Entries by date: Library (below) Oblivion (Oil on Canvas) Symphony Silent Otherworld and Ice Skating, Pt. 1: Feast Otherworld and Ice Skating, Pt. 2: Famine Sullivan Otherworld and Ice Skating, Pt. 3: Otherworld and Ice Skating Otherworld and Ice Skating, Pt. 4: Sunrise The Heartless Abstract Till Not a Trace Remains The Lay of the Old Wizards, Verse 1: The Oath The Lay of the Old Wizards, Verse 2: The Black Meadow Otherworld and Past in Flames, Pt. 1: Fragments Otherworld and Past in Flames, Pt. 2: Moss Otherworld and Past in Flames, Pt. 3: Otherworld and Past in Flames + Pt. 4: Spoke the Dragonfly The Lay of the Old Wizards, Verse 3: Trolls in the Dark Cyanide Pt. 2: Dialogue The Lay of the Old Wizards, Verse 4: Cave of Crystals Poison Born Life Imitates Art Human v1.1 A Change of Season The Lay of the Old Wizards, Verse 5: The Tunnels of Foal Mountain Of the Chrysalis Eater At the Gallery of Graves, Pt. 1: Document 927 The Killer's Coil Art Imitates Life The Lay of the Old Wizards, Verse 6: Water Dragon The Lay of the Old Wizards, Hidden Verse: Genesis The Lay of the Old Wizards, Verse 7: The Seed of Doubt The Lay of the Old Wizards, Verse 8: The Seed of Loathing The Lay of the Old Wizards, Verse 9: Full Circle The Man of Eyes The Lay of the Old Wizards: Nocturne Mooncastle The Lay of the Old Wizards, Verse 10: When All is Lost The Lay of the Old Wizards: The Divided Soul I Entries by storyline: Adding this to help keep track of what stories are currently running. Spoiler: Ouroboros Oblivion (Oil on Canvas) Till Not a Trace Remains Life Imitates Art Art Imitates Life Mooncastle [Author Unknown] At the Gallery of Graves, Pt. 1: Document 927 Spoiler: Reincarnation Of the Glass Corpse Otherworld and Ice Skating, Pt. 1: Feast Otherworld and Ice Skating, Pt. 2: Famine Otherworld and Ice Skating, Pt. 3: Otherworld and Ice Skating Otherworld and Ice Skating, Pt. 4: Sunrise Of the Walking Cloud The Heartless Abstract Poison Born [Quarantine] Cyanide Pt. 2: Dialogue Spoiler: The Lay of the Old Wizards Verse 1: The Oath Verse 2: The Black Meadow Verse 3: Trolls in the Dark Verse 4: Cave of Crystals Verse 5: The Tunnels of Foal Mountain Verse 6: Water Dragon Hidden Verse: Genesis Verse 7: The Seed of Doubt Verse 8: The Seed of Loathing Verse 9: Full Circle Nocturne Verse 10: When All is Lost The Divided Soul I Spoiler: Otherworld and Past in Flames Pt. 1: Fragments Pt. 2: Moss Pt. 3: Otherworld and Past in Flames + Pt. 4: Spoke the Dragonfly The Killer's Coil Spoiler: Metacognition The Man of Eyes Spoiler: Miscellaneous/Ungrouped Library Symphony Silent Sullivan Human v1.1 A Change of Season Of the Chrysalis Eater This probably won't be something I do often, but lately I've had this itch. Not sure where from. Must be the change in season or something. So here's my first real poem, which came to me on a whim just today. It's not meant to make a whole lot of sense... but cookies go out to those of you who can catch what I was thinking when I wrote it. Library As winter sun greets the amberian dawn Leaves' eyes awake the dark moor, Hear the wish in the night which brought forth morning light: "This land shall be orphaned no more!" Juvaliant falconer in sabaton gold Who slew the great troll of the mount, Is swept into heaven in glorious ascension, One star which shall never burn out! Like a sun caged the blind guardian, guardian Watches the theater of dreams; Seven the wonders of his great thought chamber, Through the dark waters they gleam! Oh! Sing me a rhapsody, rhapsody, Lest we forget your story! The hourglass ticks in the bare infinity Between the buried and me! Fantasia of Avalon, the forbidden symphony Echoing in heaven's tears, The faerie's theocracy inherits the legacy, Hakens the sound of the elvenking's fears! The winterhorde crushed beneath dragonland's fires Who will quell its great enmity? A sonata in snow which the angels all know Will deliver our world serenity! Like a sun caged the blind guardian, guardian Watches the theater of dreams; Seven the wonders of his great thought chamber, Through the dark waters they gleam! Oh! Sing me a rhapsody, rhapsody, Lest we forget your story! The hourglass ticks in the bare infinity Between the buried and me!
