I just thought of the first stanza and I think it's worthy of its own post, to the point of me making a poem FROM the first stanza.
There's a chill I feel
From an unknown spell;
The first cold night
In the heart of Hell.
The Devil comes,
Run far away
For the heat comes back
In tomorrow's day.
I thank you much
For the gift you gave
To the poor souls
You could not save.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Before-Birthday Post!
The story's pretty much titled Harder Than Diamond, but take what you will from it.
I saw him in the corner of the restaurant, leaning on a wall and staring at me. Inconsequential now, but we were in a cheap Chinese place, all-white walls with some paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The guy wasn’t seated, wasn’t eating. Only staring. I strolled on over to that corner, looked at him, and looked away.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“A man,” he said.
“I guessed as much. What’s your name?”
“Benjamin Dukeman.”
“Nice try. I know your initials now, but not who you are.”
“A white-collar, working-class man. I fill a certain niche.”
“Professional spy, among other things.”
“You’re intelligent, sir.”
“The honorific there to cover your ass?”
“Instinct.”
“Of course. Why did you call me here?”
“I didn’t. The Organization did, but I know what you meant.” He paused.
“Am I going to get an answer?”
“You should already know, but just in case, there’s a large object that’s been found thirty miles away. We think it’s a new mineral, harder than diamond. We’ve got to stop Them from taking it.”
“And we start now?”
“No. We eat first.”
I ordered sweet and sour pork: inexpensive, tasty, and satisfying. The man who called himself Benjamin only had dumplings with soy sauce. We strolled outside into the noon sun, yet a shiver ran down my arms and spine. I could tell something bad would happen shortly, and that I’d be around to see it. Typical for a member of a syndicate such as my own.
Between our syndicate, called the Organization, and the other one, who we called Them or It, every single developed nation in the world was controlled, syndicate members pulling strings and presidents or dictators moving in response. Dennis wasn’t exactly higher-ranked than me because we had different specializations: my job was to keep silence and decrease suspicion, while his was to find important people, and sometimes even capture them. A dangerous man, but so was I.
“You seem simple, Ben,” I said.
“Small talk is certainly not a bad idea, but something I don’t want to listen to.”
“I said you seem simple. You’re a little deeper than I think you are, but you’re proving me right.”
“There’s nothing simple when we’re caught up in something this big. We don’t even exist when you forget the ‘you’ and the ‘me’. It’s ‘us’, or ‘we’. It’s serious, deadly so.”
“How far do we have to go, anyway?”
“We’ll be there in about two minutes.”
We finished the walk in silence. I was glad for it—Dennis said a lot for me to chew on. By the time we arrived, we had each put on our sunglasses, which kept the sun at bay and hid our eyes from anybody wanting to know our emotions. Precautions come easy in the syndicate business, after all.
“It’s not like we’re in disputed territory: we’re in upstate New York. This is an Organization country, plain and simple,” I said.
“Lines for countries aren’t drawn on the ground. What’s to stop Them from coming here?”
“Do we even have a plan for this material?”
“Not my position to know. We’ll learn at the same time, if we ever learn at all. We’re just here to stop something big from happening.”
“It’s going to happen. I can feel it.”
“Then we’d best be on our guard.”
Our path meandered off the sidewalk, until it was going directly away from the street. A massive crater had been dug in the ground about 200 paces from the road with a massive shining mineral in the center.
“This is what we guard? What’s it even called?” I asked.
“No independent scientists have gotten word of this thing, so there’s no name yet.”
“Makes sense.”
A slightly overweight man of about 40 walked over to us from where he had been staring at the diggers trying to uncover the entire mineral. He said, “Thank God you’ve arrived. They will be here soon to interfere. Your weapons are in these briefcases. You each get a Desert Eagle, two fragmentation grenades, and a sniper rifle. Hopefully you won’t have to use them.” He walked away.
“We will,” I said to Dennis. “Ben, why don’t you position yourself past the edge of the hole, so that you can’t be shot at easily? I’ll be following the overseer. Ben?” He already taken his briefcase and gone to where I had suggested. I sighed.
Clouds started to gather around the area, falling to the ground as a dense fog. I found infrared goggles in the case, too, so I put them on and made a connection between them and my eye implant so that I could get a better interface. I moved over to Dennis’ position before staring through the scope. The unnatural clouds were obviously a product of the members of It who planned on taking this mineral. I turned around to look down at the crystal itself. How would they steal it, anyway?
“Run, Ben! Get out of this hole!”
“What? Why?”
I sprinted up the ramp that had been dug, throwing myself into a nearby ditch. When Dennis got there, he asked again.
“They plan on destroying everything around it. They assume that the mineral is durable enough to withstand explosives. Those clouds provide suitable moisture to keep the mineral compact when the explosives go off. I don’t know how that’s supposed to work.”
I stared upward, seeing a beam of light pivot before pointing at the mineral in the crater. A voice called, “This is an assault by the Prime. Expect no survivors, for we plan to keep what we take.”
Quickly, I took a shot with the sniper rifle at the light’s source. A body fell and could be seen falling in line with the shaft of light until it hit the mineral. I heard the crack from a hundred feet away.
“You have been spotted, enemy,” the voice called again. “Today will be the day you die.”
I took out my Desert Eagle and turned to Dennis. He stared at me with the megaphone in his hand. Dropping the megaphone, he quickly unsheathed a knife.
“I’ve been following you, Dennis, for three years. I’ve witnessed some of your crimes. Being a double agent is simple. Being a triple agent takes serious work. You will answer me on who the third group is.”
“Higher beings. Aliens.”
“Lies.” I turned further and shot him in the wrist. He didn’t drop the knife; he dropped his entire forearm. His face twisted in rage as he pulled out a knife with his other hand.
“You think someone in my position is not ambidextrous?” he shouted.
“You’re dying as we speak. It’s a bad sign that you can’t feel the pain, which means your body has temporarily shut that out. It’ll be worse than ever when you feel it, if I give you the time to do so. You have already gone insane. There’s only one place you can call asylum, and that’s the grave.”
He snarled and swung his knife at me. I caught it with the gun, which I then pointed at his face and fired. Blood stained my clothes. A pity; they had been expensive to purchase. The Primes wouldn’t like how I had been wasteful.
I saw him in the corner of the restaurant, leaning on a wall and staring at me. Inconsequential now, but we were in a cheap Chinese place, all-white walls with some paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The guy wasn’t seated, wasn’t eating. Only staring. I strolled on over to that corner, looked at him, and looked away.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“A man,” he said.
“I guessed as much. What’s your name?”
“Benjamin Dukeman.”
“Nice try. I know your initials now, but not who you are.”
“A white-collar, working-class man. I fill a certain niche.”
“Professional spy, among other things.”
“You’re intelligent, sir.”
“The honorific there to cover your ass?”
“Instinct.”
“Of course. Why did you call me here?”
“I didn’t. The Organization did, but I know what you meant.” He paused.
“Am I going to get an answer?”
“You should already know, but just in case, there’s a large object that’s been found thirty miles away. We think it’s a new mineral, harder than diamond. We’ve got to stop Them from taking it.”
“And we start now?”
“No. We eat first.”
I ordered sweet and sour pork: inexpensive, tasty, and satisfying. The man who called himself Benjamin only had dumplings with soy sauce. We strolled outside into the noon sun, yet a shiver ran down my arms and spine. I could tell something bad would happen shortly, and that I’d be around to see it. Typical for a member of a syndicate such as my own.
Between our syndicate, called the Organization, and the other one, who we called Them or It, every single developed nation in the world was controlled, syndicate members pulling strings and presidents or dictators moving in response. Dennis wasn’t exactly higher-ranked than me because we had different specializations: my job was to keep silence and decrease suspicion, while his was to find important people, and sometimes even capture them. A dangerous man, but so was I.
“You seem simple, Ben,” I said.
“Small talk is certainly not a bad idea, but something I don’t want to listen to.”
“I said you seem simple. You’re a little deeper than I think you are, but you’re proving me right.”
“There’s nothing simple when we’re caught up in something this big. We don’t even exist when you forget the ‘you’ and the ‘me’. It’s ‘us’, or ‘we’. It’s serious, deadly so.”
“How far do we have to go, anyway?”
“We’ll be there in about two minutes.”
We finished the walk in silence. I was glad for it—Dennis said a lot for me to chew on. By the time we arrived, we had each put on our sunglasses, which kept the sun at bay and hid our eyes from anybody wanting to know our emotions. Precautions come easy in the syndicate business, after all.
“It’s not like we’re in disputed territory: we’re in upstate New York. This is an Organization country, plain and simple,” I said.
“Lines for countries aren’t drawn on the ground. What’s to stop Them from coming here?”
“Do we even have a plan for this material?”
“Not my position to know. We’ll learn at the same time, if we ever learn at all. We’re just here to stop something big from happening.”
“It’s going to happen. I can feel it.”
“Then we’d best be on our guard.”
Our path meandered off the sidewalk, until it was going directly away from the street. A massive crater had been dug in the ground about 200 paces from the road with a massive shining mineral in the center.
“This is what we guard? What’s it even called?” I asked.
“No independent scientists have gotten word of this thing, so there’s no name yet.”
“Makes sense.”
A slightly overweight man of about 40 walked over to us from where he had been staring at the diggers trying to uncover the entire mineral. He said, “Thank God you’ve arrived. They will be here soon to interfere. Your weapons are in these briefcases. You each get a Desert Eagle, two fragmentation grenades, and a sniper rifle. Hopefully you won’t have to use them.” He walked away.
“We will,” I said to Dennis. “Ben, why don’t you position yourself past the edge of the hole, so that you can’t be shot at easily? I’ll be following the overseer. Ben?” He already taken his briefcase and gone to where I had suggested. I sighed.
Clouds started to gather around the area, falling to the ground as a dense fog. I found infrared goggles in the case, too, so I put them on and made a connection between them and my eye implant so that I could get a better interface. I moved over to Dennis’ position before staring through the scope. The unnatural clouds were obviously a product of the members of It who planned on taking this mineral. I turned around to look down at the crystal itself. How would they steal it, anyway?
“Run, Ben! Get out of this hole!”
“What? Why?”
I sprinted up the ramp that had been dug, throwing myself into a nearby ditch. When Dennis got there, he asked again.
“They plan on destroying everything around it. They assume that the mineral is durable enough to withstand explosives. Those clouds provide suitable moisture to keep the mineral compact when the explosives go off. I don’t know how that’s supposed to work.”
I stared upward, seeing a beam of light pivot before pointing at the mineral in the crater. A voice called, “This is an assault by the Prime. Expect no survivors, for we plan to keep what we take.”
Quickly, I took a shot with the sniper rifle at the light’s source. A body fell and could be seen falling in line with the shaft of light until it hit the mineral. I heard the crack from a hundred feet away.
“You have been spotted, enemy,” the voice called again. “Today will be the day you die.”
I took out my Desert Eagle and turned to Dennis. He stared at me with the megaphone in his hand. Dropping the megaphone, he quickly unsheathed a knife.
“I’ve been following you, Dennis, for three years. I’ve witnessed some of your crimes. Being a double agent is simple. Being a triple agent takes serious work. You will answer me on who the third group is.”
“Higher beings. Aliens.”
“Lies.” I turned further and shot him in the wrist. He didn’t drop the knife; he dropped his entire forearm. His face twisted in rage as he pulled out a knife with his other hand.
“You think someone in my position is not ambidextrous?” he shouted.
“You’re dying as we speak. It’s a bad sign that you can’t feel the pain, which means your body has temporarily shut that out. It’ll be worse than ever when you feel it, if I give you the time to do so. You have already gone insane. There’s only one place you can call asylum, and that’s the grave.”
He snarled and swung his knife at me. I caught it with the gun, which I then pointed at his face and fired. Blood stained my clothes. A pity; they had been expensive to purchase. The Primes wouldn’t like how I had been wasteful.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Halloween post!
Were you eagerly awaiting this? Well, you probably shouldn't have been. In any case, a very happy (or spooOOOOooky) Halloween!
