GEEZ! this is turning into my dream journal. Well, it's fine, I guess. My dreams are hella interesting. This one was long and fairly detailed.
I remember I had gotten home from ???? and my friends were at my house. My house was huge, and I had the whole upper half of the house to myself. Well, my boyfriend, who was some cool cat that reminded me of Dodger from Oliver and Company, had bought me this really nice perfume. It was a bright pink bottle and the perfume smelled great, but the smell made me, like, lose my mind a little? I sniffed it and my mood shifted hard. Which sucked, because elsewhere in the house, a handful of detectives where looking for clues as to where my mom had gone. She had been missing for three days without a word
11 July, 2016
24 June, 2016
In the category "Stupid shit I've cried over":
My boyfriend made me a frozen burrito and put cheese on it because I felt like crap and my period had just started. It was so freaking stupid, then I was crying because it was stupid.
28 May, 2016
Dreamin
I was dreaming last night that I was climbing this really tall mountain. It was super steep and the climb was really hard. When I got to the top, I stopped to rest and take in the view of the other side and kind of plan my decent. It was an even worse incline than the way I came and the other side was basically a desert. If that shit don't sum up my life...
21 May, 2016
Lucy (Prt 4)
It would be years before he heard from Lucy again. She had wrote him a note of congratulations on their new hit, Wasted Chances, a ballad about meeting an old flame in a bar. A few months later he had gotten a call from Lillian.
It was a car accident. She was taken swiftly. She wasn’t in pain. She would want you to be there.
She looked more like herself than she had the last time he had seen her. Her face was tranquil, as if she were simply sleeping.
He had hoped there would be time.
Lillian had informed him of a will and that her lawyer would be getting in touch with him soon. Lillian pressed a small tattered book into his hands.
“It was her journal. She mentioned you a lot. I felt you should have it.”
When he would read it on the way home, he would discover how much she truly had loved him, and even between all the dark, ugly things happening around her, there were patches of light, and at the center of each patch of light was his name.
A little girl, about ten years old, sat next to him during Lucy’s eulogy. On the other side of her sat a bitter lump of a drunk she called “Grandpa”. On the other side of him was a scowling lump of a degenerate the girl called “poppa.”
She said her name was Jonie and she liked horses and dancing.
She had the most gorgeous amber eyes he had ever seen.
18 May, 2016
Lucy (Prt 3)
Later that night he sat on their bus, unable to sleep. He hadn’t bothered trying to sober up. Every memory he had of her kept playing over and over, especially one in particular. The last time she had crawled through his window. There had been no denying the marks on her wrists, shaped like lumpy, drunken hands, and the crust of blood on her nostril. She had told him everything then. She had come undone completely, like a great dam had broken and Lucy came pouring through. She had sobbed for hours. He remembered how red her eyes were when she finally stopped. He had remembered the taste of her lips when she kissed had kissed him. He remembered being a young man with a young man’s passions. She had shown him the ropey white scars and how it had never been made by a dog. She stopped crying when he kissed it.To make it feel better.He kissed every scar she revealed that night. And again in the morning when he woke in the gleaming cloud of her hair.
That had been the hardest day. They had spent every minute up until departure together. The sun had started to cast its long shadows and Lucy had become quiet. He knew he had to get on the plane, and when he did, she would go home. He promised he would come back.
I always meant to come back for you.
She had spoken only two words. Two words, she wouldn’t beg. She would never beg. Those two words, now filled him with rage and hot shame. He stood at the gate. She tried her best to hide her shaking hands from him. He held her and said his goodbyes.
“You have the most gorgeous amber eyes I have ever seen.” She said, smiling. “I hope they see amazing things.”
He knew that she wouldn’t go with him. Not then. He hugged her again. This is how it had to be. He would go become rich and famous and come back for her so they could live the life they always wanted. She had whispered two words to him as they called to board.
“I can’t.”
He had said. He had to go chase his dream. She nodded in resignation. He gave her one last kiss. He made his way up the ramp with her whispered plea in his ears.
That was the last he had seen Lucy. His Lucy. They had tried to stay in touch but he got busy and fame got in the way and they finally just lost each other.
The bus’s tries hummed along the highway. The sun was starting to turn the sky a soft pink around the edges. Her words, her soft, tear-choked words repeated in his head like a record skipping.
Don’t go…
Don’t go…
Don’t go…
That had been the hardest day. They had spent every minute up until departure together. The sun had started to cast its long shadows and Lucy had become quiet. He knew he had to get on the plane, and when he did, she would go home. He promised he would come back.
I always meant to come back for you.
She had spoken only two words. Two words, she wouldn’t beg. She would never beg. Those two words, now filled him with rage and hot shame. He stood at the gate. She tried her best to hide her shaking hands from him. He held her and said his goodbyes.
“You have the most gorgeous amber eyes I have ever seen.” She said, smiling. “I hope they see amazing things.”
He knew that she wouldn’t go with him. Not then. He hugged her again. This is how it had to be. He would go become rich and famous and come back for her so they could live the life they always wanted. She had whispered two words to him as they called to board.
“I can’t.”
He had said. He had to go chase his dream. She nodded in resignation. He gave her one last kiss. He made his way up the ramp with her whispered plea in his ears.
That was the last he had seen Lucy. His Lucy. They had tried to stay in touch but he got busy and fame got in the way and they finally just lost each other.
The bus’s tries hummed along the highway. The sun was starting to turn the sky a soft pink around the edges. Her words, her soft, tear-choked words repeated in his head like a record skipping.
Don’t go…
Don’t go…
Don’t go…
14 May, 2016
Lucy (Prt 2)
“Yeah, sort of” Her smile slipped a notch or two. “Are you still seeing Mila what’s-her-name?”
Of course she would read the tabloids. The Fallen’s front man with his arm around that model or this actress. Nothing stuck though. He had, unfortunately, forgotten about her in the daze of Hollywood bustle and celebrity.
“Nah, not for a while now.”
That girl had been vapid and self-absorbed. He tried his best to be a good man for the ditz. He tried so hard he thought he had actual feelings for her at one time. But she was a vampire. Every gallon he gave her, she gave less than an ounce. Nothing was enough. He tried. But the air-headed debutante didn’t have nearly half the zeal for life that Lucy had once had.
“How’s your family?”
He asked, knowing she would defend the bitter lump of a drunk she called “daddy” to the very end. He had only met her mother a few times. Lucy had her eyes. He thought she may have had a sister, Lilly maybe, who was much older, but he had never met her. As for whoever she was going home to…
“Oh, they’re just fine. Dad still lives around here. And Lillian just had a little baby boy! He’s just the sweetest little thing!”
There she went. The unfailing ability to point out joy wherever she went. He wanted to hold her so bad, it was almost causing him physical pain to not touch her. He wanted to bury his regrets in the curls of her hair.
I always did mean to come back for you.
I’m so sorry….
A commotion near the back of the bar was gaining momentum. Diego, their drummer had had too much to drink.
“Hey, so, sorry to cut this short, but Diego’s gonna break something and we gotta get on the road in just a bit.”
Something went out in her eyes, like a guttering little flame that finally gave up its smoky ghost. He thought it may have looked like hope.
“Oh… ok. Well, it was nice seeing you. Maybe if you’re back this way, you can call me up and we can go get lunch or something and catch up.”
“Uh, yeah. That’d be great.”
He heard something shatter at the back of the bar. He sighed. The Diego had begun cursing loudly.
“So, I’ll see you around.”
He gave her a quick, awkward hug, before rushing off to tame his belligerent drummer. He paused at the door to wave good-bye. She waved back. Her eyes were full of such sadness.
Of course she would read the tabloids. The Fallen’s front man with his arm around that model or this actress. Nothing stuck though. He had, unfortunately, forgotten about her in the daze of Hollywood bustle and celebrity.
“Nah, not for a while now.”
That girl had been vapid and self-absorbed. He tried his best to be a good man for the ditz. He tried so hard he thought he had actual feelings for her at one time. But she was a vampire. Every gallon he gave her, she gave less than an ounce. Nothing was enough. He tried. But the air-headed debutante didn’t have nearly half the zeal for life that Lucy had once had.
“How’s your family?”
He asked, knowing she would defend the bitter lump of a drunk she called “daddy” to the very end. He had only met her mother a few times. Lucy had her eyes. He thought she may have had a sister, Lilly maybe, who was much older, but he had never met her. As for whoever she was going home to…
“Oh, they’re just fine. Dad still lives around here. And Lillian just had a little baby boy! He’s just the sweetest little thing!”
There she went. The unfailing ability to point out joy wherever she went. He wanted to hold her so bad, it was almost causing him physical pain to not touch her. He wanted to bury his regrets in the curls of her hair.
I always did mean to come back for you.
I’m so sorry….
A commotion near the back of the bar was gaining momentum. Diego, their drummer had had too much to drink.
“Hey, so, sorry to cut this short, but Diego’s gonna break something and we gotta get on the road in just a bit.”
Something went out in her eyes, like a guttering little flame that finally gave up its smoky ghost. He thought it may have looked like hope.
