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Comments RSS TrackBack 294 comments

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  1

  Prarilius Canix

  in January 15th, 2007 @ 12:54

  I’ll come up with a short story sometime soon.

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  2

  Kiki the Great

  in January 15th, 2007 @ 13:20

  w00t! w00t! Well, I’m at a friend’s house currently, so I can’t post my story, but it’ll happen eventually. So get all hyped up!

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  3

  Shadowkat

  in January 15th, 2007 @ 16:04

  2-Man, I’m pumped!!! Lol…I’m busy, right now, but I’ll post something soon…hopefully.

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  4

  Kiara

  in January 15th, 2007 @ 16:20

  Stories?!?!?! Maybe I can post another on I’m working on. The first on I started is in the random thread. Oh well, I’ll figure somithing out.

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  5

  Sunrunner Bramblewood

  in January 15th, 2007 @ 17:51

  Cool. I love writing threads.

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  6

  ☛Kiki the Great☚

  in January 15th, 2007 @ 18:02

  The Warrior’s
  Daughters

  By Allegra R

  Prologue
  DEKRANE. Vares Delta System. Galaxy Andromeda. Year 243 NC.

  General!” shouted soldier Marz Kon. “That laser cannon just wounded half of our remaining soldiers!! He pointed to a large cannon halfway across the field.
  “Well, do something about it!” yelled General Vae.
  “Our energy guns are out of power!” yelled Kon in reply over the booming of the Dekrockan’s cannon.
  “Here!” General Vae threw Kon an energy pack.
  “Thanks!” said Kon as he passed out the bulbs inside to the other soldiers.
  uuu
  Kon, Vae, and the all of the other soldiers sat around the King of Dekrane’s dining room table, eating and laughing merrily. They were here to celebrate the Dekranian’s victory over the Dekrockans.
  “Thank God we fought hard,” said soldier Norf.
  “And strong,” added soldier Foze.
  “And thank God for double agents,” said General Vae.
  “Yeah, great idea of Nox’s there,” said Foze.
  “Thanks,” said Nox quietly. He was a shy person. A bell rang up at the head of the table. Everyone fell silent. The King of Dekrane stood up.
  “Now, to reward you for your chivalry and courage during the Darven Wars,” said the king his deep, melodious voice, looking at each one of the soldiers.
  “I will try my best to grant ONE, I repeat, ONE of your wishes. And no wishing for more wishes.” He smiled a small, king-like smile.
  “Marz Kon, stand up,” the King said. Kon stood up, shaking slightly. “What do you want?”
  uuu
  After 30 or so minutes of wish-granting on the King’s part, it was finally General Vae’s turn.
  “Now, Soran Vae, stand.” General Vae stood up. He was a purposeful man, and he knew what he wanted.
  “What is your wish, General?” the King asked. Vae took a deep breath.
  “I would like,” He breathed again.
  “To settle down, in a nice house in Calaen, and start a family.” He finished with another breath.
  “Oh, interesting,” said the King with a small, king-like chuckle.
  “Of course. I shall give you your house in Calaen, and give you a suitable wife. I’m sure you will love her.”
  The King smiled.
  “Now, good soldiers, go off and lead your lives.”
  uuu
  General Vae certainly did lead his life. The wife that the King picked out for him was perfect. Her name was Masyi, and they fell in love immediately. Their house in Calaen was large, with a pool and a garden. Pretty soon, Masyi became pregnant. On 09 Nol, she had twins, and named them Vera and Cayli. But just three weeks later, their wonderful house was bombed by angry Dekrockans, and in the midst of it, Masyi disappeared.
  Start- Cayli

  Cayli sighed. She didn’t like school. She was seven summers old, and schoolwork was not her favorite activity. When finally school was over, she sat on the front steps of The Institute of Varsi’la, waiting for her father to pick her and her twin sister up. Within three minutes, Cayli’s friend Neesa dashed down from the top of the steps to her mother’s awaiting hovervis.
  “Hi, Cayli!” she said excitedly. “My mother’s taking me to the Sky Villa so we can see the moons! I can’t wait!” She took the rest of the steps two at a time and hopped into the vis. Cayli sighed again. She didn’t have a mother, like Neesa, or Aela, or Celana. She didn’t know why, either. She’d asked her father numerous times, but the answer had always been, “You just don’t”, or something of the like.
  A horn honked. Cayli snapped out of her reverie and ran towards her father.