So, I'm gonna attach a preface to this for a few reasons. First, a preface makes any piece of writing seem more important than it would be without. Second of all, I can explain the plot of this story in two sentences, and it's unpleasant. A guy goes up onto a mountain alone. He gets hypothermia and starts seeing stuff before he finally dies. There's a poem at the end explaining it, so if you want to read it (I don't see why you would, since it's average as far as poems go and only reiterates what I just said) you may. If you'd rather not read this haunting story, wait until tomorrow since I guess I'm obliged to post something then.
All he could feel was the bitter cold, eating away at him. He thought about where he was, thoughts drifting through the vast space the cold had left in his mind. Breathing slowly, his breath almost crystallizing when it hit the icy air, he pondered why he had bothered climbing this mountain alone.
At 22,000 feet up, most storm clouds should have been far below him, but he saw them form all around, encompassing him in a dark gray. Tendrils of fog detached themselves from the main body, whipping around, feeling him. The man shuddered at the touch, backing up into a mass of cloud. The cold darkness enveloped him; he tried to scream but the sound was drowned in immense thunder roaring everywhere. He was nowhere, he was nobody, he was nothing.
Lightning cracked around him, screaming at the foreigner in its midst, striking him, striking through him. He felt as though he was on fire. He was on fire. No, that was just his mind running wild again. Was this even here? Where was he? Who was he? Why was he? Were those eyes he saw in the mass of clouds?
The man inhaled again, after what felt like hours. He began to choke, suffocate on the ice that had pulled itself inside him. His blood was freezing in his veins as shadows started dancing around him, chanting, screeching with the wind while the thunder roared and the lightning screamed. Light began shining through the clouds, eating them, devouring until there was nothing but harsh cold light with lightning still striking and thunder everywhere.
Where the lightning had not burned and scarred him, the strange light did. It provided him no warmth, only more suffering. The shadows he had seen, the eyes, ran around him cackling madly, shouting curses upon his name, his family, everything of his. They were from the fog, its spawn, feeling him gently before scratching, ripping his eyes and tongue out while he held onto his throat, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come past the ice. His nose didn’t work; he was trapped.
Poking him viciously, the creatures grinned and picked him up. One took a knife, and started removing his fingers and toes, then hands and feet, arms, legs. He tried to fight the cold, fight the fog, fight his inner will to let go. He fought for breath, struggled to move but there was nothing to move anymore, no more besides his head and torso now. He felt warm blood trickling down his face, into his gaping, decaying mouth.
As his charred, bleeding body froze, his flesh rotted and his insides melted. A slight cut on his neck broadened into an abyss he was falling into, flailing with arms and legs he didn’t have for a grip that wasn’t there. Further into his mind he drove himself, trying to avoid the pain and destruction that tore him to pieces outside.
The man found that inside was no better, for everything in his mind was starting to decay, too, sickly and deformed from the touch of the fog. He found himself chained to a table, so firmly held a prisoner in his own mind, incapable of suicide in a place where that should have been the easiest thing to do. Coming up to him, the fog offered one small final mercy. Putting one hand on his jaw and the other near his sternum, the creature lunged for his throat.
I feel you there,
I feel the cold,
I feel the darkness
Taking hold.
I can’t see you,
I don’t know why
I feel this warmth.
I die.
So, I'm gonna attach a preface to this for a few reasons. First, a preface makes any piece of writing seem more important than it would be without. Second of all, I can explain the plot of this story in two sentences, and it's unpleasant. A guy goes up onto a mountain alone. He gets hypothermia and starts seeing stuff before he finally dies. There's a poem at the end explaining it, so if you want to read it (I don't see why you would, since it's average as far as poems go and only reiterates what I just said) you may. If you'd rather not read this haunting story, wait until tomorrow since I guess I'm obliged to post something then.
All he could feel was the bitter cold, eating away at him. He thought about where he was, thoughts drifting through the vast space the cold had left in his mind. Breathing slowly, his breath almost crystallizing when it hit the icy air, he pondered why he had bothered climbing this mountain alone.
At 22,000 feet up, most storm clouds should have been far below him, but he saw them form all around, encompassing him in a dark gray. Tendrils of fog detached themselves from the main body, whipping around, feeling him. The man shuddered at the touch, backing up into a mass of cloud. The cold darkness enveloped him; he tried to scream but the sound was drowned in immense thunder roaring everywhere. He was nowhere, he was nobody, he was nothing.
Lightning cracked around him, screaming at the foreigner in its midst, striking him, striking through him. He felt as though he was on fire. He was on fire. No, that was just his mind running wild again. Was this even here? Where was he? Who was he? Why was he? Were those eyes he saw in the mass of clouds?
The man inhaled again, after what felt like hours. He began to choke, suffocate on the ice that had pulled itself inside him. His blood was freezing in his veins as shadows started dancing around him, chanting, screeching with the wind while the thunder roared and the lightning screamed. Light began shining through the clouds, eating them, devouring until there was nothing but harsh cold light with lightning still striking and thunder everywhere.
Where the lightning had not burned and scarred him, the strange light did. It provided him no warmth, only more suffering. The shadows he had seen, the eyes, ran around him cackling madly, shouting curses upon his name, his family, everything of his. They were from the fog, its spawn, feeling him gently before scratching, ripping his eyes and tongue out while he held onto his throat, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come past the ice. His nose didn’t work; he was trapped.
Poking him viciously, the creatures grinned and picked him up. One took a knife, and started removing his fingers and toes, then hands and feet, arms, legs. He tried to fight the cold, fight the fog, fight his inner will to let go. He fought for breath, struggled to move but there was nothing to move anymore, no more besides his head and torso now. He felt warm blood trickling down his face, into his gaping, decaying mouth.
As his charred, bleeding body froze, his flesh rotted and his insides melted. A slight cut on his neck broadened into an abyss he was falling into, flailing with arms and legs he didn’t have for a grip that wasn’t there. Further into his mind he drove himself, trying to avoid the pain and destruction that tore him to pieces outside.
The man found that inside was no better, for everything in his mind was starting to decay, too, sickly and deformed from the touch of the fog. He found himself chained to a table, so firmly held a prisoner in his own mind, incapable of suicide in a place where that should have been the easiest thing to do. Coming up to him, the fog offered one small final mercy. Putting one hand on his jaw and the other near his sternum, the creature lunged for his throat.
I feel you there,
I feel the cold,
I feel the darkness
Taking hold.
I can’t see you,
I don’t know why
I feel this warmth.
I die.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Before-Halloween-Post
This poem's called Salvation, and I daresay it means something.
I hear your name,
I see your face,
I lose myself
Inside this place.
I see your eyes,
Your lovely crown,
You will be saved
Before you drown.
I am but flesh
And twisted bone,
With mind of ice
And heart of stone.
I have no soul
That I can see,
Please prove me wrong
And set me free.
I will save you
Or I will die,
I hear your plea,
No need to cry.
I’ll rescue you
And bring you home.
Forget me, please,
And freely roam.
I hear your name,
I see your face,
I lose myself
Inside this place.
I see your eyes,
Your lovely crown,
You will be saved
Before you drown.
I am but flesh
And twisted bone,
With mind of ice
And heart of stone.
I have no soul
That I can see,
Please prove me wrong
And set me free.
I will save you
Or I will die,
I hear your plea,
No need to cry.
I’ll rescue you
And bring you home.
Forget me, please,
And freely roam.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Untitled Poem
Night sky stared down at me
And said, "Little one, soon
You will be among us.
And you will shine brightly."
Looking back, so I am.
So I am.
And said, "Little one, soon
You will be among us.
And you will shine brightly."
Looking back, so I am.
So I am.
Monday, September 20, 2010
My Agony
You are my dear agony,
You are my blissful pain.
You are my source of chaos,
You are my burning rain.
You are my nightmare,
You are my love.
You are my dark half,
You are my black dove.
You are my darkness,
You are my soul.
You are my corruption,
You are my whole.
You are my blissful pain.
You are my source of chaos,
You are my burning rain.
You are my nightmare,
You are my love.
You are my dark half,
You are my black dove.
You are my darkness,
You are my soul.
You are my corruption,
You are my whole.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Two Poems
Rescue
No goodness is left,
Not one small trace
Of peace or light
In this bad place.
The dark is all
That I can see,
Have mercy, you,
Come rescue me.
Cold
Cold light shining,
Merciless.
Cold eyes gleaming,
Passionless.
Cold soul pulsing,
Bodiless.
Cold mind racing,
Heartless.
Cold blow flowing,
Ruthless.
Cold corpse moving,
Soulless.
No goodness is left,
Not one small trace
Of peace or light
In this bad place.
The dark is all
That I can see,
Have mercy, you,
Come rescue me.
Cold
Cold light shining,
Merciless.
Cold eyes gleaming,
Passionless.
Cold soul pulsing,
Bodiless.
Cold mind racing,
Heartless.
Cold blow flowing,
Ruthless.
Cold corpse moving,
Soulless.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
In Remembrance of 9-11
Outside, the trees were starting to turn, the leaves beginning the change from green to all sorts of hues. Inside the car, overwhelming gray dominated. Even the driver, a woman whose hair had started to gray early, was affected. She was alone in the car, but she sometimes heard others there, where they once were, where she wished they were now. One of those voices was her own.
Along the winding rural road she drove, knowing exactly where she was going. The sun still held itself high, but she wouldn’t have cared if it were already dusk. For almost an hour she drove, stopping at a cemetery out in the middle of nowhere. This was perhaps one of the most peaceful resting places in the world. Colors seemed to clash as the woman left her car, vibrant color flowing over everything. She walked with a bouquet in her hand, eyes closed. She had sometimes had nightmares about this place; she knew it too well.
Kneeling where she was used to, tears started flowing down her face as she placed the flowers upon the grave of her husband. For the first time in nine years, to the day, she spoke.
“I love you.”
Along the winding rural road she drove, knowing exactly where she was going. The sun still held itself high, but she wouldn’t have cared if it were already dusk. For almost an hour she drove, stopping at a cemetery out in the middle of nowhere. This was perhaps one of the most peaceful resting places in the world. Colors seemed to clash as the woman left her car, vibrant color flowing over everything. She walked with a bouquet in her hand, eyes closed. She had sometimes had nightmares about this place; she knew it too well.
Kneeling where she was used to, tears started flowing down her face as she placed the flowers upon the grave of her husband. For the first time in nine years, to the day, she spoke.
“I love you.”
Monday, August 30, 2010
Crystal, conclusion
As the days went by, tanks fired at me. I screamed for them to put me out of my misery, ripping them apart, begging them to do more. I spent most of my miserable time trying to hurt myself with the sword. And then I started to hurt myself by thinking of what was really the case. I beat at myself all the harder for it. Eventually, I felt myself bleed. I stared down at my hand, which was dark as pitch. The sword was not there, but the crystal was definitely in my forehead. I looked straight ahead and saw a mirror of myself, but the purest white. He had the sword. I was the dark one, the demon, the evil being. How had I deluded myself this whole time? “Have mercy, my better half,” I moaned.
Perhaps it listened. Perhaps it did what it thought was right. Thrusting the blade into the point between my eyes, I could hear it whisper, “Have blissful agony, fiend.”
Light blinded me, burned me like nothing had before. I still see it, the light, all before me. I had not the strength to scream. I don’t know how long I’ve been like this, but the light hasn’t stopped burning yet.
This one is definitely complete. Now I need to think up a new story.
Perhaps it listened. Perhaps it did what it thought was right. Thrusting the blade into the point between my eyes, I could hear it whisper, “Have blissful agony, fiend.”
Light blinded me, burned me like nothing had before. I still see it, the light, all before me. I had not the strength to scream. I don’t know how long I’ve been like this, but the light hasn’t stopped burning yet.
This one is definitely complete. Now I need to think up a new story.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Crystal, Part 4
I decided to deal with the fissure first, so I held the crystal tight and filled the ground’s gaping maw with that red crystal, essentially making a new street where the old one was torn apart. The giant swordsman cut apart a few more buildings. The crystal in my hand stopped vibrating when the sword cut through the last building in its path. Something was definitely wrong here. Looking down, my crystal had started to dig into my palm. No blood was coming out, so I left it where it was.