“Oh… ok. Well, it was nice seeing you. Maybe if you’re back this way, you can call me up and we can go get lunch or something and catch up.”
“Uh, yeah. That’d be great.”
He heard something shatter at the back of the bar. He sighed. The Diego had begun cursing loudly.
“So, I’ll see you around.”
He gave her a quick, awkward hug, before rushing off to tame his belligerent drummer. He paused at the door to wave good-bye. She waved back. Her eyes were full of such sadness.
10 May, 2016
Lucy (Prt 1)
I wrote this a few years ago. I wanted to write something sad. It's not the greatest, but I think I got the point across.
He hadn’t seen Lucy in years. If they had been anywhere else, he would never have even glanced at her. It was her voice that had lifted his head. The sound nearly brought a tear to his eye. Lucy, with whom he had once spent every honeyed day of their youth with. Lucy, the scent of whose hair would haunt him until the day he died. Lucy, no longer the girl he remembered, but the woman who stared at him out of the same sad, sky-blue eyes.
He resisted the urge to sweep her up and kiss her with all the passion that had come explosively alive within him. How long had it been since he had seen her last?
Too long. Far, far too long.
She began to speak again. He could hardly hear her over the rush of blood in his ears, and the general cacophony of the smoky old bar he had found himself in.
“I heard you guys were going to be playing here in town. How have you been?” Her smile was polite, cold. He remembered how she would shine like the sun when she would flash him her mischievous grin over any of the countless jokes they shared. He could see her life since they parted had been unkind.
“Yeah, I’m doing fine. After this tour we’re gonna go out to Greece for some R and R before we start in on the next album.”
He didn’t want to talk about his band, the Fallen, their platinum hit Scarlet Heart, their awards, the crowds of gloomy teens in Fallen tee-shirt, wearing scarred wrists, clamoring for their music, or the endless highway of stops and sleepless nights between here and there on their third tour. He didn’t want to think of the sting of whiskey in his throat or the cigarette burning to ash between his fingers. All he wanted was to remember perfect, cool, cloudless nights they spent laying in the grass, staring into the heavens with her small soft hand in his.
“I saw your interview on the Kelly Show. You look fantastic!”
Lucy. Such enthusiasm marked her speech for as long as he had known her. For her, things were never simply good or ok or alright. She never saw mundane things. For her, beauty had been everywhere. That song was amazing! Your voice is wonderful! You look fantastic! Nothing was mundane for her.
“You look pretty alright yourself.”
The lie burned him. She looked far from horrible. She had aged well, leaving behind the slim boyish figure she once wore for something that closely resembled the sleek lines of a sports car. Her hair was still the color of the brilliant sunset and her eyes were still the bluest-blue he had ever seen. Now, though, her movements weren’t quite as graceful as he recalled. Her eyes flicked about nervously, something he was sure she never used to do before. She seemed faded, shadowed, like a cloud hung over her perpetually. Where once was fire now just a few small, dying embers remained. And pain.
So much pain in her eyes. How she had suffered. What had happened in the years since he left for California? What troubles had she had to face to turn his beautiful Lucy, who had once made his heart sing its scarlet love, into this shade? How many lonely tears caught on her pillow on starless nights? How she had cried, the fine lines of her face told the story.
“I haven’t seen you in forever. What have you been working on?”
She would never tell the truth of it, he knew. Not Lucy. She would put on her brave, brave face and muddle through as she always did. Nothing would keep her from making sure you knew everything was fine, especially when she wasn’t. It was always the same old, same old.
“Me and the band have been keeping pretty busy. Writing, and the tour. You know. Same old, same old.”
He smiled in assurance. He wanted to take her with him, to make her talk to him He wanted her to stop being so damn tough for once. He wanted it to be like the day before he boarded a jet for L.A. when she had finally let down her defenses. She showed him her bruises. She always pretended it was because she was clumsy. He had known deep down that wasn’t the case. She had shown him the ropey scars on the back of her thighs, from when she had knocked over daddy’s beer when she was four, not from the neighbor’s vicious dog like she had been saying for years. If she hadn’t been so stubborn, so prideful, would she have begged him to take her with him? He blamed himself for whatever it was that had happened to her since then. If-onlys danced through his skull.
“That’s great!”
Another lie. Touring sucked.
“So, got yourself a boyfriend or something?”
He regretted his question immediately. Something like fondness, terror and guilt passed in and out of her eyes like dappled shadows.
God, she’s found someone just like her dad. I bet a nickel.
But that’s what happened to girls like her. Eventually knights in shining armor ride off to do more important things in shining cities made of concrete and glass, and the damsels they leave behind wait for the knights to return like they promised and whisk them off to those gleaming metropolises. She had gotten tired of waiting. She had written him off. He wished he hadn’t. He thought she’d have the moxy to leave the first time things went bad. But he knew better. It wasn't until after the third or fourth time she had climbed through his window and cried herself to sleep in his arms without a single word all those years ago. He could’ve saved her. If only she had said something. Could he now?
Let me steal you away to a place where nothing will hurt you ever again.
But her life was here. He couldn’t ask her to leave it all behind on a whim.
He hadn’t seen Lucy in years. If they had been anywhere else, he would never have even glanced at her. It was her voice that had lifted his head. The sound nearly brought a tear to his eye. Lucy, with whom he had once spent every honeyed day of their youth with. Lucy, the scent of whose hair would haunt him until the day he died. Lucy, no longer the girl he remembered, but the woman who stared at him out of the same sad, sky-blue eyes.
He resisted the urge to sweep her up and kiss her with all the passion that had come explosively alive within him. How long had it been since he had seen her last?
Too long. Far, far too long.
She began to speak again. He could hardly hear her over the rush of blood in his ears, and the general cacophony of the smoky old bar he had found himself in.
“I heard you guys were going to be playing here in town. How have you been?” Her smile was polite, cold. He remembered how she would shine like the sun when she would flash him her mischievous grin over any of the countless jokes they shared. He could see her life since they parted had been unkind.
“Yeah, I’m doing fine. After this tour we’re gonna go out to Greece for some R and R before we start in on the next album.”
He didn’t want to talk about his band, the Fallen, their platinum hit Scarlet Heart, their awards, the crowds of gloomy teens in Fallen tee-shirt, wearing scarred wrists, clamoring for their music, or the endless highway of stops and sleepless nights between here and there on their third tour. He didn’t want to think of the sting of whiskey in his throat or the cigarette burning to ash between his fingers. All he wanted was to remember perfect, cool, cloudless nights they spent laying in the grass, staring into the heavens with her small soft hand in his.
“I saw your interview on the Kelly Show. You look fantastic!”
Lucy. Such enthusiasm marked her speech for as long as he had known her. For her, things were never simply good or ok or alright. She never saw mundane things. For her, beauty had been everywhere. That song was amazing! Your voice is wonderful! You look fantastic! Nothing was mundane for her.
“You look pretty alright yourself.”
The lie burned him. She looked far from horrible. She had aged well, leaving behind the slim boyish figure she once wore for something that closely resembled the sleek lines of a sports car. Her hair was still the color of the brilliant sunset and her eyes were still the bluest-blue he had ever seen. Now, though, her movements weren’t quite as graceful as he recalled. Her eyes flicked about nervously, something he was sure she never used to do before. She seemed faded, shadowed, like a cloud hung over her perpetually. Where once was fire now just a few small, dying embers remained. And pain.
So much pain in her eyes. How she had suffered. What had happened in the years since he left for California? What troubles had she had to face to turn his beautiful Lucy, who had once made his heart sing its scarlet love, into this shade? How many lonely tears caught on her pillow on starless nights? How she had cried, the fine lines of her face told the story.
“I haven’t seen you in forever. What have you been working on?”
She would never tell the truth of it, he knew. Not Lucy. She would put on her brave, brave face and muddle through as she always did. Nothing would keep her from making sure you knew everything was fine, especially when she wasn’t. It was always the same old, same old.
“Me and the band have been keeping pretty busy. Writing, and the tour. You know. Same old, same old.”
He smiled in assurance. He wanted to take her with him, to make her talk to him He wanted her to stop being so damn tough for once. He wanted it to be like the day before he boarded a jet for L.A. when she had finally let down her defenses. She showed him her bruises. She always pretended it was because she was clumsy. He had known deep down that wasn’t the case. She had shown him the ropey scars on the back of her thighs, from when she had knocked over daddy’s beer when she was four, not from the neighbor’s vicious dog like she had been saying for years. If she hadn’t been so stubborn, so prideful, would she have begged him to take her with him? He blamed himself for whatever it was that had happened to her since then. If-onlys danced through his skull.
“That’s great!”
Another lie. Touring sucked.
“So, got yourself a boyfriend or something?”
He regretted his question immediately. Something like fondness, terror and guilt passed in and out of her eyes like dappled shadows.
God, she’s found someone just like her dad. I bet a nickel.
