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Found 507 results

  1. The Game: One person presents a prompt, and anyone and everyone writes something that is inspired by the prompt. The person who chooses the prompt will pick a winner from the submissions, and the winner then chooses the next prompt and judges that round. A prompt can be anything from a song, to a word, to a phrase, to a picture, whatever you want to see people write to! When creating a prompt, Specify the time when you will choose a winner, i.e. 24 hours from the timestamp of the post. You may also specify Limits for word count of the post, or anything else you can think of. The game is currently ongoing! Please skip to the latest page in this thread to find the current prompt.
  2. I found my middle-school journal and typed what I had written in there lmfao My comments from now are displayed like this in the story ENJOY XD Dragon Lore - CH 1 - The Boy LMFAO WHAT I just read this and died lmfao THIS WAS WHEN ERAGON CAME OUT I literally took the spells from Eragon, and in other chapters there is Sora and Kairi from Kingdom Hearts in there! LMAO OP MARY SUE IS OP THERES LIKE 10+ MORE CHAPTERS IM GOING TO DIE READING ALL THIS xDD
  3. prose

    Ok, so I'm working on a book, but I want feedback for what I have so far. The first chapter is nowhere near complete and on my document it shows as being around a page and a half. Chapter 1 - Shenanigans The floor was cold and hard, which shouldn’t have been a surprise to Davis. This was his own room, after all. What really surprised him was the speed at which he had been sent down after being hit on the head by his opponent’s weapon. A groan escaped from him as he started to get back on his feet, and the opponent assisted him. At this point, Davis wasn’t really sure what he was expecting to happen, as to this day he had yet to defeat Aryn in a plastic sword duel. He doubted he ever would, as Aryn Besnik became a true force to be reckoned with whenever he was armed with his polymer weapon of choice. “So...was this the only reason you called me over here at six thirty in the morning?” Aryn questioned with a bored expression. Evidently, he wasn’t amused with having to lose out on precious sleeping time on a school day. “Pretty much, I really needed something to help me wake up and this seemed like the best option” Davis replied in a victorious tone, believing that he had achieved his goal. Aryn gave him a confused look, questioning both his friend’s logic and his soundness of mind “So you chose to wake yourself up by having me beat you in a sword fight?” Aryn asked. “Don’t judge me, peasant!” Davis retorted at what was now his apparent underling, trying to ignore the fact that Aryn had just completely wrecked him in their duel. Davis proceeded to further explain his reasoning, hoping this would make him sound smart to his intellectual superior “Anyway, I needed to wake up early so we’d have time to get our group together for the trip.” “Davis, nobody is going to be at school this early, we’re not going to see anyone for a while. There was no need to wake up this earl-” Aryn’s explanation was cut short when Davis interrupted him, yelling “THE EARLY BIRD GETS THE CEREAL” as he rushed out of his room, leaving Aryn with no choice but to reluctantly follow him to school. Aryn only protested by quietly remarking that birds did not eat cereal, knowing that Davis would acknowledge the fact either way. Now meandering around the near empty school, Davis realised how stupid of a decision this was and concluded that this was the result of a drowsy mind. Obviously he blamed Aryn for this, claiming that he had not defeated him thoroughly enough to wake him up. Aryn didn’t try to respond to this, knowing nothing would convince Davis otherwise. They would have continued to wander aimlessly, had their attention not been caught by someone yelling at them from across the hall. Lillianna Savvian stormed up to the two, bellowing “Sanderson, Besnik, what the hell are you two doing here?! Only the science club is authorised at school this early!” “Then I suppose I could ask you the same thing, Savvian” Davis responded in the snarky tone he usually used when addressing Lillianna. “Uh, Davis, she’s the highest ranking member of the club” Aryn whispered to his friend. Davis’ eyes widened a bit, realising how stupid he had made himself look. In his attempt at a snarky comeback, he had forgotten the most defining fact about Lillianna that he knew of so far.
  4. prose

    Outside of schoolwork and RpN, I'm working on a long IF (interactive fiction, aka choose your own adventure) story. It's nowhere near done, and I've attempted to get feedback and readers by posting it in the quest section, but long story short, that did not work out well. So, I'm looking for sort of beta readers for a not finished story, so I can get feedback early on. If anyone is interested, this is the link: If you so wish, after you have read through as many times as you want, feedback (here), would be much appreciated!
  5. prose

    Birthright The conference room smelled of robust coffee. The espresso machine in the corner had been brewing since the first employees arrived at a quarter after seven; it was just past ten now. Orville had a steaming untouched cup resting on a coster beside him, but it would have to wait. The woman perched on the leather armchair across from him demanded his full attention. She had introduced herself as Bastet when she was escorted into the conference room. Orville noticed her attempt to conceal her age lines and guessed she was in her early forties. Her hair, likely dyed, was silky black and pulled tightly away from her face. Once seated she straightened her midnight blue handkerchief dress and settled her large handbag across her lap. "You can change your name but you can't change your blood." She mentioned his name again. It's the only reason she was brought back to speak with him. As soon as his men's suit store—O.L. Fields—opened its doors for business Bastet had sauntered in. When she asked one of the salesmen if she could speak with the owner, the well instructed employee replied that Orville wouldn't be in the store today. But Bastet knew better, and she dropped the right name—an old dead name that Orville's family had tried to bury long ago. "I have the same name that was printed on my birth certificate the day I was born." "It was a lie then, and it remains a lie today." Orville shifted uncomfortably but relaxed after locking eyes with Bastet. Despite her words her expression was free of condemnation. All of her mannerisms smacked of a cat and mouse game, and she was obviously set to play the cat. Orville thumbed his college ring. "What difference is it to you?" Pleased with his question she smiled and unfastened her handbag. With both hands she carefully revealed a brass and ivory jewelry box. She took a moment to pet the container and then she gently placed it down on the table in front of her. "Inside this box, Mr. Fields, is an heirloom—an artifact that needs to be reunited with it's bloodline." Orville furrowed his manicured brow and peered down at the ornate jewelry box. He could see his own reflection clearly in its polished trimmings. His finely tailored steel gray suit looked just as debonair painted in brass. He swiveled his armchair back to Bastet. "It's bloodline? You're beginning to sound mystical." "I ought to, I'm a mystic." He shook his head and sighed, but her smile continued to grow. "Do you believe in the occult Orville?" It wasn't a question he was prepared for. In his hesitation she began to search his face for the truth, which agitated him. "I'm rather agnostic about all of it." She nodded and reached out to tap her glossy fingernails across the jewelry box. Then she pushed it closer to him. "You won't be for long... Inside this box is a foci." "Come again?" Orville scooted to the edge of his seat. "A foci, a material link to the spirit realm. This one is yours Orville, it's your birthright." He reached for the box but stopped short; his fingers flexed apprehensively in midair. Then he snatched his hand back to stroke his tie as he chuckled. "Ah, I see where this is going now. You're selling me something." Bastet lifted herself gracefully out of her armchair and shook her head. "It's not mine to sell, I'm merely delivering it. And for that I've already been compensated." "By whom?" She peeked at her cellphone and then tossed it back into her handbag. Then she leaned forward until their eyes were level. That's when he caught the scent of her perfume—the espresso had overwhelmed it until then. Her next words were a breathy whisper. "You're not ready for that answer today, but you will be. Until we meet again." With that she sauntered out of the conference room. Orville didn't bother to say goodbye. He waited a few minutes before he stood up and addressed the jewelry box. The lid was lifted and his artifact was revealed: a green glass monocle affixed with a silver chain.
  6. prose

    This'll just be a dump for the stuff I write :-) feel free to boo or offer advice! Critique is always appreciated ♥ oh and hey, let me know which poems you like the most? just for curiosity's sake :^)
  7. prose

    Of the Artist (needs editing) Septober 53rd For the first morning in whiles upon whiles the mist has withdrawn. It’s clear enough for me to cesarean my way out of my tent and see the edge of this rocky outcrop I’ve ended up perched upon. The stone’s been blasted bare since before I was born, rigormortis to the touch when I’m not on the blanket I brought up here. Out from under what I call cover are my easels, bound to the ground with rope and pitons to stop wind or gravity stealing it from me. Kept dry by tarp that I have to rush to get off, cause I can’t wait out the clarity. Breakfast would have to be lunch, or dinner depending on how long I’m able to work. I used to get told that my pictures were the wrong way round, that they were supposed to be wider than they were tall because that’s how you paint landscapes, but I don’t anymore. Unless that’s what the birds are singing about, but I’m sure they’ve more important things to think about, like gossiping at how shabby and eggless of a nest I’ve made. It’s the second least helpful criticism I’ve had about my work, after the word yonic. Looking down the scope of my rifle I can see the bear body isn’t even bones by now, the only evidence is that I’ve one less bullet and some bugs are happier. I’d have sworn it took me longer to pull the trigger than has passed since. Approaching my easel, with a rag drenched in spirits, I rub at the browns and blacks I’d used for it’s body until they blur into the background of dirt. All that’s left now is to paint over the few specks of red and that weren’t going away. I’d make sure the shot was clean, drenched in adrenaline I had all the time I needed to line up crosshair with cerebral cortex. While it went about its business foraging, not even aware of me. It didn’t suffer, just slumped forward, ignoring the extra orifice you could even have thought it was sleeping. I wonder if it had heard, the noise, felt like more sound than such wide open country had room for. As it resounded around me, travelling down the canyon and I don’t know how much further, all I could wonder was if it beat my bullet to the bear’s brain and who I’d sent scampering. I didn’t do any more painting that day, my hands weren’t going to work for the week at least. By the time I was better the weather took its turn to be terrible. If a tree falls in the forest do I have to repaint that part of my picture, well yes, artistic integrity. I didn’t bring enough canvases, couldn’t carry them. So I’m cycling, when I run out the oldest is wintered away, then I can wash off the white and start again. Unfortunately acetone doesn’t work as well on the real winter. I can feels my daylight dwindled, and accounting for fog I might as well hibernate, or go home. But I know that’s not happening. It would be rude to my subject, and I won’t be the one who blinks first. Every day, well the clear ones, there’s new lines I have to add to my art work, the ones on my face happen automatically at least. There’s this pillar, in the distance, I don’t understand how it’s still standing and it’s a pain to draw the light on it. If I could come back in a couple centuries or so, or however long it takes erosion to edit my work for me I’d wait. It was worth it, I got each of my easels every 30°, as close to panoramas as I’ve the resources for, the really tricky part was making sure I have the sun where it was supposed to be in each picture. At night, especially when I’m not nearly drunk enough, I think things like, why and more pertinently why the fuck? All this effort, while bugs and frost compete to see who bites harder. But I couldn’t put anyone else through this, and from up here, where you're close enough to the clouds to feel like you’ll fall in as easily as off the edge, people deserve to see it. I’m shocked how good a shot I’ve become, brought down a bird today, bastard tried to take some of my food, and if you don’t mind the burn or bullet marks, buzzards good eating. I asked afterwards if there weren’t any hard feelings, but didn’t get a response. My subject is spread open, so seductively, a weaker person would snap their spine, but despite their age these parts are so flexible. Fatally far below me is a steam, that barely there hair line blue, that winds it’s way through more than a few of my pieces. The forest is thick, which I’ve heard some people don’t like but It’s always been my preference. It’s the intricacy, that I could spend my life, so many times over, I’d be dirt before I could even get one dust might just right. Do people pay for them? Is the question on smaller minds than mine, mainly my mother’s, because she just doesn’t see it, they’re shit. All of my work, really it’s nothing like the real thing, hard as I try, these rectangles, flat and flaccid where the forest is this torrent on timescales we can’t even see. I’ve seen the scraps of castles and cities, digested and egested as their churned up and overgrown again and again. Clearly I’m dying faster the planet cause the winters aren’t getting warmer. I’d call up that city in the distance to complain about the light but I don’t know the number. Plus I my phone doesn’t likely work anymore, wherever it’s gotten to. I can cross Zuse off as a potential fan, or is that me taking the loss of picture to lightning strike too personally. I could ask the gods what the odds were, but the answer is of course 1, eventually. Considering all the time this takes, all the pictures I’ve painted and all the times I’ve painted each, going from 12 to 11 probably isn’t such a loss. If it had been good maybe that would matter. The storm swirls around me, it can afford to wait me out, spend days at a time planning for a split second strike. Not minding how soon it’s work vanishes. I wonder which is a smaller faction, my pictures as a piece of a place, or my life compared to how long this place will be here. You may be wondering where the paint keep coming from, and the only answer I can come up with is the necessity of what I’m doing here. I get my sandwiches from the same place sisyphus does because there’s a job to be done. I remember asking, why I had to go to a school where I just didn’t get it, father said I he knew I’d fail, that was the point. I think I get that now, I just didn’t find the thing worth doing wrong for me yet. Why would anyone who could come out here chose my art anyway, when there’s this beauty. But it’s not about the people who have a choice is it, it’s about the people that don’t devote themselves, we’re accommodating those without the discipline or limbs to make it up a mountain, and in that case maybe my work is all they deserve. I can’t remember my last conversation with someone who didn’t come out of a bottle, though djinn and gin both have the same habit of giving you exactly what you wish for with an ironic twist, but the hangovers on this overhang are getting to samish to be painful anymore. Though alcoholism is part of the way to being a proper artist, and I’ve not had to cut off any of my ears. It’s as my eyes dart to the rusted survival knife that I realise I’m teetering towards considering mutilation for recognition a worthy trade. I don’t remember when I got the news my parents were dead, I mean no one told me, but well I presume by now they’d have died the way most people do, inevitably. Which is a less exciting end than I expect they’d have imagined for me. I’ve started running out of bullets, I don’t know when the number began being finite again, but I can take the hint. These woods have been surprisingly kind to me, let me develop my techniques. Man If this crone could show the girl who climbed all the way up here what she’d do someday. I think she’d cry as much as I am now. But it’s too late to be as good as I’ve become. Arthritis and rheumatism pushed me over my peak as an artist which means my place on this peak isn’t being earnt. When I can’t placate my subject, why should I be provided for? I’ve been kindly left one bullet, and it’s no longer sending animals to eat. There’s so much I want to say, to look the location I made a lover out of in the face and say how I feel, how pissed off I am, how dare it lead me on so long and leave me. Because it would rather be in the future than with me. How I’d like one last embrace, where it runs its worms through my hair, let’s my body be one with the earth, I’m sitting atop a mountain of questions and feelings. Knowing that it’s a conversation it could blink and miss, just like I always was. I’m too old to even be angry, I’m just tired. Does it even make a difference how my death is done, it left me a bullet but how could understand the difference between the time it takes to shoot someone and starve them? I look at my life’s work, one rectangle, in colours I have to remember because of how bad my eyes have gotten. “Do you like it?”
  8. prose

