, for the tears that fell were the tears of silence. Every eye shed tears, even the eyes of the children who did not understand, and the old who did not remember. Every person cried this day.

Save for one.

A young woman led the funeral march, flanked by her father and mother. This young woman had short blond hair and smoky grey eyes, walking with a sure step. Her eyes were dry and her shoulders set, like a great leader into battle. Few could understand why her eyes, among a whole village of mourners, were dry this day. Her mother knew, as did her father, but even if it were to be explained, those around her now still would not see. But this day was not for questions or answers. It was a day to mourn.

Time passed quickly, and soon the procession reached the cemetery at the far end of the village. The crowd assembled, spreading in a circle around the four small cavities in the dirt. Four men approached, bearing small stone markers with words engraved on them. Simple markers, for a simple funeral.

As a tradition, no words were to be spoken over the dead. The only sound would be singing, if an individual were to sing over the grave. There was an order to things, even funerals, and even who had right to sing over whom. A spouse had first right to sing, a widow for her husband or a husband for his deceased wife. After spouse came parents, a mother for her son or a father for his daughter. Then children, a son for his father and a daughter for her mother, and then siblings, a brother for his sister and a sister for her brother. If none of these could be found, then perhaps a cousin or another distant relative would sing, or else none would sing.

The crowd settled in a circle, and three women stepped forward, two elder and one younger. Mothers, for their sons, and a sister for her brother, would sing this day. Yet, no fourth stepped forward, for the fourth man had none to mourn for him. Tears streamed down the faces of the three as they stood at each respective headstone and began their song. Three voices, intertwined, bleeding with sorrow, rose to the blue sky overhead. Two songs, harmonized in pain, bringing more tears to the eyes of many. A keening wail, that of a mother for her beloved son, that for a sister for her beloved brother.

A fourth cry rose up, more mournful than the two songs, contradicting sharply with the melodies. Many looked up in shock. This voice, this song, was not that of a mother for a son or a daughter for a father, or even a sister for a brother. This cry, this the most mournful of mourning songs, was the Widow’s Lament.

The most painful to hear, and to sing, the Widow’s Lament contradicted all other melodies and songs, calling out the fury of a widow’s agony, causing all hearts to feel the same mind-numbing pain. The only that came close to this much sorrow was the Husband’s Lament, but not even its mournful tune could match the intensity of this song.

The songs continued to wrench at each other, until the Mother’s song and the Sister’s song were completed; the third continued on, biting deep into ears and hearts of all around.

The blond haired woman, with smoky grey eyes, knelt before the last headstone, crooning her terrible song, for indeed it was she who raised her voice in defiance to the laments of the mothers and the sister. As the last note echoed from her lips, she reached her hand to the gravestone and traced the name there, whispering it in her heart over and over.

A child pushed his way to the back, where his mother stood, tears in her eyes. “Mama?”

“Yes, child?” The woman’s sparkling blue eyes gazed upon her young son.

“Why’d they mark the stone wrong, Mama?”

“They did not mark it wrong.”

“Yes they did. The widow’s singing, but they didn’t mark her name on the stone marker.”

The woman tensed, and her tone changed to one of slight urgency. “Are you telling me that there is no widow’s name marked on that stone?”

The child nodded. “They marked his name, and how he died, and his age, but no widow,” he said, matter-of-factly, yet with a hint of sadness, for who could not be sad when everyone else weeps?

The mother’s gaze turned up, her confusion stopping her tears. No widow…yet a woman sang the widow’s lament. What does this mean? Is it possible that the stone carvers made a mistake? Never! Then, why did this woman sing a Widow’s lament over an unmarried dead man?

Lament completed, the blond haired woman rose, smoky eyes void of tears. Even after singing that song, no tears were shed by her. As she stood, the woman in the back recognized her as the lord’s daughter, adding to her confusion. She was not married either! Why should she sing the Widow’s Lament? What did it all mean? Her questions would not be answered on this day, for it was a day to mourn. The woman took the hand of her child and the arm of her husband, and walked slowly back to their home. Questions lingered, not just in her mind, but in the heads of many of the villagers.

The crowd dispersed, but the young woman remained at the gravestones. Her parents stood at the edge of the cemetery, waiting their daughter. A man approached, and the woman looked up.

“Why?” The man’s voice quietly asked, rough with emotion and tears. “Why did you sing?”

“Who else would sing for him? None could have claimed the song, and I cannot stand by and let him be forgotten.” Her gaze turned back to the stone before her. Still her eyes were dry, no tear marks staining her cheeks.

“But why that song? Why the Widow’s Lament?” His voice rose slightly, in agitation and confusion.

Her grey eyes sought his green eyes. “We were to be married. What else would I sing?”

Dang it, it's been like 3 months...

2006-09-04T21:46:00.000-06:00

I know i haven't posted in forever...i'm sorry...

don't kill me....please...

anyway, i have a dA account, so if you wanna check out what pic's i've posted there, you're welcome to. http://princessrosella.deviantart.com
and i'm working on the next part of the Series, so once i get that done, i'll post it.
i'm moving chapter 3, cuz i decided that the scene i'm writing needs to come first.
so...yeah

the end

Chapter 2: White Haired Stranger

2006-07-18T22:23:00.000-06:00

here's chapter 2 for y'alls! working on chapter 3! enjoy!

The squirrel fox sniffed along the path, following a scent. The long ears were twitching around, listening for any noise. Its long bushy tail weaved methodically, then suddenly stood up. The animal froze, lifting its head slowly. Then, with a sharp turn and a great bounding leap, it turned round and ran back to its master.

“Did you find them, Ronyo?” The animal chattered loudly, leaping up onto the man’s shoulders. The man listened for a moment to the animal chattering and barking. “Good. I only hope we are in time.” The man began walking quickly, in the direction that Ronyo came from.

A sharp bend in the road concealed the grim scene that the man soon came upon. Four men lay on the trail, and the air was thick with the scent of death. There were hoof marks all over, proof of a struggle. The easiest guess was marauders, but they tended to hold up coaches.

The man only thought about this a moment before going immediately to the first fallen man. He was dead, as were the next two men he went to. But the fourth, when the man felt for a pulse, had the faintest fluttering of a heartbeat. It was weak and irregular, but it meant he was still alive, barely.