  Start- Vera
  Vera looked around. She couldn’t see Cayli, so she perched herself on the top step. She was seven, and she didn’t have many friends. With her black hair and slightly pointed nose, she had heard people whispering something about her having the Dark element. Vera did have Zyviva, though. Zee, as she was called, liked Vera for her wits and agility. Zee liked to spy, and Vera did too. A horn honked, and Vera leapt up and ran towards her dad’s hovervis.

  Chapter 1
  Birthday Beginnings

  Vera woke with a start. Then she smiled. Today was her thirteenth birthday. She smiled, then went back to sleep.
  uuu
  In the next room, Cayli also woke. Instead of going back to sleep, though, she jumped out of her bed, dashed down the stairs, and started making the morning meal. Cayli liked to cook, and she also liked to think. So while cooking, she thought about herself and Vera. Sometimes it was hard to tell they were related, let alone twins! Still, they had a very powerful telepathic link to each other. She turned over the eggs and thought some more. She started to wonder what present her father would give her and Vera for their birthday.
  Since a lot of his possessions were destroyed in the bombing, the gifs were usually small, but meaningful. She finished cooking, and called up the stairs, “Vera! Father! Meal’s ready!” Her father was down quickly, yawning and stretching. Vera took longer. Cayli and her father were already halfway finished eating when she arrived, looking like the Antaran Monster.
  “Arija, Vera! Brush your hair!” Cayli exclaimed.
  “Later,” said Vera. “I’m hungry.”
  uuu
  One very good meal later, Cayli and Vera’s father stood up. He cleared his throat.
  “Now, you all know that today you come of age,” he began. “That means that now you are thirteen, you can legally get a job or make patents or go y’zarc’ca,
  “And?” said Cayli tentatively, wondering what this was leading up to.
  “And,” said her father, “I think I want you to do just that,”
  Vera was taken aback.
  “What, go y’zarc’ca??”
  “No,” said her father, laughing. Both Vera and Cayli breathed a sigh of relief.
  “I want you to get out in the world and start your life,”
  Vera had seen this coming.
  “Anything specific?” she asked.
  “Actually, yes,” said General Vae.
  “I want you to join the army.”

  Chapter 2
  Onwards and Outwards

  General Vae continued.
  “It’s up to you whether you want to be in the Main Force, or the Nae’sal Reserve, or be in separate battalions, it doesn’t matter to me. Just serve your planet.”
  “Well, of course,” said Cayli. “Joining the army would be a great adventure, but the problem is, there’s no war going on!”
  “Yes, honey, I understand that,” said General Vae. “But the Dekrockans are so unpredictable. A war could be starting off in Shanis right now, for all I know, so you can never tell.” He took a deep breath.
  “Now, girls, go up and pack.”
  uuu
  An hour later, Cayli and Vera stood at the bottom of the stairs. They both had their shenii, daypacks, with them. Cayli was sniffling a bit.
  “I do hope to see you two very soon, but I know you will enjoy yourselves,” said General Vae. The three walked to the front door.
  “Give me your hands,” the general said. As the twins put their hands in their father’s, a small spark of Light magic passed from him to them.
  “It’s two minutes worth each,” he said. “I’ve been saving it up for years, just for this moment.”
  “Wow,” said Cayli and Vera at the same time. They looked at each other, and then together, hugged General Vae as hard as they could. He smiled.
  “Nesesa sha’ara tarisa, as your mother would say. Onwards and outwards,”
  Vera kissed him on the forehead.
  “Cayli, do you- want to tell him?” she asked in a whisper.
  “Yes,” said Cayli, and she started a story.
  “Two months ago, remember how I sprained my wrist in the attic?” she asked her father.
  “Yes,” said General Vae, puzzled.
  “Well, that happened because I tripped on-this.” From inside her shenii, she pulled out a heavily gilded golden frame, flipped over. Cayli handed it to her father. He took it from her, and flipped it over to see the picture. It was an old-fashioned holo-photo. He pressed the small button on the bottom, which was painted gold to match the frame.
  The picture, as the general found out, was one of him, thirteen years ago. He was with his wife.
  “We wanted to know if that was our mom,” said Vera.
  “Yes, it is,” said General Vae heavily. “But it is not the time to talk about these things,” he said, a little more lightly. “It is time for a father to show his girls into the world.”
  He opened the door, and the girls stepped out, leaving their father in the foyer. As Cayli and Vera walked away from their father, and, most of their life, he called out,
  “Remember: nesesa sha’ara tarisa!”