    The website where I used to post all sorts of miscellaneous stories about my OCs is being shut down, so I'm going to re-post all of my writing here, more for my sake than anything. If you happen to read them and enjoy what I've come up with, thank you and, if not, oh well! (sorrynotsorry)
  9. <p> This is a relatively old piece of work I had written..I had planned it to be an intro for a novel im writing. I will warn for those of you who do not like religious overtones then don't read this. "The Start of the Ancients: Tales of the Creator : The Creator had traveled across an empty universe full of nothing and blackness and was tired from traveling so far. So he made him self a large place where he could rest for awhile. As he rested he began to have dreams of wonderful sorts of plants and wild animals and as The Creator dreamed them they appeared on the earth. When the creator awoke he saw all of the life and it pleased him. The creator tried to find a companion to speak with but none of the plants or animals was smart enough to communicate with him. After much boredom of not talking to anyone he decided to create a new type of animal to communicate with him. He looked upon the ground he stood upon and a figure arose from it; a female looking figure. He named this being Marga the Guardian of the earth. Marga and the creator became great companions but still the creator felt lonely only talking to one person every day. So he then created a being with wings called the angleos and named it Kelthu-zaid. Then he saw the wings of the creature and liked it and made another creature with wings he called a nymph and named the nymph xau-wyurn. Then the creator grew tired and looked sleepily into a shadow and out came a dark creature with pointy ears called dark elves. He named the first one carech-amun. He found all of this to his liking and they lived well and plentiful on the planet that he had given them. As times passed populations began to grow and pay homage to the creator. The creator enjoyed this and to honor the creator the creator’s pyramid was built to honor him. Now about a hundred years passed and marga had a bulge on her mid section. She was pregnant and the creator was outraged at this for he intended the Earth guardian to be pure. His hatred fumed in his head and even considered slaying the earth guardian but luckily kelthu-zaid who was close to the creator persuaded him not to slay marga. The hatred left the creator’s body and went into a cloud of darkness later called narth meaning “darkness eater”. These are the five ancients that began to populate the lands and set the customs and traditions of their ancestors to come. Meanwhile Marga bore three children Minos the first minotaur, Dware the first dwarf, and leic the first human. The creator blessed them all. The three people borne by Marga had lived with their mother and among the other ancients for awhile in the North Country but as the populations grew they wanted their own lands. The creator knew this so he gathered all of his intelligent creations in a council to give them their promised lands. The creator said “ Minos you and your kind like to graze and hunt for your prey so you will be given the stout peninsula to the south. As for you dware you and your people like to craft metals and mine for valuable ores and therefore shall be given the mountains to the south. Leic you and your kind enjoy being in your places of origin and enjoy fishing and using the sea for resources so you shall be given the east peninsula of the north lands. Kelthu-zaid you and your people can fly and enjoy solitude and peace and therefore will be given the island in the far south. xau-wyurn you and your kind enjoy to fly around in much space and in general enjoy life and will be given the lands in between the minotaurs and the dwarves. carech-amun you and your kind have done so well in your place of origin that you shall have it all except for the east peninsula which the humans inherit. Finally Marga one of my dearest creations you shall be given all of the middle lands in the south lands.” All of his creation was pleased with this and began to move to their promised lands and one by one they went to tell their peoples to pack up and follow them to their new lands. One creature though in the distance had heard all that was said and felt great grief for not receiving land. This creature grew angry at the creator and the people that were given a chosen land. The creature needed food for he had never eaten in his life. he sensed what kind of food he needed; he needed to eat darkness and he sensed this somewhere in the lands he was already in. As the dark eves were spreading out in their newly given lands there was a small elf child picking flowers in a field away from the rest of dark elves. Now naturally all dark elves had a little darkness in them and this attracted the creature. The creature took the form of a beautiful flower and as the child came to pick it the creature pounced on the child and sucked out all the darkness but in the process killed the child. The screams of the child carried and the other dark elves heard the child and came to the child’s aide but it was too late the child was dead, the first death in the creator’s new world. This is why ht dark elves hate creatures of evil. The creator was enraged at this and called out “show yourself foul creature so I may slay you!” and then the creator waited for a response. There was only a whisper back to him mocking him “do you not forget me again? The creature that you created” at this the creator wept tears which became the ocean and yelled and these became the winds. The creator called out again “you shall be called the narth and be the scum of the earth! Wherever you go you shall be hated and hunted and spurned” there was no reply to this call and the creator was angry and out of his blind fury and went to every race to curse them. He went to the dwarves and said “you shall eat the soil of your profits and toil in the dirt that you mine your precious ores for!” then he went to the Minotaur and said” Brutes of creations you are and that what you shall only be and your people will be cast into exodus!” then the creator went to the humans and said “ greed and lust is what you want and so it is how you will think and it will be your downfall!” then he went to the angleos and said” separate yourselves from others and thinking of yourselves better than others will be your downfall!” Then the creator went to the nymphs and said now weeping greatly “your people shall be pushed and shoved out of your lands and your people shall be disdained.” Then the creator went to the dark elves and said “I am sorry for the loss you received and for it if any of your kind grieves too deeply they will die.” This is why the dark elves can live forever and can only be killed by weapon or grief. Then lastly the creator went to marga and said” you shall feel the suffering as my planet is ravaged by war, grief, and death. However you are strong and I shall make a special covenant for you to be my eyes and ears on this planet.” The creator then went into the universe he had created and traveled far from the planet he had created and felt great grief for what he had done. He could not reverse it now because he did this in oath which is sacred. So to give the creation a chance he whispered a blessing saying that creation can be saved and join him after death but not until they reach another pure state. Back on earth marag heard this blessing and was filled with hope and gave her reason to endure the suffering that she will encounter in the future. With the creator gone however marga had a new task to do in his absence which was to kill narth. Knowing that she would need help to find and defeat Narth she began moving to the north. After traveling for some time marga reached the end of the southern lands and saw the water impeding her progress to the north lands. She took the form of a great mare and leaped across the waters and landed in the north east peninsula. When she landed a river opened up across the lands to the farer north and this river was called the Suswa River. She traveled with haste to norstross the home of carech-amun. She rode to the gates of the city and the gates opened instantly and many guards followed her for they knew no who she was. She reached the head house and knocked down the door and and came face to face with carech-amun and he said “Halt Guards! It tis marga the earth guardian.” The guards left and marga told him about what she planned to do and said to him “surely a dark elf with such great vision will be able to spot out such an evil creature.” carech-amun decided to come with her on her journey. After getting the necessary supplies carech-amun and marga left Norstross and headed south to get the other ancients to help kill narth. They got on dark elf ships and went westward around the southern lands to the lands of the nymphs. When they landed they were greeted with much appraise and brought to xau-wyurn and marga again explained what they were trying to do on their journey. Now xau-wyurn did not at first want to do this and was going to reject them but did not want to bring shame to his people and accepted to help them on their journey. Then after a four days rest they set out to huron the home of the angleos. The huron seas blew up a storm that dragged the boats way off course. The sails were battered and the wood splintered and most of the crew on board the ship the ship was killed. carech-amun mourned for his men and said “ Marga please we must get to land or we will surely die.” At this marga pondered and said to him we must keep pushing forth and I shall help us. Marga came into the form of a strong wind and blew into a makeshift sail. As the time went on the sail became too worn by the wind to be used any more and the ship was stuck. Marga could not help from here because she is the guardian if the earth and not water. As they waded in the water in the boat an injured sea serpent came by the ship no more than seven feet long. Marga felt pity for the creature and healed it and gave it intelligence and cunning that most creatures would not have had. The serpent disappeared underneath the depths of the water. After a week a serpent that was at least two-hundred feet long came out of the water. It was the same serpent from yesterday and marga had an idea. She attached a rope to his head and told him to take them to huron. Within a few weeks they reached huron and on their departure marga said” you are truly a blessed creature and will be called ghauld and a new race of sephiroth will come from you.” So after this marga, carech-amun, and xau-wyurn went on the island and began making their way to the center of the island. They came upon a large group of angleos making a stone wall around a small settlement. Marga asked what they were doing and they replied “the creator said we will die by being s alone and so we must build a huge wall to protect ourselves.” At the saying of this marga laughed and said “truly you do not know how to interpret the words of the creator.” The workers looked upon each other with puzzlement but kept on working. After a moment of silence she said “he was saying that excluding yourselves from others will be your downfall.” Not knowing it Kelthu-zaid came up behind them and scoffed “Lies you think so sure of yourself the words of the creator. Who are you to say what he means?” before maraga could answer carech-amun stepped in and said “let us not bicker about words of the creator. We would like you to join us in our journey to kill narth.” Kelthu-zaid had a look of ponder on his forehead and looked around his lands and said “surely I must go on some sort of adventure for this land bores me at times.” Then he smiled “yes I shall help you kill narth.” The ship was repaired and fresh supplies were loaded on the ship and many gifts were given to them. They boarded the ship and began to head to the southern lands for they thought that they might as well start to search somewhere where the narth might feed on creatures with out being hunted. When they set foot on the land marga felt a shiver run down her spine and she knew he was on the land but did not know exactly where he was. She said to her companions” we will only find narth if split up and search for him over wide areas. I will go through the middle and Kelthu-zaid shall head up the east coast and carech-amun, AND xau-wyurn will go along the west coast.” They agreed on this and they set out on their own ways. Meanwhile in north parts of the southern lands narth began to thrive on all of the foods he could find. Day by day he grew more powerful and he could sense that powerful beings were hunting for him but not being the smartest of creatures he stayed where he was and fed off his plentiful food supply. Kelthu-zaid was on his way and because he could fly he enjoyed his journey very much. As he was flying he saw a great black smoke arise in the distance and this bothered him so he went to investigate. As he approached this smoke he could see Minotaur fleeing from the area of the smoke. The grass lands had caught fire. He flew down to a female Minotaur who had a child next to her and asked “what has caused this fire?” The Minotaur only replied “please you must help the village had caught on fire and there may be survivors!” At this Kelthu-zaid had already sprung his wings and was in the air to the heart of the fire. As he approached he could see buildings on fire and could hear screams. He listened diligently for the screams as to hear where they were coming from. He found the source and dove into the great fire and crashed through a burning thatch roof. As he stood he could feel the burning all over his body but he endured the pain and looked around and saw a child Minotaur. He ran over to the child and picked the child up and thrashed through the wall and then flapped into the air. As he looked back he saw the building collapse. The child was crying and screaming and hitting him and Kelthu-zaid sternly asked “Why do you hit me did I not save your life?” The child cried more and more and then said sobbing “my poppa was in there in the next room holding up the next wall so it wouldn’t fall on me. He was trapped underneath the remnants of our chimney.” Kelthu-zaid said nothing but began to weep and brought the child into a different open field with other Minotaur. His wings were blackened by the fire and his skin was charred by flames and so the Minotaur called him infermna. They took him in and cared for him and made him one of their own. He hid his grief over the lost Minotaur by helping the other Minotaur rebuild their homes. He became their chief but he never forgot about his homeland of huron nor his journey but the guild was so great on him that he felt if he left them he would die of guilt. And so he was delayed and lived among the Minotaur and as a gift for him being chief they crafted a sword for him. This was no small task however because Minotaur liked to use axes and clubs and such but a sword was made. It had a curved blade and was made out of iron which was difficult to find embroidered with valuable stone and the handle was made out of fine deer hide. Infermna put some magic into this blade and called it das or “death bringer”. Now meanwhile on the western coast carech-amun and xau-wyurn were on their search for narth. They first had to travel through the nymph lands and because xau-wyurn was the king of the nymphs they were greeted warmly and given supplies. xau-wyurn even told his personal guard to come with him which consisted of ten expertly trained nymph warriors. They pushed on northward on the western coast and came upon hills and as they continued the hills became mountains and their progress was slowed. They knew that dwarves lived here but they knew not where. They continued to move but could no longer tell where they were going. Then it began to snow and they ran out of supplies quickly and the nymphs could no longer fly due to the cold. One night they had set up camp and it snowed vigorously and when they awoke in the morning, their camp was under the snow and two of the guards had died, apparently over night. They set forth in snow all the way up to their waist but trudged on and while taking a rest an avalanche had began. The quickly looked for cover but could find none and so they began to run. They could hear the roar of the snow behind them and they could feel the cold brushing up upon their necks and finally it hit them. It was like a whirlwind except with ice and rock and cold. carech-amun used his sword to cut out from underneath the snow and got above the newly poured snow. He looked around but saw no one. “xau-wyurn!” he cried at the top of his lungs. He sat there and then began to poke at the snow with his sword to see if he could feel anything. Sometimes he would hit rocks and dig with his bare hands through the snow only to be left in vain. After a day of looking he found xau-wyurn unconsciousness and barely alive. carech-amun tried to make a fire but could find no dry wood. After days of keeping his friend alive he too passed out on the third week after the avalanche. He awoke when h was being lifted up by something and could hear speech but did not understand what was being said and he himself tried to speak but could not. They both awoke in a great room lavished with furs and fires all over the place. It seemed to be in a cave. A dwarf walked in with very beautiful and bright heavy armor and said in broken elvish “the king wants to see you.” They were brought into dware’s court and greeted warmly and sat among his officials and ate and drank. carech-amun and xau-wyurn had to stay here for the dwarves said that the winter would last longer and they must stay here and wait it out or they would surely die. And so they were also delayed. And began to wait. Meanwhile Marga had begun her journey through the middle lands. These lands were the ones given to her and so she had no problem navigating them. The inhabitants also helped her in giving her information. Most of the lands inhabitants were wild animals with which she could communicate with. One day as she was walking down a gorge she had heard a noise but thought nothing of it. Then as she continued through the gorge, she heard the noise again but this time it was louder. She looked around her and met the gaze of a creature hidden by the shadow of an over-hanging rock. Then a creature walked out. She was for she never saw such a creature it had and awkward face like two number eights stacked on top of each other for a head. On the bottom half of the head was two holes, then the eyes were a cold gray, the body was very bony and skeleton like and it stood tall on two long legs. She asked wearily “I have never seen any of your kind in all of my years and travels, what are you?” The creature spoke with a deep crackly voice and replied “I am a seeker of many things.” And then he grinned. “What do you seek?” asked marga. He moved around a little bit and then sneered “I seek something for my master.” Marga looked surprise and said “Master? What are you a slave? Who is your master?” the creature began to heckle at this and said “My master is the one the covenant was not brought to.” Marga knew the one he was speaking of and so she turned into the form of a vicious Mountain Lion. At this the creature pulled out a whip with metal spiked balls on the end. He whipped at her and she dodged and got him by his head and she could taste the blood in her mouth. He was alive and screamed “Surely you would not kill a creature? Is that not why you are searching for my master?” After he said this he threw him against a rock and he became unconscious and began to run through the gorge because she could feel an evil power in the distance. She ran as fast as she could and for weeks all she did was run. She stopped at a cave that had bears in it and they let her rest in their cave to regain her energy. She could feel a pain because she knew that narth was near and every time she breathed in and out her nostrils were burned for his evil was so close. In the morning she set out from the cave and began making her way to the source of the evil and at last she came to a hill and peered over. She saw a dark blob of blackness leaning over a few dead bodies with blood over his mouth. She was sickened by this sight and she took her most fierce form she could think of. She was turned huge at least the size of a southern elephant and her skin was rocky and rigid like the side of a mountain and her jaws were like that of a giant snapping turtle and she stood on four thick rocky legs. She jumped over the hill side and bit narth on the first part of his body she could reach. Narth let out a screech and flew hundreds of feet into the sky. Marga’s mouth burned for having part of the beast in her mouth. Her whole body burned with such a painful sensation but she could not let go for they were too high up. Narth waited and withheld his true power because if he showed his true powers he knew her other companions would sense him and so he hoped she would fall of. He sustained the pain and went into a sleep-like state in the air while marga held onto him. Marga knew he was not moving and her pain was becoming unbearable and she still held on but she needed a way to tell the others where she was. This was the case for several weeks until finally marga let out a yelp so loud it travelled the world. At this narth tried to fly higher but before he could go any farther marga snapped back on what little bit of him she could get. She feared for the worse that she would die at the hands of narth but she had faith in her companions. Her voice traveled through the lands and every time it passed an animal it would listen and then go back to its life. The yelp reached the lands of the Minotaur and the Minotaur feared it was a ghost and so they sent out their chief, infermna. When infermna heard this yelp he knew it was marga and while he was still in the air he set out to help marga. Kelthu-zaid was grieved that he had to leave the Minotaur but he would have grieved more if he let marga stay in trouble. Then the noise carried to the mountains through the snow and through the thick rocks. There carech-amun and xau-wyurn heard the sound and told the dwarf king they must leave but he warned them because it was still winter. But instead of taking his heed xau-wyurn picked up carech-amun and began to fly through the snow even though his wings were aching and his body was freezing. So the rest of the companions set out to get Marga out of the trouble she is in. Marga was beginning to lose her hope but she kept her jaws tight and she couldn’t stand to look at Narth so she kept her eyes closed. Then out of nowhere her body moved and she could feel Narth’s body move. They were going down to the Earth and then when she opened her eyes she saw Kelthu-zaid grappling with the Narth and at seeing this she let go and fell but was caught by xau-wyurn and she said to him faintly “ Where is carech-amun?” he did not respond but just pointed at the ground. There was carech-amun shotting his arrows at the narth. This was the last marga saw before she fell asleep on the ground due to her fatigue. Kelthu-zaid had got the beast to the ground and was wrestling with it and every time he touched it he was burned by darkness, yet he still fought with it. Then he took out das and was about to stab narth with it but then narth sprang his body up into the sky and took the form of a dark cloud. Kelthu-zaid did the same with his das at hand and he went to the narth and stuck it right into him but then he could not pull it out. The sword was sucked into the narth and narth looked at Kelthu-zaid in the eyes. The darkness was burning his mind and he could not move but the trance was broken for xau-wyurn pushed him out of the way and turned to confront narth but when he turned narth was not there. He could hear carech-amun yelling from the ground but could not hear what he was yelling. Then he felt a pain greater than being stabbed with a sword. And so he plummeted to the ground. Narth had snuck below him and stabbed him with das. And then spew darkness into the wound. carech-amun vigorously shot arrows at narth but because of his form of a cloud there was too many layers for his arrows to penetrate. He could see that narth was about to attack him and so he decided to use some dark-elf magic. He began muttering words and then narth went to strike him coming at full speed with the sword sticking out of him. When narth was about to reach carech-amun he had disappeared but was going to fast to stop and was slammed into the ground. The ground shook so much that it had ignited a series of earthquakes that devastated many villages around the world. Narth slowly began to rise but as he did something had jumped on his back and was stabbing him with an arrow. Narth flipped himself over so fast that carech-amun had no time to get off and was under him getting crushed into the ground. He could feel the pressure building up in his head and in his mid-section like he as going to explode but then all of the pressure was gone. He could see a dark cloud falling into a gorge with Kelthu-zaid with him. xau-wyurn had went over to carech-amun and said to him” go and help kelthu-zaid for surely he will need it. I shall take care of marga.” So he went over to marga and propped her head up again a soft bush and sat there with her tending to her wounds. Marga finally awoke and xau-wyurn tried to calm her and she asked him what had happened and he told her. She had an idea and said to xau-wyurn “Go and help the others and make sure narth comes out of that gorge. “And when he was gone she cut down a tree and took off all the branches and began to skin it. In the gorge the fighting was intense and the others had not reached kelthu-zaid yet and so he vigorously fought narth. In the midst of combat he yelled “Why do you do this. Are you not part of the creator’s creation?” narth said nothing but in a fit of rage expanded very rapidly and then went back to normal size. When he expanded it flung kelthu-zaid against a wall and he fell to the ground. Narth loomed over him with a hungry look in his eyes but as he approached him kelthu-zaid sprang up and headed out of the gorge. At this retreat narth had followed him. As narth came out he could feel a great pain inside of himself. He began to lose his thoughts and his mind. At this opening of weakness marga and kelthu-zaid attacked narth was hand and claw and pure power. Narth flung himself up in the air throwing the two off of him and screeched “I will live on forever. Even the creator cannot deny this for even though I may perish I will live on!” After he had said this he broke up into hundreds of pieces most of which dissipated as soon as they came off the body. Kelthu-zaid looked at marga and said “what weapon did you use to kill the beast?” she laughed and said “xau-wyurn said that he had many layers and so nothing was penetrating him so It thinned out a tree and took a rock and sharpened it and put it on the end of the thinned out tree. That way it would be able to penetrate deeper into his layers. I call it a spear.” This was the first spear made but no one knows where it landed after the narth disappeared. The four ancients thanked each other and thanked the creator and began to go their separate ways for their homes needed them now. At the death of narth the creator stopped weeping and said “maybe there is hope.” Meanwhile a piece of the narth had slipped away and slithered on the ground. For days it travelled and then it stopped, it saw a man walking by dresses in good clothes like a merchant. As he came close to the piece with out knowing it the piece of the narth jumped on his head and entered his body through his eyes. The man screamed and fell to the ground and his body turned black due to the darkness and he began to grow smaller and smaller and his yells became younger and younger. Then at last all that was left was a bay crying. The merchant’s friends were looking for him but came upon the child and the child had no clothing. They took him and brought him with them to their caravan. They called him oglor because a scar on his body looked like this word. They did not know what it meant for it was written in darkness. The child would know nothing of his father but would have the darkness in him." </p>
  10. Context: I woke up to an endless abyss, filled with pure darkness. I didn't feel the ground, but I also didn't feel myself falling, as if suspended in outer space it self. Mimicking the motion of walking, I felt that I was walking forward. But... Why? The vacuum of which I was in seemed to stretch infinitely, no end in sight, no where to go. Looking up, there also doesn't seem to be an opening.... No light, no warmth. As despair began to creep into me, in the distance, I saw.... No. Felt, a faint glow. It drew me towards it like a magnet attracting a piece of iron, and I 'walked' willingly. However, The glow began to replace that lingering despair with something more 'malicious' , eldritch even. I pressed on reluctantly, despite what it may be. The path, even though it was straight, considering I was in a vacuum-like space, was like a treacherous journey through hostile lands. Finally, the 'thing' which I struggled to reach was in front of me. I felt all but one emotion as I looked plainly at it. Sadness. What the 'glow' showed me, made my vision misty. Myself.
  11. prose

