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Found 514 results

  1. prose

    Hi guys! I wanna play a fun game inspired by last year's character comp! Instructions: 1) Anybody at all can share a song! 2) players create a character inspired by that song! 3) The person who shares the song picks a timeframe (between 1hr-1wk) and judges the winner after this time has elapsed. The winner should show creativity, originality and have responded thoughtfully to the prompt. The song-chooser can also set other instructions. Some rules: A character sheet you can use to design your character (song-choosers can specify different sheets, or not specify a sheet at all) - Have fun! I'll go first, here's your song you have 24 hours! [expired]
  2. prose

    Cold wind howled around a mountain range, the moon continuing to rise and shed it's cold pale light onto the ground below. The stars were glowing like little white embers in the sky. A river rushed down the side of a mountain, running down into a field, then into a lake. In a cave in one of the mountains were several cats, their gazes resting on one who stood on a rock, which was angled at the sky. "Blizzard," the leader growled. "And Clarice. Bring your kit forth." Two cats stood there, nodding and gripping a small black kit with blue eyes by the scruff. They padded onto the rock, setting the kit down. "As we all know, it is against our Code of the Moon to have more than four children. Our leaders had no more than four offspring, yet here you stand with five." The leader hissed. The two cats lowered their head, though the father, a large thick-furred gray tom with white paws and darker flecks, looked enraged instead of ashamed. "You have no right to cancel us out because of this!" He spat. "We cannot control how many kits are born!" "You still broke our Code!" The leader snarled. "Either execute her or send her away." The cats below broke into a flurry of terrified and enraged yowls. "Send the Plague away!" "Kill her!" "Banish her beyond return!" Blizzard was about to snap. "Fine!" He growled. "Clarice, send her away!" A silver tabby she-cat with blue eyes nodded in sorrow, and picked up the kit and padded outside of the cavern, meeting an icy river. She set the kit down on a stone, staring at it. The kit looked around in excitement, finally being outside of the cavern. "Good luck my child," Clarice began, her voice shaking with grief. "And may you find peace elsewhere..." She nudged the kit into the river, feeling more of her heart shatter like thin ice when the kit wailed or tried to push against the current, but was carried quickly away anyways. "I'"
  3. so i got an email from fanfiction saying someone had followed an ancient story of mine and i clicked on it and boy is the cringe real what was i so this is "immortality unplugged" i'm too lazy to remove the formatting but hollY shit what is this like all the reviews are like "omGG SO SAD" and wighh what
  4. prose

    Simple writing contest: First, I'll start by giving a theme. Themes can be anything from one word to an entire starting paragraph. Once I've said the theme, you have 48 hours to write something spoopy enough to win. Once I've chosen a winner, they say the next theme, and the cycle continues again. Submissions must be appropriate AND original. I don't want to look up a sentence and find your story in the creepypasta wiki word for word. Let's start with a classic: the theme is Ghosts.
