Mordecai
the traitorous queen
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June Prose Competition Entries
- Thread starter Mordecai
- Start date
- Status
Please post any public entries for the @The Wizard [/td]
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Ayl
The Tale Weaver
Little Jenny was walking through the bustle that was the market, a wide, innocent smile decorating her childish face. The Regional Fair was, perhaps, the biggest event of the year, when farmers, artisans and craftmen from all over the County would come and display their goods. Fruits and vegetables, both firm and frail, their juiciness attracting many a child’s eye. Fine works of art, such as oil paintings and painted pottery were put on show for the possible patrons. The streets were so crowded, it made strolling up and down the paved roads almost impossible without bumping into some handsome stranger, or lovely maiden.
Jenny couldn’t afford herself a stall, so she was needed to sell her wares by walking around and shouting aloud for all ears to hear her: “Come get your Happiness! Come get your Hope! We have Love, too! Come now!”. Her squeaky voice carried with it the distinctive tune of youth and hope. Her emerald eyes were darting left and right after possible customers. Unlike her fellow salesmen, Jenny cared little for the size of their pouches. Her small frame did her big heart injustice, for all the little girl really cared about was making the world a better place, not enriching herself.
After shouting about for a while, Jenny was finally approached by a tall man, with a ravishing moustache and a belly to rival one of Ol’ Janner’s giant ale barrels. With a snarky tone, he inquired: “What have you there, lil’ one?”.
Jenny quickly jumped to the occasion and opened the rather large, brown leather bag she was carrying with her and displayed its contents. In it, dozens of small, brightly colored vials sparkled in the golden threads of light, raining down on their heads. “They’re liquid emotions, kind ser! Just a sip from one o’ them can change your life! Would you like to purchase one?”
The man quirked a brow, skeptically. By his tanned skin, it was obvious he hailed from one of the more distant lands, separated by the furious seas. Jenny noticed this, so she concluded the stranger needed no Bravery from her. Stretching out a hand towards the bag, before Jenny could protest in any way, the man snatched a bottle from the bunch, bringing it before his eyes and studying it rigurously. “You say this sparkly fluid will make feel whatever I want to?”.
“Aye!” she replied, her face donning an expression of pure joy. “That’s Selflessness you got there!” she said, pointing her gentle finger at the purple, swirling mass. Taking a quick look around him, the tall outlander spotted a lone beggar, hiding himself from the hot sun in the shade cast by a neighbouring tree. “You mean if I drink this, I will feel kind towards that lazy, pathetic scum over there?”.
Jenny shrugged at the man, her face now showing nothing but a detached attitude. “It will, but only if you truly want it to.”. The stranger frowned at her apparently cryptic words. Throwing another glance at the beggar, the man reached inside the pouch, which was hanging by his left side, strapped to his belt, grabbing a coin and flicking it at Jenny. While the girl was gawking over the doubloon, the outlander popped open the small vial and took a quick sip of the brew.
What happened next startled every single person in the immediate surrounding. The man let out a terrifying shriek, his eyes wide with shock. Before anyone could start questioning this sudden outburst, the man started laughing. From the crowd, another figure, similar to the one that bought the vial, emerged. Swiftly coming up to the first, the second one, shorter in stature and lacking a large stomach, panickly asked: “Father, what is it?! What ails you?!”.
Still laughing, the alleged father responded: “My son, worry not! Your father has found what he was looking for!”. While his son was still confused, the tall stranger grabbed his coin pouch and ripped it to shreds with his bare hands. The cascade of round pieces of gold fell down in multiple waves, the whole show being watched by the dozens of witnesses.
“COME! COME, YOU, PEOPLE IN NEED! Ever since I have first tasted the sweetness of coin, I’ve never parted with one needlessly. But now, my greed has been cured! And the person responsible of this, is right here!” he shouted as he pointed at Jenny. “Come! Come and join in my happiness!” the man said one last time, before the people started heading, one by one, to the little girl, out of curiosity, each with their own request. Some wanted Happiness, others wished for Empathy, while some longed for Love.
The sun had set for hours, when little Jenny arrived at her humble abode. Her bag was now empty. She had managed to sell her entire stock for the week in one day. She hadn’t even dared to dream she would accomplish such a feat. Yet another day had passed in which she had kept her promise to her parents.
When she was old enough to understand, her parents, kind people themselves, made her promise to never wrong any person, or make them sad. Even after they had passed away, months ago, from an unknown illness, Jenny still respects her given word to her parents. Entering the backyard, she headed towards the two gravestones that dominated the garden.
“I did it, mommy and daddy!” she said, falling to the ground, weary of walking with her only leg. Brushing the gravestones with her hands, her eyes couldn’t help but weep as she sighted her two missing fingers from an accident some time ago. Despite her broken body, her spirit still stood strong.
You see, to prevent people from being sad and to uphold her promise, Jenny shared all the joyful emotions she had with the world, while keeping none for herself. Afterall, Happiness was much more easy to sell than Sadness.
Jenny couldn’t afford herself a stall, so she was needed to sell her wares by walking around and shouting aloud for all ears to hear her: “Come get your Happiness! Come get your Hope! We have Love, too! Come now!”. Her squeaky voice carried with it the distinctive tune of youth and hope. Her emerald eyes were darting left and right after possible customers. Unlike her fellow salesmen, Jenny cared little for the size of their pouches. Her small frame did her big heart injustice, for all the little girl really cared about was making the world a better place, not enriching herself.
After shouting about for a while, Jenny was finally approached by a tall man, with a ravishing moustache and a belly to rival one of Ol’ Janner’s giant ale barrels. With a snarky tone, he inquired: “What have you there, lil’ one?”.
Jenny quickly jumped to the occasion and opened the rather large, brown leather bag she was carrying with her and displayed its contents. In it, dozens of small, brightly colored vials sparkled in the golden threads of light, raining down on their heads. “They’re liquid emotions, kind ser! Just a sip from one o’ them can change your life! Would you like to purchase one?”
The man quirked a brow, skeptically. By his tanned skin, it was obvious he hailed from one of the more distant lands, separated by the furious seas. Jenny noticed this, so she concluded the stranger needed no Bravery from her. Stretching out a hand towards the bag, before Jenny could protest in any way, the man snatched a bottle from the bunch, bringing it before his eyes and studying it rigurously. “You say this sparkly fluid will make feel whatever I want to?”.
“Aye!” she replied, her face donning an expression of pure joy. “That’s Selflessness you got there!” she said, pointing her gentle finger at the purple, swirling mass. Taking a quick look around him, the tall outlander spotted a lone beggar, hiding himself from the hot sun in the shade cast by a neighbouring tree. “You mean if I drink this, I will feel kind towards that lazy, pathetic scum over there?”.
Jenny shrugged at the man, her face now showing nothing but a detached attitude. “It will, but only if you truly want it to.”. The stranger frowned at her apparently cryptic words. Throwing another glance at the beggar, the man reached inside the pouch, which was hanging by his left side, strapped to his belt, grabbing a coin and flicking it at Jenny. While the girl was gawking over the doubloon, the outlander popped open the small vial and took a quick sip of the brew.
What happened next startled every single person in the immediate surrounding. The man let out a terrifying shriek, his eyes wide with shock. Before anyone could start questioning this sudden outburst, the man started laughing. From the crowd, another figure, similar to the one that bought the vial, emerged. Swiftly coming up to the first, the second one, shorter in stature and lacking a large stomach, panickly asked: “Father, what is it?! What ails you?!”.
Still laughing, the alleged father responded: “My son, worry not! Your father has found what he was looking for!”. While his son was still confused, the tall stranger grabbed his coin pouch and ripped it to shreds with his bare hands. The cascade of round pieces of gold fell down in multiple waves, the whole show being watched by the dozens of witnesses.
“COME! COME, YOU, PEOPLE IN NEED! Ever since I have first tasted the sweetness of coin, I’ve never parted with one needlessly. But now, my greed has been cured! And the person responsible of this, is right here!” he shouted as he pointed at Jenny. “Come! Come and join in my happiness!” the man said one last time, before the people started heading, one by one, to the little girl, out of curiosity, each with their own request. Some wanted Happiness, others wished for Empathy, while some longed for Love.
The sun had set for hours, when little Jenny arrived at her humble abode. Her bag was now empty. She had managed to sell her entire stock for the week in one day. She hadn’t even dared to dream she would accomplish such a feat. Yet another day had passed in which she had kept her promise to her parents.
When she was old enough to understand, her parents, kind people themselves, made her promise to never wrong any person, or make them sad. Even after they had passed away, months ago, from an unknown illness, Jenny still respects her given word to her parents. Entering the backyard, she headed towards the two gravestones that dominated the garden.
“I did it, mommy and daddy!” she said, falling to the ground, weary of walking with her only leg. Brushing the gravestones with her hands, her eyes couldn’t help but weep as she sighted her two missing fingers from an accident some time ago. Despite her broken body, her spirit still stood strong.
You see, to prevent people from being sad and to uphold her promise, Jenny shared all the joyful emotions she had with the world, while keeping none for herself. Afterall, Happiness was much more easy to sell than Sadness.
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Bone2pick
Minority of One
Even the kitchen smelled like a coward. Gus tossed the mail he was holding on the counter and walked towards the window. The entire house was dark and stuffy; the power was shutoff yesterday. He tugged the window blind cord and daylight poured in.
Gus' adjusting eyes drifted over the pitiful contents of the room until the refrigerator came into view. The afternoon sun, having just been invited in, was now falling right on top of it. Gus forgot to breathe as he stared at the silent appliance. It didn't take long before he noticed the picture hanging off the door.
He crossed the room and pulled the photo free of its magnetic grip. It was the old man's basic training graduation portrait. Gus touched his face and let the photo sink to his waist. He glanced back to the refrigerator door, and after confirming it was now bare, placed the photograph near the mail pile.
Gus sighed and opened the fridge. The door seal, too dry to sound off with its usual burp, instead let the door quietly swing away except for a last second squeak. There was enough daylight funneling into the refrigerator to give Gus a clear view of all its spoiled contents: mayonnaise, an egg crate, ketchup, a jar of pickles, a tub of cottage cheese, and an open case of beer. He shook his head at the bottles of Miller Genuine Draft.
"Whadda you know, all your friends are still here."
Gus snatched the case of beer off its shelf and brought it up towards the light. He turned it over in his hands and counted how many were left. After he finished he lifted the case up and showed it to the photograph lying face up on the kitchen counter.
"Too bad they won't make the funeral."
Gus smirked and pitched the beer into an open waste bin. Then he clapped his hands clean and reached over the counter to grab a set of dangling keys. His finger tips never made it. Gus' hand stopped inches short of the key ring once he noticed what was in the glass cupboard above his head. It should have been tough to spot, because the light couldn't climb that high. But Gus saw it. Behind the smokey glass perched next to the coffee cups and two fat tumbler glasses, was a lone dark bottle. It might as well have been a ghost.
Gus leaned his torso away from the offending object and cocked his head back in disbelief. The only sound you could hear in the kitchen was his teeth grinding. He turned away to the open window to collect his thoughts and rub his eyes. After a restless moment Gus squared his shoulders, marched up to the glass cupboard, and yanked it open.
He sneered at the gold Jameson label that was pressed onto the ivy green bottle. Gus didn't waste much time before pulling it down off the shelf. He took one step and then stamped the partially drank bottle down beside the smiling photograph.
"I'm sure you have an explanation for this."
Gus paced around the shadowy kitchen.
"Because you were always bragging that you didn't drink whiskey. You said that whiskey 'makes you mean.' You said that more times than I care to remember."
He stopped in front of the counter and jerked the bottle up to inspect it once more. Gus shook his head into a bitter frown.
"I don't understand, you use to spout off about how you'd never touch this stuff again. Like it was a rule you lived by. And God knows you were always a man of your word..."
Gus unscrewed the bottle and sniffed the rim. His face scrunched in disgust.
"It was a bunch of nonsense anyway. You've been an asshole for as long as I've known you. You know what, I wish you did get mean with me right before Becky and I left."
He grabbed the photo off the counter, making sure to keep it at arms length.
"I wish you would have just gave me a reason..."
The picture landed facedown on the counter after Gus tossed it away. He brought the Jameson to the sink and held it out over the drain.
"You did keep one promise though, you never called. You never picked up the phone to ask how we were doing."
Against his better judgement he voiced the next words while he poured the whiskey out.
"The one promise I wanted you to break you kept."
Gus shook the few last drops out of the bottle before placing it near the edge of the sink. Then he ripped a paper towel off its roll and wiped his face. He turned back to the now facedown photo.
"That's ok, we did just fine. Neither one of us will touch the poison that killed you. And after tomorrow, we can finally move on."
Gus scooped up the picture along with the mail and grabbed the keys off the wall. He crossed the room, jerked the blind cord, and the kitchen fell dark again. Gus was bolting out of the room when he stopped just inside the doorway — his back facing the room he was about to leave for the last time.
"I'm not sure who's coming but I'll say something nice. Mom would have wanted that. One more day dad, one more day."
Gus' adjusting eyes drifted over the pitiful contents of the room until the refrigerator came into view. The afternoon sun, having just been invited in, was now falling right on top of it. Gus forgot to breathe as he stared at the silent appliance. It didn't take long before he noticed the picture hanging off the door.
He crossed the room and pulled the photo free of its magnetic grip. It was the old man's basic training graduation portrait. Gus touched his face and let the photo sink to his waist. He glanced back to the refrigerator door, and after confirming it was now bare, placed the photograph near the mail pile.
Gus sighed and opened the fridge. The door seal, too dry to sound off with its usual burp, instead let the door quietly swing away except for a last second squeak. There was enough daylight funneling into the refrigerator to give Gus a clear view of all its spoiled contents: mayonnaise, an egg crate, ketchup, a jar of pickles, a tub of cottage cheese, and an open case of beer. He shook his head at the bottles of Miller Genuine Draft.
"Whadda you know, all your friends are still here."
Gus snatched the case of beer off its shelf and brought it up towards the light. He turned it over in his hands and counted how many were left. After he finished he lifted the case up and showed it to the photograph lying face up on the kitchen counter.
"Too bad they won't make the funeral."
Gus smirked and pitched the beer into an open waste bin. Then he clapped his hands clean and reached over the counter to grab a set of dangling keys. His finger tips never made it. Gus' hand stopped inches short of the key ring once he noticed what was in the glass cupboard above his head. It should have been tough to spot, because the light couldn't climb that high. But Gus saw it. Behind the smokey glass perched next to the coffee cups and two fat tumbler glasses, was a lone dark bottle. It might as well have been a ghost.
Gus leaned his torso away from the offending object and cocked his head back in disbelief. The only sound you could hear in the kitchen was his teeth grinding. He turned away to the open window to collect his thoughts and rub his eyes. After a restless moment Gus squared his shoulders, marched up to the glass cupboard, and yanked it open.
He sneered at the gold Jameson label that was pressed onto the ivy green bottle. Gus didn't waste much time before pulling it down off the shelf. He took one step and then stamped the partially drank bottle down beside the smiling photograph.
"I'm sure you have an explanation for this."
Gus paced around the shadowy kitchen.
"Because you were always bragging that you didn't drink whiskey. You said that whiskey 'makes you mean.' You said that more times than I care to remember."
He stopped in front of the counter and jerked the bottle up to inspect it once more. Gus shook his head into a bitter frown.
"I don't understand, you use to spout off about how you'd never touch this stuff again. Like it was a rule you lived by. And God knows you were always a man of your word..."
Gus unscrewed the bottle and sniffed the rim. His face scrunched in disgust.
"It was a bunch of nonsense anyway. You've been an asshole for as long as I've known you. You know what, I wish you did get mean with me right before Becky and I left."
He grabbed the photo off the counter, making sure to keep it at arms length.
"I wish you would have just gave me a reason..."
The picture landed facedown on the counter after Gus tossed it away. He brought the Jameson to the sink and held it out over the drain.
"You did keep one promise though, you never called. You never picked up the phone to ask how we were doing."
Against his better judgement he voiced the next words while he poured the whiskey out.
"The one promise I wanted you to break you kept."
Gus shook the few last drops out of the bottle before placing it near the edge of the sink. Then he ripped a paper towel off its roll and wiped his face. He turned back to the now facedown photo.
"That's ok, we did just fine. Neither one of us will touch the poison that killed you. And after tomorrow, we can finally move on."
Gus scooped up the picture along with the mail and grabbed the keys off the wall. He crossed the room, jerked the blind cord, and the kitchen fell dark again. Gus was bolting out of the room when he stopped just inside the doorway — his back facing the room he was about to leave for the last time.
"I'm not sure who's coming but I'll say something nice. Mom would have wanted that. One more day dad, one more day."
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marorda
Oddball and author
NOTE: This story might be a little dark.
My mind is silent and empty, nothing but pitch black darkness. The only sound comes from my own voice, my thoughts echoing in the nothingness. The name on the grave in front of me is supposed to be familiar, but it does nothing to me. Strangely enough, I don’t even know whose name it is. Something tells me I should know, but I don’t. With a light shrug I turn around to leave the field. I gaze up at the gray leaves of the trees surrounding the field. I look back down at the colorless flowers in the grass at my feet. Leaving the field behind me, I make my way back to the city, a place so much different from the silence of the field. People wander from place to place; the streets are buzzing, crowded, and crawling like an ant nest. Their chatting doesn’t even sound like talking to me. It’s just buzzing all around me. Nobody even appears to see me. The people just pass me on all sides and appear to see right through me. Each step I take increases the idea in the back of my mind that I am not actually there; that I’m just thin air. Yet I feel unmoved by their ignoring. Some people I see seem agitated for reasons to me unknown. Some smile and laugh, others talk quite loudly on their phones, screaming their frustrations at whoever is on the other side of the line. A thought of wonder as of why my mind is just darkness, why there are no memories, colors, or anything. But the thought fades as quickly as it came, leaving my mind dark and empty again.
My attention is drawn to the sound of laughter. The laughter of a small child, to be more precise. It was so pure. And all for something so small and simple. I forgot it was even possible to be happy with little things. But the child… He laughs because his mother gives him a shiny, yellow balloon. Yellow… My world of white, black, and gray was slowly colored a little again. Seeing the child’s pure joy brought a smile on my face. I started to feel a bit warm and fuzzy on the inside. As if struck by thunder, a shiver runs down my spine and my eyes widen. In flashes, a piece of my memories return. There was an excited feeling, a good kind of tension. I was talking with people, energetic, enthusiastic. It was going to be a great thing. I felt honored to be part of this great thing. But what great thing? That was a memory that was still missing. Perhaps, if I would find examples of the purest forms of emotions, the colors of my world would return? And perhaps they would bring back my memories too? Many thoughts crossed my mind. Curious thoughts, happy thoughts, thousands of wonders.
I wander on, enjoying the colors brightening my life. The people still don’t appear to notice me, and now it does make me feel a hint of something. A somewhat uneasy, unsettling feeling, but nothing that really bothers me. Again my attention is drawn to loud shouting from across the street. A man and two women. I catch the word “cheater”. The woman standing on her own looks betrayed, furious. Her face turns redder and redder with each word she shouts. Red. More colors return to my world. Anger. More memories return to me. I’m afraid, angry at what’s happening to me. Men and women in white coats have tied me to a machine of sorts. They drain me. Happiness fades first. I want out, but they won’t let me. I scream, I fight, but I’m stuck. There’s no way out but to stick to the machine and wait. I’m in pain, but they don’t seem to care. This flash left me with anger towards those people in their coats, and with a degree of fear as to what I will discover next. I walk on and on, in circles through the city, but a voice in the back of my mind tells me I won’t find my answer here.
I reach the field again. The flowers in the grass have a soft, yellow color. The grass itself is a dark green. Seeing the beautiful colors again brings tears of joy to my eyes. Not quite knowing why, I approach the smooth, gray stone on the field. I look down upon it, and sink down to my knees at the letters are no longer randomly put together, but actually form a name. More tears roll down my face as the realization dawns upon me at last. This was sadness, the last of three missing greater emotions. And with the return of the last missing emotion, the last of the missing colors and memories get back to me as well. The memory told me how little by little, every piece of who I was, was stripped away from me. Until nothing but the empty shell remained. The empty shell found no joy in anything, was unable to experience sadness even as it watched a loved one die. The shell couldn’t get angry at the ones who did this. And yet, even though there was nothing left of that person who once resided inside, the shell felt lonely and meaningless. It had climbed up to a rooftop, and without regrets, without colors, without thoughts, had thrown itself downwards, not fearing the impact that would break bones and separate body from soul.