Looking around, I saw people pointing at me and screaming, then running away. How were there this many people in Denver all of a sudden, anyway? A man on a megaphone was shouting, I realized, and started paying attention to the voice.
“Stand down, whatever you are! What’s left of the military will destroy you!” the mayor of Denver shouted.
“Sir, I’ll help you!” I shouted in return.
The world got smaller around me; I found myself as tall as the skyscrapers. In my hand was a sword made of the crystal. I could feel a hole in my forehead, but when I put my fingers to it, I felt sharp gemstone. “This cannot be!”
I was struck in the leg by an explosion. I looked down and saw a tank, just like a toy, firing at me. Irritated, I roared, “Let me think!” and brought the sword down onto the armored vehicle, which crunched beneath my might. “I am the salvation of this world! I will destroy that shadow!”
The mayor called out again. “You are the shadow, you beast! We will put you down!”
All I could do was scream wordlessly. I swung the sword around, throwing it and finding it in my hand again. The city was destroyed in moments by this rampage, and I sat in the ruins, weeping, trying to pull the crystal from my head and destroy the sword. I tried to rend my own flesh, bleed out, but there was nothing. What was I? Was there any humanity left, or was I just a vehicle for the crystal?
Looking around, I saw people pointing at me and screaming, then running away. How were there this many people in Denver all of a sudden, anyway? A man on a megaphone was shouting, I realized, and started paying attention to the voice.
“Stand down, whatever you are! What’s left of the military will destroy you!” the mayor of Denver shouted.
“Sir, I’ll help you!” I shouted in return.
The world got smaller around me; I found myself as tall as the skyscrapers. In my hand was a sword made of the crystal. I could feel a hole in my forehead, but when I put my fingers to it, I felt sharp gemstone. “This cannot be!”
I was struck in the leg by an explosion. I looked down and saw a tank, just like a toy, firing at me. Irritated, I roared, “Let me think!” and brought the sword down onto the armored vehicle, which crunched beneath my might. “I am the salvation of this world! I will destroy that shadow!”
The mayor called out again. “You are the shadow, you beast! We will put you down!”
All I could do was scream wordlessly. I swung the sword around, throwing it and finding it in my hand again. The city was destroyed in moments by this rampage, and I sat in the ruins, weeping, trying to pull the crystal from my head and destroy the sword. I tried to rend my own flesh, bleed out, but there was nothing. What was I? Was there any humanity left, or was I just a vehicle for the crystal?
Thursday, August 19, 2010
I've Returned
Computer had a virus that apparently was sent out through Facebook. I have been without the computer I'm using since Saturday, but it's all good now. The background, though, has become kinda funky and I don't think that problem is ever going to be fixed until this computer is upgraded to Windows 7 and all the stuff is wiped anyway. >_>
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Third Era
Unoriginal rhymes in my mind,
Old and faded, tossed aside.
The time has come to make anew
And leave behind what was broken.
So begins an era third,
Where rhyme is worthless.
Meaning is all that is left.
Let it begin.
Old and faded, tossed aside.
The time has come to make anew
And leave behind what was broken.
So begins an era third,
Where rhyme is worthless.
Meaning is all that is left.
Let it begin.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Crystal, part 3
It gets epic here.
It pulsed, a throb that I felt inside my heart, in my veins, and to my very soul. Touching it was like feeling my salvation, all the answers to my problems inside a stone. I never thought this might have been dangerous, or stupid, or destructive—I had no reason to at the time. As I held it in my hand, staring intently, I lost myself completely in its beauty. Only when I closed my eyes did I realize I couldn’t feel it, and panicked, opening them again and seeing it sitting serenely in my palm, always pulsing.
What was it made of, anyway? I thought it was just a rare stone, but it wasn’t like anything this world had ever seen. I closed my eyes and focused on that pulse, rhythmic and calm. Then I saw fire in my mind’s eye, immense structures made of it and by it. I saw darkness in sheets, and saw the power this crystal had. A dangerous beauty, I thought it. One I could love easily, one I could master, control. So I tried to control it. I saw the fire, and began to mold it inside my mind, and place it in the world around me. Nothing happened, until I relaxed my grip on the crystal, and then it started throbbing faster, turning darker as it did. The field in front of me burned itself down to nothing before the crystal’s presence. At the end, though, the crystal turned back to its previous state with the calm pulse and the bright red.
I realized something: this was humanity’s salvation! With this, I could destroy the cause of the destruction that had wiped out most of Earth’s population! With the crystal, my power was limitless! No longer was I some poor soul who had lost all means of survival, but instead the savior of an entire species. I walked slowly back to Denver, basking in the crystal’s strength.
Getting there in due course, I saw buildings toppled and debris in the streets. Oddly enough, I also saw people out and about, probably afraid of another one of those events that seemed to have happened. Going up to one man, I asked, “What happened here?”
“A giant man came here and cut buildings in half with a sword made of darkness,” he said in a rush. I had to think for a few moments to comprehend what he had said.
“I can destroy this man!” I shouted. “I have this.” I raised the crystal high, and for a moment in shone purple as the land seemed to rip itself apart and was then made right. The ground quaked, shuddered for some reason. Maybe an aftereffect of the crystal being used? Regardless, the clouds turned into a gray, almost black, that I hadn’t seen for over two years. Rain, real rain, poured down. I was the savior of this land. I was the bringer of a new age. I was godlike.
The earth ripped itself open again, didn’t close. I heard another scream, saw a silhouette giant against a skyscraper. The sword’s shadow took up three more buildings in width. A crystal, glowing red, was lodged in his forehead.
It pulsed, a throb that I felt inside my heart, in my veins, and to my very soul. Touching it was like feeling my salvation, all the answers to my problems inside a stone. I never thought this might have been dangerous, or stupid, or destructive—I had no reason to at the time. As I held it in my hand, staring intently, I lost myself completely in its beauty. Only when I closed my eyes did I realize I couldn’t feel it, and panicked, opening them again and seeing it sitting serenely in my palm, always pulsing.
What was it made of, anyway? I thought it was just a rare stone, but it wasn’t like anything this world had ever seen. I closed my eyes and focused on that pulse, rhythmic and calm. Then I saw fire in my mind’s eye, immense structures made of it and by it. I saw darkness in sheets, and saw the power this crystal had. A dangerous beauty, I thought it. One I could love easily, one I could master, control. So I tried to control it. I saw the fire, and began to mold it inside my mind, and place it in the world around me. Nothing happened, until I relaxed my grip on the crystal, and then it started throbbing faster, turning darker as it did. The field in front of me burned itself down to nothing before the crystal’s presence. At the end, though, the crystal turned back to its previous state with the calm pulse and the bright red.
I realized something: this was humanity’s salvation! With this, I could destroy the cause of the destruction that had wiped out most of Earth’s population! With the crystal, my power was limitless! No longer was I some poor soul who had lost all means of survival, but instead the savior of an entire species. I walked slowly back to Denver, basking in the crystal’s strength.
Getting there in due course, I saw buildings toppled and debris in the streets. Oddly enough, I also saw people out and about, probably afraid of another one of those events that seemed to have happened. Going up to one man, I asked, “What happened here?”
“A giant man came here and cut buildings in half with a sword made of darkness,” he said in a rush. I had to think for a few moments to comprehend what he had said.
“I can destroy this man!” I shouted. “I have this.” I raised the crystal high, and for a moment in shone purple as the land seemed to rip itself apart and was then made right. The ground quaked, shuddered for some reason. Maybe an aftereffect of the crystal being used? Regardless, the clouds turned into a gray, almost black, that I hadn’t seen for over two years. Rain, real rain, poured down. I was the savior of this land. I was the bringer of a new age. I was godlike.
The earth ripped itself open again, didn’t close. I heard another scream, saw a silhouette giant against a skyscraper. The sword’s shadow took up three more buildings in width. A crystal, glowing red, was lodged in his forehead.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Crystal, part 2
This is short because I wrote it just a few minutes ago. After all, I need to post something.
Clouds that blotted out the sun greeted me when I opened the door of the apartment building that remained my home for two years. The sky was orange, a sickly color that was the child of an orange and blood. Lightning flashed madly in the distance. Typical.
I’m still not sure where I was going, but if I were to believe in Fate, I would say she guided me. For the worse, surely. What happened in these next hours were what shaped a new era of the world’s history. Thunder’s incessant rumbling was the epitome of my mood. For those who might have seen me walking the streets of Denver, I must have been something out of a nightmare, with a murderous glare on my face, my eyes dark stormclouds of emotion.
Being in a suburb of the city itself, I hadn’t far to walk before I reached no-man’s land. The scream was shaking up my thoughts and my countenance. Whose was it, and what caused it? It reminded me of the deaths that happened in that time that feels like so long ago, where fire was raining without end while earthquakes rocked us like we were on a boat in a massive ocean. Hearing a voice now, scream or not, gives me that very same remembrance, in all its disturbing detail.
Suddenly, my eyes focused on an object that had no place in this city—no, on this planet. I could see a crystal a few inches across glowing bright red in the dirt.
Clouds that blotted out the sun greeted me when I opened the door of the apartment building that remained my home for two years. The sky was orange, a sickly color that was the child of an orange and blood. Lightning flashed madly in the distance. Typical.
I’m still not sure where I was going, but if I were to believe in Fate, I would say she guided me. For the worse, surely. What happened in these next hours were what shaped a new era of the world’s history. Thunder’s incessant rumbling was the epitome of my mood. For those who might have seen me walking the streets of Denver, I must have been something out of a nightmare, with a murderous glare on my face, my eyes dark stormclouds of emotion.
Being in a suburb of the city itself, I hadn’t far to walk before I reached no-man’s land. The scream was shaking up my thoughts and my countenance. Whose was it, and what caused it? It reminded me of the deaths that happened in that time that feels like so long ago, where fire was raining without end while earthquakes rocked us like we were on a boat in a massive ocean. Hearing a voice now, scream or not, gives me that very same remembrance, in all its disturbing detail.
Suddenly, my eyes focused on an object that had no place in this city—no, on this planet. I could see a crystal a few inches across glowing bright red in the dirt.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Post-Apocalyptic Story 1, Part 1
I'm not going to reveal its name until the next section is posted.
Sirens sounding all over the city were my first clue to yet another incident. I looked outside the window in my apartment and saw balls of fire raining down. They weren’t the largest I had seen, and not coming down very fast either. If I had thought that they would only improve from here, I would be wrong. The fire was common nowadays. Even though it was normal, people still got hit by it. The population of Denver had halved with the first earthquakes, cut again by the numerous volcanoes, and mostly wiped out with the meteor.
I ended up as one of the lucky ones, along with about three thousand others. We were Denver now. Situations like ours were happening all over the world. Beijing had fifty thousand people; Rome had five hundred. Most of the people in rural areas were moving in to cities because no supplies were coming to the sticks. Most of Colorado had migrated into this city.
I didn’t usually bother remembering back that far, for much had changed in two years. I was sure much more would change, too. Nobody knew why these events had happened. What was left of the Christian extremists said that humanity had done something utterly vile to displease the Lord. I looked down upon that because many of their own number had been killed by the natural disasters.
The window in my room shattered suddenly, a vicious gust of wind pushing in, then pulling out. Like a massive hand, the wind grabbed my television and my emergency radio and pulled them up and into the sky. I didn’t bother looking; I would have taken a fireball to the face. I was stunned for a few moments because my main means of survival had just been taken. At least that wind hadn’t grabbed my—
Another “hand” of wind went through the same entryway and ripped my fridge from the wall. “Damn,” I remember myself saying rather loudly. I was the only person in this apartment complex, anyway, and was lucky that I even had electricity. With this thought, the power shut down. I said something a little bit nastier this time. The room got even darker as cloud cover increased, but at least the fire stopped coming down. The sirens didn’t stop, though. In the sudden silence, I heard a scream. This was new. And it wasn’t good.