But that’s what happened to girls like her. Eventually knights in shining armor ride off to do more important things in shining cities made of concrete and glass, and the damsels they leave behind wait for the knights to return like they promised and whisk them off to those gleaming metropolises. She had gotten tired of waiting. She had written him off. He wished he hadn’t. He thought she’d have the moxy to leave the first time things went bad. But he knew better. It wasn't until after the third or fourth time she had climbed through his window and cried herself to sleep in his arms without a single word all those years ago. He could’ve saved her. If only she had said something. Could he now?
Let me steal you away to a place where nothing will hurt you ever again.
But her life was here. He couldn’t ask her to leave it all behind on a whim.
08 May, 2016
Friend Fiction: Number One, Part Five
"I kind of feel like we should do something while were' here." Katy said, watching the butterflies flitting from flower to flower out in the sunlight. Patrick, strummed a few merry chords on his mandolin. "Like what?" He asked. Katy shrugged. "I don't know, maybe clean it up a bit?" The three of them looked around, but aside form some rubble there wasn't much to clear away. "Well, it's not like it's getting any visitors out here," Amanda said, wandering off to look at more of the carvings. Katy looked to Patrick for an idea. Patrick just kept placidly playing his mandolin. She sighed in mild annoyance and wandered off outside, with Jaspers close at hand. She waded into the flowers and picked a nice bundle. Near the edge of the swath of flowers was a nice little pile of rocks. She picked out a couple nice ones. She even found a small snail shell. She brought them back into the ruins. Amanda watched as Katy arranged the little bouquet with the rocks in front of the alter, under the unicorn sigil. She smiled in approval.
....And I'm out of gas. I left this sitting in "drafts" too long and now I don't have the gumption to finish it. Boo, Amanda, boo. Oh well. Maybe later.
....And I'm out of gas. I left this sitting in "drafts" too long and now I don't have the gumption to finish it. Boo, Amanda, boo. Oh well. Maybe later.
05 May, 2016
Ash to ash
and dust to dust
It rots away
or turns to rust
don't get attached
or it will slash
your heart in two
because everything you love
is going to leave you
give and give
with no return
trust them once
and you'll get burned
they'll leave you numb
hollow like a drum
and then you'll see
that everything you love
is going to leave
and dust to dust
It rots away
or turns to rust
don't get attached
or it will slash
your heart in two
because everything you love
is going to leave you
give and give
with no return
trust them once
and you'll get burned
they'll leave you numb
hollow like a drum
and then you'll see
that everything you love
is going to leave
26 April, 2016
19 April, 2016
Friend Fiction: Number One, Part Four
Their footsteps echoed softly on the worn floor stones. "This is incredible!" Katy said, eyes wide, taking in the ruins. Jaspers padded past her and hoped up onto the alter next to Patrick. Amanda studied the carvings as they passed them. "I wonder who they worshiped here." Patrick mused, plucking a few staccato chords. "Ehlonna," Amanda replied, approaching the alter. "See there?" She pointed to a scene of a rearing unicorn in a field of flowers etched into the side of the alter. "That's her sigil." She peered closely at the carving, tracing the lines with her fingers. Katy examined the alter too. She could see the faint glimmer of decaying spells within the carvings. The whole place still hummed with soft, ancient magic. "The temple was probably built on a leyline. It's naturally full of magic. Any spells done here would be extra effective." Patrick paused his strumming. "Explains a lot." He nodded and continued playing and sang yet another hymn to Pelor softly. Katy glanced at him, worried. "Maybe you shouldn't sing songs to Pelor in a temple to Ehlonna." She said. Amanda circled the oak. "I don't think she's here." She sighed and came to stand next to Patrick. "The oak. It's the sigil of Obad-Hai. His followers could have sacked the place and planted the oak on her alter out of spite." Katy frowned. "That explains why this place is abandoned." Jaspers plurped at her to sheer her up some. Patrick paused his playing again. "So, followers of an evil god wrecked this place?" He grew concerned at the prospect. Amanda's mouth twitched downwards as she thought of what to say. "Obad-Hai isn't necessarily evil. He's considered more neutral than good, but he and Ehlonna share the same sort of dominions; woodlands, the hunt, nature..." She tried imagining what the temple had looked like in all it's glory. "Ehlonna represents more of nature as beauty and purity, while Obad-Hai represents more of the power of nature, and how nature isn't inherently good or evil and will eventually reclaim everything we build." She gestured widely to indicate the ruins. Katy nodded in understanding.
18 April, 2016
Friend Fiction: Number One, Part Three
The wooded hallow was nothing if not completely peaceful. Amanda noted that the birds sang only relaxed songs of joy. Katy smiled and drank in the sunlight as Jaspers wandered off through the flowers. "Pretty cool, huh?" Patrick laughed. Amanda and Katy nodded in astonished agreement. "But wait! There's more!" He laughed and strode off through the trees singing at the top of his lungs. The girls followed, entranced. Katy recognized the soft pulse of magic as they neared the opposite end of the little glen. Amanda noticed that some of the mossy trunks were actually mossy pillars of the same grey worked stone. The trees broke, opening into a wide clearing. Katy and Amanda stopped and stared.
Broken, weathered arches soared into the clear spring sky. Grasses grew tall between floor stones. A carpet of the small white flowers, like the brush stroke of an artist, curved off to their left. Part of the structure still stood; part of the ancient wooden roof, and most of the walls. It appeared to be the ruins of a long forgotten temple.
"Wow..." Katy whispered in amazement. "Yeah..." Amanda whispered back.
They could hear Patrick singing somewhere deeper in the ruins. The two approached in the temple in awe. The construction was elvish. It wasn't ancient, as the wooden beams were still mostly intact. Every pillar was covered in elaborate depictions of the forest, flowers and a few of wild hunts. This seemed to have been the main worship area. The far end was raised up two or three steps, but it was hard to tell how many. An oak tree grew straight up through the ceiling. It's growth had pushed aside a simple, but elegant alter. Patrick leaned on the alter, plucking out a tune on his mandolin.
Broken, weathered arches soared into the clear spring sky. Grasses grew tall between floor stones. A carpet of the small white flowers, like the brush stroke of an artist, curved off to their left. Part of the structure still stood; part of the ancient wooden roof, and most of the walls. It appeared to be the ruins of a long forgotten temple."Wow..." Katy whispered in amazement. "Yeah..." Amanda whispered back.
They could hear Patrick singing somewhere deeper in the ruins. The two approached in the temple in awe. The construction was elvish. It wasn't ancient, as the wooden beams were still mostly intact. Every pillar was covered in elaborate depictions of the forest, flowers and a few of wild hunts. This seemed to have been the main worship area. The far end was raised up two or three steps, but it was hard to tell how many. An oak tree grew straight up through the ceiling. It's growth had pushed aside a simple, but elegant alter. Patrick leaned on the alter, plucking out a tune on his mandolin.
Friend Fiction: Number One, Part Two
Patrick lead them down the path a way along a ridge. The three companions chatted and joked as they made their way through the trees. "We're almost there," Patrick chirped, ten minutes later. "Are you sure?" Amanda asked. "You said we were close a while ago." Patrick pointed to a rock at the edge of the path, smiling. "Pretty sure." He said. It must have been one of his landmarks. It made sense. The rock was a warm, weathered grey, unlike the tawny limestone many of the hills and cliffs in the area were made of. Jaspers hopped up onto it, sniffing at the edges. "You're right, it is a bit weird," Katy said to Jaspers. She crouched next to the rock, brushing fallen leaves away from the base. "Looks like this rock was worked by tools". Amanda crouched next to her. "I think you're right." Patrick smiled again "Nah, she's right. Just wait." The girls exchanged curious glances. They straightened, Katy brushing twigs from the hem of her robe. They continued on. Shortly the ridge dropped away steeply to their left, into a shallow bowl in the earth. "Here we are!" Patrick exclaimed, gesturing widely with the spear. Amanda frowned, glancing around. There were just trees and rocks. Jaspers chirruped at Katy. "He said there's something nearby." Patrick began walking again, signing a hymn to Pelor softly. Just a few paces down the ridge Patrick handed the spear back to Amanda. She passed him to take the lead, but stopped short in amazement. In the steep side of the ridge were craved steps leading down into the depression in the forest. She glanced back at Patrick in disbelief, but he just continued to sing peacefully. Amanda started down the steps. More of the grey stones lay here and there among the trees. She waited at the bottom of the stairs for her friends, trying to see through the trunks and brush. The tiny white flowers grew in even greater numbers here. Yellow butterflies flitted here and there in the shafts of sunlight.
Friend Fiction: Number One, Part One
I promised my friend Katy I'd dabble in writing a story featuring my squad. Here's my first attempt. Hope it's not too horrible and that my friends like it. I'm gonna use traditional Dungeons and Dragons mythology today, because I'm too lazy to come up with my own right now.