    Small Jack The rat ta tat tat of the guns scared Jack. The bullets pierced the infected, sending them to the ground with gruesome injuries. Jack was curled in a small ball, inside a small shop. His small hands covered his small ears. The guns just wouldn’t stop, the men wouldn’t stop. It wasn’t the infected people’s fault that they were that way right? Jack curled up tighter, safer, smaller. Jack’s small clothes were ragged and torn. His small body racked with fear. Everything about Jack was small. Everything except his hunger. Hunger for brains. Short stories with a big impact. Did it work?
  12. DOOM Repercussions of Evil Extended cut John Stalvern waited. The muscles on his face — taut and stiff — wrinkled heavily on each small, miniscule movement; needless to say, he was frowning rather hard- too hard. Spread sharply and broadly across his face, it seemed more like a whimsical grimace or a terrific grin. Either way, neither did it suit his face, nor did it suit his stature. He and his boorish reflection — if only John had the mind to realize it — had an intense staring competition, wearily extended to unreasonable degrees due to the stoic John's gaunt resolution that he would never give up. His eyes strained and pushed itself to its limits, and the longer he stared, the longer he started to think that he was winning. He never did win, though. Nor did he realize the mental repercussions that would come with this inane expression of the mind. And so, with that in mind, he waited. But without that in mind, for he was also naively ignorant of many a things concerning his surrounding and his own personal ramblings. The ship shook vigorously every now and then; it, however, failed to deter John's concentration into unknowingly extending the limits of the human face. He was, as mentioned earlier, frowning to an extreme degree. The mirror in front of him shook, and tumbled, and John's eyes watered and grew teary, for his own density proved to be harmful to him. His mind began to crumble. The reds — the place became red. His eyes were red. HE was red. Everything was red, really. "Not now!!!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, which vibrated due to the high resonance. The visual malformations ceased appearing, although tiny spots remained here and there. John pressed his hands against his face as he wept. The lights above him blinked and flickered with an intensity never before seen. The ship shook more violently, and with a more sporadic frequency. Distant, guttural growls clung to the thick air. There were demons in the base- lots of them. Vile and malformed, they fed on his comrades like they were pigs auctioned off quickly for fancy slaughter. John felt only remotely amused by this; he hated demons, or at least his fiery patriotism compelled him to. He didn't see them, never saw them, but had expected them now for years. For years, too many years. Decades of isolation, of solitary training, mopping the floor. It was enough to break any man. Colonel Johnson — lovingly called 'Cernel' by friends and family alike — failed to listen to his, John's, persevering warnings. "No, Johnson. These are only your delusions, idiot. I'll have you assigned to the mental asylum as soon as we land home!" "You're a maniac Johnson. I will have you jailed and imprisoned as soon as we land home!" "No, Johnson. For the last tim- arrrghhhh!! Stop. C-choking mmm-me, ASSHOLE!!!!" These were his exact words, said in monotone every time John proposed increased defenses. It was too late for that now, anyway. John was a space marine for thirty-four very long years — most of it spend in his aforementioned period of angst, misery and self-loathing. He must be glorious, he must be patriotic, he must be superhuman; these were the bold words he lived by. When he was in his early youth, he used to gaze at the spaceships, and the stars that towered over them. Oftentimes, whenever his father used to be in company, he'd talk to him. "I want to be on the ships, daddy." His dad, ever the protective and irritable man, said "No! You will BE KILL BY DEMONS!" He wasn't the best of English speakers, and neither was he the most subtle of men. At times likes this, his eyes used to widen to extreme amounts, and what could normally be perceived as a timid, withered face, immediately turns into a wide, broad one. Made the old man look very menacing, very assertive. Hell, the only person more stronger than that guy, was a Colonel Johnson — that man had guts, real guts, used to hang them by his trophy mantels. Both of them were equally stupid, though. Never understood things. They lived by the gun, and they, hopefully, died by them. Just like John's expendable comrades. There was a time when John himself believed him, the old man. But then, as he himself got older he stopped believing anymore. It was a time of radical change, with the men all signing up to take part in the dramatic colonization rampant in the UAC. Once John got a whiff of the action going on over there, there existed no force that could stop him. It was only afterwards, that he realized he was terribly hoodwinked. But still, Joson- the quartermaster- made him realize his true potential — even then, it was just too late. Thirty-four years weren't enough. John need more. For the current moment, John knew only one thing, that now in the space station headquarters of the UAC, there were monstrous demons who threatened mankind's freedom and womankind's integrity. It was a terribly future, that John knew. That, John wanted to prevent. He wanted to be a war hero. A true one. Not before long, he found himself facing chains of hordes of demonic entities — they all grinned, they all giggled in a maddening manner, they knew the odds John were faced against. "This is Joson." the radio came to suddenly life. For the first time ever, Joson's booming and demanding voice came as a relief to the despairing John. "You must fight the demons! You cannot let them enter the main quarters. There will be no backup. I repeat: no reinforcements at all!" John's smile dissipated. Tears trickled down his cheek. It was too much. Then, suddenly, he remembered his patriotic duty. He had to do it. So, John grabbed his ever-trusty plasma rifle, tightening his grips on the handle, before going on to blow up the rightmost wall. The metal stood no chance against the superheated, hypercharged electrons. The demons stood there, staring in gaze and horror. "HE'S GOING TO KILL US!!!" One of the demons piped up, leading everyone to go into a mass panic, hysteria and confusion. The three evils. Almost immediately, a ridiculously bold cyberdemon popped up, chest and chin raised high up to the metaphorical air. "I will shoot at him" said the cyberdemon, before aiming his rocket launchers at the dumbfounded John. The cyberdemon was an inhumane expert at the art of combat logistics. He quickly calculated all the outcomes of the fight, before firing a flurry of rocket missiles. John aimed his plasma rifle at the uber-intelligent cyberdemon, trying to get a clean shot at the thing but to no avail — the imps were too great a cannon fodders. With the broad width of the tension, the introduction of the ever-populating demons into a tiny room, and the density of John, something was bound to happen; the ceiling promptly fell, the debris dropping onto them, and as quickly as they created the intent to kill, they were trapped — and certainly not able to kill. "No! I must kill the demons. I have to kill them! I have to!!!" he shouted frantically- whined actually, trashing his hands around the debris. The demons stared at him, dryly, in disbelief. The tension made the radio crackle. The machinery remained silent, aside from the grainy ambiance. Small sounds of flesh slapping flesh could be heard. The radio astonishingly said, "No, John. You are the demons." And then John was a zombie.
  13. prose

    Hello there :-) Just in the mood to share some short stories with you all and create an incentive for me to write more often along the way. There won’t be a focus on any specific genre, so hopefully there’ll be something for everyone. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, since I’m all for improving my writing.
  14. prose

    Hi, my name is Jinkx and I like to write fiction/fanfiction. I'd like to post some of my short stories, beginning of stories, or favourite AUs that I've written in a thread sort of like this so that other people can read them. People that stalk me follow my ao3 or my tumblr might recognise some of them, I guess. But that's totally okay!! Contents List: 1. Forecasted: Whirlwind Romance 2. TBA
  15. prose

    I'm feeling quite creative on my train ride. Help me release some of these flowing, creative juices: Give me a title and I will freeform some prose for it. Random is welcome! I'm just going to be stringing thoughts together as they come; hopefully coherently. We'll see how it goes I will start us off, for a taste of things to come: "Flowing Juices" Effervescent Flowing in waves are these currents - bitter - sweet - that link chains and string our hearts; Tether them to the inexorable. Impotence through our ignorance: how to escape the cycles we loop ourselves in to be apart of the fold? "Hold fast to dreams!" they say, collected; "Speak truth and be empowered!" But our truths collide and send us spiralling. We succumb to chaos. We mold to its outlines and sink into its center. We find beauty; homes. We sell lies. We live beyond survival. We thrive. In droves. We bubble up to the surface of the universe; break skin and fizzle out. We resurge. And the fruits of existence fatten with the juices of [un]shared experience. The swell of the world takes us all. We don't bend, Nor break, But flow Omnidirectional. Forward.
  16. prose