The man immediately muttered under his breath, casting a weak spell of sustaining. For this man was a wizard, one of few who used Cil magic. It tended to be the safest of magics, using both the wizard’s energy and the expendable energy of whatever they were casting the spell on. But it was difficult to learn, and most bypassed it for other magic types.

The wizard picked up the man with ease. He would take the wounded man to the hut, where he could heal him. He knew much of healing herbs. And when the man was bandaged, the wizard would return to bury the fallen.

Waves of pain brought him out of unconsciousness with a scream of pain. Immediately his mind fell back into the sea of darkness, fainting. Again, a loud cry, consciousness, then darkness again. He remembered someone’s voice, and the sound of some animal. A third time, pain wrung him from his dark refuge, then released him. The man fell into a deep sleep.

The wizard stepped back, surveying his work. He had cleaned and bandaged the wounds, with poultices to help draw out any infection and heal faster. He had also given him a sleeping herb, so that the man would sleep deeply.

“Watch him, Ronyo, and call me if anything happens.” The squirrel fox let out a low, barking noise, then jumped onto the bed next to the wounded man. The wizard left the hut and returned to the three dead men.

It didn’t take long, for the ground was soft and easy to dig. Digging graves by the roadside, the wizard used the swords as markers, burying them up to the hilt at each grave head. He stood and paid his respects to these unknown fallen.

Returning to the hut, he found the man still asleep. That was to be expected; he would likely sleep for several days with few moments of awareness and lucidity. Ronyo chattered softly and jumped onto the wizard’s shoulders. Stroking the pet’s head, the wizard sat by the fireplace and wondered. “Who is this man, Ronyo? Why was his party attacked? And why was he, the most wounded of four, still alive?” The squirrel fox let out a low growl. Laughing, the wizard said, “Yes, yes, I mustn’t ask so many questions.” A serious look crossed his face. “But still…I wonder…”

Three days later, the man woke long enough for the wizard to give him water. After the man fell asleep again, the wizard changed the dressing on the wounds. They were already beginning to look better; no infection seemed to have set in.

The wizard thought a moment, but decided to leave the sustaining spell for a few more days, until his condition was more stable. The man’s hair color was beginning to fade, and the wizard suspected that the same effect was occurring with the man’s eyes. This was one effect of Cil magic; it could drain color of hair, eyes, and sometimes skin. It used this energy as it was most expendable, and when dealing with people, it was better to help them rather than worry about hair color.

Two days after that, the man awoke again, long enough to drink some broth the wizard made. The wizard did not remove the sustaining spell, but did replace it with a slightly weaker one, feeling that the man’s condition was improving greatly. His hair was more faded, and the wizard had seen the man’s eyes were also fading in color.

A day after that, the man was lucid enough to speak.

“What is your name?”

“I don’t know…” the man said, his breathing labored.

“Do you know what happened?”

“…I…don’t…know…” the man said, falling asleep before he could say more. These answers made the wizard wonder all the more.

It was another 5 days before the man could stay awake long enough to answer the rest of the wizard’s questions. But these questions achieved nothing, for the man recalled nothing. He didn’t know where he was, why he and his party were attacked, or even his own name. The wizard stopped questioning, however, for the man grew upset and agitated when he was questioned. The wizard also stopped the sustaining spell. By now the man’s hair was a silvery white and his eyes a light grey.

Another 5 days and the man could sit up, but not for very long. He was eating more, but still his memory was missing. The wizard and the man spoke little; the man was mostly silent, brooding, and the wizard did not want to aggravate the man’s lack of memory.

It was 14 more days before the man was mostly recovered. He still was weak, and the wounds, though closed over, weren’t wholly gone yet. But he wouldn’t stay still, too haunted by a blank memory. He took brief walks in the forest, often to the graves of his companions, in hopes that something would come back.

Without realizing it, the wizard and the man had become friends. Neither could say when, but they knew that there was a bond. The wizard had taken to calling the man Gelmir, an ancient word for stranger. Gelmir called the wizard by his name, Amras

One evening, a month and a half after Amras had taken in Gelmir, Amras was sitting outside his hut, carving symbols into a staff. Gelmir returned from the graves and sat across from the wizard. Amras looked up, then back at his carvings. “Do you remember anything?” He asked this question often, feeling the pain of loss that Gelmir felt and wanting him to remember. Gelmir shook his head. “Nothing.” He held his head in his hands, sighing heavily.

Amras stayed silent, and they said nothing for nearly an hour. Then he sat up, examining the staff. Satisfied, he said, “Here,” and offered it to Gelmir. Gelmir looked at the long piece of wood covered in symbols. A confused expression crossed his face, and he looked at Amras questioningly.

“It is a traveler’s staff, with a bit of magic to…assist said traveler. You will need a walking stick on your journey, of course.”

“Journey? What do you mean, wizard?”

“Why, the journey to find your lost memory. But don’t worry, Ronyo and I will travel with you. We can’t very well have you get lost and die after I spent so much time keeping you alive.” Amras stood and went to his hut. “We leave in the morning, and we will travel slowly.”

Gelmir looked at the closed door, then turned his eyes to the sky. Sunset pained the sky a brilliant orange and red and drenched the clouds with pink and gold. A tear slid from Gelmir’s eye. Why couldn’t he remember anything? Why did he survive? Why was he here? Why?

He sat beneath the night sky, asking and asking but receiving no answers. His mind slowed till only one question was evident. The stars only winked at him, singing him a lullaby of silence till he fell into a deep sleep.

Ronyo padded outside and curled up by Gelmir’s feet, guarding this unknown white haired man.

Chapter 2...almost

2006-07-12T17:16:00.000-06:00

so i have an idea for Chapter 3, and if i have time to work on that, i'll post Chapter 2 tonight.
but i'm lazy, and i just got back from work, so i'm now super lazy
so...Chapter 2 post = maybe tonite, maybe not

Chapter 1: The Girl Who Never Cries

2006-07-11T16:43:00.000-06:00

here's the first story in what i hope will be a series. the second story is finished already, but i'm stuck on ideas for the third, so i might not post it for a while.
enjoy!

Marie looked out over the field, watching over the small herd of goats she kept. They were grazing calmly, and they were all accounted for. Marie was sitting on a rock, holding her crook.

Philip gave her this crook; it made her think of him every time she saw it. He carved it for her, out of cherry wood, just before his departure two months ago. He traveled with her father as a guard escort. Her father had been called by the King of Brikhamshire for the yearly tax call, for he was lord of a small estate. All within Brikhamshire answered to the king, and the king answered only to the High King of Nevaand.