They came to a fork in the path. 'Path' was a bit of a stretch. It was more of a clear space between the trees that the deer walked enough to wear a thin ribbon of dirt through the underbrush. "Which way are we going?" Amanda asked, glancing over her shoulder at Patrick. "That way," he replied, pointing down the path to the right, up the hill. She nodded, shifted the shield on her back and parted the foliage with her spear. She brought it just in case, but it worked just as well as a walking stick. The late spring day was bright and warm with the promise of summer. "Are you sure it's up here?" Katy asked as they started up the hill, her familiar, Jaspers, padding along beside her on silent paws. Patrick nodded "I found it a few days ago. It's not too much further."
Earlier, Patrick had mentioned some ruins he had found on one of his many wanderings through the forest surrounding the University.
Amanda paused at the top of the hill and unslung her shield and waterskin. She took a drink, then passed it to Katy. Katy drank and poured out a little water into her hand for Jaspers. Patrick hummed a merry tune, adjusting his mandolin to sit snugger on his back. "Chain mail was definitely not the best choice today" Amanda said. She was getting very hot. The under-tunic was light enough but the mail was beginning to get very warm under the sun. Tiny white flowers bobbed in the soft breeze, Jaspers batted at one of the blooms. Katy handed Patrick the water, he drank and gave it back to Amanda. She looped it over her shoulder "Alright, lets get moving". She handed the spear to Patrick, indicating that he should lead the way. Katy plucked one of the little white flowers and tucked it under Jaspers's collar. They all set off again.
They came to a fork in the path. 'Path' was a bit of a stretch. It was more of a clear space between the trees that the deer walked enough to wear a thin ribbon of dirt through the underbrush. "Which way are we going?" Amanda asked, glancing over her shoulder at Patrick. "That way," he replied, pointing down the path to the right, up the hill. She nodded, shifted the shield on her back and parted the foliage with her spear. She brought it just in case, but it worked just as well as a walking stick. The late spring day was bright and warm with the promise of summer. "Are you sure it's up here?" Katy asked as they started up the hill, her familiar, Jaspers, padding along beside her on silent paws. Patrick nodded "I found it a few days ago. It's not too much further."
Earlier, Patrick had mentioned some ruins he had found on one of his many wanderings through the forest surrounding the University.
Amanda paused at the top of the hill and unslung her shield and waterskin. She took a drink, then passed it to Katy. Katy drank and poured out a little water into her hand for Jaspers. Patrick hummed a merry tune, adjusting his mandolin to sit snugger on his back. "Chain mail was definitely not the best choice today" Amanda said. She was getting very hot. The under-tunic was light enough but the mail was beginning to get very warm under the sun. Tiny white flowers bobbed in the soft breeze, Jaspers batted at one of the blooms. Katy handed Patrick the water, he drank and gave it back to Amanda. She looped it over her shoulder "Alright, lets get moving". She handed the spear to Patrick, indicating that he should lead the way. Katy plucked one of the little white flowers and tucked it under Jaspers's collar. They all set off again.
12 April, 2016
Here's the skinny, you one person who reads everything. I've got research papers due on top of my regular assignments. I really want to keep this blog going but for right now, until the panic storm passes, I gotta hunker down and slam out the last three weeks of college. It's gonna suck, and I may tear my hair out in huge chunks, but I'm gonna get it done, and I'm gonna graduate! Then I'll have lots and lots of free time to blog away in. So for now, I'll try to post again in a week or so, but it is not to priority. Thank you, one person who reads my blog. I'll see you again soon.
Honored Foe 3
Saul remembered everywhere he had been. He had visited Boston many times over the centuries. But this time, he remembered clearly.
"Ah, yes. I shall never forget. Jack and the Marauder had me rather roughed up, if I remember correctly."
Medea nodded, looking almost sad.
"Yeah, they got you pretty good. But you got them pretty good, too. They had to send me after you, because neither of them could do it. I was still an apprentice. But I found you. I followed you all the way out to that abandoned manor near Concord. You know, that was the first time I had chased down a quarry on my own."
Saul, lost in memory, gazed at her. He remembered the scrawny thing, jumping at every sound, with holes in her jeans, and fondness for plaids. Nothing like the capable, refined woman that sat across from him now. In another life, perhaps they would have been close friends, maybe lovers, but speculations do nothing but distract for what is.
"I had no idea that I was your first. You found me handily. It was very impressive."
Medea's blush deepened.
"Thank you." She smiled again.
"Tell, me, my dear, why did you not finish me then? I was in the palm of your hand. You could have destroyed me. Why hesitate?"
Medea brushed her hair back, and thought for a moment.
"It wouldn't have been right." She said finally. She remembered finding him under the rotting floorboards in the carriage house. In retrospect, it was a cunning move on his part. Most others of his kind were still vain enough to believe that they needed a house at day. But any hidden place in which one could be buried would suffice. When she had dragged him out of his grave, just before dawn, and looked into those endless eyes she knew this wouldn't be a fair kill. He had been so weak, and frail. Killing an infirmed old man would have been harder. She had let him go, and told him to tell no one that she had found him.
"It just wasn't right. It wouldn't have been honorable. I knew that if I were going to be the one to finish you, it was going to be me, and me alone."
Saul and Medea sat in silence for moment. Saul could feel himself weakening. He remembered what death felt like. The first time was swift and bloody and horrible. This was taking its time. It was peaceful, in a way.
"I'm sure you will dispose of my remains with dignity."
"Of course."
"To be honest, my dear. I have had many wives and lovers over the centuries, and even though I have trusted them all to some degree or another, I would never have trusted any of them with my final wishes."
Medea bowed her head in respect.
"That means a lot. Thank you."
"I have made up a will. Its a few decades old, but it is still valid. Be sure my attorneys get it."
"Absolutely."
Saul nodded. He couldn't think of anything else to say.
Medea cleared her throat.
"Would you like me to stay with you until its over? Or would you like privacy?"
Saul had never thought of that before. He never figured he would die so comfortably.
He took her hand gently.
"Yes, please stay."
"Ah, yes. I shall never forget. Jack and the Marauder had me rather roughed up, if I remember correctly."
Medea nodded, looking almost sad.
"Yeah, they got you pretty good. But you got them pretty good, too. They had to send me after you, because neither of them could do it. I was still an apprentice. But I found you. I followed you all the way out to that abandoned manor near Concord. You know, that was the first time I had chased down a quarry on my own."
Saul, lost in memory, gazed at her. He remembered the scrawny thing, jumping at every sound, with holes in her jeans, and fondness for plaids. Nothing like the capable, refined woman that sat across from him now. In another life, perhaps they would have been close friends, maybe lovers, but speculations do nothing but distract for what is.
"I had no idea that I was your first. You found me handily. It was very impressive."
Medea's blush deepened.
"Thank you." She smiled again.
"Tell, me, my dear, why did you not finish me then? I was in the palm of your hand. You could have destroyed me. Why hesitate?"
Medea brushed her hair back, and thought for a moment.
"It wouldn't have been right." She said finally. She remembered finding him under the rotting floorboards in the carriage house. In retrospect, it was a cunning move on his part. Most others of his kind were still vain enough to believe that they needed a house at day. But any hidden place in which one could be buried would suffice. When she had dragged him out of his grave, just before dawn, and looked into those endless eyes she knew this wouldn't be a fair kill. He had been so weak, and frail. Killing an infirmed old man would have been harder. She had let him go, and told him to tell no one that she had found him.
"It just wasn't right. It wouldn't have been honorable. I knew that if I were going to be the one to finish you, it was going to be me, and me alone."
Saul and Medea sat in silence for moment. Saul could feel himself weakening. He remembered what death felt like. The first time was swift and bloody and horrible. This was taking its time. It was peaceful, in a way.
"I'm sure you will dispose of my remains with dignity."
"Of course."
"To be honest, my dear. I have had many wives and lovers over the centuries, and even though I have trusted them all to some degree or another, I would never have trusted any of them with my final wishes."
Medea bowed her head in respect.
"That means a lot. Thank you."
"I have made up a will. Its a few decades old, but it is still valid. Be sure my attorneys get it."
"Absolutely."
Saul nodded. He couldn't think of anything else to say.
Medea cleared her throat.
"Would you like me to stay with you until its over? Or would you like privacy?"
Saul had never thought of that before. He never figured he would die so comfortably.
He took her hand gently.
"Yes, please stay."
09 April, 2016
Honored Foe 2
"I call it Arsil. The chemical name is too hard to pronounce. Go ahead, examine it, if you'd like."
Saul hesitated for a fraction of a second, confused. He picked it up, gently, with one elegantly manicured hand. He gave it a sniff.
"This smells almost exactly like water." His eyes narrowed. Almost. It almost smelled like water, but there was something else. "What are you playing at? What is this?"
"Arsil." She smiled still. Saul frowned
"Go on."
"Arsil. It's my own invention. Modern science is a wondrous thing. It's a compound of silver, dissolved in my own special chemical solution. It is then processed, seven times, in a solar still. The liquid, not only absorbs the power of the sun, and the potency of silver, but I have each batch blessed by the leader of every church in the city. Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, even Muslim holy men. Colorless, odorless, completely undetectable. We make them in huge batches now. Its available at the local pharmacy. Only $8.95 a gallon."
Saul shook his head in disbelief and handed back the vial.