Part twooooo. It's been longer than I would've wanted but I'm back with a new poem. lol This one's a more serious piece, and I went with free verse this time. I figured without rhyme or meter to worry about I could focus more on laying out the concept itself. Hope y'all enjoy it. Once again, cookies go to those who can figure it out. I had quite a bit of fun with this one too. Oblivion (Oil On Canvas) Evening again. I spread a blanket wide onto the thirsty ground. The river is drier than normal tonight. Lying down I look up to the stars and wonder what they see. Hunger? Memory? Or perhaps a man who has made one too many mistakes... Another man died today, carved neatly in his bed as he lay alone, not so different from me. He lay calmly on his back with his arms at his sides as the deed was done, As though he had planned it all. It must have been joyous for such a plan to come together. And yet I fall apart... The years all seem a single moment, and the moments seem years. Perhaps it is good that I rest. I lie alone, with my goblet my only company. It has been faithful when I have not. It's cold tonight. Maybe I will get sick. Maybe I will not. Maybe that's all right. I take a sip of the elixir of forgetfulness. I will let my ghost do the sleeping. For now I must watch. Watch as the stars tell me a story I never knew. Of what was and what can never be. Wishing tomorrow could be yesterday again. I set sail onto a sea of candy. --- Midnight again. I smile and wave to my bitter enemy. His rotten skin greets me with the sweet scent of fine wine. Perhaps this is how it really happened. Every loathsome ounce of this grotesque being beckoned. Beckoned for help. For life. I think. His greeting and farewell were everything to me. For with one he killed my soul and with the other revived it. I wonder at how a match could survive in an ice box. If they shared a dream anything could be possible. It was possible. It was a dream we shared. I know. To the moon in a paper submarine I fly, leaving a trail of blood in my wake. It will not stay this way forever. There is always a cure. The past can be bleached. For from here I can change it all. I am. Reds turn to green. Blues turn to orange. And violets to yellow. You are. --- Morning. I wake to a blue sun in a pitch-black sky. The river has turned to stone. The stars have vanished, fearing the light. Or perhaps the light fears them. Or perhaps it fears me. Roulette. I should visit the casino today. A skeleton lays by my side. The skeleton of the man I used to know. On its back with its arms at its sides, just like me. It turns its head and smiles. This must be liberty.
New one... This one came from a certain news story I discovered earlier this week. I just found it so heart-wrenching I had to write about it. ;_; Symphony Silent Cannot close my eyes... my lips. A peak amid a valley Dry sand in pouring rains Swimming with the tides In and out... doldrums. Am I the only one who has a face? Joy, joy Watching them play endlessly The greatest show on earth Their songs that echo who I am... Alone. Cursed, cursed A lonely smoke figure Fading into night Blue eyes in blue water. A dead mirror. Gods, gods The fates they've spun for me to live A fable never heard Lost in barren soundscapes Am I alive? Tears, tears Invisible in the vast sea Cries inaudible By some grand failure Twisting, turning ladders To the thing they call despair. Will they heed my wish? I am only a singer... I am the only one without a face. Through it all I sing only silence. I hear but cannot answer. Crying out to the valleys From my highest peak... Silent... silent noise. A singer in a world of deaf ears. Tears unseen Songs unsung Wishes unheard. Lips unkissed. Sleep... I'll sleep now.