    Hello! Welcome! So this the Writer's Character Randomness where I test out my characters and write little short stories surrounding them. All these characters are mine and can't have them Feel free to read and explore as I test out things about my characters and improve my own writing skills. Feel free to give me tips on my characters. After all, I'm always looking to improve So introduction to most of my humanoid characters Believe me when I say I have more characters than this… I’m not kidding. Flower: Light Elf Flower panted as she raced through the forest. She lunged and grabbed onto a branch to pull herself up. She lunged from branch to branch and even swung herself for longer distances. Flower landed and her long elfin ears twitched as she tried to listen for whatever was chasing her. Flower was a young elf with long white hair and deep green eyes. Her face was square and her skin was fair with an almost glowing quality to it. She wore leather armor and knee high boots. She had a stiff trench coat over a tunic that enclosed around the ribs and opened like a cape around the legs. She wore leather armor over her arms and metal on the shoulders and chest. Inside the coat was a small bag around her waist and a sheath for a sword which was currently missing. Shadows suddenly sliced through the branch she was standing on. Flower screamed as she fell before she grabbed onto the trunk to slow her descent. She used her nails to try and grip, but the bark fell away and she still landed on her back. Flower groaned and slowly rolled over. She opened her deep green eyes as she turned as she heard footsteps coming her way. Flower slowly growled like a wolf. She was able to mimic animal sounds and her most used one was the wolf growl. Flower’s hands began to glow with light magic and it slowly crawled up her arms. Shadows rose before they slashed at her. She flung her hand up and used her light magic to protect her hand as she sliced through the shadows. Flower quickly rolled away and jumped onto her feet. Shadows slithered through the ground and rose behind her, Flower’s ear twitched and she quickly spun around as she blasted light destroying the shadow. Light formed around her as she slowly backed up. Shadow slowly slinked closer before it whipped out and grabbed Flower’s arm. Flower’s eyes burned with anger as light quickly cut the shadow off. Magic made her skin glow as it rose from her skin and disintegrated the shadow that was attacked to her arm. Flower growled again before she gathered light magic in her fist and slammed her fist into the ground. Light exploded around her quickly disintegrating the shadow around her. Flower panted as she looked around. She looked up as she tried to calm her breathing. The sunlight through the green tree leaves slowly moved toward her. She lifted her hand as she drew strength from the light and replenished her light magic. Her eyes closed for a moment before suddenly shadows drew over her. Flower’s eyes shot open and she tried to lung away only for shadow to trap her. Flower panicked as she hit the shadows around her to try and push them back. Soon she was inside a ball of shadow and separated from light. Flower slowly began to feel weak as she blasted light all around her in an attempt to escape. Flower fell to her knees as weakness overtook her. Sky: The Eagle/ Forest Guardian A brown eagle screeched as it flew fast through the trees. It banked right as it slipped through trees and soon came across a ball of shadow. The Eagle dived down and slashed its talons at the dark magic. The shadow rose up and whipped at the eagle. She quickly rolled in the air and flew up before disappearing behind a tree. She landed and rose her wings up. The wings covered the body before cloth appeared and flowed out from under the large feathers. A woman stood up just as the wings disappeared. Her hair was long a brown and behind her ears was a line of feathers. Her face was sharp and pointed and her skin was tan. Her eyes were large and yellow still carrying the characteristics of an eagle. Her clothes were feathered around the chest and made with brown leathered armor that fit tightly. She had a cape of white that flowed behind. Sky took a deep breath and held out her hand as golden magic sparked and slowly created a spear which she grabbed and spun in her hand before she slammed the end down on the ground. Sky narrowed her eyes as she moved with purpose toward the mass of shadow entrapping Flower. “Shame….prey I cannot eat. What a waste.” The centuries old creature eyed the mass of shadow. The shadow zoomed out at her and she held her hand up. It hit an invisible wall and reared back as Sky spun her spear and slashed it in the air. A golden blast was sent out and cut into the massing shadow approaching Sky. She tilted her neck beyond the range of any normal human and felt it crack. With a sigh she pointed her spear backwards and shot at the shadows sneaking behind her. She spun her spear before shadows attacked her from the sides. She jumped up far above toward the tree tops and bent back as she threw her spear down at the shadow covering Flower. The spear hit with an explosion. Wings broke through Sky’s back and she flapped them as she landed into a tree and called back her spear. Flower laid barely conscious as she tried to regain her strength. She slowly shook her head, her hair had black streaks in it. She grabbed her head before she heard growls surrounding her. She looked around to see hellhounds quickly closing in. Flower’s eyes widened and fear spiked. Sky hummed and she pointed her spear at the hounds but shadow slithered up the tree she was in. She turned her head just as it smacked her back. Sky screeched as she hit another tree. Sky called out like a bird before she fell to the ground. That had to have hurt. Sky slammed her hand down as gold magic created a barrier around her to protect her as the shadow whipped at it. Hunter: The Inu and Familiar A black dog raced through the grass. The dog had long silky fur, long legs, and a long sleek muzzle. Her ears sat straight on her head and her tail was long with the same long straight fur as her body. Her eyes were two different colors. One was dark almost black brown and the other a bright icy blue that had a glowing effect on it. The dog barked as it jumped over a fallen tree and landed into the scene. The dog lowered itself as its tail rose up high and hackles rose. With a snarl it caught the attention of the four hellhounds. The dog stomped a paw and blue magic rose around the dog’s form. The hellhounds snarled at Hunter as their noises twitched to the smell of the magic. The black dog soon transformed into a large beast with two inch fangs. The beast jumped and landed over Flower in a protective manner. The beast roared at the hellhounds. Two hounds lunged at Hunter, but large paws smacked them away. Hunter was larger in this form, but she was slower too. The other two hounds raced to get behind Hunter. Hunter growled and reared up as they lunged from behind. She twisted and caught one of them, but the other attached to her side and sunk its teeth into her. Hunter yelped but crushed the one hound in her jaws and tossed it away. She used her back leg to sort of scratch the other one off. The wound bled, but Hunter ignored it as she snapped at the hound that had fallen on its back. The hound scurried away, while the other surviving two quickly raced to get at Flower underneath her. Flower stretched out her arms on either side of her and light rose to form a temporary wall that lasted just long enough for the hounds to hit it and be struck away. The wall quickly dissipated and Flower lifted her hand as light magic gathered in it. Hunter slowly transformed again, but this time she took on a more humanoid form. Hunter’s eyes stayed their brown and blue, and her hair was long and black with tips curling up all along the sides. Her skin was dark, but traces of blue lines rose up from her hands as left over magic before fading away to almost invisible lines among her skin. Her dog ears remained as did her tail which swayed behind her. Her clothes were black with traces of bronze armor around her shoulders, chest, and down the sides of her thighs. She had a black coat with fur on the hem. Her tail swayed under the thick coat. She snapped her fingers and a blue circle appeared in front of her. It sparked and quickly sizzled along to create the form of a sword. The sword was black with a silver blade. The two edged sword held a head of a wolf on top. Hunter grabbed the sword with amplified her magic. Blue lines sizzled along the blade and highlighted the name “Wolf’s Fang” Hunter grabbed another sword from her belt and tossed it to Flower. “Mistress, your sword.” Hunter looked at Flower as Flower smirked and slowly stood up with a burning in her eyes. Flower’s sword was large and had a gold handle with a gem in the shape of a key in the middle of it. The blade was silver with blue elfin words written on it. Quickly the sword was alight with her magic. Flower’s eyes turned to see Sky using her spear to rise. Sky thrusted her spear up as it broke through the barrier and pierced the shadow about her. It blasted magic out and exploded the shadow from inside. Her barrier disassembled from top to bottom. Sky turned her wrathful eyes to the remaining hounds. Flower lunged out and slammed her sword into the ground. Light exploded from under a hound and flung the beast up into the air. Hunter quickly raced and flung her hand up. She jumped and landed on a blue platform that formed below her feet. She jumped from platform to platform in a spiral rising up before she opened a portal and jumped through. She appeared avoid the hell hound and stabbed her sword into it. Flower raced and spun as she cut her sword into a hound that attacked her. Sky blasted a hound away from Flower from behind. Flower spun her sword as light seared the beast’s eyes. Flower stabbed it through the head. Sky flew over to Flower and finished the hound she had shot. Hunter landed on top of the hellhound she had stabbed. She twisted her sword and quickly killed it. Hunter looked up to Flower. Flower smirked at Hunter and Hunter slowly nodded to her. “I should eat you for this, Light Child.” Sky stated. Her voice was rich but she did have a sort of accent on her words. “Hey!” Flower glared at Sky as the elder only turned on her heel and slowly walked away. Flower looked at Hunter. “You’re wound.” Flower stated with a small frown as she sheathed her sword. The wound was bleeding and looked as if something dark was festering in it. “Ah.” Hunter looked down at her wound. Hunter held a very elegant and pride-filled voice. She placed her hand over her wound. She whispered a few words. “Purifying light of God and healing waters.” She stated as the darkness suddenly was expelled. Hunter did have some healing magic, but it was limited. The wound merely sealed, but could easily be reopened. Flower clicked her tongue and walked over as she gently touched it. Her magic moved slowly and dripped off her fingers like raindrops onto the wound and healed it further. “Thank you, Mistress.” “No problem, Hunter.” Flower smiled at her familiar before she moved and raced to follow Sky. Hunter smiled gently and sheathed her own sword before she followed. The Twins: Vampire/Demons A dark tall figure stood in the middle of a field as mutilated humans slowly climbed toward him. He was over six feet and broad shouldered. He had black hair was long, but not shoulder length. His bangs barely brushed over his dark purple eyes. He was strong and obviously built. He had a handsome face that was long. His clothes were black and a dark red. He had a long cloak and weapons lined his belt. He had two twin swords against his back in a cross. He looked like the assassin that he was. He looked at monsters that had been changed by some dark force. His face was stoic and his eyes were cold. He held no emotion but an aura around him chilled the air. It spelled death and perhaps that is what gave him his name. Deathwish… He quickly grabbed his swords and slashed through the zombie like humans reaching for him. He looked around before he suddenly disappeared from sight. A lizard like man flicked his tongue out and pulled it back in as he tried to get a scent to where he would have gone. Deathwish suddenly was behind him and his swords were through his chest. Deathwish narrowed his eyes as the man roared out and reached back to slash Deathwish’s arms. Deathwish jumped back and spun his swords as the man gripped his chest. Deathwish watched as the wound sealed and new scales appeared over the wound. The man laughed at him, but Deathwish only straightened up prepared to fight. The man rushed at him, and Deathwish thrusted his sword, but the man’s claws redirected the attack his other hand scratched Deathwish’s chest. Deathwish spun and got behind the man as he cut into his side. Deathwish jumped away as the man’s tail swung at him and he went into a roll before he stopped in a kneeled position as he looked at his opponent. His chest healed but his cut shirt revealed faint scars from his youth. Another more snake-like creature turned visible behind Deathwish and struck out at him with her fangs bared. Deathwish quickly jerked to the side, but she cut his shoulder. Deathwish rolled away as her tail end smacked down at his position. She had arms but no legs. Her body was mostly snake, but her head was human. Under her long white hair, which matched her pale scales, large flaps of skin spread out like a caped cobra and lit up with a vibrant red which spread down her neck and belly. The cut on his shoulder soon healed, and he looked at the two as they nodded to each other and both went for him at the same time. Deathwish gripped his swords and watched them carefully. They approached him from the front, the Lizard using his claws to block, as the female disappeared from sight, but Deathwish could still hear her. Deathwish quickly moved using vampire speed that made it difficult to track him. He appeared behind the lizard and had his hand out like he was choking something. His sword was stabbed into the ground beside him. The lizard fell as his head was cut off. The snake reappeared as Deathwish was choking her. She gripped his large hand as she wiggled but her tail was pinned down by his sword. Even for Deathwish, that most likely was a lucky guess. Deathwish stared emotionlessly into her eyes as she showed fear. His aura seemed that much heavier in that moment and like a fog it hung heavy in the air. A knife passed between Deathwish and the woman. Deathwish’s eyes widened for a mere second before they settled blankly and his head turned to a similar man to him. Nick looked identical to Deathwish, but his eyes were a lighter purple and he was of a slenderer build. He also was a few inches shorter than Deathwish. Unlike Deathwish, Nick didn’t have a cloak and his clothes weren’t as heavy. He still wore black, but instead of red, he had a dark purple that lined his shoulders and down the sides of his shirt. He had a belt with throwing knives and down his legs was metal that held more knife-like weapons. Deathwish was built for strength, but Nick was built for speed. Deathwish turned to look at where his brother had thrown the knife and there another snake laid dead with a knife in his head. “The mighty Deathwish didn’t see that coming?” Nick smirked as he teased his brother. “Hn.” Deathwish finished the woman and dropped her. He showed no emotion toward his brother’s teasing. Nick always wore a smile just like Deathwish always was stoic. Nick looked as monsters surrounded them. He looked at his brother for a moment as Deathwish suddenly sheathed his swords. Nick chuckled as he grabbed two knives and glanced around. Suddenly all of them lunged for the two. Spikes made of shadow shot up from the ground and stabbed through monsters. Nick waved his hand and the shadows flung the beasts away from them. Some of them were dead and others only injured. Deathwish held out his hand and shadows swirled in a ball. Soon the shadows stretched out and took the form of a large scythe. The handle was just below the height of Deathwish and the large blade was a good two feet in length. The blade was silver with black lining the dull end. Purple mist started from the black part of the blade and swept over the rest of the silver. Deathwish quickly spun his blade and shadows like fire whipped from the blade. Nick looked at the beasts that were left alive. He smirked as shadows rose and each shadow tendril had a knife. He flicked his wrist and the knives were thrown dead on center. Nick ran toward a mass of monsters and spun as the knives in his hand cut through each one. He landed and stabbed a snake through the head and stabbed it into the ground. Deathwish spun his blade and slashed through a wolf beast that attacked from the front. Another wolf attacked from behind but with a click of a button on his weapon, another blade shot out from the end and he slashed up behind him slicing into the beast’s muzzle. Deathwish twirled and his blade sliced in all directions to clear his path. Nick pulled up his knife from a monstrous boar he had lunged on. Suddenly he was knocked off from behind. Nick twisted and landed on his back as large wolf/bat hybrid came at him. He held up his knife as the beast bit down on it. Nick grunted as he held the massive monster back. He glanced as Deathwish was busy with his own monsters. Nick snapped out his fangs and hissed at the beast. Nick held more vampiric traits than Deathwish did. Nick hissed out as he started to push the beast back. His nails began to grow and Nick released one hand long enough to slashed at the beast’s eye. The beast reared back and screeched a loud sound that both men suddenly covered their ears for. Nick yelled out as he quickly tried to crawl away from the beast. Deathwish gripped his head and held one eye open as he attempted to get away from his own opponent while the screech continued. Zelda and James: Dragon Human Hybrids (DHH) A staff quickly hit the screeching beast in the head. As it fell to the side, Nick could see Zelda standing there with a wide smirk on her face. Zelda had dark pink hair and a pair of bright golden eyes. She had a long dragon tail which ended in a sharp point. Her tail had a thick fur over it and scales underneath. She looked at the unconscious wolfbat. She looked at Nick and smirked. “Quite the noisy ones.” “Yeah…” Nick smiled at her. “Thanks.” Zelda looked at Deathwish as he soon recovered. “The others will be here soon.” She said as she spun her staff. It looked like two western dragons around a pole with their foreheads against each other. The end had a blade and between the necks of the two dragons was a crystal. Zelda shoved the end into the creature’s chest. Deathwish slowly nodded as he looked as a silver dragon came into view. He was massive and held golden scales underneath. He landed, and his golden eyes stared at all of them. He was at least a story tall. His head had two horns that went straight back and a few sharp spikes around his jaw. His wings held two fingers at the end of the arm, much like batwings. He turned and opened his mouth wide to spit a massive ball of fire at a horde of monsters. As they lit aflame he nodded his head once obviously pleased with his work. He looked down at Zelda just as his tail swung and knocked a few monsters up in the air. Their yells made him smirk. “James, stop showing off.” Zelda said as she scratched the side of her head. There was a massive amount of magic that exploded, and there stood a man with a shy smile. “Heh, sorry.” James said as he rubbed the back of his head. He was a tall man currently without a shirt. His hair was silver and his eyes remained gold. His torso was still covered in golden scales. “You forgot a shirt.” Zelda told him as she spun her staff and out of it came a bunch of dragons. They were smaller and more lizard-like. They were called lower dragons, more animalistic than the huge higher dragons. They were about the size of a dog or smaller. Higher dragons were intelligent and held stronger magic. Higher dragons also lived longer. “The last time I wore a shirt, your summoned tore it to shreds” James glared at Zelda. “They aren’t very friendly to me.” He said as his hand slowly covered itself in scales and his nails turned to claws. There was a ghostly fire that lit up. He slashed down at a beast, his claws easily ripping through it. “That’s only because you told the bartender to stop giving me beer for a week!” “I told you if you got drunk one more time and started dancing on tables there would be consequences!” James shouted “Who’s the older sister here!” Zelda yelled back as she pointed her staff at a massive wolf man that stalked up to her and her dragons jumped onto him. His screams of pain were ignored as Zelda continued to glare at her younger brother. Her tail whipped wildly before it sliced through the beast’s leg and something else. She blinked and looked back before she cringed. “Oops…” James took a large step away from his sister as did Nick and even Deathwish suddenly was a few more inches further from Zelda. “Men.” Zelda rolled her eyes. James grabbed a small beast that looked similar to a gremlin but obviously was adapted from a type of monkey. His eyes seemed to glow with a mist before his claws fazed into the creature’s head. He pulled back and looked as he held a gem of some kind. “This crystal’s magic seems to have been infused with dark magic.” He noted as he used the gremlin’s body to smack away others of his kind. “So what?” Zelda said as she smacked away anything that got close to her. “So…” James growled. “We can take them out and anything else that uses dark magic in a small degree by using a magic spell. Can you replicate that?” Deathwish’s deep voice interrupted “I’m a doctor not a witch!” Zelda said as she shook her fist at Deathwish. “You use dragon magic to treat some wounds.” Deathwish replied as he sliced through some enemies. “To do it on that scale, I would have to be in dragon form.” Zelda sighed. “I can’t keep humanoid form while using that much magic. Half human or not.” James and Zelda had a dragon father, but a human mother. They were half breeds called DHH. Their father was an old dragon that had enough magic to change into a humanoid form. Some dragons with strong enough magic can do this. James’s and Zelda’s dragon forms were massive, but not nearly as huge as full bred dragons, and while their father didn’t have any dragon characteristics as a human they did. Zelda snapped her fingers and her lower dragons circled her. Their heads facing out and they all breathed fire to clear the enemies away from her while she changed. She roared out as a large black dragon with white underneath and dark pink fur covering her chest and back to her tail. Why did a dragon have pink fur? There were magic spells to change hair color. Pink was always Zelda’s favorite. She looked much different than James, for firstly she had furry ears, secondly her wings had scales that looked like fathers on her wings, thirdly, she was smaller. She had four horns on her head and one spike at the bottom of each foot facing back. Her eyes glowed and she built up a large amount of magic which caught the attention of many creatures around her. She kicked her feet, putting those spurs to good use while she prepared the magic to be released. Dragon magic was strong, but it didn’t come from nowhere. She knew this would use the last of her magic reserves. Dragons searched out certain crystals that usually laid deep in the mountains. These crystals glowed with a warmth and magic. This is where Dragons would make their nurseries and nests. Dragons would bath in them, and much like the sun which dragon scales also soaked up, would take in this magic and store it. Dragon’s by themselves still had brute strength and fire, but that was all. Zelda released a large bolt of magic and one by one creatures with the same dark crystals would fall dead. As half of the massive horde of monsters fell, Zelda laid down and panted. “That’s all the magic I got.” She said as her tail swung to keep monsters off of her. “Thank you.” Deathwish stated as he looked around. Unfortunately, because of the spell he no longer could use shadow magic, at least for the time being. Dragon magic really was a curious thing. Nick seemed to pout for a moment as he got out another knife with a sigh. Zelda’s ear twitched before she turned her head and looked as a large eagle came into view. “Ah, you’re late.” Zelda stated before she eyed two others coming onto the battlefield. “We were otherwise occupied.” Sky replied as she landed right on Zelda’s muzzle. Sky looked down at the horde. “He’s pulled out all the stops this time.” Sky narrowed her eyes. “Luckily we brought some friends.” “Oh?” Zelda turned to see the army storming on the horizon. “Hm, and we were doing just fine on our own.” Zelda pouted. Sky whacked at her with her wing. “Oh please, Nick and Deathwish are obviously getting tired. Nick has a rather nasty wound on his leg.” Sky tilted her head and her pupil seemed to shrink right on Nick. Zelda chuckled. “I suppose this is a lot, but thankfully half of them seem more interested in fighting each other.” “Yes, they certainly seem mindless.” Sky stated before she flew off and transformed into her humanoid form in midair. She roared as she fell and stabbed her spear right into the ground as she landed. Magic exploded around and took out three boars that had what looked like rock spiking out of their skins. Nick zoomed and stabbed his knife into another monster’s head. “Hello Flower, you’re looking lovely today.” He smirked as Flower and him stood back to back. “Don’t start.” Flower growled as she was obviously irritated with him. “Aw, I was merely being nice.” “You flirt with every girl you see, so shut up.” Flower deadpanned. “And stating that you admire my battle stances counts!” “As the lady wishes.” Nick smirked. Vortex: The neko A large cat suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He had a massive head with large fangs and two twin tails. His fur was white with black stripes down his back to his tail. He swiped his paws and fire exploded out. He hissed as his head turned and a massive bear which was obviously stitched to a tiger rushed at his side. The large cat jumped up into the air before it transformed. He landed a humanoid with large fluffy cat ears that seemed to have fire coming out of them and his twin tails were on fire as well. He landed and stood up with a smirk as he teleported behind the beast and slashed with metal claws on his hands. The creature roared before it fell. Vortex looked at the others and saluted. He was a familiar just like Hunter, but he was of the neko clans. “Hello, dumb dog!” Vortex chuckled at Hunter. “Don’t start, moronic cat.” Hunter shot back as she growled. Beast: Created Beast “Please…. don’t! Don’t make me!” A man kneeled down with his hands over his ears and tears slipping down his eyes. He looked to be in pain. He had short sandy blond hair and yellow eyes. He looked to be wearing a collar. He cried out as he fell to the side. He looked as a man casted over in shadow stood above him. The man released a twisted smirk. “Go, my beast.” He said as his fangs gleamed. Beast cried out before his form started to change. He grew bigger and bigger. It looked like a rather uncomfortable, or even painful process as the man turned into a monster. It was a massive creature, slightly smaller than James himself. It had the head of a dog, with an elongated muzzle. There was scales underneath the jaw and over the muzzle where it would slowly give way to fur. There was a thick fur on the rest of the body. His head had two horns that curved back and two horns that curved forward. He had long furry ears and fore paws with massive legs. His body was huge and had scales underneath and behind the legs. His tail was long and had long fur that handed down. There were scales underneath that as well. The beast howled before it soon made a run toward Zelda and the others. Whatever man was laying there before was gone and now was a purely wild animal. He lunged onto Zelda and the two rolled until Zelda pinned him. She bit into his shoulder while he used his tail to wrap around her leg. He tugged hard and she slid back and fell on top of him. He rolled over and pinned her to the ground were his claws begun to try and get underneath her scales. She cried out in pain as he managed to get under scales where her heart would rest. She breathed fire right on his face. A second eyelid slide over Beast’s eyes and he growled as fur burned but his scales took the heat. He swung his head and let his horns smack her face and pierce the weaker scales around the mouth. Altair: The Bird Created Beast A man sat in a tree as he stared down at the battlefield below. He had long raven black hair and darker skin. His eyes were that of a bird, dark and round. A raven sat on his shoulder. He reached up and stroked the bird near the neck and chest. He sighed as he looked down at the man who wore the same twisted smile. One look and Altair rolled his shoulders. The bird flew away and he jumped down from the tree. He landed with his hands in his pockets before his eyes changed to a dark blue. His form slowly changed and grew. A large screech sounded out before a huge black bird stood and lifted off the ground with talons ready to tear into anyone nearby. He called before he flew off only to be met by James in dragon form. The bird screeched as every attack cut into him and he didn’t do much damage against James’s scales. That was, until Altair’s wounds healed quickly. James took a few steps back in surprise before he turned and watched as his sister took to the air and Beast chased from below. His wounds seemed to heal quickly as well. James suddenly was hit with a wing. That kind of force from the wing could fracture bone. James shook his head as he glared at Altair. He quickly blew fire at the bird, but he flapped his wings and turned the fire back onto James. James stomped his foot as he breathed smoke through his nostrils. Last *For now* but not least Draco: The Thousands upon thousands of years old Vampire Laughter echoed across the battleground as monsters stopped and all looked toward their creator, their enslaver, their reason their horrific forms could ever exist,the mad scientist, Draco. He stepped onto the battlefield with a clear mad smirk on his lips. He was a skinny man with a large white lab coat. It was stained with blood spots all over it. He stood with short blood red hair and pale skin. His eyes were black and he had what looked like stitching all around his neck. He chuckled and snapped his fingers. A large massive castle suddenly started to come up from the ground. The ground cracked and separated causing monsters and men to fall in. Draco smiled as a massive castle appeared behind him. This was Draco’s castle and the source of all the monsters that currently spread throughout the massive battlegrounds. The castle seemed to shift and move as if even the rooms inside it moved and was constantly changing. Inside one of the windows appeared a ghostly figure. He had blond hair and bandages that covered one eye and probably half of his body. He looked around before he sighed and disappeared. He was a soul that was bound to the castle. He had a body that was slowly rotting away despite his ghostly powers and the energy the castle provided him. With one pulse from the castle, the monsters that Zelda had dispatch of with her magic suddenly sprung to life again. They all surrounded the band of warriors. Flower was wacked to the side and fell to the ground. She looked as some kind of snake creature slowly licked her face. Suddenly the tongue was dispatched and Flower looked to see Deathwish standing over her. Draco waved two fingers as shadows flicked off a gremlin from his shoulder. He smiled and narrowed his eyes on Deathwish and Nick. “Ah, my dear nephews!” He clapped his hands together. “And the lovely Flower.” He turned to look at the others currently surrounded with his monsters. “And pests.” He said and laughed as Hunter and Vortex both growled at him. Deathwish closed his eyes for a moment before he waved out his hand. Suddenly a coffin busted out of the ground. The black coffin had blood dripping out of it. Deathwish opened his eyes as he narrowed them right at Draco. “Blood coffin…” Blood coffin was a curse. It was a powerful ability but it had a harsh mental backlash. The welder was tormenting by the very thing he controlled. The coffin slowly opened and inside screeched a reaper, it’s skeleton form and dark cloak was covered in a fire like shadow. It quickly raced out and with its scythe slashed down monsters left and right. Deathwish quickly grabbed the chains of the reaper and used them to control it. The downside was that Deathwish could only dodge attacks made at him and the reaper usually was long range. Deathwish maneuvered the reaper straight towards Draco. He grunted as the reaper fought him for control. Flower and Nick kept his back covered. Draco chuckled as the reaper went at him. The black mist that came from underneath his cloak was a poison that choked and killed all those that passed underneath it. Draco merely jumped over the Reaper as it came at him and used his shadow magic covered hand to cut the chains connecting the reaper to Deathwish. The reaper stopped as it screeched and grabbed its head with Deathwish fell back with a loud grunt. Nick caught Deathwish just as the reaper faded away into dust. It would be back, but it would take time to regenerate. Draco looked at Deathwish and pointed at him and Nick. Nick yelled and grabbed his neck as it glowed. Two fang marks appeared and from those fang marks came swirling lines that encircled the neck of both twins. Nick closed his eyes as he fought the control, but Deathwish suddenly started laughing. Nick opened his eyes and his body shook in fear as Deathwish bent over in mad laughter. “Oh no.” Flower looked and felt a cold shiver run over her entire body. “Yesssss…” Deathwish looked over at Flower with a mad grin. His eyes were purely insane. “What should I do?” He giggled before he stood up straight. He looked at his hand which still held a scythe. He tilted his head and poked at the blade before he cut his finger. Deathwish looked at the blood in confusion before he smirked wildly. “Oh….that’s right.” He looked toward Nick and Flower. “I think…I should kill you. Should I kill you?” he asked. Both Nick and Flower shook their heads no. “Oh? You don’t want to be killed.” Deathwish dropped his scythe and looked at his hands as he laughed. He suddenly stopped and frowned. “Oh…you don’t want to be killed.” He said in a completely serious manner. He looked at them with a stoic face, as if he was back to normal. Nick knew better than to believe it. “I guess….you’ll have to deal with it.” Deathwish called his scythe, and it flew up into his hand. He raced and swung wildly unlike he did before. He lunged and jumped as he tried to cut them. “Hold still! It only hurts for a second!” He growled as he got angry. Flower and Nick were hopping around before Nick felt the sting of Draco’s control once again. “Gah!” he grabbed his neck and Deathwish managed to hit him. As Nick fell to the ground, Flower jumped and stood in Deathwish’s way. “You want to die first?” Deathwish asked almost too innocently. “No.” Flower growled as she stared at Deathwish. “Stop this.” “But…I” “You don’t want to kill us.” Flower stated before she pointed at Draco. “You want to kill him.” “I…want…” Deathwish turned to look at Draco. “That’s right…” Deathwish smiled. “That’s….right!” Deathwish waved his arm and smacked Flower to the ground. “I want….to….send…you…to HELL!” He roared before he jumped for Draco. Draco’s eyes widened before he lunged away. Draco growled as Deathwish swung wildly at him. “Darn it…I can’t control him when he’s like this!” Draco stared right into Deathwish’s insane eyes. Flower looked at Nick. “Are you alright?” Nick growled as shadows suddenly covered his entire form. “Nick?” Flower asked worriedly before Nick turned and his eyes glowed red. She screamed as shadows grew from his form and thrusted down at her. Flower woke with a loud yell. She laid in bed in a large room. It was still dark and the moon was high. Moonlight lit into her room from a massive window to the left of her. She panted for a moment as she tried to calm her heart. She swallowed as her entire body shook. She pulled her legs up and buried her head in them as she tried to calm down. She swore she could hear Draco’s laughter echoing in her head. “Curse you, Draco…curse you.” She whispered. That’s the end of that…. finally Oh GOD THAT TOOK SOOOO LONG!!!
  17. other