  5. 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 :^)
  6. prose

    i am beginning a novel called "the criminal enchantress" and i've bern working on the first chapter for quite some time now. I want to know one thing: what do you think about the first paragraph (that I think is below par) A second story bedroom, It’s like many others bedroom of the house, a young woman named Susanne lies on her bed in a mix of fatigue and reflection. Across from the bed, a hoarse yellow portable 8-track player is on and tuned to a music station that’s playing Diana Ross. Her hand gently caresses the side of her head thinking "A fresh start, but will people like me?" as she had gotten home from registering for classes at UCSC a couple hours earlier. She Just as she got into a sitting position on the bed there was a series of quiet knocks on the door “come in" the woman said. the novel is supposed to be a supernatural thriller about a psychopathic witch maintaining a normal life as she starts school while hiding her psychotic tendancies. She uses technolagy to plan murders, like using a TV as a crystal ball to see what houses are unlocked and a portable 8-track player to hypnotizing her victim's loved ones into not calling the police. (i was origionally going to make her psycopathy more of a suprise to the reader by first establishing location and time period, introducing her family and in chapter 2 actually introduce her psycopathy)
  7. prose

    Okay, so I've started writing songs and stuff and I'm getting pretty good at this and wanna write more songs, so I was thinking that I could use people's requests as inspiration. I'm a singer; I'm not particularly good at any instrument so there won't really be any music in the BG, plus sound quality miiiiiight be a little crappy, so fair warning. Heres one of my most recent songs (still WIP):
  8. prose

    I roughly rub my hands together, my breath slides from between my gritted teeth in a puff of white condensation. I turn my gaze to you, "You're so cheap you cant even fix the heating in this thing?" I mutter under my breath, you don't even look at me, yet a chuckle rumbled from in your chest. "Oh please, it's not that bad." You try to reason. I roll my eyes, "That's right, you never feel cold." I look out my window, the snow was falling steadily, the ground was coated in a thick white coating. "weirdo" I mutter, only to receive a playful punch on my shoulder. We both laugh for a moment, before silence engulfs us again. This entire ride you have been acting different, the world around us just felt stiff. "So, how close are we now?" I ask, attempting to break the silence once again. "We aren't far now, don't worry." You say gently, without even caring to check the time. I was surprised by your sense of direction, we reached the camping site without the use of GPS or map. Yet we had been driving for some time when we entered the camping site, I swear I saw a sign that said "See you next time!" as if we had left the designated area. It was probably fifteen more minutes before you edged your old truck to a delayed halt. I praised a god I don't believe in, before looking towards you. You were spacing off slightly, yet when you noticed I was staring, you gave me a friendly smile. I dismissed your weird behavior as just nerves, we were due to go to college in a few weeks. "Come on, lets unpack this shit." you said gently, before throwing open your door and stepping into the heavy snow. I gladly get out of the passenger seat, my feet sink into the snow. It was a little past my ankles, making my steps slower and more labored. We unpacked our stuff in a lighter mood, which made me happy. We were joking, talking about stories of when we were younger. Overall, this trip was starting to look up. Once we had our tents up, our fire made, and our dinner roasting, it was dusk. We roasted our hot dogs, opening a few beers and knocking them back as we laughed on our past. The sky was streaked with red and orange, when it happened. The sound of a beautiful howl rang through the forest, it was decently far away. I smiled, because I always saw wolves as beautiful and elegant. Yet when I looked towards you, you were staring off into the distance from where it came. You were silent now, and your hot dog was on fire. "Hey." I say softly, but you didn't reply. "Hey!" I say, taking your roasting rode from your hands and dropping the flaming hot dog in the snow. You have snapped out of it now, and clear your throat. "s-sorry." you say quietly, yet I ignore your apology. "That sounded really close, huh?" I say, handing you a new hot dog. You nod, and the night goes on. It was nearly midnight when we were roasting marshmallows, I was pretty drunk but you didn't seem nearly as smashed. It didn't bother me though because we were back at our antics. Joking about the girls we used to date, our recent one night stands, what we plan to do after college. Everything was great, until another howl slices through the air. It was much closer now, and I looked towards you immediately. You were spacing out again, before snapping out of it rather quickly this time. It was only maybe fifteen minutes later when you declared you were going to bed, I agreed and we both went into our separate tents. I fell asleep to the sound of the fire popping, and the various howls that rang through the night air. It lulled me to sleep rather quickly, my slumber was peaceful. I wake up rather late, it was nearly noon when I checked my phone. So I get dressed, put my boots on and climb out of my tent. You weren't awake yet, so I start the fire because its freezing. I rub my hands together near the flames, blowing in them a few times to keep my fingers from going numb. I roll my eyes slightly, why would I let you take me camping in the snow. I light a cigarette, inhaling the smoke deeply before releasing it into the air. You need to wake up, it was freezing and we should pack up and get out of here. Its to cold to spend to much time out here, no matter how beautiful it all appears. That's when I noticed the footprints, the snow was newly fallen and your boot prints are fresh. So you got up only to lay back down? It makes sense, it was to cold to be out