Writing, v. 2006.1
Ditto.
Date: January 3, 2006
Categories: Fiction, poetry, and fanfiction
Comments RSS TrackBack 176 comments
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randomrohanfreak
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 15:12First post!
Either I’m dancing with glee or not. Depends. I just started a completely new version of a novel I’ve been working on for a while. It wasn’t working out, so I restarted. Maybe I’ll email it to the OEADs when I get a little farther so it can be its own thread. Yee!!
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sleepynighttimedragon
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 15:18oh darn it i missed first post…. oh well… I STILL GOT 2nd POST!!!! muahahahaha!!!
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MontogmeryGurl
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 15:21Hmm, maybe this will inspire me to write something. Of course, that might be a scary thought for some of you (Ebeth) who’ve seen my version of story telling. Pretty sad. I’ll probably subject you to it, though. Mwa ha ha, and all that stuff.
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cheesenator
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 16:30i hav this really bad random fiction type thing but here it is anyway
One day bob the cow was walking down the street when he saw a great big ice cream truck pull up by the curb. It was one of those old fashioned ice cream trucks in an odd shape a sort of off white color with two large speakers on the top. It was playing this lilting music, like fairies singing and there was a man inside shouting loudly and quite stupidly, “ice cream, Frrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ice cream!†Then the truck jumped into gear and sped away before bob could even get a chance to get some of this wondrous free ice cream. Bob began to sadly waddle down the street sniffling a bit because none of this ice cream would ever belong to him. Then he thought, ah well, might as well walk home to farmer Joe and see what he has to say about it. Then, thinking a bit more optimistically (for farmer Joe always told him to do that) perhaps farmer Joe even has some ice cream for me!
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Queen Julietaini the Froody of Kiador (Queenie J)
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 16:36As of now I am attempting a story about a fantasy chemist. It is set in a jungle setting and should be lots of fun to write. I am planning to allow myself all the stupid jokes I want.
MontgomeryGurl, darling, your name got messed up in 3! Or maybe you’re just MontogmeryGurl now. What do I know? {Nothing.}
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Lucifer Inc.
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 16:40Mostly I write House fanfictions. I did write 8 short stories featuring Ben and Ted, but they aren’t eactly approriate for this site.
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MontgomeryGurl
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 16:44Oh, thanks for telling me!!!! I guess it happened when I changed my name back after I masqueraded as Robert.
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Phoenix
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 16:50I want to write somthing but all I have is a poem I wrote in the space of one period for a Hannuka composition contest.
The Marching Song of Galilee
From valley deep and mountain high
From field and forest, city, town
We summon thee from where you lie
Come and hear our battle cry!
And we shall not go down.With bow and spear and dagger keen
The Titan bows, and bends his knee
The Tower of Babylon shall lean
The tyrant we have known, have seen!
March on up from Galilee!Jerusalem, we fight for you
We fight for Gad, for Jerico
For Abraham, for what he knew
For Moses, who has taught us so.The fire burn’d for seven nights
Longer than ’twas meant to be
From darkness has shone golden light
For this we fought, and still we fight!
March on up from Galilee!I know it is nae great, but I don’t think it’s too bad, either.
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Lusifer Ink.
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 17:17I keep on confusing you and Sphinx.
That was really good, Pheonix.
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cheesenator
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 17:32yeah that was good
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MontgomeryGurl
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 19:40I would write a story to post on here, but I can not write short stories. My plots (once I get them figured out) are always the sort that take a long time to write, and I have a bad habit of going into a lot of descriotion and going to a lot of trouble to create moods. I have a few mediocre (if not bad) stories finished, and a lot more half way done. A few might be good, if I don’t succumb to temptation and start using general descriptions instead of my style in order to make it shorter, but I will probably never finish them. The reason I have so much trouble finishing, is I don’t write sencetances like “Jen got ready and went to the party”. I am much more likely to write “Jen wandered indeciseively over to her closet. Despite her promise to Mara that she would go, and her mother’s repeated statement that ‘t would be fun’, she wasn’t quite convinced that she wanted to go. It didn’t matter, it was unrealistic to think her mom would let her break a promise. She opened the closet door and looked at her choices for that evening. There was one, a personal favorite of a rather bright sort, that she knew would out her in a different social category than what she wanted throughout the night. She turned her eyes to a dolled up affair, sequins and low neck line, that looked like something that chearleader Brittanny would wear. She started to pick it up, when she jerked her had away, disgusted with herself. Who was she becoming, anyway? She deliberately turned to the first dress, and slipped it over her head. Immediately she slipped of her personas and plastic traits subconciously adopted, and become her own pure self. Her clothes always had a way of defining her. She tripped down the stairs, and into the kitchen. ‘I’m going Mom, bye!!!’ she said hurriedly, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice her. Her mom would probably question her about her choice of clothing, and the last thing Jen wanted to do right then was to defend a dress chosen purely because it was the wrong choice. Fortunately, her mother was too engrossed in exactly how much salt should go in what she was fixing for dinner to say anymore than ‘hhmm? Oh, have fun’. Jen stepped out into the biting cold, thankful for once in her life that Ashely lived so close to her. Why had she agreed to go to this party for the social class she despised? She wasn’t one of the cheerleaders, one of those plastic, obnoxioua, drama queens. At least, not yet. Who she would be in a few months was still a question. A more pressing issue was why she had even been invited. Until one weeks ago, these girls had either ignored her (this happened most of the time) or tried to make her life a living hell. What possessed them to suddenly change thier minds? Something told her it was not a pure motive, but no obvious ones leapt to mind. She was going through all the reasons why she might have been invited to this party tonight when, all too soon, she arrived at Ashley’s house. Suddenly, she was struck with a horrible and nearly overpowering desire to run home. For that one second, she was a frightened four year-old again, lost in this great big world. She quickly mastered this feeling, and rang the doorbell. As it swung open, she knew she was in for a wild ride.” You see why it takes me forever to finish a story?
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cheesenator
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 19:59that would definatly be a reason that it takes you forever to write thing but you should finish because thats not so bad and its a whole lot better than mine
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Phoenix
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 20:06great!
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MontgomeryGurl
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 20:43All right, peoples. I’m off to either write something, or read a book. If I write anything, I’ll let you know.
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Ebeth The Lurker
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 21:07hey that was good! A lot better then “Jen got ready and went to the party”
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randomrohanfreak
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 21:51I write with a lot of detail too. It’s the bane of my teachers, who I think sometimes wish I would shove “Jen got ready and went to the party” at them instead of whatever intricate and convoluted explanation I invent from the depths of my twisted mind.
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Zallie
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 23:18I…haven’t written anything since my NaNo-novel.
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MontgomeryGurl
in January 3rd, 2006 @ 23:51Okay, here’s a bad story with no plot and a really terrible ending that I once wrote. Don’t lie about what you think and tell me it’s wonderful, if you hate it, either tell me or keep your mouth shut.
Cynthia was screaming at the top of her lungs. She couldn’t help it. Vera had broken into the kitchen last night and taken a cake. She taunted Cynthia all day, saying the most maddening things which Cynthia couldn’t ignore without looking stupid, and couldn’t answer without getting into trouble, cheated off of Cynthia’s paper in school, then she stole a book out of Cynthia’s room. Of course she lied about it all. She said Cynthia took cake, Cynthia cheated off of her paper, and that Cynthia’s book was really her’s. That idiot Hally had said Vera was telling the truth, even though knew she was lying, because she wanted to be in good with a popular girl. Not surprising, really. Vera got away with everything.
So Cynthia had had to scrub the kitchen, apologize to Vera for cheating off her paper, get an F while Vera got an A, and lose her book. Then Hally came up to to her room, and stood in the doorway, smirking. Maybe now you understand the screaming.
“What are you giving that look for?”
“What look?” Hally asked innocently.
“That ‘holier that thou’ look!” She shouted.
“Maybe because I am”
“Are what?” She asked, even louder, if that were possible.
“Holier than thou”
“Not hardly!” she said, coming to the part in the beginning of this story where she was screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Are you accusing me of something?”
“Yes!”
“What, after all you did to poor Vera?”
“Oh, yes, poor Vera! You know I didn’t do anything to her!”
“Really, I distinctly saw you cheat off of her paper! And if you would do that, who knows what you might do?” she said, with the most maddening inflection in her voice and expression on her face.
Cynthia grabbed the china figurine by her bed and made a motion as if to throw it at her. Hally scurried out, and she was left in peace.
It wasn’t so much having to scrub the kitchen, that only took one Saturday, or the F, she would make that up with high grades later. It wasn’t the loss of the book, though it would hurt not to know what happened to the characters in Where The Lilies Bloom. No, two things were making this so hard. First was the apology. Having to look Vera in the eyes and say she was sorry, with Vera giving a triumphant look which proclaimed “I won!” for all the world to see. Second was the blight on her record. Next time something like this happened, she wouldn’t be believed. People could do anything to her!
Cynthia sighed. The world was unfair, she knew that, but why couldn’t it ever be unfair in her favor?
Hally stuck her head in the door. “Mrs. Lompandy wants to see you,” she said, before she ran out like a scared cat.
Mrs. Lompandy was the headmistress at the girl’s boarding school Cythia attended.
Cynthia walked up the hall, down the stairs and into Mrs. Lompandy’s office. There she sat, looking kind and big sisterly behind her desk.
She smiled kindly at Cynthia. “Sit down, please.”
Cynthia sat down. She was not surprised by Mrs. Lompandy. Mrs. Lompandy was a firm believer in psychology, and reasoning children out of bad behavior. This was exactly the opposite of the view held by her sister, Ms. Halibart. Ms Halibart believed in strict discipline, and universal punishments. Ms. Halibart was not well liked.
Mrs. Lompandy sighed, bringing Cynthia out of her reverie.
“Hally said you almost threw a pitcher at her.”
“It wasn’t a pitcher,” answered Cynthia quickly, “it was just a china figurine. Amd I wasn’t really going to throw it, I just wanted to get her to leave me alone.”
Mrs. Lompandy shook her head, “what bothers me most about this whole thing is your unwillingness to accept responsibility for our actions. You cheat off of poor Vera’s paper, steal a cake from the kitchen, and take poor Vera’s book. Then you blame the whole thing on the victim, even after confronted with what Hally saw, you still refused to acept the consequences for your actions, to the point of almost refusing to apologize to Vera, and now this agression towards Hally. Really Cythia, I don’t know what got into you.”
What followed was a very long, very moving, very boring speech about taking responsibility, and admitting when you’ve done wrong. Cynthia thought it in her best interest to be moved, so she cried and begged forgiveness, and Mrs. Lompandy sent her away, convinced she had done some good in a child’s life.
By the time she got back upstairs, Cynthia was seething. All these lies and assumptions against her! Vera and Hally were the biggest jerks in school.
That night it took hours of tossing and turning to get to sleep.
But the next morning! It was all over school-Vera and Hally were in huge trouble. Something had happened the night before. Vera had been finishing a paper, when Hally came in. They were talking when the kitten Vera had been hiding for a month came out and ruined the paper. Apperently, Ver had ended up calling Hally a stupid dork and Hally called Vera a bitch. When they turned around, Ms. Halibart was standing right there! She had coldly picked up the forbidden cat (forbidden because Ms. Halibart hated animals) and told them she would find a suitable punishment for their crimes, harboring an animal and talking to another girl after 9:30 on Vera’s part. Then she told Hally she would be punished for “after hours fraternizing and regretable language”. Plus, Vera lost the kitten and Hally lost any chance with Vera.
Though Cynthia was still blamed for Vera’s crimes, she felt better. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help thinking that while the world was unfair, things had a way of working out.
See? It’s really got no plot, and my character development, mood setting, and description were off. I also ended the story way before I wanted to, because I was just tired of writing and wanted to finish something. Not one of my finer works, but one of only two I’ve finished. The other one is even more plotless, but I like it a little bit better. Actually, it’s kind of dweeby and could be a lot better, but it’s got a little bit of me in it so I like it.
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Ebeth The Lurker
in January 4th, 2006 @ 09:08“why can’t it ever be unfair in my favor?”
calvin and hobbes?
haha i laugh at Vera.
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MontgomeryGurl
in January 4th, 2006 @ 10:43Yes, it came from Calvin & Hobbes. I guess you know your story’s in trouble when you can site influences by such greats as Bill Waterson.
I’m off to write a speech. I’ve decided to write one persuading people not to have prejudices. I also have to make a peice from a book that I act out longer. I’ll be working on that, because the speech and debate conference is in two weeks.
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Axa
in January 4th, 2006 @ 12:31That was nice, MG!
My writing is irregular, as I’m most inspired at about one at night.
I mean, sure, I can crank out the essays and crud in Language Arts class, but that’s totally different from actually writing
Or maybe that doesn’t make sense. Feh.Poetry seems to come easier to me, though.
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Ebeth The Lurker
in January 4th, 2006 @ 15:06makes sense to me axa. I write better in geometry than i do in english. The motivation of total boredom…
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yesterday's_kinked_moose
in January 4th, 2006 @ 15:35Here’s a poem I wrote:
Muffling, covering, growing, creeping;
Erasing the names on the stones of the sleeping;
In the damp, in the dark, on the old, in the chill;
It obliterates details when all things are still;
It dominates things that have been there a while;
And, on forest floors, it stretches for miles;
The bark and the dirt, it populates;
The cold, dripping caves, it overtakes;
To the north at the roots of the trees you will see it;
It blankets the wood in a spongy green carpet.Yeah, it’s not perfect, but it actually turned out better than I expected.
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randomrohanfreak
in January 4th, 2006 @ 21:16Almost done with the prologue to Itholianam! Go me! I will post it when I’m done.
Nice poem, Moose.
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yesterday's_kinked_moose
in January 5th, 2006 @ 15:38Thanks.
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Kricket
in January 5th, 2006 @ 16:04ok peeps i’m going to make something up at this moment as i’m typing it…
Issy flinched as she heard the stream of insults Selena was shouting at another girl. All Selena does is yell she thought. Suddenly she realized just who exactly Selena was screaming at. Stella! Quickly she flew to the door as it burst open with a flash of light that was always a side effect of Issy’s powers.. Always purple and violet light.. Anyways Issy encountered a scene that would have shocked some people so much that they might have even fainted at the sight!!!!
g2g, it’s dinner time!!! i’ll finish it up later…
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Queen Julietaini the Froody of Kiador (Queenie J)
in January 5th, 2006 @ 16:17Oooh…cliffhanger! Ah!
You eat dinner at FOUR?!?!
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Em who is a hot pink bunny but is also on her evil dial-up connection so she is mad
in January 5th, 2006 @ 16:25different time zone.
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Kricket
in January 5th, 2006 @ 16:55actually my clock says 5:00pm… no i do not eat at 4:00pm… okay here’s the rest!!! and don’t lie if it’s horrible just tell me..
The sight that Issy encountered was messy one indeed. Blood streaked practically everything in sight and glass shards from the window were scattered on the floor. Stella stood dumbfounded in the middle of the mess with dried blood in her hair and on her shoes while Selena stood angrily pulling the glass shards out of her hair which also had wet blood in it. As far as Issy could see, Selena was at the peak of her angery explosion and not yet beginning to calm down. Selena was shouting some incoherent language as she tried to get all the glass out of her hair.
“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING! FALLING ASLEEP WHILE GUARDING THE VAULT!!!” Selena burst.
Looking around, Issy saw that this was indeed the vault room, and she distinctly remembered that after she had been done guarding it, it was Stella’s turn. But Stella never falls asleep, not until 11:00pm at least.. And it’s only 3:30pm… Wonder what happened… Issy shrank back into the shadows to watch the turn of events, before helping Stella.
“I don’t… I don’t know what happened, Selena… One minute I was as alert as a cat watching a mouse, and the next minute I was…” Stella started.
“Asleep, that’s what you were!!!! Don’t lie!!!!! And how do you explain the blood and broken windows?! You’re lucky that Hazel got here when she did or else the intruder would have gotten away with… well, you know!!! I’ll have to report this to the Headmaster!!!! Unless you can clean this up by the time I get back, then I’m going to the Headmaster right away!!!! So get cleaning!!!” Selena stromed out of the room and up to the showers to get cleaned off.
“Drat that girl, how am I supposed to get this cleaned up in time..” Stella mumbled to herself angrily.
“Well you sure handled that nicely,” Issy joked stepping out of the shadows.
“Issy! I’m so glad you’re here!! Can you…”
“Sure, I’ll clean it up while you go get cleaned off. Now quickly, before Headmaster comes!!” Issy smiled showing off milky white teeth that were a sign of the Magic in her.
“Issy you’re a lifesaver!” Stella said hurrying up the steps to her dorm. “I owe you one!!”
Sighing, Issy turned around and insected the mess in front of her. Well, I guess I’d better start cleaning.. A rag, mop, and other cleaning utensils came flying out of the closet accompanied as always by a flash of purple and violet light and started cleaning the floor. As the cleaning supplies swapped and polished the floor, Issy wondered what had happened to Stella. Stella had never ever in the history of history ever fallen asleep on guard duty. So what had happened here? Suddenly a hand grabbed Issy’s mouth and shoved a smelly rag under her nose. What?! was her last thought before she plunged into the darkness that can only happen when one is introduced to the sweetest smelling salts of the world, aerosceinve.
okie dokie you asked for it!! here’s another cliff-hanger..
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Phoenix
in January 5th, 2006 @ 17:20cool!