    Hello, I am Simon Blackquill. A Prosecutor by profession, there are times where I just wish to take down my pen and write down whatever comes to mind. Be it poetry, stories, haiku, prose, it does not matter. You are free to criticize, and I will take them into consideration in hopes of making better content. This is mainly an excercise of me wanting to vent out and having a place to post my pieces. I also update on 10/18/2016 "Dreamer" "Is it a sin to dream? To be someone who likes to see the world in a grandiose light, someone whos perception is altered by powerful emotions. Of love, of anger, of admiration, of bliss, of jealousy, of worry. Dreams of both positive and negative nature, a powerful imagination lead by the power of a thinking mind. Overthinking at times. Maybe more often than not. The mind of a dreamer whos smitten by those that lead his or her heart to feel these complex emotions The mind of a person whos goals in life are not limited by what they see or own at the present day. Is it a sin to be a dreamer? To be someone who is willing to go through lengths not bound by the present, to be someone who is willing to work hard in order to make the dream a reality. We are all dreamers at heart. Having our own desires in life, we all want these things to happen. But the difference is that some accept the reality of their situation, and do not want to dare to live their dream. Living their lives how they are comfortable. And some, dare to chase after their dream, no matter how ridiculous, how difficult, how farfetched it may sound. It is not a sin to be a dreamer, nor is it a sin to play it safe. But we should not deny the bravery of those who dare to live out their dream. Because dreamers know how it is like to live a life full of passion and love, I can only salute them for it, hoping to be just as brave."
  18. prose