The grave in front of me is my own. I realize the experiment I was so eager to participate in was a failure. Like without emotions is impossible. Death without emotions is impossible. It turns you into a nothing, leaves you with nothing. Without feelings there’s nothing left to live or die for. But now that I have gathered the last piece of my silenced, broken mind, I can find the peace I subconsciously sought for.
My attention is drawn to the sound of laughter. The laughter of a small child, to be more precise. It was so pure. And all for something so small and simple. I forgot it was even possible to be happy with little things. But the child… He laughs because his mother gives him a shiny, yellow balloon. Yellow… My world of white, black, and gray was slowly colored a little again. Seeing the child’s pure joy brought a smile on my face. I started to feel a bit warm and fuzzy on the inside. As if struck by thunder, a shiver runs down my spine and my eyes widen. In flashes, a piece of my memories return. There was an excited feeling, a good kind of tension. I was talking with people, energetic, enthusiastic. It was going to be a great thing. I felt honored to be part of this great thing. But what great thing? That was a memory that was still missing. Perhaps, if I would find examples of the purest forms of emotions, the colors of my world would return? And perhaps they would bring back my memories too? Many thoughts crossed my mind. Curious thoughts, happy thoughts, thousands of wonders.
I wander on, enjoying the colors brightening my life. The people still don’t appear to notice me, and now it does make me feel a hint of something. A somewhat uneasy, unsettling feeling, but nothing that really bothers me. Again my attention is drawn to loud shouting from across the street. A man and two women. I catch the word “cheater”. The woman standing on her own looks betrayed, furious. Her face turns redder and redder with each word she shouts. Red. More colors return to my world. Anger. More memories return to me. I’m afraid, angry at what’s happening to me. Men and women in white coats have tied me to a machine of sorts. They drain me. Happiness fades first. I want out, but they won’t let me. I scream, I fight, but I’m stuck. There’s no way out but to stick to the machine and wait. I’m in pain, but they don’t seem to care. This flash left me with anger towards those people in their coats, and with a degree of fear as to what I will discover next. I walk on and on, in circles through the city, but a voice in the back of my mind tells me I won’t find my answer here.
I reach the field again. The flowers in the grass have a soft, yellow color. The grass itself is a dark green. Seeing the beautiful colors again brings tears of joy to my eyes. Not quite knowing why, I approach the smooth, gray stone on the field. I look down upon it, and sink down to my knees at the letters are no longer randomly put together, but actually form a name. More tears roll down my face as the realization dawns upon me at last. This was sadness, the last of three missing greater emotions. And with the return of the last missing emotion, the last of the missing colors and memories get back to me as well. The memory told me how little by little, every piece of who I was, was stripped away from me. Until nothing but the empty shell remained. The empty shell found no joy in anything, was unable to experience sadness even as it watched a loved one die. The shell couldn’t get angry at the ones who did this. And yet, even though there was nothing left of that person who once resided inside, the shell felt lonely and meaningless. It had climbed up to a rooftop, and without regrets, without colors, without thoughts, had thrown itself downwards, not fearing the impact that would break bones and separate body from soul.
The grave in front of me is my own. I realize the experiment I was so eager to participate in was a failure. Like without emotions is impossible. Death without emotions is impossible. It turns you into a nothing, leaves you with nothing. Without feelings there’s nothing left to live or die for. But now that I have gathered the last piece of my silenced, broken mind, I can find the peace I subconsciously sought for.
Sunbro
Sunbro brofists Moonbro
999 words exactly. Hope that's alright.
If it's too vague on the whole emotion in a bottle thing, I understand ;_;
If it's too vague on the whole emotion in a bottle thing, I understand ;_;
Both sides of the vessel saw little beyond the familiar blue hue of the ocean. Drystan had longed for the sight of land, but nowadays he had lost hope of ever seeing vibrant greens or yellows. Just the same persistent deep that inhabited his dreams and turned them into nightmares. The click of dolphins roused him from his daydreaming of last night's terrors; Drystan peered over the side of the boat at the shapes following in the ship's wake, fading into dark forms underneath the water. The mammals were one of the few comforts he had, in the voyage that never came to its conclusion. The sound of the vessel making way, accompanied by the sea life and the rhythmic clack of his boots on the weather dark wood, played like a harmony in his mind. “Years, have passed, how many...” He muttered as he took the helm, scanning the horizon. The man didn't know what he thought he would distinguish from the endless blue. He wished to see home, truthfully. Not any cottage or village, but the love he had left behind on the docks. The regret of leaving her held his heart like a vise, as he found himself drowning in the sea of his mental sorrow.
CRASH!
Drystan collided with the ship's wheel and was tossed to the deck, as he could make out the sound of rushing water in the hold. The ship had been brought to a screeching halt. He rushed to his feet, rushing under deck to see the damage as he surged with adrenaline and dread. By the time he had made it to the hold, it was already ankle deep in seepage. There would be no saving the ship. He tried his best to gather supplies, but the water came too quickly. Any pure water was tainted by the sea, rations drifting around his knees. Drystan rushed out to the deck, frustration building. He refused to die here, in this godforsaken ocean as nothing but a memory. His heart grew heavy as he ran back out into the light, only to find he had no option of escape, no raft. He paced from starboard to port, hands pulling at his hair out as tears welled up in his eyes.
“No, no, no, not like this...” He reached into his shirt pocket, tugging out an old picture. He gazed into the smile that brightened his world, the woman that influenced him into this trip for the sake of their child. His breathing became heavy, interrupted by shouts of anger and gasps of despair. He clutched the picture in his hand, but his ire faded at the realization of his humanity washed over him like the water washed over his boots. He tucked it back into his pocket, and stepped starboard to brace his hands on the railing. He'd have to get away as fast as possible, but he couldn't prepare himself what happened next. The ship snapped like a twig under the might of the current.
He tried to get away from the sinking ship, but the aeration of trapped air bubbling to the water's surface dragged him down with his vessel. The sun, once a bright glowing orb, began to appear as naught but a dot in the distance as he flailed and desperately tried to escape the hold of Davy Jones's Locker, but it was fruitless. As the sun faded, so did his breath, and his last thought passed him.
He wouldn't be making it home.
“Now, you stop that!” yelled Laelynn, a pair of rowdy children freezing mid-step as the older boy chased the younger around with a tiny wooden sword.
“Do you think your father wants to see a couple of unruly kids when he gets home? I would think not!” Of course, she was just poking her fun, shooing them away to rampage around in their room. Today was her day off, and she had places to be. Well, more specifically, one place. She held up the skirt of her dress so it wouldn't drag along the brick road, rushing along to the marina. They lived half a mile from the docks, so it was a short trip. The grassy hill that overlooked the moorings was her destination, tossing out a blanket she had tucked away under her arm. "Walking around all day; This is no way to live." She complained to herself, settling down onto the blanket to resume a habit she had formed so many years ago. Watching for the ship that carried her loved one. She scoffed. "In sickness and in health right?" Laelynn sighed. Even after years passed, she still held hope. There was no place for sorrow in her life.
"Get home, will you?"
An old man, hair long since lost its vibrant brown shade and eyes heavy with wisdom and age sat at his workstation. Wrinkles of time come and gone lined his concentrated expression. He tinkered with his project, a ship in a bottle. He had never gotten to meet his father, but his mother always described his ship in perfect detail. So much that he had managed to built it to the exact specifications, with the assistance of a few drawings. A lifetime of sorrow, hope, and waiting, packed into that tiny bottle. He stood up from his desk, and took his time carrying the bottle downstairs, into the living room of the small family cottage. He set it next to the window that overlooked the coast, and peered out to see his family playing amongst the waves. It brought a smile to his previously saddened face, turning to pass the fireplace. Upon it, an urn, holding his mother's ashes. It had a direct line of view with the bottle, and from the place he stood, it almost appeared as if the ship was coming over the horizon, a silhouette formed by the setting sun.
He liked to imagine that her wait was over that way.
CRASH!
Drystan collided with the ship's wheel and was tossed to the deck, as he could make out the sound of rushing water in the hold. The ship had been brought to a screeching halt. He rushed to his feet, rushing under deck to see the damage as he surged with adrenaline and dread. By the time he had made it to the hold, it was already ankle deep in seepage. There would be no saving the ship. He tried his best to gather supplies, but the water came too quickly. Any pure water was tainted by the sea, rations drifting around his knees. Drystan rushed out to the deck, frustration building. He refused to die here, in this godforsaken ocean as nothing but a memory. His heart grew heavy as he ran back out into the light, only to find he had no option of escape, no raft. He paced from starboard to port, hands pulling at his hair out as tears welled up in his eyes.
“No, no, no, not like this...” He reached into his shirt pocket, tugging out an old picture. He gazed into the smile that brightened his world, the woman that influenced him into this trip for the sake of their child. His breathing became heavy, interrupted by shouts of anger and gasps of despair. He clutched the picture in his hand, but his ire faded at the realization of his humanity washed over him like the water washed over his boots. He tucked it back into his pocket, and stepped starboard to brace his hands on the railing. He'd have to get away as fast as possible, but he couldn't prepare himself what happened next. The ship snapped like a twig under the might of the current.
He tried to get away from the sinking ship, but the aeration of trapped air bubbling to the water's surface dragged him down with his vessel. The sun, once a bright glowing orb, began to appear as naught but a dot in the distance as he flailed and desperately tried to escape the hold of Davy Jones's Locker, but it was fruitless. As the sun faded, so did his breath, and his last thought passed him.
He wouldn't be making it home.
“Now, you stop that!” yelled Laelynn, a pair of rowdy children freezing mid-step as the older boy chased the younger around with a tiny wooden sword.
“Do you think your father wants to see a couple of unruly kids when he gets home? I would think not!” Of course, she was just poking her fun, shooing them away to rampage around in their room. Today was her day off, and she had places to be. Well, more specifically, one place. She held up the skirt of her dress so it wouldn't drag along the brick road, rushing along to the marina. They lived half a mile from the docks, so it was a short trip. The grassy hill that overlooked the moorings was her destination, tossing out a blanket she had tucked away under her arm. "Walking around all day; This is no way to live." She complained to herself, settling down onto the blanket to resume a habit she had formed so many years ago. Watching for the ship that carried her loved one. She scoffed. "In sickness and in health right?" Laelynn sighed. Even after years passed, she still held hope. There was no place for sorrow in her life.
"Get home, will you?"
An old man, hair long since lost its vibrant brown shade and eyes heavy with wisdom and age sat at his workstation. Wrinkles of time come and gone lined his concentrated expression. He tinkered with his project, a ship in a bottle. He had never gotten to meet his father, but his mother always described his ship in perfect detail. So much that he had managed to built it to the exact specifications, with the assistance of a few drawings. A lifetime of sorrow, hope, and waiting, packed into that tiny bottle. He stood up from his desk, and took his time carrying the bottle downstairs, into the living room of the small family cottage. He set it next to the window that overlooked the coast, and peered out to see his family playing amongst the waves. It brought a smile to his previously saddened face, turning to pass the fireplace. Upon it, an urn, holding his mother's ashes. It had a direct line of view with the bottle, and from the place he stood, it almost appeared as if the ship was coming over the horizon, a silhouette formed by the setting sun.
He liked to imagine that her wait was over that way.
The Wizard
Master of the Quill & Ink
I hope you enjoy this little piece and that it moves you 
Thunder roars as the darkness of an empty road is revealed from the flash of lightning. Rain falls slowly echoing upon the paved street. Blank eyes stare up towards the luminous night sky as a voice reaches to your mind.
"Is it odd to feel? By chance is it something made or given? If so how easy is it to make, by chance does it come in bottles or boxes? in bags or wrapped in ribbon? If not than does it mean you never had any?"
as the voice continues to speak the dark world fades as if taken back...to before...
"I recall waking to laughter and two eyes so blue you could swear they seemed unreal. Yet while I looked towards her she simply smiled to me as if it was natural. It was my first run in with emotion and later I would discover its meaning."
Through their eyes you see the world anew. Buildings stretched ever upwards as if seeking to break through the sky, the rustle and bustle of people walking by chattering away their daily lives fade as you focus upon the blue eyed lady.
"...though I tried on several occasions it would seem my words escaped me in our conversations. Motionless I could do nothing but follow her every whim...odd at first it became as she refereed it enjoyable, I however saw nothing but tolerable acceptance considering our arrangement."
as laughter fills the background and her eyes meet yours her features become more vibrant and detailed. Her hair flowed down in curls and seemed to shine like polished stone...your vision changes as you feel the warmth of the sun, its golden rays beaten through you as a crisp breeze caresses your body.
"Time passed but our company was for me content and manageable. I could never understand her fancy for tea but her soothing voice always drew me into her desires without question. Hours we spent as she spoke of her day, unable to put a word in edge wise I simply listened. Had I known what would happen could I had changed our fate?"
The vision fades and once more a crack of thunder bellows before being drawn back into the dream.
"...Time is always unique in its role, always moving forward yet reminds us of our past. The once smiling woman seemed less eager for my company as another drew her attention. Though his looks where far better than mine I couldn't help but ponder what swayed her from me. Why does one love only to have it ache...?"
The figure of a tall man with golden short hair formed around the young woman. Her cheeks flushed red as his lips kissed the nape of her neck. You felt a heaviness within your chest as the vision falls to darkness. The rain begins to return as the thunder rolls back into the twilight. Though you try with all your might no light reaches your eyes, unable to move you feel the world grow cold as you are forced only to listen in this emptiness.
"It was in my solitude that I began to ponder my life. The darkness seemed to instill a calm that I had not once had. The thoughts of a new world or chance to return to her no longer seemed possible to me. Even now the sound of her voice and the sight of those blue eyes had not left my memory...still I was alone."
As the voice fades your blinded by light unable to grasp the world around you. Unsure of what was happening you tried desperately to shield yourself from the intense rays.
"...How long had it been? My eyes seemed bathed in light that for a moment I thought it was but a dream sought by my wandering mind. But no I could feel warmth once more as a figure came between the light and me."
The figure's form took shape as you desperately tried to adjust to the illumination.
"It was her, I knew it was it had to be! Only she could smile like that and pull me back from my prison. For the first time I felt emotions I found my answers! Joy, Happiness, Hope, it was all there in her eyes those eyes I could never forget. It was not something bottled or packaged, but something given and earned, something that only life itself could mold into you! I felt as if I would burst to the seams from this flowing river. For now it was going to be okay!"
Your eyes begin to water uncontrollably as you feel the once heavy burden lifted from you. For a moment it almost seemed like you could fly. Than the vision dimmed as you saw the world around you grow dark once more. Enveloped in confusion you try desperately to rattle the walls unable to break free back to the precious light and warmth. The ground around you began to shake as the roar of thunder broke from behind the enclosed room. Fear filled your heart as you clung to the sides praying to escape. Suddenly you feel lighter than air and for a brief moment like this is the end. Your world slammed fast and you awoke back in the street once more. The cold rain kissed your cheeks as the storm passed by. Puzzled and taken back you look about your surroundings knowing you where no longer in a vision. As the sun broke from the horizon your gaze fell back to those blank eyes looking to the sky. Your heart still pounding from the experience you kneel before him to examine him once more. The soaked stuffed bear worn out and torn on the side laid motionless next to a cardboard box.
Quietly a whisper sneaks through your mind... "...why do we have emotions?"
"Is it odd to feel? By chance is it something made or given? If so how easy is it to make, by chance does it come in bottles or boxes? in bags or wrapped in ribbon? If not than does it mean you never had any?"
as the voice continues to speak the dark world fades as if taken back...to before...
"I recall waking to laughter and two eyes so blue you could swear they seemed unreal. Yet while I looked towards her she simply smiled to me as if it was natural. It was my first run in with emotion and later I would discover its meaning."
Through their eyes you see the world anew. Buildings stretched ever upwards as if seeking to break through the sky, the rustle and bustle of people walking by chattering away their daily lives fade as you focus upon the blue eyed lady.
"...though I tried on several occasions it would seem my words escaped me in our conversations. Motionless I could do nothing but follow her every whim...odd at first it became as she refereed it enjoyable, I however saw nothing but tolerable acceptance considering our arrangement."
as laughter fills the background and her eyes meet yours her features become more vibrant and detailed. Her hair flowed down in curls and seemed to shine like polished stone...your vision changes as you feel the warmth of the sun, its golden rays beaten through you as a crisp breeze caresses your body.
"Time passed but our company was for me content and manageable. I could never understand her fancy for tea but her soothing voice always drew me into her desires without question. Hours we spent as she spoke of her day, unable to put a word in edge wise I simply listened. Had I known what would happen could I had changed our fate?"
The vision fades and once more a crack of thunder bellows before being drawn back into the dream.
"...Time is always unique in its role, always moving forward yet reminds us of our past. The once smiling woman seemed less eager for my company as another drew her attention. Though his looks where far better than mine I couldn't help but ponder what swayed her from me. Why does one love only to have it ache...?"
The figure of a tall man with golden short hair formed around the young woman. Her cheeks flushed red as his lips kissed the nape of her neck. You felt a heaviness within your chest as the vision falls to darkness. The rain begins to return as the thunder rolls back into the twilight. Though you try with all your might no light reaches your eyes, unable to move you feel the world grow cold as you are forced only to listen in this emptiness.
"It was in my solitude that I began to ponder my life. The darkness seemed to instill a calm that I had not once had. The thoughts of a new world or chance to return to her no longer seemed possible to me. Even now the sound of her voice and the sight of those blue eyes had not left my memory...still I was alone."
As the voice fades your blinded by light unable to grasp the world around you. Unsure of what was happening you tried desperately to shield yourself from the intense rays.
"...How long had it been? My eyes seemed bathed in light that for a moment I thought it was but a dream sought by my wandering mind. But no I could feel warmth once more as a figure came between the light and me."
The figure's form took shape as you desperately tried to adjust to the illumination.
"It was her, I knew it was it had to be! Only she could smile like that and pull me back from my prison. For the first time I felt emotions I found my answers! Joy, Happiness, Hope, it was all there in her eyes those eyes I could never forget. It was not something bottled or packaged, but something given and earned, something that only life itself could mold into you! I felt as if I would burst to the seams from this flowing river. For now it was going to be okay!"
Your eyes begin to water uncontrollably as you feel the once heavy burden lifted from you. For a moment it almost seemed like you could fly. Than the vision dimmed as you saw the world around you grow dark once more. Enveloped in confusion you try desperately to rattle the walls unable to break free back to the precious light and warmth. The ground around you began to shake as the roar of thunder broke from behind the enclosed room. Fear filled your heart as you clung to the sides praying to escape. Suddenly you feel lighter than air and for a brief moment like this is the end. Your world slammed fast and you awoke back in the street once more. The cold rain kissed your cheeks as the storm passed by. Puzzled and taken back you look about your surroundings knowing you where no longer in a vision. As the sun broke from the horizon your gaze fell back to those blank eyes looking to the sky. Your heart still pounding from the experience you kneel before him to examine him once more. The soaked stuffed bear worn out and torn on the side laid motionless next to a cardboard box.
Quietly a whisper sneaks through your mind... "...why do we have emotions?"
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Spazzycat101
GryphonABLaZ(E). Lawful chaotic good
Welp... having read some of the others..... I feel inferior..
xD Anyway!