Funtime! This one is going to be a longer one so I'm writing and posting it in pieces. Presenting Part 1 of my latest mental excrement! Otherworld and Ice Skating Pt. 1: Feast A whisper in the dark. A scream from the sun. Razors, searing razors Tongues that pierce like arrows. Wretched mortal wounds blossoming in the sunlight A sight for all to see. Torn and tattered the red ribbons constrict from within. Lashing. Thrashing. Tearing every nerve, every inch. Heart forgetting its cadence. Like swimming in a poisoned sea This is the air she breathes. Dragging this corpse along every day. Ever a slave to symmetry. Breaking waves climb higher toward the sun A sight for all to see. (From behind) Chasing her for miles to her sanctuary. Over mountains. Across valleys. Grass sharpens to needles beneath her heels. The toxic words cling. Fire and water stealing her every breath She nearly crumbles to dust. The shelter is found. Symmetry is broken. Smelling her freedom below, she thrusts her hands into the dirt. A sight for none to see. What she has searched for... silence. Darkness. Black and cold. Shelter from the light, this hellish light. Throwing herself beneath she pulls the blanket over her. Scent of earth fills her nostrils. Void. No light, no air, no water. She has found her mind, here, away from it all. A feast for worms. Imagination
Part two. The story continues~ Otherworld and Ice Skating Pt. 2: Famine Eyes open to silence. Ears open to the dark. Still air, frozen air Hands desperately turning back time. In the corner the thinker watches. (Wherever it is he came from... no one seems to know these days.) The grand banquet is beginning again. Clocks decorate the walls. Each one with a name and date. Special, alive... the clocks watch themselves in the mirrors Wishing, pleading for their hands to turn once more. (Once more in the wrong direction) A tear will be shed for one of them... for the only one that is remembered. With a heavy sigh she takes her seat. Her breath still reeks of outside. The mirror gallery stares back, greeting her with broken smiles. (Broken miles) Painstakingly she begins to merge the images, all the panes of glass becoming one. The clocks, the wishes, the mossy memories. (If only that bird were here) She struggles to remember them... the images, their faces. Hands desperately turning back time. For all comfort lies in fantasy. This face she feels was close to her once... a heart she once held close to her own. The tear is shed. It must be here... it must be. The mirror reveals nothing... A jigsaw puzzle with no solution. Nothing... the faces are all forgotten, lost. (Devoured) Ghosts, beheaded ghosts, dining on dust. Loneliness... longing... a face she needs to call her own. A new clock is needed. A new memory. A new fantasy... for fantasy is her only comfort. A new fantasy, a new comfort. (The ghosts weep. But they are unheard in the silence, this expertly sculpted silence.) The room is prepared, the table set. Come in, sit down, enjoy the meal. (In the corner the thinker speaks.) Can you? Will you? Put yourself through it all again You tear your brain open wide And every word, every idea is gnashed to pieces. Never forget. Never remember. It has all happened before... Death will always come again. End it all. (Comfort is only a fantasy...)
This one randomly came up tonight, so I had to write it down before it was lost. It's amazing what sleep deprivation can do. Sullivan Fire burning within ice Awake within the nightmare Cat chased by restless mice Black eyes from the shadow stare. This creeping gaze I feel Is it god or devil? The sleepless nights in doubt The gripping days I feel Thrashing in and out. Had enough of this... It's time to turn the wheel. (Gouge these eyes from their sockets. A little glue and some foil... The optometrist surely wouldn't mind.) Mirror, mirror, on the wall Scan from east to west, Mirror, mirror, show me all Show my uninvited guest. Eyes that watch my own. Step for step he follows my every move. Tried to hide as he might And watch me from his nest, Now he is under my satellite I'll put this ghost to rest. (Black eyes from within. Let us see who is better at this game.)
Thanks, you two. I was starting to wonder whether people really read these. ^_^ More or less, yes. I don't write them in one go, though. Sometimes I stew on them for days before I get my thoughts coherent enough to be words. lol
I used to write poems when I was depressed in middle school. Maybe I should start again. These are great, Kelly. Really.
