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(Note: this is a story less about the fantasy, and more about the development of people, as most of my stories are. Excuse the fact that the French written in here is sans... meaning without... accents. Oh, what is the F Lock on my keyboard *presses*... it didn't do OH its for the f1 f2 thing isn't it? Oh well, ADD sorry. Well, critique fairly to this piece, and I'll critique one of yours. Enjoy!)
Listen, my love, I have a story to tell.
One with bloodthirsty creatures from hell.
With war, with famine, with destruction of peace,
especially the ones that come out in your sleep.
It all started one dreary afternoon.
It was all so fast, and ended so soon.
There was a mistake (as all stories begin),
a little bit of lust, of love, of sin.
No one remembered her name. She didn't even remember her name some days. She knew that she wasn't always in this line of employment, but she didn't remember what preceded it. She knew it was wrong, but she knew nothing els...
A simple song
repeats in my head
over, again, once more
the right words sound
as if they were wrong
but sound so sweet.
Just that simple tune
fills the heart
with a melondy so soft
the words slip out of
my mouth
repeat
as if I were a broken record
That simple rythem
smooths the soul
but written long ago
my heart chanced
as my head danced
to the beat
over and over
like a CD player
plays my simple rythem
A simple beat
to repeat
will fly in again
a song with a beat
of a ping pong
click, clank, clunck
to sing again
my heart will stay with the rythem
but my head will wonder
A simple song
repeats in my head
over, again, once more
It was a cool Sunday morning as Paddington left the Brown’s residence for a nice relaxing stroll. Aunt Lucy had told him that exercise was a vital part in maintaining a young bear’s health, but he never quite understood why there were gyms if all one had to do was run an errand to feel out of breath. Suddenly shouting filled the air around him.
“…no I don’t have any food on me!”
An old man at the intersection ahead was evidently angry at a rather formal-looking pedestrian who was repeatedly waving his arms in a cautious way. Continuing with his stroll, Paddington approached the elderly man by the intersection who had now proceeded to crouch down like a frog as the younger businessman crossed the street.
“Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but overhear that you wanted some food” Paddington said as he rummaged through his blue jacket’s pocket, and held out a soggy marmalade sandwich.
The man stared up at him and slowly raised himself to his feet. He was almos...
See, I did more than just laze around and sight-see in Hong Kong! I wrote too ^^.
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BitterSweet Caress
One
The sky was dark, lined heavily with thick, black clouds that cried out thin, cold droplets. The world below became victimised by the downpour. A flame of auburn hair was no exception. The once bright, shoulder length locks were dulled to an ugly grey by the saturation. Water rolled along the soft ridges of the face beneath the mat of hair, whose eyes remained fixated on the insane swishing of the trees that lined the footpath. Her uniform clung to her like a child and the heavy bag on her back tugged at her shoulders. All she could feel was pain. Her back hurt from the weight. Her skin stung all over from the cold. A headache paraded around her skull like a madi gras. She tried to think of a way she could possibly get home without collapsing under the stress, but she saw no hope. If only she had brought her umbrella. Slowly pressing her Colorado school shoes into a ...
This is a new style for me, so please critique. There is something missing and I am hoping someone will be able to show me. Commas were, for the main part, left out intentionally by the way. =)
the sky protrudes crimson glances at my hindered feet
my soles grinding hate against the barren dust
skeletal is my mouth, withdrawn from the closeness of my bones
and fickleness of hearing converges with weakness
as the new moon will rise with the old
stability of mind, credibility gouged beyond hope
my suffocation within this putrefying plasma
sinking down, cutting detours past forsaken carcasses
so lustrous was my mortal soul in the age of the future
that retribution sung with no voice
jugulated and raped, graced and scathed, reduced to a mad dreamer
the passage that fear assured would blot out my rhythmic continuance of heartbeats
heaves and pulls the tsunamis heaped upon my sodden pink flesh
glazed pupils seeking for fleeing breath, I trawl them close
and still we figh...
I cannot explain the situation you've placed me in,
Like, seriously, baby, I wouldn't even know where to begin.
I just look around and see the things you've left behind,
and it hurts so bad to know that you don't even mind.
It started out as a joke and then you touched me, with a poke,
We were fooling around when your brother came in for a smoke.
Then he pointed and laughed at me, I was paler than a drum.
What was that song, baby, tell me, that you hummed?
It happened long ago, back when we met for the very first time,
I was posing as a singer, and my girlfriend was a mime.
And you read Rimbaud and listened to Bob Dylan songs,
But what really got me, honey, is that you wore a thong.
The mime, she complained, but there was nothing she could do
I told you that I loved you and you told me: "Boo-hoo".