here alone. So I walk to your tent, "Hey." I say, scratching on the door. Yet you didn't reply. So I unzip the opening, you were gone. All that was left was your sleeping bag, your keys, and your back pack. I look towards your tracks and it looks like you walked down the designated path. I shrug it off, despite the feeling in my stomach. I go back to the fire and try to start it up again. I shake my head, where were you? It had been nearly an hour since I noticed you were gone. This wasn't like you, so I decide to go and search for you. I follow the foot steps in the snow, they were visible despite being who knows how long old. I had been following your foot prints for maybe ten minutes, when I noticed a new set of tracks come from the woods to join beside yours. Those foot prints belong to a massive wolf. I kneel down, and compare my hand to the print. The print was only a little smaller than my entire hand, this wolf must have been the size of a bear. I pull out my phone, yet I had no service this high on the mountain. I curse you softly, and stuff it back into my pocket. I keep following the prints, thoughts coursing through my mind. I wonder if you knew you had a wolf behind you, it must have been stalking you. I was only walking for five more minutes when dread clutches my stomach, another set of tracks appears in the snow. Panic begins to grip my chest, you now were being followed by two wolves. I become irritated, why would you walk off alone, you could have woken me up! I sigh, I shouldn't be mad, but now I'm searching for any sign of blood or struggle. That's when your tracks grow further apart, I felt dread clutch me because this is when you began to run. So I did as well, following your tracks as my breath comes out as warm steam. That's when your tracks veer off of the path, you ran into the woods but they weren't far behind. I flick open my pocket knife, and start to run faster. I could barely feel my heart, but I could hear it. My breath was rapid and I was beginning to panic. The forest was becoming thicker, and my lungs feel like they could burst. There was no wind to blow against my face, instead the world was still and silent. It felt like it was -5 degrees. My eyes are burning from the cold, but I refuse to let a tear fall. Whether it was due to the cold or for you, I refuse to cry. That's when I come to a new path, the area was clear. I felt confuse rack my brain and I knelt down beside your tracks. One moment they are the prints of your boots, the next moment they are the tracks of a third big wolf. Then a sound nearly makes me jump out of my skin, it was the sound of three wolves howling.
  9. 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.
  10. prose

    "Why me?" It's an easily understood thing as to why it would be asked, and maybe one of the most difficult to answer simply because of the reason of its mention. It's rooted in self worth, or at least thats what I'd assume it to be. I believe this because it makes sense to me that if you value yourself enough, there should be no question as to why someone else would see it and share the same love you have for yourself. There is value in all you are, even the things that aren't the best simply because of the acceptance of them speaks volumes. It's difficult to answer because we see the same things, yet hold different values. It's like trying to explain to someone why a certain color is your favorite when another person is witnessing it as well as you are and just don't see the allure in it. But of course, you can always try to get your point across. So you better be fucking appreciative for this shit because who the hell argues about why one color is better than the other. (Let me tell you though, red is definitely the best. It's intense, and passion is the thing that always leaves the most satisfying impression) At first it was the way you spoke, or the lack of. And if I'm wrong, then it was the way you spoke softly enough for me not to notice. Knowing myself to pull the same habit, it brought curiosity, and that's how you caught attention. (Well, aside for the first time we spoke. I spent the whole week after that conversation way too excited over someone else liking Nirvana even though I hadn't even known your name. At the time those who liked the band were rare to me, and I was glad that someone else saw what I did in the band. Even so, that's not my point. I calmed my shit eventually, and that was the end of that. I'm talking about August, not whenever the words of "I'll see you in chemistry then, right?" were spoken with a smile out of a half assed flirting endeavor just for the hell of it. It wasn't my intention to get sidetracked here.) What I'm trying to say was that the relation I was able to draw in that behavior had me wondering if the reasoning behind it was the same as mine as well. Regardless of that, I didn't put in much thought into trying to find an answer being I knew it wasn't my business and overall, that it didn't matter anyways with the near complete lack of conversation between the both of us. I turned the curiosity into a different thing: a respect for the fact that you seemed to listen to what others said without forcing your words over theirs before a sentence was even completed. I had to respect it, because I've almost always been around people who weren't like that. Those that would ignore everything I would say, turning their backs. After so many years of putting up with the blatant exclusion, there was bound to be a time that my complacency for it would be lost, and in that newly found lack of tolerance of being treated so poorly, there would be an appreciation for those that would appear to value others enough to at least be polite. It was there that you had made your first right with me, even if it was entirely unbeknownst and unintentional on your part. What followed in making these feelings what they are, is in due respect because of my own impulsiveness in the mania of a certain affliction, but that's not what I want to talk about. The reckless actions of approaching you without thought or intention of planning it were brought up by the question of who would be the best choice. I don't notice many people let alone pay