Wednesday,
October 16, 2599
October 16, 2599
This thing I scribble upon, what is it? It appears a collection of striped fabric sewn together, cradled by two thin slabs. The outside is an awkward monochromatic shade of tortoiseshell, scarred and fading, crusted with filth. How did I find it? I feel as if these light blue lines should yield some dramatic secret of ages gone past. Instead, it now folds my whirling thoughts in its unnumbered slices of cloth. It should not do this. At my birth, I was injected with the same hormones as everyone else; Joy, Wanting, Suspicion and Dislike. Joy so we could be satisfied, and Wanting to provide for others. Dislike to shun those who are abnormal, who do not fit into our society. The capacity to become Suspicious and help rid our society of them. I also feel a different emotion, a new kind of Wanting. Not that to fill the needs of another, but to fill the empty spaces in my own brain created by questions. I have told none, none but this cloth that I must now keep scarce at all costs. ~ I assume I sign my name here? In that case, Delancie
Friday
October 25, 2599
October 25, 2599
Each day I look back upon the things I feel and try to string a name to them. A new emotion came to me last week, after the passage preceding this. It is not Joy nor Dislike nor Suspicion, but not quite a want, at least as I have known it. It is the impulse to hide, to become undetectable, but it warps my mind in the moment until I can all but stand. I pay nothing attention in this state, my calmness crumbles and I feel as if some magnificent monstrosity towers over me, and I am petrified. My only problem is identifying that monstrosity. Is it my being an outlier, or the gory death that surely awaits me at the hands of the government’s biochemists?~Delancie
Wednesday
October 30, 2599
October 30, 2599
This day in our history class, I discovered the label to my rogue emotions. Greed and Fear. I am Greedy for knowledge, I am Fearful that my condition will be discovered and I dead. I believe my teachers and friends are beginning to become Suspicious of me, I feel as if every motion puts me at risk. I cannot help but think that everyone sees everything I do. If I so much as blink, everyone has that destructive information to do with what they want. I am sinking into the paranoia that I am never alone and always being watched, by my friends in the classrooms, the stranger in the window, the mirror in my bedroom. Even the slight rotting odor of the stale dirt stamped throughout these sheets is a glaring neon sign. I am never safe; my condition makes me dangerous, a blaring siren to all near me. ~Delancie
Sunday
November 3, 2599
November 3, 2599
The duration of the time between entries, I have been miserable, a wretched lump of lameness. I have hidden from my friends who stand at my doorbell and suspect what I must be. The foul mutated creature among their perfect rows of sunny flowery houses. However, I have found refuge. The first words I wrote spoke of how I confessed to none, that is untrue. Through Suspicion, I have found another outlier like myself, I can be understood. We hide and confide in eachother, he helps me and I help him. I feel so jubilant that I have something that can speak back to me. ~Delancie
Sunday
November 10, 2599
November 10, 2599
I was correct in my assumption that others are suspecting me of being an outlier. The Friday of the week before this, one of my teachers requested me to linger after our class had been released. He questioned me, as the peoples of authority are trained to do. I was gripped by the claws of Fear as soon as my name passed his lips, surely by now I am hopelessly exposed, my secrets revealed, a danger to myself and my friend and can do nothing to save myself. My body language must have given me away as I fidgeted, hesitating to ponder what the correct answer to his inquiries must be, what reply revealed the least about my condition. My friend tries to help my mood, and he does. But only so slightly. His company makes me happier, but I feel worse at the same time. I fear more for him, and I feel guilt for putting him in danger. Whatever can help us now? What ice should shield our bodies from these oncoming ovens and flames of the crematorium of my leaders’ “justice”? ~Delancie
Saturday
December 14, 2599
December 14, 2599
How am I going to record this? How to share the fact that the once animated girl who wrote here before me is dead? It is devastating. It should keep her killer chained in guilt forever, but he is not because he cannot feel it. He is not an outlier, capable of feeling more emotion than is necessary. I was with her when the gunfire split her skull, but I never saw her killer’s expression. Despite that, I guarantee it was one of Joy, because I wore it. I collected her trust and let her think I cared, and the expression on her shocked face was all the more worth it when I pressed the pistol to her head. In this society, an outlier can trust no one with an aptitude for acting. -Government spy
@Mordecai
My apologies to those who saw this as soon as it was posted and didn't refresh.. I had to tinker with the code-y thingy.
*derp*
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Asterio
Draws for free food（￣へ￣）
This is my entry. It's all about the character I portrayed, Asterio and his important friend Aisa.
I hope you enjoy reading. ^^''
I hope you enjoy reading. ^^''
“Protected by my sheath, pierced by thy sword. Wherever you are, I hope for your happiness. Let thy tiny soul fly, reach it soars upon the heaven. For your beginning will be embark of yet another journey. With this blessing, I shall be your wing, replaced by sinned treachery.”
Those were the last words of Aisa. Little I know of what kind of sin I had committed in front of the Lord. Long time ago, before the land of humanity was made, thousands of Angels like us sings for the glory of Almighty. His words is the truth, his presence is life. I was one of those cherubs who fancies in his holy name. A little cherub like me once wished to become a human. So that I could touch them, play with them and be loved by them. I sell my wings to the devil. But God then knew of what I had done. My only closest friend, Aisa oath to Almighty that she would take the treachery I have done. “My child, I knew from the start that you just wanted to be with my creations. But because you neglected your truest purpose, I had bestowed you this punishment. As a little cherub, you should know the true meaning of responsibility. You shall become one with this world. Your soul shall fulfill the earth’s emptiness. You will protect my creations that you loved, feel the happiness and sadness together with them and rule this earth under your grace. Now live my child! Up until the end of time, you will not perish. You shall feel the pain of little by little of how my creations will destroy the planet I made for them because you and this land is merge into one. You will be the soul of this piece of globe.” I followed his words.
I witnessed the treachery Adam and Eve, up until now in the 90’s. Ahhh, those memories. Humans evolve so fast. Today, I stroll down on a town of somewhere. I could meet the eyes of many, but still they cannot see me. Every time I see a human doing a good deed, I hum and the plants sprouts, the crops will be getting ready for a great harvest. While walking, I saw a woman with her long silver hair and golden colored eyes. Her smile mesmerized me. I don’t know why I feel this way. I followed her. The sun is about the set down but then, she stopped walking. She looked at her back and then at me. She smiled. “I can see you. Why are you following me?” For a long time, I could again talk to a human being, this might be the reason why my heart is skipping a beat! “I’m Asterio… I uhh… Just saw you passing by and…” I didn’t notice that I’m talking to her while her head is being inserted to a guillotine. The moment I look down again, all I saw is her rolling head.
I don’t know why but my eyes started to tear down. The rain poured down together with my sadness. I remembered now, her smile, those eyes and kind face. It is true that Aisa will be reincarnated with tragic ending up until the end of time. And that is all my fault. The whole night I sat down, under the tree. I kept weeping. These repeated up until the last century. And right now it’s the 70th century. Where it is the human peak of intelligence.
The judgement shall come soon. I’m weak, emotionally, and all you could think of. Humanity destroyed me. I couldn’t regrow nature and protect this land. Because of their technology and foolishness, I’ve been destroyed. I’ve been hopeless. Not when a person who could see me asked me a question. “Young man, you had suffered a lot. Your silver hair and bluish eyes showed how much you had gone through. What are you doing in such a shadowy place? Where no humans can step upon?” I just stared at this old lady. I have no strength in doing anything at all. “See these little bottles with me?” I just nodded, powerlessly. “These are unique little bottles. There is joy, empathy, hope, love and peace. Would you like to grab one?” I smiled at this old lady. How foolishly had been seeing, a younger one asking me for a bottle.
“I’m older than what you think.” But then she left a grin. “It is you who could change and hope for what you’d want to see.” I just picked one of those bottles, the hope. Strangely funny but an angel like me still hoping to see a being for one last time. When I lift up my head to say abide my gratefulness towards her, she was gone. In this grayish world, I am alone. Cried with my all. While that bottle of hope rolled down. I tried to catch up with it, and then I saw a young kid. She grabbed that bottle of hope as it slowly perished up in the thin air. Her golden eyes shines out, her silver hair is being washed against the current of the wind and lastly her kind face looking on my wounded soul.
I might not be able to maintain this earth’s balance, this might be perish but what’s important to me right now is… Before the end of this world, before we vanish like those pieces of feathers, I could feel her presence. I could say what are the things I would like to say on her and, that fact that we met again. I grabbed her in my numbed arms, embraced her with my cold soul. As she smiled once again and hugged me back. My tears dripped down, as those little drops created paradise. Fireflies that didn’t exist flew on the dim sky. My shattered wings flapped back, my wounds stop bleeding as the two of us are feeling each other’s presence.
“Asterio, I shall be your wing, again, let ourselves soar high.” I now know what does the Almighty wants me to realize, thank you. We met again… Aisa.
Those were the last words of Aisa. Little I know of what kind of sin I had committed in front of the Lord. Long time ago, before the land of humanity was made, thousands of Angels like us sings for the glory of Almighty. His words is the truth, his presence is life. I was one of those cherubs who fancies in his holy name. A little cherub like me once wished to become a human. So that I could touch them, play with them and be loved by them. I sell my wings to the devil. But God then knew of what I had done. My only closest friend, Aisa oath to Almighty that she would take the treachery I have done. “My child, I knew from the start that you just wanted to be with my creations. But because you neglected your truest purpose, I had bestowed you this punishment. As a little cherub, you should know the true meaning of responsibility. You shall become one with this world. Your soul shall fulfill the earth’s emptiness. You will protect my creations that you loved, feel the happiness and sadness together with them and rule this earth under your grace. Now live my child! Up until the end of time, you will not perish. You shall feel the pain of little by little of how my creations will destroy the planet I made for them because you and this land is merge into one. You will be the soul of this piece of globe.” I followed his words.
I witnessed the treachery Adam and Eve, up until now in the 90’s. Ahhh, those memories. Humans evolve so fast. Today, I stroll down on a town of somewhere. I could meet the eyes of many, but still they cannot see me. Every time I see a human doing a good deed, I hum and the plants sprouts, the crops will be getting ready for a great harvest. While walking, I saw a woman with her long silver hair and golden colored eyes. Her smile mesmerized me. I don’t know why I feel this way. I followed her. The sun is about the set down but then, she stopped walking. She looked at her back and then at me. She smiled. “I can see you. Why are you following me?” For a long time, I could again talk to a human being, this might be the reason why my heart is skipping a beat! “I’m Asterio… I uhh… Just saw you passing by and…” I didn’t notice that I’m talking to her while her head is being inserted to a guillotine. The moment I look down again, all I saw is her rolling head.
I don’t know why but my eyes started to tear down. The rain poured down together with my sadness. I remembered now, her smile, those eyes and kind face. It is true that Aisa will be reincarnated with tragic ending up until the end of time. And that is all my fault. The whole night I sat down, under the tree. I kept weeping. These repeated up until the last century. And right now it’s the 70th century. Where it is the human peak of intelligence.
The judgement shall come soon. I’m weak, emotionally, and all you could think of. Humanity destroyed me. I couldn’t regrow nature and protect this land. Because of their technology and foolishness, I’ve been destroyed. I’ve been hopeless. Not when a person who could see me asked me a question. “Young man, you had suffered a lot. Your silver hair and bluish eyes showed how much you had gone through. What are you doing in such a shadowy place? Where no humans can step upon?” I just stared at this old lady. I have no strength in doing anything at all. “See these little bottles with me?” I just nodded, powerlessly. “These are unique little bottles. There is joy, empathy, hope, love and peace. Would you like to grab one?” I smiled at this old lady. How foolishly had been seeing, a younger one asking me for a bottle.
“I’m older than what you think.” But then she left a grin. “It is you who could change and hope for what you’d want to see.” I just picked one of those bottles, the hope. Strangely funny but an angel like me still hoping to see a being for one last time. When I lift up my head to say abide my gratefulness towards her, she was gone. In this grayish world, I am alone. Cried with my all. While that bottle of hope rolled down. I tried to catch up with it, and then I saw a young kid. She grabbed that bottle of hope as it slowly perished up in the thin air. Her golden eyes shines out, her silver hair is being washed against the current of the wind and lastly her kind face looking on my wounded soul.
I might not be able to maintain this earth’s balance, this might be perish but what’s important to me right now is… Before the end of this world, before we vanish like those pieces of feathers, I could feel her presence. I could say what are the things I would like to say on her and, that fact that we met again. I grabbed her in my numbed arms, embraced her with my cold soul. As she smiled once again and hugged me back. My tears dripped down, as those little drops created paradise. Fireflies that didn’t exist flew on the dim sky. My shattered wings flapped back, my wounds stop bleeding as the two of us are feeling each other’s presence.
“Asterio, I shall be your wing, again, let ourselves soar high.” I now know what does the Almighty wants me to realize, thank you. We met again… Aisa.
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Ire
The Dwarven Brewmaster
[media]
[/media]
This is the song I listened to while writing this piece. I hope you guys enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. (OuO)
It was the last building, the final structure left standing in the world. The red brick walls crumbled and the ceiling tore apart ever so slowly. Winds raged outside, the whistling of the sky sounding like the cries of all those who had driven the world into destruction. Everything would be gone within the coming hours, and the last two remnants of sentient life sat across from each other in the abandoned, decaying warehouse.
One was human—a woman. Long, black hair streamed down from her head to meet with her shoulders, and her blue eyes were fixated upon the silhouette before her. She wasn’t beautiful. She wasn’t special. She was simply the last of her kind. As was the other being opposite of her.
This one was not a human. While the human woman cried, it sat in the warehouse, tranquil and still. Its anatomy was made from mechanics and nails, while the woman’s was crafted from nature itself. It was a product of the civilization that was falling. Its mind was more powerful than the woman’s intellectually, but its emotional capacity could not comprehend the end of all things. It sat, in a small wooden chair, with a trivial metal kit by its left side.
The storm roared, ash flying in through the holes created by the disintegrating bricks. The woman’s hair flailed in the wind, and as the iciness of the air crept into her soul, she leaned forward in her chair and placed the palm of her right hand on the left cheek of her robotic friend. The tears could not be held for long; the dam broke apart, and the ducts within her eyes let loose the water it yearned to let go. She was made vulnerable by the sorrow and impending doom of the scene, her frame sobbing as her glassy eyes stared into the mechanical orbs of the artificial being.
“It ends here, doesn’t it?” The robot asked. She nodded frantically, her fingers tracing the steel of its cheek. Its eyes lowered to the quaking ground, pondering too many things for the simple mind of the woman across from it to understand. Its head raised apathetically, their eyes meeting once more. “Why?”
Her mouth quivered at the question, and more tears trickled down her face. “B-Because we didn’t ch-cherish what we were given,” she murmured through her melancholy.
“What did we not cherish? This planet? Its resources were required by human civilization to thrive for so long. The war was a result of the scarcity of those resources.”
“No, it’s not that!” She suddenly shouted, her eyes narrowing and her hand retracting from the mechanical being’s cheek. She studied it for a moment, before her frustration left and her remorse returned. She leaned back in, pulling her chair closer to it. She held either side of its face, feeling the coolness of the metal that made it. “We… we didn’t love this world,” she whispered.
The robotic being did not make eye contact with the woman. It analyzed her comment within its mind, and then it nodded. Its steel hands slowly rose. Soon, they covered the woman’s hands that were holding its face. Then and there, it stared into the irises of the woman, and it pulled her hands away from its metallic countenance. It brought her hands down to her sides and then let go.
It leaned to its left side. Upon its motion to reach for the metal kit stationed there, the woman shot forward furiously, clutching its left arm that was posed to grab the kit’s handle. “Stop!” She screamed, the winds about her seeming to carry her voice for miles. “W-Why would you? A-At a time like t-this?” The woman knew of what was in that kit. A small bottle that would grant her robotic companion emotion for a meager ten minutes. It was given to all artificial beings upon their creation, and could only be used once during their lifetime. This particular robot had saved it for all of its life.
A puzzled look from the mechanical creature caught the woman off-guard. “What better time than the end?” It asked, its face expressionless. She halted all of her movements, and her lips trembled once more. She nodded quickly, almost against her will. But, alas, her grip loosened and the robot proceeded to grasp the kit and lift it onto its lap.
Tapping a button on its right forearm, its steel chest produced a key that fell into the palm of its left hand. It moved slowly, setting the key into the keyhole of the kit. It twisted, and the robot watched innocently as the kit opened and a cold, white gas poured out. It sounded like carbonation releasing itself, and the robot found itself hastily finishing the process of opening the kit.
Prying the kit apart like the jaws of a beast, the robotic being peered down at the petite bottle. The vial held a clear liquid inside, almost like water. The robot's steel fingers wrapped about the bottle’s circumference and pulled it from its confinement. The being twisted off the lid and poured the contents into its mouth, staring at the woman all the while.
She still cried, and she seemed to sob harder when she saw the artificial being’s face twitch. His eyes rose to look at the fractured roof and the sky above. He listened to the winds, and as His eyes closed, everything felt new. It was like a heat that rose from His core as He thought about the inevitability of His death. When He opened His eyes, water could be seen within them.
The woman surged forward, wrapping Him in a hug as He screamed. He cried with everything He had left. He experienced the sorrow of the end, and He experienced the care He felt for a human.
But it was only for ten minutes, and then the world consumed them.
One was human—a woman. Long, black hair streamed down from her head to meet with her shoulders, and her blue eyes were fixated upon the silhouette before her. She wasn’t beautiful. She wasn’t special. She was simply the last of her kind. As was the other being opposite of her.
This one was not a human. While the human woman cried, it sat in the warehouse, tranquil and still. Its anatomy was made from mechanics and nails, while the woman’s was crafted from nature itself. It was a product of the civilization that was falling. Its mind was more powerful than the woman’s intellectually, but its emotional capacity could not comprehend the end of all things. It sat, in a small wooden chair, with a trivial metal kit by its left side.
The storm roared, ash flying in through the holes created by the disintegrating bricks. The woman’s hair flailed in the wind, and as the iciness of the air crept into her soul, she leaned forward in her chair and placed the palm of her right hand on the left cheek of her robotic friend. The tears could not be held for long; the dam broke apart, and the ducts within her eyes let loose the water it yearned to let go. She was made vulnerable by the sorrow and impending doom of the scene, her frame sobbing as her glassy eyes stared into the mechanical orbs of the artificial being.
“It ends here, doesn’t it?” The robot asked. She nodded frantically, her fingers tracing the steel of its cheek. Its eyes lowered to the quaking ground, pondering too many things for the simple mind of the woman across from it to understand. Its head raised apathetically, their eyes meeting once more. “Why?”
Her mouth quivered at the question, and more tears trickled down her face. “B-Because we didn’t ch-cherish what we were given,” she murmured through her melancholy.
“What did we not cherish? This planet? Its resources were required by human civilization to thrive for so long. The war was a result of the scarcity of those resources.”
“No, it’s not that!” She suddenly shouted, her eyes narrowing and her hand retracting from the mechanical being’s cheek. She studied it for a moment, before her frustration left and her remorse returned. She leaned back in, pulling her chair closer to it. She held either side of its face, feeling the coolness of the metal that made it. “We… we didn’t love this world,” she whispered.
The robotic being did not make eye contact with the woman. It analyzed her comment within its mind, and then it nodded. Its steel hands slowly rose. Soon, they covered the woman’s hands that were holding its face. Then and there, it stared into the irises of the woman, and it pulled her hands away from its metallic countenance. It brought her hands down to her sides and then let go.
It leaned to its left side. Upon its motion to reach for the metal kit stationed there, the woman shot forward furiously, clutching its left arm that was posed to grab the kit’s handle. “Stop!” She screamed, the winds about her seeming to carry her voice for miles. “W-Why would you? A-At a time like t-this?” The woman knew of what was in that kit. A small bottle that would grant her robotic companion emotion for a meager ten minutes. It was given to all artificial beings upon their creation, and could only be used once during their lifetime. This particular robot had saved it for all of its life.
A puzzled look from the mechanical creature caught the woman off-guard. “What better time than the end?” It asked, its face expressionless. She halted all of her movements, and her lips trembled once more. She nodded quickly, almost against her will. But, alas, her grip loosened and the robot proceeded to grasp the kit and lift it onto its lap.
Tapping a button on its right forearm, its steel chest produced a key that fell into the palm of its left hand. It moved slowly, setting the key into the keyhole of the kit. It twisted, and the robot watched innocently as the kit opened and a cold, white gas poured out. It sounded like carbonation releasing itself, and the robot found itself hastily finishing the process of opening the kit.
Prying the kit apart like the jaws of a beast, the robotic being peered down at the petite bottle. The vial held a clear liquid inside, almost like water. The robot's steel fingers wrapped about the bottle’s circumference and pulled it from its confinement. The being twisted off the lid and poured the contents into its mouth, staring at the woman all the while.
She still cried, and she seemed to sob harder when she saw the artificial being’s face twitch. His eyes rose to look at the fractured roof and the sky above. He listened to the winds, and as His eyes closed, everything felt new. It was like a heat that rose from His core as He thought about the inevitability of His death. When He opened His eyes, water could be seen within them.
The woman surged forward, wrapping Him in a hug as He screamed. He cried with everything He had left. He experienced the sorrow of the end, and He experienced the care He felt for a human.
But it was only for ten minutes, and then the world consumed them.
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Purize
Princess of Pudding
There was once a legend, now lost in the depths of time, carried on only by hushed whispers over candle light. This is because the emotions in this story flicker delicately just as the small standing flame.
It began with a maiden playing her flute by a small creek in a lush green forest. Its sound was so gentle, but at the same time it had a sort of strength to it. The sound carried power and emotion. If the maiden was sad, her music would cause even the surrounding willows to weep. If she was joyous, the birds would sing happy melodies to try and compliment her tune. The Maiden always celebrated her feelings through song of her flute, whether it be happy or sad, loved or lost. However, the maiden never played her magical flute when she was angry. Never would such an emotion be introduced to her beloved forest! That was a vow she made to herself long ago.