Marie smiled as she remembered the conversation they had the day before he left.

“Marie, I have a gift for you…and a question.”

She nodded, smiling, and waited for him to continue. He looked down nervously, then said, “The gift first.” He held out the long object that he had brought, wrapped in cloth.

She pulled away the cream-colored cloth, to find a beautiful crook, carved with precision and polished smooth. “Oh, Philip, it’s beautiful! Thank you!”

He smiled. “I carved it from the heartwood of a cherry tree…I hoped you would like it.”

“Philip, I love it. Thank you.” She looked at the crook, then back at him. “And the question?”

He took a shaky breath. “Well…you know…I leave tomorrow…”

“Yes,” she said, a little sadly.

“And…I wanted to ask you before I left…because I’m afraid that I’ll come back and find your heart stolen away…and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, knowing I had this chance…your father says arrangements can be made upon our return…and he gives his consent, and blessing, if you accept…” He sighed in frustration. “I’m going about this all wrong…”

“What are you trying to say, Philip?”

“I’m trying to say…” he took her hand. “Marie, I love you. Will you…marry me?” He looked up finally, into her smoky grey eyes.

“Marry?” she said, softly. A slow smile crept across her face. “Truly?” Her eyes shone with tears, and she leaned forward and kissed him.

Drawing back, she looked deep into his black eyes. “Yes.” Then she laughed out loud, bringing a joyful smile to Philip’s face. “Come on, Philip! I have to tell mother!” She stood and ran down the hill towards the manor.

Philip stood slowly, watching her as she ran and laughed. He saw the crook on the ground, where she had set it, wrapped again in the cloth. He smiled and picked it up. “She said yes…” he whispered, placing the crook in the goat barn as he passed it. A surge of excitement filled him, and he ran after Marie, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her back to the manor.

Marie was brought out of her brooding by the sound of goats bleating and hoof beats. She looked up to see a coach on the road for the manor. She knew that coach, and with a joyous laugh, she called the goats and ran to the barn, dropping her crook by the door. The goats followed slowly, still munching on grass.

Marie ran to the manor, reaching it out of breath. The coach came up a moment after, rolling to a stop. The driver, Rafael, jumped down and opened the door. Out stepped her father.

“Father!” She ran to him and threw her arms around him. “Father! You’re back!” She stepped back to look at him. What she saw made her pause. “Father?”

His face was drawn with worry, and his eyes held an unspeakable sorrow. “Come inside, dear. I will explain there.” He turned away from her and walked up the stairs to the door. Marie stood a moment, watching him walk as if he had a great burden on his shoulders. She followed, as Rafael tended to the horses and carriage.

Her mother was standing in the hall, greeting her father and meeting with the same sorrowful man. He asked them to join him in the parlor.

“I have news.”

“Is it about the King, Richard?” her mother asked, anxiously.

“No, Daphne. We made it to the capitol and gave our taxes, without trouble. But…on the way back, we were attacked. A band of highwaymen, or mercenaries, I don’t know. But they came at us from both sides. Rafael spurred the horses, so the coach slipped out of the trap. But the guards…” his head fell in sorrow. “There was nothing we could do. They gave chase, but Rafael’s horses outran them.” He looked up at Marie, tears swimming in his eyes. “I saw Philip go down…stabbed three times by a saber, once in the arm, twice in the chest. No one could have survived that. I’m sorry, Marie.” He turned to his wife, who began sobbing on his shoulder.

Marie stared at the floor, confusion pouring through her. She looked up at her parents, with a puzzled face. She was in shock, unable to grasp yet the finality of what she had just been told.

Her mother looked at her, and a harsh sob tore at her throat. She ran out of the room. Richard turned to his daughter, and his heart clenched at the pain of this news. “He’s dead, Marie. Philip is dead. He’s not coming back. I’m sorry.” Fresh tears fell down his face, and he followed after his wife.

Marie sat there for a moment more, before standing and walking out of the room. By the time she reached the front door she was running. She sprinted back to the goat barn, where the goats had gathered, and collapsed amidst them. The goats gathered around her, understanding that something was wrong. She had raised these goats herself; from three runt kids her flock had grown to 15 healthy, lively goats. These were her pets; she didn’t raise them for milk, or meat, or wool, just companionship.

Marie sat up, her back against the wall of the barn. The goats nosed her hands and face, and she scratched their heads. He’s dead. He’s not coming back. The words rang in her mind. Dead. Soon, most of the goats went back to grazing. Marie stood and, picking up the crook, she called to the herd.

She stayed out, until near sunset, barely needing to herd the goats home as most had left already. When she returned to the manor, she went straight to her room.

Her mother met her at the door, but they exchanged few words. Daphne watched her daughter ascend the staircase with tears in her eyes. But she turned away, too sorrowful to offer any words of solace.

In the morning, Marie did not come out of her room. Her mother went upstairs to check on her when she didn’t come down for breakfast, but the sound of crying stopped her. She left the room alone after that, also warning the staff not to disturb her.

Marie was a strange child, in one way. She had never been known to cry. Even as a baby, when she was hungry or wet or tired, she did not cry. Even as a child, when she fell out of a tree and broke her arm, she did not cry. Even when one of her goat nannies died in birthing, and the kid with it, still she did not cry. Until now.

Now, her tears, filled with her sorrow and anguish, fell from her eyes. Now, when her one true love, her fiancée, was dead, she poured all her heartbreak into those precious tears.

Marie came out of her room at sunset. Her parents were in the parlor, and she went there first. Her parents, upon seeing her, felt a sharp pang of agony.

Her smoky grey eyes had lost their light. Her head was bowed ever so slightly, as if she bore a heavy weight. Her face was tear-stained and her eyes red and puffy, from hours of crying. She wore a plain, black dress, the color of mourning. And her hair, long beautiful golden hair, which had reached down to her knees, was cut short, to the nape of her neck.

“Mother. Father. I’m sorry for the trouble I have caused.”

“Trouble, dear? There is no trouble. You must take your time about this.” Daphne spoke, barely keeping her voice steady.

She shook her head, then continued. “I am in mourning, as you can see,” she said, with a slight laugh that held no merriment. “And my hair…I will stay in mourning until it grows out again.” Daphne knew that this was no small vow, for her hair grew quickly, and may be the length it had been in perhaps 3 years.