  Chapter 3
  Miles and Miles

  When Cayli and Vera reached the local Crossroads, they fought a bit over which road they should take. Since their town was a small one, there were only three paths at the ’Roads. Vera wanted to go to Equora.
  “That’s where the Army base is!” she explained. “We can pick whatever we want to do there!”
  “Yes, but City Camroar is huge!” said Cayli exasperatedly. “There are more than forty roads at their Crossroads, I’ve heard. We can get there, and we can split up! You can take the path to your Equora,”
  Finally Vera agreed to go, and they set off to the west, in the direction of the lowering sun.
  uuu
  They were about a quarter way there when a peddler came up to them on his peddlevis.
  “Oh, no,” whispered Cayli. “We’re right by Garshne!” Vera shuddered. Garshne was a slum, a ghetto of conmen, burglars, highwaymen, and footpads. The mayor, who lived more than a mile away, was also mayor of Ogagis, and took care of Garshne in his spare time, which there wasn’t much of.
  “He’s probably looking for girls to kidnap,” reasoned Vera.
  “Yes,” said Cayli.
  The peddler steered over to the twins.
  “Hey girlies, wanna go for a ride?” the peddler asked with a sinister smile. That confirmed the girls’ suspicions, and off they ran as fast as they could.
  Quite a chase ensued, but when Vera used some of her stored Light magic, the peddler gave up, and steered back in the direction of Garshne. By then it had gotten to the sixteenth hour and the sun had completely set. They found a comfortable dip on the side of the path, so Vera and Cayli settled down for the night meal. Vera had bread and butter, and Cayli used some of her Anduen fire-element to heat up a can of some vegetable soup.
  uuu
  After they had gobbled down their less-than-substantial meals, the twins set up the bed. It was an inflatable mattress, made of durable earthsilk. Cayli inflated it using air, her natural element. They pulled blankets and pillows out of their shenii, and flopped down to sleep.
  uuu
  They awoke to the rising of Dekrane’s blue sun. As the sky turned from the midnight deep purple to the normal day pearl-pink, Cayli stretched, yawned, and started to cook the meal, while Vera grunted, grumbled, and turned over. But when the smell of delicious roasted casnai meat and eggs reached her nose, Vera the sleepyhead hopped out of bed and rushed to the makeshift table, a large tree stump. Cayli doled out the hot meal in equal portions. Both girls scarfed it down enthusiastically after the tiny meal of the previous night. Afterwards, they packed up the bed and set off again. As the twins walked, they talked about what they were looking forward to.
  “I like the outfits and the weapons,” said Vera.
  “I’d just like to win wars and be satisfied by what I did,” said Cayli.
  “To each his own,” Vera and Cayli said at the same time. They stared at each other for a second, and then burst out laughing.