A lot of the things I write come from personal experience or emotion, truthfully. I certainly wouldn't wish for you to go back to being depressed (lol), but sometimes the best inspiration does come when you've got nothing else to chew on but your own brain. Which is why most of my poems revolve around themes of introspection and such. Except for "Library" and "Sullivan" of course. Those two are just meant to be silly. And now, part next. This one's getting near the end. Otherworld and Ice Skating Pt. 3: Otherworld and Ice Skating A whisper in the dark. A scream from the sun. Past or future? Has the end begun? The dusty stone walls crack, and water pours in. The sound of spring floods her veins. (Sound of a new beating heart.) Start from scratch. Turn the gears. Skull shattered, overflowing... Lose your fears. (Open your eyes and dream.) A warmth she has never felt. From outside and within. She lets the branches climb out from her bleeding neck. They reach, twisting, weaving a road to the sky A road bathed in glistening starlight. Across the waters this symphony stretches Striding the waves on its crystal vines Its flowers tickle the sea creatures, and it sings To the walkers of grass and the winged things. Is this life? Is this purpose? The path behind lies broken and torn. Gentle light gleams from above. Has true freedom been found? Here, with the world turned upside-down? Backwards highway, inverted mass All is unbound from the grave of the sun The world is calm, and her true self she feels Dancing on the frost beneath her heels. Moon and stars, night-lights illuminating this heart Which had forgotten what it means to feel special, alive. No more fear. No more symmetry. A new comfort. A new fantasy. (A new clock turns... once more in the wrong direction.)
And the scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold... This is the final part of "Otherworld and Ice Skating". Hope y'all enjoyed it. Edit: Herp, just realized the last line was left out. Fix'd. Otherworld and Ice Skating Pt. 4: Sunrise Never forget. Never remember. Never recreate. (The thinker writes.) For every new life, a new journey. For every rebirth, a sacrifice. For every feast, a famine. For every fantasy, a funeral. A new sky woven of glass. Moon-kissed spider silk Speckled with sapphire bloom and twinkling of stars. A spectacle like no other. (As far as we remember.) This is what grew from her fertile soil. In an empty universe, a song of herself. More of herself to grow. This throat produces the fibers. Stretch on as far as they can reach. Let no boundary lie uncrossed. Let all souls know she is one of them... Let her be heard. (This carries on through the night. A new creature appears to have heard her.) Her quest for understanding has led to something. Now knowing herself, she will be known to another. (Is this what she has sought?) A mind greater than the creatures she has built for herself. Fantasy is made real. Flowers kiss the edge of the sky. The moonlight grows brighter, more intense. More acidic. The frozen sky begins to crack. (Something gone horribly wrong.) A blue blossom is ripped from its vine. The ice chips. So critically this blossom is examined. It tries its best to explain itself. In it exists no symmetry. In it exists no purpose. Destroy it, reduce it to nothing. (Fantasy has no place here.) A red flower blooms in its place... Backwards growth, petals biting into the branch. It eats and tears. Eats, eats, eats... a hunger that knows no fill. Blossom after blossom is transposed. The branches wince and wither. Gravity is remembered, the ice shattered. The headless shoulders lose their balance... Crystal fear. The midnight sky turns. Sound the dirge. (The clock grinds to a halt.) (The thinker speaks.) The miller demands four lands. The library produces only three. (The throat runs dry, the fibers wilt. It is happening again.) Hands hopelessly turning back time. Who is it that can hold back the rise of the sun? Who is it that melted the city of stone, the city of perfect silence? I see fangs bared in the sky--your fangs. Your fears, your past. Your future. The choice was yours to make. A whisper in the dark. A scream from the sun. More of yourself to kill. (This fate you have chosen. Forever is a long, long time.)