"Clever. Almost ingenious." He knew very well that it was, in fact genius. He almost felt a twinge of pride in her accomplishment.
"Did I mention it is also painless?" She tucked away the vial.
"How kind. But poison? I always expected that our last encounter would be a messy, bloody affair, with both of us desperately trying to end the other. Why something so.... pleasant?"
Medea sighed.
"It is your time to go, Saul. Violent deaths are for those who deserve them. You, though, have always done well to ensure that those you feed on are well taken care of. You've always treated those who have hunted you with respect. Even me. You deserve peace, Saul. You are a worthy adversary, and you deserve to go kindly."
"Yes. I suppose so. There are many of my kind that rely on savagery to meet their needs. To what purpose? To be feared?" He scoffed in disgust. "You have been my shadow for many years, Medea. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps we had become friends."
Medea blushed slightly and smiled shyly.
"We were always enemies. I'm sure you remember Boston."
Saul hesitated for a fraction of a second, confused. He picked it up, gently, with one elegantly manicured hand. He gave it a sniff.
"This smells almost exactly like water." His eyes narrowed. Almost. It almost smelled like water, but there was something else. "What are you playing at? What is this?"
"Arsil." She smiled still. Saul frowned
"Go on."
"Arsil. It's my own invention. Modern science is a wondrous thing. It's a compound of silver, dissolved in my own special chemical solution. It is then processed, seven times, in a solar still. The liquid, not only absorbs the power of the sun, and the potency of silver, but I have each batch blessed by the leader of every church in the city. Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, even Muslim holy men. Colorless, odorless, completely undetectable. We make them in huge batches now. Its available at the local pharmacy. Only $8.95 a gallon."
Saul shook his head in disbelief and handed back the vial.
"Clever. Almost ingenious." He knew very well that it was, in fact genius. He almost felt a twinge of pride in her accomplishment.
"Did I mention it is also painless?" She tucked away the vial.
"How kind. But poison? I always expected that our last encounter would be a messy, bloody affair, with both of us desperately trying to end the other. Why something so.... pleasant?"
Medea sighed.
"It is your time to go, Saul. Violent deaths are for those who deserve them. You, though, have always done well to ensure that those you feed on are well taken care of. You've always treated those who have hunted you with respect. Even me. You deserve peace, Saul. You are a worthy adversary, and you deserve to go kindly."
"Yes. I suppose so. There are many of my kind that rely on savagery to meet their needs. To what purpose? To be feared?" He scoffed in disgust. "You have been my shadow for many years, Medea. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps we had become friends."
Medea blushed slightly and smiled shyly.
"We were always enemies. I'm sure you remember Boston."
07 April, 2016
Ok, so I guess this is a dream diary now.
I'm so proud of my unconscious mind. It's been cranking out the coolest dreams the last few days.
First, the BF, Nolt and I had gotten a new apartment. We hadn't really had time to clean everything up after unpacking but his grandparents insisted on coming over. Turns out, his grandma really likes wine. She drank up the stuff I already had, so I went digging through the pantry and found a bunch of abandoned booze form the previous tenets. Opening the bottles set of tiny little holographic music videos, but a lot of it had gone bad. Just as Nolt was getting antsy because there were too many people in our dinky apartment, I got called into work. I gave him a kiss, helped his grandparents to their car and scooted.
Me and my good friend, Patrick, worked in DC. He was some sort of diplomat and I was his assistant. At least I'm pretty sure that was going on, because I kept following him around and carried a bunch of papers. We were in this really lovely hotel lobby. He was on the phone babbling away in French, while I got coffee. He was getting agitated and said he needed to go see his friend. I was like, "sure thing, lets go". On the way there he told off some crazy protesters for not being caring people, threw out the first pitch at some sporting event, before we came to this convention center where the president was scheduled to speak. I could tell he was about to sneak in and chit chat with the president. No, Patrick, stahp. Wut r u doing? Patrick no... PATRICK YES! He squeezed behind a barricade and past the guard to pop into a room down the way and talk to the president. Well, fine. I'm just going to sit over here with your papers until you're done screwing around. As I'm waiting, some lady comes up and starts insisting that I come with her. Uh, ok? Their singer canceled because she didn't get white towels in her dressing room. Quelle horreur....
But I guess I was the only person in the building dressed nicely and or looked like a student, so they can pass me off as a teenager. So I sang the national anthem before the president, (and presumably Patrick) took the stage to speak. As I'm leaving the stage all these middle aged moms tried to give me money and offer Facebook-inspirational-quote level advice. K thenks. Backstage, the person who was supposed to sing was this vaguely Lady Gaga pop diva. She said something like "not bad, but don't ever steal my gigs again."
First, the BF, Nolt and I had gotten a new apartment. We hadn't really had time to clean everything up after unpacking but his grandparents insisted on coming over. Turns out, his grandma really likes wine. She drank up the stuff I already had, so I went digging through the pantry and found a bunch of abandoned booze form the previous tenets. Opening the bottles set of tiny little holographic music videos, but a lot of it had gone bad. Just as Nolt was getting antsy because there were too many people in our dinky apartment, I got called into work. I gave him a kiss, helped his grandparents to their car and scooted.
Me and my good friend, Patrick, worked in DC. He was some sort of diplomat and I was his assistant. At least I'm pretty sure that was going on, because I kept following him around and carried a bunch of papers. We were in this really lovely hotel lobby. He was on the phone babbling away in French, while I got coffee. He was getting agitated and said he needed to go see his friend. I was like, "sure thing, lets go". On the way there he told off some crazy protesters for not being caring people, threw out the first pitch at some sporting event, before we came to this convention center where the president was scheduled to speak. I could tell he was about to sneak in and chit chat with the president. No, Patrick, stahp. Wut r u doing? Patrick no... PATRICK YES! He squeezed behind a barricade and past the guard to pop into a room down the way and talk to the president. Well, fine. I'm just going to sit over here with your papers until you're done screwing around. As I'm waiting, some lady comes up and starts insisting that I come with her. Uh, ok? Their singer canceled because she didn't get white towels in her dressing room. Quelle horreur....
But I guess I was the only person in the building dressed nicely and or looked like a student, so they can pass me off as a teenager. So I sang the national anthem before the president, (and presumably Patrick) took the stage to speak. As I'm leaving the stage all these middle aged moms tried to give me money and offer Facebook-inspirational-quote level advice. K thenks. Backstage, the person who was supposed to sing was this vaguely Lady Gaga pop diva. She said something like "not bad, but don't ever steal my gigs again."
06 April, 2016
Honored Foe
Just to head this off, I can't stand those idiot Tyler Perry movies. I just like the name Medea. So shush.
Medea Waited. Soon she could hear the nearly silent footfalls of the one she waited for. Saul stood framed in the doorway, every bit a handsome as the day he died. He kept his hair short yet sophisticated, dark and greying at the temples. His eyes, black and endless, like the rest of his kind, but still full of wisdom.
"You found me at last. Congratulations." His low voice resonated through the room, as if he had yelled, but it as nearly a whisper.
"That I have." Medea gestured to the seat across from her. "Please, sit."
Saul nodded politely and joined her.
"Would you like some wine?" She asked, indicating the decanter by her elbow.
"Yes, thank you." He replied. She filled a crystal goblet and handed it to him, then poured one for herself. He raised his glass in a toast.
"To honored foes."
Medea smiled politely and tipped her cup toward him. They both drank deeply.
"What is the occasion?" Saul asked her, setting his goblet aside "it isn't often that I get visitors here." He smiled slyly at her, knowing that it would have taken extraordinary effort to, not only uncover the location of his hideaway, but an even more Herculean effort to actually get here.
"I've come to see you off, Saul." She said. Saul chuckled softly.
"I'm not going anywhere, as well you know. Has Mad Jack concocted another new half-brained story about me rising up, defeating you, taking over the world?" He scoffed "Hardly."
Saul shook his head and smiled wryly.
Medea matched his smile and replied slowly.
"You are inded leaving, Saul. You see, you're dying, right now, as we speak."
Saul's smile slipped a bit, turning into, almost, a snarl.
"The wine? Really? You tried to poison me? Please. Have you suffered a head injury? You very well that poison cannot kill me."
Medea continued to smile placidly.
"Oh, yes. I know. It is no ordinary poison though."
She produced a tiny vial, unstopped it and placed it on the table between them.
Medea Waited. Soon she could hear the nearly silent footfalls of the one she waited for. Saul stood framed in the doorway, every bit a handsome as the day he died. He kept his hair short yet sophisticated, dark and greying at the temples. His eyes, black and endless, like the rest of his kind, but still full of wisdom.
"You found me at last. Congratulations." His low voice resonated through the room, as if he had yelled, but it as nearly a whisper.
"That I have." Medea gestured to the seat across from her. "Please, sit."
Saul nodded politely and joined her.
"Would you like some wine?" She asked, indicating the decanter by her elbow.
"Yes, thank you." He replied. She filled a crystal goblet and handed it to him, then poured one for herself. He raised his glass in a toast.
"To honored foes."