    So, you know how the water cycle works, right? How it just get re-used? So, what if scientists found out that they could bottle up water from people and that water, depending on who its's from, would effect you. So, say the water is collected from someone smart, you would get smarter! In this society the newly found special water costs a lot of money and its the new craze. I haven't figured it all out but there's a idea.
  19. That little Canadian hospital was a glowing, busy place in the late summer of 1975. Doctors, surgeons and nurses dressed in white coats and blue or green scrubs worked and navigated urgently around a sea of citizens coming and going, or mingling in the crowded hallways. They wore colorful, vibrant shirts with big collars, usually wore unbuttoned with tank tops or T-shirts underneath or V neck floral pattern shirts that hung loosely around their bodies, and bell bottom jeans with high waistlines that flared wide at the knee going down the ankles. The janitor danced subtly as he mopped the tile floor while a small radio sitting on top of his utility cart played a groovey new hit song from that year. In a stairwell leading to the second floor a male citizen passed another. "What it is, T!" He said with fondness and surprise at bumping into him here of all places. They exchanged some words as one headed down and the other up. "Hey! What's the skinney on you and that Debra girl?" "We're going bootin' this Friday. You should come, bring your girl. It's gonna be far out, man!" "Groovey! Catch you on the flip-side!" On the second floor, in the maternity unit a woman was in the middle of a difficult labor. Angela Thorne screamed in pain as her husband James held her hand while she squeezed so hard he though his hand was going to snap in two. Sweat soaked her usually pale face and blonde hair as she pushed with all her might. The doctor instructed on when to push as the L&D nurse supported her and talked her through it, reminded her to breath at the appropriate times. With one final push, she fell back into the bed, still gripping Jame's hand tightly. A calm and hush fell over the room, and although he wanted to see his child, his eyes never strayed from his beloved wife. After all the pain, instruction, and organized chaos, the sound of an infant crying for the very first time broke the silence. A brand new life had entered the world. "It's a boy," the Doctor said with a warm smile, wrapping the child in a soft blue swaddle. He slowly, careful handed Angela her newborn son so they could spend a few moments together. She held him lovingly, smiling wide at James, tears welling in her bright green eyes. James smiled, a giggle of amazement almost escaping his dry lips. "What should we name him?" "I want to name him after my father," she said, a pure, maternal love directing the tone of her voice. "Owen.. Owen James Thorne." Rise of The PhantomHe lives to serve He'll die to protectWritten & created by Loco Mofo
  20. prose

    This is a story inspired by my grandmother, and I hope it helps anyone with issues of self-acceptance. I know it helped her. Apologies for any errors; it was written a long time ago, and I only skimmed through. ----------------------------- Once upon a time, not all that long ago, in a place far away there was a remote village where for generations things stayed the same. All resources could allow the people, was to sometimes survive. Progress had not been conceived of. There was barely any change at all. Fear was woven into everything. Culture was limited to such as breast-feeding, fastidiousness in all things, and never ever wasting food, or wood, or opportunity, and of course total obedience. Such as art, legend, inheritance, symbolism had not yet appeared, except within the context of the tales of how to make the tools of survival and hand them and knowledge on with greatest respect and tenacity to detail. Of course there were celebrations. Food to eat was celebrated by a banquet, long interrupted by bellyache hunger. Drums broadcast regularly the birth of a child. A safe delivery of child and mother was not taken for granted. A healthy child and mother was good for everyone. Celebrate now, before the anxiety of the next pregnancy. Deaths were quieter. Equally they were shared, grief ruptured and dispersed, heads bowed to the unknown purposes of some all-controlling God. The rains were always welcomed. The harvest of toddlers from the disease bred in puddles was a natural sacrifice to the creative powers of nature. More life than death came with rain. So celebrate. They had no idea after thousands of years, that malaria, certainly not how malaria, was the killer so often. They had no idea that a shivering feverish child should be cooled, not wrapped and held. They were a strong, fine, beautiful people. Now in those days it was not just that the people had no space in their lives for toys. There was not even any word in their language for toys. But just as every tree has the potential to bare fruit, if conditions are favourable, so has every child born the potential for joy, at least at first. Although no one expressed that the children had a capacity for joy, the idea was somehow accepted, and one thing thoroughly understood. That was the Magic Pool. Whenever the rains were about to come, there was a place between the village and the river, where overnight a pool would form. Sometimes it started just a grown man’s stretch across, and a hand deep. But almost always within a day or so it would be a shout across, and waist deep at the centre. You must understand that almost all of the time there was no notion that water was nice. Water was essential and difficult to come by. Other than the thundering yellow river where men lost their lives fishing, which was somewhat salty, water came in small quantities. Its eye might blink up from the depths of the well, as hand over arm non-menstruating maidens pulled it just before dawn, before the sun beat down, in leather buckets that did not graze the soft walls. And during the rains there were, briefly, slimy puddles that festered before scabbing over. So you can imagine that this crystal pool was magic, not even thought of as water. It was some strange gift not to be questioned. The village had many taboos. Many of them so personal it does not benefit us to mention them here. In a village like this where firewood is scarce, nights as long as days, and candles not invented, once the sun has dropped, and prayers completed, there is nothing to do but sit with your household and talk until you fell asleep. Children first, keeled over in heaps on their mats, inactive elders last. Other than rhythmical pounding cous with girl high mahogany mortar and pestle, there had never been any mechanical noise. The human voice carried in the dark, a lower faster melody than the cowbell song from the bats. There could be no secrets. But to laugh or weep loud enough to disturb those in the next compound was an aberration, an intrusion, bad manners. So you will imagine just how magic was the pool when I tell you more about it. To begin with, the adults allowed the children to seek the pool without reminding them they had better things to do. Of course we might argue this was sensible, as the children would be required to work all the harder during the rains, (having already denuded the ground at the breaking of the buds on the baobab, not knowing that premature preparation in the drying climate accelerated soil erosion). Once the Magic Pool came, even from the far side of the village, children’s squeals could be heard, and no one ran to beat them for it. Unlike most things, there seemed to be no fear whatsoever of the pool, no taboos associated with it, even though it must have been realised in all things there are dangers. It seemed to be left to the children not to drown, without warnings. In fact the only taboo at all seemed to be to talk about it, as if that might spoil the unspoken magic of it. Strangest of all, nobody ever considered using the water, even though it was perfectly sweet. Not for washing, not for cooking, not even for drinking was it ever suggested a drop should be taken. But this certainly was not a taboo, this was respect. So what did the children do when the Magic Pool came? Well, I suspect you can guess. Every time it was forecast, by the full flower of the moringa, a couple of boys would sit up all night to see what black angel placed it there, and if white devils tried to steal it. But it always arrived the hour they both slept, and was found fixed safely to the sand. Once discovered a stillness rippled through the village as whispers passed between children, and chores were completed amazingly efficiently, before they took leave for release from the whole day’s duties, completed not long after noon. And when they got there what happened? Well they walked sedately to the edge, just in case it startled and took flight. Then they poked it with a toe, to see if it was wet. Then in dipped a finger, to see if it was sweet. Then gradually they relaxed and floated old kapok tree shells in it, like dugout canoes, and walked in it, and ran in it, and splashed it over one another, and sat in it, and poured it over themselves, and lay in it, and choked, and laughed, and when they could think of nothing else to do they went to tell the others. The following days things settled down to more serious business. They would go early, before work, while the water was still ice cold, and just look deep into the pool for the children of yesterday and tomorrow, whose faces were said to be pictured there. They tried peeling back the surface to see the secrets within. And it seemed some quenching of the thirst of the inner spirit was accomplished in the process, as each child eventually moved away of its own accord, presumably satisfied, and ready for the celebration of the rains that followed, and the planting for another year of life. That part was of course a private affair, the thinking time, done after laughter was exhausted. The Pool was a space for different activities. What exactly was learned there was never remembered. It was a moment to move on from, not hold on to, like most growing. Generations were born, and died, at least thrice overlapped, like roofing, for better protection from the elements and circumstance. And there was at one time a terrible war; it was said to end all wars, both sides valiant in the name of their deity. Many men never returned. Two children were born of two such men and by some mystery both survived. They were destined to marry. With no fathers to choose for them, they chose each other. Their mothers were pleased. So cautious these two anomalies, beyond wisdom it was said. Just weeks after they married, there was yet another war. They decided not to have children, so very strange these two, until peace was restored. They did not want to put a child through what they had suffered. “How wise, how sad for us” thought their mothers. This war lasted even longer than the first. By the time it was over they were quite old. And for two more years no child came to them. It was assumed none would. But then it happened. After all these years of waiting they had so many ideas for their child. It would have as much value as the dozen born to other parents. Everything would be done right. When she was born, almost a moon later than predicted, three long days and two nights after the onset of labour, they called her Rabia, “she who can see for a long way”, because she insisted on arriving face upwards, not Lahido, (our promise) as they had promised themselves. She was a miracle child in that she was born alive, and after a few minutes breathed, and managed to open those huge, swollen, blue-black eyes. She had long thick wavy black hair, long nails, and long limbs and such white skin. She did not look like a new-born except for that. And she stared at people, and turned her head to her mother’s voice on her first day. Her mother just lay beside her, looking at her for weeks, delighted, until she could resume her work again. Her mother never allowed her to cry. She did not cry at birth, so why ever should she? She was destined to be different; an only child of old parents. She felt different. They encouraged her to think that being different, feeling different, was a good thing. It would provide security. She did not even entertain the idea that she could not possibly be so very different. It was accepted, understood, without question. Once weaned all toddlers took their chances with the other children, supervised when remembered, except Rabia. She stayed with her mother who took no chances; there was no possibility of another child for her. When the Magic Pool came the first year after she was weaned, she did not even know. The following year she wanted to go, but the opportunity just didn’t seem to occur. The third time her father did not want her out of sight, so her mother went with her and watched. Oh for sure she was special, just look at her. She simply did not behave as the other children; (she lacked the basic experiences). She stood at the edge, delighting in the spontaneity of the other children, hoping that if invited she could join in with them. But they were busy with themselves, as children are, oblivious to others. Thoughtfully she smiled broadly at their antics, her own toes fidgeting indiscernibly in response. The mother saw her daughter broadly smile, and wondered at her self- possession and great wisdom, so unlike the others of her age group, shrieking and splashing for all they were worth, like monkeys. Her mother’s heart warmed to the joy in her child’s face, she so seldom smiled. And as Rabia smiled at them she looked away, long into the distance, where she continued to smile as she could see herself, in her mind’s eye, playing, with them. Her mother later reported to her father it was right for her to go. There was value in her going, as did the others. Of course it would not make her silly, like them. She was different, and she liked it, so let her go. “She will gain from it”, she asserted, to make sure of her chance. Such a concept was too alien to speak of, so was never mentioned again. She could go. The following year she was allowed to go alone, almost. Rabia somehow felt her mother’s consciousness of her departure. Somehow felt her presence. Always overly self-aware she could not “forget herself”. Again she watched and smiled, her heart beating wildly. One day her children would be there in this pool, and she might play with them. Later, when the older children quietly went alone to gaze into the depths, she took a turn to see if she would have children, for she knew her mother nearly did not. She quietly knelt. Oh see how special, her mother’s heart leapt. She just had to peek to see what Rabia might see. For a moment she saw a small face just like her mother. But then a shadow cast away all visions, found out looking, unease, spell broken. Rabia, stood, turned and obediently left. “What did you see to turn away so fast?” “Hannifen Mba." “Well, maybe next year. And will you tell me, just in case it’s important?” “Of course”. But by the next year her mother was dead. Everyone now knew why she had turned so fast, what she had seen, and not told. She put it from her mind. Some feared her. Time passed. Each year left of her childhood she went to the pool. She felt in her soul there was something there for her, she kept trying. Each year some desperate woman would follow her. The first year, just as her mind was opening, a young woman who had lost every child she had ever born cast her shadow. “What do you see?” she implored. She tried hard, saw nothing. Then she stared into the distance searching. “I can see them all playing together”. She could not promise a live child, but she could say that, she must perform some healing. The next year it was an old dying woman whose son had travelled years before the war that had killed the rest. They carried her. “He is alive, and strong, and always thinking of you, and trying hard to get back”. Her reputation was established. Her childhood drifted away. She had never been alone at the Pool. She became a woman. She married. Her father and his great expectations died. She had children of course that she so much enjoyed. She particularly did not want them to be special. They weren’t. She was something of a disappointment to her husband and he let it be known. Not as devoted to him and domesticated as he would have liked. The children grew, went to the pool unattended, had lives of their own. The girls scoffed at her reputation, hardly mentioned now. She encouraged that a little. The wives of her sons felt rather threatened by her watching ways, not right. She felt so lonely. One day a stranger came to the village. He came from an entirely different world. He looked different. He sounded different. He smelled different. His habits were different. Even his taboos were different. People were shocked, amused. He stayed a while. No stranger this strange had ever stayed before. He seemed to settle in. He began to influence the young boys, with plastic to scrub their mouths instead of twigs. And he showed them strange signs for strange words for strange things. They started not attending their instructions with their elders. They started knowing better than their elders. He was not wanted. Stories grew with their fear. It was unthinkable to tell him to go. But he was no longer welcome. They had heard all he had to say, and tired of it. No good luck came from the stranger, and they did not want the bad. The village leaders decided to consult Rabia. Let her make him go. So they met. She was afraid. She did not know what to say. They sat awkwardly. She saw the stranger watching her grandchildren. Their mothers were furious, and took them away. The space filled with others, unsupervised mavericks. They were cruel to each other, as children are. And she realised, just like her; he was trying not to interfere. “I hate to see them being cruel. My father was a soldier, and we were always moving. The other children did not want to play with me because they thought I was different. They were very unkind. I did not cry in case my mother knew, and stopped me going with them”. She began to understand his strange talking; his strange clothes that were so difficult to wear, his strange eating as though he was afraid that his food might soil his hands, instead of fearing his hands might soil his food. She saw his careless washing. She saw him learn not to waste the water she brought. She saw him learn her taboos. And sometimes she saw him asleep, like their young men, oblivious even to the shouting of his name, so carefree. She ceased to be afraid. She began to look forward to their conversations. She felt she could speak freely, finding words for thoughts, feelings, ideas, and dreams, worries of which she had never spoken. She began to see her taboos for what they were, and he saw his. But both held on to them tightly, lest in losing those, they lost who they were. She needed to know who she was. So did he. Freedom of thought, real freedom, was new to both of them. Horizons skated from under as they sat together, seeing how much they had in common, underneath the skin of taboos. She felt so disturbed, so excited. A burden was lifting from her back, and she found herself clinging to it, which lifted her up almost straight, and younger than she had ever been. He needed to know who he was, what he should do on this, it seemed, his quest for manhood. He told her of his world, far beyond her comprehension. Eventually she felt ready to break her own taboo, and asked him why he had come. He thought he had come to help people. “So is that why you get the boys to plant those strange trees?” Questions. So many questions. She did not know that she had a lifetime of questions. “Of course”. His NGO reforestation objective was meaningless. Children collected firewood, girls fetched water, men caught fish, women gathered and pounded, boys hunted squirrels, and chased monkeys. That was how it was. She said nothing, him so full of his irrelevant importance, as the young are, searching for somewhere to put it. He said he had to go back and report what further could be done. He wanted her advice on that. She dreaded the idea of being reported in far off places where no one she knew could represent her. So she asked could she please be left out of it. Then he tried to explain it wasn’t like that, that it was for the villagers to decide what should be done, did she know what were their hopes? Their hopes were that he would go, but she didn’t say that. He pursued his explanation. It seemed someone somewhere had been allocated responsibility for this area, and he showed her a map to explain. She was horrified. She had seen a photograph once, a man so small, and could not move or speak. But a map! All that she knew was represented as a speck on a sheet that could blow into the fire. Put it away. She felt sick. Significant? Significance? She wanted this to pass from her. But her duty was to come to terms with this, for her village. They needed her to do this. What power did he have? What power might fall on her village and children from where he came? Oh if only he had not come to disturb them. She tried. After a sleepless night again she tried. “Could the rains be more plentiful, or last longer, but not too long?” (What else could they need?). No, but education was a priority he was sure, along with primary health care. They needed so much help to survive. Surely that was in the hands of God? She became so very confused. She knew he meant no harm. She knew he did not think he was dangerous, could not understand, like her, he was feared. She knew he had a clean heart, and she pitied him for his enormous strangeness and all his power that he knew not how to use. She found she wanted to protect him from the truth. He persisted. They should not lose this opportunity. It was a tight programme with no flexibility to roll over budget surpluses. She was afraid for him. He would fail his entry into manhood. She was afraid for herself, for all of them, at this distant power and its expectations. Panic. She trembled. “I have no thoughts to give you on these things”. She was not wise at all. This was her moment her father had foreseen, that was vital to them all and she had nothing to say. She could speak no more. Her trust in herself drained away completely. He saw her agony, and stopped. He released her from all his urgent remonstrations, and realised that the meeting of their worlds, through their relationship, was allowing his technology to tear through her spirit. He wanted to undo their conversation, withdraw his words, remove himself and his hard- edged hungry futility from her home. He saw it was better if he had never come: better to do none of the things that he thought so obvious before he knew better. He had the sleepless nights now. He wanted to be forgotten. He had harmed her, he saw that. He tried again to meet her, to help her. She remained very shaken. “I see you have much sorrow” “All women carry the burden of sorrow.” She replied as was the custom. He realised their survival required the utmost effort and discipline. He felt so gauche, so selfish. Sentiment had no space here. He could see that. If there was something to do, you did it without question, as though your life depended on it: because it did. Otherwise, between times, in the wilting heat of the day, or the numbing cold of the night, you waited. He talked to her again about her sadness, her own personal sadness that seemed greater than that of the other women. She was surprised. She had begun to think as did the others, especially her husband and children, that it was her choice, or her nature to be miserable. “I think my parents would not be proud of me. I am useless. They thought I would benefit my village. It was for that that they had me”. He knew the feeling. His parents were disappointed that he didn’t get a first class degree. He’d taken rural management, not law, as they hoped. That was why this project was so important to him. He protested what he knew. Being careful as he realised sometimes pride was all these people had left to hang on to. Surely she was not there just to please her parents or the village. They had their lives; something of hers must be just for her. She could not see it that way. She had to be special. He understood being polite wasn’t polite. He had made her face something that could destroy her. He felt it, even if she did not know it yet. He tried to pull something together to give her. She saw his desperation. She thought seeing her as an impostor with whom he had wasted his time agitated him. “All these years I have prepared myself for the time to help my village. Now is the time. I have nothing to say. I have no right to be with the speaking people. I am not a baby, so my place is with the dead. My life is a lie.” Her sadness broke into tears that could not be shared. She was mourning her own useless life. He did not know anyone could weep so, and so silently, especially not these proud, obedient people. He knew he had to stay with her as she released her sorrow. She forgot who she was, where she was and even why she was. At first he felt awkward, ashamed. Then he knew it was all right. His soul moved towards hers and joined with all the souls who cry out in loneliness and despair. He felt humanity as one creature, lost, and she and he were part of that. Then he felt love for humanity. He knew why his parents wanted so much not from him, but for him. He felt free to love himself, and them, and her who had brought him to this wisdom so young. The weeping drained away. They made light of it. The time passed for it. Weeks passed. He still came to speak to her, more, even though she could not help him. Now she trusted him. Having exposed herself, he told her more about his world, his parents, and his doubts. His priorities were changing. His hopes were changing. He no longer needed to make his parents proud. She pointed out that their arms outstretched to him might be useful to grasp. She could see how hard it was for these people, with so much power and so many choices, and no wiser than her own, to know what best to do. That an unmarried boy could drive a plane as easily as a donkey cart, surprised her far less than that so many chose to climb into that screaming bird, that did not, after all, foretell the ending of the world. Still they talked. He was going. The village relaxed. There was no plot. She seemed to regain some self-esteem. He seemed to believe she was a bit magic, as she had been thought of as a girl, she knew his thoughts. How? “You are so much like me when I was your age”. She had never known anyone so much like her before, never known anyone so much. They laughed. Two generations, two colours, two sizes, two shapes, two genders, two cultures, two religions as different as a storm cloud from a moonbeam. He agreed when he drew breath, they were so alike. They nearly split with laughter, trying hard not to be heard, not for decorum, but lest required to explain. They laughed until they cried, and their tears as they wiped them off with their hands touched, and mixed, and many things that had been so important were diluted, and could drain away. For all her return of confidence she could not advise him. Time ran out. The rains were due and he must leave while it was still possible to travel. She still had her inner sadness, but it was in remission. He needed to know he was leaving her in good spirits, and sometimes made reference to their earlier conversation. She did not want to bother with it, but he was persistent. So she thought. She decided that her problem was she had never found her destiny. So he decided he would look for it for her. He looked under cooking pots, in her sleeping house, in her store box, even in her washing pile. His invasion went too far. She was angry at his young male impertinent intrusiveness. Furious when he would not stop, but laughing as she tried to beat him. She fought with him as if with the siblings she had never had. For some minutes they struggled in their play, her losing. She astonished herself. Forty years fell away in a moment in her desperation to control him. “I never found my destiny because they never gave me time. The place to find it is the Magic Pool.” She told him all about it. “Then we must look there” “But I am too old”. Her agitation and excitement collapsed. He could not leave it like that. “Am I too old to look?” She gazed at his young face, and said, “Nearly”. She took him to where it might be. It was just forming. She kept well back. It really did seem magic. The moon was bright, the night creatures hardly awake. People were still eating. He crept forwards and stared deep into the pool. There was no breeze. All he could see was reflections. He let go his breath, and it animated his reflected face. He thought how foolish to come here, to do something, and find himself trying to believe in magic. But wasn’t that magic? He let out another breath. Again his reflection moved. He drew back. He remembered going through all her personal things. They had no mirrors. “Come Rabia, and see your destiny.” “Is it there?” “Of course, it has waited for you.” “Can you see it? I do not think I will be able”. He reached back, and took her arm, and drew her forward. He knelt behind her, holding her shoulders, then pointed. “Look.” “I can see nothing at all.” She said in dismay. So he pointed to his own reflection. “Can you see me there?” She could. “Then who is this with me?” It was more difficult to see herself. He held her chin in his hand. And he watched her seeing herself for the very first time. “Oh I am so old and ugly!” He was shocked. He was used to seeing her. He did not expect her to be so un-accepting. “Rabia, am I ugly?” “Oh no, not now I am used to your strange looks. You are young and beautiful” “So then, when I am old, will I cease to be beautiful?” She could not answer at first for the sorrow of knowing not every child who grows reaches age. “You will always be beautiful.” “And are we not alike?” Which was quite extraordinarily funny, if you saw them. So she took another look. They looked together, knowing her sole destiny as with all of us, was to see herself just as she is, and have the courage not to turn away. And their destiny also was to see that, side by side, two worlds, two strangers, one humanity needing to be accepted to be free. Feeling his respect gave her the courage to do now what she had never done in youth. Soon he left to return to his life. She stayed and continued with hers. The world continued to turn, without hesitation or acknowledgement, as it must. But there was a difference, in both of them. He never returned. Once he sent a message to say, “Tell the boys to cut down the eucalyptus we planted. They will lower the water table, and take away the Magic Pool.” But the boys were busy. The elders would not instruct them. Who needs a magic pool when progress was anticipated? Anyway, the boys cleaned their teeth with neither plastic, nor sticks, and were beyond instruction.
  21. prose