Moar! Something tells me I'm starting to do this too often lol. *bored at home all the time* This one could be a story in itself, or it could be the start of a second little series. I haven't decided yet. The Heartless Abstract Towers of steel stretch from darkness into darkness, Woven together by tangled webs of gold. They weave themselves into spheres around the pillars And undulate like threads cast in the ocean. (An unguided railroad glowing with some kind of energy. This light gives form to the machine shop.) It begins its journey the same as all others. Pure and formless, its mold chosen by a roll of dice, Knowing no experience but the shrieking of the machine gods. The liquid soul flows and tumbles through pipe and gutter. Unknown ordeals, sculpted by voices without tongues. (Soil too fresh to hold roots. Flight through time in vain.) (Awareness catches up to the foundry's creations.) A scene foreign and familiar somehow. The grinding of gears wails in the distance. Voices are barking commands. (Growing closer. The words become understood.) Conveyor belts reach in and out from the nothingness. Golden ropes envelop machines which rip and tear. Shred and burn. Smash and stretch. Contortion of steel by cosmic jaws. Wretched cries of terror and agony, the music of heaven. Cogs turned. Hearts burned. Wires gnawed through to the core. (It is not uncommon for them to break in this process.) Ash fills the air, an audience for the concert. Life in its purest form. A soul shudders and scoffs. Whether out of fear or scorn, it cannot tell. It condemns itself to elude the engines of fate, To cover its ears to the potter's voice. (Who wants to play the hero in a tragedy anyway?) Tripwires snipped, razors dodged. The spit-soaked coal surrenders nothing to the torch. This waltz it continues till the factory releases it, A waltz to the wailing of its clones. (A dancer among the burning metal. Iron and fear. The next shipment is soon ordered.) And a cloud sails forth, cast into the sea of space. Time turns its wheels. Sparks and stray blades drift among the dust-walkers. Marching like ants, their iron bodies are grazed by the factory refuse. (A common occurrence as they go on with their routines. They do not seem to be bothered by this.) The mist weaves itself around them, with no flesh to scar. A coarse net to plankton, living a routine of its own rhythm. (Waltz is the only march it knows... its only legacy from the foundry.) Contrast of mist and iron bodies. It begins to wonder. Is it one of them? Is it the only one of its kind? Slipped between the gods' fingers. (It thought trials were meant to be survived.) Liquid soul to mist instead of metal. It watches itself through the telescope, Reviews the pictures contained in the minds of its clones Analyzing its matter from a distance. Revelation washes over it. (Spoken by a voice it recognizes.) Grinding of gears, heartbeat of steel life. Weeping and gnashing of teeth. The fires we grow, the clockwork of our own construction. Machines and minds which forge each other. The raven delivers it a gold thread. Propelling itself from the grasping flames, an experiment it performed out of selfishness As though it sought to guide the rails. Here souls march, while it dances. A breach of the natural order, existence. Dances on and on, drifting as dust amongst the dust-walkers. And so it wanders. Life in its most tainted form. Walking cloud, the unforged, a failed hypothesis. Walking dead.
So get this: The other day when I was out driving, I saw a pair of shoes at a bus stop. No one in them, just a pair of shoes. That got me thinking, "What are those doing there? How'd they get there? Did someone just leave them?" And naturally the thought followed, "I wonder if they're going somewhere." And that's what inspired this one. Enjoy. Till Not a Trace Remains Bathing in the city starlights Leather lotus-eaters. Waiting for the iron chariot to take us away. Escaped from the mad butcher, time twister, god of the whatever. (Who are we kidding--he's just a painter.) But his toxic memory clings to our stained souls. Denied the snake's kiss, this may be our only way out. The chariot has come. (It was late again, but what choice did we have but to wait?) We toss the driver a few coins and take our seats. The wagon is crowded but luckily we are small. We cannot see the scenery as the ride goes on But we know when we are there. The lights and noise are unmistakable. Slipping in behind the man with the suit and cane. No one notices us at first. But once inside, it seems we have become the center of attention. (Cannot let this bother us. We must carry on with our objective.) The floor is ours. All lights are on us. The maestro quips something and laughs. He begins playing us a special tune. The sound is deafening, lights are blaring, But somehow our heart is at ease. (This is what we have come for.) The atmosphere begins to move us from within. Obsession. Wobsession. Machine-gun sonic contortion. The heart stops and starts with the broken music. Dancing like robots for the doctors. (Something we've seen on TV once or twice. We hope we're doing it right.) Like nothing we've felt before, The tentacles sway to and fro, bringing our bodies with them. (We no longer have to do any thinking... let the music do the thinking for us.) Dancing like brain-dead fishes on the sand. The crowd is enthralled. Soon they join us. It is true we have come here For nothing but ourselves. But should we have continued to live Silently watching the fires of hell; Watching the world run by us For as long as we could tell, Bearing witness to the master's atrocities As naught but empty shells? (It is as though we feel some responsibility. The stain on our souls is proof.) And so on we dance and dance, No matter how selfish the gains. We are creatures of leather and lace Breaking away from past pains. Dancing to the mechanical noise, Dancing to wash away our stains; Dancing for a final peace of mind, Dancing till not a trace...