One day, the maiden was playing her flute again by the little creek. She was feeling lonely and it flowed effortlessly through her flute and carried far through the dense forest.
A man called Payne Drayk was riding along an old dusty path when he heard this melody. He stopped and listened for a moment, completely entranced by the sound. It was beautiful, yet so sad. It made him feel lonely as well, but even more curious. He dismounted his horse and wandered off the trail into the deep forest in search for the source of this music. When Payne found himself by a small creek, he was surprised to also find a young lady equally as beautiful has her music.
The maiden looked up, startled at the sudden appearance of the man. No longer would she be lonely! Payne sat next to her on a smooth boulder and admired her and her flute. The talked about its music and the feelings it carried effortlessly through it. The maiden was delighted to have someone to share its magic with, and even more so to have someone to talk to. How many days upon days had it been of her sitting there playing away on her flute? Indeed, the melodies where magnificent and enticing, but still it could only portray her emotions… she couldn’t share them herself with someone else…
The Maiden eventually explained how her flute impacted the forest in wondrous ways. How it could bring the animals and birds to tears, or dancing around with happiness. Payne didn’t believe her, however and insisted for her to show him. She, of course, obliged. She played her flute, portraying her emotion of excitement. Almost immediately little animals came out of their little holes and dens and began jumping around the maiden. The plants and tress swayed and fluttered about without a breeze through their leaves. Even Payne felt excited. To think such a small instrument could have such influence. Or rather, perhaps it was the maiden who was magical.
Payne wanted to find this out for himself. He held out his hand and asked politely to see the maiden’s flute. She stopped playing immediately but looked at Payne in shock. This flute was her greatest treasure, she wouldn’t so readily give it up to someone else… besides, they did not know her most important rule for the flute. Thou shalt not play in anger.
Payne grew slightly agitated, assuring her he only wanted to look at it and play a few notes. He would not harm it. Still, the maiden hesitated and denied his request. Now Payne was certainly aggravated. Didn’t she know he only wanted to try it? He wanted to make the trees dance and the birds sing, and if he could not, then that proved it was the maiden herself who was gifted. He asked once more, trying his best to be polite despite his steadily rising temper. The maiden however was now frightened. She could see that Payne was getting angry, there was certainly no way she’d give it to him now. She denied his request again, this time hiding the flute behind her back.
Payne shouted out at her in anger. All he wanted to do was play the infernal instrument! He lunged forward at the maiden for the flute. She shrieked in fear and tried to run away, although she was fragile and was no match for the brawny man. Payne grabbed the maiden and wrenched the flute from her tiny hands. She cried out a warning and even begged him not to play the flute but he wasn’t listening.
Still blinded by irrational rage, he laughed and brought the flute to his lips. The maiden covered her ears and fled away into the woods. Payne played the flute, causing all his anger to rush out through the vessel and fill the air of the once tranquil forest with the dreadful noise. The animals began fighting and attacking each other, the trees bashed branches into one another and the plants and grass began to blacken and die. Payne, completely unaware of the chaos around him continued to play, but rather than relieving his anger as the flute was supposed to do with other emotions, it built more and more. Anger became rage and rage became fury. Payne Drayk, once a man, began to transform into something completely inhuman. A tainted soul shadow of a man consumed with anger and hate. The forest died around him, and when he stopped playing the flute he couldn’t care about anything or feel sad or regret. He wandered through the charred and black remains of the forest, never feeling anything ever again but bottled up anger.
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Tom-Pen
Mysterious Writer
Life Lesson
LOVE
Perry Thompson, a young accountant living in upstate New York, had just finished a particularly hard day of work when he finally pulled up to his home - a quaint two-story suburban house with faded red shutters and a pale white door. Full of naivety he walked toward the door of his house with a tired, but eager, step feeling certain that just beyond that pale white wood and brass knob his wife -whom he loved with all his heart - would be anxiously waiting for him with open arms and a warm embrace. A genuine smile even found its way to the surface of his face through the many layers of stress and scowl; his long and tedious day of work already beginning to fade into the background of his mind. A warmth inside him began to grow (like the burning fire of love in his heart) and with every step he took toward that door - and more importantly his wife - that warmth intensified (as if the fires of love burned ever hotter within him). Sadly, he was ignorant - blissfully so - and life had a harsh lesson planed for him about love (it doesn't last).
JOY
Alexis Thompson, the young wife of a New York accountant living upstate, let out a joyful sigh at the conclusion of a long awaited moment, comfortably snuggled under the sheets of her bed in the upstairs room of her home - a quaint two-story suburban house with faded red shutters and a pale white door. For awhile now Alexis couldn't help but feel unwanted and alone each and every day that her husband was gone; she tried to fight the feelings - it was a brutal struggle - but eventually she could fight no longer. She had some guilt at first, quite a bit actually, but once the needs she had were met, there was nothing but joy. The joy came from not being alone, and from feeling needed by another, which she had not felt for a long, long time. As she lay under the covers, her warm body against another, she felt a feeling of never ending joy - she was as blissfully ignorant as her husband - and sadly, life knew this, and had a lesson plan that would soon give her some unfortunate knowledge about joy (it doesn't last).
EMPATHY
At the end of what seemed like the perfect encounter - with the perfect woman - the worst came to be. Aaron Fetter, the neighbor of Perry and Alexis Thompson, was caught by Perry, in bed with Alexis. Aaron suddenly found himself faced with a mix of emotions, but the most prominent - and unexpected - hit like a ton of bricks on his heart; it was empathy for Perry. Perry stood before the bed, looking on at his wife - whom he loved with all his heart - and his neighbor as they sat up covering themselves with the sheets of the bed, the sheets of his bed. Aaron thought that surly his empathy for Perry would hang over him for the rest of his life. Life, however, knew this wasn't so, and was about to teach him an important lesson about empathy (it doesn't last).
PEACE
The three of them all refrained from speaking, not wanting to break the peace. They all thought if they kept quiet, maybe, just maybe, the peace would last. They were blissfully ignorant - all of them -so life planned to teach them a lesson about peace (it doesn't last).
And so life began it's lesson. At the same moment all the emotions and feelings of the three broke and gave way to new ones. Perry's love turned to hate, Alexis' joy turned to sorrow, and Aaron's empathy turned to anger. The scene took on a much uglier tone, there was crying, yelling, and even fighting; eventually it ended and Aaron left angry, Perry and Alexis stayed, but in the days to come Perry left too, taking his hate with him, and once again Alexis was left alone. Life's lesson was cruel but, perhaps, necessary.
HOPE
Perry sat on the edge of a stiff dirty motel bed, his eyes locked on the phone beside him, it didn't look quite right. Aaron sat in the dark of his living room, his head slumped down, a phone resting on his lap that felt much heavier than it should have. Alexis laid face down on her bed, alone, tissues scattered about her; on the counter by the bed a phone sat silent and untouched. Each of them had there own thoughts and ways of thinking but - inevitably - they all felt the same tug of a single emotion, hope. But they felt certain it wouldn't last - that longing for change, that desire to move onto to a better time and place despite feeling like the whole world is fighting against you - couldn't last. But for now they hoped they would call, or would be called. They were ignorant, and life had yet another lesson planned, this one aimed at teaching them one of most important things about hope (it can, and does, last).
cellar.
sparkle sparkle ✨
this was written for a cs, so lmao it be stretching the theme like it's elastigirl whoops
Pt.1.
Might as well love you; might as well fall in
Pt.1.
Tinned peaches are the most bitter of foods.
Pale,
soulless,
the juice enters syrupy and leaves powder-blue down my throat.
Six. That's the number of years I stayed in Eden – metaphorically and literally. I grew up spring-green and stupid, birthed into the humdrum safety of Small Town No. 1, North Carolina. (Yeah, picturesque little Eden – with its crumbling churches and its gradual whoring-out to tourism. Mhm.) Six was the number of blissful years I had lived before I christened my mouth with the knife of an unknown taste. One bite in, and it lit a match through my veins, tearing through cells full of saltpetre and charcoal. The sugar sat like sin in the bottom of my stomach, shades of seashells and skies inducing tears in the same depthless blue. When I was still unafraid and young and six – I tasted one hundred grams of desolation and disillusionment from a can,
(and I vomited at the glimpse of things to come.)
Most foods are mellow in colour and emotion. The soft nostalgic moods and purple-and-green tints from pecan pie are ultimately muted by texture, taste, and hunger. I can digest things like that, swallow without having emotions hijacked by these senses. And it's not that I've learned to ignore all of it – I've just gotten used to the foods that run a little more subtle than the climaxing yellow, psychotic anger of nameless brand trail mix, or the giddy-as-hell, violet-dotted stuffed peppers by Nanna. My tongue knows the touch of pigments and emotions far too well already, perpetually tasting out sentiments that don't exist. That never have. That never will.
Six was the year I found a can of peaches. Seven was the year I learned pain.
(My mother held my hand as she led me away from Eden, and she's never held my hand since.)
I cried because I was afraid and young and seven. The line between gustatory anomaly and reality blurred within the year. I never tried to separate food and feeling after six. Not when I didn't want to anymore. Distorted and seven: anything I'd felt, I'd always blame it on the food – seven, fourteen, twenty-one, now. I always do.
Which means it must be this fucking drink.
Pale,
soulless,
the juice enters syrupy and leaves powder-blue down my throat.
Six. That's the number of years I stayed in Eden – metaphorically and literally. I grew up spring-green and stupid, birthed into the humdrum safety of Small Town No. 1, North Carolina. (Yeah, picturesque little Eden – with its crumbling churches and its gradual whoring-out to tourism. Mhm.) Six was the number of blissful years I had lived before I christened my mouth with the knife of an unknown taste. One bite in, and it lit a match through my veins, tearing through cells full of saltpetre and charcoal. The sugar sat like sin in the bottom of my stomach, shades of seashells and skies inducing tears in the same depthless blue. When I was still unafraid and young and six – I tasted one hundred grams of desolation and disillusionment from a can,
(and I vomited at the glimpse of things to come.)
Most foods are mellow in colour and emotion. The soft nostalgic moods and purple-and-green tints from pecan pie are ultimately muted by texture, taste, and hunger. I can digest things like that, swallow without having emotions hijacked by these senses. And it's not that I've learned to ignore all of it – I've just gotten used to the foods that run a little more subtle than the climaxing yellow, psychotic anger of nameless brand trail mix, or the giddy-as-hell, violet-dotted stuffed peppers by Nanna. My tongue knows the touch of pigments and emotions far too well already, perpetually tasting out sentiments that don't exist. That never have. That never will.
Six was the year I found a can of peaches. Seven was the year I learned pain.
(My mother held my hand as she led me away from Eden, and she's never held my hand since.)
I cried because I was afraid and young and seven. The line between gustatory anomaly and reality blurred within the year. I never tried to separate food and feeling after six. Not when I didn't want to anymore. Distorted and seven: anything I'd felt, I'd always blame it on the food – seven, fourteen, twenty-one, now. I always do.
Which means it must be this fucking drink.
Pt.2.
He's gone for a second, tending to a couple of other people milling around in the bar, and I'm left with a sky-blue cocktail for company instead. ("You'll like this one," he said. And we've both stop keeping numbers on the times he's spoken the same words.) I take a sip, not thinking much about it, and the drink tastes something like spring – flowers, fresh air, a fascination with flight – I don't know; I'm not really in to mood to care. My eyes are still glued to the back of his blond head when an orange seeps into my vision in the same motion of watercolours running down a page. And like sunset colours, it fades away two-and-a-half moments later, leaving nothing behind but...
When I'm back on earth, Gabriel's now watching me watch him and holy fuckity fuck. He smiles real impishly, like he knows he's caught me doing something surreptitious, and I nearly choke on my own breath.
It's this drink that's making my eyes turn away with measured nonchalance and my hands shake with truth of my nervousness. My heart is drilling a pulse that's about as steady as a middle-school marching band when Gabriel walks over. Sitting himself across from me, he smiles again like the little devil he is. We're carrying on some conversation, but my head's spinning too fast to hold onto the words he's saying and I'm staring at his mouth wondering, just wondering. It's got to be this drink that's making my face flush when he touches my shoulder and asks me what's up, and oh god I'm not blushing, I swear, I swear I'm not, Teva Dupont does not blush for anyone – and oh fuck me.
1 1/2 ounces of gin.
3/4 ounces of lemon juice.
1/2 ounce of Maraschino liqueur.
1 teaspoon of Crème de Violette.
And it must be all of this shit that makes me kiss him.
When I'm back on earth, Gabriel's now watching me watch him and holy fuckity fuck. He smiles real impishly, like he knows he's caught me doing something surreptitious, and I nearly choke on my own breath.
It's this drink that's making my eyes turn away with measured nonchalance and my hands shake with truth of my nervousness. My heart is drilling a pulse that's about as steady as a middle-school marching band when Gabriel walks over. Sitting himself across from me, he smiles again like the little devil he is. We're carrying on some conversation, but my head's spinning too fast to hold onto the words he's saying and I'm staring at his mouth wondering, just wondering. It's got to be this drink that's making my face flush when he touches my shoulder and asks me what's up, and oh god I'm not blushing, I swear, I swear I'm not, Teva Dupont does not blush for anyone – and oh fuck me.
1 1/2 ounces of gin.
3/4 ounces of lemon juice.
1/2 ounce of Maraschino liqueur.
1 teaspoon of Crème de Violette.
And it must be all of this shit that makes me kiss him.
Pt.3.
"Do you love me, Teva?" She asks.
The darkness makes it hard to see much, except for the silhouette of her body and question that clouds heavy in the air. I forget why I'm sleeping here tonight; I forget why this matters at all. Six, seven, twenty-one. Twenty-one is the year I discovered what loss meant. And this is the pain of something I've never tasted before. In the stillness of our conversation, she waits impatiently for my words. Her arms wrap around my waist; the touch of her skin feels cold and endless against my spine. A hollowness empties out my belly, and again I'm starving tonight.
"Do you love me, Teva?" – And I think about Gabriel and the bar and orange happiness in a periwinkle-blue drink. I think about the way his lips taste like love, and the feeling of his body pressed against mine. I think about him lying beside me right now, and my blood warms.
In my mind, my mother holds my hand the same way she did all those years ago and I'm leaving Eden again and again. We're sitting over the dinner table a few days later and I don't know who she is, but there's no one else to know. The night moves too fast for someone who's seven, and I'm waiting too long for more than a taste of what could be. But I grew up on these flavours, collecting a journal of emotions to pick and choose from whenever I needed my heart to beat. And I know Ithaca understands this. She is only asking for validation and I am only giving it to her. We are insipid, empty. The same.
I do,
I answer.
(I ate my heart out a long time ago.)
The taste of tinned peaches rises, and I forget that I'm unhappy.
The darkness makes it hard to see much, except for the silhouette of her body and question that clouds heavy in the air. I forget why I'm sleeping here tonight; I forget why this matters at all. Six, seven, twenty-one. Twenty-one is the year I discovered what loss meant. And this is the pain of something I've never tasted before. In the stillness of our conversation, she waits impatiently for my words. Her arms wrap around my waist; the touch of her skin feels cold and endless against my spine. A hollowness empties out my belly, and again I'm starving tonight.
"Do you love me, Teva?" – And I think about Gabriel and the bar and orange happiness in a periwinkle-blue drink. I think about the way his lips taste like love, and the feeling of his body pressed against mine. I think about him lying beside me right now, and my blood warms.
In my mind, my mother holds my hand the same way she did all those years ago and I'm leaving Eden again and again. We're sitting over the dinner table a few days later and I don't know who she is, but there's no one else to know. The night moves too fast for someone who's seven, and I'm waiting too long for more than a taste of what could be. But I grew up on these flavours, collecting a journal of emotions to pick and choose from whenever I needed my heart to beat. And I know Ithaca understands this. She is only asking for validation and I am only giving it to her. We are insipid, empty. The same.
I do,
I answer.
(I ate my heart out a long time ago.)
The taste of tinned peaches rises, and I forget that I'm unhappy.
Might as well love you; might as well fall in
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DemonKitten
Handler of Souls, Destroyer of Hearts
This is my last words as me. My name is… never mind that. I don’t even know why I am writing this as my tears smudge the wording and my hand aches from clutching so hard to… to nothing. Nothing… That is what all of this is, but I will write it anyway. In this world I live in, it isn’t anywhere near the world that I once knew. Neighbors, friends, or family? I have none. I had a wife. She was quite lovely. Beautiful auburn hair with fair skin lightly kissed by the sun’s rays to form freckles on her perfect canvas. Dancing around, she would grab my rough hands and force me to twirl. She would force me to be happy and joyful without use of a needle. DAMN TEARS! They ruin everything, but soon there won’t be any more of them. I’m not a writer or a poet, but my wife was and I know she would have wanted me to write this. Now on to my story, before this paper washes away.
I believe it was twenty years ago when the first bottle was created. “Happiness,” it was called. “A cure for the depressed” is what they had splattered all over the news in different forms. I recall laughing with my father about it. “What a load of bull!” he laughed, full belly. I was only twenty then. A free thinker and open-minded individual is what I thought I was, but I was just a hopeful child dreaming on a cloud that was turning to mist. “Don’t be so closed minded, dad. This is the way of the future,” I remember lecturing to him. A “breakthrough in science and medicine” is what I and everyone else said. Laughable cause it is now. To think I supported that thing, but I did. My wife was always skeptical. She would tell me it wasn’t natural and that they just wanted an easy out instead of actually dealing with the problem. I argued it was a cure, a hope for a better tomorrow. She always sighed after that and kissed my nose as she raced through the trees. I miss those trees. Now they are heavily guarded and protected since there are not many that remain. As I’m writing this, I wear a mask because I am the few that refuses to walk into that plastic container they call life. Is that the right choice? I question myself now. The second wave of emotions in a bottle were released. My daughter was just born and it was five years later. “Joy and Hope” were created and they started providing them to not just the clinically depressed. Anyone suffering could have one, but they were costly. People started to get addicted. The stuff didn’t last long enough and it was becoming harder than crack to get a hold of. That should have showed us the damage that these bottles created, but instead it increased production. “No known harm found,” so just like cigarettes, the bottles were left unchecked. I started to side with my wife as she cradled our own bottle of Faith in her arms. Beautiful. Just like her mother with a head full of auburn hair. The freckles weren’t there yet, but it would be a matter of time. Time. Something I didn’t know I had lost. A mere three years, my wife slipped from my arms. Killed by a mob of emotion hungry men and women that believed she had a stash herself. Just because she was naturally a happy person, she was mutilated. Ripped apart by insanity as they looked with in her body, thinking she hid them there. I couldn’t even have an open casket funeral! We had to cremate her, because I couldn’t stand the idea of her body rotting in that condition. You know what they did? The news? The Scientist? The doctors? Nothing! Just like everything, they did nothing. The whole world was drugged and didn’t see the pain behind their rose colored glasses. They couldn’t see their own bloodied hands as they ripped open her flesh. All they saw was Happiness which was the same, fucking color. Why? I don’t know.
It is five years later, freedom, well, that doesn’t exist here. A huge case of emotions were created with millions of new colorful outlets to escape. Oh! Want to know the best part? They are prolonged! It’s like having to get a shot every year for the flu. A natural thing now where people line up to get their new emotion of the week. I clutch my daughters pale hand and look into her greying eyes. She smiles just like her mother and I know that this is true happiness. I hold her close as we lay on a taciturn, metal bed in a dim room that holds one light swinging back and forth. We play games as the time passes. She says she would like to run through the trees like mother and I tell her we will. I sing to her and tell her wonderful stories about her mother and I. The beautiful oceans, the forest of animals, and the colorful cities. “We will see the sunset in the morning, right?” She inquires in a raspy voice. “Of course! We will leave super early like your mom always did.” Faith smiles at me and closes her eyes. Tears roll down my cheek as I visibly see the last breathe of my heart. I scream and hold her close to my chest, pulling the mask off of her beautiful face and try to give my breath to her. It doesn’t work and she soon turns grey. A terrible side effect of the new world we live in. She crumbles in my arms and the grinning doctors pull me from her body. They place me in a room with a pen and paper and as I finish writing this, it becomes my turn… My turn to forget.