Here is my preferred version of unusual and miscelaneous powers, a Belgariad fanfiction made up, of course, on the spot:
(oh no, my mom is calling. sorry, more later!)
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Queen Julietaini the Froody of Kiador (Queenie J)
in January 5th, 2006 @ 18:17And my contribution, one of my favorite parts of The Frangarshion:
Vazyk opened the door. Desdemona turned around and stared at him, face white, jaw slack, the picture of shock. “Darling, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Vazyk said, half-laughing.
“I wish,” Desdemona practically snarled.
“Now, darling, it happened three hundred years ago. Don’t hold grudges.”
“What happened?” Astatine walked through the door with a scroll in her hand. “Sraah Desdemona, there’s a scroll for us from the Pavarjoti of South Mothelria.”
“Mothelria?” Vazyk sneered, coming to lean over Astatine’s shoulder. “No one cares about Mothelria but the Mothelrians.”
“Guess what I am,” Astatine told him sarcastically.
“Vazyk, this is Deeyriaq, the daughter of Vishneela and Hajajorak,” Desdemona told him in a voice like ice.
“But Vishneela’s beautiful,” Vazyk protested. “It can’t be.”
Astatine swung around and stuck her elbow in his nose.
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Queen Julietaini the Froody of Kiador (Queenie J)
in January 5th, 2006 @ 18:47There’s a lot of inside jokes and things you wouldn’t get. For example, “Vazyk” is the word for player (think slang sense) in Polish. Yes, I know. Hey, Tobias Ernst is Polish. (Poland! Siem Poland!) Mothelria is on a continent called Ria, which is also home to Calandria, Cafeteria (I couldn’t resist), and Spleyria. Also, I think the part about “ghost”-“I wish” is pretty good.
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Phoenix
in January 5th, 2006 @ 18:58Huh?
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dark lord of darkness
in January 5th, 2006 @ 19:34is the whole thing an inside joke that i dont get?
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Zallie
in January 5th, 2006 @ 19:35You took the word right out of my mouth, Phoenix!
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Phoebe
in January 5th, 2006 @ 20:38…What in the name of Zarquon?
Here’s a preview of Phoebe’s (my HP RPG character) Home Story, for the summer break. She won’t be staying at Camp Hogwarts.
An exerpt describing the Preble’s home…
The Prebles were undeniably pretty wealthy. Henceforth, their home was big. Phoebe’s parents were all big fans of sparkly, light coloured new stuff while Phoebe preferred the dark stone that Hogwarts supplied her with. The main hall of the Preble household was floored in white marble and a long ivory carpet and stark white walls. A gigantic staircase stood in the middle, carpeted in what else, white, with a glass banister and porcelain statues at the ends. Phoebe scurried up them dragging her suitcase behind her, found her room and entered her room.
When they discovered they were expecting a daughter, the Prebles were excited, looking forwards to another cheerful, blonde, metamorphagi, preppy type daughter who was an enormous fan of pink. They got Phoebe. They had the room decorated pale pink and with a frilly pink beadspread and white bed. As soon as she had learned the “Lumos” charm at Wizarding Preschool, Phoebe had sucessfully managed to turn the bedspread and walls a darkish blue and charmed the paint off the bed and stained it dark. Her parents decided to let her suffer with it as punishment, but Phoebe liked it. It was a shelter from her overbearing family. She locked the door firmly behind her and sighed.
Somethin’ to look forwards to.
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Zallie
in January 5th, 2006 @ 21:06Ehh, I should probably post something interesting about Zara, but I’m too lazy. Later, maybe.
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Phoenix
in January 5th, 2006 @ 21:08I changed my charecter a tiny bit, by the by.
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Phoebe
in January 5th, 2006 @ 21:55You did? Can I see her application now?
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Zallie
in January 5th, 2006 @ 22:01Oooh. How? We’re usually cool with small changes, just beacause it oftent takes people a bit to find a side of their original application that they want to keep playing, but large changes are another story. Zara’s a bit different from when I first wrote her (she’s not as malicious as I intended her to be, believe it or not), but she’s still relatively the same.
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Phoebe
in January 6th, 2006 @ 11:59PLEEEEEEEEZE can we see the new application?
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Phoenix
in January 6th, 2006 @ 14:10I guess. If I can find it.
I just changed her history and made her a bit more animated.
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yesterday's_kinked_moose
in January 6th, 2006 @ 18:04This is some what creepy. Phoebe (in the story) reminds me of me. I can never write good stories. I’ll always write about a page and I’ll be all like: “This sucks!” and throw it out. Any tips?
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randomrohanfreak
in January 6th, 2006 @ 23:03Moose (43)-Do it on the computer, if you don’t already. It helps when you just let it sit for a few days, then go back and make changes. If it really can’t be salvaged, go back to the same idea and just start writing all over.
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Kricket
in January 7th, 2006 @ 08:40My story time!!!! Here’s some more…
Issy groggily opened her eyes to find some strange blue creature looking at her. Startled she quickly sat up and tried to run backwards and away from this creature but hit her head on a wall instead. Stunned she was knocked out, but it was more from the head knock than anything else.
—————————————————————————–Rushing into the vault room, Stella made it just in time to see a strange bluish green creature gag Issy and disappear into thin air. Staring open-mouthed, Stella stood as though someone had driven her into the ground like a peg. Quickly she finished cleaning the room, and whirled around to find Zelda in the doorway.
“What’s the hurry Stella?” Zelda asked cheerful voice.
“Something just ran off with Issy!!! You got to help me find her!!!” Stella blurted out.
“All right, then. Let’s go…” A loud BOOM outside had cut off the rest of Zelda’s sentence.
BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Startled they ran outside followed by Selena who had been watching them from the observation window. Once outside they stopped stunned, in the middle of their tracks. For this wasn’t the garden at all. This was somewhere else entirely.Okay folks, another cliffhanger. Do you like it? You peeps can add on if you like, but don’t make it too confusing…
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yesterday's_kinked_moose
in January 7th, 2006 @ 11:14Thanks. I’ll try that. Word has horrible grammer. One time I was writing a script, and instead of ‘you are under arrest!’, it wanted the police officer to say, ‘you is under arrest. I would think the programmers could do better than that.
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Zyviva (Newsies obsesser)
in January 7th, 2006 @ 20:03well, in that kase if you was singular it would thuink it was is (subjekt-verb agreement)
i have desided that the letter ‘c’ should only be used to reppresent the sound ‘ch’.
if you wish to use ‘c’ as in cat, you would write kat.
if you wished to use ‘c’ as in peace, you would write pease.
if you wished to write ‘c’ as in cheese, you would write ceese.ok, this is partly ishmael/lucifer (whatever the current name is, i cant keep track) idea, but i published first.
so
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Kricket
in January 8th, 2006 @ 09:36do you like my story?
#46- i agree.. you should have seen what it tried to do to my story… *shudder*back to my story..
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“Where are we?” Selena spoke up as they surveyed the landscape around them. Her voice echoed around the desolate land that was before them.
“I have absolutely no idea, do you?” Stella said.
Suddenly a loud cry was heard from the other side of the desolate praire land that they were standing on.
“Wh… What… What was th.. that?” Selena asked nervously. All the shouting seemed to have gone out of her ever since they had landed in this land only 5 seconds ago. The cry sounded again.
“Maybe that’s Issy!” Stella said excitedly.
“Stella, that doesn’t sound like Issy… It sounds like…” Zelda said realization dawning on her face.
All three looked up in horror, as they saw the shape approaching them.
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g2g it’s time for church!!!
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Queen Julietaini the Froody of Kiador (Queenie J)
in January 8th, 2006 @ 12:10C is one of my favorite letters. I mean, honestly, it’s much better to write “Ch-ch-ch-changes” than “C-c-c-changes” and the phonetics are much better.
Let’s revive the Icelandic runes! Ä and Þ! Eth and thorn! Cool!
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Kricket
in January 8th, 2006 @ 13:39wow, what’s wrong with this picture? i post at 10:36am and by 2:38pm only one person has posted!!!!! fine, i shall not post my story any more until i see at least 5 posts after it.
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Lizzie
in January 8th, 2006 @ 14:57you know, some of the people on here actually have lives.. like, in real time and everything…
I know, amazing, isn’t it?
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dark lord of darkness
in January 8th, 2006 @ 19:21life=skool
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Em The Hot Pink Bunny
in January 8th, 2006 @ 19:45oh yes, it so does!
wait- im not allowed to agree with you, you watership down hater, you.
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Zallie
in January 8th, 2006 @ 20:11I really want to write something. I’ve got characters & setting…but no plot.
And on that note, I’m supposed to be writing a short story for English class, but my plot’s turning into a novel faster than I can keep up. I think I’m going to scrap it.
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Axa
in January 8th, 2006 @ 21:48Ah, I hate that. Many a essay has been lost due to length constraints.
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Kricket :) :P the smilie fanatic
in January 9th, 2006 @ 15:34i’d really like to write something now, but i really got to go to tennis… i’ll be on later… don’t worry!
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The Phantom Norker
in January 9th, 2006 @ 16:58Lanekiad prologue coming soon to a thread near you! Promise!
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The AHHH!
in January 9th, 2006 @ 18:01Marsinnah’s mind raced. She had to get there. She just had to. But would she be there in time? Her jet black hair flowed in the wind. She hated it when the King was upset. And yet… Yet she was bringing him the worst of all news. Sand flying in her face, she urged her horse on.
A party of a King and Queen and their four generals were mounted on their horses, their shadows elongated in the sand of the desert. The sun beat on their faces. Jana, the queen, opened her water skin and sipped a bit of water.
“Are we there yet?” she asked, in her soft, gentle voice.
Fenoglio, the king, nodded, half smiling, “Almost. But I can hardly stand this heat.”
Jana smiled at her husband. “Nubia will be waiting for is in the shining city of Scarab.”
“She will not be happy to see us,” Fenoglio said grimly, his smile dissolving, “for all I know, she probably invited us for a proposal of alliance, not to ‘have fun and party around’.”Fenris, the sorcerer gazed at the scene from his Pool of Everseeing Eyes. He snorted. That forsaken, love-bitten son of his! Sooner or later he was going to die for this, and then… And then…
“I will figure out a way to make myself whole again. I will.” He said to himself.
He was loosing it, he knew he was. Ever since Fenoglio disagreed with his evil ways, ever since he found out that he had killed Fenoglio’s mother, Saria. Ever since he was exiled from the land. And ever since that… Clash. The battle. He thought he would be able to curse his son’s life forever. That his plan would work. That his son would never find true love and live in the shadows forever. That his people would be cursed too. And then that gypsy, Jana, had to come in and ruin it all.
How could this be? The curse said that Fenoglio and his people would live in darkness forever until he married a princess of Scarab. Fenris had looked into it and did not find a true princess of Scarab. Not even Nubia, the current ruler had true, royal blood in her. And yet that street urchin had that blood.
Curses!
********************There. Hope you all enjoy reading that. But I think that Fenris seems a little to… Good for a bad guy. Oh well.
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59
The AHHH!
in January 9th, 2006 @ 18:09I meant to say too instead of to. Oh well.
Anyhow, I just threw a story at you. So there. It is a bit based on the OLDP, for those of you who play that. (You will recognize the acronym if you play… that… (think: LOST DESERT))
Please comment. I would greatly appreciate it.
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60
Queen Julietaini the Froody. Kiador. (Queenie J)
in January 9th, 2006 @ 18:14Cool! Me want a Lanekiad prologue! And Kricket’s story. Now.
Here’s my contribution:
-“That’s not the point.”
“Sarnica, are you insane?”
“Do you mind if we leave that question open?” Sarnica was quite annoyed with her brother right now. He was older, but only by about a year, and he really NEEDED to stop going around
“Honestly, it’s-well, it’s-”
“I know. I fully well know.”-Hey, how about we have our own Museblog awards ceremony? We could call it something like the Koko’s Pie, and make little trophies shaped like pies…
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The Phantom Norker
in January 9th, 2006 @ 22:13Not final draft at all. Constructive criticism welcomed, if you can slog through it. I’ll write more later.
Prologue: Lanekiad I: Rise
Author’s Note: The first part of the Lanekiad saga, entitled Rise, has been lost to the ravages of time. The account that follows is the factual events of this chapter in the story of Lanek as can be gathered from other lays of Devéan.
Once, west of the great river Merren, there were four continuously squabbling countries. In the north, bordering on the huge mountain range of the High Places, there was Itherun, a large country with an experienced king sitting at Diherun. South of Itherun lay Makkan, by the sea, and Olor, by the waters of Merren. Olor was home to some of the most accomplished assassins in the West, and at their peak, in the world. The assassins lived in an elusive city somewhere in the south of the country, called Yelvin. In legend, they served the king of Olor only, but at the time of Lanek’s rise Olor’s eldest princess, a blind woman who may have had powers of prophecy, commanded them.
Lanek, of course, was the last nation west of Merren. In their capital city of Vak Erak, the intelligent king and his sons led an army that could make even the assassins of Olor tremble in their stronghold at Yelvin.
In the year 2931 after the retreat of the Aelfeni into the High Places, a marriage was proposed between the second princess of Olor and the crown prince of Itherun. They were to first see each other’s faces and be wed at Iavinu, the last place a human ever saw an Aelfen. Iavinu was at the foothills of the High Places, and many weeks’ journey from Iraku, the capital of Olor. As a result, the princess and her entourage had never been there or even seen the mountains of the High Places.
Meanwhile, the crown prince of Makkan was angry that the king of Olor had not arranged for his only marriageable daughter to wed him. As the king was currently staying in Diherun, the prince undertook a diplomatic mission to protest the match. To be polite, he agreed to visit Iavrel, the Place of Peace, where a great war had been resolved long ago. Diplomats visiting Itherun often came to Iavrel as a symbol of their wishes for peace and to view the beautiful mountains to the north. These were not the sharply rising peaks of the High Places, but rather much older mountains that had been worn and cloaked by the slow passage of time.
It was here that princess of Olor stopped, not at Iavinu, but Iavrel. Mistaking the mountains of Iavrel for the High Places and recognizing the feeling of holiness around the place, she declared that she and her procession had reached Iavinu. If any of them doubted her, they did not give voice to those doubts. It is likely that the princess wished for her journey to be over, and so jumped to the conclusion that she had reached her destination out of hopeful unlikelihood.
And there, at Iavrel, was the prince of Makkan. He and the princess fell in love. It is not known if the prince knew of his love’s royalty, but it seems unlikely that he didn’t guess. However, the pair rounded up priests they were traveling with, and they were married. The prince withdrew his complaint and brought his bride back to Makkan.
The princess was no doubt surprised that she was being taken to Makkan City rather than Diherun, but she didn’t resist. When the prince of Itherun learned of this, however, he was furious. He challenged the prince of Makkan to single combat for the hand of his new wife. The prince of Makkan refused, saying that the marriage contract was legally binding. Within a few weeks, Makkan and Itherun were at war.
Olor remained neutral, knowing that war would be devastating to them. But when an assassin killed the king of Itherun, Olor was under heavy suspicion. Itherun’s hot-blooded new king’s first action in power was to declare war on Olor. The West was at war, all but Lanek. Lanek’s famed army was trained, but they would not attack. Not yet. Lanek waited.
Olor and Makkan united against Itherun. But when the king of Makkan died of a fever, along with his daughter-in-law, Makkan, the stronger of the allies, demanded a new wife for the new king. Olor refused. Olor had but two princesses left. One was crippled, the other blind. Both were powerful mages, thanks to their quantity of Aelfeni blood, and to lose their power would be a blow, especially as Amaraya, the elder, blind, woman, commanded the assassins in Yelvin. Amaraya’s name is the one of the only ones passed through the centuries. It means “sight without.â€
For this slight, Makkan declared war on Olor. Makkan, Olor, and Itherun were all enemies. The saying “The enemy of my enemy is my friend†died along with hundreds of people in the great battles of 2932, the Year of Blood, when the armies of three countries all fought for days or weeks on end, officers falling along with common foot soldiers. These were the battles where the carnage didn’t stop, where the white flag of peace was stained red with blood and even the Merren’s mighty waters flowed with a tinge of crimson.
And Lanek waited.In the last days of the Year of Blood, a plague surfaced in Makkan that decimated its population. Old women, babies, and even those in the prime of life were struck down. Almost none that were taken ill survived.
Olor and Itherun, sensing Makkan’s weakness, joined together for its defeat. The rulers’ quick change in friendship alarmed the common people of both countries. Rumours circulated that both kings had gone mad, and they were not all false. The kings were mad, mad with the lust for power and glory in war, mad with the desire for more land. An assassin, so driven in his patriotism that he murdered an infant, killed the newly crowned baby king of Makkan.
Olor’s government dismissed him as a fanatic, but he was representative of what was now happening in both Olor and Itherun. The desire and madness of the rulers had spread down to the people. Whispers circulated in the streets of a new dawn, where one country would rule all Devéan.
Princess Amaraya saw the cords of tension, unrest, and fear threatening to choke her people and all the people of the West. And she Saw, with her powers of prophecy, what would happen to them. So she left Iraku, riding swiftly and guiding her horse by sound to the encampment of the bedraggled army of Olor. When her horse saw the army, Amaraya Saw them as they would be in ten years, dead and rotting slowly into the ground until all that remained of them was dust and armour. And she shone with the power of the gods, as Amadelen, god of sight and prophecy, took Amaraya’s soul and filled it with his power. Amadelen, through Amaraya, spoke, and his voice underneath Amaraya’s made every soldier standing there turn, look, and listen.