Hey guys! Did you know this is a pony site? 'Cause I didn't. In honor of this new discovery I've decided to write one about ponies. This one began as a question about our friend King Sombra. He was a pretty evil dude, right? Well, I started to ask myself how someone that evil could have ended up in power over the Crystal Empire in the first place. This is part 1 of the answer I came up with: Introducing The Lay of the Old Wizards. Enjoy it! The Lay of the Old Wizards Verse 1: The Oath (A certain scar on the heart of the wise one. Some wounds never heal. Memory is a painful burden to bear And yet we bear it all the same. In this world, we have no choice... Be heard.) Princess of unicorns, mother of magic Her Highness issues a grand decree: This land is young, and its mysteries numerous. Powers which endanger our tribes three, Lie in slumber, lie undisturbed, But our new presence may yet set them free. Go forth, great wizards, and seal these lost relics; Protect this, our new kingdom of harmony. (The blue wizard speaks.) Your Highness, pray tell me what you would have me do. Your orders are just and good; But magic in this land is so different from our old, For for centuries in silence it hath stood. Your Highness, I have trekked through mire and bog, Through meadow and mountain and wood; To control the magic I have seen in these places Only I, the greatest of wizards, possibly could. (The black wizard speaks.) And are we to simply believe that thou art such a great wizard? Certainly thou must jest! Tell me, great wizard, hast thou perhaps heard That arrogance doth not make thee best? This is a mission of honor and wisdom Not some frivolous glory quest. Meet your challenge with some humility, brother, Let actions--not words--show thou art better than the rest. (The grey wizard speaks.) Quiet before the princess, my brothers! Listen and do as you are told! We have been called here to serve a royal duty, And yet you bicker like foals! Your Highness, begging your pardon, we hear what you have decreed, To search for these relics of old; We shall do as you say to protect our new lands, For peace is more precious than gold. (The red wizard speaks.) Truth be told, my brothers, eagerness is only natural. This is no mean feat out of leisure. Any wizard could simply decide To scour the lands for treasure. But we have been chosen, as four out of thousands, An honor that is without measure; A duty appointed by our unicorn princess! Let us make haste--to serve her is our pleasure. (All.) Your Highness, we hereby undertake this oath To guard these lands with hearts true, For earth and sky and magic beyond Hath given us this task to see through. The three tribes as one, this peace to preserve We know what we must do; For peace, for love, for harmony, In your great name we swear this to you.