It was horrible, really, I've never been so thoroughly mocked,
And maybe that's the reason I punched instead of talked.
Scene 3.
Kazia's porch. Kazia and her parents are sitting at a table having coffee. Kazia stands to meet Vladek. He grasps Kazia's hand and begins to cover her arm up to the elbow in kisses.
Kazia: Well, who knows best how to love? Come, sit. Papa is ruminating about his decision to allow us to wed.
Pan Suslowski: Sense and duty compel me to say ‘no', but a father's heart has its rights - if it is a weakness, may God judge me for it!
Panni Suslowski: My children, should you ever in your life meet with misfortune, come, take refuge here - here!
Everyone sits at the table. Kazia pours Vladek some coffee. Throughout the rest of his time with the Suslowskis, of the scene, she keeps refilling his cup. After a while, Vladek stands and leaves, saying,
Vladek: My drawing student, Bobus, is sure to be waiting at the studio, and so I must bid you all farewell.
He walks off the porch and crosses the stage. The crowd parts and girls whisper: Magorski - Magorski - that is he! - Halfway a...
A/N:Not really going anywhere with this, I wrote it as an RP sample and liked it. Enjoy!
---------------------------------------------
Blood swathed the small clearing as if the ground itself had been slashed by mighty claws, and had been bleeding so long that no one noticed anymore. Sides heaving with exhaustion, the few surviving wolves fixed each other with determined glares. None would be willing to compromise, and none would be willing to die without a vicious fight. The choice was theirs alone, and the outcome would cost them everything from death to territory but not pride. They stubbornly kept that small initiative raging in the pits of their growling stomachs.
A battered silver timber wolf arched his neck aggressively, letting a growl resonate between the trees. He was answered without a moment’s pause by the threat of a scarred black wolf. The timber wolf acknowledged his opponent eagerly, too tired even to taunt him but ready to fight to the death.
The previous a draft--ten minutes done at five-thirty AM. This one, with rather more time, this morning. CL's contest.
Thank you, Snoink. On this, I still feel as if I'm writing blind though.
--
Sometimes, Bellezza hummed.
Fleeting melody—they were the sounds of lackadays whistling under bullets’ whirr; of children chanting rhymes and lullabies; of the mockingbird at dusk. Wide lips pursed, she stared at paving stones and hummed. But she tried not to recall the tunes. War had its own music, and it had gotten inexorably wound up with hers—like heartbeats against barbed wire.
‘And I don’t wanna fall in love
I don’t wanna hurt me, guv’
I don’t wanna fall in love…’
Little Teresa told her heart holes only came out of bullet holes. She had illustrated it—charcoal and crayon on a scrap of mama’s note paper. In the far left corner, the stationer had printed Pax Christi.
Okay, so this is something I started a few days ago. Not that great, but I do like the plot. So if you can, please help!!
And these first two paragraphs are like the prologue.
Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Breath out. This was the only thing that could calm the young woman's pain. Breathing. She sat alone in the plan hospital as she waited for her friend to return with the condition of the only man she truly loved, and now many die because of their love.
The young woman is Allison Bradley, the young man whom she loves is Andrew Lopez. Allison's father, chief of the LAPD Joe Bradley is responsibly for putting Allison and Danny in this situation. He is also a cruel and abusive man. Allison was his punching bag until she turned 18 and moved 3000 miles away to live in New York and attend New York University. He would also do anything to ensure that no man touched her, accept if that man is Officer Jake Thomas. He is a good friend of the chiefs, and went through something which e...
It was this kind of day that you wish you never got out of bed. Parents used to tell me that this was exposed to be the only safe place for a kid to go. Now that I see what this is all about. I guess sometimes parents are wrong.
Here I stand looking down a barrel of a .22 Cobolt hand pistol. I stand between the thin string that divides life and death and this is one thing that I would never want to be on, and now I was. This was it I thought. I couldn’t believe this would happen to me. But the worst part about it is no one will ever see me again.
I stood in the hall scared and nervous with a gun pointed dead in-between my eyes. I looked at the teenager who held it, I knew he was a junior, I knew his name. Also we were friends at a point, but as time grew we split our ways with different friends and interests. Now I regret all those mistakes I made and it was now I was finally realizing what I ...
Days moved by as a leaf before the wind – we would wake, and gulp, as we saw our future unfold. But there were few of us, almost me alone; the bare eyes that could pierce the shadow, and see that it shouldn’t be.
I thought I would go on no matter what, that only would I surrender, when the final of my days died into the mist. Nothing in the core of my heart could have predicted this; nothing could have steadied us for the plunge.
“Be ready, be you and wait for the winds to change,” said I, the nameless voice, unknown to all ears.