“Marie…” Richard tried to think of something to say, but his daughter interrupted him.

“Father, it’s alright. I have thought about this. This is what I will do. I don’t know if I will marry, but I cannot mourn forever.” She turned toward the door, but paused and gave her parents a half smile, with little feeling.

The sound of her footsteps faded. Daphne began crying softly, and Richard embraced her, feeling tears sting his own eyes. “She’s trying to be strong,” she said, through her tears.

“Yes, love. And she is strong. But she doesn’t yet know that being strong may not be what she needs right now. We cannot help her in this; she must learn it herself.” Daphne sobbed softly on Richard’s shoulder, saying nothing.

Marie went out to her goats in the barn. The gate was still open; the goats were able to fend for themselves. She stepped into the barn, feeling some consolation in the familiar smell. The goats came to her, nosing her hands and making soft bleating sounds.

“Philip…I’m sorry…I could have asked you to stay…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…Why didn’t I say anything? It’s my fault…my fault…” She glanced over, and saw the crook. The cherry wood crook.

She lay down on the clean, straw covered floor. The goats lay down with her, surrounding her with their familiar scent. Her eyes were dry, as they had been when she was a child. And she was determined to keep it that way.

Poem(s) Time: Save Me, Farewell

2006-07-03T23:37:00.000-06:00

ok, so to recover from california vacation (not like there was much to recover from) (and by the way, yes i am back), i will post....Two poems for thee! I tried to find the least depressing ones...
hard to find in a sea of horrible, depressing poetry....

anyway...
oh, and don't forget! constructive criticism, destructive criticism, free money, whatever!

Save Me

I look out from the hole in the wall of my soul

Awaiting one who will come and rescue me

All the while building the wall stronger, thicker, higher

A glance of acknowledgement, anything to draw me out

Before it is too late, and my prison is complete

The prison of ice and stone I build around me

Do you see? Can you hear? Will you listen

To my silent pleas for help? Can you see anything

Beyond my ever changing mask?

I want to escape, but I am afraid

Afraid that you will hurt me again

This wall of mine grows ever stronger

A heart of stone and ice enclosing my soul

My inner being, my true feeling, hidden from sight

Hidden from anyone who might heal me

You speak to me; a glimmer of hope

But it only serves to drive my hope further into the ground

And drive my sanity out of this prison

The wall is complete. I cannot escape.

My hope fails. I am a caged bird.

My silent screams echo in my ears.

You might still save me, but only if you are strong enough

To break the wall and release my soul

If not, I will waste away and die alone.

Are you strong enough?

Can you break this wall?

Will you release me?

Will you?

Farewell

I love you

My one true love

My greatest wish

Is to be with you forever

But I have a secret

A terrible secret

That I can tell no one

Not even you

And now I must leave

Because of this secret

To keep you safe

Protect you from what is hidden

If you love me

Forget me now

Bury your memories of me

In the grave

If anyone asks,

I am dead

You know nothing about me

You never knew me

Someday, my love,

I may return

Not as myself

But still the one you know so well

If not, then I will see you

After death, in paradise

Until then, my love

Farewell

FYI and Story: Vampire

2006-06-19T21:30:00.000-06:00

so i'm going to california...tomorrow...
i'm working on a mermaid story, but it's definitely not done yet
if i do finish it while in california, if i get a chance i'll post part of it
and if i have any poems, etc, then i'll post if i get the chance

so, to keep you going for a bit (not like anyone cares), i'll post more of Vampire

Waking again, Beren still felt disconnected. His dreams had been filled with flames, but he could not recall what else. He got out of the bed tiredly, feeling as if he had not slept at all. He stepped to the washbasin and splashed the cool water on his face. He ignored the mirror, but took up a towel next to the washbasin and dried his face. Running a hand through his shaggy blonde hair and smoothing down his beard, he wondered at the time, and whether it was safe for him to walk in the forest. He stepped to the door and walked down the stairs, opening the door at the bottom. No windows opened into the hall, and he walked across the room to an ornately decorated archway. Stepping through, he trotted up a spiral staircase. At the top was the room where his parent’s portraits hung. He looked in from the staircase, then entered at seeing that the young sun had just set. His journal still sat on the table, and he paused, looking at it and thinking. Sitting, he took up a quill and opened the book to his last entry.

I assume this is the date, for I am still alive. But I cannot be sure, for something strange has happened. I was walking in the forest, when a windstorm came up, and I must have been thrown against a tree, for the next thing I knew, I was awakening at first sunrise, in the forest. I know not what happened, but I have a strange memory of flames. A dream perhaps, I do not know. He paused thoughtfully, then wrote, I need some fresh air.

He looked out the window, then grabbed his cloak from the back of a chair and donned it. He exited through the window as before, landing lightly in a crouch.

A slight breeze had picked up, pulling at the edges of his cloak. Soon, trees surrounded him on all sides, and a sense of peace stole over him. The dream that haunted his mind was temporarily forgotten, and Beren wandered the forest for more than an hour.

He came to a perfectly circular glade and saw that the sun had set. He unconsciously tuned his ears to the night sounds.

No sound came to his ears. No animals called, no breeze shook the branches. A strange sense of foreboding hit him. His dream came back to him in a flash, and he realized, It was no dream! It was real!

The great whirlwind came up, throwing Beren into a tree. He curled up, as before, protecting his head. The tempest tore by him, screaming.

It fell away suddenly, leaving complete silence. Beren recalled his previous experience, and looked up to see the woman on the rock.

Her dress, burgundy now, was simple and unadorned as before. In her hands was a flute, and she was poised to play.

“Wait.” Beren’s voice carried across the expanse between them. The woman looked up quickly, lowering the flute and watching him curiously. Beren stepped forward slowly. “Who are you?” The woman only stared at him. Her eyes were dark and her face held no fear, only curiosity. “Why are you here?” She tilted her head to one side, as if listening or thinking. “Why do you play?”

She watched him for a moment more, then raised the flute to her mouth. Pausing, she said quietly, “You were here before. I hope you liked my song.” She began to play.

Long, drawn out notes started this time, which grew in complexity and speed as the moments passed. Again, the flames arose at each note. However, unlike before, they did not spread, but stayed around the rock.

Beren watched, mind unrestrained by the song. It filled his mind, but did not capture him as before. He realized this with relief, but also, strangely, with regret.