“We stand here, above a desperate nation in a world that is almost broken. We will rise, but with a rise comes an even greater fall. As Fate lifts us up, so it will bring us down, into the mists of history. And as it brings us down, so we may rise, if those who come after make it so. We are the ifenorak, the mythic bird that is destroyed only to be reborn. But the ifenorak passes out of myth now. Go and rise, but do not be too proud.â€
And with those words, Amadelen left Amaraya. Her mortal soul, after a god had possessed it, could no longer live on in a human body. But Amadelen gifted Amaraya, his chosen in Devéan, with one final blessing. He changed her arms into wings of fire, her mouth into a beak of gold, and cloaked her in feathers made of flame. The ifenorak flew among mortals, and then ascended to the clouds with the god.
The legend of the passing of Amaraya spread throughout Devéan. Though many said Amaraya’s prophecy meant compassion would save them, many others interpreted it to mean their nations would rise in battle. The armies of Itherun and Olor marched on Makkan’s largest cities. Itherun besieged Twel, while Olor attacked Vethir.
Makkan sent reinforcements to the cities, but it needed soldiers to defend Makkan City. Before the war, this would not have been a problem, but thanks to the deadly battles of the Year of Blood two years ago, the armies of all the countries were severely depleted.
All, that is, except for Lanek. Lanek waited still. It was to prove a mistake.2934 passed into 2935, and the sieges of Twel and Vethir continued. In the initial battles for the cities, many lives were lost, but now the armies didn’t fight much, but rather waited for the surrender of the huge walled fortresses. It was only a matter of time before the people ran out of food, and then they would call for surrender. And they did, first Twel in August of 2935, then Vethir in October.
The armies of Itherun and Olor swooped down in a two-pronged attack on Makkan City. They knew that Makkan had lost the strength to resist. The last scraps of Makkan’s army were defeated in January of 2936, and the walls breached barely into February.
Meanwhile, a silent force was moving on Lanek. As the walls of Makkan City fell, the force reached Vak Erak, the capital of Lanek.
It was an assassin. The king of Lanek was dead.
Again, as in Makkan, the killer was a rogue, not controlled by Olor’s remaining princess. But Lanek suddenly found itself without a ruler, south of the battleground that was Makkan. No fuss was made, so as not to alert Lanek’s violent neighbours to its weakness. The old king was buried quietly, and his eldest son succeeded him just as quietly.
Lanek knew its time was almost there. It had but to wait a little longer.
In March of 2937, the newest king of Makkan, cousin of the one the Olorin princess had married six years ago, committed suicide. His eighteen-year-old son, the next heir, surrendered four days after his coronation. The last king of Makkan fled soon after, taking a few of his most loyal subjects with him.
It was a wise choice to escape Makkan, because the former allies, Olor and Itherun, turned on each other. Each wanted control of the newly defeated country, and their beleaguered armies were sent to battle each other when only a few weeks ago they had fought together for the downfall of Makkan.
Lanek, sitting, poised to spring, like a tiger, drilled its army for a march north.
On May 1, 2937, on the Plain of Makkaro east of Makkan City, what was left of the armies of Olor and Itherun began to fight in the devastating Battle of Makkaro. One Olorin survivor wrote:
“When the wave of Itherun’s soldiers hit us, we unsheathed our swords, ready to die in the service of our country, even if it meant killing those we had once counted friends. All around me, men were dying. The red mist of blood in the air and the constant rain of arrows obstructed whose side they were on.
“Next to me, a man of Itherun and one of my countrymen were locked in battle, attacking and parrying, paying no attention to their wounds. An arrow flew through the air, piercing both their bodies and pinning them together in death. They were young, maybe fourteen. With the coating of blood on their clothes, it was hard to tell which was which, only that they were two boys who could have been friends in a different world. Maybe they had been friends when we were allies.
“At that moment, I didn’t want to fight anymore. I wanted to go home and cry. Home was six years ago, when I was a boy working on the farm. I didn’t belong here, on this plain of death. I wanted to cry for all those men I had killed just to live this long, not kill more. But I had to. To stay alive, to go home, I had to. But I knew that I could never really go home again.â€
Nobody won the Battle of Makkaro, which ended after both sides, having lost more than a third of their soldiers, called a temporary truce. The Plain of Makkaro, formerly green with grass, was now stained red and brown with blood. Grass no longer grew there, just trampled ground with arrows poking out of it, tussocks of death. And on top of it all, bodies lay there. Itheruni and Olorin alike, old and young, officer and foot soldier lay on the plain among the blood and arrows.
Neither army bothered sorting out its dead from the others. They were indistinguishable. Armour and uniforms no longer served as anything but annoying deterrents to vultures and crows. The bodies were all laid out in rows, then sprinkled with holy water and oil, then burned. It was said that some living men threw themselves into the flames instead of live to see the havoc they had wreaked upon their own people and so many others.
It was time for the tiger to spring. It was time for Lanek to march.
The Olorin army retreated to Vethir after Makkaro; the Itheruni to Twel. Although no formal peace agreement had been drawn up, everyone in the armies knew that they would not be fighting each other again for a very long time. Makkan was left neutral territory, with its neighbours holding the cities they had conquered.
But the Laneki army swept up to Vethir, its best strategists drawing up plans for defeating the diminished Olorin troops.
In mid-June, they struck, every plan working as smoothly as they possibly could have. Within six days, Lanek had taken Vethir. The defeated general of Olor’s last act was to send a messenger to Twel so that the Itheruni would not be unwarned of Lanek’s attack.
Lanek’s generals expected this. They had planned for it in their plots to take Twel. After sending the pitiful remains of Olor’s army home, the forces marched north.The men of Itherun’s army worked at rebuilding some of the defences of Twel that they had destroyed only a few months ago. They drilled and practiced endlessly for the upcoming fight with Lanek, although they knew they had slim chance of winning. Many of their soldiers were wounded, and Lanek had the larger army to begin with. But all they could do was wait and pray to the gods that not too many of them would die in the collision.
Lanek hit Twel at the end of June. They outnumbered Itherun’s troops three to one, but the Itheruni held on for a week before even wounded men were getting up from their stretchers and beds to fight. But finally, the general of Itherun, too, surrendered to Lanek. On July 3, 2937, Lanek ruled Makkan.
Both Olor and Itherun now prepared for war. They knew of the brilliance of Lanek’s generals and strategists, and those generals would not hesitate to wipe their weaker neighbours off the face of the map. They built up their armies once more, stockpiled food in their cities, and in Olor’s case, began to train new assassins.
The sole princess of Olor, Manivara, sent out assassins to the camps of Lanek in Twel and Vethir. Several officers were killed, and many men came down with food poisoning after the assassins had reached the camp. But this wouldn’t delay Lanek’s strike long, and everyone knew that, even Manivara.
As August began, Lanek marched into Olor. In one battle, near Iavama, where Amaraya became the ifenorak, most of the Olorin army was killed or wounded. When Lanek came to Iraku, Olor was powerless to resist. After a short battle at the beginning of September, Iraku was taken. On September 16, Olor surrendered. The king was put to death, but most of the rest of Iraku’s people managed to escape to Itherun, where they joined the army. Itherun, the last country west of Merren free of Lanek, would need all the help it could get.
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Axa
in January 10th, 2006 @ 00:14O.O -gapes- Wonderful! I love how you told that ( though I admit I didn’t read all of it. But it is rather late. ) What I saw was very, very good. The only thing was that the names were bit confusing, and the paragraphs were rather close together. Still, it was awesome!
And here’s a lovely poem I wrote. Just finished it now, but it still needs a bit of tweaking. Ah well. Constructive criticism is v. nice. Ignore any spelling wrrors, I should have gone to bed an hour ago.
Unforgivable
Have my eyes grown cold?
It shouldn’t seem a wonder
Memories can’t sustain
DreamsBitterly, I would look
Remorsefully, I’d forget
Screaming at the rain
I couldn’t reachIt’s all so secondhand
The way that you relayed
This passing laughter-
UnforgivableSighing into a dream
From which I refused to awake
Reaching for a light
That was never thereBitterly, I would look
Remorsefully, I’d forget
Screaming at the rain
I couldn’t reachThese clouds
This rain
It’s all so
Unforgivable
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The AHHH!
in January 10th, 2006 @ 00:35Very traumatic. Is that even a word. Traumatic… Hmm…
Anyhow, I loved it *applauds*
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Redheart
in January 10th, 2006 @ 07:12suggestion to phoenix re poem of galillee:
• The Marching Song of Galilee
From valley deep
and mountain high
From far a field
and forest dense
We summon thee
from now to hence
Come ~ hear our battle cry!With bow and spear
and dagger keen
The Titan bows,
to bended knee
The Tower of Babylon shall lean
The tyrant we have known, and seen!March up from Galilee! Hear our battle cry.
Jerusalem, we fight for you
We fight for Gad, for Jerico
For Abraham, for what he knew
For Moses, who taught us so.
The fire burn’d for seven nights
Longer than ’twas meant to be
From darkness has shone golden light
For this we fought, for this we march.March up from Galilee! Hear our battle cry
We will heed we will succeed
We will fight for what is right!
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King of Random or 223ankher or bcavefish
in January 10th, 2006 @ 08:19YAY! The bcavefish blog is up! it’s HERE! As of right now, it looks (almost, it doesn’t have pictures, slelected posts, and Blogger doesn’t have a format, quite like bcavefishes) exactly like it does on the front page of the November/December 2005 MUSE!
Beautiful! Link approved. –Admin.
[Just notice that you’ve got your e-mail address on it. Disapproved. –Admin.]
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Phoenix
in January 10th, 2006 @ 11:04Thankee, Redheart, that was very good. However, the reason I used my rather strange rythm is that it IS a marching song.
I LOVED your poem, Axa, and Phantom Norker’s story was terrific! I speadread it, so it only took a couple minutes, but the plot was terrific!
(why do you think I like Amaraya’s fate? ;))
I have a story too, a small sketch, but I need to finish it.
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Phoenix
in January 10th, 2006 @ 11:08and Dark Waters is awesome!
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King of Random or 223ankher or bcavefish
in January 10th, 2006 @ 11:56If someone who’s read Muse wants to be a staff member, leave a comment while logged in on my blog, mention your username and I’ll add you to the list of admins (currently it’s just me.)
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King of Random or 223ankher or bcavefish
in January 10th, 2006 @ 13:43(You have to have a username on Blogger to be an admin)
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The Phantom Norker
in January 10th, 2006 @ 16:10Lovely poems, Axa and Redheart.
I’m touched that you guys like the story… *snif snif* I’ll post the rest of the prologue later, once I write it. And when I’ve written the book, I shall post that too. The actual book Itholianam has a completely different plot from the prologue, by the way. It’s about the countries west of Merren thirty or so years later. And, of course, Lanek. It’s going to have a lot of graphic violence, though. Just a heads-up.Phoenix likes Amaraya’s fate because she turns into a phoenix. Just to clarify. In case, for some reason, it wasn’t obvious. Amaraya might actually show up in the body of the main story, if aI can find a way to work her in, because she’s just plain cool.
Heading over to Dark Waters right now…
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Phoenix
in January 10th, 2006 @ 16:14on the spot and unedited:
“T’kumsei.â€
A low voice, deep, and steady, like drums made from the hide of the swift antelope.
“Hawinahi.â€
This one, also low, but merged from the voices of the chorus. Like falling water it was, dashing itself to pieces on the sharp rocks below, many sounds at once.
A lion bounded across the plain, the dry grasses swishing and hush-hushing as the great male beast bunched his body and straightened it to the rhythm of the drums and the voices like water. No new sound was made as, like one, the singers blended their voices with the air, the grass. Nothing new here, they chanted, seek your feast elsewhere. Like the puff of wind stirring the plains for a moment before dissipating, the lion vanished into the heat on the horizon like it had never been.
More voices joined the song. “Oia, ai hea’heke!†cried the women. Like the cry of the mother baboon as she laughs to her children.
And even more. More women, a man with a voice like the stars, a young girl no more than a child who knew the song of the gazelle. A boy hardly older who hummed the harsh, golden harmony of the wind over the savannah along with the tree-singers. Bird-singers. Buffalo-singers. The dancers had the voices of ibex and cheetah. A man as old and wrinkled as the fallen fruit of the plain-bushes and deaf as the cliff stones sang the song of silence.
One who listened or watched would never know where the singers ended and the plains began. They were as they sang, as the savanna itself.
However, today was different. It was a name-song today, and the one to be named was the son of the Chief. The Guiders, the tribe elders, brought him forth from the tent of his mother, adorned with paint as red as fire and as yellow as the savanna-grass, with feathers of peacock and beebird. Furs of the king cats swathed his lean form, and precious metals dangled from every inch of his body. Only his feet were bare, for to take part in the name dance he must be part of the plains.The Guiders took his arms and led him slowly forward through the ranks of the singers, whose voices had fallen to mere whispers. The chief once crossed their path, and the Guiders bowed in respect toward him and he bowed to them in turn. To his son he did not bow, nor did the young man offer respect to his father, for rulers do not bow to one another on naming days. Privately the whole assembly suspected that the son would not have bowed in any case, for, though he had the cunning of the crocodile he lacked wisdom—and he bore himself with the pride of the male lion, who believes himself to support his females but is in truth supported by them.
The assembly drew out in a half circle, placing the boy-prince in the center of the design. They began their song anew, but sang this time a song of the Past, the song of how the world was made. They sang of how the Creator brought Man out from the muck, how Man failed the task set out for him, and how he was cast aside to die. And how he cried out to his Lord to save him, and the Creator took pity on His creature and placed him here to work his own life. And how he learned the songs of the Earth and all its creatures and sang them, and how he bore children and taught them the songs. And each child learned many songs, but their children each only knew a few, and then in turn their children could only grasp one song. So they each took the song that they could sing and made it part of their very selves, and that is how Man was forever tied to the earth. And how they passed their skill down for generations until it reached the present, and each child would go out to find their own song, and their own dance, and make it part of themselves on their naming day.
When the child was settled at the center of the half-circle, the song changed yet again. No longer were all the singers performing, but one group at a time, chanting and dancing to the rhythm of their spirit songs. Tall grass bent as the grass-singers sung of warm dryness, of the hot breezed rippling and twisting like a phantom river. They bent and turned, swishing and hissing with their mouths to the steady beat. The chief’s son danced with them, but clumsily, like a leaf dashed among the stems. The Guiders shook their ancient heads.
The ox-singers next stood. They chanted in low, rich voices, dancing with slow, measured steps, often doubling back on their previous movements. The young man danced chanted, but he never doubled back. The Guiders shook their heads again, gesturing for the vulture-singers to come forward.
The prince was not a vulture, nor was he a swallow, a water-horse, or a gentle breeze. He was not tepid water or a flamingo, lion or wildebeest, blazing sun or cool rain. With each failed song and dance the Guiders muttered among themselves, shaking again and again their venerable heads.But the end came with the turn of the hyena.
It was a last resort. Before the singers came forward, the Guiders converged around the Prince, mumbling and chanting, seeking answers from their songs, hoping and wondering. The boy looked on, barely concealing his contempt for the ancient and holy ones, stamping his feet and shaking his head impatiently.
Finally, they broke apart. The Chief Guider raised his wrinkled hands for silence, his many scraps and patches of hide, bone, cloth, and feather all whistling and rattling together, the sign of the crocodile pierced carefully onto its front. As soon as the motion was completed all the singers stopped their music, all the dancers stopped their movements, all but the air-singers, the stone-singers, the grass-singers, fell silent. The remaining ones lowered their chants to a mere whisper, only enough to sustain the ever-present rhythm of the Earth.
The Chief Guider waited a moment before he spoke. Finally, however, the wizened elder placed his hand on his lips, throat, and heart, and told the people to bring forward the hyena dancers.
A gasp went up through the silent ones—a hyena? Their prince could even possibly be a hyena?—but they brought them forward.
The hyenas were all beautiful. When they began their dance and their song, in their high, husky voices, even the stone-singers stopped to listen and to watch. Theirs was a skipping dance, darting back and forth over the plain, cavorting and joining and splitting again. They were not evil, for nothing of Earth was evil, but they were the embodiment of Chaos, and a Chaos-Prince was not a wise choice. There had been cases in the past, but the past was not the present.
The young Prince watched their dance, a sneer on his lips. With eyes cast down his face at them he curled his lids, rubbed his back, and turned away.
A sigh of relief passed through the massed tribe. The Prince was refusing even to dance…
And then, as if sensing their comfort and wishing to curb it, the young man suddenly raised his arms over his head, threw back his neck, and began to sing in a curious high howl, strange, but beautiful. A female hyena-dancer jumped forward, seized his raised arms, and swung him around, breaking away at the last second so that he went flying.
Another hyena caught him, turned him around, and he too spun him into the grasp of yet another. However, as the next turned to grab him, he dodged away, grabbing man’s hands himself and swinging him outwards for another of the singers to catch. The tribe drew back at this spectacle, for it was strange to them, but the Guiders looked on and smiled. This, they knew, was the peculiar hyena dance. The Prince had found his song.
And then, as the eerie music faded into its own place in the Earth chorus, the hyenas withdrew to sing their part, along with a new member, the prince. Their faces bore grins of triumph, and so it should be. For lucky is the song that is taken by a Prince.