    So, I'm working on a novel right now. I've only finished the first chapter and am part way into the second one, and it is a first/rough draft, but before I get too far into the process, I would like some honest feedback. If the beginning drags on and on, please tell me. If the main character isn't believable, please tell me. If my, oh, I don't know, foreshadowing is too obvious, tell me. Anyway, here is what I have so far! EDIT: Please don't correct spelling or grammar. I'm going to go back and edit for grammar/spelling once I finish this second chapter and I have made my revisions. Chapter I “Get ‘im! He ran down there!” I stood next to the lockers at the end of the hall. Ryan Jimenez and his toadies skidded down the hallway past me. I sucked in my breath, hoping he wouldn't hear me. Of course, he did. He spun to face me. “Hey...dweeb” I could practically see the gears turning in his head. “Yeah Ryan, what an original insult.” His face turned red, and I ran. As I rounded the corner, however, I came face to face with the rest of his posse. Liam, Ethan, Noah, and Aiden. All of them were much dumber than they were big. And they were the biggest kids in school. And they all took personal pleasure in making me suffer. For what, I never was sure. They chased me down the hallway, right to the bathroom. I knew what was coming. This had happened so many times. They were going to get me into one of the stalls. Then they might hit me if they wanted, but one of them would inevitably push my head into the toilet. Then Ryan would flush it. Liam, Ryan’s second in command, would hold my head under. Then they’d all walk away like nothing happened. That’s how it always went. Today, before they gave me the “treatment”, as they called it, they might even take my lunch money, just to mix things up a bit. Yeah, I know. Cliche, huh? But it’s true. I have lunch money. My parents love me, but no one has time in the morning to make me a lunch. But back to the present. I sighed. Since I already knew what was going to happen, I decided that today would be the day to not fight. I stepped backward into the bathroom. “Just get it over with..” I said, hoping they might actually listen. But alas, that was not the case. It did happen fast, though. One moment I was standing, the next I was on my knees in front of the toilet. “Here Kori, enjoy your drink!” Ryan was about to push my head into the bowl when the toilet...well, the best way I can describe it is throwing up. Everything came out. The water shot up and hit the ceiling. Then, once the everything had come back down and hit everyone in the stall, something else popped up. It was a little man. He had a long, bulbous nose and no hair on the top of his wrinkly head. He looked to be about the angriest person I had ever seen until he spotted Ryan. He shouted something in a strange, Germanic language, then grabbed Ryan and pulled him into the toilet. All the water on the ground was sucked in after them. Liam stared at me, obviously trying the figure out what had just happened. Now, I most definitely was smarter than Liam or Ethan or Noah or Aiden or even all of them put together. I wasn't a prodigy or anything, but I did fairly well in school. But even with all my smarts, I couldn't tell you what just happened. Liam’s mind finally settled on me as the only possible answer. “What did you do, you dirty little rat…” The rest of the group joined in. From Ethan, it was “Just wait till we get out of school.” Aiden’s addition to the conversation was “You’re dead…” And finally, the one everyone had been waiting on, Noah. He simply mumbled something under his breath. I could pick out the words kill, you, and later. I had a bad feeling about what that meant for me. So, I hightailed it out of there. I might as well save the beating I was sure to get for later. Anyway, I was late for science. Chapter II The rest of the day went mostly as planned. I did have to eat lunch in the janitor's closet to avoid Liam, and math, as always, was difficult, but I got home all in one piece. I ended up running the last block, however, because Aiden found me and completely planned on delivering on his earlier statement. All that was put out of my mind as soon as I walked through the door. My family was going on a trip to Florida! White sand beaches, cloudless blue skies, and no Liam or Noah or anyone to bother me. No one except my sister, but I could deal with her. I sat down on the couch, ready to watch some T.V. until we left, which was hopefully soon. That was when my mother walked up to me, obviously elated. My father trailed behind her, considerably less so. She sat down on the couch next to me. “Honey...we have something to tell you.” Despite her morbid tone, I could tell she was excited. “Mother, this wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the tri-” “Actually it does. Your sister convinced us to finally go on that trip to Germany we’ve had planned all these years! Isn’t it exciting?” She burst out, her smile growing wider by the minute. “Of course Mother, extremely exciting.” I forced the words out and slumped back. It was not exciting. Not in the least. I had so been looking forward to the warmth of Florida. But Germany was the last place I wanted to go, especially with it being the middle of winter and all. But once my mother set her mind to something, there was no swaying her. So, we were going to Germany. I was still going to watch T.V. I’d just do it much more defiantly this time. My sister smirked at me from across the room, where she was helping to pack. “Oh, I just love Germany, Mother. The rustic castles, the Cologne Carnival, the ice. I’m sure Kori will love it too, won’t you Kori?” “Yes,” I mumbled under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. I did like castles, that was for sure. There’s just something so...majestic about an old castle. “Kori!” My sister called to me again. “We’re leaving in half an hour, so you’d better be ready.” I sighed, stood up, and looked over at my father. He was hunched over and grumbling to himself. It was very clear he didn’t want to go. I’m sure he didn’t have much say in the decision. I trudged up the stairs and started packing. I had packed last night, but all those clothes were for Florida. So I pulled everything out and started over. Soon everything was packed, and we were out the door. We took a taxi to the airport. My mother chattered the whole ride about how excited she was. We went through the airport relatively quickly, except for one mishap in the metal detector. My sister had something in her pockets, and it took them a whole 15 minutes to pat her down. I had a strong feeling she did it to inconvenience the whole family and make the trip worse than it was already. That’s just the way she is. The trip after that went smoothly. We got on the airplane, and while there was a bit of turbulence along the way, nothing else happened until after we touched down. Chapter III The moment the wheels hit German soil, something felt...well, off. I couldn’t quite describe it at the time. I started getting headaches periodically throughout the first week of our stay. I almost never get headaches. I had the strangest dreams, mainly about a man with fire for hair and his wife, whose hair was made of gold. The man wielded a large and heavy hammer. In fact, it seemed no one else could even lift it. The other man featured in my dreams was a large man with long gray hair and an eye patch. The dreams about him varied in content, but there was one constant throughout them all: two ravens. Both of them seemed to stare directly at me. It was quite eerie, all in all. The first part of the trip, headaches, and strange dreams aside was actually very nice. We stayed in two castles on the way. On the third day, my mother decided to vary from the plan. We were supposed to stay in a hotel in Berlin that night, but she had spotted a lakeside resort on one of the pamphlets in the lobby of the castle. A lakeside anything would be nice, in the summer. Not during the 30-degree winter we were currently in. But, as I’ve stated before, once my mother sets her mind to something, she cannot be swayed. So we took our little rental Mercedes-Benz, bought some snow chains, and set off into the Bavarian mountains. The higher we went into the mountains, the more treacherous the path became. The road was increasingly thin and windy, and I remember the car almost driving straight over the edge. It was dark and very, very snowy when we arrived at Lake Riesenauge. I had no idea what it meant. Back in Berlin, most things were written in German and English. No such luck up here. The cabins were small, made of dark wood, and brightly lit. There looked to be about 21 or 22. 11 of them were illuminated. Wow. I couldn’t belive 11 other families had had the same idea as us. I felt bad for the 11 other kids that had been dragged up here. The cabins themselves looked quite small on the outside, but there was one quite interesting feature. Each cabin had it’s own distinct symbol. One had a very old looking hammer. Another had a sword and shield. The one my family chose had a raven. I looked across the lake at the cabin across from ours. It also had a raven. I didn’t think much of it then. We were exhausted, as we had been driving all day so we hurried in. The cabins, despite how small they looked on the outside, were actually quite large and could sleep six or seven comfortably. That meant I wouldn't have to sleep next to my sister. I silently thanked whatever force was looking out for me on this trip, even if it had just started taking care of me. I certainly hadn’t received any supernatural assistance back home. But it was helping me now, and I wasn't going to take it for granted.
  22. prose