Moments later, it seemed, though it could have been hours or even days, the song came to an end. Beren felt something release, as if time was allowed to flow normally again. The woman held still for several moments, then looked up at him. He looked right into her eyes, and suddenly couldn’t move, nor did he want to. She did not blink for some moments, but then gave a small nod.

Flames rushed at him, shining white and brilliant, and he was engulfed quickly. But he felt no fear. It seemed to him that he had been given a mark of approval from that nod, as if the woman had accepted him. The flames surrounded him, and he quickly felt exhaustion rush in. He was asleep before he hit the ground.

Story: Vampire

2006-06-10T19:20:00.000-06:00

I've been posting a lot...
o well!
here's more of my vampire story!

Beren awoke feeling disconnected. He opened his eyes slowly to find that the cold sun was hanging at the horizon. What happened? He had a vague recollection of flames, and of hearing a song, but it seemed only a dream. Only a dream… He stood slowly, unsettled by the fact that he could remember nothing else of this dream. “Only a dream… It was only a dream…” He tried to convince himself of the fact, then pushed it to the back of his mind and focused on getting back to his castle. He looked around for a moment, then started off in an easterly direction. Keeping his mind on the current task, he tried to avoid thinking on the dream, if dream it was.

The red sun crept slowly higher in the sky, heralding the rise of the yellow sun. Beren moved quicker, hoping he had enough time before the second sunrise. He feared the young sun, having been burned once when he was young. His fear was well founded, for if he was caught in direct sunlight for too long, he would be nothing but ashes.

The castle came into sight, and Beren gave a sigh of relief. Second sunrise would not come for another half hour. Beren opened the front gate and entered a quiet courtyard. The chuckling sound of a fountain and the perfume of flowers all around calmed Beren. He closed his eyes, taking in the heady aroma and the tranquil sound. Sudden exhaustion hit him, and he desperately wanted sleep.

He opened his eyes and headed for a large black door, which opened easily. Beren stepped into a hall, dark and dusty. Several candles were lit, casting a dismal light on the walls. He stalked quickly down the hall toward the doors at the other end, kicking up layers of dust. A dark red door opened to a narrow staircase. Beren bounded up these stairs with the little energy he had left. At the top of the staircase was another door, which Beren opened and walked through.

Through this door was a dark red themed bedroom with no windows, Beren’s bedroom. A large, four-poster bed stood against the back wall, and an ornate wood desk stood opposite the bed. A mirror and washbasin stood in a corner. Few decorations graced the walls. Beren stepped to the bed and fell into it, rolled over, and fell asleep.

Story: Time Between Times

2006-06-09T21:35:00.000-06:00

well, it's more like a mini-story
and if you don't know what the time between times is, then read, and you'll find out

The sun fell slowly towards the horizon, casting red and orange light on the ocean’s bright surface. The man stood at the edge of the cliff face, looking up at the darkening sky.

He had stood like this for hours, thinking and watching. Waiting for the appropriate time.

The sky above was almost black on one edge, and a glorious show of light and color on the other.

The man looked now to the sunset. The sun was only half revealed now. Clouds reflected its shining rays.

The ocean was calm, reflecting the darkening sky and the sunset far away amongst the confusion of its waves.

The man looked now upon the sea. He reached out his arms, as if to embrace the sky. He walked to the very edge, the toes of his bare feet curling over the edge of the rock. The cliff fell away below him, a sheer rock wall.

The man looked again at the sky, at the sea, and at the sun. Then he leaned over, and fell.

He fell, and fell. The sensation of falling slowly melted away, and he was only suspended, with air rushing by.

A wonderful freedom filled him. Adrenaline pumped in his veins. Exhilaration filled him, until he felt his heart would burst.

The sea rushed towards him, but he watched the sun. He watched as, only a sliver now, it sank further down.

The man closed his eyes, and gave himself over to the fall. He felt the wind whip past him, heard the waves crash against the cliff face, smelled the salty ocean.

He struck the water, at the very moment when the sun fell below the horizon. At the time-between-times, his soul fled from the surface of the ocean, and his body sank down, down, down forever, to the sea floor.

The time-between-times. The moment when anything can happen.

Sketchbook

2006-06-08T22:08:00.000-06:00

no, i didn't draw her with feet. there wasn't enough room on the paper
and her head is too small or something
and i can't draw hands...
deal with it

Sketchbook

2006-06-07T20:34:00.000-06:00

so i'm trying to draw real people
i mean people that look like people
and not just silouhettes (however that's spelt)
so today i drew a person's head

anyone who is skilled at drawing and such,
tell me if i made any stupid mistakes
and tell me what's wrong with it, cuz it seems a bit...unbalanced, or something

the ned
and end

Story: Vampire

2006-06-03T21:21:00.000-06:00

okay, i'm feeling better now
i'll leave that poem...just cuz...
but i'll post part of my vampire story now! sheesh, it's taken me a while to get one of my not-as-short stories posted...
so anyway, i'll post it in, blocks or something. and when i write more, i'll post more
and any advice, or constructive criticism, or what not, would be quite welcome
not that anyone even reads my blog....but whatever
so, here goes...the story

The vampire stood at the window, watching the second sunset. The sun streaked the sky red as it neared the horizon. The younger sun only stayed up for a few hours each day, but those hours were the worst for the people; the heat of the sun forced most everyone indoors. But once the young sun set, its heat fled quickly from the land, forcing the people indoors again for warmth.

The aged sun would not burn the vampire as the young sun did. The weak sunlight could cause the vampire no damage, giving him free reign. He did not mind the cold; in fact, he preferred it.

Beren Anwamanë was young, or at least appeared so; in fact, he had lived two hundred years in the wasted castle he called home, and not even he remembered how long before then. He preyed on the peasants, of which there were plenty, and no one noticed if a peasant disappeared.

Turning from the window, Beren stepped to the middle of the broad room where a table stood. A massive portrait loomed over the table, portraying an intimidating man, whose glare fell on anyone in the room. Across from the first portrait hung a smaller painting, showing a beautiful woman.

“Father…Mother…” Beren said, nodding to each portrait in turn. He stepped to the table. On it rested a slim book. Beren picked it up and opened it to a ribbon marking a page. Sitting at the table, he took up a quill and, dipping it into an ink well, wrote the date on the top of the page in neat, printed letters.

Lovely sunset. The sky was blood red. I will go for a walk, but I am not hungry. No sense wasting good blood if I don’t need it.