Caheta saw it and scowled.
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Robert Coontz (Administrator)
in January 10th, 2006 @ 16:46Helpful hint: Put two breaks between paragraphs. Stories look a lot more approachable that way.
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Queen Julietaini the Froody. Kiador. (Queenie J)
in January 10th, 2006 @ 16:57Wow. That was awesome. I’m going to go in the corner for People Who Can’t Write.
I like the writing style. “For lucky is the song that is taken by a Prince.” It would be good on the Radio.
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Axa
in January 10th, 2006 @ 17:54-flattered- Thank’ee. I personally liked Redheart’s better. And that was AWESOME Phoenix. Very well written!
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bcavefish or 223ankher
in January 10th, 2006 @ 19:11My name has been shortened!
Anyways, if you want to be a staff member on the blog, read the comments, ’cause I’ll reply to comments there…
Again, Dark Waters is here
[“Dark Waters” link removed. Sorry! –Admin.]
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Phoenix
in January 10th, 2006 @ 19:36I am so flattered! I kinda wrote like that on a whim. If anyone wants to continue it they’re welcome, but I have my own private idea for a plot.
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223ankher or bcavefish
in January 11th, 2006 @ 07:56OK, if we can do poems, then here’s mine, I wrote it for a science project and the poetry kinda fizzles, but hey…
No, I don’t have Tourette’s, I’m just writing that way…
Tourette’s
How am I?
I’m fine for now,
But probably not for long.My monster has been good to me
I haven’t had to blink,
I haven’t had to think the things
My monster made me think.I hate this monster, who lives in mom as well
My little sister also feels the need to blink as well.The doctor mumbles
Stuff like “Syndrome…
“associated disorders… familial…†and other things as well
But all I care is the monster is there.Others in my family
Might have it as well
I guess that’s what Doctor means,
About familial.Now I feel the need to blink, my eyes feel they’ll soon burst
But inwardly I yell
To the monster
“Do your worst!â€I cannot win this war,
Each day I’ll succumb,
But I can choose the place and time
The monster makes it happen.Supposedly I’ll live
I won’t die from this disease,
But it will do its best
To ruin my life.There are drugs for this
But I don’t think they’ll help
’Cause once I forget to take it
The monster will be back.Supposedly,
Mozart had the monster,
But I don’t really care
That doesn’t help a bit.Supposedly,
Boys are more likely to get it than girls,
But I don’t really care
That doesn’t make me not have it.Supposedly,
This is a mild condition,
But I don’t think it is:
It embarrasses me
Always.Supposedly,
I might not even have it,
’Cause they cannot scan my brain
To see if it’s this monster
Or some other one.They cannot stop it happening.
They studied me continually.
My brain,
Is never truly mine.My nerves freak out,
Every once in a while.
They too are not mine.Other’s may have it,
But they’re not like me,
They could have this, they might not.My case is not a rare one,
’Least that’s what Doctor says,
Other people may have it,
But they’re not me.My disease is little known
Nobody’s researching stuff to help cure me,
They must think that my monster’s unimportant.
No funding for this nonexistent research.Nicotine, the gunk in cigarettes,
May help give my monster
A rest, but even it
Shouldn’t get addicted.My monster has
Many names.
But I call it the monster.My doctor calls it
Tourette’s.How is it?
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223ankher or bcavefish
in January 11th, 2006 @ 07:56Sorry it’s long…
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Phoenix
in January 11th, 2006 @ 15:56I like it!
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Queen Julietaini the Froody. Kiador. (Queenie J)
in January 11th, 2006 @ 16:14I like it as well. *looks up Tourette’s on internet*
David Byrne is subclinically neurotic (“or, as a psychiatrist would say, stark staring bonkers”) and I’m OK for the average anthropoid. Oh well.
I have just finished rewriting the first five pages of The Frangarshion. I was going to read them over, but in the middle of the first paragraph I realized the entire section was indecipherable. Life. Don’t talk to me about life.
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The Phantom Norker
in January 11th, 2006 @ 17:33Nice story, Phoenix! You should definitely continue it.
I looked up Tourette’s on the net, and suddenly I find that bcavefish’s poem makes a lot more sense. ‘Twas good before, jsut confusing. And the poetry is fine.
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yesterday's_kinked_moose
in January 11th, 2006 @ 17:39Everybody’s writings were beautiful. Really. Great story telling. Or, in the case of poetry, great, um, poeting. But I’m curious, MG, (if you’re still here) if you are so against curse words in movies, then why did you put b*tch in you’re story? I’m not criticizing you, I’m just curious as to why you would do it.*sigh*, I guess I’ll join Queen J in the Corner for People who Can’t Write. I like to write, I just never finish anything.
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The Phantom Norker
in January 11th, 2006 @ 17:44Queenie J: You should definitely post The Frangarshion. It sounds really cool, and you can get constructive criticism from other Musers if you ask nicely and give us enough pies. Okay, this is just because I want to read it, but… Prease?
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The Phantom Norker
in January 11th, 2006 @ 17:51I don’t speak for MG when I say this at all. Just letting you know.
I don’t normally swear in real life, and I think excessive swearing in movies just to get a higher rating is stupid, but if it fits a character or situation to swear, the character should swear. I mean, if you just blew the biggest audition of your life and your future professional career is shot (this happens in one of my stories), you’re not going to yell out some half-baked swear word like “darn.” At least I would.
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The Phantom Norker
in January 11th, 2006 @ 17:56This is a round thread. *AND IT WAS SO* Threfore, there is no Corner for People who Can’t Write. *pulls on low self-esteemed bloggers and injects them with Self-Esteem Shot* Now, go and be merry and bonk people with your puffed-up heads.
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Ebeth The Lurker
in January 11th, 2006 @ 20:31goshdarndiggitydagnabbitfudgemonkeys!
XD
XXD
XXXD
XXXXD
I’ll be in the Edge for people who can’t write then. See, if it’s circley i’m right here ( and the writers are in the middle me(writers)me
and top and bottom too
me
^
(writers)
v
meor something like that…
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The Phantom Norker
in January 12th, 2006 @ 12:54Spherical.
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Queen Julietaini the Froody. Kiador. (Queenie J)
in January 12th, 2006 @ 17:34I am a little sad today because of something that happened. We had Japan in Social Studies class and I was ranting about Japanese bands:
*a public school classroom in Illinois*
Me: …and all the names are impronounceable, like Mirune Takeoshi, who’s in the Plastics, and the covers are neon. And all cartoony. I have a Plastics record on my wall, and I also own a ton of other Japanese bands, so I know.
Jack: Is that another geeky thing?
Me: Don’t interrupt, it’s rude. There are no good ramen bars in Chicago! Every other place has ramen bars and good places to eat sushi, but this stupid little cow town really doesn’t and it’s zarking unnatural! Honestly! HOW CAN YOU HAVE A COMPTETENT CIVILIZATION WITHOUT ANY MORE RAMEN BARS!
Jack: I don’t get it.
Katie: Gwen Stefani had all those Harajuku girls-
Me: GWEN STEFANI’S CAUCASIAN! What in the name of zarking fardwarks does the cat have to do with Japan?!! Honestly, you wreck me-
Annie (waking up): Hey, that’s a Tom Petty song.
Me *stands on desk and shakes fist at sky*: STOP IT! CUT IT OUT! STOP DOING THIS SORT OF THING! DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD YOU’RE MAKING THIS FOR ME! *sinks on knees to wail*
Jack: I thought you were an atheist.
Me: WHO ARE YOU, MELVIN ZARKING VINTNER!?
Jack, Katie, Annie: Who’s he?
Me: WAAAAAAAAH!!!!!
*scene fades*
Do you see what I have to put up with? Honestly. That actually happened. I was screaming on my desk when the teacher walks in with the principal. I fall off desk, and no one has the decency to notice.
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223ankher or bcavefish
in January 13th, 2006 @ 07:57*giggles*
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Queen Julietaini the Froody. Kiador. (Queenie J)
in January 13th, 2006 @ 16:05Today, at lunch:
*crowded cafeteria in a public school in Illinois*
Me (singing happily, waving victorious soda can around): Watch out, you might get what you’re after. Ooo baby, strange but not a stranger. I’m an ordinary girl (loudly) BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE!
Jack: Wait…Queenie, what are you singing?
Me: Burning Down The House by Talking Heads.
Max: What’s the fastest song you know?
Me: *sings Tom Lehrer’s The Elements*
David: Shut up!
Me: *sings louder*
*cafeteria falls silent*
*scene fades*
It’s really very therapeutic to be doing this. I imagine all you
froods rolling your eyes at your computer screens: “Oh no,
not again! Why does this cat Queenie J keep doing this?”
It’s really very therapeutic, you know. Helps my neurotic
complex.
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Em who is on her evil dial-up connection so she is mad
in January 13th, 2006 @ 16:33i rest my case.
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The Phantom Norker
in January 13th, 2006 @ 23:20I agree about there being almost no good ramen bars in Chicago. There are, however, some good tea places. I ♥ bubble tea.
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Axa
in January 14th, 2006 @ 01:23I hated studying Japan. My teacher was incompentent, my classmates were unbarely stereotypical. The Meiji Restoration had, what, a flipping PARAGRAPH? I think we study it later, but even so.
What bands, Queen J? There’s a Malice Mizer song on my compter right now, but I’ve never heard them beofore, coincidentally. Foolish RadioBlog.
Oooh, Ajikan again. Yesss.
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yesterday's_kinked_moose
in January 14th, 2006 @ 13:36I agree, Phantom Norker, whoever you may be. If characters are of the cuss-word type, let them cuss! And cuss-word type characters are important, such as Rhet Butler. (I don’t know how to spell his name. That’s the best I could do.)
Rhet: Frankly my dear, I don’t give a d*mn.
I rest my case. But cussing to raise ratings or to make it ‘shocking’ is just craziness. I mean, a little just to show the strength of the character’s emotions is okay, but if it is overused, it loses all meaning. I’m currently working on a poem, so I can move out of the Virtical Column-going-all-the-way-to-the-core (because this thread is now spherical) for People who Can’t Write. *Yes!*
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The Phantom Norker
in January 14th, 2006 @ 22:11Rhett, Moose.
And I’m RRF, just trying on a different silly name. Nork nork.
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Ebeth The Lurker
in January 15th, 2006 @ 11:29hey who here actually watched the extra stuff in the movie? They wanted to change that to something else like “frankly my dear, i don’t care” but the director thought it sounded really lame (which it does) so he had this big fight and was allowed to put it in.
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Zallie
in January 15th, 2006 @ 23:19Random paragraph from some Lit thing. Not even the beginning of it, which would have helped, I think. Ehhh, too bad.
He stepped from the shady cover of a tree onto the the road, little puffs of dust swirling around his well worn boots with each step. The oversized traveling coat he wore dragged on the ground behind him, picking up more dirt and twigs to add to the already filthy hemline. He followed the road.
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Monday Darkhorse
in January 16th, 2006 @ 17:08‘Well’, said Peter Vosego, ‘Summer comes along awfully fast this time of year. I’ve got a set of inflatable pool furniture in absolute mint condition, it’s just sittin gin the back of my wagon. Have you got a lake or something up there in the Fortress?’
“No,’ said Sinple, not knowing that in his absence a pool had been installed.
‘Ah well,’ said Peter Vosego, managing to twirl his moustache, wink, and twinkle his eyes, his teeth, and his silver arm all at once. ‘Still, i’ve got a barrel of lemonade mix back there too, if you’re interested.’
‘No thank you,’ said Sinple, ‘I’m afrain winter doesnt leave fast enough, however quickly summer shows up.’
Peter Vosego was a supersalesman, and did not take no for an answer. If no was the only answer he recieved, he most often became hard of hearing and continued to speak. ‘You all look kinda beat up,’ he said, grinning like the cheshire cat. ‘Been hunting gryphdraks or something? yes, you look like an adventureous lot to me.’
Sinple was not sure what was so adventurous about sitting in the snow for two months, waiting for something that wasnt going to show up anyway, and Luke was not sure what was so adventurous about losing a horse, falling down a well, and being mistaken for a thief, but then peter Vosego was a very strange man.
“Maybe,’ Peter Vosego continued, his grin twinkleing enough to blind a small endangered animal, ‘You’d like to buy some Alicorn water, to help you feel better after all that activity. it comes straight and fresh from Kyrallia’s very own unicorn preserve, and i assure you that it has not been tampered with in any way.’
Sinple looked at him like he was out of his mind, which he very well may have been for suggesting something like that.
‘Why would i buy Kyrallian alicorn water from you when I’m in Kyrallia and i could just go get some myself without paying?’
Peter Vosego was somehow empty of answers to this kind of question, and it was clear that he was not going to make a sale today.–just some random strangeness
–excerpt from the upcoming book-that-no-one-will-buy-so-i’ll-have-to-give-it-to-my-friends, as yet unfinished. the typos are purely accidental.
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yesterday's_kinked_moose
in January 16th, 2006 @ 17:38Wasn’t Gone with the Wind the first movie to have a cuss word in it? There was a big uproar, but, what with all the filthy movies out there, that seems so mild and trivial now.
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223ankher or bcavefish
in January 17th, 2006 @ 08:02There should be a thread for a Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy!! (I just reread it and now get what Queenie J is hinting at…)
Marvin
Life, don’t talk to me about life.
Hitchiker’s guide
Frood = Really together guy.
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Em
in January 17th, 2006 @ 13:48*sigh* i asked for a thread on that. i even recited the prologue (well, part of it) in pig latin. but the GAPA said that we must wait until his birthday. darn.
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Robert Coontz (Administrator)
in January 17th, 2006 @ 13:51Maybe we can jump the gun a little, now that the Terry Pratchett thread seems to be slowing down.
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Ebeth The Lurker
in January 17th, 2006 @ 14:14YES WHERE IS IT? WHERE? WHERE? NEEDS IT PRECIOUS…WAIT WRONG BOOK. FIND YOUR TOWEL STRAG!!!! PUT UP THE THREAD!!! AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *runs around screaming and bangs her head on something or other that is conveniently added to the story to get her to shut up*
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Kricket
in January 17th, 2006 @ 15:47rest of my story.. sry it’s late.. Okok! Here’s my story…
Selena shrieked and looked for somewhere to hide, as the qualiky bird flew towards the young girls with great speed. Stella and Zelda both tried to use their magic to stop the bird but even combined it wasn’t enough. As it swooped by, the girls found themselves caught in the qualiky bird’s three enormous claws flying through the air out into the open horizon. Dangling helplessly in the air, the girls held on tightly for they knew if the qualiky bird was to release them, then the 40mile drop to the ground would surely kill them.
———————————————————————-
Issy struggled back to conscious as she lie flat on the ground in the blue thing’s cave. As she sat up she realized she was chained to the ground and the wall. The blue thingy came back inside the cave, spoke some incoherent words, and metal straps flew out of the ground and wrapped themselves around Issy, binding her to the ground. The creature spoke again and a metal strap flew out of it’s hand and went around Issy’s neck attaching itself to the ground, so Issy couldn’t move her head (or any part of her body actually). Issy almost fainted again what she realized what the straps were made of. The straps contained animal fur, and apparently, the creature knew that if in contact with dead animal fur, Issy was completely powerless.
————————————————————————–
Stella used her eagles-eye vision to spy the landscape below her. All she could see was a rocky pale landscape, and a few hills occasionally. Looking over at the other girls, Stella saw that Selena had fainted and Zelda had drooped her head over the side of the claw so she could get a better view of the landscape, just like Stella had. What’s going to happen? Where’s Issy… What are we doing here? Stella wondered. Suddenly, a faint odor drifted past her. After smelling it, Stella slumped over the qualiky bird’s claw, just like Zelda and Selena had did just moments before. As they were carried to who-knows-where, their destiny was clear, even though it might not have seemed so to them at first. Their fate, lie with the young girl, who lay struggling against the metal straps that bound her to the ground in the cave. Their fate, lay with Issy.Ok, g2g!!! See ya later
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Zallie
in January 17th, 2006 @ 19:20Ew. Je n’aime pas Douglass Adams. Il est tres bete.
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Kricket
in January 19th, 2006 @ 19:02are you saying that about my story?!?! if you are….
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Bellatrix Lestrange
in January 19th, 2006 @ 20:02The Ship
The ship did rock upon the sea,
A majesty of the waves.
And all the crew aboard that ship
Twas buried in their graves.The Iron Fist, that was its name,
A fitting name it be.
For if any living soul came near,
Not see the day would he.The captain was a pirate at heart
He was called Dragon Jack.
His cannons’ booms were a dragon’s roar,
And he was pitiless on his attack.Wearing a saber and a pistol,
And rags that once were fine,
A single fang dangling from his ear,
With a face heavily scarred from time.He ruthlessly captained the Iron Fist
As he ravaged the Seven Seas
They murdered, they plundered, devastating all,
And to none did they give mercies.Now ye’ve been warned, to stay clear of the ship,
With the crew of the living dead,
Heed this warning, thou shalt live well.