#
Never before had I seen the city so elegantly. Stretched out before me, thousands of lights glowed in unison, some flickering under the moon and people, speaking in the breeze, as if sharing a seldom secret. The city had flourished from nothing, and it was from the long memory I had of the place that I recalled its desolate stance, but now as I gazed upon it, I smiled at the endurance by which it thrived. A cool wind whined ...
"No." I tell that to Mom right away. I don't want HER to come here and mess up my summer that was supposed to be the best one ever. I don't, I don't, I don't.
"But Satin dear. She doesn't have anywhere else to go. I doubt that she desperately wants to come here and spend two months with complete strangers. Even though we are of the same blood."
"But not mentally. And besides, I bet she's some meat-eating hillbilly who wears a straw hat and denim overalls and doesn't even know what couscous is..." My voice is starting to break. I don't want her to be here. I, Misty and JK had planned to do everything fun. And now she'd come and ruin that everything.
SHE is my second cousin from backward Northern Australia and Mom doesn't even remember her name.
"Satin, the fact that you've never met her, doesn't mean she's a hillbilly. She can be whatever she is, but you can always teach her what couscous is." Mom gives me a stupid grin and presses her...
Okay, so this is my first ever written story, since most of my stories are just stored up in my head.
“So, x is equal to?” our Math teacher, Ms. Abott droned on.
I, as usual wasn’t paying any attention. And neither was everyone.
Ms. Abott was still scribbling only God knows what when I heard our principal’s croaky voice.
“Ms. Abott?” Ms. Payton called out.
“Class, behave.” she automatically told us as she proceeded out of the classroom. Must be something major then, since Ms. Payton herself went up here. Normally, she just sends the relief teacher, or should I say her secretary to do the work for her.
When the cat is out, the mice come out to play.
If you must know, I am seated at the back next to my buds – namely George to my right and John in front of him – George started to open up the conversation with last night’s game. I’ve already discussed this with my father this morning. Trust me, it didn’t go well. So, I’m not really in the...
Walking.
Through the warm august woods,
trees blocking the light.
Down the cobbled path,
Evening sun feeling my face.
To the left of the mirror like pond,
Rays beating down.
Under the bridge,
In the shade for now.
Giant boulders to the right,
Golden skies now.
Out of the woods
And I can stare the sun in the eye.
Well, here's chapter one of a new novel I'm working on. I decided I would try different waters and wade into the fantasy end of the YWS pool. Hello there. Never seen me? I come bearing tidings from the Action/Adventure forum.
Regardless, this is only a portion of chapter one, seeing as the chapter is roughly 3500 words. With the sudden inflation of the YWS economy, I'm finding my self somewhat short of points, so I'll post part two as soon as I scrounge up a few critiques.
Enjoy.
Sarajevo, Bosnia
1992
“They're getting closer, kid,” Dmitry whispered, trying twice to light the cigarette shivering between his lips; the spent matches – one after the other – stumbling to the ground with withered heads, charred and bowed in penitence. Looking out of the shattered department store window, he lit a third match and – his hands trembling violently – and touched the nodding flame to the tip of his last cigarette. The rest of his Marlboro pack was strewn across the concr...
When I first saw her, time stopped. Nothing else mattered when I was with her. Her smile was the life in my soul. When she looked at me with those bright blue eyes I feel hope and joy still exist in the world. Her only intention is to spread happiness. Every moment I live I wondered how a girl like this could be with me. She is the life in me and I love her with all my heart.
On that star filled November night, all was quiet except for the sounds of a bird that stayed up past its bedtime; I finally built up the courage to do the most frightening thing of my life.
She turned her head away for the stars for a moment and faced me. She gave me a small loving smile and whispered in my ear “I love you with all my heart.” Those were the words that made my heart leap, and I knew that this was the perfect chance to ask her. I got down on one knee and pulled out of my coat pocket a small blac...
George kicked the sink lever. Thanks a lot, George.
and now cylindrical rushes of wastewater stream out to people below, but they just go ahead. Somehow they ignore these water pipes that pipe roots
and waste and back taxes, this second half-of-a-halved root system. Jenny and Johnny build up the tree: Jenny a handrail from Johnny to George and Johnny a greenhouse glass to fit over all of them with only the tree for air and the sink for water.
Good thing students are already wearing their greenhouse glasses with lab coats, bright and crisp for the deflating dampness of the air that day, and that they’re unaware that each orienting step brings them a little closer to the root of it all. Since no one’s ever reached the drip pan, up—the new down—is the only way to go.
Someday someone will want to know how to get out.
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a/n: As a prose poem, did I pull this off in any form whatsoever?