Closing the book, he stood and stepped to the window again. The sky had not changed. He watched it for a moment, and then jumped out the window, landing agilely 50 feet below.

A pine forest bordered the castle. Beren, when not questing for food, liked to walk there. He had explored almost the entire forest since living at that castle. Strange creatures ranged that forest, which, on occasion, would come out from the depths of the dark forest and prey on the flocks of hearty sheep and goats that were raised by the people there.

Beren entered the forest, following an unseen path. He listened for the sounds of the forest, recognizing the animals as each called out. Traveling deeper, he soon felt the freedom that always came on him. He could stay in that forest for as long as he liked without being discovered. Very soon the trees grew so close together that they obscured the sky. He breathed in the cold air, feeling exhilarated.

He stepped into an open glade. Seeing the sky darkening, he tuned his ears to the nocturnal animals.

He heard nothing.

No animals were calling. Even the breeze was not rustling the branches. This was strange. The forest was never silent. If the animals were silent, they usually had a reason, but even then the wind would not be silenced. Beren stood still, trying to sense what could silence both the animals and the winds.

Suddenly a great rushing sound came to his ears, and before he had a chance to think, a wall of air hit him and knocked him over. Great winds tore at his clothes and skin. He tried to scream, but the wind tore the sound from his mouth. He was pushed into a tree, where he curled up, trying to protect himself from the insane tempest. But, just as suddenly, the winds stopped.

Beren waited for a moment, then rolled onto his side and pushed himself off the ground. He looked around the glade, to see the damage suffered. But what he saw surprised him more than any windstorm would.

It was a different glade. He stood in confusion for a moment before determining that he had no idea where he was.

The sky was just as dark, but Beren’s sharp eyes could still examine his surroundings. This glade was bigger, and perfectly circular. The surrounding trees were not pine, but aspen, and the ground was patched with white flowers. A large flat rock sat in the center of the glade, and on the rock sat a woman.

The woman, sitting tranquilly, wore a light blue unadorned dress. Her wavy black hair hung down her back and pooled around her. Her head was bowed slightly, and resting in her hands was a small harp. She was poised to play.

Beren stepped forward slowly. He had moved a small distance into the glade when the woman began to play. Beren paused, listening to music; he loved music of all sorts.

After the first note, Beren was captured by the sound. A slow, haunting melody came from the harp, drawing Beren in. His eyes were locked on the woman, whose delicate fingers plucked the harp strings with ease.

Small sparks pricked every time a note was played. Beren tried to think about this, but his mind became foggy, and he could not make his thoughts clear. Soon the sparks grew to small flames, licking at the edges of the rock. Beren stood closer to the rock, though he knew not how. He could think of nothing else except the woman and the melody. His mind was overtaken by the song. The tempo slowly increased. The flames were dancing higher, surrounding the woman on the rock.

The flames now surrounded the rock, but the woman did not burn. The flames began to spread slowly out from the rock. The song filled Beren’s mind. He heard nothing else. He saw the flames reach him and slowly surround him, but it didn’t register with his mind. He felt the flames licking at his skin, but he felt no pain. He felt nothing except the song.

The woman kept playing, her fingers flying over the harp strings now. Beren had stopped breathing, and though he did not need to breathe, he was beginning to feel faint. He swayed on his feet, unable to tear his mind from the song. The flames rushed before his eyes, confusing his mind. His eyes rolled up into his head, and he fell to the ground, surrounded by silent flames.

Poem Time: No pity

2006-06-03T20:25:00.000-06:00

so i'm like, depressed right now
i wrote a poem...
i'll post it, but maybe when i'm feeling better, i'll delete it or something...

so if you don't wanna read my depressing poem, it's fine, i don't care

I don’t want your pity

I don’t want to be comforted

I won’t share this pain with anyone

I need it to survive

This is my pain

What I hold on to

With a vice-like grip

That you cannot break

Only when I find one

Who can understand

Who can bear these pains as I do,

Will I open up

You are not that person

At least, not yet

So leave me alone

Until you are

Don’t give me pity

It will only drive me away

Don’t comfort me

Unless you understand

For these will push me far

From what I need most

A person who can see my pain

For what it is

So go away

Until you can prove

That you are the one

Who can save me from myself

Poem Time: Torn heart

2006-06-02T17:23:00.000-06:00

so here's a poem i wrote like today...
i'll get one of my stories up sometime
really

You haven’t said it

But I know

You say it with your movements, your hesitation

You are going to leave

I cannot stop it

No matter what I say,

No matter how I plead,

It will not bring you back

So I ask you now

As a last request

To do something

Before you leave

Please

Do not deny me

This last time

This last painful request

Please

If you have a heart at all

If you have any sort of feeling for me

Anything at all

Please

Take my heart

Take it out of

My shattered, bleeding hands

Take it,

And tear it up

Rip it to shreds

Until I feel nothing

For my heart cannot live without you

I will surely die

If I must live with the pain

Of this loss

So take my heart

Separate it from my soul

And my mind

And let me forget this love

Let me live

With this false peace

With no memory

Of what could have been

Please

Grant this pathetic request

For if you do mean to leave

Then it is the only thing you can give me now

And when you leave

Remember

That I still love you

And I will love you forever

But I will never remember

It is as it should be

Thank you

Update

2006-05-31T15:41:00.001-06:00

i started a new story
and i wrote some in my vampire story
and i prolly have a few poems floating around
if i can find it, i also have a photoshop pic. no drawings, though
so...if i remember, maybe i'll post tonight
or tomorrow

2006-05-14T17:36:00.000-06:00

so i don't have a story to post
or a poem
just a pic i photoshopped

Maybe story, maybe not

2006-04-21T18:20:00.000-06:00

well, i'm working on a (belated) easter poem...and another poem or so
if i finish the easter poem before i go to california (see other blog), then i'll post it. if not, i might post Vampire or the prologue to Arrow...or perhaps NOTHING!!!

anyway, i wanted to post cuz i haven't posted in forever
the end

Poem Time: This is me

2006-04-04T21:33:00.000-06:00

a poem...that i wrote...today...

This is me

Me with my own laugh, my own smile, no one else’s

Me with my hair, my no longer crooked teeth

This is me

Me with my fears, my dreams, my doubts

Me with my hopes my pain, my joys

This is me

No one else, just me

Can you see me? The real me?