Sirens sounding all over the city were my first clue to yet another incident. I looked outside the window in my apartment and saw balls of fire raining down. They weren’t the largest I had seen, and not coming down very fast either. If I had thought that they would only improve from here, I would be wrong. The fire was common nowadays. Even though it was normal, people still got hit by it. The population of Denver had halved with the first earthquakes, cut again by the numerous volcanoes, and mostly wiped out with the meteor.
I ended up as one of the lucky ones, along with about three thousand others. We were Denver now. Situations like ours were happening all over the world. Beijing had fifty thousand people; Rome had five hundred. Most of the people in rural areas were moving in to cities because no supplies were coming to the sticks. Most of Colorado had migrated into this city.
I didn’t usually bother remembering back that far, for much had changed in two years. I was sure much more would change, too. Nobody knew why these events had happened. What was left of the Christian extremists said that humanity had done something utterly vile to displease the Lord. I looked down upon that because many of their own number had been killed by the natural disasters.
The window in my room shattered suddenly, a vicious gust of wind pushing in, then pulling out. Like a massive hand, the wind grabbed my television and my emergency radio and pulled them up and into the sky. I didn’t bother looking; I would have taken a fireball to the face. I was stunned for a few moments because my main means of survival had just been taken. At least that wind hadn’t grabbed my—
Another “hand” of wind went through the same entryway and ripped my fridge from the wall. “Damn,” I remember myself saying rather loudly. I was the only person in this apartment complex, anyway, and was lucky that I even had electricity. With this thought, the power shut down. I said something a little bit nastier this time. The room got even darker as cloud cover increased, but at least the fire stopped coming down. The sirens didn’t stop, though. In the sudden silence, I heard a scream. This was new. And it wasn’t good.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Ling, part 4 of 3
This is the epilogue. If you haven't read the story, go and start at the first post.
With the last sword he would ever make between his hands, Ling walked to the Emperor himself. All his sons were around him. Beautiful, in its own way, these four men with the power of a nation. Tyrants were beautiful for being able to hold onto the power they had, but not much else. “As Sora’s crimes were avenged,” Ling said, “So too will yours be.”
Gripping the blade, Ling swung from the left to the right, blade extending itself to reach each neck in its way. Once the last cut was made, he fluidly moved and ran for the exit of the huge room he had found himself in. Guards were running at him, so he slashed at as many as he could, more charging through the halls. “Others like me will rend the evil you bring to this world, for justice must be done! I am not the last! MY FURY IS THE HERALD OF CHANGE, OF REBIRTH! OUT OF THIS WORLD IN DARKNESS WILL COME FRAGMENTS OF LIGHT, WHICH WILL ILLUMINATE WHAT IS KNOWN AS “TRUTH”! THE RIGHTEOUS WILL BE FREED, AND IN THE FINAL HOURS OF THIS EXISTENCE THE HEROES OF OLD WILL RISE FROM THE GRAVE TO STOP THE ENCOMPASSING DARKNESS! YOU WILL BE DESTROYED! YOU WILL BE—“
Finally, one man stood up in front of him and stabbed him in the chest. Mercy for a madman, but cursed for killing a prophet.
As it was foretold by Ling, as the world stepped out of darkness into what we call the present, glimmers of light were shining on a darkened world. Nearly destroyed by the chaos and evil caused by Sora and the Emperor, fragments of existence were being mended, healed. Justice, flawed by concepts of right and wrong, is still broken. Ling’s swords haven’t been found. Yet.
With the last sword he would ever make between his hands, Ling walked to the Emperor himself. All his sons were around him. Beautiful, in its own way, these four men with the power of a nation. Tyrants were beautiful for being able to hold onto the power they had, but not much else. “As Sora’s crimes were avenged,” Ling said, “So too will yours be.”
Gripping the blade, Ling swung from the left to the right, blade extending itself to reach each neck in its way. Once the last cut was made, he fluidly moved and ran for the exit of the huge room he had found himself in. Guards were running at him, so he slashed at as many as he could, more charging through the halls. “Others like me will rend the evil you bring to this world, for justice must be done! I am not the last! MY FURY IS THE HERALD OF CHANGE, OF REBIRTH! OUT OF THIS WORLD IN DARKNESS WILL COME FRAGMENTS OF LIGHT, WHICH WILL ILLUMINATE WHAT IS KNOWN AS “TRUTH”! THE RIGHTEOUS WILL BE FREED, AND IN THE FINAL HOURS OF THIS EXISTENCE THE HEROES OF OLD WILL RISE FROM THE GRAVE TO STOP THE ENCOMPASSING DARKNESS! YOU WILL BE DESTROYED! YOU WILL BE—“
Finally, one man stood up in front of him and stabbed him in the chest. Mercy for a madman, but cursed for killing a prophet.
As it was foretold by Ling, as the world stepped out of darkness into what we call the present, glimmers of light were shining on a darkened world. Nearly destroyed by the chaos and evil caused by Sora and the Emperor, fragments of existence were being mended, healed. Justice, flawed by concepts of right and wrong, is still broken. Ling’s swords haven’t been found. Yet.
Ling, part 3 of 3
A chill in the air, harsh gusts of wind blowing at random, and the sky completely blanketed with clouds were the perfect punctuations to the importance of this night. Despite there being no light, Ling’s new sword glowed like a thousand suns. Its pure brilliance was unmatched—this sword was superior to that of Sora’s. Etched into this one’s hilt were the words “armor of the gods”. Ling didn’t know what they did, only that “armor of demigods” was the inscription on the blades of most of his allies, blades which he had also made.
Bonfires were numerous, dotting the landscape. Were they bonfires, or villages? Sometimes Ling though he could hear the beating of leathery wings in the distance. Though Searing Light, as he had named it, was in his hand, at his side and in its scabbard was another sword, named Cold Truth. Together, he thought he had a chance against the Dragon herself.
“Men, we ride!” Ling roared when he was sure he saw the wings directly in front of him, about a mile ahead. A battle cry was shout by the warriors in unison. Ling remained silent. Grabbing Cold Truth from where it was kept, Ling put the blades next to each other and chanted, “Darkness will not corrupt you, the righteous will wield you, and for you legends will be made. Immortal blade of Shining Death, come forth to your holder!” Where he learned that, he did not remember. It was irrelevant, for he had the strongest blade in existence.
Sora’s roar pushed Ling’s horse back with the sheer volume. Ling grimaced when he thought of who gave her that power. He knew what he had to do from here. “Sora! You are being accused of crimes against innocents and evil forces alike! With the power bestowed upon me by the creators, I will destroy you here in the name of justice!”
“When did you change into such a maggot, Ling?” Sora snarled. “What a fool you are if you believe you can destroy me!”
“I saw with my own eyes what destruction you reaped. I decided a consistent, reliable evil is a better choice than…than you.”
“Attack, miserable mortal! Attack and face your doom!”
“Back, men! On my cue will you attack!” Ling dismounted and charged her. Wind screaming in his ears, darkness overwhelming his soul, he kept moving, gambling with death and fate alike with this single action. Time crawled along, as the men kept back in a semicircle while he charged at a black dragon, scales glimmering and teeth glowing. Her red eyes stared at him mercilessly. As though running through molasses, he pulled Shining Death off the scabbard on his back, forcing it downward as the breath of pure flame hurled itself at him, the only fast-moving thing in existence.
It was cloven in half, spreading itself out around him. “So, you think you can win because you can cut apart my fire? Prepare yourself!”
Slamming his eyes shut, Ling screamed, gripped the sword with all the power he possessed. The darkness in the world disappeared. Only Ling and Sora existed in this state, hunter and prey. Ling threw his sword point-first into Sora’s mouth. As the blade cut through to the other side, scales and all, Ling shouted, “Surround her!”
Hearing their footsteps stop, for he could not see them, he yelled, “Raise!”
“THROW, FOR ALL YOU ARE WORTH! THROW!” Until the day he died, Ling could hear the dragon screaming with the pain of having eleven swords inside her massive neck at the same time. She deserved the pain, and he deserved the memory. Turning around, he truly opened his eyes again. The sky had cleared to show a full moon, beautiful and eerie. There was no more wind, no more fire. A new age had almost begun.
There's an epilogue, and I already wrote it. I'll put it online later today.
Bonfires were numerous, dotting the landscape. Were they bonfires, or villages? Sometimes Ling though he could hear the beating of leathery wings in the distance. Though Searing Light, as he had named it, was in his hand, at his side and in its scabbard was another sword, named Cold Truth. Together, he thought he had a chance against the Dragon herself.
“Men, we ride!” Ling roared when he was sure he saw the wings directly in front of him, about a mile ahead. A battle cry was shout by the warriors in unison. Ling remained silent. Grabbing Cold Truth from where it was kept, Ling put the blades next to each other and chanted, “Darkness will not corrupt you, the righteous will wield you, and for you legends will be made. Immortal blade of Shining Death, come forth to your holder!” Where he learned that, he did not remember. It was irrelevant, for he had the strongest blade in existence.
Sora’s roar pushed Ling’s horse back with the sheer volume. Ling grimaced when he thought of who gave her that power. He knew what he had to do from here. “Sora! You are being accused of crimes against innocents and evil forces alike! With the power bestowed upon me by the creators, I will destroy you here in the name of justice!”
“When did you change into such a maggot, Ling?” Sora snarled. “What a fool you are if you believe you can destroy me!”
“I saw with my own eyes what destruction you reaped. I decided a consistent, reliable evil is a better choice than…than you.”
“Attack, miserable mortal! Attack and face your doom!”
“Back, men! On my cue will you attack!” Ling dismounted and charged her. Wind screaming in his ears, darkness overwhelming his soul, he kept moving, gambling with death and fate alike with this single action. Time crawled along, as the men kept back in a semicircle while he charged at a black dragon, scales glimmering and teeth glowing. Her red eyes stared at him mercilessly. As though running through molasses, he pulled Shining Death off the scabbard on his back, forcing it downward as the breath of pure flame hurled itself at him, the only fast-moving thing in existence.
It was cloven in half, spreading itself out around him. “So, you think you can win because you can cut apart my fire? Prepare yourself!”
Slamming his eyes shut, Ling screamed, gripped the sword with all the power he possessed. The darkness in the world disappeared. Only Ling and Sora existed in this state, hunter and prey. Ling threw his sword point-first into Sora’s mouth. As the blade cut through to the other side, scales and all, Ling shouted, “Surround her!”
Hearing their footsteps stop, for he could not see them, he yelled, “Raise!”
“THROW, FOR ALL YOU ARE WORTH! THROW!” Until the day he died, Ling could hear the dragon screaming with the pain of having eleven swords inside her massive neck at the same time. She deserved the pain, and he deserved the memory. Turning around, he truly opened his eyes again. The sky had cleared to show a full moon, beautiful and eerie. There was no more wind, no more fire. A new age had almost begun.
There's an epilogue, and I already wrote it. I'll put it online later today.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Ling, part 2 of 3
Wind at her back, pushing her long, braided strands of hair everywhere, Sora stood at the top of the hill, staring down at the village below. The sword in her hand was beautiful, one of the greatest Ling had crafted. On the hilt were symbols different from Ling’s, for they said the words “Dragon Master”. She thought it sounded ridiculous, but there was no swaying the man. Stubborn. Regardless, she had the power to level this small town in a single blow. Raising her sword, she inhaled deeply.
With the exhalation, she brought the blade down in front of her. A line of fire ten feet across cut through the village. Many people were in the literal line of fire. Sora licked her lips when she heard the screams. Delicious.
“You take too much pleasure in torture, Sora,” Ling said from behind her.
“I just love expressing my power through violence.”
“You’re a bad person.”
“You’re the one who gave me the power to do that.” She motioned to the village with her sword. “And…this.”
A pentagram with a circle around it, made entirely of fire, descended from the sky and laid like a molten sheet over the town.
“I wouldn’t have done that. That was excessive, and a waste of your energies.”
“But so satisfying. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“It may give satisfaction, but it’s a total waste.”