    I'm writing a series of unconnected short stories in which Darth Vader raises Luke and/or Leia. These stories aren't serious by any means- just crack. I've posted three stories so far on A03. I'll just attach the link instead of posting them directly. Read one of them or all three of them.. I'd just like some feedback. So what you liked, didn't like, where I can improve, ect. And please tell me which one(s) you read. If you despise these stories with every fiber of your being, and are convinced they were pulled directly out of the sewer, be gentle, please. I'm a fragile soul. Hopefully that won't be true though. Thanks! Dark Lord of the Dads
  23. Introduction "I prefer to go out at night, when the sun has rested after a long day of polishing the earth. The light is inherently forgiving in nature. It has a way of shining a false beauty over even the ugliest of situations. It gives cosmetic value to an otherwise worthless piece of merchandise. The light is the great deceiver, not the darkness. When the shadows close in around us and threaten to remind us of who we are, it's in the light we seek comfort and salvation.I walk the streets of this forsaken city, past the dregs, junkies and whores. I see and hear everything that happens in these streets, this concrete Gomorrah.I see a man, a spineless worm, unemployed and hooked on crack cocaine. He collects welfare checks from his brother's mailbox and lives with his girlfriend and her two small children. He spends every penny chasing a high he'll never satisfy and watches her kids suffer, neglected and deprived of a mother and childhood.His eyes are fixed upon a young woman, a prostitute. Her long blonde hair, slim figure and schoolgirl face earn her the money she needs to care for the product of a trick gone horribly wrong. The uninvited seed of a low-life rapist. A foreign invader who left upon her both a gift and a curse. A bitter sweet signature left upon her world in the form of a pure, and life-long maternal love, marred by the memory of her violator every time she looks him in the eyes.The pipe in his left coat pocket is still warm, and his mind races, the pane of glass between himself and reality slightly cracked and smudged. Only two things rest on his feeble, one-track mind. That perfect backside and the sexual release it will offer him, and the $600 which rests in her purse beside a loaded .45. Nothing good happens tonight, nothing that can be summed up beautifully, or packaged neatly by a deep moral observation.People hide within the light, hoping, praying that all of their superficial bullshit is in any way true, or in any way will protect them from the cruel reality of the human condition... evil. Sin, and the capacity to commit sinful acts of violence, greed, or deviance dwell within us all. The road to heaven is paved with corpses... so watch your step."—Preacher Chapter 1 Darkness Ensues This story is dedicated to Sunal Wolfsbane, my dear old friend The night was hot and humid. The streets of New Haven were quiet and eerie. The orange light from lampposts was polished into a fine, dense glow by the heavy moisture in the air. It was one of those nights when the empty streets felt both inviting, and menacing. For Deputy Sheriff Owen Reznik, this particular night had been quiet, uneventful so far. He sat in his squad car eating a hamburger and listening to the radio at a low volume. He was putting in a solo shift tonight. New Haven was a fairly small, relaxed town. Deputy's often worked the graveyard shift alone, although backup was never too far, should it be needed.Owen was a caucasian male of thirty-two years with short black hair and a hansom, defined face with bright green eyes. He had a small, jagged scar above his upper lip from when he was eleven years old. During a little league baseball practice, he had taken a fly-ball straight to the mouth after failing to catch it with his glove. Funny thing, fear. He never quite shook that one day, that one incident. As a result, he became a bench warmer and didn't return for a second year. Sometimes you have to ask yourself, if I had caught that ball, that fateful day, could I be playing for the Yankees right now? Fate is not to be taken lightly, you see. Even if you don't believe in it. For fate in of itself does not exist, it's just a word we use to make the course of our lives more tangible; To vindicate our failures and glorify our successes. You get up in the morning and consider calling in sick. Instead you get in the car to drive to work, and you're T-boned by a semi two blocks from your home. Was it fate, or random chance? Could you have actually stayed home, or by your own will and admission, was it your destiny to cross that intersection that morning? It's enough to drive you insane. Luckily for Owen, he was a simple, new world man of simple beliefs. As far as he'd be concerned, fate would play no part in the events which were about to unfold.The dispatcher, Carey came over the radio.Owen. You're around Kennedy Park, right?"He re-wrapped the burger and put it down in the passenger seat, swallowing that last bite. Grabbing the microphone, he answered Carey. That old familiar doubt and anticipation lingered in the back of his mind. You never knew what your next call would be. What you'd be going into. A kid caught shoplifting, or a standoff with six heavily armed criminals. You could say it was like a box of chocolates, you never knew what you were going to get."Yeah, Carey. I'm sitting on Park Lane right now.""I need you over on Agricola. Some sort of disturbance between two men. It's the alleyway by 85. Doesn't sound serious, but be careful anyway.""Copy that, dispatch. Heading there now."Carey was a sweet young girl, only 19. She was attending university to be a criminologist. Owen liked her. Figured if things were a little different, if he hadn't met Allison... but there we go, dabbling in that fate nonsense again.He pulled away from the curb he'd been parked at, heading north on Park Lane toward Agricola Street, which was only a few blocks north-east of his location. Kennedy Park was a nice area during the daytime, but it seemed to change after dark. It got more gritty and dangerous. So this call came as no surprise.Cruising slowly down the street, he came to the alley near 85 Agricola. He shut the lights off and stopped discretely, assessing the scene. He made eyes on a man hunched over and mounted atop another person. He quickly called for backup, exiting the vehicle afterward.He approached the scene with his sidearm grasped firmly, the suspect directly between his sights."New Haven Sheriff's Department! Put your hands in the air where I can see 'em!"He couldn't see the victim, but the person wasn't moving at all. The suspect however, slowly stood up with a menacing, hunched posture.Owen's stomach tightened. "Easy! Keep your hands where I can see them, or I will open fire!"The man slowly turned around, locking eyes with Owen. He held something in his right hand. Looked like a knife, or something long and metallic like a blade."Put the weapon down, and those hands up! Last warning!"The suspect didn't comply, but rather advanced on Owen, as if to will his gun away and attack him as he had the poor soul laying behind him.Owen panicked and squeezed the trigger as he'd been trained to for years.A round exploded from the barrel and found it's mark in the suspect's chest. It pierced the left side of his breastplate with a vicious shock wave of recoil surging through tissue, flesh and clothing. What should have been a direct kill shot, seemed to have avoided him all together as he pressed forward still.Owen squeezed the trigger again, horrified with disbelief. The man absorbed yet another 9mm round at close range. This one he actually seemed to feel. It slowed his pace, almost staggered him. That's when Owen heard the squealing of brakes pinching rubber. His backup had come crashing in at the sound of gun shots.The suspect finally yielded, turning from Owen, dashing into the darkness of the alley, dropping the tool he'd been holding in the process. Owen took a few calculated steps to pursue, firing two more rounds which may or may not have found a mark.What the hell just happened? Could what just happened have really happened? No time to really digest it.His sight moved down toward the unidentified weapon. A long, metal spike, bloodied at the tip. This night couldn't get any stranger. With so much adrenaline and emotion surging through him, he almost picked it up, contaminating the evidence.Settling down a little, he holstered his sidearm and rushed to the victim as another Deputy ran down the alley after Owen, gun drawn."What the hell's goin' on, Reznik?" the Deputy asked in a panic, looking around the scene frantically. He'd never had a call like this before. Shots fired and all. New Haven was a model American Town. Nothing like the neighboring city of Blackwater, which was full to the brim with crime and violence.Owen kneeled next to the victim. There was blood everywhere. On the ground around him, soaked into his cloths, and all over his neck and face. As Owen went to check for a pulse, he took notice of two evenly spaced puncture wounds on the left side of the neck. He tightened his brow, perplexed even more than he had been. It would take a week to come off this adrenaline rush.Hands slightly shaking, he checked the man for a pulse. No good. He was already dead.Owen stood up slowly, glancing around the alley, inebriated with fear, shock, and confusion.
  24. prose

    The Birth of Gods At first, there were two beings from the void of empty white noise, a placed of entropy before they had arrived, but filled with nothing but they, themselves. The two beings weren’t as one might expect - complete opposites from one another, but at the same time, they were. Neither of them were inherently evil nor good, neither was inherently beneficent or harmful nor were they destructive beings. The two complemented each other in the finest way possible, however only each other’s presence wasn’t enough to subside the loneliness they had gained, thus the two had created a beginning. As with a beginning and a place both beyond their grasp but in the palm of their hands. Thus, with the creation of this new void, there was no longer Light and Shadow but the start of Time and Space. A cloaked figure of both light and shadow stepped into the void, from what he had entered through was unknown even to himself. The only notable appearance being his cloak, much like the empty Darkness of Shadow’s but now with a dotted and constantly changing light sparkled across it. As one light as dimmed, another had sparkled into life. He brushed his coat off slightly, the lights slowly gathering together into clusters, then as they became closer together into a different shape entirely, a red spiral appearing on the both empty and extraordinarily filled void. He cleared his throat as his eyes of blue clouds of light circling amongst each other with a blinding light in the center, almost a continuation of his cloak, if it wasn’t for the fact it was more circle-like than any of the clusters on his cloak, inspected his ‘audience’ of three and soon to be four. “I see that Time isn’t here yet, no matter, he will be here soon enough.” His tone somehow feeling haughty and overly superior to his creators, which Shadow helped to point it out. “Don’t forget your place,” The small utterance of words slipping through the lips of the figure cloaked in utter blackness, yet not. There wasn’t a shred of color in the cape he had adorned upon his shoulders of his pale white complexion. His eyes a swirling gray, an apathetic gaze staring into the fellow being of immortality. However, his apathy could be easily mistaken for anger as Light had done. “Now then, my young child, don’t heed the words of the Man in Black and take them to heart. Your creations are far apart despite you two being from the same root.” The cloaked figure of nothingness scoffed slightly at Light’s words but made no other remark on her words. The gentle snow-white hand, not as pale as her counterpart, placed upon the shoulder of Space. The retaliation of Space to Shadow and Light (as he didn’t recognize either of them being his creator or ‘parents’ as Light would have it) would have to wait as The God of Time was unpredictable in the very concept that had created him, the body of a young child nor more than seven but not less than five years of age finding his way into the empty kingdom of the gods. An almost morbid look on his face, “Sometimes creation isn’t the antonym of Destruction, it’s a synonym.” His wise or perhaps nonsensical words seemed to be not his own, as if he was in a trance and he was simply a medium for which things to come – a deep pause of thought being shared between the four divine beings before his expression change from from of solemn face to a more like something that suited his present appearance, “In next, next, next, next, next, next, next, next millennia the first pizza party will be done.” A ‘pfft’ coming from Light, although he was laughing more at the God of Time than the obvious juxtaposition or his words. On the other hand, he was also greeted with a dual facepalm of Shadow and Space sighed at the new god. It seemed that just as his attitude, his appearance also changed as he filtered through multiple mediums of himself, sometimes a young child, then a fully grown adult male the next minute, and a physique of an elder with his hair long gone with only grey strands being his only salvation of what used to be onto his head. The only thing that remained with him throughout his multiple vassals of physical form was his title of the God of Time. As Light and Shadow had done, Space and Time had also no filled the blank canvas of their world. However, this was an age of evolution, not for the immortal beings of Light and Shadow but for Space and Time. Their domain evolving by the day, especially one that had birth a new world of mortal beings, a planet named by its inhabitants as Earth. As there were mortal beings there must be a being to create them, and another to take them away. These two beings were more hostile that the previous duo, Life and Death.
  25. prose

    Peppermint My earliest memories were spent in a small, stuffy church house amongst Christian southerners. Uncomfortable frills and peppermint candies provided the linings of my childhood, just as it did my parents and their parents before them. It was simply a matter of tradition. Perhaps, too much tradition. It was the sort of church where pants made you promiscuous, the term bastard' mattered, and proclaiming yourself gay or a scientist was on par becoming a satanic priest. I, unfortunately, fell into the category of all four. I asked too many questions and spoke a bit too often, earning me the apparent distaste of the holy. It wasn't like any child actually enjoyed being there. The services were four hours long and our only comfort was an oak bench, made doubly as grueling with the tulle from our dresses. Most had no idea what the pastor was speaking of and didn't truly care either. Peppermints served as pacifiers. Bad children had one stuffed into their mouths at all times, while the good could last a whole service with only one. They'd focus on the sharpness and stare off into nowhere. I couldn't manage such easy distraction. Much of what the pastor spoke didn't match with how I understood the world. Where did science and religion become interchangeable? The other children sucked on their peppermint, while I chewed them whole. My questions were entertaining for a while. They saw it as simply curiosity, a devilish trait but one to be expected from someone young living in today's time. Then, it turned for the worst. A member of the church had been convicted of one of the most terrible sins, loving another man. The ensuing service was cold and stiff, even more than usual. Everyone lined up perfectly spaced and still, as quiet as emptiness. Each child received five peppermints to keep them distracted for the entire speech. I feared what that would mean. The guilty sat in the front of our church house twiddling his fingers and looking down, eyes filled with something far more painful than I could imagine. He was losing his family. He'd grown up within those walls. When our pastor finally began to speak, nothing but hatred spilled from his mouth. I grew equal parts horrified and confused. We were supposed to be like god. He would never call a group of people unworthy of basic human rights. This wasn't correct. Our culprit looked near tears. Impulsively, I shot a small hand up to catch his attention. My grandmother rushed to knock it down or tempt me with another candy, but it was too late. Our preacher reluctantly called me out. His glare made one thing clear, asking a question now would have heavy consequence later. I frankly couldn't bring myself to care. "Why not let people love who they want to love? It's not hurting you." I never got my answer. Quickly they rushed me outside and my family promptly left. My mother and grandmother chastise me even now, but my father had a different response. He congratulated me for honesty. Today we don't speak of the experience. I've never gone back to church, and neither has he, but we always make a point to chew our peppermint.