Remember the words I’ve said.————————————————————–
Kinda corny, i’ve heard that comment before
but it sounds really great read aloud
Please give me comments, because I need a poem for school
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yesterday's_kinked_moose
in January 20th, 2006 @ 11:03That’s great, Bellatrix Lestrange, but I think prehaps the ending should be a tad more frightning. Not that I’m in a position to critique other’s poetry. What’s with all the ‘?’? Here’s one of mine I just finished. I need all the constructive criticism I can get, as I am relatively new to poetry. Please? I’ll give you virtual piiiii-iiies! Okay, here it is:
The Unknown Soldier
Like the rain that is falling, turning the earth to mud,
I descend into war, this valley of blood.
Hatred and spite, channeled through deadly blades.
I had a vision of peace. Now it fades.Will the rain be enough to wash away the hate?
I see my enemy and I know what I must do.
But will I really help my cause by killing you?
Your eyes beg for mercy and they are sad like mine.
Between murder and justice, there is a fine line.Will the rain be enough to wash away the wrongs done?
Each life is hand-crafted and one of a kind.
But they are wasted like pawns. They become objects in my mind.
Each one is so intricate, like a deep, dark pool,
But in a war, they are just drops in a sea of fools.Will the rain be enough to wash away the sting of death?
Where, my foe, does the border between good and evil fall?
Do you deserve life, or to be scattered to the wind like useless haul?
You looked on me with scorn. You did me wrong.
What is the reason that contempt reigns so long?Will the rain be enough to wash away the past?
Arrows and war cries fly past my head.
Around me, my faithful comrades lie – dead.
A bloodied arrow sprouts from each chest, bearing witness to the things that have passed.
A crimson flower, spreading to a thistle of dread, that pierced my brothers and they breathed their last.Will the rain be enough to wash away the blood stains?
I can but watch as zealous soldiers rush in and you meet your end.
You were known as my enemy, but who were you, friend?
Would I ever have been able to forgive? Loyal brother or filthy traitor,
Sleeping teacher, you were my neighbor.And the rain can never wash away the memory of you.
Can I come out from under my chair now? I know, the title was terrible, but how about the rest of it? If you are not familiar with the story of the good Samaritan, the ending might seem kind of…flat. I didn’t really want him to die, but if the first person soldier is just standing around not killing anybody, somone is going to come along and remove his head. So that’s not relistic, but of course the whole thing isn’t relistic and it’s set in medival times for some reason.
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Kricket
in January 20th, 2006 @ 14:54I like them both
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defcon pilot
in January 22nd, 2006 @ 01:05Well, I have a Freelancer fan fiction story going here[Sorry, DP — had to delete the link. –Admin.]. Hope you like it.
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Phoenix
in January 23rd, 2006 @ 15:00‘Ello, all! I am now an insane slobbering rabid Newsies fan, and I’m writing a fanfiction. I want to post it on http://www.fanfiction.net (the admins might delete a link because some stories have mature content, but they are rated so I just avoid those above T, the equivalent of pg13) but you need email. Aaargh! that is the story of my life, isn’t it?
I’m going to post the first, UNEDITED chapter here. Let me just repaet: is is not edited so it is not going to be well-written at ALL.
Dive
If there’s one thing I learned from living in New York City, it has got to be this: don’t take chances. For instance, if you find yourself, a sixteen-year-old homeless street girl who can’t run that fast, on Jamaica Avenue without any place to hide, my advice is to not pick the pocket of a very large and tough-looking boy with hands like slabs of meat, because then you might find yourself fleeing very, very quickly back down Jamaica Avenue with the boy and his entire gang of friends right on your heels and gaining by the second.
My name is Amy Hudson. I am a sixteen-year-old homeless street girl who found herself along Jamaica Avenue one day in that precise situation. Unfortunately, though, food for me is hard to come by, and when I saw the burly fellow I thought, well, this guy doesn’t really need that piece of bread sticking out of his pocket. After all, if he really needed it, it wouldn’t be dangling out there for everyone to see and sample. So I reached out a hand, and, well, took it. However, while starvation might hone the senses of some (no, really? What planet are YOU from?) it had the complete opposite effect on me, and my hand was a bit slower in getting out of his pocket that it should have been. At any rate, he called for his mates, and there I was, running for my life.
I pounded down the street, stumbling and tripping when the tattered leather of my once-fine shoes caught on the uneven cobblestones. Behind me came the pack. At least five of the giants were in hot pursuit, and it looked like they meant business. Every time I chanced a glance over my shoulder they were closer; now I could just see the ugly smirks playing across their faces. I didn’t even want to think about what they might do to me if they caught me. I stopped looking back, put my chin to my chest, and ran even faster.
Jamaica Avenue flashed past unnoticed. Reaching an intersection crowded with heavy dray carts posed no significant obstacle for my abject terror; I dashed into the street as horses screamed and reared around me. The last carriage didn’t get out of the way fast enough; I scrambled up and over the vehicle, jumped and landed heavily, twisting an ankle as I did so. Ignoring the pain, I staggered on. I must not let them catch me.
My breath sobbed raggedly in my throat. They were catching up with me, I knew without even looking back that they were. At any moment I expected to feel their filthy hands grabbing at me; my skin shuddered away from that imagined touch. I knew I could never outrun them, and at best I was merely buying a bit of extra time. My heart thudded roughly in my chest; my lungs felt like they would burst with every breath, at every step my muscles narrowly avoided tearing from the stress. All I knew was that I had to get away at all costs, otherwise, when the refuge caught me, they would have to stick what remained of me in a matchbox rather than my usual cell (yes, I have been there before. I’m not that good a pickpocket, remember?). At least there they only beat me twice a day or so, they didn’t tear me into tiny bits. Somehow I got the impression that these boys would take it easy on my because of my gender.
It happened suddenly. I turned a corner, the momentum causing me to graze my right shoulder on the sharp brick, not fully realizing that I was no longer on Jamaica Avenue. In fact, I had never been so far from it, my home, since I…well, I didn’t want to think about the ‘since’.
Anyway, I wasn’t really focusing on my surroundings, just enough so that I didn’t run into a barrel or something. My brain wasn’t interested in people, I took it for granted that most people would get out of the way of a wild-looking girl running headlong toward them, and if they didn’t they would probably see my pursuers and run for it, just in case they lost interest in me. I was, in fact wrong. But for me, the mistake saved my life and changed it forever.
All I knew was that I went from my desperate flight to the shock of connection with something hard, or so it seemed at the time, as rock; to lying on the uneven cobbles of a narrow alley with my already throbbing ankle twisted around under me. It is not a pleasant sensation, I assure you, knowing that you are going to die. I staggered up to a standing position, knowing that even at my best I could never defeat even one of the thugs but determined, at least, to go down fighting. I could already hear the pounding footsteps rounding the corner when what I had taken for a doorpost as I crashed into it grabbed me from behind. I yelped once before a hand was forced over my mouth. A voice rasped in my ear: “Quiet, miss.â€
Well, I wasn’t about to be quiet. I wasn’t a good forward-on fighter, but I knew a few tricks. My captor was holding me by the shoulders, so I couldn’t deliver a punch, but my nails somehow managed to find the tender area of skin joining cuticle to finger. I rammed my hip into his groin, swung my head into his nose, jabbed my fingers into the gap between skull and jaw behind his ear. My efforts were rewarded with a returning yelp from him, and I could feel his grip loosen.
I was betrayed by my bad ankle. Forgetting my injury in the excitement of battle, I attempted to drive my heel into his instep. When I lifted my good foot to deliver the blow my weight landed heavily on the other, which gave way with a sound resembling, I promise, ‘pop’. Before I could regain my balance he had regained his grip; it was now like iron. He twisted my arms into a nelson and pulled up, so I had to stand on tiptoe. I was officially hog-tied and I knew it. And my ankle was feeling as if it were on fire.
“Stop, stop!†He said it urgently, but I could sense the amusement in his voice. I bristled, but he went on, “It’s all right! You’se be in Brooklyn, mate! Ya think I’m gonna hurt ya?â€
As if to prove his statement he let go of me, and I fell heavily to the ground. I winced as, once again, my already-punished ankle hit the stones first.
I don’t know if it was this gesture or something else that made me stop fighting, but whatever it was I did. I gritted my teeth against the pain and said, “You idiot, look what you did! They’re going to catch me now, and when they do I’m going to be in more trouble than you can imagine! You’d better get out of here, or else they’re going to go after you next!†I grabbed hold of a convenient crate and levered myself up to a half-standing position. That was when they caught up.
My pursuers rounded the corner like a pack of giant, burly, two-legged wolves. Disregarding the one who had just dropped me, they spread out in a half-circle, which effectively blocked my escape. The biggest one, the one from whom I had unfortunately stolen, strode forward, reached down, and grabbed my collar. A nasty grin was playing about his lips.
“Thought ya could steal from the Jamaica Avenue boys, eh?†He lifted his clenched fist and drew me halfway up, holding me at arms length. I decided that I wasn’t going to be tame and apologetic if it cost me my life. Actually, it might cost me my life whether I seemed apologetic or not. Whichever.
“The day I can’t steal from some half-witted, beef-brained, pigheaded thugs will be the day when the sky falls in, Jamaica-boy!†I shouted, as offensively as I could. Actually, this was a blatant lie; I couldn’t steal the hat from a blind and deaf old man, even if I had the heart to, but still, it was just for effect. And it had the obvious effect. He drew back his other arm and slapped me across the face, hard. “None o’ that lip, laddie.†Still with that horrible sneer, he drew back his arm again and balled it into a fist. Stupid, I berated myself, You just had to go and annoy him, did you? Now I was going to die. Just wonderful. I squeezed my eyes half shut as the giant meaty fist swung forward.
And stopped. The tall, thin boy who had grabbed me before had shot his hand out and grasped his wrist. Apparently the great bear was too surprised at the intrusion to kill him, because a stunned look had replaced the smirk. He looked at the thug with piercing green eyes, staring him down. “I wouldn’t do that if I was you.â€
The larger boy quickly regained his confidence. “Yeah? And why wouldn’t I be givin’ this thievin’ street rat what’s coming to ‘er, eh?†Behind him his pals were grinning and flexing their muscles; apparently they thought this was some sort of a joke.
However, green-eyes was unfazed. “Because this be Brooklyn, mate,†he said, seeming not to see the rather threatening stances of the gang. “This be our territory. This be Spot Conlan’s turf. And I be Spot Conlan’s right-hand man. And Spot Conlan don’t like five boys pickin’ on one injured goil, see?â€
Boy, this guy was suicidal. He was actually standing up to these people! He was as good as telling them he was going to beat them up!
“Listen,†growled the one who was holding me, “Get outta here, kid. Just get outta here and we won’t hurt ya. You’se be one an’ we be five, see? Da goil is ours. Just leave, an’ your Spot Conlan won’t know ‘bout nothin’, got it? Scram!†Despite the commanding tone, his gaze was faltering under the relentless eyes of the smaller boy. I could feel him shift his weight backwards, almost as if he were about to step away. His comrades sensed his discomfort and also shifted uncomfortably. They weren’t used to anyone defying their leader, let alone making him nervous.
Green-eyes still hadn’t removed his hand from the leader’s wrist. “Ah,†he said in a quietly deadly voice, “That is where you are wrong. Spot Conlan will hear ‘bout this, ‘cause I’m gonna tell him. An’ last time I checked, five against five aint outnumbered. You let dat goil free, an’ we won’t hurt you, got it?â€
He didn’t wait for an answer. Suddenly there were more people in the narrow alley. In reality there were only four newcomers, but the shadows and close quarters made it seem like much more than that. I didn’t see where they had come from, but they were undoubtedly there. They were all holding wooden slingshots, with what looked like a marble in the cradle and ready to be shot. A couple of them were almost as large as the Jamaica Avenue boys. They all looked at their opponents, smirking almost as widely as my captors had been before. Green-eyes spoke again, addressing the leader who was holding me. “Now, Case, you and your boys are on Brooklyn turf. That be a serious breach of borders. Drop the goil and clear off!†The last words were delivered in a sharp bark. This kid was obviously used to being obeyed. Behind him, four taught slingshots supported the statement.
The Jamaica Avenue boy hesitated, and then let go of my collar, none too gently. I was unprepared for this and hit the cobbles, hard. Guess what part of me hit first and hardest. Then he turned and beckoned to his gang, they followed him as he walked rather briskly out of the alley. He turned back once, though, to look at me. I’ll get you, he seemed to say, I’ll make you pay for this even if it’s the last thing I do.
“Well,†said green-eyes, “that went well.†His former authority was gone; he talked just like a member of a well-established and friendly group.
“Ah, yeah, Pine,†said a short but thick boy with a dirty mop of blond hair, ‘Oh, I’m second to the mighty Spot Conlan, bow down to me…’ took all the control I got just ta keep from laughin’! You’ll be lucky if’n Spot don’t soak ya for dat!â€
“Nah, Spot won’t touch a hair on my head,†said the boy called Pine confidently. He playfully punched a girl with skin the color of a roasted chestnut on the shoulder, the only girl in the bunch. She finished unloading her slingshot and tucked it in her shirt pocket before saying loudly, “Nice little playactin’ Pine. I still think we shoulda soaked ‘em, that would have taught ‘em not to mess wid Brooklyn!â€
“Hold on,†said one boy. He had bright red hair that made him look like his head was on fire, I noticed. “What are we gonna do wid dis one?†He pointed at me, looking me up and down like a farmer seizing up a mare. I instantly bristled. “Well, whatever you do with ‘this one’, it aint going to be talking about me like that!†I snapped. “Listen, I don’t know why you helped me, and I’m much obliged and everything, but I can’t hang around and be talked about like some piece of property! I need to go, I need to support myself, you know!†I began to get up, but my much-abused ankle completely gave way and I ended up sprawling on the street. Pine looked down at me with an amused smile. “You gotta work? Not with that ankle, you aint. What’s you’se job, anyway?â€
I looked down. I didn’t really have a job, unless you count picking pockets very badly as an occupation. Green-eyes’ infuriating smile grew broader. “You don’t really have a job.†It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer it. Instead I said as insultingly as possible, “Did you have anything in mind?â€
Whatever I expected next it wasn’t what he did. Instead of giving me another amused smile he looked thoughtful and turned his back on me, appearing to mutter something to his friends. I could make out the odd phrase:
Her?
Can she do it?
Look, we don’t need a thief…
Papes…
Thief…
But Spot…
I don’t know…Finally, Green-eyes turned back to me, a serious look on his face. “Hey…goil…you want a job?â€
Surprised at this change in the mood, I answered warily. “Sure…I guess. Maybe.â€
“Fine. Listen, you’se asked why we helped you. Well, we helped you because we’re Brooklyn, mate, and Brooklyn helps those who need help. You still need help, ‘cause if you don’t have any place to work you’se in more danger than from Jamaica, see. Now we got a deal for you. We give you a job with us, a place to sleep, protection from the likes of them,†he jerked his head in the direction the Jamaica boys had fled, “an’ you help us by being part of our crew and swellin’ our ranks, which makes us more powerful and lets us stand up ‘gainst kids like Case back there. You can take it or leave it—your choice.â€This was one enormous plot twist, I’ll say. I started today off running for my life across New York City, and then some boy who had frightened out of my wits—okay, and he saved my skin—was giving me a job offer. And a business plan. And I was on the verge of accepting it, I admit it, just like that.
“Uh…†they were all looking at me expectantly, and it was making me uncomfortable. “Uh…hold on. What is this job you’re giving me, anyway?â€
They all burst out laughing, which did nothing except make me even more annoyed and confused than ever. The dark skinned girl gave me a tolerant look and said, “You aint never heard o’ Spot Conlan an’ the Brooklynites, girl? No, don’t answer, if you had you wouldn’t be askin. We’re newsies.†At the blank look on my face she explained, “Newsies…you know, news boys. Sellin’ papes.â€
Oh, those Newsies. I’d seen them before, but never been able to afford the luxury of buying their wares. To tell you the truth, I was more interested in having some food on my plate and keeping away from…them.
Them. I did need a job. And some place to be safe from…them…somehow I didn’t even want to think the name, like it would draw them toward me. But hold on…
“I thought you people didn’t let girls be Newsies,†I said slowly. I guess it was a stupid thing to say, because the dark skinned girl proved to me that they obviously did. Still, she could be someone’s sister, and I didn’t want to join a group that I couldn’t truly be part of. Luckily for me, Green-eyes grinned. “’Course we let goils be Newsies, else we wouldn’t be asking you! It’s Brooklyn that wouldn’t let you join ‘em, but we do.†He spat in his hand and held it out to me. Being familiar with this rather disgusting ritual, I didn’t hesitate long before I built up the courage to do the same. As we clasped hands, Green-eyes gave me an appraising look, and somehow I knew that I had just passed some sort of test. Instead on letting go, he pulled me up to a standing position—I had already experienced firsthand how strong his grip was. “Can you walk?†He eyed my ankle.
I gingerly tested my weight on it, grimacing because the pain was still there, but it held. “Yeah.†I pulled my hand away, rather surreptitiously wiping my hand on my shirt. I think he saw me, though, because his infuriating smile grew wider. I know I should have been more grateful for his help, but in that instant I wanted to slug that smirk right off his face. I shook down the instinct.