The adventure begins! The party travels north to the first of the magical disturbances the blue wizard has recorded: the plains to the north of Rambling Rock Ridge. Using a neck of the woods that stretches around the ridge, they journey from the royal palace to the north and then turn northeast. (Geography of this story is based on this map. The palace the wizards departed from is labeled "ruins" in the Everfree Forest because that is where the Palace of the Royal Pony Sisters originally was.) The Lay of the Old Wizards Verse 2: The Black Meadow (Having made their preparations, the first destination is chosen. Shadows which twist and turn by forces unseen blanket the sky Shielding the land from the princess' light. Seek and subdue.) Setting out at the rise of the sun, Four wizards on holy princess' mission. Reaching the forests of the north of their land A shadow appears in their guide's vision. (The blue wizard speaks.) My brothers, I have been to this region before. A relic is certainly near. From here you can see, northeast beyond the trees, A meadow in darkness most queer: A darkness which heedeth not the rise of the sun And cloaketh the land all the year. My brothers, be wary what this shadow may hide; Foul creatures make their homes here. The blue-clad leader steppeth forth from the trees, The dawn from the east shining bright, Not fearing the dark, pride in every step, Toward this meadow of eternal night. His companions follow him into the open: The grey one casteth a light, And the red and the black turn their eyes toward the sun, Step by step, watching it vanish from sight. (The black wizard speaks.) A meadow of darkness against our forest of light-- Sister, what dost thou think? This is no magic I hath seen before, Which turneth the sky black as ink. (The red wizard speaks.) A darkness spell is one possibility, For this is not the first I have seen of such a thing. But to cover so great an area at once, And to--my brother, your light! It is fading! Grey wizard's horn, once aglow with a spell To banish the darkness beyond Now groweth dim, consumed by the shadow, Its azure fadeth till finally gone. (The grey wizard speaks.) A darkness which douseth the forces of light? Nay, this is no ordinary spell. Brother, since thou hast been here before What of this darkness canst thou tell? The sun which we know from our homeland can shine Over mountain and forest and dell, But what is it of this meadow we see That covereth it like a shell? (The blue wizard speaks.) I do not know yet, I fear, my brother. And that is what we must find, For this darkness may threaten our young kingdom With a magic of unknown kind. (The red wizard speaks.) If it doth spread, and the sun which our princess Raiseth doth vanish from the sky, Eternity in darkness--with no light for our farms, Our kingdom shall wither and die. (The blue wizard speaks.) Indeed, my sister, and that is what our princess feareth. Now come, we must make our way. (The black wizard speaks.) For we must find and seal the source of this darkness If this meadow shall ever again see day. (The wizards widen their eyes to the dark. A pale landscape fades into view, Waves of dust-colored grass. They march forth, treading lightly on the lifeless ground. Eyes in the night follow.)
Knock knock. Who's there? Interrupting story. This one started as a joke on a chat I frequent (making it the second time this has happened, lol), about a writer so unlucky that anything he tried to write would burst into flames. Which got me thinking, how and why would that happen? The answer I put together also served as a convenient tie-in to my existing story. Presenting a new Otherworld story: Past in Flames! Otherworld and Past in Flames Pt. 1: Fragments Every time I close my eyes I see graves. The visions of that day haunt me every hour Gripping and tearing what is left of this weary mind. Cannot live this way for much longer. Is peace only a dream? Words are written. Create a happy diversion from the thorned tendrils which strangle this heart. A little lost dog playing games with wild animals, A snake and a bird... creatures familiar to me somehow. (What a comfortable thought that they would get along.) They will embark on a long journey, but will not travel far. Yes, an ideal children's tale. The dog, distraught from having lost its master, Curls up and lies in the woods. A bird and a snake come to meet it and they become friends. This new company brings our character some comfort And they run and play amongst the autumn leaves. Now spending time with these creatures of the woods, He takes a journey into what it means to be free. Though not far from home, he learns much of his inner character. Or something like that. (No! It's all wrong!) Voices pound in my head. The ideas swirl inside me and take on a character I cannot unwrite. (Wake into my world! Crack the sky with anger!) Trees snap like twigs beneath its weight. Unrelenting force, unseen crushing pistons. Gravity grinds its teeth on my dreams! This bleak resonance... deformation of my soul. Fragments are shredded and scattered Flung to the furthest reaches of space. Celestial decapitation. (Teeth and claws from ashen past.) The pages turn to flames beneath the pen. LOST RENEWAL. Ink and thought betray me a dozen times more Surrendering to the flames. Am I to become one of them? A slave to this thought-curse, doomed to burn as my every dream? Must end it... must create new life. (In the corner the thinker speaks.) cyanide