them enough mind to regard any desirable traits or feel the need to want to speak to them with the way I'm content contemplating things in my own silence, but that question needed an answer. You were the first to come to mind and the last; it was the way you seemed respectable that made it that way. Others that I knew were just too immature and not necessarily making the best decisions in their lives, and I respected myself too much to even entertain the idea of it. Sure, I kind of got the hint that drugs were no stranger to you, but who am I kidding, I've known them as well. It's not something I could use against anyone when it's something I've been around myself. That's why I always tell you "I get it, you don't have to explain," every time you mentioned the subject and seemed maybe a bit stressed over not wanting to look bad. I just never mentioned my own use because there's no importance in it. Of course a story is behind it, but it's not something you'd probably want to hear. Anyways, so because I was impulsive, picky, and the way you held yourself came off as more than decent, that's why. But I'm sure you're asking more than this. I just can't ever give half of a story. What came after was uncomfortable, I do have to admit. In the days and weeks following, I ended up dreading that decision to say to hell with keeping the impulsiveness in check. I dreaded it because of the abruptness of it and ridiculed myself for the lack of thought that had gone into it. For all I knew things would go terribly, terribly wrong, and it would all be of my own doing. Things were awkward, and I knew they were. It was because I didn't know you, and at that time I wasn't able to help hatefully questioning myself why I had ever put both of us through the discomfort of it or why you had even agreed to it. I didn't see any of it as a romantic thing nor did I intend for it to be as such. If I did, that'd just be downright ridiculous being I barely had any impression on you at all at the time. That, and I hadn't really had feelings for anyone after I broke up with Michael. Which was, mind you, almost three years ago, and there is a reason for this that is very clear to me: that occurrence had worsened whatever commitment issues I had at the time to something much more demanding. But you know, I dealt with it and of course began taking things more seriously whenever you seemed to be regarding me in that way. I found myself catching any sort of feelings pretty late. I remember feeling terrible for it too, because I found it to just be straight up mean to continue talking to you whenever I knew I didn't see it as romantic. I kept trusting it that things would happen eventually, and well, they did. I can recall the moment that I realized it, too. I was in our kitchen home alone with all the blinds in the room open. It was a Sunday. I'd been outlining a biology chapter for hours by then with my phone playing music as loudly as it could beside me. I was thinking about things as I usually do, about everything and nothing, and as the Everlong version from the Skin and Bones album started playing, the thought of you came up. I don't know what it was, but maybe it was just the romantic feel that I got from the song and lyric: "If anything could be this real again." I had to stop and think about a topic that had been bothering me pretty frequently at the time: was it wrong to be talking to you without me holding genuine romantic feelings while possibly leading you on? It was at that point that I had finally given myself a definite answer. No, it wasn't. It wasn't because I enjoyed spending my time with you, and I wasn't ever given a reason to think anything otherwise. If I have ever given off any feelings of not wanting to speak to you, it was because of my own faults. "This'll just end badly." "There isn't even a point to this." Etcetera, etcetera. But as I usually do, I resolved that. There is a point to it, and what I came up with was that relationships like this are made to teach you how to treat the one you will end up marrying and how to accept being treating in the same way and ultimately at some point, to find that person. That person may be the first one you entertain or the twentieth, but either way, all relationships will matter. So with that resolution and realization that I didn't completely hate you touching me (as I usually do with most people) along with being able to appreciate your presence, I decided that I did like you in some sort of romantic way no matter how small it had been. Of course it swayed in weeks following, but I figure that's something you couldn't care less to know about. I didn't allow myself to actually like you any more than that until we clarified things into something more official. (Thanks, Gwen Stefani) I did this more or less for the sake of myself. There is bound to be pain in rejection, so defense mechanisms kicked in and kept me for getting any strong feelings unless I was sure that they were reciprocated. Like I've said before, pessimism is the best thing out there. So past this, what was it aside for nice conversations and impressive values? I'm not so sure if I can explain this well aside for the givens. Talents make you admired and impressive; altruism can make you appreciated; interests make you, well, interesting. This can go on, but this isn't the type of answer I want to give. I like the way you walk. You move like you're not even real; languid and graceful without looking like you're even trying all while keeping an air of confidence. That's not real. That's the kind of stuff you read about in romantic fiction novels. I like the way you care for others. You're gentle. Your hands always seem steady. I can see the affections shown through small actions, and as much as I'm made near entirely uncomfortable with it just because of my own complicated reasoning, I know it's there and it is appreciated even if my own lack of gracefulness with it makes it seem otherwise. I like the way you have kind words and a subtle smile. You don't seem to speak very ill of others, and that's something to be respected. You're genuine. I like that you have something you believe in. I like you for who you are. Not for what you can do.