“Welcome to Brooklyn, Newsie,†he said. “You got a name?â€
I hesitated. I had never told anyone my name since I escaped. It wasn’t that I thought these people would turn me in, but old habits, especially secrecy, die hard. I told myself to get a grip and said, “Amy Hudson.â€
The short, blond kid said, “Not your name. Your name. You know, what you call yourself, not what them stupid coppers call you when they lock you up.â€
I thought back. They just called me ‘stupid girl’. But I remembered from before them, from when it was just Papa and I, when we lived in the little house by Lake Huron up north, where I was free…
I turned my head away, blinking back tears. Softly I said, “Carp.â€
“Well, Carp,†said green-eyes, “Just as soon as we get back you’ll be a Brooklynite, right and fair. I’m Pine, by the way. Dis is Patrik–†he indicated the short blond boy, “Unity–†the dark skinned girl swept off her cap and mock bowed, “an’ dis is Helio.†The fiery-haired boy scowled. I got the feeling that he had not wanted me to join. “Just one thing, Carp. No stealin’ okay? ‘Cause that could land the whole lot of us in the refuge, an’ one Brooklynite looks out for his or her mates, got it?â€
I nodded. Believe it or not, I didn’t enjoy stealing—especially the part where I got caught.Seeing my ready assent, Green-eyes—Pine—said, “Okay, Carp-goil. Jus’ as soon as we get back you’ll get some sellin’ lessons.â€
Unity took my arm and slung it over her shoulder, in an effort to put the burden off my ankle. “Thanks,†I said. “But I’m all right, really.†It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate her thoughtfulness; it was just that I liked to do things for myself. Call it conceit, but I believe that anyone can do anything if you try, and I hated others doing things for me. I’ve learned to take care of myself. Unity gave me a disbelieving look, but she let me go. Pine looked back from where he and the other boys were already several yards ahead, turned back, and said, “Unity, Carp, catch up! We got to take Carp to see Spot.â€
Finis. and NO, Carp is not going to be involved with anyone, unless I have a burst of insight as to how to write that out. So don’t ask. If I go crazy and make her someone’s girlfriend, you’ll know.
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Phoenix
in January 23rd, 2006 @ 18:48Lusifer Ink, go tell Sphinx to click on this link.
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kricket
in January 23rd, 2006 @ 19:17what link?
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Lusifer Ink.
in January 23rd, 2006 @ 19:21What link?
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The Phantom Norker
in January 23rd, 2006 @ 19:38Yaay for ff.net! I have several stories up, but I won’t tell you my username unless the OEADs say it’s okay, in which case I will, so you can read them an review. They’re mostly LOTR, with one InuYasha.
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Ebeth The Lurker
in January 23rd, 2006 @ 19:54NO! not ff.net. PLEASE NO!!!!!!!!!
*runs away*
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Zallie
in January 23rd, 2006 @ 20:12I dislike FF.net, too. Schnoogle is where I get all of my fanfic (HP is all I read anymore, anyway), although you have to watch out for mis-rated stories…
…WRITING POLL
Do you like writing in 1st or 3rd person more?
Do you like reading 1st or 3rd person more?
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Phoenix
in January 23rd, 2006 @ 22:02This is my first 1st person story, and my first fanfic EVER.
uhh… am I to assume by the fact that no one is reviewing that it is even worse than I thought? If so, I write better than that, really. Please tell me, I don’t want to embarass myself.
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Sphinx
in January 23rd, 2006 @ 22:11Pheonix, I read it. Then spent at least two hours (no exaggeration) editing it. then found out there was a much, much easier way I could’ve edited it that would’ve saved me half the time. Sometimes I think the world hates me. I don’t get why. I mean, I’m such a lovable person, right? I just don’t understand.
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Zallie
in January 23rd, 2006 @ 22:22Phoenix – (Note: I know nothing about Newsies) It’s not the type of thing I’d normally read, just because I don’t like fanfiction, but it was pretty good. The pacing in the beginning was too fast, I think, and too much seemed happened at once. I was unsure of the time period it was taking place in, as well.
Now, to answer my own poll question:
I hate writing in first person. It seems like such a ‘teen’ thing to do. It’s easier for me, but I never like the way it turns out.
I don’t like reading first person much, either, but if it’s done right, I don’t mind it. It seems like most adult/older books are in third person, so whenever I read something in first, it make the book seem a lot younger/more immature. to me, which isn’t ususally a good thing.
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lilbro777
in January 23rd, 2006 @ 22:37i like it
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Lusifer Ink.
in January 24th, 2006 @ 08:41The story was taking place in 1898/9. It’s a Newsies fanfiction, and fanfictions are completely dependent on the reader knowing the characters and the setting. I’ve written several House fics, and no one would really understand what I was trying to say if they didn’t know who House was.
Phoenix, I read the version with Emily’s edits added in. It was really good.
For fanficton.net, you can use my email. It’s my first name @ my last name .com. I already have an account there, so it may not work.
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Zallie
in January 24th, 2006 @ 15:43Oh, really? I don’t know, I’ve been able to read fanfics and still understand what was going on, the one above included.
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Phoenix
in January 24th, 2006 @ 17:27As a general rule I don’t like writing fanfics because there is a lack of originality. However, this one was fun to write. And once again, I’m normally a good writer.
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The Phantom Norker
in January 24th, 2006 @ 17:29I don’t really care about first/third person. When I write fantasy, I tend to write it in third, but when I’m writing stories where you really have to be in one character’s mind the whole time, I use first. First is also better when I’m writing something angsty.
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Axa
in January 24th, 2006 @ 17:45Third person all the way! I really do prefer it, though first works sometimes. Second is fun once in a while as well. I seem to be stuck in poetry mode though.
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Sphinx
in January 25th, 2006 @ 09:43Yes, you are normally a good writer. Here you’re an AMAZING writer.
Kidding. You’re always an amazing writer.
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Lusifer Ink.
in January 25th, 2006 @ 12:38I always write in third person. Sometimes it limits me, but I find it much easier.
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Robert Coontz (Administrator)
in January 25th, 2006 @ 12:42I’d think that the first person would be much more limiting. You can tell only as much as that one character knows and can be in only one place at a time. No?
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Lusifer Ink.
in January 25th, 2006 @ 13:39They both have their limits. First person restricts you to one character, so the reader only knows as much as the main character. But in third person you can only go so far in depth into a character. You can’t show the character’s feelings and thoughts in the same way.
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Phoenix
in January 25th, 2006 @ 16:11This is my first time writing in first person, so I wouldn’t know. However, when reading first person the charecter has to be really good or else the reader tends to hate him/her.
THE NEXT CHAPTER TO ACE OF HEARTS CAME OUT!!!! And there was much rejoicing.
However, I think Philip is a Mary-Sue (well, a Gary-Stu), or at least he will be until he becomes evil and tries to hurt Ace, whereupon Spot saves her AGAIN… hehe. Okay, it probably won’t turn out like that, that is just what usually happens in bad writing. Fortunately, Ace Of Hearts is AMAZING!! I love to read it, but every time I do I go away feeling inadequate and have to do therapy that consists of reading some of the other trash that gets posted. Really, Ace Of Hearts is one of the only good stories on there that isn’t gross and graphic. Two problams, though:
1) I think the general idea of Philip is taken from Anne of Green Gables, and
2) I wish Ace would find something she could do better than everyone else (coughSpotcough), because while she is certainly NOT a Mary Sue, everyone is good at SOMEthing, right? Ace’s talent for getting into trouble does not count, by the way.
Well, I guess that if anyone were better than Spot at ANYTHING it would make them a Mary-Sue. And yet somehow Spot is NOT a Mary Sue, and is in fact pretty much the farthest thing from a Mary Sue that you can get. You have to see Newsies to get it.
But he is still on my list of favorite charecters, which is:
Mush
Spot
Racetrack(followed by Kid Blink, Boots, and Skittery at close seconds. But DEATH to Jack and Sarah! Yaaaaah!)
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Sphinx
in January 25th, 2006 @ 19:38Spot
Racetrack/Mush
Kid BlinkRace and Mush tie. NO ONE comes before Spot.
I think Philip is an evil dude with a huge ggrudge against Spot, and he’s gonna try to use Ace against him. AT least, that’s what I would do with the story. But’s not my story. Alas, I cannot write nearly as well. So we must wait and see.
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Lusifer Ink.
in January 25th, 2006 @ 20:39Racetrack is the best. Closely followed by Death. I mean, Spot comes in second. Then that guy with the hot chest.
Racetrack is awesome, though.
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Sphinx
in January 25th, 2006 @ 21:02Oh yeah, shirtless factory worker. I liked him. He wasn’t nearly as awesome as Spot, though.
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yesterday's_kinked_moose
in January 28th, 2006 @ 18:07I think third person is generally better for more serious, involved stories because the story usually has multiple plots and does not center entirely around one character. However, first person is important especially in humor when the thoughts of the character and their way of telling things is what is funny. See All Creatures Great and Small, and Hank the Cowdog. Okay, Hank is not at all involved as they are chapter books, but it’s still a good example.
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emogrl
in January 30th, 2006 @ 21:17i write a lot of stream of consciousness stuff, but i can never find anyone to critique them. if someone would critique this it would be great. i think its one of the best ive written
feel the sun
you dont have to be better you just have to be bigger it doesnt need to sound great it only needs to be louder you dont need to be true just cover more up. weve been building higher and higher w/o putting more inside + were all inside a hat shop hiding under the glittering brims… i want to feel the sun wipe off the paint and feel the sun the stuff you just bought to replace all you threw away taking everything for granted. just feel the sun…youve won everything all your life but we can see through you if we want to you know that we dont what will you do if someone does? you just lie down every night unable to sleep sweating in your costume that everyone loves… do they know whos inside?… i want to feel the sun wipe off the paint + feel the sun the stuff you just bought to replace all you threw away taking everything for granted. just feel the sun… they go, he goes, he goes, you go, you go, i go, we go, she stays – whats WRONG w/ her? – watches us fall we wouldnt listen we couldnt step out of line… now its so dark…i want to feel the sun just feel the sun the stuff you just bought to replace all you threw away all you threw away taking everything for granted everything for granted w/ everyone else following everyone else just feel the sun the sun. feel the sun
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Zallie
in January 30th, 2006 @ 23:00I waver between liking writing and thinking I’m good at it, to hating it, but still thinking I’m decent, to loving it, but thinking I’m awful. Or hating it and thinking I’m awful. Lately, it’s been the second two, because I’ve got the most awful block and I have all these ideas, but I can’t get them down.
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Robert Coontz (Administrator)
in January 30th, 2006 @ 23:13You sound just like every writer I know.
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Axa
in January 30th, 2006 @ 23:40What does everyone use when writing? Normal paper, etc, or computers? I use Notepad on Windows. For some reason, I like it more than Microsoft Word. -shrug-
I’m feeling suddenly creative now. -hmm-
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Robert Coontz (Administrator)
in January 31st, 2006 @ 09:26I usually use a computer–Mac at home, PC at the office–with a twisty ergonomic keyboard and whatever word-processing program is handy. But I also enjoy writing on ordinary paper, the smoother the better, with either an old-fashioned fountain pen or black Uni-ball Vision or Vision Elite pens (alternating finer and bigger tips for variety). I need a reliable, responsive, “juicy” pen; I can’t stand one that starts late or skips while writing.
Switching from keyboard to pen-and-ink or vice versa can help me get unstuck when I have writer’s block. (Yes, it happens to everyone.)
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The Phantom Norker
in January 31st, 2006 @ 15:18I use Word and try to ignore all the nasty AutoCorrect stuff,
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Sphinx
in January 31st, 2006 @ 17:23I can write better on paper than on a computer. Spell check bugs me when I don’t want it, and I just write better. Notice I said better, not good.
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Zallie
in January 31st, 2006 @ 17:47Yeah, I need a good pen to write properly, but when I’m really going, anything will do. On the computer, Appleworks.
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yesterday's_kinked_moose
in February 1st, 2006 @ 17:54I usually use lined notepaper and a pencil. Although when I’m writing a script, I always use Word. That spell-checker is always second guessing me. Sometimes I want it to just SHUT UP! And then I miss it when I disable it. Not that I do that much writing.
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Sphinx
in February 1st, 2006 @ 19:47Another chapter to Ace of Hearts! I dun like this chapter. The writing’s not up to it’s usua par. Whatever. At least she updated.
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Phoenix
in February 1st, 2006 @ 20:51I saw the next chapter, and I didn’t like it as much, either. Spot just dosen’t seem to be the kind of person to get drunk like he did in that chapter. And although the switch to his POV was interesting, I felt it kind of put the story off its rhythm a little. Well, maybe it’s just a one chapter thing.
Another Spot being OC thing: Ace was being really obnoxious to Spot when she was telling him off for drinking. I’m not saying she was wrong or that she didn’t have a right or anything, but I don’t think he could let her get away with dissing him in front of the Brooklynites. I think he would have done something like he did back when she was obnoxious and he pushed her off the dock, at least. He’s the leader of Brooklyn and he needs to keep up his image.
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Sphinx
in February 2nd, 2006 @ 16:44I agree. He needs to keep up his image, and he can’t do that by getting drunk or by letting a girl insult him.
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kricket
in February 2nd, 2006 @ 17:37I like to write on regular paper and normally i like to write with a navy blue pen but when i really have some good ideas bouncing around in my head i just sit down somewhere (even at skool) and just write with any type of pen… or if i don’t have one a pencil. extra sharp. just sometimes i have all these great ideas and when i sit down to write them i just can’t get them out on paper. my friends like my story that i’m writing and say that i should get it published as soon as i finish writing it and so does my english teacher. he read it and asked me why i was doing it and i said that it was just for fun and i hoped to somehow finish it and get it published. he said that he knows some programs that i could use to get it published so i have yet to ask him what they are.
anyways i think i need to find a quiet unstuffy place to write like outside. i don’t know why but i LOVE to write outside on a warm sunny day. IT’S THE BEST PLACE I CAN GO TO WRITE…. also my other friend said that i talk how i write… is that a good thing or a bad thing…
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kricket
in February 2nd, 2006 @ 18:03i know!!! I’ll post my story that i’ve been writing on here!!!!!! hang on folks….
Prologue
Silently, the old man stepped into the circle, and, lowering his eyes to the ground, started to mutter incantations. The trees suddenly sparkled with an unearthly light. The old man took no notice. The trees began swaying so much that they looked like they were dancing. In fact, they were dancing Faster and faster they spun around the old man yet still he took no notice. Suddenly a loud crack interrupted his mutterings. He looked up just as raindrops the size of your fist came pouring down onto his astonished face. He knew what was happening. Horrified, he instinctively took a step back.
“No,†he uttered. “NO!â€
Then he quickly turned and ran as fast as he could out of the circle. After a few steps, he looked behind him and was horrified to see a lighting bolt the size of Consket racing after him. He ran faster yet he knew there was no escape. Just before the bolt reached him he yelled, “Awaken Lady of the Woods, awaken!!!!†Then the bolt struck him dead.
* * *
Miles away in a forest almost identical to the one the old man died in, the trees sparkled. A weeping willow standing dead center in the middle of the forest swayed gently. Then it began to change. Branches melded into arms and legs while flowers and leaves molded into hair. What was once a weeping willow was now a beautiful lady with long brown hair and forest green eyes. She looked around and disappeared with a soft twang like the sound you hear when you shoot an arrow.
The Lady of the Woods was back.Chapter 1
Lana sighed unhappily as she loaded her luggage into the carriage. Ever since they had moved from Tinca she had been sulking for over a month. It figures that right when she had finally settled into their home in Tinca they had to move. Again. Consket was their next destination.
“Come on Lana! We got to go!!!†called Mom from inside the carriage.
“Coming!†Lana called as she began to walk briskly to the car. However, before she even got a few steps, a voice made her turn around.
“Lana, wait up! I got to give you something!!†huffed Rachel. Lana paused in her stride waiting for her friend to catch up to her, smiling a little at the sight of the plump girl come running over to the carriage.
“You could have told me when you were leaving,†puffed Rachel accusingly. “I thought I was an hour early!â€
“Sorry, Rachel. At least you made it.†Lana tried to keep from laughing a little.
“I got up extra early just so I could wrap this thing.†Rachel said slowly regaining her breath.
It was then Lana noticed the package in Rachel’s hand. “What is it?†Lana asked.
“Open it!†exclaimed Rachel.
Lana concentrated with her mind on the wrapping paper. Suddenly, the wrapping paper flew off the package and landed in a neat pile at Rachel’s feet.
“Hey, no witchy stuff!†pouted Rachel, but Lana wasn’t listening.
“No way! Two dragon scales!†breathed Lana with excitement. “How’d you get those? I hear they’re worth 500 gold coins each!â€
“I got them at the local flea market in Allagan for 20 silver coins for them each.†Rachel puffed out her chest. “Good deal, huh?â€
“You bet! Are these the communication ones?â€
“Of course! How else am I supposed to keep in touch with you?†Rachel asked teasingly.
“But why give me two?†Lana asked puzzled.
“Well the way I figure, when you make a new friend in wherever you’re moving to, give this to her and we can all talk together.â€
“I don’t know who I’m supposed to make friends with in Consket, though…â€
“You’re moving to Consket!! But that’s where all the magical creatures live!â€
“I know. I’ll be lucky to even meet a girl my age. Even one with powers.â€
“Well, at least we’ll be able to talk. I’m sure you’ll be able to find a girl your age there. Don’t worry1†said Rachel half-heartedly.
“Lana hurry up! We have to go! Your father’s getting angry,†called Mom.
“Well, I guess this is good-bye. I’ll miss you.†Lana said sadly.
“What do you mean? You haven’t forgotten about our dragon scales now have you? Rachel said feigning shock.
“It still won’t be the same.†Lana sniffed.