“Stop thinking, old man, and act like I am.” She turned back to the village in flames, smiling. Ling couldn’t stop thinking about how good the young woman looked. A beauty, but a cold-hearted one. She was more powerful than him, too. She could wipe him out and not have any remorse, except maybe that her dear sword-maker would not be around to make her anything special. “How do you think those guards caught on to us?” she asked.
“Someone must have overheard, doubtful as that might sound.”
“Wouldn’t that mean that someone besides us has some sort of power? We couldn’t detect anybody around during our meetings.”
“I do not know. We will see.”
“The time to speak is over. We must reach our targets.”
“Who is it this time?”
“The magistrate of a province not far from here.”
“What did he do?”
“He passed unjust laws, ridiculous taxations of the citizens.”
“So now you choose to be a hero?”
“I’ve always been a hero, Ling.”
“I’ve been looking at it from different points of view, Sora, and we are hated by everyone. Those merciless acts of yours, of mine, and yet we call ourselves just. We call ourselves heroes. We’re destroyers, and we call ourselves builders. I don’t want to do this anymore, Sora. I don’t want to contradict myself like this.”
“The dead have no means of contradicting themselves, Ling.”
“So you threaten to kill me?”
“There’s no way out, old man.” To prove her point, a hemisphere of fire covered them. There truly was no escape.
“You forget my fighting prowess.”
“I am impervious to this fire. I could collapse it in on us, and leave unscathed.”
“I can cut my way out, woman. I want no part in your schemes anymore.”
“Save yourself, fool. I’m going to do this whether I have you to accompany me or not.” Walking out of the fiery prison, Sora cackled.
Ling grimaced at having to use his abilities like this, but he applied the Demon aspect of his sword and burrowed underground, tunneling to a place outside the hemisphere of flame. After reaching the surface, he looked around. Sora was flying away, massive wings beating rhythmically. Ling sighed, spat on the ground, and turned into a falcon, flying away from her as fast as he could. When he got to a place where nobody knew him—or knew of him—he would melt that sword down and forge a good blade, something about which legends might be written.
Note: I've had a great time writing this, and can't wait for the conclusion, since I haven't written it yet.
With the exhalation, she brought the blade down in front of her. A line of fire ten feet across cut through the village. Many people were in the literal line of fire. Sora licked her lips when she heard the screams. Delicious.
“You take too much pleasure in torture, Sora,” Ling said from behind her.
“I just love expressing my power through violence.”
“You’re a bad person.”
“You’re the one who gave me the power to do that.” She motioned to the village with her sword. “And…this.”
A pentagram with a circle around it, made entirely of fire, descended from the sky and laid like a molten sheet over the town.
“I wouldn’t have done that. That was excessive, and a waste of your energies.”
“But so satisfying. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“It may give satisfaction, but it’s a total waste.”
“Stop thinking, old man, and act like I am.” She turned back to the village in flames, smiling. Ling couldn’t stop thinking about how good the young woman looked. A beauty, but a cold-hearted one. She was more powerful than him, too. She could wipe him out and not have any remorse, except maybe that her dear sword-maker would not be around to make her anything special. “How do you think those guards caught on to us?” she asked.
“Someone must have overheard, doubtful as that might sound.”
“Wouldn’t that mean that someone besides us has some sort of power? We couldn’t detect anybody around during our meetings.”
“I do not know. We will see.”
“The time to speak is over. We must reach our targets.”
“Who is it this time?”
“The magistrate of a province not far from here.”
“What did he do?”
“He passed unjust laws, ridiculous taxations of the citizens.”
“So now you choose to be a hero?”
“I’ve always been a hero, Ling.”
“I’ve been looking at it from different points of view, Sora, and we are hated by everyone. Those merciless acts of yours, of mine, and yet we call ourselves just. We call ourselves heroes. We’re destroyers, and we call ourselves builders. I don’t want to do this anymore, Sora. I don’t want to contradict myself like this.”
“The dead have no means of contradicting themselves, Ling.”
“So you threaten to kill me?”
“There’s no way out, old man.” To prove her point, a hemisphere of fire covered them. There truly was no escape.
“You forget my fighting prowess.”
“I am impervious to this fire. I could collapse it in on us, and leave unscathed.”
“I can cut my way out, woman. I want no part in your schemes anymore.”
“Save yourself, fool. I’m going to do this whether I have you to accompany me or not.” Walking out of the fiery prison, Sora cackled.
Ling grimaced at having to use his abilities like this, but he applied the Demon aspect of his sword and burrowed underground, tunneling to a place outside the hemisphere of flame. After reaching the surface, he looked around. Sora was flying away, massive wings beating rhythmically. Ling sighed, spat on the ground, and turned into a falcon, flying away from her as fast as he could. When he got to a place where nobody knew him—or knew of him—he would melt that sword down and forge a good blade, something about which legends might be written.
Note: I've had a great time writing this, and can't wait for the conclusion, since I haven't written it yet.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Next story, part 1
I don't know the name of this yet. There are probably going to be two more parts, as I said before, coming tomorrow and Friday.
Law enforcement higher-up than the village guards walked into Ling Chu’s sword shop, both men tall and broad-shouldered, carrying greatswords on their backs. Turning from polishing one of his wares, Ling sighed. “What do you men want?”
“Not to buy,” the one on Ling’s left said. “We’re here asking about a sword you might have sold.”
“What is the significance of this sword, and who exactly are you two to know?”
“We are regional defenders, who are in search of a bandit—but not an ordinary bandit. By the reports, he is terrifyingly powerful, wielding strange powers. He was looking for a blade of Damascus steel, with which he would be able to wreak havoc on the very land. He would become a force strong enough to kill the Emperor and his heirs.”
“I did sell a blade of Damascus steel, but I don’t believe it’s to the person you think it to be.”
“How would this person differ?”
“Well, the one I sold the blade to…she is not a bandit, but a revolutionary. She is terrifyingly powerful, wielding the arcane and controlling dragons. She was given the blade by me, actually, with which she will have the strength to destroy the judicial system of this land, and annihilate the tyrannical Emperor, and every last one of his heirs.”
“GET HIM!” the guard roared. Ling realized the guards were going to wreck his shop, so he grabbed two longswords and ran out the back and around the side of the building. This way, the guards would be sure to split up and he could easily take them out one at a time.
“We must stop this!” the other guard shouted. Hearing footsteps pounding his way, he relaxed and switched to a stance where the blades both curved down in front of him, known in his time as the Praying Mantis. As the guard turned and jumped around the corner, Ling lunged forward and caught the guard’s blade between his swords, and threw both one of his swords and the guard’s out of reach. He made the death merciful, wiped the blood on the grass, and grabbed the sword he had thrown.
Climbing to the roof of his shop, Ling crept along and found the other guard easily. He dropped one of the swords from ten feet above the other guard’s head. A cut-off scream and a thud told him all he needed to know. Hopping down at the back, he picked up a better blade: a long, sharply curved Damascus steel beauty. Requiring two hands, this was forged at the same time as the one he had given the revolutionary. He went outside, whispered a goodbye to the town, and jumped as high as he could, imagining himself going even higher.
The sensation of turning into a falcon never ceased to exhilarate him, the beauty of seeing life from the air, with the wind rushing through his wings. The sword had markings on its hilt, Chinese for “Bird Demon”. These were etched in red on Ling’s back. He had to find Sora soon. She was going to have too much fun without him. After all, the fun was just beginning.
Law enforcement higher-up than the village guards walked into Ling Chu’s sword shop, both men tall and broad-shouldered, carrying greatswords on their backs. Turning from polishing one of his wares, Ling sighed. “What do you men want?”
“Not to buy,” the one on Ling’s left said. “We’re here asking about a sword you might have sold.”
“What is the significance of this sword, and who exactly are you two to know?”
“We are regional defenders, who are in search of a bandit—but not an ordinary bandit. By the reports, he is terrifyingly powerful, wielding strange powers. He was looking for a blade of Damascus steel, with which he would be able to wreak havoc on the very land. He would become a force strong enough to kill the Emperor and his heirs.”
“I did sell a blade of Damascus steel, but I don’t believe it’s to the person you think it to be.”
“How would this person differ?”
“Well, the one I sold the blade to…she is not a bandit, but a revolutionary. She is terrifyingly powerful, wielding the arcane and controlling dragons. She was given the blade by me, actually, with which she will have the strength to destroy the judicial system of this land, and annihilate the tyrannical Emperor, and every last one of his heirs.”
“GET HIM!” the guard roared. Ling realized the guards were going to wreck his shop, so he grabbed two longswords and ran out the back and around the side of the building. This way, the guards would be sure to split up and he could easily take them out one at a time.
“We must stop this!” the other guard shouted. Hearing footsteps pounding his way, he relaxed and switched to a stance where the blades both curved down in front of him, known in his time as the Praying Mantis. As the guard turned and jumped around the corner, Ling lunged forward and caught the guard’s blade between his swords, and threw both one of his swords and the guard’s out of reach. He made the death merciful, wiped the blood on the grass, and grabbed the sword he had thrown.
Climbing to the roof of his shop, Ling crept along and found the other guard easily. He dropped one of the swords from ten feet above the other guard’s head. A cut-off scream and a thud told him all he needed to know. Hopping down at the back, he picked up a better blade: a long, sharply curved Damascus steel beauty. Requiring two hands, this was forged at the same time as the one he had given the revolutionary. He went outside, whispered a goodbye to the town, and jumped as high as he could, imagining himself going even higher.
The sensation of turning into a falcon never ceased to exhilarate him, the beauty of seeing life from the air, with the wind rushing through his wings. The sword had markings on its hilt, Chinese for “Bird Demon”. These were etched in red on Ling’s back. He had to find Sora soon. She was going to have too much fun without him. After all, the fun was just beginning.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Plan for the blog
I've decided to phase out of poetry for a little while and instead focus on short stories. I'll probably not be posting more of the story of Mordus since I plan for that one to be longer, and potentially publishable at some point in time. If you'd like to read it, just inform me and I'll be willing to send some more parts of it your way. Starting tomorrow, though, I'll have a short story that might be able to take up three days worth of posting. I'd put these in Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday so I could have something new starting Saturday.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Story, part two
Needless to say, this got a lot bigger a lot faster. I'm loving this story, and there's more than what I'm posting here. It'll be very segmented.
The collection began like usual, which is to say the imminent target was obvious. A gentle hum was coming from the scythe, today its normal bronze hue. The shaft shone in the stark light of the hospital. Mordus could never understand why such a sad place had to exist, where misery was put on show and the ill saw Death walk right past them on a daily basis—literally. Having died so long ago, however, Mordus couldn’t sympathize with those seeing Death himself. What an honor that would be, rather than a curse!
Seeing the Reaper, the woman lying on the bed with the oxygen mask keeping her alive widened her eyes. This was a usual reaction, and more often than not the soon-to-be-deceased thought Death himself had come to take them.
“Ma’am, I’m not Death. I just work for him.” Mordus had spoken this speech so many times he would make a mistake if he thought about what he was saying. “You’re about to undergo one of the rights all humans are blessed to have: the right to die. I know not what existence awaits you, for I am not a judge. I am merely a Reaper, the vehicle for the scythe I hold in my hands. I’ve heard that the sensation of death is nothing like what I felt, for I only felt cold mist around me, forming this robe I wear. You will feel utmost warmth, for my soul will be holding yours inside the scythe itself.” He had to work to control Thal’gryyk’s shuddering at this remark, as he usually did.
The woman mustered the strength of will to remove the oxygen and ask, “Why was it not sooner that this happened? Why was this mercy spared until now?”
“Take it up with Death if you so desire. Personally, I might feel thankful for this rest. I can tell, actually, that your general nature was a balance of good and evil, but predominantly good. This is the case for most of my clients. You have but moments left. Relax, for you’ll have a long ride before you’re home.”