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    Here are some stories of mine, feel free to check them out lolz...: If anyone likes them, let me know because I'm working on some new things on and off... So wish me luck!
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    Do you though?
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    Criticism and feedback appreciated. The bright yellow star and the expansive blue sky hid themselves behind a wall of oppressively grey clouds. Sunday. The morning forecast said that heavy rain would be coming and lingering for the next week. Those who chose this particular gloomy morning to venture out of their homes had already prepared themselves for the incoming inclement weather with raincoats or umbrellas. You could pick the poorer people out from the crowd because they carried no such protection against the precipitation that would soon pour down upon the rainforest of buildings. I was not one of these financially starved people, and yet, I carried with me no line of defense against the tears of God; I had greater fears plaguing me. I dragged my feet as I walked at a lagging pace behind the torrent of people trudging upon the sidewalk as they made their way to the various destinations located within the confines of this downtrodden city. Cars drove past me and the other pedestrians, headlights shining bright in the left side of my field of vision. A droplet of rain fell upon my head of white hair. In perfect unison, as though guided by a single sentient mind, everybody around me opened up their umbrellas. A second droplet fell on my head. Another landed on the side of my forehead and flowed like a river down the course created for it by my wrinkled and eroded skin. Before that drop reached the end of its journey, I became showered by a deluge of water from the clouds above. Men and women from various walks of life passed me by, keeping dry beneath their umbrellas or raincoats. Some people were sitting against buildings, drowning in the rain and begging for money so they could escape poverty for one day, or so they could waste it all on cheap, bitter firewater. Whatever the case may have been, everybody ignored them as though they were just street decorations that had been there as long as the buildings they sat against. With no charity to spare in my frail heart, I too ignored those street-side bagatelles. Cars drove on past us all, their masters shouting curses and throwing out profane signs to other drivers or to pedestrians passing early to the other side of the street. One old woman crossing the street almost had a heart attack when a man sounded his horn and flashed his headlights at her. Nobody went out to help her, but she managed to keep her heart beating normally until she escaped safely to the other side. Rain continued to fall on me, and I continued to walk. By the time I reached my destination, the sidewalks and roads were slick with the ocean that was currently being drained out of the grey wall that loomed overhead. Water from the puddles I stepped through penetrated my torn and weathered shoes and soaked my dirty grey socks. My reprieve from the weather took the form of a painfully white and painfully familiar building with a red cross outside. This was where I needed to be for today, but not where I wanted to be. Any other place would be better. When I entered the building, the eyes of all the dying or possibly dying patients turned to my soaked person that was currently drying and forming a puddle on the welcome mat. Those eyes turned away from me as they became more interested in reading the magazines available for their perusal in the building, magazines with colorful covers, decorated with photos of celebrities and bold yellow text that shouted “Celebrity Scandal!” or something similar. On some of these covers, there was a small section in a corner about an author or artist that had recently suffered an untimely death. I approached the reception desk, above which rested a red analog clock that went on day by day with its incessant and never-ceasing ticking. A young lady sat behind the desk, seeming to be more interested in everything in the room that wasn’t me. Her makeup and long blonde hair were done with care. She seemed like she’d be extremely friendly and kind to people who could look out towards the stars and see they had many years ahead of them. She couldn’t look me in the eyes. “Last name is Daniels.” She turned her gaze away from the area just below my eyes to look at the computer and go through a list of people whose names she would never engrain into her mind. “Okay,” she said in a way that made it seem like the needless word was meant to interject an impolite sigh, “Dr. Pontius will see you soon. Please have a seat.” Without another word, I took a seat out of sight of the receptionist and spent several long minutes staring at my feet or at another random point in space. I was all