Medea smiled politely and tipped her cup toward him. They both drank deeply.
"What is the occasion?" Saul asked her, setting his goblet aside "it isn't often that I get visitors here." He smiled slyly at her, knowing that it would have taken extraordinary effort to, not only uncover the location of his hideaway, but an even more Herculean effort to actually get here.
"I've come to see you off, Saul." She said. Saul chuckled softly.
"I'm not going anywhere, as well you know. Has Mad Jack concocted another new half-brained story about me rising up, defeating you, taking over the world?" He scoffed "Hardly."
Saul shook his head and smiled wryly.
Medea matched his smile and replied slowly.
"You are inded leaving, Saul. You see, you're dying, right now, as we speak."
Saul's smile slipped a bit, turning into, almost, a snarl.
"The wine? Really? You tried to poison me? Please. Have you suffered a head injury? You very well that poison cannot kill me."
Medea continued to smile placidly.
"Oh, yes. I know. It is no ordinary poison though."
She produced a tiny vial, unstopped it and placed it on the table between them.
05 April, 2016
more dreams
This one was super vivid. I really liked it.
The first thing I could remember was this little girls bound to a stake. A bunch of people were standing around debating on the best way to set her on fire without her suffering too much, because even though she was little, she was still a witch. Someone in the crowd was like "what are we doing? There's more important things to do". The girl got loose and fled. Meanwhile, there was a city. A huge floating city, that from a distance looked like an egg, but was really just level after level of of city. At the top lived a witch queen. She was nuts. Apparently all the people of the city were like "well, yeah. It's how it's always been. Just kinda deal with it, folks". The queen heard about the little girl and goes and rescues her. Turns out, the girl has whatever special mark it takes to be the next queen. But the girl is super chill and the people all really like her. They threw a parade for the new princess in the canal district. Just a bunch of canals winding through like three of four different levels. The queen and the princess rode this little boat. They were both decked out in red, yellow, black and white, like characters on playing cards, but they were seated like the Madonna and Holy Child. The queen got pissed that the citizens liked the princess more than her and tried to throw the princess off the side of the city into the lake like 500 feet below. But she lost her balance and fell. So the princess became the queen, but was too young to actually take the throne. It was a very colorful dream.
The first thing I could remember was this little girls bound to a stake. A bunch of people were standing around debating on the best way to set her on fire without her suffering too much, because even though she was little, she was still a witch. Someone in the crowd was like "what are we doing? There's more important things to do". The girl got loose and fled. Meanwhile, there was a city. A huge floating city, that from a distance looked like an egg, but was really just level after level of of city. At the top lived a witch queen. She was nuts. Apparently all the people of the city were like "well, yeah. It's how it's always been. Just kinda deal with it, folks". The queen heard about the little girl and goes and rescues her. Turns out, the girl has whatever special mark it takes to be the next queen. But the girl is super chill and the people all really like her. They threw a parade for the new princess in the canal district. Just a bunch of canals winding through like three of four different levels. The queen and the princess rode this little boat. They were both decked out in red, yellow, black and white, like characters on playing cards, but they were seated like the Madonna and Holy Child. The queen got pissed that the citizens liked the princess more than her and tried to throw the princess off the side of the city into the lake like 500 feet below. But she lost her balance and fell. So the princess became the queen, but was too young to actually take the throne. It was a very colorful dream.
The Mossy Shack
Not gonna lie, I started this as a favor to a friend.... an erotic favor....
It was started as an attempt at a, erm, romance narrative. I will not name names, nor will I allude to the original context of the story.
I'm so so sorry.....
It was started as an attempt at a, erm, romance narrative. I will not name names, nor will I allude to the original context of the story.
I'm so so sorry.....
Rain dripped from the leaves of the trees outside. It was letting up, but it didn't matter. Mags was completely lost. She had found this half-rotted shack by happy accident. She had decided to take a walk when the storm had blown up. Lightning flashed and the rain had poured down on her from every side. Her cloak hardly kept off the rain. Had the wind and rain not nearly blinded her, she would be safe and warm at home right now. Her knee stung where she had tripped, skinning it a bit, and her dress was muddy and damp. She had literally stumbled into the shack, tripping and fumbling her way through the wind and rain. She picked at a splinter in her finger she had gotten prying open the ancient mossy door. It was getting colder. She shivered and wondered how she was going to find the road. Mags tucked her feet in closer and wrapped her arms around them to her to try to stay warm. Maybe I could get a fire started, she thought to herself. If I can get dry, I could sleep here if I had to. She looked around for dry wood, or anything else she could build a fire with.
~~~
Celeidan should never have left the road. He thought he could easily pick his way through the forest as a shortcut. He had wanted to make it to Heraldt by nightfall, but didn’t seem likely now. The sky had been threatening all day, but he had hoped it would hold off until he had made it to that blasted town, Heraldt. He was soaked,head to toe, all the way through his usually sleek and well kept jacket to the skin. He shivered. The sun was setting. He needed to get warm before he caught his death of cold. He hiked his pack up and tugged his sodden cloak closer to shield his sword from the rain. Through the trees he caught the flickering light of a fire and the soft scent of distant smoke caught his nostrils. It might have been a will-o-wisp, but he decided to follow it anyway. Shortly, he came upon a rotting shack. It looked like it may tumble in on itself at any time. From the rusted long forgotten tools scattered about the overgrown area around the hut, it seemed to have been a woodcutter’s lodge at one time. It made little difference. Someone was inside, and they had a small but cheery fire dancing merrily within. He approached the door. Whoever was inside was humming softly to themselves. He knocked on the door. The humming stopped, abruptly.
04 April, 2016
Rain Dropped
The rain, drowned the world in sleep and sorrow, while all the people vainly ran for cover. I heaved a sigh heavier than a mountain as despair settled on my shoulders, like the globe on Atlas's back.
Holmes, River Holmes.
Apparently, I just absolutely had to write this down immediately after waking up because it was just so fricken important:
"My name is River Holmes."
That was it. It was time stamped at 7:35am
What the fuck...
"My name is River Holmes."
That was it. It was time stamped at 7:35am
What the fuck...
03 April, 2016
Weekly posts
At the moment, I am trying to finish my degree. I think, until that's resolved, and while time is at a premium, I'm going to back my posts off to once a week. Scheduled posts will post as scheduled, but new posts will only arrive once a week or so, until time becomes more abundant. Thank you for your patience, dear reader!
More Shitty Poetry!!!
You thought I had run out of awful teenaged emo poetry? THINK AGAIN MOTHERFUCKER! The party has only just begone! Let me tell you something. I have no fewer than a dozen different journals and diaries full of God awful angsty bull shit. So enjoy another gem from the annuls of my history:
My soul weeps for you
in sullen stillnesss
I reach for you in darkness
I call your name
but you'll give your heart to another
who owns the souls of many others
and will break you in your name
she'll never love you the way I do
it's poisonous secrets are mine alone
what can I do? What can I say?
to remind you to look my way?
My soul weeps for you
in sullen stillnesss
I reach for you in darkness
I call your name
but you'll give your heart to another
who owns the souls of many others
and will break you in your name
she'll never love you the way I do
it's poisonous secrets are mine alone
what can I do? What can I say?
to remind you to look my way?
01 April, 2016
Dramatic Actions!!!!!!
Sometimes your just need a little excitement in your life. I day dream a lot, and I think this might have been one of those little day dreams. I don't remember the exact context of the day dream, but apparently I was imagining some cool shit.
"Beryl! Take my hand!" He shouted over the roaring wind.
"No! I can't!" I screamed, clutching the cold steel. The steel was safe.
"Take my hand!" He repeated
"NO!"
"DO IT!!"
I shook and extended one frightened hand. He grasped it with his huge, strong fingers. He yanked me down and held me to his chest with his warm, comforting arms.
My my my.... what kind of daydream was I having?!?
"Beryl! Take my hand!" He shouted over the roaring wind.
"No! I can't!" I screamed, clutching the cold steel. The steel was safe.
"Take my hand!" He repeated
"NO!"
"DO IT!!"
I shook and extended one frightened hand. He grasped it with his huge, strong fingers. He yanked me down and held me to his chest with his warm, comforting arms.
My my my.... what kind of daydream was I having?!?
30 March, 2016
I was dreaming this morning (because I had already opened my eyes once to check the time and deemed it unacceptable to be awake) that I was running deliveries in this really cool town, with all sorts of historic buildings and interesting streets. I was zipping around in some sort of one person encased Segway. I had to take in out into the country for a delivery. It was getting dark, and the dumb thing had no headlights. I was coming around a corner in a wooded part of the country lane when I ran into this young black guy on a bike who had stopped in the road. I got out and checked on him, and asked him if he was ok as this car comes up from the opposite direction. The man in the car was like "Trevor! You get out of here! She's not gonna fall for this crap. Go home. You aren't even hurt." The kid, Trevor, got up and ran back down the road toward town. The guy in the car explained that Trevor would lurk around that bend in the road and throw his bent up bike under the wheels of passing cars, fall to the ground and pretend to be hurt to scam people out of money.