At this her body’s tenseness released, partially of its own will and partially because of the ice that was always in Mordus’ tone of voice. Her breath began to slow, and Mordus took her hand, as he usually did with his clientele. It made the passage easier for them, less painless, to be guided so closely. Using only its will, Thal’gryyk’s blade stretched to its longest, and brushed against the forehead of the woman. As it touched, the color faded from her face, her eyes closed, and the warmth was sucked from the room. Releasing the hand of the body beside him, Mordus walked to the window the room had to offer. The view was of an interstate, with cars constantly flowing from point A to point B, mindless about the ever-nearing death of the drivers, the ever-nearing death of everything around them.
Death was something people learned to ignore, Mordus supposed. A subject of such a nature was apt to be pushed aside, so uncomfortable to talk about. He saw it as the opposite, as something good to talk about, for everyone was going to experience it and almost everyone had a fate beyond. Those who refused to believe in something past life faded, their existences truly ending at the end of their dream. Closing his eyes, Mordus felt around for another possible client. As often the case, there was nobody else in need of his services.
Inside the scythe were two souls besides that of Mordus himself. Balls of light, burning golden and charcoal, were all that existed of them in that phase. He wasn’t sure if they could hear the screaming, but he thought that his grip on them as he Collected saved them from most of that sound. He had learned much in the time he had been working, very little coming from the handbook he had received. Useful for the basics, but the personal level with which he met his clients cast many of the guidelines aside. As a result, he was a respected member of the Reapers, and an authority figure. He was, to many, Death’s right-hand-man. All this could be seen of him inside the Scythe, where his soul was laid open to be viewed by those he had taken.
The woman from the hospital seemed pleased, for the radiant golden glow pulsed with the hum of the Scythe that surrounded them. The other deceased member was a man about forty years of age who died in a construction accident. His pain was cut short by the arrival of Mordus and the Scythe. This man was “speaking” with the woman, soul-to-soul, and Mordus listened in since he had the time.
“The Reaping was like being put into a tub of ice water after being on fire. The chill of the grave—hah—wasn’t what I expected.”
“My taking was mercy, after long last. I was of no use to this world anymore.”
“I don’t feel like I need to introduce myself to you, as though we already met.”
“I doubt it, for you are younger than I.”
“Ma’am, I lived and died a life with not very many people around me. Well, very few I could call my friends. After this, you may be my first.”
Mordus stepped in about here, as usual. “Second, sir.”
“Why, you must be that man who took my soul from my body!”
“Yes, sir, I am the very one. And she is your second friend, for I am the first. I am one with the Scythe, as a reaper.”
“Wait a moment and let me think,” the woman said. “You said something about a scythe, but now it’s the Scythe?”
“Indeed. Before death, you would think it impossible enough as it is that I am here, and adding that the Scythe is sentient would have caused unnecessary issues. By having information given in pieces, comprehension is easier and a good result is achieved more quickly.”
“Who are you?”
“If you want the name of the body, it is Mordus. If you want the name of the Scythe, it is Thal’gryyk, or Darkness-Eating-Burning-Water. I am called the Bringer by some, the Sage by others, and occasionally I’m the second-in-command for Death himself, or whoever holds that office.”
The man interjected. “So there’s politics in the Afterlife?”
“There are a few things I’d like to correct here. Firstly, it is not the Afterlife, but the first chapter, for what you call ‘life’ was a prologue. Secondly, politics does exist, but the matter of the position of Death is disputed between God and Satan. They must come to a consensus, but the expiration of Death, or the retirement, usually means the second-in-command becomes Death him- or herself.”
“You’re the heir to Death?”
“As it stands, perhaps. If I choose to retire before the current Death, it’ll be irrelevant. However, the system is in place in such a way that none may claim the position while I am still employed by both God and Satan.”
The woman spoke. “You speak of many Reapers, underneath Death. Does this mean that all Reapers have a chance at becoming Death, which means that the Deities must come to a consensus about each Reaper?”
“Exactly correct. Now, I hope you understand that the businesslike manner I possess is something trained into me. Conversations exactly like this happen for me many times in each…day, would you call it? Time has blended together so finely that I sometimes lose track of what is what.”
“How long is this trip, as you said?”
“It matters not, for you will be in a state of rest for a small while. Sleep well, children, and may Eternity be your imagined dream.” With this, Mordus left the existence in Thal’gryyk and imagined the gates of Hell.
The collection began like usual, which is to say the imminent target was obvious. A gentle hum was coming from the scythe, today its normal bronze hue. The shaft shone in the stark light of the hospital. Mordus could never understand why such a sad place had to exist, where misery was put on show and the ill saw Death walk right past them on a daily basis—literally. Having died so long ago, however, Mordus couldn’t sympathize with those seeing Death himself. What an honor that would be, rather than a curse!
Seeing the Reaper, the woman lying on the bed with the oxygen mask keeping her alive widened her eyes. This was a usual reaction, and more often than not the soon-to-be-deceased thought Death himself had come to take them.
“Ma’am, I’m not Death. I just work for him.” Mordus had spoken this speech so many times he would make a mistake if he thought about what he was saying. “You’re about to undergo one of the rights all humans are blessed to have: the right to die. I know not what existence awaits you, for I am not a judge. I am merely a Reaper, the vehicle for the scythe I hold in my hands. I’ve heard that the sensation of death is nothing like what I felt, for I only felt cold mist around me, forming this robe I wear. You will feel utmost warmth, for my soul will be holding yours inside the scythe itself.” He had to work to control Thal’gryyk’s shuddering at this remark, as he usually did.
The woman mustered the strength of will to remove the oxygen and ask, “Why was it not sooner that this happened? Why was this mercy spared until now?”
“Take it up with Death if you so desire. Personally, I might feel thankful for this rest. I can tell, actually, that your general nature was a balance of good and evil, but predominantly good. This is the case for most of my clients. You have but moments left. Relax, for you’ll have a long ride before you’re home.”
At this her body’s tenseness released, partially of its own will and partially because of the ice that was always in Mordus’ tone of voice. Her breath began to slow, and Mordus took her hand, as he usually did with his clientele. It made the passage easier for them, less painless, to be guided so closely. Using only its will, Thal’gryyk’s blade stretched to its longest, and brushed against the forehead of the woman. As it touched, the color faded from her face, her eyes closed, and the warmth was sucked from the room. Releasing the hand of the body beside him, Mordus walked to the window the room had to offer. The view was of an interstate, with cars constantly flowing from point A to point B, mindless about the ever-nearing death of the drivers, the ever-nearing death of everything around them.
Death was something people learned to ignore, Mordus supposed. A subject of such a nature was apt to be pushed aside, so uncomfortable to talk about. He saw it as the opposite, as something good to talk about, for everyone was going to experience it and almost everyone had a fate beyond. Those who refused to believe in something past life faded, their existences truly ending at the end of their dream. Closing his eyes, Mordus felt around for another possible client. As often the case, there was nobody else in need of his services.
Inside the scythe were two souls besides that of Mordus himself. Balls of light, burning golden and charcoal, were all that existed of them in that phase. He wasn’t sure if they could hear the screaming, but he thought that his grip on them as he Collected saved them from most of that sound. He had learned much in the time he had been working, very little coming from the handbook he had received. Useful for the basics, but the personal level with which he met his clients cast many of the guidelines aside. As a result, he was a respected member of the Reapers, and an authority figure. He was, to many, Death’s right-hand-man. All this could be seen of him inside the Scythe, where his soul was laid open to be viewed by those he had taken.
The woman from the hospital seemed pleased, for the radiant golden glow pulsed with the hum of the Scythe that surrounded them. The other deceased member was a man about forty years of age who died in a construction accident. His pain was cut short by the arrival of Mordus and the Scythe. This man was “speaking” with the woman, soul-to-soul, and Mordus listened in since he had the time.
“The Reaping was like being put into a tub of ice water after being on fire. The chill of the grave—hah—wasn’t what I expected.”
“My taking was mercy, after long last. I was of no use to this world anymore.”
“I don’t feel like I need to introduce myself to you, as though we already met.”
“I doubt it, for you are younger than I.”
“Ma’am, I lived and died a life with not very many people around me. Well, very few I could call my friends. After this, you may be my first.”
Mordus stepped in about here, as usual. “Second, sir.”
“Why, you must be that man who took my soul from my body!”
“Yes, sir, I am the very one. And she is your second friend, for I am the first. I am one with the Scythe, as a reaper.”
“Wait a moment and let me think,” the woman said. “You said something about a scythe, but now it’s the Scythe?”
“Indeed. Before death, you would think it impossible enough as it is that I am here, and adding that the Scythe is sentient would have caused unnecessary issues. By having information given in pieces, comprehension is easier and a good result is achieved more quickly.”
“Who are you?”
“If you want the name of the body, it is Mordus. If you want the name of the Scythe, it is Thal’gryyk, or Darkness-Eating-Burning-Water. I am called the Bringer by some, the Sage by others, and occasionally I’m the second-in-command for Death himself, or whoever holds that office.”
The man interjected. “So there’s politics in the Afterlife?”
“There are a few things I’d like to correct here. Firstly, it is not the Afterlife, but the first chapter, for what you call ‘life’ was a prologue. Secondly, politics does exist, but the matter of the position of Death is disputed between God and Satan. They must come to a consensus, but the expiration of Death, or the retirement, usually means the second-in-command becomes Death him- or herself.”
“You’re the heir to Death?”
“As it stands, perhaps. If I choose to retire before the current Death, it’ll be irrelevant. However, the system is in place in such a way that none may claim the position while I am still employed by both God and Satan.”
The woman spoke. “You speak of many Reapers, underneath Death. Does this mean that all Reapers have a chance at becoming Death, which means that the Deities must come to a consensus about each Reaper?”
“Exactly correct. Now, I hope you understand that the businesslike manner I possess is something trained into me. Conversations exactly like this happen for me many times in each…day, would you call it? Time has blended together so finely that I sometimes lose track of what is what.”
“How long is this trip, as you said?”
“It matters not, for you will be in a state of rest for a small while. Sleep well, children, and may Eternity be your imagined dream.” With this, Mordus left the existence in Thal’gryyk and imagined the gates of Hell.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Experimental story time part one
I'm going to start by saying that this is being written without any sort of editing being done before posting. If this ends up going somewhere, it might not look quite like this by the time it's in print.
The darkness wrapped around me, cold black mist. I felt like it was shaping me, rather than shaping itself around me. Screams rang in my ears, those of the dying, the damned. This nightmare was excruciating. When would it end?
I don't think it's ended. I don't think the screams have stopped. But the dark mist stopped swirling and tightening. I think I wear the mist now, and inside the hood are the souls and the screams. Or maybe it's the scythe that holds the remnants of those who refused to die quietly on my watch. Sometimes these are what I think about, when I have enough free time to think. It's then that the screams are loudest and the tension highest. It's then that I ponder whether the general view on my position and profession are correct in that it's a punishment.
I'm a Reaper, an agent of whoever holds the office of Death. In essence, I'm one member of a unit of souls with the fate to provide the justice of death to the masses. After all, one of the few justices in a miserable mortal existence is the right to die. I am not one committing a crime, for I am not the murderer. If blame must be doled out, my scythe is the murderer. I am just the vehicle for the scythe's will.
If you do not believe me, allow me to provide an example, a story of when I first woke from the dream called Life, and into Eternity. I still remember the man who greeted me, so long on the position that his features were all cold and gray, darkened and gaunt form looking devoured by the robe--or the scythe.
"Sir, you have just awakened," he said.
"Me?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. You have been chosen as one of the Reapers. We carry out Death's will upon humanity, since a different set of rules governs the higher animals. I have little to say, except that the manual you will find inside your Robe is invaluable. It cannot be lost, but I'd suggest reading it right away, after you have had time to meet your Blade."
"What's going on? I vaguely remember an end, a cord being cut, and then the darkness and chaos bound me, and I presume they became this cloth that drapes over me like so. You imply that I've awakened, I assume from 'life' and into 'after'." Of course, you yourself have seen the various mistakes I made in my naïve state. The man, whose name I still don't know, gave other small pieces of information not worthy of speaking of. What is worth speaking of, however, is the Scythe.