I believe it was twenty years ago when the first bottle was created. “Happiness,” it was called. “A cure for the depressed” is what they had splattered all over the news in different forms. I recall laughing with my father about it. “What a load of bull!” he laughed, full belly. I was only twenty then. A free thinker and open-minded individual is what I thought I was, but I was just a hopeful child dreaming on a cloud that was turning to mist. “Don’t be so closed minded, dad. This is the way of the future,” I remember lecturing to him. A “breakthrough in science and medicine” is what I and everyone else said. Laughable cause it is now. To think I supported that thing, but I did. My wife was always skeptical. She would tell me it wasn’t natural and that they just wanted an easy out instead of actually dealing with the problem. I argued it was a cure, a hope for a better tomorrow. She always sighed after that and kissed my nose as she raced through the trees. I miss those trees. Now they are heavily guarded and protected since there are not many that remain. As I’m writing this, I wear a mask because I am the few that refuses to walk into that plastic container they call life. Is that the right choice? I question myself now. The second wave of emotions in a bottle were released. My daughter was just born and it was five years later. “Joy and Hope” were created and they started providing them to not just the clinically depressed. Anyone suffering could have one, but they were costly. People started to get addicted. The stuff didn’t last long enough and it was becoming harder than crack to get a hold of. That should have showed us the damage that these bottles created, but instead it increased production. “No known harm found,” so just like cigarettes, the bottles were left unchecked. I started to side with my wife as she cradled our own bottle of Faith in her arms. Beautiful. Just like her mother with a head full of auburn hair. The freckles weren’t there yet, but it would be a matter of time. Time. Something I didn’t know I had lost. A mere three years, my wife slipped from my arms. Killed by a mob of emotion hungry men and women that believed she had a stash herself. Just because she was naturally a happy person, she was mutilated. Ripped apart by insanity as they looked with in her body, thinking she hid them there. I couldn’t even have an open casket funeral! We had to cremate her, because I couldn’t stand the idea of her body rotting in that condition. You know what they did? The news? The Scientist? The doctors? Nothing! Just like everything, they did nothing. The whole world was drugged and didn’t see the pain behind their rose colored glasses. They couldn’t see their own bloodied hands as they ripped open her flesh. All they saw was Happiness which was the same, fucking color. Why? I don’t know.
It is five years later, freedom, well, that doesn’t exist here. A huge case of emotions were created with millions of new colorful outlets to escape. Oh! Want to know the best part? They are prolonged! It’s like having to get a shot every year for the flu. A natural thing now where people line up to get their new emotion of the week. I clutch my daughters pale hand and look into her greying eyes. She smiles just like her mother and I know that this is true happiness. I hold her close as we lay on a taciturn, metal bed in a dim room that holds one light swinging back and forth. We play games as the time passes. She says she would like to run through the trees like mother and I tell her we will. I sing to her and tell her wonderful stories about her mother and I. The beautiful oceans, the forest of animals, and the colorful cities. “We will see the sunset in the morning, right?” She inquires in a raspy voice. “Of course! We will leave super early like your mom always did.” Faith smiles at me and closes her eyes. Tears roll down my cheek as I visibly see the last breathe of my heart. I scream and hold her close to my chest, pulling the mask off of her beautiful face and try to give my breath to her. It doesn’t work and she soon turns grey. A terrible side effect of the new world we live in. She crumbles in my arms and the grinning doctors pull me from her body. They place me in a room with a pen and paper and as I finish writing this, it becomes my turn… My turn to forget.
SeaTea
There and back again
Woo, this was interesting to work on. Please enjoy!
He was wondering, blind and dull to the nature around him. He wondered why he no longer hurt, but he presumed that it was just nature’s way of speaking to him that his existence would be returned to it soon. However, the feeling of tightness in his chest, and the lump in his throat remained despite all efforts to cure, and it was always there, always stuck. Maybe that was why he was asked to leave, the others could not risk their balance; and deep down he too thought that he was a danger to that affect, but despite this, that tightness and lump remained ever lodged.
He did not truly grasp why he felt the need to stop walking when he was asked to leave, it went in hand with everything he had ever learned, but that did not stop a small cloud in the back of his mind that whispered to him when he was the least guarded
‘Why?’
Such were dark thoughts he first wagered, and had no place in his temperament. But it had always been there, always lingering and ever ready to speak again to him. Perhaps that voice did end up being a part of his sentence; maybe it caused the tightness and the lump. Thinking on why he was in such a state was one of the only things that occupied his mind when he was asked to leave and to keep the voice at bay with its’ ramblings.
He tried to keep himself fit and pressed on to try and find another purpose. He did not exactly know what drove him to this conclusion. He thus moved as one who had a purpose.
‘The right thing.’
‘Right, what did that mean, what was right? Was it right to try and find a place when he had already been asked to leave from another?
He stopped walking and found himself upon the ground in the darkness, even though it should be the day. He did not notice when he had walked into the cavern, only remembering thinking that there might be others in here, looking for another to join. It had begun to precipitate as he entered, which he was glad fo…
‘Glad.’
‘There it goes again, what do I mean by that, what did it mean by that? Why do I concern myself with such trivial matters; it’s simply nature’s way!’
The darkness was darker now. The tightness in his chest constrained until it was as if he could not breathe, and the lump in his throat grew almost as if it was trying to escape his throat. It was short lived however, as a bright light soon force his eyes open and himself to scramble to his feet in… in, what, why did he scramble up so hurriedly.
He did not have time to think further as he laid eyes upon a singular object that was illuminated; a clear casing that had been scuffed and dirtied. It stood upon a pedestal with markings and symbols of all kinds. Out of all of them, he found only one set that he could in fact interpret on the opposite side after scraping away the muck that covered it.
May this gift reach beyond our lifetimes to those that came after ours. Our efforts were in vain, and short-sighted. May a new world be built from the ashes of the old; please have mercy on our memory. – Doctor Macintosh
‘Open!’
He did not know what to make of the inscription, but felt compelled to take of whatever was contained. The lid he opened did so smoothly, despite the age. He could not comprehend exactly what he perceived, but suddenly a great thirst came over him as he partook of the contents almost without a second thought.
He knew, oh how he now knew.
The tightness in his chest, ‘Sadness!’
The lump in his throat, ‘Grief!’
He was asked to leave ‘Oh why, why did rend my very heart from my body!’
There was much more he felt, as crystal clear it was before him. He did not take stock though; the darkened hall was dominated by wailing and sobbing, as he curled around the pedestal of the gift so sweet that was granted to him.
He came to, eyes aching and puffed from the downpour of such… things that he could barely even begin to describe. His grief had been vented, and now he saw there was more.
‘More!’
The voice in his mind was louder than ever before, and he absolutely welcomed it. He reveled in its’ presence as it told him of such untouchable, but attainable things. It was an assault upon his mind that he began to truly… enjoy! He face had warped into a wide caricature of a grin; he was absolutely beside himself.
‘Know!’
“I feel so, I know so, there is so much more to this and to know it is a privilege, but to feel it is an absolute gift.”
‘Why then!”
“Because I AM! I am knowledgeable, I am feeling, and it’s an absolute WONDER!”
He could not stop his laughter as he moved to exit the echoing metal hall and out into the ever growing storm that thundered and roared right with its’ approval as his smile widened.
“I HAVE FOUND LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE; IT IS OUR HOPE SALVATION FOR WHAT WAS LOST TO US! BLESS DOCTOR MACINTOSH FOR HE HAS BROUGHT ME, AND THUS ALL OF US TO GREATER HEIGHTS THAN EVER BEFORE!”
The storm raged on and thunder clapped as if to agree with his wild message, he knew where his path lie now and it was back the way he came. He was delirious, but he did not care. He had found his purpose again; all of the others would know of these wondrous feelings. The the world would be as he is, wild and reveling in feeling once again; they knew much, but they would now know so much more.
He did not truly grasp why he felt the need to stop walking when he was asked to leave, it went in hand with everything he had ever learned, but that did not stop a small cloud in the back of his mind that whispered to him when he was the least guarded
‘Why?’
Such were dark thoughts he first wagered, and had no place in his temperament. But it had always been there, always lingering and ever ready to speak again to him. Perhaps that voice did end up being a part of his sentence; maybe it caused the tightness and the lump. Thinking on why he was in such a state was one of the only things that occupied his mind when he was asked to leave and to keep the voice at bay with its’ ramblings.
He tried to keep himself fit and pressed on to try and find another purpose. He did not exactly know what drove him to this conclusion. He thus moved as one who had a purpose.
‘The right thing.’
‘Right, what did that mean, what was right? Was it right to try and find a place when he had already been asked to leave from another?
He stopped walking and found himself upon the ground in the darkness, even though it should be the day. He did not notice when he had walked into the cavern, only remembering thinking that there might be others in here, looking for another to join. It had begun to precipitate as he entered, which he was glad fo…
‘Glad.’
‘There it goes again, what do I mean by that, what did it mean by that? Why do I concern myself with such trivial matters; it’s simply nature’s way!’
The darkness was darker now. The tightness in his chest constrained until it was as if he could not breathe, and the lump in his throat grew almost as if it was trying to escape his throat. It was short lived however, as a bright light soon force his eyes open and himself to scramble to his feet in… in, what, why did he scramble up so hurriedly.
He did not have time to think further as he laid eyes upon a singular object that was illuminated; a clear casing that had been scuffed and dirtied. It stood upon a pedestal with markings and symbols of all kinds. Out of all of them, he found only one set that he could in fact interpret on the opposite side after scraping away the muck that covered it.
May this gift reach beyond our lifetimes to those that came after ours. Our efforts were in vain, and short-sighted. May a new world be built from the ashes of the old; please have mercy on our memory. – Doctor Macintosh
‘Open!’
He did not know what to make of the inscription, but felt compelled to take of whatever was contained. The lid he opened did so smoothly, despite the age. He could not comprehend exactly what he perceived, but suddenly a great thirst came over him as he partook of the contents almost without a second thought.
He knew, oh how he now knew.
The tightness in his chest, ‘Sadness!’
The lump in his throat, ‘Grief!’
He was asked to leave ‘Oh why, why did rend my very heart from my body!’
There was much more he felt, as crystal clear it was before him. He did not take stock though; the darkened hall was dominated by wailing and sobbing, as he curled around the pedestal of the gift so sweet that was granted to him.
He came to, eyes aching and puffed from the downpour of such… things that he could barely even begin to describe. His grief had been vented, and now he saw there was more.
‘More!’
The voice in his mind was louder than ever before, and he absolutely welcomed it. He reveled in its’ presence as it told him of such untouchable, but attainable things. It was an assault upon his mind that he began to truly… enjoy! He face had warped into a wide caricature of a grin; he was absolutely beside himself.
‘Know!’
“I feel so, I know so, there is so much more to this and to know it is a privilege, but to feel it is an absolute gift.”
‘Why then!”
“Because I AM! I am knowledgeable, I am feeling, and it’s an absolute WONDER!”
He could not stop his laughter as he moved to exit the echoing metal hall and out into the ever growing storm that thundered and roared right with its’ approval as his smile widened.
“I HAVE FOUND LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE; IT IS OUR HOPE SALVATION FOR WHAT WAS LOST TO US! BLESS DOCTOR MACINTOSH FOR HE HAS BROUGHT ME, AND THUS ALL OF US TO GREATER HEIGHTS THAN EVER BEFORE!”
The storm raged on and thunder clapped as if to agree with his wild message, he knew where his path lie now and it was back the way he came. He was delirious, but he did not care. He had found his purpose again; all of the others would know of these wondrous feelings. The the world would be as he is, wild and reveling in feeling once again; they knew much, but they would now know so much more.
noobysubstance15
King of Nerdz
Well, this is my first time entering in any "rp competition", so if I mess up somehow, just tell me, and I'll change it! (And I wasn't sure if we name our posts or if we name them by the rp their based from, so I just did the former.)
He sat there. He just sat on the side of that bed staring at his dead father. Everyone had left already, and the royal funeral was to take place in less than 24 hours. He had been sitting there that long. King Daniel-Lee II, the new title he just inherited almost a day ago, made him feel...well... it just made him feel.
Feel what?
Maybe everything, maybe nothing, I guess...
Danny loved his father with all his heart, but still, it is possible to deeply love another human being, yet still hate them at the same time. Watching his father die slowly and painfully like that was traumatizing, but not as greatly as what he has seen his father do to their loyal citizens. He couldn't understand how a person could be so cruel to people who have stood behind him, so faithfully and so long, to burn a pregnant woman and her to children and husband with an iron, whip them to the point where more muscle and blood shows than skin, disassembled their bodies, then threw them into the deepest fire pit in the castle's dungeon as easy as if it were a bubble-gum wrapper. And the funny/saddest thing about the situation was because it was over one of the children sneezing while the king gave a short speech.
What type of sick person does that?
No, wait... I have an answer...
The almighty, and powerful, King James-Daniel IV.
Thinking back to childhood, there were no really happy times for Danny, being as there were no times when his father would stop with the whole "tyrant king" act, and actual be a real dad. I guess some people really can't handle that type of constant pressure of being a parent.
He stood up and walked towards the door. Just after opening the door, he looked back at his father one last time.
"My father...", he said softly. He shed only one tear for his father, once more, then left
Maybe had his father said just once,"I love you, son.", or even,"I care about you, my child.", their relationship could have been alot better than what it was. If only he could have said "I love you" one more time...
Just once more...
(391 words)
Feel what?
Maybe everything, maybe nothing, I guess...
Danny loved his father with all his heart, but still, it is possible to deeply love another human being, yet still hate them at the same time. Watching his father die slowly and painfully like that was traumatizing, but not as greatly as what he has seen his father do to their loyal citizens. He couldn't understand how a person could be so cruel to people who have stood behind him, so faithfully and so long, to burn a pregnant woman and her to children and husband with an iron, whip them to the point where more muscle and blood shows than skin, disassembled their bodies, then threw them into the deepest fire pit in the castle's dungeon as easy as if it were a bubble-gum wrapper. And the funny/saddest thing about the situation was because it was over one of the children sneezing while the king gave a short speech.
What type of sick person does that?
No, wait... I have an answer...
The almighty, and powerful, King James-Daniel IV.
Thinking back to childhood, there were no really happy times for Danny, being as there were no times when his father would stop with the whole "tyrant king" act, and actual be a real dad. I guess some people really can't handle that type of constant pressure of being a parent.
He stood up and walked towards the door. Just after opening the door, he looked back at his father one last time.
"My father...", he said softly. He shed only one tear for his father, once more, then left
Maybe had his father said just once,"I love you, son.", or even,"I care about you, my child.", their relationship could have been alot better than what it was. If only he could have said "I love you" one more time...
Just once more...
(391 words)
Dark Child
The Next MK Ultra ™
I hope you all will enjoy. ^^
@Mordecai
Last Chance
He stood still within the grassland, eyes fixed on me like a grand prey.
His eyes, those obsidian eyes which held many told and untold truths of the years we had parted.
The strong mind, my blood-filled organ which kept me alive,
Became fragile and half-torn.
I could have succumb to this, yet, this hope of something small clinged to the heart.
The salty substance came pouring down from that which I called a revelation.
And so have my cheeks smeared; a hand which became damp from all the mixture of emotions.
But somehow, my lips quirked a shaky smile to the one who stood before me.
His raven hair whipped gently within the breeze which toyed with my pink skirt.
I was sure he saw what he had not intended to see.
My cheeks flushed from the slight embarrassment.
His features remained constant, purposely intending to keep up the competition.
I wanted him.
I needed him.
My years without him had been difficult.
But, without him, i had gained superb powers.
He had almost took my life once.
Yes...and it pains a fragile heart to the memories which kept replaying all those times.
But my blonde- haired friend rescued me.
Though I was the one who rebuked it.
I still loved him even.
And still in love with him.
How foolish one might say....
I would agree the same.
Yet, the mind has decided.
I cannot help it.
I told him this many times,
But, maybe, just maybe, actions may speak louder than words for him.
Should I do this?
The air around us was slowly thickening with unwilling paitence.
Yes, I was the one who brought him here.
My heart gave a sudden pound.
My lips became athirst.
If glares could kill, i would have died a million times in my life.
Hmm...
Does he really hate me?
He does say that I am the
most annoying creature ever made.
I closed my mind from disturbing memories and inhaled slowly.
Again,
Should i really do this?
A wave of fear and guilty pleasure surged through me.
I needed this after all.
My eyes welcomed him once more.
His features impassive as always.
I had to do this. Might be my last chance.
I took my step towards him. Sweat lingered below my chin.
His raven hair lashed towards my face in the cool breeze.
His glares became more deadly,
But I had to be strong.
I had to be fearless.
He took a step backward.
I took mine forward.
Now, only a kiss could shut the small distance.
I licked my dried lips which thirsts for his.
His eyes played subtly on my lips for the shortest while.
Still remaining impassive.
He would have probably made his first strike,
But curiousity seemingly got the better of him.
I smiled to myself.
Maybe my victory was within less than a mile for once.
I slowly reached forth my hands towards his and placed them on my hips.
He cast a short glance at my action.
My soul was tearing within but he was the one I needed.
I placed my hands on his thin frame.
His pale lips drew a thin line.
Maybe he doesn`t need this.
I closed my eyes again.
I had to do this.
The gap between us was suddenly closed.
Tears slowly stained my cheeks once more.
I was indeed surprised when he kissed back,
When he used a soft thumb to wipe away the tears.
He stared into my eyes.
I glared back.
`Stay`
Was all i could say.
`Still annoying.`
Was all he could ever say.
He took a step back,
Gave me his last glance
and sprinted through the trees which enclosed the grassland.
I stood still.
Eyes never left where he once stood.
A small sad smile lingered on my lips; with dainty fingers dabbing the cool liquid which I found as a small parting gift.
I still could not have him for myself, even.
But, at last
I had my chance....
@Mordecai
Last Chance
He stood still within the grassland, eyes fixed on me like a grand prey.
His eyes, those obsidian eyes which held many told and untold truths of the years we had parted.
The strong mind, my blood-filled organ which kept me alive,
Became fragile and half-torn.
I could have succumb to this, yet, this hope of something small clinged to the heart.
The salty substance came pouring down from that which I called a revelation.
And so have my cheeks smeared; a hand which became damp from all the mixture of emotions.
But somehow, my lips quirked a shaky smile to the one who stood before me.
His raven hair whipped gently within the breeze which toyed with my pink skirt.
I was sure he saw what he had not intended to see.
My cheeks flushed from the slight embarrassment.
His features remained constant, purposely intending to keep up the competition.
I wanted him.
I needed him.
My years without him had been difficult.
But, without him, i had gained superb powers.
He had almost took my life once.
Yes...and it pains a fragile heart to the memories which kept replaying all those times.
But my blonde- haired friend rescued me.
Though I was the one who rebuked it.
I still loved him even.
And still in love with him.
How foolish one might say....
I would agree the same.
Yet, the mind has decided.
I cannot help it.
I told him this many times,
But, maybe, just maybe, actions may speak louder than words for him.
Should I do this?
The air around us was slowly thickening with unwilling paitence.
Yes, I was the one who brought him here.
My heart gave a sudden pound.
My lips became athirst.
If glares could kill, i would have died a million times in my life.
Hmm...
Does he really hate me?
He does say that I am the
most annoying creature ever made.
I closed my mind from disturbing memories and inhaled slowly.
Again,
Should i really do this?
A wave of fear and guilty pleasure surged through me.
I needed this after all.
My eyes welcomed him once more.
His features impassive as always.
I had to do this. Might be my last chance.
I took my step towards him. Sweat lingered below my chin.
His raven hair lashed towards my face in the cool breeze.
His glares became more deadly,
But I had to be strong.
I had to be fearless.
He took a step backward.
I took mine forward.
Now, only a kiss could shut the small distance.
I licked my dried lips which thirsts for his.
His eyes played subtly on my lips for the shortest while.
Still remaining impassive.
He would have probably made his first strike,
But curiousity seemingly got the better of him.
I smiled to myself.
Maybe my victory was within less than a mile for once.
I slowly reached forth my hands towards his and placed them on my hips.
He cast a short glance at my action.
My soul was tearing within but he was the one I needed.
I placed my hands on his thin frame.
His pale lips drew a thin line.
Maybe he doesn`t need this.
I closed my eyes again.
I had to do this.
The gap between us was suddenly closed.
Tears slowly stained my cheeks once more.
I was indeed surprised when he kissed back,
When he used a soft thumb to wipe away the tears.
He stared into my eyes.
I glared back.
`Stay`
Was all i could say.
`Still annoying.`
Was all he could ever say.
He took a step back,
Gave me his last glance
and sprinted through the trees which enclosed the grassland.
I stood still.