“LANA!!!!†yelled Dad.
“I got to go. See you later… or not.†Lana smiled sadly then ran off to the waiting carriage and a very impatient father and cabby.
“Finally! Now we can go,†Dad said signaling to Joe (the cabby) to go.
The journey was long and treacherous, and by the time they got to the halfway point night had fallen. They made camp and Lana, Joe, Mom, and Dad all took shifts to keep watch for the night.
Fortunately the night was quite uneventful and all except for Joe woke up quite refreshed and cognizant of the treacherous day ahead.
Unlike the night, the day was rather quite eventful. Joe fell asleep several times at the reins, and Lana, who had insisted to sit next to him, was just able to steer the horses back on track. Around mid-day they came to a bottomless (literally) trench. Joe stopped the horses just a few feet from the trench. Lana looked around and gave a shout of surprise. Scrambling down from the carriage she ran over to a sign a few feet away from them. Her mom cautiously poked it with a stick to make sure it wasn’t a trap. Nothing happened so they assumed it was safe and went over to read it. The sign read:Welcome to the city of Consket.
Normally we would welcome you in but times have changed.
To enter Consket you must have one magical person in your group.
This person must prove their abilities by moving a pile of rocks to the other side of this trench.
Good Luck!
You have 20 seconds.
Go.Lana glanced at her feet and was surprised to find a pile of rocks there that hadn’t been there before. Suddenly a voice rang out.
“20â€
“19â€
“18â€
“Lana use your powers!†cried Joe.
“17â€
Lana reached for the power deep in her mind.
“16â€
She felt it pulsing through her veins.
“15â€
“Come on,†she thought.
“14â€
Her teeth clenched; her muscles tightened.
“13â€
The magic was stronger now; she could feel it.
“12â€
“Come on,†she muttered under her breath.
“11â€
Her family waited anxiously for the magic to work.
“10â€
“Just a little more,†she growled.
“9â€
Then one by one the rocks began to move slowly across the trench.
“8â€
Lana’s eyes began to glow and her wispy white hair began to fan out.
“7â€
The rocks began moving faster across the trench.
“6â€
Lana began to rise a few inches above the ground, her hands now glowing a brilliant purple light equal to the one in her eyes.
“5â€
Suddenly the whole pile of rocks began to glow and picked themselves up and zoomed to the other side.
Lana sank back to the ground and struggled to her feet.
“Bravo, bravo!!†exclaimed a voice. Lana looked up in surprise.
Out of nowhere (as it seemed) stepped a little brown man wearing an enormous top hat on his tiny head.
“Who are you?†Lana sputtered.
“I should ask you the same question,†piped the little man looking at Lana’s family. “You’ve brought quite a party, now haven’t you?â€
“My name is Lana and this is Joe, my mom, and my dad.†Lana said gesturing to the speechless people behind her. “Now who are you?â€
“I’m Peddercongoga, your guide and guard to and from Consket,†announced Peddercongoga. “But you can call me Ped.â€
“Okay Ped. How do we get to Consket?†Lana wondered for her speechless family.
“Watch,†Ped said, then turned to face the other side and clapped his hands in a way that would take us years to learn. Suddenly a bridge that led to the other side appeared.
“Shall we go?†Ped asked politely. Lana’s family nodded. They crossed the bridge and on the other side Ped whistles and the bridge disappeared.
“But there’s nothing here!†Joe said speaking up for the first time since Ped arrived.
“Is there?†asked Ped mysteriously.
Lana puzzled over what he said for a moment then gaped in astonishment. For gold and silver light flowed over her milky white hair, naturally pale face, and pastel purple eyes. Where there had been nothing before, now stood the golden city of Consket.
End of Chapter 1The Lady of the Woods looked on as Lana moved the rocks with curiosity. In all her days (and there were a lot of them) the only people who had that power were moon people. This girl wasn’t a moon person, she could tell that from looking at her eyes. As Lana crossed the bridge over to Consket, the Lady of the Woods made up her mind. She would follow this girl and find out who she was. Having made her decision, she disappeared so quickly that it looked like the ground its self had swallowed her up. A soft twang filled the silence. The Lady of the Woods had entered the city of Consket.
Chapter 2
Lana could only stare as; Ped led her into the golden city of Consket. The city was beautiful! The houses and streets looked like they were made of gold and silver though when she asked Ped about them; he said that it was just an enchantment. Ped directed them to a large golden building that held all the housing information in it. As they walked down the street towards the building, Ped explained that this was where they could find out where they were to stay. On the way they passed a lone silver house where Ped said that moon people lived in.
“What do Moon People look like, Ped?†Lana asked buzzing with curiosity.
“Trust me,†Ped said. “You’ll know them when you see them. They sort of stand out, if you know what I mean.â€
Finally after a few minutes of walking, they reached the golden information building.
“Wait here while I go check whether you’re registered or not. I’ll be right back.†Ped walked into the building, tipping his hat to the guard troll.
A few minutes later he returned tipping his hat, once again, to the troll. Shaking his head, he walked up to them and announced, “You guys aren’t registered yet, I’m afraid,†he said resignedly. “While we’re waiting, how ‘bout I give you a tour of Consket?â€
“Sure, why not?†Lana said challenging anyone to say otherwise.
“All right, then just set your stuff here and park your horses over there,†Ped said waiting as his directions were carried out. “Now onto the tour!â€
There never was such a tour as the one Ped gave them that day. They went into shops, wandered around in museums, and once Lana swore she saw a centaur. One of the museums stood out in particular.
“Ped, what’s that?†asked Lana’s mom pointing to the museum.
“Why that’s the museum of magical items and creatures. Every magical creature and item is displayed inside. Oh, don’t worry,†he said noticing the look on Lana’s face. “They’re not alive; they’re just statues. Do you want to go in?â€
Lana just nodded. She wondered if she would see what the Moon People looked like as she walked through the doors. Then she looked up. Lana gasped. The museum wasn’t gold inside like she had imagined but scarlet like the shirt her mom had gotten her last week. A large sign indicated that all magical creatures ranging from A-M were in this section of the museum.
“Where are the Moon People?†Lana asked full to the brim with wonder and awe.
“When I said all the magical creatures, I didn’t mean the Moon People. They refused to have their statues on display ‘like an animal in a cage’ they say.â€
“Oh.†Lana said disappointed.
They wandered throughout the room and Lana recognized many of them such as a centaur, a dragon (she had the fortune to see one fly over Albitra one day), and a messenger owl (only for the witches and wizards ages 11-20, the others used ravens). Lana also saw many things that she didn’t recognize such as an equatolope (an animal so bizarre even a picture couldn’t describe it), a griacle (a sort of deer with eyes popping out of its body everywhere), and an indjellu (a shape-shifter that sheds ink out its jet black skin). She was just reading the description of an indjellu (no statue due to it has no original shape) when a cawing sound was heard. As she whipped around, she saw the doorman holding a large raven with a note tied on its leg by the beak.
“Found it in the hallway blabbing ‘bout some message to Ped & company,†said Ted (the doorman) gruffly. “Thought you might want it.â€
He threw the raven at Lana who barely managed to catch it before it fell and left the room. Lana quickly put the raven on the ground before it pecked her. Then the raven got up, straightened his ruffled feathers, and said, “Message for Ped & company!â€
“Right over here,†Ped said kneeling down to look the raven in the eye. “What’s the message?â€
“I don’t know,†said the raven crossly. “Do I look like someone who reads other peoples letters?â€
“Yes,†Ped & Lana said in unison.
“All right, so I do,†grumbled the raven. “It’s your house assignments.â€
“Oh goody, I was wondering when they would get here,†Ped said enthusiastically. “I’m sure we’re all excited about that, right?â€
“But Ped, I thought that we were to go to the records building to receive our housing placements,†Joe said confused.
“Well it looks like they came in early ‘cause they sent them with me,†replied the raven.
“Okay, Joe, Mom, and Dad’s assignment,†the raven announced. “Are they here?â€
“Yep, we’re here,†replied Lana’s dad.
“Okay, you guys are in house 301,†the raven said looking at his sheet. “Joe, you’re supposed to put the horses in the stable out by the house.â€
“Where am I?†asked Lana breathlessly.
“You’re Lana, right?†When Lana nodded he said,†Okay, you’re boarding with… oh my tail feathers.†The raven gasped. “You’re boarding with… Stella!â€
“She is?!?!†Ped gasped loudly. “Wow, Lana, they must think a lot of your power or you’d be boarding with someone else and not the most powerful Moon Person in Consket.â€
“I’m boarding with a Moon Person!!!†breathed Lana in astonishment. She took in a little gasp of excitement, then asked the raven, “ Thank you so very much…. Wait, what’s your name?â€
“My name? Call me Ray,†Ray answered apparently embarrassed.
“Well, thank you Ray. Here, I knew this mini scarf would come in handy one day,†Lana smiled as she pulled out a rainbow woolen scarf that was just the right size for Ray out of her pack.
“Oh, you don’t have to give me anything,†Ray said blushing (now that is a sight to see!).
“No, I insist! Take it!†Lana smiled at the blushing raven whose cheeks were the color of roses already.
“Well, all right. If you insist,†Ray said taking the scarf and wrapping it around his shoulder as he hopped towards the door. “If you ever need anything, I’m your raven!†The he was gone.
A long silence followed the raven as though he had taken all the sound with him when he left. Then, unexpectedly, Ped burped a loud roaring burp. Lana giggled. Then she burst forth into a roaring laugh, which of course set the whole group off. Even the doorman started to laugh. Without knowing it Lana had put the whole city into a boisterous mood from the grumpiest old codger to the saddest little baby. Still laughing, they exited the museum and set off, though they didn’t know it, towards destiny.
End of Chapter 2The Lady of the Woods looked on in wonder as the whole city erupted in good spirits. She watched as Lana came out of the museum laughing a deep roaring laugh. The Lady of the Woods smiled and laughed a girlish laugh. She remembered when she had been so young and carefree. Her name had been Kimika back then before she had become the Lady of the Woods. Dimples appeared in her cheek and she looked radiant as she watched the young girl laugh with her family and friends. In that moment she knew that the girl was special. Smiling even more, the Lady of the Woods disappeared from her vantage point with a soft twang.
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kricket
in February 2nd, 2006 @ 18:04 do you like?
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yesterday's_kinked_moose
in February 4th, 2006 @ 16:50I haven’t read everybody’s stuff yet. Please excuse me.
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Robert Coontz (Administrator)
in February 6th, 2006 @ 16:10All right, here are some Web pages I can highly recommend: Conrad Geller’s explanations of poetic forms. They’re brilliant. Funny, too. (This link is for triolets, but there are three others at the bottom of the page there.)
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The Phantom Norker
in February 7th, 2006 @ 21:40Hmmm…Cool idea, Kricket! The one thing I’d change would be the use of multiple punctuation marks at the end of a sentence. Like this!!! I find it a bit distracting, and if you want to convey emphasis on something, you can use an adverb instead. Like: (I’ll use an example from your story) Instead of, “She is?!?!” Ped gasped loudly, you could say: “She is?” Ped gasped loudly, as if he couldn’t believe his ears.
Just a suggestion. You don’t have to take it.
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The Phantom Norker
in February 8th, 2006 @ 17:28Vote! Do you think I should just cut the whole eleven-page prologue thing (post #61) and write Rise as a separate novel or keep it as the prologue to Itholianam?
And I changed Manivara’s name to Maerana because I think it sounds better.
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kricket
in February 16th, 2006 @ 15:39hey thanks for the idea!!!! just so you know, i just wanted to write it down first and then edit it… anyways here’s a really random and pointless story i wrote in graphics class…
My Random Story
Random person- I’m so freakin’ bored!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Help meeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The aliens are attacking!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! DON’T EAT ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Runnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!
SAVE YOUR SELVES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Nooooooooooooooo…. Don’t EAT me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Go on without me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Aliens- mwahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now that we have taken over California, we shall take over the world!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! mwahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!
Random person- I thought we were in Pennsylvania…
Aliens- Really? Oops… wrong state…
Random person- does that mean that you’re still going to eat me?
Aliens- of course not!!!!!! We’re not going to eat you!!!! Well, at least not right now… we have to go conquer California first…. Anyways, off to conquer California!!!!
Aliens- ~fly off to California in flying saucer~
Random little girl- well, that was odd….Random person- Ack! My leg!!!!!!!! Oh the pain…
The End
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kricket
in February 16th, 2006 @ 15:40and here’s another random story…
Another Random Story
Paul Revere- the aliens are attacking!!!! The aliens are attacking!!!
Crowd- don’t you mean the British?
Paul Revere- No, that was like 3 centuries ago….
Crowd- we must call Albert Einstein!!!!!!!!!! Surely he’ll know what to do!!!!! ALBERT!!!!!!
Albert Einstein- Yes what is it?
Crowd- the aliens are attacking!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Albert Einstein- We shall do what all great men do when faced with an alien invasion!
Crowd- What’s that?
Albert Einstein- Scream, panic, and run helplessly in circles.
Crowd- AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
Alien # 1- Mwahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now we shall dissect you’re puny human brains and… uh, wait… what were we going to do again?
Alien #2- for the last time we’re going to dissect their brains and then we’re going to take over the world!!!!!!!! Mwahahahaha!!!!!!!!
Alien #1- I knew that. Mwahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!! ~joins in with evil laughter~
Einstein- not to be nosy, but where are you going to start taking over the world? In China perhaps?
Alien #2- what’s china? Wait… Alien #1 are we on the planet xenya?
Alien #1- planet xenya? I thought we were going to start taking over the world on Earth…
Alien #2- you idiot!!! We were supposed to be on planet xenya!!! You know, where all the primitive humans are living!!! Or were they apes…
Alien #1- sorry… HUMANS!!!! We are sorry to have inspired so much fear when it is not necessary… we’ll have to take over your planet later. We’ll be back!!! Mwahahahahahahahaha!!!!
Crowd- hooray!!! The aliens have left our planet in peace!!!
Paul Revere- don’t celebrate yet… it seems they have taken Albert with them!!!
Crowd- Oh no!!!To be continued…
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Pentatonikk (RRF)
in February 17th, 2006 @ 23:34Funny, kricket! I like randomness.
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Pentatonikk (RRF)
in February 20th, 2006 @ 00:58YESS! I finally finished the Lanekiad prologue!
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Pentatonikk (RRF)
in February 20th, 2006 @ 01:27Tah-DAH!
Itherun’s king, while rash and mad for glory, cared for the safety of his people when they were under attack. While they still had time, the people of Itherun fortified the walls of Diherun and stockpiled food from the harvest. None doubted that a siege was coming, and if Itherun wanted to survive, they had to prepare.
It was then, when the Itheruni still clung to hope, that Maerana Saw and understood her sister’s gift. She Saw Diherun burning, Iavrel burning, the all-consuming flame even reaching to remote Iavinu by the High Places. She Saw the destruction of her world as she knew it, the Merren flowing with blood once more. Yelvin, home of the assassins, would not be spared for the difficulty to reach it. Lanek’s forces would only see it as another obstacle to their domination. Maerana Saw, and she knew what she had to do.
One could not hold assassins to an oath. Even Maerana could not. They were free to do as they pleased, barring only betraying Olor. It had been so ever since Yelvin existed, ever since a princess could speak to assassins in their city.
Maerana spoke to them now in this manner, though she was far away in Diherun. Her voice rang through Yelvin, echoing and calling until it sounded as if Amadelen possessed her as he had her sister.“Assassins of Yelvin, I call on you to throw down your old oaths. You have always valued survival; now survival will be more dangerous than at any time you have known before. To stay alive a few months longer, you will have to bend. If you wish, serve Lanek. Lanek can give you life now, while I cannot. All I ask is that you remember who you were, assassins of Olor. The only thing you must not do is harm any Olorin, even if it means betraying Lanek. You must not kill your first people. Goodbye, people of Yelvin. I will not meet you again.â€
And then flames covered the rooftops of Yelvin, lighting them in dancing blue and orange, whirling madly, furiously until they had burned themselves away. The city returned to normal once more, the only sign of Maerana or the fire the faint scent of smoke in the air.
The winter between 2937 and 2938 was bitter, the few unharvested crops freezing in the ground. Itheruni peasants and nobles alike huddled in Diherun, grateful for the weather that was also keeping Lanek in its tents.
But with March came a thaw, and the army of Lanek pitched its camp in the mud outside Diherun. There they waited for Itherun to slowly starve into surrender. Maerana said, “For as long as it took, Lanek could wait two days longer.â€
Thanks to the huge stockpile of food, the city was well-fed into late April, when the army went to engage Lanek in battle. On May 1, the first anniversary of Makkaro, the two armies clashed with a cry of metal and blood.
The Battle of Diherun was a disaster for Itherun. While intelligent, their tacticians could not match the brilliance of Lanek’s. Lanek pushed Itherun all the way back to the refortified city walls, cutting through line and line of men. What was left of the Itheruni army ran back into the city, wounded and terrified.
So Itherun fell, although it was not taken until the summer. On July 22 of 2938, the king of Itherun came out of the city, emaciated and waving a white flag for peace. He was shot down by a stray arrow, and Lanek ruled all of the West.
The Laneki army went wild, pillaging and burning Diherun to the ground. Who knows how many of its citisens died by their swords or by the wild flames?
Only a few scattered scraps of those who had taken shelter in the city escaped the destruction. They fled across Merren, destroying the bridge behind them. Maerana led the refugees in seeking a new city, because she knew one was there.