I was led by the cold man across some bridge through space and time that never existed, from one dark room lit by torches to another. Stone floors, stone walls, and no apparent ceiling--nothing at all above, in fact--were all that I noticed in this place, the Stronghold of Death. The last room we reached, though, was full of sharply curved blades with pieces of wood attached. There was no "iconic" scythe, with a perfectly straight handle and a blade with a perfect curve.
The one that called out to me was at first the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and then the most terrifying, and still after that the most powerful. A twisted, gnarled limb of willow was the shaft. The blade almost seemed to curve down, then up again, before returning back down almost to the point of pointing straight at the ground. Its initial color was bronze, but I have since seen it turn silver and occasionally red. The fluidity of the curved blade, the apparent strength of the shaft, called out to my very soul. I think that's where it hides, now, inside Darkness-Eating-Burning-Water, as it calls itself.
This scythe rent my spirit open and tore out all of my worth. It's my home, now, with this husk as its vehicle. My name is Mordus, or The Bringer, and sometimes Darkness-Eating-Burning-Water.
The darkness wrapped around me, cold black mist. I felt like it was shaping me, rather than shaping itself around me. Screams rang in my ears, those of the dying, the damned. This nightmare was excruciating. When would it end?
I don't think it's ended. I don't think the screams have stopped. But the dark mist stopped swirling and tightening. I think I wear the mist now, and inside the hood are the souls and the screams. Or maybe it's the scythe that holds the remnants of those who refused to die quietly on my watch. Sometimes these are what I think about, when I have enough free time to think. It's then that the screams are loudest and the tension highest. It's then that I ponder whether the general view on my position and profession are correct in that it's a punishment.
I'm a Reaper, an agent of whoever holds the office of Death. In essence, I'm one member of a unit of souls with the fate to provide the justice of death to the masses. After all, one of the few justices in a miserable mortal existence is the right to die. I am not one committing a crime, for I am not the murderer. If blame must be doled out, my scythe is the murderer. I am just the vehicle for the scythe's will.
If you do not believe me, allow me to provide an example, a story of when I first woke from the dream called Life, and into Eternity. I still remember the man who greeted me, so long on the position that his features were all cold and gray, darkened and gaunt form looking devoured by the robe--or the scythe.
"Sir, you have just awakened," he said.
"Me?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. You have been chosen as one of the Reapers. We carry out Death's will upon humanity, since a different set of rules governs the higher animals. I have little to say, except that the manual you will find inside your Robe is invaluable. It cannot be lost, but I'd suggest reading it right away, after you have had time to meet your Blade."
"What's going on? I vaguely remember an end, a cord being cut, and then the darkness and chaos bound me, and I presume they became this cloth that drapes over me like so. You imply that I've awakened, I assume from 'life' and into 'after'." Of course, you yourself have seen the various mistakes I made in my naïve state. The man, whose name I still don't know, gave other small pieces of information not worthy of speaking of. What is worth speaking of, however, is the Scythe.
I was led by the cold man across some bridge through space and time that never existed, from one dark room lit by torches to another. Stone floors, stone walls, and no apparent ceiling--nothing at all above, in fact--were all that I noticed in this place, the Stronghold of Death. The last room we reached, though, was full of sharply curved blades with pieces of wood attached. There was no "iconic" scythe, with a perfectly straight handle and a blade with a perfect curve.
The one that called out to me was at first the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and then the most terrifying, and still after that the most powerful. A twisted, gnarled limb of willow was the shaft. The blade almost seemed to curve down, then up again, before returning back down almost to the point of pointing straight at the ground. Its initial color was bronze, but I have since seen it turn silver and occasionally red. The fluidity of the curved blade, the apparent strength of the shaft, called out to my very soul. I think that's where it hides, now, inside Darkness-Eating-Burning-Water, as it calls itself.
This scythe rent my spirit open and tore out all of my worth. It's my home, now, with this husk as its vehicle. My name is Mordus, or The Bringer, and sometimes Darkness-Eating-Burning-Water.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Story time?
I'm tempted to start writing a story, and posting it bit by bit in the spaces where I'm not posting poetry. This is still only a possibility, but something I might enjoy seeing happen.
By the way, the Facebook page for this blog is:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/New-Perspective-the-Poetry-of-Andrew-Maben/103139123067323
That's the ONLY WAY I know how many fans I've got, since few people seem dedicated to doing anything with a Blogspot account in the tiny fanbase I appear to have. Thanks!
By the way, the Facebook page for this blog is:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/New-Perspective-the-Poetry-of-Andrew-Maben/103139123067323
That's the ONLY WAY I know how many fans I've got, since few people seem dedicated to doing anything with a Blogspot account in the tiny fanbase I appear to have. Thanks!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Reapers' Chant
Breathing deeply, hope to find
The darkened secrets in your mind.
With my claws will you I rake,
Pray your Lord your soul I take.
Scythe of darkness so profound,
Taking lost souls never found.
Its dark beauty hard to see
Hiding in its master Me.
Colored robes of darkness drained
Hide inside My eyes well-trained.
Rotting hands, only bone,
Ice and steel and cold hard stone.
Foolish dreamers never wake,
Never see their lives at stake,
Darkness ‘round in every dream,
Cutting off that little scream.
Damned am I to serve my days
As harbinger of ancient ways.
Death my partner, its cold soul
Bringing justice to a world unwhole.
Note: this is probably my new favorite. I'm really enjoying making poems that are supposed to be chanted. This one decided to feed off my dark side. 'Twas epic.
The darkened secrets in your mind.
With my claws will you I rake,
Pray your Lord your soul I take.
Scythe of darkness so profound,
Taking lost souls never found.
Its dark beauty hard to see
Hiding in its master Me.
Colored robes of darkness drained
Hide inside My eyes well-trained.
Rotting hands, only bone,
Ice and steel and cold hard stone.
Foolish dreamers never wake,
Never see their lives at stake,
Darkness ‘round in every dream,
Cutting off that little scream.
Damned am I to serve my days
As harbinger of ancient ways.
Death my partner, its cold soul
Bringing justice to a world unwhole.
Note: this is probably my new favorite. I'm really enjoying making poems that are supposed to be chanted. This one decided to feed off my dark side. 'Twas epic.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Lateness
I'm gonna be starting back up with the normal schedule tomorrow. I guess I've just been lazy.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Another Acrostic
Thanks Kenshur for reminding me of the name of the poem style.
Chaotic
Representative
Energy
All
Timelessness
Impossibilities
Visible
Eternal
Prime
Entertaining
Real
Fierce
Elusive
Creative
True
Inspiring
Opportunistic
Near
Perhaps these explain some of who I am. Maybe?
Chaotic
Representative
Energy
All
Timelessness
Impossibilities
Visible
Eternal
Prime
Entertaining
Real
Fierce
Elusive
Creative
True
Inspiring
Opportunistic
Near
Perhaps these explain some of who I am. Maybe?
Late Poem-thing
Okay, so I've been struck by a song so hard I've not been able to do much...shall we say, "productive thinking"? In a small flash of inspiration, I'm going to do one of those poems that can be made by second-graders. I don't remember what they're called and don't really care.
Duty
Inspiration
Service
Confession
I Love
Prayer
Leadership
Imprisonment of impurity
Nurturing
Empowerment
Note: I sort of thought of the first part in church. I had trouble with most of the second part. >.<
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Random proverbs/sayings
Don't expect many of these to be accurate:
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
A good proverb is worth two bad.
Feminists! In my keep? SLAY THEM ALL!!!
Treat others as you wish to be treated.
The cake is a lie.
Life's a dream.
Okay, it's late, and I'm tired, so I guess I'll stop here before I have a chance to get a cease & desist letter. >_>
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
This is immensely late
Well, title says it all on this one. My sister didn't let me onto the computer Monday, and I didn't feel creative anyway the past few days. If I was diligent and altogether good, I might post two poems here. I don't have two new poems to post. I got back from Denver under two hours ago, and I'm glad to be home. Oh, well. You'll just have to wait until Saturday for a new poem. >_>
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Double
Double the trouble,
Double the fun,
I'm hopelessly outnumbered:
Two to one.
Two minds against me,
What can I do?
I'm out of options:
I had two.
You didn't need to suffer
The likes of me.
Basic math was on your side,
For two and one make three.
Thanks for all that;
I'm too scared to run.
For me, one time is not enough:
The real nightmare's begun.
Note: This one is pretty much nonfiction.
Double the fun,
I'm hopelessly outnumbered:
Two to one.
Two minds against me,
What can I do?
I'm out of options:
I had two.
You didn't need to suffer
The likes of me.
Basic math was on your side,
For two and one make three.
Thanks for all that;
I'm too scared to run.
For me, one time is not enough:
The real nightmare's begun.
Note: This one is pretty much nonfiction.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Late Thursday Poast
I saw Despicable Me on Tuesday, and it was nearly as good as Up. I will admit to it making me get close to crying at the end, similarly to Up with the Ellie Badge thing (if you don't know what I'm talking about, then watch Up ASAP).
I went to Pike's Peak yesterday, the 31st tallest mountain in Colorado--the #1 is only a few hundred feet higher, so they're all extremely close. I didn't feel the altitude's power much until I exerted a little bit of force moving around on rocks at the pinnacle, which we took a cog-train up (down, too). There's a lot less oxygen around at 14,110 feet than there is at one mile up, which is where I'm at right now. I'll probably be writing the poem for tomorrow...tomorrow. I'm going to be seeing the Nature and Science Museum, as well as an art museum near it in Denver, along with the State Capitol Building.
I went to Pike's Peak yesterday, the 31st tallest mountain in Colorado--the #1 is only a few hundred feet higher, so they're all extremely close. I didn't feel the altitude's power much until I exerted a little bit of force moving around on rocks at the pinnacle, which we took a cog-train up (down, too). There's a lot less oxygen around at 14,110 feet than there is at one mile up, which is where I'm at right now. I'll probably be writing the poem for tomorrow...tomorrow. I'm going to be seeing the Nature and Science Museum, as well as an art museum near it in Denver, along with the State Capitol Building.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Cave
I seek a haven from roaming sound,
A cave with dark and silence all 'round.
Inside the cave I'll have no fright
From those things lurking in the night.
The only light is crystal glow,
With hidden pow'r not oft to show.
The light is there to ease my mind
And keep my eyes from going blind.
Time is fading; I cannot think,
Thoughts and soul gone down the drink.
Vicious noises in my head,
I'd rather voices in their stead.
When I lay me down at night,
My mind is plagued with dead men's blight.
Cave hears first what I have in store:
Mad souls screaming forevermore.
Note (this is becoming quite a commentary, this Note section): This is the second time I typed this out as it broke the first time. I wrote this without sleeping for almost a full day, before the plane from LAX to Dallas left the airport. There were some annoying people from another P2P delegation nearby, probably middle schoolers. I think it turned out well. Also, from here on out, my poems are going to be more recent than Australia, as this is the last of that batch I have.
A cave with dark and silence all 'round.
Inside the cave I'll have no fright
From those things lurking in the night.
The only light is crystal glow,
With hidden pow'r not oft to show.
The light is there to ease my mind
And keep my eyes from going blind.
Time is fading; I cannot think,
Thoughts and soul gone down the drink.
Vicious noises in my head,
I'd rather voices in their stead.
When I lay me down at night,
My mind is plagued with dead men's blight.
Cave hears first what I have in store:
Mad souls screaming forevermore.
Note (this is becoming quite a commentary, this Note section): This is the second time I typed this out as it broke the first time. I wrote this without sleeping for almost a full day, before the plane from LAX to Dallas left the airport. There were some annoying people from another P2P delegation nearby, probably middle schoolers. I think it turned out well. Also, from here on out, my poems are going to be more recent than Australia, as this is the last of that batch I have.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Movies
In the next few days, I might be seeing a few movies. I've heard great things about both Toy Story 3 and Despicable Me. The latter one I'll probably be seeing today, if all goes as planned. I also might wanna see The Sorceror's Apprentice, which looks pretty cool from the previews. What do you guys think? SAY ANYTHING
Monday, July 12, 2010
Lost
One time hence I was on a road,
Walking through a morning frost,
On my back was the heavy load
Of dreams and lovers found and lost.