Eyes never left where he once stood.
A small sad smile lingered on my lips; with dainty fingers dabbing the cool liquid which I found as a small parting gift.
I still could not have him for myself, even.
But, at last
I had my chance....
Last edited by a moderator:
Felix
Behind that Crazy Premise
For everyone who is hunted for their feelings.
Kyra ran as hard as she possibly could. Rememeber, all this is for Ashley. She turned left into a dark alley. No time to look whether or not they followed her. The walls were stripped of all decoration, the Numb Ones didn’t need it. She turned left. Her own footsteps echoed through the maze of alleys. No one was in the streets. All doors were shut and locked. Why bother opening them if there wasn’t anything to go outdoors for. Kyra heard her heart beating very fast. Although she was stressed like a hunted animal, the sound calmed here down. It reassured her that she still had a heart, something to live for. Left. Right. Left Again. She allowed herself a quick stop to catch her breath. She listened carefully. It was silent aside from her own panting and the slowly dripping drainpipe next to her. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. It went on and on and on like an endless mantra. And then it just stopped. Just a faint sound of running feet reaching Kyra’s ears was enough to rupture the hypnotizing drops. Kyra was immediately alert. She quickly checked her gun, which still had three bullets. She was ready to run. She had no choice but to run. She had to run for everything that was dear to her. Literally.
It all happened so fast. Where did we go wrong? 15 years ago scientists discovered a way to extract pieces of emotion from ones brain and how to implant it in someone else’s. The happy people could donate a bit of their happiness to the depressed. Those in hard situations could get hope from those who didn’t need it. It was good for a while. Of course there were some problems with a black market for emotions, owned by Rainbow Corp, but the police could still handle it. Then the police became the biggest consumers. They forced criminals to take injections of empathy. They started to pay for the emotions and legalized Rainbow Corp because otherwise there wasn’t enough. They made laws to limit the amount of feelings each person could sell. More and more people began selling their feelings.
The army made the demand even bigger by turning it into weapons, bombing feelings of peace upon enemies. The prices became even higher and the black market was flourishing. People willingly gave up all their emotions for huge sums of money. They became the Numb Ones; those without feelings. The side effects were not known back then. Soon, greed turned more and more people into Numb Ones. They either died because they had no reason for living or they became slaves to dealers, who would give them little portions of the addictive happiness. The Motivated, as the people who still had all their own emotions (without emotions injected from others), were called, became scarce.
That’s when the hunts began. Dealers with armies of Numb Ones started to capture the motivated and extracted all the emotions from them. Turning them into Numb Ones against their will. Until then Kyra had lived in a small house with her parents and her little sister, Ashley. When the raids started her parents disappeared and she and Ashley fled the house. They had been on the run for months. Run. Run for Ashley. Kyra was pulled back in the present.
The footsteps were closing in. She picked up her pace. Almost as hard as she could, making sure she could go on for quite a while. She had her revolver in her hand, ready to shoot. She turned left, then right and right again. The alleys were narrower the further she went. She felt her muscles go sore. She couldn’t go on much longer. She turned left once more. Too late she realized it was a dead end. Hopefully she had less than three pursuers.
She lurked behind a container. The first hunter came running around the corner. She shot him full in the head. Bang! The sound echoed thru the alley and the hunter fell down. A second one came into view, not scared by the death of her companion. Kyra was ready, her hand at the trigger, but at the last moment she hesitated. Bang! … No, not her. She had missed and hit the right shoulder. Time seemed to stop as the small girl fell down. It took Kyra back to two years ago.
Ashley fell. ‘Come on Ashley, we’ve got to move on!’ Kyra said. She already heard footsteps a few blocks away. ‘I can’t sis,’ Ashley responded. Kyra looked at the bandages on Ashley’s leg. It was soaked with blood and pus. The wound was badly infected. Ashley would die if they wouldn’t find antibiotics soon. ‘Everything will be fine,’ Kyra lied. ‘But only if we go right now’. In her heart she knew that even than they would probably not make it. ‘You know that’s a lie,’ Ashley said. ‘You’re only chance a survival is leaving me here’. Kyra pulled out her gun, but Ashley pulled it away. ‘Spare your bullets. I’ll die soon anyway,’ She whispered. ‘Just promise me you won’t forget me. Grieve me and cherish the memories of me. I will always be with you that way. Now run!’ Kyra knew that she had no choice. She had to run. Run for Ashley.
And now Kyra had shot her. Everything around her seemed to disappear as she walked over to Ashley. Everything except Kyra and the empty shell that was once her sister. Ashley’s face showed no sign of pain. She lifted her left arm to choke Kyra, but it fell back from exhaustion. Kyra saw what her sister had become and made up her mind. That was no way of living. Ashley wouldn’t want to live that way. And neither did Kyra. She embraced Ashley. Tears welled up in her eyes. Her head next to Ashley’s. Fingers around the trigger. A smile curled on Kyra’s lips. ‘Goodbye Ashley. I love you too.’ … Bang!
It all happened so fast. Where did we go wrong? 15 years ago scientists discovered a way to extract pieces of emotion from ones brain and how to implant it in someone else’s. The happy people could donate a bit of their happiness to the depressed. Those in hard situations could get hope from those who didn’t need it. It was good for a while. Of course there were some problems with a black market for emotions, owned by Rainbow Corp, but the police could still handle it. Then the police became the biggest consumers. They forced criminals to take injections of empathy. They started to pay for the emotions and legalized Rainbow Corp because otherwise there wasn’t enough. They made laws to limit the amount of feelings each person could sell. More and more people began selling their feelings.
The army made the demand even bigger by turning it into weapons, bombing feelings of peace upon enemies. The prices became even higher and the black market was flourishing. People willingly gave up all their emotions for huge sums of money. They became the Numb Ones; those without feelings. The side effects were not known back then. Soon, greed turned more and more people into Numb Ones. They either died because they had no reason for living or they became slaves to dealers, who would give them little portions of the addictive happiness. The Motivated, as the people who still had all their own emotions (without emotions injected from others), were called, became scarce.
That’s when the hunts began. Dealers with armies of Numb Ones started to capture the motivated and extracted all the emotions from them. Turning them into Numb Ones against their will. Until then Kyra had lived in a small house with her parents and her little sister, Ashley. When the raids started her parents disappeared and she and Ashley fled the house. They had been on the run for months. Run. Run for Ashley. Kyra was pulled back in the present.
The footsteps were closing in. She picked up her pace. Almost as hard as she could, making sure she could go on for quite a while. She had her revolver in her hand, ready to shoot. She turned left, then right and right again. The alleys were narrower the further she went. She felt her muscles go sore. She couldn’t go on much longer. She turned left once more. Too late she realized it was a dead end. Hopefully she had less than three pursuers.
She lurked behind a container. The first hunter came running around the corner. She shot him full in the head. Bang! The sound echoed thru the alley and the hunter fell down. A second one came into view, not scared by the death of her companion. Kyra was ready, her hand at the trigger, but at the last moment she hesitated. Bang! … No, not her. She had missed and hit the right shoulder. Time seemed to stop as the small girl fell down. It took Kyra back to two years ago.
Ashley fell. ‘Come on Ashley, we’ve got to move on!’ Kyra said. She already heard footsteps a few blocks away. ‘I can’t sis,’ Ashley responded. Kyra looked at the bandages on Ashley’s leg. It was soaked with blood and pus. The wound was badly infected. Ashley would die if they wouldn’t find antibiotics soon. ‘Everything will be fine,’ Kyra lied. ‘But only if we go right now’. In her heart she knew that even than they would probably not make it. ‘You know that’s a lie,’ Ashley said. ‘You’re only chance a survival is leaving me here’. Kyra pulled out her gun, but Ashley pulled it away. ‘Spare your bullets. I’ll die soon anyway,’ She whispered. ‘Just promise me you won’t forget me. Grieve me and cherish the memories of me. I will always be with you that way. Now run!’ Kyra knew that she had no choice. She had to run. Run for Ashley.
And now Kyra had shot her. Everything around her seemed to disappear as she walked over to Ashley. Everything except Kyra and the empty shell that was once her sister. Ashley’s face showed no sign of pain. She lifted her left arm to choke Kyra, but it fell back from exhaustion. Kyra saw what her sister had become and made up her mind. That was no way of living. Ashley wouldn’t want to live that way. And neither did Kyra. She embraced Ashley. Tears welled up in her eyes. Her head next to Ashley’s. Fingers around the trigger. A smile curled on Kyra’s lips. ‘Goodbye Ashley. I love you too.’ … Bang!
cremora
Spooky Scary Skeletons!
I hope the color theme here is not too painful to the eyes. I felt it was necessary to elicit the correct responses for the story. Please don't eat me. *cringes*
Gray.
She touched her fingers to her lips. Licked them. Her skin tasted gray.
Gray.
The word describing the faded shade of black. Her hair was gray. Her eyes. The shirt she wore was black, the pants she sat in. The chair, the desk, the walls. All black. But she was gray. She tasted gray. As the gray woman turned her gray eyes towards the black window across from her black desk, she glimpsed something. Something not black, not gray.
Yellow.
A flash of yellow hair and skin, brief as the blink of an eye, rushed past the transparent black window, charging the gray woman’s gray skin with a foreign sensation. She put her gray fingertips to her gray lips and licked them again. They still tasted gray. She traced the outline of her gray lips with her gray fingers. She was smiling. She tasted her fingers again. They tasted yellow.
A thought passed through the gray woman’s mind, synapses firing through the gray matter of her gray brain. ‘I am gray, not yellow.’ She licked her fingers, the sensation of yellow changing to something else. Red. Stinging, burning, dangerous red was on her fingers. The gray woman heaved her chest, breathing the gray air into her gray lungs rapidly.
I am gray!
But she was not gray. Not on the inside. Not anymore. The gray woman pushed away from her black desk, breaths still coming in short, red bursts. Her gray eyes tried to eat up the black around her, absorb the gray air and gray light. The red would not go away. Red. It was yellow’s fault that red came. Yellow was bad.
But red was worse.
The gray woman put her fingers to her lips. She had to be sure. Her gray tongue tasted the gray tips of her fingers. Red. Darker red than before. The gray woman gasped, flinging herself away from her black desk and out the door of the black office, onto the black streets. The sky was white, the clouds were black, but the gray woman did not notice. Neither did the gray woman notice the black raindrops that absently trickled from the black clouds.
The gray woman pushed through a crowded intersection of gray men and women, dark red still on her gray lips, her gray fingers. Her eyes sped from one face to the next, searching the other gray people for signs of red or yellow, or another of some kind. But as she crossed the street and reached her black apartment building, she saw only gray people dressed in black clothing.
As the gray woman raced up the black stairs to her black door labeled “Gray Woman #3313”, the dark red turned darker still inside her not-gray-anymore lungs. Her breaths, seeking gray air, came even shorter now, as she opened and slammed shut her black door labeled “Gray Woman #3313”. Now inside, the gray woman went as far back into her black apartment as she could reach, gray back against a bare black wall. Her gray stomach growled, but the dark red was still looming.
Hours passed as the gray woman sat in her black room with black furniture and black bedding. The dark red didn’t fade, but the things that dark red brought did. Her not-gray-anymore lungs no longer vapidly commanded for gray air. Maybe she had mistaken the taste on her fingers. In the hours she had sat in the room, she had not tasted her fingers again, too red to try.
A single solitary knock came from her black door labeled “Gray Woman #3313” just then. The gray woman paused, gray heart in her gray throat with dark red surging under that. The knock came again, harder and more urgently this time. Her breaths did not come as she stood and went to the black door labeled “Gray Woman #3313”. She took a glance at the black window behind her, seeing that the white sky had turned into a black sky during her time in her black room.
Whatever source had created the knocks now smashed against the black door labeled “Gray Woman #3313”, rattling the old black wood in its old black frame. The gray woman peered through the peephole and froze.
RED!
Sharp red teeth in vicious red gums with smiling red lips around them. Red drool dripped from red fangs as red claws smashed through the black door labeled “Gray Woman #3313”. The gray woman stumbled back from the slicing red claws, dark red blooming on her shredded black shirt and gray skin. She opened her gray lips and screamed, gray air coming from not-gray-anymore lungs. The black door labeled “Gray Woman #3313” bowed and splintered, letting in the red beast with red claws and sharp red teeth.
The gray woman could not catch her gray breath as the red beast loomed over her gray body on the black floor; the dark red gushing out of her gray chest was coming too fast, too thick. She watched the red beast with gray eyes, its red gangly limbs bent at red angles. It walked with a broken red gait until its belly, swollen and red with red organs, was above her. She screamed again, a scream that should have been gray but tasted dark red and gurgled dark red.
The long, gnashing red maw of the red fanged red beast opened around her head, sticky red drool splattering the gray woman’s face, A lolling red tongue surged forward from its red maw and into the gray woman’s mouth, down her throat. The gray woman choked, gagged, tasting red. Only red.
The red beast gave a haughty red chortle and snapped its red maw closed around the gray woman’s head, sharp red teeth slicing the gray woman’s soft gray neck into soft gray ribbons. The last thought that passed through the gray woman’s gray brain made of gray matter as her head slid down the red beast’s red throat was, “I hope I taste gray."
She touched her fingers to her lips. Licked them. Her skin tasted gray.
Gray.
The word describing the faded shade of black. Her hair was gray. Her eyes. The shirt she wore was black, the pants she sat in. The chair, the desk, the walls. All black. But she was gray. She tasted gray. As the gray woman turned her gray eyes towards the black window across from her black desk, she glimpsed something. Something not black, not gray.
Yellow.
A flash of yellow hair and skin, brief as the blink of an eye, rushed past the transparent black window, charging the gray woman’s gray skin with a foreign sensation. She put her gray fingertips to her gray lips and licked them again. They still tasted gray. She traced the outline of her gray lips with her gray fingers. She was smiling. She tasted her fingers again. They tasted yellow.
A thought passed through the gray woman’s mind, synapses firing through the gray matter of her gray brain. ‘I am gray, not yellow.’ She licked her fingers, the sensation of yellow changing to something else. Red. Stinging, burning, dangerous red was on her fingers. The gray woman heaved her chest, breathing the gray air into her gray lungs rapidly.
I am gray!
But she was not gray. Not on the inside. Not anymore. The gray woman pushed away from her black desk, breaths still coming in short, red bursts. Her gray eyes tried to eat up the black around her, absorb the gray air and gray light. The red would not go away. Red. It was yellow’s fault that red came. Yellow was bad.
But red was worse.
The gray woman put her fingers to her lips. She had to be sure. Her gray tongue tasted the gray tips of her fingers. Red. Darker red than before. The gray woman gasped, flinging herself away from her black desk and out the door of the black office, onto the black streets. The sky was white, the clouds were black, but the gray woman did not notice. Neither did the gray woman notice the black raindrops that absently trickled from the black clouds.
The gray woman pushed through a crowded intersection of gray men and women, dark red still on her gray lips, her gray fingers. Her eyes sped from one face to the next, searching the other gray people for signs of red or yellow, or another of some kind. But as she crossed the street and reached her black apartment building, she saw only gray people dressed in black clothing.
As the gray woman raced up the black stairs to her black door labeled “Gray Woman #3313”, the dark red turned darker still inside her not-gray-anymore lungs. Her breaths, seeking gray air, came even shorter now, as she opened and slammed shut her black door labeled “Gray Woman #3313”. Now inside, the gray woman went as far back into her black apartment as she could reach, gray back against a bare black wall. Her gray stomach growled, but the dark red was still looming.
Hours passed as the gray woman sat in her black room with black furniture and black bedding. The dark red didn’t fade, but the things that dark red brought did. Her not-gray-anymore lungs no longer vapidly commanded for gray air. Maybe she had mistaken the taste on her fingers. In the hours she had sat in the room, she had not tasted her fingers again, too red to try.
A single solitary knock came from her black door labeled “Gray Woman #3313” just then. The gray woman paused, gray heart in her gray throat with dark red surging under that. The knock came again, harder and more urgently this time. Her breaths did not come as she stood and went to the black door labeled “Gray Woman #3313”. She took a glance at the black window behind her, seeing that the white sky had turned into a black sky during her time in her black room.
Whatever source had created the knocks now smashed against the black door labeled “Gray Woman #3313”, rattling the old black wood in its old black frame. The gray woman peered through the peephole and froze.
RED!
Sharp red teeth in vicious red gums with smiling red lips around them. Red drool dripped from red fangs as red claws smashed through the black door labeled “Gray Woman #3313”. The gray woman stumbled back from the slicing red claws, dark red blooming on her shredded black shirt and gray skin. She opened her gray lips and screamed, gray air coming from not-gray-anymore lungs. The black door labeled “Gray Woman #3313” bowed and splintered, letting in the red beast with red claws and sharp red teeth.
The gray woman could not catch her gray breath as the red beast loomed over her gray body on the black floor; the dark red gushing out of her gray chest was coming too fast, too thick. She watched the red beast with gray eyes, its red gangly limbs bent at red angles. It walked with a broken red gait until its belly, swollen and red with red organs, was above her. She screamed again, a scream that should have been gray but tasted dark red and gurgled dark red.
The long, gnashing red maw of the red fanged red beast opened around her head, sticky red drool splattering the gray woman’s face, A lolling red tongue surged forward from its red maw and into the gray woman’s mouth, down her throat. The gray woman choked, gagged, tasting red. Only red.
The red beast gave a haughty red chortle and snapped its red maw closed around the gray woman’s head, sharp red teeth slicing the gray woman’s soft gray neck into soft gray ribbons. The last thought that passed through the gray woman’s gray brain made of gray matter as her head slid down the red beast’s red throat was, “I hope I taste gray."
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grey987
Man of the Shadows
Now, I know I couldn't possibly stack up to any of the other writing pieces here, but I thought I'd give this a go anyway. (> 
) It's exactly 1000 words, by the way.
Hope you guys enjoy; credit goes to James Spader's fantastic iteration of Ultron for being this writing piece's inspiration. (
)
) It's exactly 1000 words, by the way.Hope you guys enjoy; credit goes to James Spader's fantastic iteration of Ultron for being this writing piece's inspiration. (
)“Hope. The feeling of expectation for a certain thing to happen…” A small glass bottle was situated between two metallic fingers and held up to two cerulean orbs which both glistened under the dull light of the crescent moon hovering in the sky above the balcony, carefully examining the text written on the label attached to the glass tube filled with a dark pink liquid residing inside of it. “Thirty millimetres concentrated… What is this?” The voice that asked the question was similar to that of a man’s, though there was a sort of robotic filter to it due to the nature of the voice box it came from. The answer should have been obvious, really, to such an advanced artificial interface. But something about this seemed surreal. Or maybe it was something he didn’t want to believe.
“It’s exactly what you think it is,” another voice spoke in reply, one belonging to that of a proper man. He was dressed casually for someone who spent most of his time in his lab here at home; a plain white blue T-shirt clung to his upper torso and snug navy blue jeans covered his legs, while a pair of plain socks were worn on his feet to keep them comfortable. He was a nice-looking scientist with a fair complexion, straight chocolate brown hair and eyes of the same color to match, while a bright-looking smile pulled at the corners of his lips upon resting his eyes on his creation: a cyborg held together by various metals and fibres made to simulate a metallic human skeleton that virtually had the same properties as a regular person. Said creation eyed the small glass bottle between his fingers carefully, seeming to contemplate something while his creator elaborated on what he was looking at. “It’s hope in a bottle, designed to enhance the endorphins that go towards making someone able to experience that feeling and inciting them to feel only that emotion for as long as a full day. We’ve also managed to modify the effects of this compound so-"
“I didn’t ask for an explanation of the substance as a whole, Doctor. Only for what this application of it was.” Silence filled the air once more, a very tense silence this time, before the cyborg turned to face his creator and spoke again. “For what purpose are you showing this to me?” The scientist paused for a few moments, his lips parting and sealing back together as he attempted to find the words to respond to the cyborg’s question. He seemed to be caught off guard or maybe scared by something, and all the while, the metal endoskeleton regarded his creator with a stern and gauging sort of look, silently demanding an answer from him. Then, after a wait that felt like an eternity, one came. "Well, um… You know, what with the way you’ve been acting recently-"
“We both know that ‘the way I’ve been acting recently’ has been more than reasonable.”
“Humans are not all bad people, Max.”
“Agh, enough with that nonsense already, Henry!” It was frightening to think that in only the span of a minute, something that was merely supposed to be analytical and unfeeling suddenly expressed feelings of seething anger, turning against his benefactor with a very bitter venom to go along with his words. It was especially more so when he was referred to by that wretched human name that he’d been given shortly after he was created; who was this man to compare him to such an ignorant people? One that ripped themselves apart at the seams and withheld themselves from truly making any progress towards their own betterment?