Thanks again man. I'm glad you feel that way. <3 Well, sort of. It definitely wasn't my intention to make anyone's work look shameful. XD It's all a matter of inspiration, at least to me. If you do decide to pick up writing again, just write from the heart. It's what makes poetry so much easier for me than prose. lol And speaking of inspiration, here's the latest from our favorite accidental pyromaniac--as well as a certain other character we've been waiting to meet. Sorta. Otherworld and Past in Flames Pt. 2: Moss Awake in a field of flowers. Is this the same dream? Standing up I turn and observe my surroundings. Lush, grassy hills in every direction Dotted by the colorful petals. (A sight never seen before. This is certainly not reality.) A lone tree stands on a hill far behind me. I feel some connection of spirit. Drawn toward the horizon on a yarn, My neck turned by some unseen cog, This tree watches my clumsy approach. Tripping over my own breath. (As I come near it it seems to tell me its name.) And what shall I say to it? Shall I answer "Sir, yes, sir" as I always have? It asks me a question I did not anticipate: A charred cartridge falls from the branches, and I am left to my own thoughts. (The smell of uncertainty fills the air.) Gazing up into the leaves I spy a figure in black. (I see now... the voice I heard from this tree belonged to it.) It stares back from behind its beak, feathers rustling gently in the breeze. Did it bring this for me? How did it find this? (Keeper of roads long since traversed, Buried and overgrown. Watcher from behind the setting sun. Time drifter on an unending journey.) What is it? What am I? These answers and more now in my hand. The raven is silent, watching the memories as they come flooding back. The ashes form words in my brain. It is all remembered, the hatred I felt back then: Life and limb destroyed in the name of blindness, Discarded ethics, devoured hopes. Deadly gnawing sin. (All this in the name of a cause I cannot explain. But this cartridge knows it... it remembers.) My reflection now in this raven's shining eyes. This must be the message it was brought here to give me. Memories carved in stone which lay dormant, Sleeping till covered by the moss of time. This past returns, to tell me who I was and who I must be. Every time I close my eyes I see graves. I know what is left for me to do. (Unhallowed resurrection. Let the unburial begin.)
And it's over! Well, not really. It's never over. But hope you enjoyed it anyway. The fourth and final part of this arc is included in this post because it's short. Otherworld and Past in Flames Pt. 3: Otherworld and Past in Flames The ashes fill the room, the cartridge fills my hand. My final scrap of paper. (A new greeting from the world I had nearly forgotten.) This time I will write the words I was meant to write, for no other words remain. I have tried them all already... A discussion with the man from that day: From the window the raven will guide these fingers. They are soon upon me. (As expected, as they have been chasing this culprit for years.) I stand before their piercing gaze with everything to lose. A familiar scent creeps up my nostrils. The fear is made real before my eyes: Can this truth be laid bare? Echoes ringing through in my voice, The hands which held true hate for themselves. (They say it is the greatest of the horrors... an infectious disease.) Ashes which concealed the truth, Ashes which coated the grim vector like oil to the grip, Finally swept up in the wind. (This could have gone on forever... what was I thinking?) As tongues of fire lick up straw and as dry grass sinks down in the flames, So their roots will decay and their flowers blow away like dust. (These words... my words... deliver me my own judgment.) Knowing this penalty and with only the swing of a gavel between it and me... My throat turns to stone. Stained glass windows, funhouse mirrors, tinted lenses. I construct the grandest tapestry memory will allow. (Evidence is limited... I consider this a blessing at last.) Fill in the cracked concrete with mustard, For a life of graves is a life nonetheless. Pt. 4: Spoke the Dragonfly Eyes seeing only the pages of memory, Vision unbent by the lies spoken before them. True sight, the gift of reading the hearts of the guilty: Words may err, people may deceive, Evidence may contradict the facts; But the heart will always speak the truth. For nothing speaks the truth more loudly than the will to lie. A legion of severed limbs reaches up from the blackened soil. (It was that bird... that damned bird!) Should I fight to repel the grasping claws? It is futile... All is as it should be... futile... Release. (The fisherman awaits.)