I respect the angels that guide me
For the job they have is no easy task.
I doubt, if they wanted, they'll ever go free,
But all it would take is for them to ask.
Dream a dream, cry to sleep.
Darkness touched my soul today,
Reality takes a flying leap
Into the crimes I must repay.
I've made new order in my life,
A new feeling's entered my soul.
Lost I am in inner strife,
Broken once to be made whole.
Note: There are no crimes, as this is fictional. I really like this one.
Walking through a morning frost,
On my back was the heavy load
Of dreams and lovers found and lost.
I respect the angels that guide me
For the job they have is no easy task.
I doubt, if they wanted, they'll ever go free,
But all it would take is for them to ask.
Dream a dream, cry to sleep.
Darkness touched my soul today,
Reality takes a flying leap
Into the crimes I must repay.
I've made new order in my life,
A new feeling's entered my soul.
Lost I am in inner strife,
Broken once to be made whole.
Note: There are no crimes, as this is fictional. I really like this one.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Shift
A short while ago I lost my control,
Floating free and prone to drift.
Now, however, I've reclaimed my soul.
Now is the time for a balance to shift.
This might be swomething that's hard to get,
As devious as a sorceror's stone,
Or maybe some music, where it's hard to let
Freedom get in the way of tone.
I saw myself changed yesterday,
A new reality was accepted as true.
Now I might not have far to stray
Before I remember I belong to you.
Twice I lost what wasn't worth keeping,
But only once I made a shift.
I saw two cars, and children sleeping,
And one poor soul gave me a lift.
Note: this is nonsensical, sure, and I'm typing this with Internet Explorer in Hays, Kansas without any spellcheck. I didn't like how this one turned out, but it's still a poem.
Floating free and prone to drift.
Now, however, I've reclaimed my soul.
Now is the time for a balance to shift.
This might be swomething that's hard to get,
As devious as a sorceror's stone,
Or maybe some music, where it's hard to let
Freedom get in the way of tone.
I saw myself changed yesterday,
A new reality was accepted as true.
Now I might not have far to stray
Before I remember I belong to you.
Twice I lost what wasn't worth keeping,
But only once I made a shift.
I saw two cars, and children sleeping,
And one poor soul gave me a lift.
Note: this is nonsensical, sure, and I'm typing this with Internet Explorer in Hays, Kansas without any spellcheck. I didn't like how this one turned out, but it's still a poem.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Denver
I'm leaving for Denver today, and will get there Saturday. I think I'll be able to get more poetry posted while I'm on the trip, since I'll have internet access.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Noise
The prose in my head
Is leaving me dead
In feeling, or maybe just name;
The noise all around,
The unbidden sound...
I'm quickly going insane.
I can't quite be discreet
With the roar of a busy street
Drilling into my brain.
The silence I need,
The short time to feed
On the foods of thought and pain.
Nothing left in my mind,
I left it all behind
In the time before the roar.
I seek only quiet,
My mind's simple diet
Of the calm before the storm.
Note: Notice a theme in some of these poems?
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Behind the Poetry
If you look hard enough, behind my poetry you'll see some stuff I wouldn't just say normally. How I see the world, for instance, can only be grasped by reading my poetry. It's such an abstract way of thinking that the only medium is something equally abstract and artistic. There's other stuff there, too, some of which I probably don't even realize I've put in there.
Something else would be evident in all my darker poetry. I've got a side of me that's probably soulless. It's frightening, actually, to have that inside, but I think I'm used to it. Even more than these two things, if you try hard enough, you can see just how lonely I am sometimes by reading my poetry. Or is it obvious by now?
Monday, July 5, 2010
Cycle
Crying souls and bleeding stars,
But nothing I can do to help.
Gods of war like ancient Mars
Rise up and strangle me like kelp.
Not in the cycle, I'm not a tool,
Not for intents or purposes.
My time is later, I'm not a fool,
I'm not a clown in the circuses.
Is this silence just a dream,
Just an illusion so easy to break?
Smash the reverie and watch me scream,
Scream for the souls I can't save while awake.
You steal my joy and break my rhyme,
Leave me mindless, and to the side
Of Nature's cycle, of proper time;
I'll be swept away in high tide.
Make the cycle, break the cycle,
Epiphany is not at hand.
I am the master of that grand bicycle,
But time sifts away like wind with sand.
Note: I was craving solitude when I wrote this. My experience in Australia had cycles of introversion.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Arms
I'm tired of this tiredness,
Jealous of the utmost bliss
Found in a lovers' kiss.
I'm dark inside from hidden shame,
One part life to two parts blame,
As well I die without a name.
Hear me now my helpless cry,
Arms flung out to open sky,
Today is not the day I die.
Chance is broken with me here,
But no-one willing to lend an ear,
Still, what have I to fear?
Is now the time to be filled with pride?
Is now the turning of the tide?
Yes: your arms invite me inside.
NOTE: This is purely fictional. This didn't happen.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Thursday
Fun, fun. Bicycling gang had a ride (sorry, Garth, for being too late) and I swam in the Gentry Estates pool. I just got back from driving to and from Kroger. It's been a great summer so far, I say. YOU READ THIS, PLEASE POST. COMMENT ON YOUR DAY. JUST SAY ANYTHING.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Forest Demons
Can you hear the birds and the sounds they make
From the tops of the trees or a forest's lake,
Varied sounds of ancient life,
Or do you hear the demons wake?
Forest demons bring nothing but strife,
Chaos and doom like a murdered wife,
Screaming and roaring, too vicious of noise
To be welcome anywhere near this life.
A horrid sound louder than boys
Running around, throwing their toys,
Sound of help coming too late
For the poor victims the child destroys.
Death and chaos resonate,
Blood and fire in unbound hate,
Destruction and endless pain,
The darkest side of blackened Fate.
Fear and injury I gain
Hoping for mercy with the death I feign.
At the end there is no cake
When the forest demons are those who reign.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Obligatory Post
Not too much happening, really, except that I'm going to be picking up my new retainer in about a week, since I happened to break my first one the day before I left for Australia. The "imprint" or whatever they call it was not nearly as bad this time as it was in times past. Maybe the FullOn experience in Australia taught me the sufficient will and self-control to survive that. Regardless, today's been pretty good. If you are actually reading this, write something in the comments if you can. Find a way. >_>
Monday, June 28, 2010
Ship
Sea-worthy craft not bound to flip,
Riding the waves on ocean rough,
It climbs strong on swells so tough,
We proudly watch the strength of the ship.
Faring seas and riding the wind,
All aboard are glad and free,
History forged in fire by me,
Telling great tales (too) easily spinn'd.
Take a ride and you won't look back
On the world you leave behind in dust.
You will understand and I'm sure you'll trust
Me as we put your life on a whole new track.
The ship is kind to those who ride
On the raging sea and the roaring tide,
Filling the crew with joy and pride
At the success of a sailor who worked and tried.
Your time is short and its is long,
Your work is light and its is hard.
What is braves would leave you scarred
If you faced an angry ocean's song.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Be
Be my blood, be my shield,
I pray my soul the Light I wield.
Be my savior, be my friend,
I pray the darkness is my end.
Be my demon, be my wife,
Cut me down if you love life.
Be my master, be my hound,
Teach me to throw life around.
Be my ruler, by my mind,
I pray my soul my eyes you blind.
Be my keeper, stay my friend,
I fear leaving in the end.
Be my chanter, be my words,
I pray my soul goes to the birds.
Be my lover, you God-send,
I'll not be lonely in the end.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Hiatus-ish
This is going to be the last post for about two weeks, and then I might kick it into overdrive. I doubt I'll have any real sort of Internet access in Australia, so don't expect anything until the 26th of June, maybe even the 28th. Have fun, all of you who might be dedicated readers. Expect plenty of poetry when I get back. With any luck, that'll be the case.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Within
Within the chaos is a lonely mind,
Overlooked and disregarded,
In clarity and balance as though it was blind
It moves on, with the weak discarded.
Within the apathy is a quiet heart,
Pulsing gently and pumping light
Throughout the being, but just a part
Of a plain body; but what a sight.
Within the darkness are two vivid eyes,
Almost useless and under stress,
Add a third and they'll see through lies
As they force my feelings to compress.
Within the rage is a flawless soul,
Surviving a furnace of dead men's fire,
Without it, I'd have lost control
As I sat in the dark, strumming a lyre.
Within the beast is a simple man,
In equilibrium for a short time,
Being decent as best he can
As he gives the world gifts sublime.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Australia
So, this is pretty big. I'm leaving Friday, going to be in Australia for fifteen days. It's for the People to People Student Ambassador program, which some of you might know about, or I've told you about. This should be obvious, but I'm not going to be posting anything while I'm there, for reasons such as time and availability of a computer (I probably wouldn't get the day right on the posts).
However, I'm going to be making a lot of poems (if I have twenty-minute stretches of quiet) and be taking a lot of pictures. You'll probably be able to find most of the photos on Facebook (not on the poetry's page, but on my own profile). The poems are going to be put up here; depending on how many there are, I might be placing poems at the end of blog posts that aren't specifically poetry.
Thanks for reading thus far.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Rain
Clear blue sky breaking
As the clouds seep through,
All this time I've been faking
But who I seem isn't true.
Don't cry over change;
The sky does that enough.
Embrace the pouring rain
That smooths edges too rough.
My grand façade shatters,
My concealing mask is gone.
Nothing before this matters,
What's done is done.
I'm not who I was before;
The past is lost in new light.
I won't be like this forevermore,
I see the stars, shining bright.
And there you are at the very top,
Roaming far above my head.
My world is spinning and will not stop
Until I'm saved or until I'm dead.
A full moon serenades me,
And I stare up at you.
The sky laughs 'cause I'm still not free,
But it doesn't know me like you do.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Inside
You will say what you want and you can do as you may,
But you'll be greater tomorrow than when I saw you today.
You can hide your fate or you can run away,
But it'll catch up to you before the end of the day.
Whether you deny the truth or hide from your soul,
I've got a mirror for you that will show you whole.
You'll be too amazed to run and your life will be full
Changing the world and filling a hole.
Come closer, please, and let me give you a part
Of that old, withered thing I call my heart.
Give it a touch, a quick jump-start
And it turns from a waste into a piece of art.
I want you to see yourself just like I do,
But I know that my actions will then affect you.
I am who I am, and I try to be true,
But it's just so hard to be without you.
Take my heart, keep it locked inside
Where nobody can steal it, where it can hide.
I've little to lose when I've got no pride;
My, how it hurts to be empty inside.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Shelter
You try to escape the pouring rain,
You try to escape the death-cold snow,
You try to hide from the searing pain,
But I can see the human below.
You deny you’re of worth,
You deny you’re still free.
You deny you belong to this earth,
But I know you’re just like me.
Find yourself a new home,
Find yourself a haven.
You’ve got no time to roam
On black wings like a raven.
Shelter yourself from the hate,
Shelter yourself from the ice.
I can tell it’s not too late.
A simple home will suffice.
You still have a soul,
You still have a mind.
Your debt’s paid in full,
I won’t leave you behind.
You try to escape the death-cold snow,
You try to hide from the searing pain,
But I can see the human below.
You deny you’re of worth,
You deny you’re still free.
You deny you belong to this earth,
But I know you’re just like me.
Find yourself a new home,
Find yourself a haven.
You’ve got no time to roam
On black wings like a raven.
Shelter yourself from the hate,
Shelter yourself from the ice.
I can tell it’s not too late.
A simple home will suffice.
You still have a soul,
You still have a mind.
Your debt’s paid in full,
I won’t leave you behind.
Welcome
So, this is where it starts. Hopefully, these poems will come at regular intervals. Hopefully, this becomes something worth speaking of. Comment on the poems I make, and hopefully the quality and skill will improve before your eyes. Thanks for reading the very first post.
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