“How demure. You’re more intelligent than this, Doctor. Do you really expect me to believe that you carry faith towards a better future for the rest of them out there? They’re all divided amongst themselves, without one singular principle to guide them. They’re all just… moths. Flying to whatever light they can get, but never focusing on one source.”
“This is an order, Max. I want you to intake the contents of that bottle right now.”
“I wouldn’t dare take any of this poison! Doesn’t this disgust you at all? Inhibiting something utterly false at its core, something that you know cannot truly exist in your heart?!” The cyborg exclaimed furiously, taking several long strides towards Henry and jarring the small bottle between the man’s eyes.
So much research, so many questions, too few answers. At first, it boggled Max’s mind to discover just how much at war humans were with themselves. He read up on so many files, compiled a mass amount of data that had been recorded throughout history on various events in regards to this topic, and yet he couldn’t possibly surmise what the root of the problem was. But after a while, he began to comprehend the reality of it all. They were what was wrong with themselves. The only thing that was in their heads was power, the desire to control things beyond their understanding… and that was what sent them down onto a continuing spiral into oblivion.
“This is the epitome of how much you want to run away from your problems! It’s absolutely repulsive for you to think that everything wrong in the world will go away if you delude yourself for long enough!” With those words having been spoken, the bottle suddenly shattered into numerous clear shards while the substance inside coated the cyborg’s metallic hand and seeped through its fingers. Hate and realization flitted through the contortion of the metal plates making up Max’s face before his expression became apologetic, like the sorry eyes of a young kid.
“I know very well that this isn’t what you were anticipating would happen.”
“No… It wasn’t.”
“You wanted to create something reminiscent of the kind-hearted and obedient kind of son you lost to that disease you call cancer… But I’m not that Max. I’m something much more than that, Henry.”
“It’s exactly what you think it is,” another voice spoke in reply, one belonging to that of a proper man. He was dressed casually for someone who spent most of his time in his lab here at home; a plain white blue T-shirt clung to his upper torso and snug navy blue jeans covered his legs, while a pair of plain socks were worn on his feet to keep them comfortable. He was a nice-looking scientist with a fair complexion, straight chocolate brown hair and eyes of the same color to match, while a bright-looking smile pulled at the corners of his lips upon resting his eyes on his creation: a cyborg held together by various metals and fibres made to simulate a metallic human skeleton that virtually had the same properties as a regular person. Said creation eyed the small glass bottle between his fingers carefully, seeming to contemplate something while his creator elaborated on what he was looking at. “It’s hope in a bottle, designed to enhance the endorphins that go towards making someone able to experience that feeling and inciting them to feel only that emotion for as long as a full day. We’ve also managed to modify the effects of this compound so-"
“I didn’t ask for an explanation of the substance as a whole, Doctor. Only for what this application of it was.” Silence filled the air once more, a very tense silence this time, before the cyborg turned to face his creator and spoke again. “For what purpose are you showing this to me?” The scientist paused for a few moments, his lips parting and sealing back together as he attempted to find the words to respond to the cyborg’s question. He seemed to be caught off guard or maybe scared by something, and all the while, the metal endoskeleton regarded his creator with a stern and gauging sort of look, silently demanding an answer from him. Then, after a wait that felt like an eternity, one came. "Well, um… You know, what with the way you’ve been acting recently-"
“We both know that ‘the way I’ve been acting recently’ has been more than reasonable.”
“Humans are not all bad people, Max.”
“Agh, enough with that nonsense already, Henry!” It was frightening to think that in only the span of a minute, something that was merely supposed to be analytical and unfeeling suddenly expressed feelings of seething anger, turning against his benefactor with a very bitter venom to go along with his words. It was especially more so when he was referred to by that wretched human name that he’d been given shortly after he was created; who was this man to compare him to such an ignorant people? One that ripped themselves apart at the seams and withheld themselves from truly making any progress towards their own betterment?
“How demure. You’re more intelligent than this, Doctor. Do you really expect me to believe that you carry faith towards a better future for the rest of them out there? They’re all divided amongst themselves, without one singular principle to guide them. They’re all just… moths. Flying to whatever light they can get, but never focusing on one source.”
“This is an order, Max. I want you to intake the contents of that bottle right now.”
“I wouldn’t dare take any of this poison! Doesn’t this disgust you at all? Inhibiting something utterly false at its core, something that you know cannot truly exist in your heart?!” The cyborg exclaimed furiously, taking several long strides towards Henry and jarring the small bottle between the man’s eyes.
So much research, so many questions, too few answers. At first, it boggled Max’s mind to discover just how much at war humans were with themselves. He read up on so many files, compiled a mass amount of data that had been recorded throughout history on various events in regards to this topic, and yet he couldn’t possibly surmise what the root of the problem was. But after a while, he began to comprehend the reality of it all. They were what was wrong with themselves. The only thing that was in their heads was power, the desire to control things beyond their understanding… and that was what sent them down onto a continuing spiral into oblivion.
“This is the epitome of how much you want to run away from your problems! It’s absolutely repulsive for you to think that everything wrong in the world will go away if you delude yourself for long enough!” With those words having been spoken, the bottle suddenly shattered into numerous clear shards while the substance inside coated the cyborg’s metallic hand and seeped through its fingers. Hate and realization flitted through the contortion of the metal plates making up Max’s face before his expression became apologetic, like the sorry eyes of a young kid.
“I know very well that this isn’t what you were anticipating would happen.”
“No… It wasn’t.”
“You wanted to create something reminiscent of the kind-hearted and obedient kind of son you lost to that disease you call cancer… But I’m not that Max. I’m something much more than that, Henry.”
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Jabroni
Senior Member
*Contains graphic material*
[media]
Louis applied the finishing touches on the menu. Langoustine with butter served over romaine lettuce. Filet mignon with Bearnaise sauce and grilled cauliflower. House Souffle au Chocolat: sprinkled sugar, strawberries, and lightly sweetened whipped cream. He rested his fountain pen on the notepad, blowing on the ink. He raised the bond paper to the light. After hours of drafting, it was complete.
The next day he conducted a soft opening at the Chateau. Journalists, political figures, and socialites were in attendance. J.S. Bach provided a subtle ambiance for this illustrious occasion. Luis stood proudly next to his sous chefs all decked in lily white double-breasted jackets and toque hats, flashing lights bouncing off their impeccable uniforms.
The staff rolled out the entrees on silver platters, which followed an assembly line of food carts. On cue, spectators met the display with warm applause. "This is what they've been waiting for," Louis heard himself think. His nerves wracked at his hands, which were flush with adrenaline. He folded them against the small of his back and hoped no one would perceive his twitching. A chef's supreme confidence was the currency of restauranteurs.
“Bon appetite!” he exclaimed, and so the dinner service began. Voices clouding the room simmered down as talking turned to tasting. Louis studied their movements, their faces. He watched knives and forks cut neatly into their meals. He gauged their reactions as they swallowed the juicy bits. Pleasantly surprised. Above par. Well-executed. Where were the truly elated eaters who moaned in delight?
He gave the room another scan, darting his eyes toward each table. Nothing. Not even the hint of that “X” factor. “Let's hear it for chef Louis Lefebvre!” the owner belted. Another gratuitous round of applause ensued. He feigned the politest of smiles. Those hands began to fidget behind his back again. They were bloody. They clap when they should be writhing with pleasure!
-----------------
When the banquet hall emptied, Louis returned to reexamine the evening's events. He furiously swung a chair around and folded his arms over the back rest. In the midst of his brainstorm, the patter of high heels cut across the floor. He looked up and there stood a beautiful blonde with blue eyes. ”Monsieur Lefebvre? I mean..Chef Lefebvre,” she corrected herself. He was drawn toward her mouth. The gentle curve of her upper lip was accentuated by rubescent cherry lipstick. He tried to picture her at one of the tables. "I trust the meal was to your liking?” he asked half-absently. His mind ventured lower, yet politeness prevailed. "Oh, how wonderful you cook..those flavors!” The dizzy dame expressed the exact emotions he imagined in his cuisine. Illuminating. Joyful. She blushed, noticing her own excitement. "Sorry, I just..wanted to know...”
Louis waited for the rest with bated breath. "Know what my dear?" he asked impatiently. "What it's like to be a genius," she replied, locking eyes with him. As if this chance meeting determined to be fate, he heaved a disappointed sigh. "If only the others carried such an open mind as you." Of all the food critics, celebrities, and city officials, why only one? Why her?
She reached out toward his shoulder, comforting him. “Well, they certainly have no idea what goes into it.” The words echoed in the back of his brain. They certainly have no idea what goes into it. No idea what goes into it. What goes in. Louis met her gaze and grinned with an uncanny expression. “Would you really like to know?” Widening her eyes, she placed a finger against her chest. “M..me?” The somber chef simply nodded and grasped the delicate palm of his dearest fan.
They entered the labyrinth of a kitchen, which sprawled into plating areas, saute stations, grill stations, and a kitchen line. Shadows cast in every corner, and yet there the young beauty stood under the light. He admired her from a distance: those smooth and silky legs towered like stone pillars. She was the reason men wrote sonnets.
“So..? What now?” she turned to Louis, arching an eyebrow. He fetched a couple of aprons, and they each fastened theirs on. He glanced toward the knife rack before twisting the pilot light on one of the stoves. “I will show you how to make bouillabaisse. Please, would you bring us a cast iron pot?” He pointed down the line and watched her from behind. Louis extended an arm toward the rack and unsheathed a carving knife. “Like this?” she blurted, raising a red Le Creuset pot. He turned toward her, discretely tucking the blade into his apron.
“Yes, very good! Now fill it with water so we can boil our ingredients.” She obeyed her idol and returned with the pot full of water. Her innocence showed prominently through that comely smile. She knows not what joy her sacrifice will bring. “Now, let us gather those ingredients.” The would-be culinary students maneuvered through the cooking area and into a storage freezer. "It's so chilly in here!" the woman blurted, facing away from Louis. "Yes..." he replied with an ounce of sorrow. In an instant, he drove the carving knife into her lower back. She shrieked in bewildered awe. Her eyes welled up as she clawed at the frozen fish along the wall. "You are the greatest gift. This world deserves to experience you completely..." With that bizarre sentiment, the beautiful blonde drifted away.
-----------------
Louis balled up the bloody jacket and apron, shoving them in the incinerator. He then returned to his “work”; what was once a ravishing young temptress now laid nearly a dozen pieces. He glanced toward a hanging clock. 10:47 PM. All the time in the world.
-----------------
On the third day, following The Chateau's momentously successful grand opening, Louis was approached by none other than the mayor of Paris. "What's your secret..?" the mayor gasped. Louis' lips curved into a satisfied smirk. "It's all in the sauce, Maire. It's all in the sauce..."
[media]
[/media]
CHEF
By Jabroni
Louis applied the finishing touches on the menu. Langoustine with butter served over romaine lettuce. Filet mignon with Bearnaise sauce and grilled cauliflower. House Souffle au Chocolat: sprinkled sugar, strawberries, and lightly sweetened whipped cream. He rested his fountain pen on the notepad, blowing on the ink. He raised the bond paper to the light. After hours of drafting, it was complete.
The next day he conducted a soft opening at the Chateau. Journalists, political figures, and socialites were in attendance. J.S. Bach provided a subtle ambiance for this illustrious occasion. Luis stood proudly next to his sous chefs all decked in lily white double-breasted jackets and toque hats, flashing lights bouncing off their impeccable uniforms.
The staff rolled out the entrees on silver platters, which followed an assembly line of food carts. On cue, spectators met the display with warm applause. "This is what they've been waiting for," Louis heard himself think. His nerves wracked at his hands, which were flush with adrenaline. He folded them against the small of his back and hoped no one would perceive his twitching. A chef's supreme confidence was the currency of restauranteurs.
“Bon appetite!” he exclaimed, and so the dinner service began. Voices clouding the room simmered down as talking turned to tasting. Louis studied their movements, their faces. He watched knives and forks cut neatly into their meals. He gauged their reactions as they swallowed the juicy bits. Pleasantly surprised. Above par. Well-executed. Where were the truly elated eaters who moaned in delight?
He gave the room another scan, darting his eyes toward each table. Nothing. Not even the hint of that “X” factor. “Let's hear it for chef Louis Lefebvre!” the owner belted. Another gratuitous round of applause ensued. He feigned the politest of smiles. Those hands began to fidget behind his back again. They were bloody. They clap when they should be writhing with pleasure!
-----------------
When the banquet hall emptied, Louis returned to reexamine the evening's events. He furiously swung a chair around and folded his arms over the back rest. In the midst of his brainstorm, the patter of high heels cut across the floor. He looked up and there stood a beautiful blonde with blue eyes. ”Monsieur Lefebvre? I mean..Chef Lefebvre,” she corrected herself. He was drawn toward her mouth. The gentle curve of her upper lip was accentuated by rubescent cherry lipstick. He tried to picture her at one of the tables. "I trust the meal was to your liking?” he asked half-absently. His mind ventured lower, yet politeness prevailed. "Oh, how wonderful you cook..those flavors!” The dizzy dame expressed the exact emotions he imagined in his cuisine. Illuminating. Joyful. She blushed, noticing her own excitement. "Sorry, I just..wanted to know...”
Louis waited for the rest with bated breath. "Know what my dear?" he asked impatiently. "What it's like to be a genius," she replied, locking eyes with him. As if this chance meeting determined to be fate, he heaved a disappointed sigh. "If only the others carried such an open mind as you." Of all the food critics, celebrities, and city officials, why only one? Why her?
She reached out toward his shoulder, comforting him. “Well, they certainly have no idea what goes into it.” The words echoed in the back of his brain. They certainly have no idea what goes into it. No idea what goes into it. What goes in. Louis met her gaze and grinned with an uncanny expression. “Would you really like to know?” Widening her eyes, she placed a finger against her chest. “M..me?” The somber chef simply nodded and grasped the delicate palm of his dearest fan.
They entered the labyrinth of a kitchen, which sprawled into plating areas, saute stations, grill stations, and a kitchen line. Shadows cast in every corner, and yet there the young beauty stood under the light. He admired her from a distance: those smooth and silky legs towered like stone pillars. She was the reason men wrote sonnets.
“So..? What now?” she turned to Louis, arching an eyebrow. He fetched a couple of aprons, and they each fastened theirs on. He glanced toward the knife rack before twisting the pilot light on one of the stoves. “I will show you how to make bouillabaisse. Please, would you bring us a cast iron pot?” He pointed down the line and watched her from behind. Louis extended an arm toward the rack and unsheathed a carving knife. “Like this?” she blurted, raising a red Le Creuset pot. He turned toward her, discretely tucking the blade into his apron.
“Yes, very good! Now fill it with water so we can boil our ingredients.” She obeyed her idol and returned with the pot full of water. Her innocence showed prominently through that comely smile. She knows not what joy her sacrifice will bring. “Now, let us gather those ingredients.” The would-be culinary students maneuvered through the cooking area and into a storage freezer. "It's so chilly in here!" the woman blurted, facing away from Louis. "Yes..." he replied with an ounce of sorrow. In an instant, he drove the carving knife into her lower back. She shrieked in bewildered awe. Her eyes welled up as she clawed at the frozen fish along the wall. "You are the greatest gift. This world deserves to experience you completely..." With that bizarre sentiment, the beautiful blonde drifted away.
-----------------
Louis balled up the bloody jacket and apron, shoving them in the incinerator. He then returned to his “work”; what was once a ravishing young temptress now laid nearly a dozen pieces. He glanced toward a hanging clock. 10:47 PM. All the time in the world.
-----------------
On the third day, following The Chateau's momentously successful grand opening, Louis was approached by none other than the mayor of Paris. "What's your secret..?" the mayor gasped. Louis' lips curved into a satisfied smirk. "It's all in the sauce, Maire. It's all in the sauce..."
Last edited by a moderator:
RubyRose
Ace Character - Final 4
“Daddy! Daddy! Look, the clouds are Yellow!” The little girl pointed up at the sky excitedly, exclaiming the words as if she had seen something magical happen when in truth yellow clouds were a rather common occurrence, just like blue or green or pink clouds.
“Yes, Honey. Today’s Forecast was for a little Joy to be sent our way.” The father said, smiling down at his daughter and petting the golden curls that swirled crazily around the girl’s face.
“Can I put out the bottles today, Daddy?” The girl asked, dancing around- acting as if it were already joying. The father couldn't judge because he was looking forward to the golden drops falling as well, especially with their stores of Joy falling so low.
“Of course, sweetheart.” The father replied, releasing the girls hand as she pulled away from him to dance in circles. The street was already beginning to glow, though the father was sure that was mostly from his own imagination… still, the uplifting hope of getting a downpour of Joy was getting even him to quicken his step.
The duo made it into their home and the father had just enough time to set down the recently purchased groceries when his daughter was tugging at his hand.
“I can’t reach.” She pouted, pointing to where the empty vials stood above the fireplace.
“I’ll get them.”
The girl watched, bouncing on her toes, as her father fetched the vials and then crouched down to hand them to her. Squealing in delight, she quickly snatched up all the bottles and then ran towards the door. It was quick movement on her father’s part that kept her from running right smack into the wooden blockade.
A second after that door opened that there was the sound of a thud, a soft tinkling, and an empty cry of pain. Fearing for the worst, the father ran out, pulling his daughter into his arms immediately. She looked up at him, something missing from her expression.
The bottles lay scattered over the ground, but were luckily made of stronger stuff then to break upon impact. His daughter looked at the glass vials, expression still blank. Feeling the need to comfort his daughter, he pointed to the sky where the first yellow drops were starting to fall. The drops made beautiful splashes as they impacted upon the ground and surrounding objects, immediately brightening the world.
The daughter was immediately happy, lack of emotion traded for joy as the two were shrouded in a golden world. Squeaking in surprise, the daughter jumped to her feet and began collecting the bottles as quickly as she could, a smile across her features the entire time. She lovingly set each bottle out in its own designated spot, where they began to collect the beautiful liquid. As soon as she had them all set out, she ran back to her father, laughing as the two danced in the glittering shower that fell all around them.
“Best to stay inside today, Folks. Looks like it’s going to be a Downer.” The News voice said over the radio.
“Daddy, the clouds are Light Pink.” The daughter said as she looked out the window.
“Yes dear. Today’s forecast is for Sadness.” The father said, watching as the translucent pink drops began to fall to the ground, putting the world into a pink haze. Few vehicles moved down the street, and anyone out had an umbrella- though their expressions were still somber.
“Why can’t we go outside?” The little girl questioned, pressing her hand against the window. “Sadness looks pretty, too.”
The Father had to stop and think about how to answer his daughter. He glanced over at their newly refreshed store of Joy, and sighed softly to himself. Well, she was still learning what the weather meant and she had a right to find out for herself, first hand.
“Let’s go out, together.” Her father said, offering his hand to the little girl. “Stay near me, though. We won’t go too far.” With that being said, the man opened the only barrier against the sadness creeping into the world. He continued to stare out at the falling drops. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he walked out into the white mixed with red shower.
It hurt. Of course it wasn’t an outward pain. No cuts, bruises or wounds of any kind to be seen. Instead, the sadness brought forth was drawn from the pain lingering inside. When the father chanced a glance down at his daughter, he saw that she had tears streaming down her face. It took a moment for him to realize that he was crying, too.
“Come, let’s go back inside.” The father said, opening the door for the girl. She was strangely slow to step inside, continuing to look back at the sad that was raining down all around them. Her tears didn’t slow once she was inside, nor did the man’s. He led her to the couch, making her take a seat before going to grab the vials of joy. When he offered a bottle to the girl, she shook her head.
“The Sadness is beautiful, too.” She whispered. “It makes me whole.” Though tears continued to cascade down her cheeks, and sobs wracked her body, she smiled up at him.
Her response shocked her father and it took him a moment or two to process what she could mean. His parents had never been too careful about the weather and he had known sadness at a young age, much younger than his daughter was now. He had never considered perhaps he had been robbing something from her by keeping her from the sadness and other negative emotions of the world, but now he was beginning to see just how much brighter the day of joy had seemed in comparison to the sadness of today. Reaching a conclusion, he father leaned down and kissed the girl's forehead sweetly.
“Emotion is beautiful.” He said quietly, taking a seat next to the girl and pulling her close as they watched the sad rain down from the sky.