Stained Glass Wings
The early 2000's seemed like a rough time for me. I don't remember much. Mostly because I suppressed that bitch like you wouldn't believe. I wrote this in 04. I found it in one of my many journals that I kept. Apparently, I went through a phase in which I wrote my journals like I was talking to someone. It's very strange. I was a bizarre yet creative child.
I'm still a part of yesterday
Asleep but not quite dead
I'm still a part of yesterday
Asleep but not quite dead
Sustained by all the visions
Flying on wings of glass
soaring through the hail storm
praying I don't fall
Flying on wings of glass
soaring through the hail storm
praying I don't fall
29 March, 2016
I Dream of Nuka-Cola
I fricken love the Fallout series. Here's some fricken Fallout fanfiction!!!!!
She bit down on the leather belt in her mouth. This was gonna hurt. She poured half a bottle of whiskey over the wound in her thigh. It burned like the sun. Black dots swam before her eyes but she managed to keep from fainting. Next came the forceps. She steeled herself and began working at the wound. God, it hurt. She screamed around the belt and kept digging. There! There is was.She grabbed it and pulled it through the hole in her flesh. Just as she thought. 5.56 mm round. Thankfully, not a hollow point. She poured the last of the whiskey over the wound and bandaged it up. She slumped against the smooth, cool wall of the drainage tunnel. Long ago, someone had walled it up to make a shelter, but whoever they were, they were long gone. A single lantern, powered by an old car battery, lit the tunnel. She had thought about moving some of the sandbags that made up the back wall to see if there was anything worth scavenging, but the bullet in her leg and the odd, infrequent skittering behind the sandbag wall quickly dispelled all notions of exploring.
She reached over to the light and unhooked one of the wires. The tunnel became darker than night.
Tomorrow, she thought, I’ll head back to that town I passed. Maybe they have a doctor there.
She wasn’t about to lose a leg to those god damned raiders. She had dispatched all of them, but even in death she wasn’t about to let them have anything of hers. She worked her jaw, removing the belt from between her teeth. She turned on her pipboy’s light to check the trip wire she had set. Yup, still there. She was sure that if she were able to stand and look around the bend in the pipe, she’d see her mines too. Nothing was sneaking up on her tonight. Not in her condition. She lay down on a stained, dirty mattress. It was better than a couple layers of cardboard on the concrete, but only just. She closed her eyes and drifted to sleep immediately.
She bit down on the leather belt in her mouth. This was gonna hurt. She poured half a bottle of whiskey over the wound in her thigh. It burned like the sun. Black dots swam before her eyes but she managed to keep from fainting. Next came the forceps. She steeled herself and began working at the wound. God, it hurt. She screamed around the belt and kept digging. There! There is was.She grabbed it and pulled it through the hole in her flesh. Just as she thought. 5.56 mm round. Thankfully, not a hollow point. She poured the last of the whiskey over the wound and bandaged it up. She slumped against the smooth, cool wall of the drainage tunnel. Long ago, someone had walled it up to make a shelter, but whoever they were, they were long gone. A single lantern, powered by an old car battery, lit the tunnel. She had thought about moving some of the sandbags that made up the back wall to see if there was anything worth scavenging, but the bullet in her leg and the odd, infrequent skittering behind the sandbag wall quickly dispelled all notions of exploring.
She reached over to the light and unhooked one of the wires. The tunnel became darker than night.
Tomorrow, she thought, I’ll head back to that town I passed. Maybe they have a doctor there.
She wasn’t about to lose a leg to those god damned raiders. She had dispatched all of them, but even in death she wasn’t about to let them have anything of hers. She worked her jaw, removing the belt from between her teeth. She turned on her pipboy’s light to check the trip wire she had set. Yup, still there. She was sure that if she were able to stand and look around the bend in the pipe, she’d see her mines too. Nothing was sneaking up on her tonight. Not in her condition. She lay down on a stained, dirty mattress. It was better than a couple layers of cardboard on the concrete, but only just. She closed her eyes and drifted to sleep immediately.
28 March, 2016
Birthday Boy
Reinen came about as a need to balance out Baine. Weirdly enough, they used to be the same character. Reinen is reserved, while Baine is boisterous. Reinen is more thoughtful, while Baine is impulsive. I try to give them separate voices when they speak, but because ultimately it is my voice that speaks through them, occasionally they sound like the same person. Reinen settled into a set personality while I was writing a lot of co-opted anime fanfiction with my friend Hannah, so he has violet eyes and blue hair. Very kawii! (I'm sorry.... so very sorry for that last sentence...)
This little bit I like to use as a starting point with people who are not familiar with my writing style. It gives them a sense of the worlds I like to write about. And, I feel, that starting them with one of my more mellow characters help acclimate them to what or who they might meet eventually. Sometimes there is variation, like sometimes I put a lot of detail into it, sometimes I sketch it out really fast to water down my style for the other person, or just for time's sake. Here's the basic way it usually goes...
This little bit I like to use as a starting point with people who are not familiar with my writing style. It gives them a sense of the worlds I like to write about. And, I feel, that starting them with one of my more mellow characters help acclimate them to what or who they might meet eventually. Sometimes there is variation, like sometimes I put a lot of detail into it, sometimes I sketch it out really fast to water down my style for the other person, or just for time's sake. Here's the basic way it usually goes...
Reinen locked his office door, eager to be home. The day had been long and mostly uneventful. As, uneventful as a day at a hospital could be at any rate. He just wanted to go home. His shoes echoed hollowly in the near empty corridors.
“Good night, Doctor McArta!” The secretary chirped as he passed. He had never been sure of her name. Jenny, or Penny, something childishly sweet like that. He smiled and nodded back to her. “Oh, Happy Birthday, by the way! Have any big plans?” It was his birthday? It was. Thirty-five. He marveled at how time had gotten away from him.
“Uh, no not really. Going home and feeding the dog.” He made a small apologetic smile in her direction.
“Really? A good looking doctor like you, not having plans for his birthday...” She grinned. She was flirting and he knew it, but he didn’t care to acknowledge it. He just raised a parting hand and bid her good night.
He sat in his car for a while after that, staring out across the darkened parking lot. A soft rain had begun to fall. Drops splattering across his windshield at regular intervals. It was his birthday. He suddenly didn’t feel like going home. Maybe a drink. Just one. Then home. Yeah, that would be a good idea. He started his car and rolled out into the deepening night. He knew a place.
Samson’s was small but lively. It had been the same as the day he turned twenty-one and his brother had bought him drinks until he was slouched on the curb outside emptying his stomach of everything he’d ever eaten. That was a long time ago. Tonight it wasn’t busy. Partly because of the rain, partly because it was the middle of the week. The aging, round proprietor waved at him in greeting as he walked in. Reinen took a stool.
“Good night, Doctor McArta!” The secretary chirped as he passed. He had never been sure of her name. Jenny, or Penny, something childishly sweet like that. He smiled and nodded back to her. “Oh, Happy Birthday, by the way! Have any big plans?” It was his birthday? It was. Thirty-five. He marveled at how time had gotten away from him.
“Uh, no not really. Going home and feeding the dog.” He made a small apologetic smile in her direction.
“Really? A good looking doctor like you, not having plans for his birthday...” She grinned. She was flirting and he knew it, but he didn’t care to acknowledge it. He just raised a parting hand and bid her good night.
He sat in his car for a while after that, staring out across the darkened parking lot. A soft rain had begun to fall. Drops splattering across his windshield at regular intervals. It was his birthday. He suddenly didn’t feel like going home. Maybe a drink. Just one. Then home. Yeah, that would be a good idea. He started his car and rolled out into the deepening night. He knew a place.
Samson’s was small but lively. It had been the same as the day he turned twenty-one and his brother had bought him drinks until he was slouched on the curb outside emptying his stomach of everything he’d ever eaten. That was a long time ago. Tonight it wasn’t busy. Partly because of the rain, partly because it was the middle of the week. The aging, round proprietor waved at him in greeting as he walked in. Reinen took a stool.
Samson lumbered over. He’d never been a small man, but the grace of his movements suggested that most of his bulk was not fat. The man looked like a viking lord of old. Round and sturdy. Blonde hair receding in the front and a full, thick beard cascading down his barrel of a chest. He always had a smile and a story for everyone who walked in.
“Oh, ho! Haven’t seen you here since... well, for a long time anyway. Still the regular, right?” Samson grinned at Reinen. His teeth spoken of dentures. Reinen nodded and Ole Sam deftly poured him a pint from one of the many gleaming taps.
“How you been? Heard you’re doing pretty well for yourself. Can’t say it’d be hard, seeing as you’re a doctor an’ all. Old Greg Cummins said your brother’s wife just had another baby. Good to hear...” Samson rambled on. Reinen sipped his beer, nodding when appropriate, then the inevitable question, “What brings you in tonight?”
“It’s my birthday.” Reinen replied. Sam laughed uproariously.