too aware of the smell of stress in the room that emanated from people worrying about the results of medical tests, as well as the smell of an air freshener with a fruit scent that was working fruitlessly towards trying to allay the dreadful atmosphere that permeated the microcosm of the hospital. “Mr. Daniels?” a nurse’s shrill voice called from behind a wooden door, opened slightly in a way that allowed onlookers to see only her head and her hand that was lightly gripping the its edge. She scanned the room, settling her blue-and-bored eyes on me when she saw I was rising from the dark wooden chair with dark grey cushions. That chair was exactly like all the others in the reception chair; they were all probably bought in bulk when they went on sale. My eyes briefly met those of the nurse. Before the longest hand moved on that red analog clock, she turned her gaze downwards, then turned her back to me as she started to escort me to a patient room. “He’ll be here soon,” she said before swiftly leaving the room and closing shut the windowless door behind her. The room was like the rest of the place in its subdued color palette: a white floor, a white ceiling, and four white walls. Paintings of mountain vistas and forests with the sun shining through the leaves and breathing life into the day were hung up on the wall, accompanied by charts and graphs regarding the statistics of how many people die from different dangerous diseases. A grey table, with glass jars and endless sheets of paper on top of it, was pushed up against a wall, shielded from the lights on the ceiling by a similarly grey cabinet pinned to the wall just above it. I sat down in a chair just like those in the reception area, this one resting against the wall adjacent to the door. Across from me was a grey examination bed with a roll of white paper draped over it, and next to me was a short brown-wheeled stool with a red cushion. I could hear rain drumming on the roof and the lights humming along to the rhythm. Loud footsteps and the door swinging open broke the melody. “Good morning,” the doctor lied as he strode in. He must’ve been in his forties. His light brown hair was combed to the side and out of the way of his forehead decorated with a few stress lines. The rest of his face was ornamented with a wrinkle here, a wrinkle there, a bit of stubble, and a pair of grey eyes. He held a clipboard in his left hand. I could see his veins in that hand, along with a tan line that stretched around his vacant ring finger. “How have you been?” Dr. Pontius asked as he pulled the stool in the room in front of me and took a seat. He looked me in the eyes. His time in this occupation must have desensitized him to people like me. “Fine.” “Have you been attending the group sessions?” “No.” “Why not?” “Other things on my mind.” “I see,” the doctor said, likely referencing the futility in trying to encourage me to go to those sessions. “Have you at least tried to get in touch with old friends?” he inquired. “Yes.” “And?” “All dead or angry.” The doctor nodded with a movement of the head that offered no comfort to me whatsoever. He went on to ask other questions regarding my physical health. How many times have you vomited into a bowl of porcelain and water over the past month? Do your muscles feel stiff or weak in the morning? Do you feel like your senses are still acute? After blankly hearing my one-word responses to each question, he scribbled something in illegible handwriting on a slip of paper, then handed me the piece of defiled parchment. “I’ve upped your dosage. Take this to the pharmacy and call me if you feel any side-effects. Take care, okay?” “Okay.” I strode out of death row as fast as my weary body permitted, with the slip of paper tucked safely away in my pocket. The rain was still falling from the grey wall of clouds above. More cars than before were parked outside now, most of them in a bland black, grey, or silver. One vibrantly red sports car stood out to me amidst the monochrome sea. I looked towards it, and my eyes flicked towards the side-view mirror. A dead man with white hair was reflected, the words “objects in mirror are closer than they appear” in a black font below the poor fellow. I was like that receptionist: I couldn’t even look at my own eyes. Feeling sorry for myself, I turned away from the expensive vehicle and went on my way. I stopped by the local pharmacy, a horribly bland place, as instructed by my doctor. Thankfully, I wasn’t forced to spend very much time there, and before I knew it, the white ceiling was replaced by that grey wall. I was no longer showered by advertisements for various medications meant to try to recapture the vitality of my youth or help with the common cold, but by simple rain. I walked through this rain and soon arrived at my house. For a moment, I fumbled in my pockets for my key, then fumbled with the lock, then finally fumbled with the doorknob. With each