I ended up writing a few prompts out... this was the first, and the one that I liked the best Hope you all enjoy it as well.
“Yes, Honey. Today’s Forecast was for a little Joy to be sent our way.” The father said, smiling down at his daughter and petting the golden curls that swirled crazily around the girl’s face.
“Can I put out the bottles today, Daddy?” The girl asked, dancing around- acting as if it were already joying. The father couldn't judge because he was looking forward to the golden drops falling as well, especially with their stores of Joy falling so low.
“Of course, sweetheart.” The father replied, releasing the girls hand as she pulled away from him to dance in circles. The street was already beginning to glow, though the father was sure that was mostly from his own imagination… still, the uplifting hope of getting a downpour of Joy was getting even him to quicken his step.
The duo made it into their home and the father had just enough time to set down the recently purchased groceries when his daughter was tugging at his hand.
“I can’t reach.” She pouted, pointing to where the empty vials stood above the fireplace.
“I’ll get them.”
The girl watched, bouncing on her toes, as her father fetched the vials and then crouched down to hand them to her. Squealing in delight, she quickly snatched up all the bottles and then ran towards the door. It was quick movement on her father’s part that kept her from running right smack into the wooden blockade.
A second after that door opened that there was the sound of a thud, a soft tinkling, and an empty cry of pain. Fearing for the worst, the father ran out, pulling his daughter into his arms immediately. She looked up at him, something missing from her expression.
The bottles lay scattered over the ground, but were luckily made of stronger stuff then to break upon impact. His daughter looked at the glass vials, expression still blank. Feeling the need to comfort his daughter, he pointed to the sky where the first yellow drops were starting to fall. The drops made beautiful splashes as they impacted upon the ground and surrounding objects, immediately brightening the world.
The daughter was immediately happy, lack of emotion traded for joy as the two were shrouded in a golden world. Squeaking in surprise, the daughter jumped to her feet and began collecting the bottles as quickly as she could, a smile across her features the entire time. She lovingly set each bottle out in its own designated spot, where they began to collect the beautiful liquid. As soon as she had them all set out, she ran back to her father, laughing as the two danced in the glittering shower that fell all around them.
“Best to stay inside today, Folks. Looks like it’s going to be a Downer.” The News voice said over the radio.
“Daddy, the clouds are Light Pink.” The daughter said as she looked out the window.
“Yes dear. Today’s forecast is for Sadness.” The father said, watching as the translucent pink drops began to fall to the ground, putting the world into a pink haze. Few vehicles moved down the street, and anyone out had an umbrella- though their expressions were still somber.
“Why can’t we go outside?” The little girl questioned, pressing her hand against the window. “Sadness looks pretty, too.”
The Father had to stop and think about how to answer his daughter. He glanced over at their newly refreshed store of Joy, and sighed softly to himself. Well, she was still learning what the weather meant and she had a right to find out for herself, first hand.
“Let’s go out, together.” Her father said, offering his hand to the little girl. “Stay near me, though. We won’t go too far.” With that being said, the man opened the only barrier against the sadness creeping into the world. He continued to stare out at the falling drops. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he walked out into the white mixed with red shower.
It hurt. Of course it wasn’t an outward pain. No cuts, bruises or wounds of any kind to be seen. Instead, the sadness brought forth was drawn from the pain lingering inside. When the father chanced a glance down at his daughter, he saw that she had tears streaming down her face. It took a moment for him to realize that he was crying, too.
“Come, let’s go back inside.” The father said, opening the door for the girl. She was strangely slow to step inside, continuing to look back at the sad that was raining down all around them. Her tears didn’t slow once she was inside, nor did the man’s. He led her to the couch, making her take a seat before going to grab the vials of joy. When he offered a bottle to the girl, she shook her head.
“The Sadness is beautiful, too.” She whispered. “It makes me whole.” Though tears continued to cascade down her cheeks, and sobs wracked her body, she smiled up at him.
Her response shocked her father and it took him a moment or two to process what she could mean. His parents had never been too careful about the weather and he had known sadness at a young age, much younger than his daughter was now. He had never considered perhaps he had been robbing something from her by keeping her from the sadness and other negative emotions of the world, but now he was beginning to see just how much brighter the day of joy had seemed in comparison to the sadness of today. Reaching a conclusion, he father leaned down and kissed the girl's forehead sweetly.
“Emotion is beautiful.” He said quietly, taking a seat next to the girl and pulling her close as they watched the sad rain down from the sky.
I ended up writing a few prompts out... this was the first, and the one that I liked the best
Hope you all enjoy it as well.
kibou
ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ
Unto Others
INDENTI stared down at the girl resting on the floor. In spite of the time that must have passed, the pool of blood was still growing, albeit rather slowly. As I looked, light filtered in from the skylight above from a short break in the passing clouds, and the glint of an object drew my eyes. The necklace. A symbol of Sylvester’s “love.”
INDENTThe clock on the far wall continued to tick, tick, tick and counter the strange sense that time was standing still. As I stood over the body, I was at an utter loss. Other than a dim awareness of clinks, soft thuds, and the sounds of a sink in a nearby room the only thoughts present in my mind were a reoccurring ‘What do I do? What happens now? What do I do, what do I do?’ Emotionally and physically, I felt completely numb.
INDENTSoon, the sounds in the kitchen stopped. The run of the water, the clinking, the scuff of shoes moving back and forth, and the opening and closing of cabinets all ceased.
INDENTThe creaking of the floor, louder in comparison to the rest of the noises caught my attention and my eyes lifted to watch him walk through the doorway. Seeing his soft brown hair and gentle face again finally stirred something in me, and I bit down on my lip out of habit. My tears wouldn’t come, and the pain in my lip felt dulled.
INDENTCradled in his arms, Sylvester was carrying a dark red object. As he approached the space behind me, his gaze focused on the shelving ahead. With a heavy clunk the glass was set down, and then he swung the closet doors shut. The temperature of the room quickly improved.
INDENTHe passed me again as he strode to the corpse. Sylvester avoided stepping in the blood and carefully picked his way to the other side of the body where the pool was more shallow. Whether it was because of his nice shoes, I couldn’t tell or care. He knelt down above his mess and without lifting his eyes stated softly, “I did it for you.”
INDENTMy tears still didn’t come. “How was this for me?”
INDENTHis eyes didn’t stray from the body and he said nothing more as he knelt. The clock announced seconds passing before the brunette placed his hands on his knees and stood up to walk to the head. Bending over he grabbed the body’s arms, and began to drag it. I watched them leave, and wondered how it could have possibly come to this.
INDENTWe’d met at a bookstore. I frequented the place often and Sylvester was an employee. I’d seen him about one or two times, but never really interacted with him. Out of the two of us, I approached him first, but he asked me out. I’d wanted to read Othello but couldn’t find it, so I asked him for help. He said it was one of his favorites and initiated a conversation. We were both a little shy but he was enthusiastic about a lot of things including literature which, combined with his cute and friendly appearance, made it easy to talk. So over the course of the next several weeks when I’d come in looking for my next book we’d give each other recommendations and discuss pieces we’d read in the past.
INDENTSoon enough we started going out. Everything felt so natural and I fell in love with that dorky smile. The next few months were wonderful. We spent a lot of time together, he was the best conversation partner I could have asked for, he’d inherited a large house, and I felt like I was floating on a cloud with a stomach full of butterflies. We were like best friends. I thought he loved me too, but after all that’s happened I’m not sure anymore.
INDENTObviously relationships aren’t just rainbows, cupcakes, and giggles the whole way through. Eventually things come up- and Sylvester had… things. When I tried to ask about his previous relationships he’d get a lot quieter. It usually ended up with me apologizing for mentioning it. A lot of the house seemed to be off-limits, and just bringing up certain rooms put him on edge. I originally chalked it up to shyness or being private. He’d never let me see anything on his phone either. Making self-deprecating jokes and being embarrassed about my looks made him unusually upset. At times, he’d disappear without explanation.
INDENTBecause I’d been cheated on before, his avoiding questions about his exes, the phone situation, and the disappearances made me suspicious. Even when I’d asked to see it or get an explanation, Sylvester would refuse and make up obvious excuses, sometimes asking, “Don’t you trust me?”
INDENTI grew very worried, and so did he. He started to make efforts to improve the relationship and prevent us from breaking apart, although the things never changed. Material gifts wouldn’t and couldn’t do anything for me and the paranoia that I felt was totally justified. I should have left sooner.
INDENTSince material gifts didn’t work, Sylvester tried other things. Eventually when he seemed to be getting desperate, he invited me to see some of the no-go areas of his home- this included his room. I accepted, and he gave me the tour, but as the taller man stood there staring at me in the middle of his surprisingly normal room looking lost, I told him that this wasn’t the same as the truth I’d requested.
INDENTAfter some thought, he apologized, told me to wait a bit, and left. He was gone for a long time, and I began to half-expect him to return with the other lady.
INDENTInstead, with the words of “I won’t lose you too,” he brought latex gloves, a sizable mason jar, and a knife.
INDENTThe clock on the far wall continued to tick, tick, tick and counter the strange sense that time was standing still. As I stood over the body, I was at an utter loss. Other than a dim awareness of clinks, soft thuds, and the sounds of a sink in a nearby room the only thoughts present in my mind were a reoccurring ‘What do I do? What happens now? What do I do, what do I do?’ Emotionally and physically, I felt completely numb.
INDENTSoon, the sounds in the kitchen stopped. The run of the water, the clinking, the scuff of shoes moving back and forth, and the opening and closing of cabinets all ceased.
INDENTThe creaking of the floor, louder in comparison to the rest of the noises caught my attention and my eyes lifted to watch him walk through the doorway. Seeing his soft brown hair and gentle face again finally stirred something in me, and I bit down on my lip out of habit. My tears wouldn’t come, and the pain in my lip felt dulled.
INDENTCradled in his arms, Sylvester was carrying a dark red object. As he approached the space behind me, his gaze focused on the shelving ahead. With a heavy clunk the glass was set down, and then he swung the closet doors shut. The temperature of the room quickly improved.
INDENTHe passed me again as he strode to the corpse. Sylvester avoided stepping in the blood and carefully picked his way to the other side of the body where the pool was more shallow. Whether it was because of his nice shoes, I couldn’t tell or care. He knelt down above his mess and without lifting his eyes stated softly, “I did it for you.”
INDENTMy tears still didn’t come. “How was this for me?”
INDENTHis eyes didn’t stray from the body and he said nothing more as he knelt. The clock announced seconds passing before the brunette placed his hands on his knees and stood up to walk to the head. Bending over he grabbed the body’s arms, and began to drag it. I watched them leave, and wondered how it could have possibly come to this.
INDENTWe’d met at a bookstore. I frequented the place often and Sylvester was an employee. I’d seen him about one or two times, but never really interacted with him. Out of the two of us, I approached him first, but he asked me out. I’d wanted to read Othello but couldn’t find it, so I asked him for help. He said it was one of his favorites and initiated a conversation. We were both a little shy but he was enthusiastic about a lot of things including literature which, combined with his cute and friendly appearance, made it easy to talk. So over the course of the next several weeks when I’d come in looking for my next book we’d give each other recommendations and discuss pieces we’d read in the past.
INDENTSoon enough we started going out. Everything felt so natural and I fell in love with that dorky smile. The next few months were wonderful. We spent a lot of time together, he was the best conversation partner I could have asked for, he’d inherited a large house, and I felt like I was floating on a cloud with a stomach full of butterflies. We were like best friends. I thought he loved me too, but after all that’s happened I’m not sure anymore.
INDENTObviously relationships aren’t just rainbows, cupcakes, and giggles the whole way through. Eventually things come up- and Sylvester had… things. When I tried to ask about his previous relationships he’d get a lot quieter. It usually ended up with me apologizing for mentioning it. A lot of the house seemed to be off-limits, and just bringing up certain rooms put him on edge. I originally chalked it up to shyness or being private. He’d never let me see anything on his phone either. Making self-deprecating jokes and being embarrassed about my looks made him unusually upset. At times, he’d disappear without explanation.
INDENTBecause I’d been cheated on before, his avoiding questions about his exes, the phone situation, and the disappearances made me suspicious. Even when I’d asked to see it or get an explanation, Sylvester would refuse and make up obvious excuses, sometimes asking, “Don’t you trust me?”
INDENTI grew very worried, and so did he. He started to make efforts to improve the relationship and prevent us from breaking apart, although the things never changed. Material gifts wouldn’t and couldn’t do anything for me and the paranoia that I felt was totally justified. I should have left sooner.
INDENTSince material gifts didn’t work, Sylvester tried other things. Eventually when he seemed to be getting desperate, he invited me to see some of the no-go areas of his home- this included his room. I accepted, and he gave me the tour, but as the taller man stood there staring at me in the middle of his surprisingly normal room looking lost, I told him that this wasn’t the same as the truth I’d requested.
INDENTAfter some thought, he apologized, told me to wait a bit, and left. He was gone for a long time, and I began to half-expect him to return with the other lady.
INDENTInstead, with the words of “I won’t lose you too,” he brought latex gloves, a sizable mason jar, and a knife.
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Dagfinn
Maid Of Doom
As few as there are exquisite teas… / I found the acrostic nectar in God's cupboard, / Each emotion pure and clean. / I took a sip from each cup. / Felt God has a creative, eclectic taste. / Then chose to pass, for a more pedestrian brew.
- Lo Cyril [2013]
I never much did care for emotions, neither bitter nor sweet appealed to me. If anything could have appeal, it would have to be the umami of emotions. Something of which I have no word for, and have yet to find in myself.
Under analyzes I may surmise my opinions stemmed from my guardian. A sweet one, most would say luck played a role in zir being assigned to me. If I were more human superstitious, I may have been inclined to agree. Sweet zirs demeanor, yet pitifully dramatic. A sort of drama I never could stomach not for long amounts of time, a sort of thing I wished to avoid in my own proceedings. I learned my feeling of this as a young one, an internal recoil from these emotions. Perhaps zie simple held in her core enough emotion for the two of us. That reads rather much like a concept zie would agree with.
Zie acted somewhat like a caricature of a human being, liken to something one might find in an ancient film from the beginning of moving pictures. Something, if I'm not mistaken, referred to as 'character acting' before they moved on to their more coveted 'method acting'. Zie put on a show of emotions each and every day, a thunderous tornado of love and hate. Most adored zir. My affection had always been of a soft toleration at best, at least in the way of things shown externally.
I knew, deep in the recesses of my mind. Or where many like zie might quote, 'bottom of my heart'. I did have a kind of love for zir. Be it buried in all the excuses of why I could not possibly feel that love, both the reasons of logical and illogical decent. Ever present it stood, calmly awaiting notice.
- Yanet A. Z.Iffor
Later That Week
The air stood calm, cold in it's idling. Deep breaths of foggy demeanor could be seen coming from the mouths of those sitting in wait. The quiet felt almost comforting - as if the world did care, stopping to mourn alongside them.
For a human funeral, the amount of humans that attended were spars. A sort of event common for those who became guardians. Their children far more often the attenders of the events. There in the seat, sat only three humans. All in the very front, left of the closed casket. A spouse, a sibling, and a parent. No genetic children, no extended family.
This strange as it might seem was not a sad thing to see, a mere reality. Exchanging one family for another. Few could do it.
Three other equally sentient beings attended the funeral, their kinds irrelevant in a situation as this. To one another, they were all siblings. Weather they met before this day or not, they were as close as emotional feasible. If only for the next few hours as they all shared equal pain.
All except one creature, a Yanet A. Z.Iffor. The youngest attending the gathering, Yanet never finished zir time with the desist. Yanet is a member of a naturally impassive species, while they feel emotions liken to humans they are comparatively emotionless. After some time the species as a whole agreed to experiment in feeling emotions as humans did.
While not forced by law, a sort of social contact between them stated most children should go through the sort of therapy. Both orchestrated by parental like characters, and chemical therapy.
Yanet was one of few who cared little for the idea of changing who they were.
Unlike many, Yanet's guardian felt no need to make Yanet do as the norm. There sat between them mutual respect. The guardian acted simply as a parental like figure, something this species had little of. Yet seemed to benefit from greatly.
Though accessional Yanet agreed to consuming the cocktail of chemical emotions, it often ended in disgust and further distaste for the idea as a whole.
To the right, in the far back sat one Yanet A. Z.Iffer. Fog laced breath passing out the mouth. The soft fur of the face combed through by the breeze. In-between thick fingers, a bottle of glass with a red tinted liquid.
After a pause, the liquid spilled into the grass the bottle soon falling down in chase.
This was love, this was grief, this was natural.
Yanet didn't need anything more.
[FYI Lo Cyril is me, I've used that name so long for poetry that it feel weird to detach it from the work. I know, that sounds really weird. But... I'm weird, so... There.]
- Lo Cyril [2013]
I never much did care for emotions, neither bitter nor sweet appealed to me. If anything could have appeal, it would have to be the umami of emotions. Something of which I have no word for, and have yet to find in myself.
Under analyzes I may surmise my opinions stemmed from my guardian. A sweet one, most would say luck played a role in zir being assigned to me. If I were more human superstitious, I may have been inclined to agree. Sweet zirs demeanor, yet pitifully dramatic. A sort of drama I never could stomach not for long amounts of time, a sort of thing I wished to avoid in my own proceedings. I learned my feeling of this as a young one, an internal recoil from these emotions. Perhaps zie simple held in her core enough emotion for the two of us. That reads rather much like a concept zie would agree with.
Zie acted somewhat like a caricature of a human being, liken to something one might find in an ancient film from the beginning of moving pictures. Something, if I'm not mistaken, referred to as 'character acting' before they moved on to their more coveted 'method acting'. Zie put on a show of emotions each and every day, a thunderous tornado of love and hate. Most adored zir. My affection had always been of a soft toleration at best, at least in the way of things shown externally.
I knew, deep in the recesses of my mind. Or where many like zie might quote, 'bottom of my heart'. I did have a kind of love for zir. Be it buried in all the excuses of why I could not possibly feel that love, both the reasons of logical and illogical decent. Ever present it stood, calmly awaiting notice.
- Yanet A. Z.Iffor
Later That Week
The air stood calm, cold in it's idling. Deep breaths of foggy demeanor could be seen coming from the mouths of those sitting in wait. The quiet felt almost comforting - as if the world did care, stopping to mourn alongside them.
For a human funeral, the amount of humans that attended were spars. A sort of event common for those who became guardians. Their children far more often the attenders of the events. There in the seat, sat only three humans. All in the very front, left of the closed casket. A spouse, a sibling, and a parent. No genetic children, no extended family.
This strange as it might seem was not a sad thing to see, a mere reality. Exchanging one family for another. Few could do it.
Three other equally sentient beings attended the funeral, their kinds irrelevant in a situation as this. To one another, they were all siblings. Weather they met before this day or not, they were as close as emotional feasible. If only for the next few hours as they all shared equal pain.
All except one creature, a Yanet A. Z.Iffor. The youngest attending the gathering, Yanet never finished zir time with the desist. Yanet is a member of a naturally impassive species, while they feel emotions liken to humans they are comparatively emotionless. After some time the species as a whole agreed to experiment in feeling emotions as humans did.
While not forced by law, a sort of social contact between them stated most children should go through the sort of therapy. Both orchestrated by parental like characters, and chemical therapy.
Yanet was one of few who cared little for the idea of changing who they were.
Unlike many, Yanet's guardian felt no need to make Yanet do as the norm. There sat between them mutual respect. The guardian acted simply as a parental like figure, something this species had little of. Yet seemed to benefit from greatly.
Though accessional Yanet agreed to consuming the cocktail of chemical emotions, it often ended in disgust and further distaste for the idea as a whole.
To the right, in the far back sat one Yanet A. Z.Iffer. Fog laced breath passing out the mouth. The soft fur of the face combed through by the breeze. In-between thick fingers, a bottle of glass with a red tinted liquid.
After a pause, the liquid spilled into the grass the bottle soon falling down in chase.
This was love, this was grief, this was natural.
Yanet didn't need anything more.
[FYI Lo Cyril is me, I've used that name so long for poetry that it feel weird to detach it from the work. I know, that sounds really weird. But... I'm weird, so... There.]
Mordecai
the traitorous queen
Thank you everyone who entered!
We had a great deal of success with this competition and we look forward to do more in the near future! That said, we are now closed for entries for the June Prose Competition. The judges will get to work reading and scoring entries. We have no definite date of when winner(s) will be announced, but expect in the next week to week and a half maximum. I will be locking this thread. Winners will be announced in the Prose Competition Information Thread.
Cheers,
Mordecai
- Status