“Well, then boy! I gotta get you something special! You’re drink’s free. Lemme get Martha to make you something. Martha!” He called through a tiny window behind the bar into the kitchen to the mythic Martha, who Reinen had never really seen, except glimpses through the tiny window. “Make the young doctor something nice!” Samson turned back and continued his artful small talk. Shortly a little paper bowl filled to the brim with fries and sauces appeared in the window. Sam placed the steaming, greasy, dripping concoction in front of Reinen. He rummaged under the counter and emerged with a tiny flag on a toothpick. “Ain’t got any candles...” He said and jammed the flag into the food like an explorer claiming a mountain. Reinen thanked him and stared doubtfully at the fries. His stomach grumbled at him. He knew that it was far from healthy but what the hell, he began picking at the saucy bowl in front of him.
“Oh, ho! Haven’t seen you here since... well, for a long time anyway. Still the regular, right?” Samson grinned at Reinen. His teeth spoken of dentures. Reinen nodded and Ole Sam deftly poured him a pint from one of the many gleaming taps.
“How you been? Heard you’re doing pretty well for yourself. Can’t say it’d be hard, seeing as you’re a doctor an’ all. Old Greg Cummins said your brother’s wife just had another baby. Good to hear...” Samson rambled on. Reinen sipped his beer, nodding when appropriate, then the inevitable question, “What brings you in tonight?”
“It’s my birthday.” Reinen replied. Sam laughed uproariously.
“Well, then boy! I gotta get you something special! You’re drink’s free. Lemme get Martha to make you something. Martha!” He called through a tiny window behind the bar into the kitchen to the mythic Martha, who Reinen had never really seen, except glimpses through the tiny window. “Make the young doctor something nice!” Samson turned back and continued his artful small talk. Shortly a little paper bowl filled to the brim with fries and sauces appeared in the window. Sam placed the steaming, greasy, dripping concoction in front of Reinen. He rummaged under the counter and emerged with a tiny flag on a toothpick. “Ain’t got any candles...” He said and jammed the flag into the food like an explorer claiming a mountain. Reinen thanked him and stared doubtfully at the fries. His stomach grumbled at him. He knew that it was far from healthy but what the hell, he began picking at the saucy bowl in front of him.
Habilious
I've always loved scifi and fantasy genres. I grew up on Star Trek and played the ever loving crap out of Mass Effect. I've kind of been wanting to contribute my own ideas to a space aged adventure. This one is from a couple of years ago. I like to try to engage my friends in collaborative creative writing, and this was how I started this science fiction story:
Theo sighed and shifted a stack of dockets to the other side of his desk. It was going to be a long day. The shipment of cadmium bound for Hecate had to be scoured after a dock man had discovered Vemiccian weevils in the hold. The freighter, Cassius, was late… again. Abraham and his lot had been caught trying to smuggle "refugees" for the third time this cycle. And to top it all off, Theo hadn't had a chance to eat his lunch yet. A fine day to retire.
Theo rubbed his eyes wearily. It was going to be a long day indeed.
Habilious
Theo sighed and shifted a stack of dockets to the other side of his desk. It was going to be a long day. The shipment of cadmium bound for Hecate had to be scoured after a dock man had discovered Vemiccian weevils in the hold. The freighter, Cassius, was late… again. Abraham and his lot had been caught trying to smuggle "refugees" for the third time this cycle. And to top it all off, Theo hadn't had a chance to eat his lunch yet. A fine day to retire.
His bad knee creaked as he stood to stare out the window at the ships at their soft dockings. Habilious, what a shit hole. It was the one station in the sector big enough to accommodate a shipping depot worth a damn. That alone made it a magnet or every type of vermin from every corner of the sector. Thieves, refugees, disease, and any other dirty, illicit or plain old nasty thing you could think of.
Theo had no sympathy for the poor sap the bureaucracy had lined up to take over his position. Being shipping director wasn't a hard job by any means. It was dealing with the miscreants that made Theo glad to be going. A few of the dock men had tried to throw him a going away party, but he would have none of that sort of foolishness. Not when there was shit to do.
He sighed again. Habilious was a shit hole. There was no arguing that, but it had been his home for the last 25 cycles. Tomorrow he would climb aboard one of those rusty tin cans and head back to… "To what?" He mumbled to himself "To smog, war and disease?" Habilious may be the unwashed back-end of forever but at least on that chunk of floating refuse he wouldn't have to worry about some ass hole politician dropping a damn Nuke on his head.
Theo rubbed his eyes wearily. It was going to be a long day indeed.
26 March, 2016
Mirages
Baine is a character I write about a lot. He's a remnant of all my high school angst and everything I thought I wanted in a potential life mate. He formed as a way of expressing what I admired in others and would look for in someone I thought, at the time, I would want to date. As he evolved, he became more and more a reflection of myself and my inner struggles. It's kind of weird to think that I would personify myself as a male, but that's just how it came to be. He has gone through many transformations before settling into a character I felt had become full realized. He used to be Jason, then Reinen, then Reinen became a different character, and Baine settled in. It's kind of hard to explain....
Anyway, here's the start for an RP that I made that was inspired by the Dark Tower series by Stephen King. This one, I started in 203? I think? I've always had an odd fondness for westerns...
Baine stared out across the hard-pan. His waterskin dragged behind him in the dust, empty and useless. Heat danced across the horizon. How long had it been since the Holland Gang had driven him out onto the dead lake, dumping him, bound hand and foot, to die like a bug in an oven? He couldn’t tell. He wiped sweat from brow and tugged his battered hat lower onto his head. The sun was too hot.
“This is it..” he said to himself. His voice little more than a husky growl. “I’m gonna bite the big one out here. Tell momma I love her and all that” He chuckled to himself. It was a mirthless sound. He smiled (grimace) as the hard-pan suddenly rushed up to meet him. He was momentarily baffled by the grit on his face. His mind told him to get up, to keep moving forward. “But why...” the church steeple that swam in the heat-glamour was nothing but one of those “mi-rajes” he heard about from old cowboys and educated eastern folk. So must those bells. Church bells. He closed his eyes. Maybe they were the bells of heaven. He laughed again. If he was going to heaven..
Anyway, here's the start for an RP that I made that was inspired by the Dark Tower series by Stephen King. This one, I started in 203? I think? I've always had an odd fondness for westerns...
Baine stared out across the hard-pan. His waterskin dragged behind him in the dust, empty and useless. Heat danced across the horizon. How long had it been since the Holland Gang had driven him out onto the dead lake, dumping him, bound hand and foot, to die like a bug in an oven? He couldn’t tell. He wiped sweat from brow and tugged his battered hat lower onto his head. The sun was too hot.
“This is it..” he said to himself. His voice little more than a husky growl. “I’m gonna bite the big one out here. Tell momma I love her and all that” He chuckled to himself. It was a mirthless sound. He smiled (grimace) as the hard-pan suddenly rushed up to meet him. He was momentarily baffled by the grit on his face. His mind told him to get up, to keep moving forward. “But why...” the church steeple that swam in the heat-glamour was nothing but one of those “mi-rajes” he heard about from old cowboys and educated eastern folk. So must those bells. Church bells. He closed his eyes. Maybe they were the bells of heaven. He laughed again. If he was going to heaven..
25 March, 2016
I had a dream last night. I was on an adventure with my friend Jake. We were trying to make it through the night, for whatever reason and someone said to us "go to the light, the light of healing that shines in the sky" meaning the sun, but Jake was like "Yes, I see it" and started walking towards the McDonald's sign. Jake, no! XD
More Zero Hour Found!!!
Yo! I knew I had more than just that! I found an alternate start that's a lot more detailed, but definitely takes place in Washington DC and I'm not sure I like that. I will do my best to try to find more notes and alternate scenes and pull them all together in a mega post.
24 March, 2016
Zero Hour Chapter 2
Grace sprinted as fast as she could down the nearest alley. Before she knew what was going on she was several blocks away from the Presidential Palace. Apparently, her body didn't care if she still wanted to watch or not, and hauled her right out of there. An gigantic armored vehicle rumbled by on the avenue, probably toward the Palace, which was the exact opposite way she was going to go. People rushed about in every direction in panic. It was understandable, considering the comfortable lives they had been living had suddenly imploded in a hurricane of red coats.
She could hear the faint whirring of helicopter blades and watched as four sleek black helicopters rose into the sky. Many on the street stopped and stared after them, too. It was a clear sign that whatever coup had just taken place was a success.
Now what?
A woman down the street from her collapsed in sobbing. Grace decided that she wasn't going to follow suite and kept hurrying along away from the Palace.
There's a bit more, but it's very convoluted. I can't even figure out what I was meaning by half of it. It happens a lot. I know there was supposed to be something about Grace meeting the resisters, having their hideout raided and almost drowning, she somehow gets captured, tortured and turned into weapon, and only escapes after setting literally everything on fire. I kind of liked the idea of her being killed, but also reborn from both fire and water. I wanted to play with the symbology of water and fire, where the Usurper was the fire that burns everything away, and Grace is the water that returns life to the ashen wastes. I kind wish I had written down more, even if it was just notes.
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