East of the river Merren lay the Seven Cities, ancient lands far older than any country in the West. They were separate countries in all but name, with their own kings and laws. Maerana knew little about them, only that they were strong and not yet under Lanek’s control.
So she led the last free people of the West through the strange new terrain, over green, rolling hills, and into Itholianam.
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kricket
in February 20th, 2006 @ 08:04nice!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! keep up the good work!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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Pentatonikk (RRF)
in February 21st, 2006 @ 18:33Yes! Somebody’s still on this thread! *hugs Kricket* *strangles Kricket*
Oh, no! I killed Kricket!
*random person un-strangles Kricket*
Yaay! Thank you, Random Person! *swoons*
Random Person: Another day saved. I bid you now ta ta!
I bid you now ta ta?
I don’t really like the prologue that much. It needs work. To me, it reads like a combination social studies textbook/fusty old legend. Whatever, though. I’m just proud of myself for finishing it.
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kricket
in February 22nd, 2006 @ 19:10I wrote this strange story yesterday. anyone want to hear it because if not too bad!!!
———————————————————————
It was a beautiful day in London, England. The sun was shining, there was a breeze blowing, and nothing seemed wrong with the world. Until a car going 100mph crashed through a building. It was chaos. People were screaming, and someone had the sense to call the ambulance. The ambulance arrived on the scene and a party of nine young girls all tied up and gagged was found unconscious and injured in the back of the vehicle. The driver was a drunk, a murderer, and a scoundrel! But to Isabella, he was her father. How betrayed she had felt when he had ordered everyone at her 10th birthday party to get in the car, then tied them up and gagged them. How horrible she had felt when her father had gotten the car with a case of beer, downed all the beer in 30 minutes and took off towards the city driving 100mph. As Isabella was carted into the hospital, all she could remember was that one thought. “Why did you betray me Daddy? Why?†The team of medical surgeons was shouting at each other from across the room. Isabella didn’t care. As she and her friends were hurried towards the ER, all she heard was “It is too late. The adult cannot be saved.†She screamed as pain thundered through her body, both emotional and physical. The medical team had strapped her down on the operating table by then and gave her something to knock her unconscious. As she drifted off, Isabella felt no more pain. “It is not too late for me!! I will survive!!†she thought with ferocity. Then her head slumped back and she ceased to be conscious.The next day the newspapers all had the same headline. “A car crashed through a building going 100mph!†one read. “Only one child survivor!†another read. Isabella woke up from her medicine-induced coma a week after the accident. Glancing around the room, she thought, “What happened? Where are my friends? Daddy?†Seeing a nurse by her nightstand she tried to ask her what was going through her head but found to her horror that she could not. The operation had saved her life, but it had cost her, her voice. A few months later, Isabella was adopted. Her mother had died before that accident so when her father could not be saved, Isabella became an orphan. Isabella developed a terrible fever just after she had lived at her new parents’ home. The doctors tried their hardest to save her, but even the best technology could not save Isabella now. One night, Isabella wanted her new parents to come visit for Isabella knew that her time on Earth was growing short. Looking at her parents for the last time, Isabella smiled and motioned for them to give her a hug. Weeping, the foster parents held her for the last time. The doctor walked in just as the girl was writing a note for her parents. The note read:
“I’m going to go see Mommy now. Don’t be sad for I love you and always will.â€
The next day the headlines read: “A girl died last night at a hospital in London.†“The survivor of the car accident died!†etc. etc. The foster parents wept for their little adopted Isabella. In the morning, Isabella had been found lying in her foster parents’ arms, dead. The next morning, however, a note was found on the desk of Isabella’s foster parents. Shaking the parents read it and swore to tell no one about it. The note read:
“I am in heaven now, foster Mommy and foster Daddy. Don’t be sad. I’ll see you next year.
-Isabellaâ€
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kricket
in February 23rd, 2006 @ 15:01oh so this is where my story is now… interesting…
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Sphinx
in February 23rd, 2006 @ 17:23This is a Newsies fanfic. I’ll spoil it now for you by telling you that it’s the first part of a collection of oneshoots written by me, Lucifer, Pheonix and Zyviva breaking cliches in Newsies fanfiction. I came up with the idea to write these stories, and me and Jessica came up with the ideas for the stories. I came up with and wrote this particular story. Many stories are about girls who try to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge, but some guys comes along and convinces them not too, and they all live happily ever after. This is breaking that cliche.
Turbid water crashed in on itself in the pouring rain. Heather watched, soaked and chilled to the bone, from her precarious perch on a railing on the Brooklyn Bridge. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for the jump, tensed her legs, and-
“Hey!”
The shout surprised her so much she almost fell off the slippery railing. Quickly she shot out a hand to steady herself. Then she wondered why she had done that. What difference did it make whether she fell or jumped? Either way her miserable existence would be over. Unable to answer the question – or, maybe, a voice deep down inside of her said, you just don’t want to, because you already know the answer – she turned her head to see the caller. Her eyes locked on Kal.
Heather knew nothing about the boy newsie. Sure, she saw him around sometimes, selling papes, or hanging around the lodging house, but she had never talked to him before. After all, there were tons of newsies in Brooklyn.
And not one of them gave a care about her. Which was why she was trying to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge in to the frigid waters of the East River in the first place. She brought her attentions back to the situation at hand.
“Heather, isn’t it?” asked Kal, taking a step closer. He was obviously going for the “stall her until you can get her down” approach. Typical. How should she react? Truth be told, glancing back down at the water, Heather didn’t really want to jump. But how could she go back on her decision now? Maybe she should just wait and see what Kal would do. But then what would people say, if she let herself be saved like that? People won’t say anything, Heather told herself. They don’t care about you anyway.
Her mind was made up. “Go away,” she said gruffly, turning back to the water. Kal started moving towards her. “I said go away!”
He stopped, and put his hands up in the air. “Fine. Just wanted to tell you, though, that I’ve heard drowning is the worst way to go. So you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Heather glanced nervously at him, and then at the water below, and then back at him. Kal could practically hear the cogs turning furiously in her head over the ferocious howl of the wind. Great, he thought. If I can just get her to come down and back to the lodging house with me, Spot’ll move me up for sure.
He saw the indesicion written on her face. Just a little bit more… “You look frozen. Tell you what, why don’t you come back to the lodging house with me, and we can get you a warm blanket and some nice hot chocolate?” Careful, careful, don’t go too far…
Heather didn’t respond. Tentatively Kal stepped forward, and was relieved when she didn’t yell at him. He neared the railing, and held out a hand. She put out a fragile hand to grab his…..
Unfortunatly, that hand had been the one she had been holding on to the railing with. Equally unfortunatly, the wind chose that moment to blow a particularly strong gust at Heather. With a scream, she slipped and tumbled over the side.
Kal’s eyes widened, but then he relaxed. This always happened. She would be hanging on to a convenient bar randomly left under the bridge. All he had to do was pull her up again. The same thing happened to Fire and Susan a few months ago, and Bilk and Lilac a few weeks before that, and George and Kate before that. Confidently he strode over to the railing.
And then he heard the splash.
Kal ran over to the side of the bridge, calling out Heather’s name. Down below he saw her treading water. She lashed out and started swimming for shore. Kal breathed a sigh of relief. He could reach her at the shore, bring her back, and he’d still get honored.
A boat horn. A scream. Silence.
No one ever did figure out what a boat was doing on the East River in the middle of a storm anyway.
You likey?
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165
Lusifer Ink.
in February 23rd, 2006 @ 17:38Thanks Emily. Why couldn’t you wait for us to edit it? We all agreed that you could write some alone if we could edit. Now I won”t give you any marshmellows.
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166
Phoenix
in February 23rd, 2006 @ 18:41Nice! Can you run over Kal with a bus, then? Both of them need to be squished.
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167
Sphinx
in February 23rd, 2006 @ 18:46A) we never made that agreement.
B) That’s why I’m posting it here before I put it on Fanfiction.net. I could do that now, if you like. I’m sorely tempted.
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168
Sphinx
in February 23rd, 2006 @ 19:21I should have Kal run over with a carriage? I dunno, that seems a bit much, and I have no clue how I’d fit it in.
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169
kokopelli #13, (a.k.a. TerroR)
in February 24th, 2006 @ 11:11There were three people, Jeb, Jo, and Dagger. Dagger killed Jo,Jeb killed Dagger, and then he fell off of Victoria Falls and landed on sharp rocks that were on the bottom, but before he landed, he died of a heart attack. Scary…..
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170
Shotgun #11
in February 24th, 2006 @ 11:13Hi everybody!!!
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171
Shotgun #11
in February 24th, 2006 @ 11:14Bye everybody!!!
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172
Phoenix
in February 24th, 2006 @ 14:03Sphinx, how about, in the time travel cliche, a truck randomly gets teleported onto the bridge and squishes Kal?
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173
Lusifer Ink.
in February 24th, 2006 @ 15:08That sounds good to me. That one is going to be exceedingly extensive.
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174
Sphinx
in March 3rd, 2006 @ 14:29Ha! That be hilarious, tying that in to this one! That one should be last> We might make it two or three chapters.
Okay, here is the story I posted on Fanfiction.net that Pheonix was raving about. Anna is based on Pheonix, and I won’t tell you who Chatherine and Laura are based on. Yu don’t really have to know anything about Newsies to understand this chapter, but in later chapters you will. This takes place in 1898.
“I’m seeing double!” That’s what people would always say when they met us. Then they’d burst out laughing, thinking they were the funniest, most original person on earth. I tell you, it gets real old real fast. It came to the point where we both had to bite our tongues to refrain from together retorting with a “Well, maybe you should get your eyes checked!”
People would ask, “Who’s older?”.
Laura and I each had our own different responses to that. “I’m older, and more mature, and nicer, and smarterer,” was one of Laura’s favorites, while the simple “Depends, is it better or worse?” was one of mine. We took turns answering. Sometimes, just for the heck of it, we’d exchange a quick glance and answer the same thing at the same time. Every so often we’d even do it by accident. However, some questions she just let me handle. Like the inevitable, “What’s it like to be a twin?” To that I’d always answer, “What’s it like not to be one?”
I’ve always been the more serious, philosophical twin. Don’t get me wrong, I could get almost as crazy as Laura. And she could calm down too, every once in a while. But I was the one who could go from laughing to serious in the blink of an eye. I was the one who would think about everything, and occasionally make the random comment about the meaning of life. Laura didn’t care so much about what it was all about, usually; she lived more in the now. It was one of our many differences. I was the cool, calm, collected one. Laura, well, with her you could never tell. As Anna, a good friend of ours from the orphanage, once put it, “Laura will get you with her insanity. You never know what she’ll do or say next. Catherine, she’ll be all calm and laid-back, she’ll make you laugh, and you’ll never see it coming. That’s how she’ll get you.”
Oh, we were a lot alike. You can’t be identical twins without some similarities. Anyone who portrays twins as complete opposites obviously isn’t one. We both loved to read, and we both loved to make others laugh. We both knew ourselves pretty well, which maybe came from being a twin. Laura could be a little cold sometimes, and so could I, although I knew how to watch my words and control myself somewhat better than she did, and that was a fact. Neither of us liked admitting defeat, and we both fought like cats. Often against each other.
Half the time we were best friends, and the rest of the time we hated each other’s guts. Still, we watched out for each other. I really don’t know where I’d be without Laura. Well, that’s not strictly true. I’d still be in that orphanage, for one…
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This was it. I felt the familiar butterflies rise in my stomach, and ignored them. This was no time to get nervous.
Anna was going over the rope one more time, making sure it was safe as it could be. Her, Laura and I had worked on it for a week, stealing spare sheets from the linens closet. Now it was finished, and Laura and I were finally going to get out of that stupid orpahange.
They didn’t treat us badly there. We were fed plenty, we didn’t get beaten or anything, we got enough sleep. But it was all so boring. We woke up, got dressed, ate breakfast, went to lessons, had lunch, then more lessons, then ate dinner, and went to bed. Day after day. We couldn’t stand it anymore. Laura and I started to act up in class, just for the sake of change. There was that time when we put toothpaste on the chair of Ms. Whitall, the Math tutor. Or when we came to lessons wearing all our cothes inside out. We would dress up as each other and switch places, and watch Ms. Galavanti, the old Language tutor, confusedly try to figure us out while poor Anna would shake with barely suppressed laughter. We would always ask questions on everything, sometimes completely random and unrelated. Our punishment would be the rest of the day in Isolation, but it was worth it just to have some fun. Soon Laura had gotten switched to the other dormitory room down the hall, but we knew when the Headmistress went to sleep, so Laura just had to sneak past her room after 12:30 to get to the dormitory room Anna and I slept in.
Still, we wanted out. Our seventeenth birthday was coming up soon. There was a big world out there, and we wanted to be a part of it. We couldn’t stand the orphanage anymore. Stuck inside, lessons all day long…There had to be more to life than this.
But it wasn’t only that. I haven’t yet told you how we got to the orphanage, have I? It started when our father was killed. It was an accident at the factory. Our family was devastated. Laura and I, we were only eight at the time. All we knew was daddy had gone on vacation, and we didn’t know when he’d be back. About a year after that, when we were nine, our brother disappeared. We were old enough, by then, to know what was really going on. He was twelve when he left. I think it was because he couldn’t take the strain of growing up fatherless. I don’t know. But after he left, my mother just kind of gave up. Her health started deteriorating, and in eighteen months, when we were ten and a half, she died. But before she did, she asked one thing of Laura and I – to find our brother. And we promised her we would.
Bit of a stupid thing to promise, looking back on it. But what could we do? We decided we had wasted enough time already. Our brother would be almost twenty by now. If we were going to find him, we would have to do it soon. We only had one picture to aid us, and he was sure to have changed a lot since it was taken. But Laura, at least, was determined. Call me cruel, call me heartless, but I couldn’t care less about what had happened to our deserting brother. Laura wanted to find him, though, and there was our promise to mother, so I agreed to help search for him. Before we could do that, however, we had to get out.
Anna finished her inspection and came over, tapping me on the shoulder and bringing me back from my reverie. She had the serious, Let’s-Make-This-Work expression she always had when we executed a plan. “I’m not sure how this will hold, so you guys had better climb down fast,” she warned. Then she sighed. “I’m gonna miss you guys! I wish I could come with you!”
I got up and hugged her. “I’m gonna miss you too, Anna,” I whispered, looking at her. I wished she could come with us, too. But she had three younger siblings here. Poor Anna. She really loathed it in the orphanage, but what could she do? She would sooner jump off the Brooklyn Bridge than abandon her brothers and sister. I would miss the long debates about the meaning of life, and all thge laughs we shared. Anna knew so much about so many interesting things, like geology and biology and why people do what they do. She was practically a certified genius. I certainly learnt a lot more from her than I ever learnt from the tutors. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” I said, forcing myself to believe it. “We’ll visit, I promise. Keep the rope, and we’ll – I dunno, we’ll think something up, okay?”
Anna nodded. Regaining her composure, she stated in her usual, matter-of-fact tone, “You guys had better get going. Quick, before anyone wakes up.” Laura, who had been giving the room a final once over to make sure we hadn’t left anything, came over and nodded that she was ready. Anna took the rope and tied one end around a bed post near the window. I opened the window, and she threw the rope out. It fell to a few feet above the ground. Perfect. I was going first. Grabbing my bag, I turned to Anna. I had never been good at goodbyes. Finally I just gave her a quick hug and a smile, and, taking the rope, crawled out the window. I climbed down as quickly as I could, looking straight ahead of me. Our room was on the second floor, so it took me about five minutes, but it felt like forever. Finally, I reached the bottom.
Laura looked down at me from our window when I lifted my eyes. I smiled at her, and she started climbing down. When she too reached the bottom, Anna pulled the rope back in. Then she stuck her head back out to watch us leave. With a final wave and smile, Laura and I set out to find our brother. I just couldn’t resist, though, looking back one last time at the place I had spent the last five years, and at my best friend’s tear-stained face, still smiling through the tears. Then we turned a corner, and it was gone.
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175
Cedar
in March 3rd, 2006 @ 16:45THE DUEL
A STORY BE CEDAR
The challenge (let’s make one up shall we) had been made. The two kights, one a man, the other a woman (let’s each make up our own names for them) walked into a large clearing, and drew their broadswords. They bowed to each other, and then each thanked the spirits for their time on this good earth, should either of them be the one to die.
The crowd watch with nervous anticipation, as the two knights got into attack position.
The two knights closed their eyes.
One knight (let’s decide who it was for ourselves) charged the second knight!
The second knight (samde procedure as above) met the attack with feirce bravery!
The crowd waited with baited breath, for the fight to begin.
The two kights still had their eyes closed.
The second knight swung its sword towards the first knight’s stomach!
The first knight parried the attack, and pushed the second kight to the ground!
The second knight dropped its sword as it fell!
The crowd was almost frantic with anticipation!
The two knights took deep breaths.
The second knight rolled out of the way, as the first knight tried to behead it!
The second knight grabbed its sword from the ground, spun around, and aimed for the first knight’s heart, as the first knight did the same!
The two knights opened their eyes.
The dream was done.
The duel began!
The duel began.
The end.
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Pentatonikk (RRF)
in March 11th, 2006 @ 19:40What’s the link to the Newsies fanfiction on FF.net? I’d like to read it, although I have no clue what Newsies is.
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