fumble, my eyes drew themselves to my old, wrinkled, and pale hands with stark blue veins. I stepped foot in my house and out of the rain, out of the view of the grey sky. With my first step, the floorboards lamented their old age. I drowned out that painful creaking noise by slamming the door shut behind me. “I’m home,” I told the ghost that lived with me. I lit a candle for her; a drop of rain dripped down from my eye. A picture of her, framed, captured, and preserved in wood, was beside the burning candle. I gazed into her quiet eyes, and she gazed back at the widower. The room smelled of apples, cinnamon, and sanctity. I set my bottle of medication beside the picture, then turned away and sank into a torn velvet couch. My phone was on the table just in front of the couch; I’d left it behind when I went out. I picked it up and looked at my contacts list. Two names stuck out to me. Only one name was attached to a person still living. Thomas. Two syllables. Two strange syllables. They once offered me glee. Now all they have for me is regret. My beloved left me one year, ten months, and sixteen days ago. Thomas left me five months and two days ago. They were the only two people I had in my life. My beloved grew sick, but Thomas just grew tired: tired of me. I think I reminded him of his own aging, his own wrinkles, and his own eyes. He was finished with me. One day, he told me he was done. I never heard from him again. I apologized to him for existing. He never responded. I typed up another text message to him with my cold, wet hands, another in a string of likely-unread apologies and requests for him to talk to me again. He left when he was all I had left. I guess he was only with me when things were easy, when it was all dollar days. I still miss him. I turned my eyes to the rest of my house and its old peeling walls and creaking floorboards. The ambient noise of this dying house soon ceased – all dark and all quiet, except for the solitary candle that burned brightly beside the portrait of my lost beloved. My head and eyes turned to the window, the other side of it slick with rain. A reflection stared back at me, looking through my eyes into my very being. I saw a drop of salty rain trickle down the reflection in the window; I felt it glide achingly down my cheek. I wondered what would become of the possessions belonging to the white-haired, weak-willed widower wailing in the window. I hadn’t written a will, I had nobody in my world to give my wretched house to. And yet, that day would come soon. The day that I’d have to lie down, close my eyes, and lose everything that makes up who I am. My body would stop working, and my mind would follow. I’d lose everything. For seventy years, I trod quietly on the soil of the Earth that hid beneath it the rotted bodies of those who came before me. Now, I’d be beneath there too. Eighteen months and nine days ago, Dr. Pontius handed me a death sentence. He told me to seek emotional help in group sessions. I attended one. It was a house of mirrors, looking at all those dying people. That was the last one I attended. For seventy years, I lived on this planet, and I’ve left nothing behind to prove my existence – except for this crudely written, near-illegible rambling-on-paper. This is all I’ve left behind. The ink is starting to run out now. I’m afraid to close my quiet, neglected eyes. I’m afraid if I do, they’ll never take in the glow of life ever again. I’m in pure, merciless silence, scrawling letters in the light of a luminous candle, now growing faint. My body and eyes are giving up and taking in the crumbling house for one final vexing moment. Soon, there’ll be nothing left of me except that which will be spared decomposition and remain fossilized beneath the people still existing. People will continue to struggle and wrestle with life beneath the great grey wall, but I’ve finished with that. Rain crashes violently against the roof of my house, and soon, I’ll be equally as violent in my final fall to the floor.
  14. 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
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    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.
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    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!
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    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.
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    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?”
  19. 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)
  20. <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>
  21. 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.
  22. 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?
  23. 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.
  24. 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.
  25. 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