Hidden inside

Where I can keep it safe

I want to let it out, let you see

But I can’t

Not yet

I wait

Until I am sure that it won’t hurt me

Sure that you won’t hurt me

But if you reject me,

Reject the true me,

What will I do?

I might walk away

I might cry

But I will always remember

If I choose to let you in

And you choose to hurt me

I’ll never let you in again

If you don’t like me

The real me, the true me

What’s hidden deep within me

Then that’s too bad

Because this is me

And there’s nothing you can do to change that

Note to....whomever

2006-03-30T15:25:00.000-07:00

I finished the prologue for a story I'm writing...
but I won't post it here till i write more...of the story...
so yeah

Sketchbook

2006-03-29T10:17:00.000-07:00

I fiddled with photo editor with this one...trying out different effects...
i'm not sure how i feel about it...but it looks cool
I might post the un-edited pic sometime...

Short Story: Dragon

2006-03-28T16:34:00.000-07:00

This one's happy! Really! read it, please!
comments=yes please

Dragon

The girl sat in her cell, hunched over and breathing faintly. Her back was covered in old, scarred whiplashes and fresh ones, oozing blood. She had been in there for three weeks already, and she was getting impatient.
Sighing, she thought to herself, ‘Where is he?’
She was imprisoned on false accounts of treason, or so they called it. In truth, the king just wanted to be rid of her. They whipped her every other day, trying to get her to admit to something, though there was nothing to admit to. The beatings kept her in check, so she was too weak to escape or use magic.
She shifted to her side, wincing at the cuts on her back. Yawning, her eyes closed. Sending out one last thought, the tendrils of sleep closed in and she drifted off.
‘Gelmir, my celeb’loke, help me...’

She slept for several hours, dreams untroubled. She awoke as the sound of ragged screams filled the air. Sitting up, she listened for a moment. Several loud crashes sounded, and a pleased grin spread across her face. Closing her eyes, she concentrated all her strength to reach out her inner sight to the edges of the castle. She saw many people, small but bright life flames. She saw some larger life flames, of horses and cows within the castle stables. But what interested her was the largest life flame, silver in color, and quite unlike those of the humans.
It was still a good distance away, and above her, in the courtyard. As her energy drained, she felt something familiar brush at her mind, and she released the magic. Gelmir had come.
She stood and looked around her cell. The room was not small, but neither was it very big either. She wondered where Gelmir could break in, and a small laugh escaped her lips. He’s so big, he could come through anywhere. More crashes sounded, closer than before.
Dust fell from the ceiling, and she looked up. The stone was cracking; she stepped to the edge, near to the wall, just in time, for several chunks of rock fell to the floor where she had stood. More pieces fell, bigger pieces, and soon there was a hole in the ceiling. A large, reptilian head poked through, looking at her.
The girl smiled. “Took you long enough, Gelmir.” She did not speak aloud, but spoke through their minds.
“Sorry, little one. I was detained.” Gelmir’s deep voice entered her mind, the familiar parchment-like voice assuring her of her safety. He pulled his head back, and more broken stones fell to the floor. Gelmir appeared again, saying, “Are you well, little one?”
“No. I am weak, and my back is wounded.” A low, angry growl escaped Gelmir’s throat, but he reached his head down to look her in the eye. She looked back at him, and his silver cat-like eye watched her a moment more, then blinked. He touched his nose to her forehead, and she closed her eyes as his energy flowed into her, healing her back and restoring her strength.
“Thank you.” Looking up at the hole, she said, “Now, how am I going to get out?”
Gelmir did not respond, but pulled his head back and reached a silver paw down to her, picking her up gently in long, silver claws. He reached up to the floor above and set her down carefully in the courtyard, then pulled himself up after her.
“What a mess…” She surveyed the ruined courtyard. The walls were cracked and broken in some places, and several wounded soldiers were on the ground, unconscious.
“Well, I couldn’t very well just ask nicely for them to let you out, could I?
“No, I guess not…King Orr wouldn’t relinquish me so easily…”
Reaching up to the spikes lining his back, she pulled herself up and sat behind his neck. He spread his wings and rose into the sky, swinging his long tail like a rudder.
Hovering, he asked her, “Where to, little one?”
Looking to the horizon, she smiled at the sight of the setting sun. “Let’s go home.”

Short Story: Eyes

2006-03-22T21:51:00.000-07:00

kinda depressing...but o well...any comments=please give

Eyes

She had fallen into his trap. And now she was his prisoner.
The vampire grinned at his success. He had been hungry as of late; fresh blood would satisfy his cravings for a time. Glancing at the prone form in the corner, he sighed impatiently. She was still unconscious. He preferred his victims awake; their fear was so delicious, and their blood would run fast.
His plan had been wonderful, or at least he thought so. The news that a foreign princess from a small country was coming to visit his city had reached him with time to spare. He gathered as much information as he could about the girl, learning that she loved to wander with few guards. It was a simple thing, after she arrived, to watch for her as she explored the forest and wait for her to wander off alone and get lost. It was inevitable, and as she wandered he watched from a distance until a favorable chance came. Knocking her out, he carried her back to his small hut in the forest.
Movement in the corner caught his eye, and he glanced over to see the girl stir. He grinned again. “Wake up, princess dear.” She did not stir from her corner. “Come now. Stand up. At least look at me when I speak to you.” A moment later, the girl stood slowly.
She was not very tall. Her silky red locks, which had come loose from their style from earlier, hung to her waist. Her dress, though finer than any peasant’s garb, was plain compared to the queen of this land. She stood with her head bowed and arms hanging at her sides.
“Well? Won’t you even speak?”
“What do you think to gain from this venture?” she said in a soft voice.
“Gain? I think to gain a meal, of course! I was so bored, though, that I had to find someone interesting to capture.” She did not speak. “What, not afraid at all? What a brave girl, you don’t even react to being kidnapped. Well, what will make you afraid?” Again, she refrained from speaking. “Oh, you’re no fun. I guess I’ll just eat you now…” He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his fangs draw to a point. His eyes shot open, and he looked at the girl with eyes glazed red. He grinned, showing his fangs, and stalked to her. Reaching for her neck, he pinned her to the wall, seeing her face for the first time.
She was beautiful, more beautiful than any person he had seen in his entire life. Her skin was unflawed and pale. Her small nose turned up slightly at the end. There was a slight blush in her cheeks, so slight it was almost unseen. Long lashes fanned over her lowered eyes. All this beauty surprised the vampire; it seemed almost unearthly, inhuman, unnatural.
“What a beautiful princess…almost a shame to kill you. And yet…” He chuckled under his breath. “But before I kill you, at least look at me. You haven’t seen me at all. Please.”
She raised her head slightly and opened her eyes fully, looking straight at him. This move was so sudden, it startled the vampire. But what startled him more were her eyes.
They were midnight blue, and when her eyes locked with his, they drew him in. They held no emotion, no fear or hate. Nothing. They were like twin pools, never-ending, drawing him in to drown him. Her eyes focused on him, and he could not escape. He was frozen in that gaze.
She blinked, and the spell was broken. He backed away from her, and she slipped to the floor. And yet he could feel that gaze on him. It was watching him still. “Stop looking at me!” He yelled to the girl who had huddled in the corner again. She did not move. “Stop! Stop staring at me!!” He grabbed her wrist and shook her violently. “Do you hear me? Stop staring at me!!!” He slapped her hard across the mouth, and her head snapped back. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth and a mark stood out on her cheek. She looked up at him with those emotionless eyes, and he screamed, “Stop!! I’ll kill you!!”
He pushed her away and took up a wooden pole standing against the wall. He swung the pole at the girl over and over, beating her over the back. The pole broke, and he threw the pieces at her. “Get out of my head!!!” He threw a clay pot at her, and it shattered against her head. Taking up a small shelf, he broke it over her, beating her with the pieces.
Continuing in this crazed manner, he beat her to death, and kept on beating the corpse until his exhaustion set in and he collapsed against a wall.
“Get out of my head…” he sobbed weakly. He rubbed his eyes, trying to escape the haunting eyes that watched him. “No…leave me alone…go away…” He rubbed his eyes harder. The image yet stood before him, mocking him with its persistent gaze. A sudden surge of energy passed through him. He screamed and scratched at his eyes violently, blinding himself.
And yet the girl’s haunting eyes stared at him. “Why won’t you leave me in peace? I killed you…now go away…” He sobbed, crawling around blindly, cutting his hands and knees on broken pottery and splintered wood. His hand found the long end of the broken pole. The end was quite sharp, and he sobbed loudly. Standing, he took the sharp end and aimed it at his heart. He took a breath, then fell upon the pole. Even as the wood pierced his heart, the midnight blue eyes watched him in his mind as his body crumbled into ash.

Short Story: Angel

2006-03-19T14:31:00.000-07:00

i usually write short stories...i haven't the concentration or brain...or attention span... to write more.
Here's a story i wrote a while ago....it's not that long...comments accepted..including constructive criticism!!!

Angel

A woman walked along the ragged road through the forest. It was dark, and she was quite lost. She suppressed her fear and continued past the shadows. She had left the manor at dusk, in tears. She had paid no heed to where she was going, and now had no idea where she was.
A wolf’s howl echoed around her, and she fought the urge to run. However, a sudden streak of light drew her attention from the wolf. A crash followed, then silence. The woman stood silently for a moment, then turned off the path to discover what had caused the sound. A faint smell of burnt wood came to her, and she followed it. In a few moments, she came to a small glade with a crater in the center. The woman paused again, listening. A sound like a child’s cry came from somewhere in the glade. The woman looked around, wondering if there was an animal around.
The sound was coming from the crater, so the woman walked towards it warily. Smoke obscured her vision; she waved her arm about to dispel it, and looked into the crater.
Sitting in the middle, crying, was a small girl. She looked to be about six, and was wearing a white tunic, which was surprisingly clean. Her golden curls hung to her shoulder. Her small hands were covering her eyes.
“Are you alright?” the woman said, quietly so as to not surprise the girl. The child looked up, her piercing violet eyes filled with tears. She shook her head, and sobbed harder.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know where I am!” The girl’s voice was filled with fear. “I don’t know why I’m here!”
“Where did you come from?”
“My father…I was with him…
The woman stepped carefully down into the crater and kneeled down by the girl. She took the child’s hand, and said, “Come with me. I can help you.” The girl looked up at her, her eyes drilling through the woman. Then the girl stood and wiped her eyes. The woman stood too, and led the girl back to the forest path.
“Do you remember where your father is?”
“No…but I know Joshua is close…”
“Who is Joshua?”
“He’s my best friend.”
“Can he find your father?”
“He’s with my father.”
“Can you find Joshua?”
“No.” The girl’s tears abated as they walked and talked. Silence fell, and the girl looked up at the woman for a moment. “Why were you in the forest?”
“Well, actually, I got lost...” Her reason for fleeing the manor returned to her. Tears filled her eyes, and she stopped walking.
The girl watched her, then said, “Why are you crying?”
“My fiancé…” the woman said through her tears, “He’s…He died…on the front…I got the letter today…” She knelt on the hard earth, and began sobbing. The girl watched her with sad eyes, then wrapped her small arms around her.
The moon slowly crossed the night sky, and the pair was unmoving. The girl began to glow, giving off a strange, warming light.
The woman’s tears abated, and she looked at the girl. “Thank you.”
The girl smiled. “You’re not lost anymore.” At the woman’s confused face, the girl said, “You’re house is over there, just beyond the trees.” She pointed down the path. “And I’m not lost anymore either. Joshua found me.”
The woman looked down the path, then back at the girl. What she saw surprised her. Sprouting from the girl’s back was a pair of feathery wings. A glittering light from above surrounded her. The girl looked up, as if listening, then said, “Joshua says to tell you that your fiancé is okay. And that he loves you.” The girl smiled again, then began to dissolve with the glittering light. The woman quickly hugged her, then stepped back as the girl disappeared completely. “Thank you,” she whispered.
She turned and followed the path, motes of glittering light trailing after her.

Sketchbook

2006-03-16T21:04:00.000-07:00

Here's a pic i drew
It took forever to edit it cuz i drew it on lined paper...
i need to buy a sketchbook

and if you can't see, that's a rose she's holding

What to do, what to do

2006-03-15T17:22:00.000-07:00

hm...i don't know what i'm gonna do with this blog
maybe i'll shun it and it'll die
or maybe...
just maybe...
i'll post stories and poems and possibly pictures (if i can get the scanner to my computer)

and if i really like it here, i might adopt it as my own and abandon the xanga blog

New Blog Time!!!

2006-03-14T16:50:00.000-07:00

so..new blog...
*looks around*
nice in here
i'll post more later
terminate post in:
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