  They walked on and on, occasionally stopping for a rest or for a drink. At the fifteenth hour, Cayli finally spotted something.
  “Look!” She called to Vera. “I see lights!”
  Vera strained her eyes.
  “Yes!” She exclaimed at last. “I think that’s Camroar!” She hopped around excitedly.
  “By my reckonings, it’s at the most two miles away,” guessed Cayli, as exited as Vera.
  “C’mon, let’s run!” And they did.

  Chapter 4
  The City Camroar

  After a mile or so of running, panting, and all-around getting out of breath, they came to Camroar itself. When they finally passed the peddler’s stalls, lower-class huts, and assorted beggars, they stopped.
  “Oh my,” breathed both Vera and Cayli. The huge buildings, bridges, and structures towered high above the twins. Supported by magic and pure ingenuity, the Camroar Amin Tower stood over all of the others, looking like a pompous magistrate with a top hat of clouds. Cayli and Vera gaped for a while, as passersby on the street whispered and giggled to each other. Snatches of conversation drifted across to the twins as they stared upwards.
  “Country girls,”
  “Obviously tourists,”
  “You’d think they’d never seen a building taller than a mile before!”
  Cayli shook herself, and then nudged Vera. They set off again.
  “Vera,” said Cayli quietly as they were walking.
  “I know, I know,” said Vera. “We’re going to have to split up now,”
  Cayli sighed.
  “But we will keep in touch through our minds,” said Vera, lightening up a bit.
  Yes, replied Cayli, through the twins’ telepathic link.
  “Well, at least it works,”
  “I…”
  “Think we should go now,” the twins both said.
  They looked at each other.
  “I’ll see you again,” said Vera.
  “I promise.”
  As Cayli looked in to her sister’s eyes, she knew that to be true. They would meet again.
  So they walked away from each other, not looking back. Vera, she walked to the west, to the Army base in Equora. Cayli headed to the north, just letting herself be guided by her instincts. As they slowly separated, they both simultaneously used their link.
  I love you.
  uuu
  As Vera walked through the packed streets of Camroar, she realized what was happening. She was being separated from her twin for the first time in thirteen years. She contemplated this while walking. As she turned down an alley, she suddenly got the feeling she was being followed. She turned around. There was another peddler, with deep black hair and a scar across his forehead.
  “You’re pretty,” he said softly.
  “P-pretty? You aren’t-“ Vera said, backing away. “Who are you?!?”’
  The peddler didn’t say anything. He smiled evilly. His wares-Knives! Vera thought-clinked menacingly.
  “Cummere, girlie,” he said.
  “No!” said Vera. “I’ll-I’ll hurt you!”
  The peddler smiled again.
  “You’ll do,” he said. And with that, he steered his peddlevis over to the shocked Vera, and snatched her off the alley ground.
  uuu
  As Cayli wandered aimlessly out of the center of Camroar, she felt a shock of pain in her head. She clutched her temples, and the pain slowly faded. Vera, she thought. She tried to contact her sister telepathically to see what was going on but- something was blocking her. Cayli shook her head and tried again. Still, she couldn’t get through. Cayli was confused. That had never happened before. She tried one last time, and this time, she inspected the “barrier” more closely. It was dark and unnatural, that was all she could tell. She sighed; thinking hopefully that it would be gone tomorrow. She glanced ahead. A forest entered her range of vision. The Hallyn Forest, she whispered in her mind. Cayli felt something tug at her mind. She started walking towards the woods, pulled by something; what, she did not know.

  Chapter 5
  Finding Magic

  Mmf!! Mm!” Vera struggled. She was bound and gagged in the trunk of the peddlervis. The only thing she had learned about her mysterious kidnapper was that he was in cahoots with someone named Vito. As she twisted and squirmed trying to break her bonds, she heard her abductor talking, presumably into a communicator.
  “I’ve got one, Vito,” said the peddler.
  “Good, Phyre,” came the crackly response. “Dimensions?”
  “About five feet, average weight,” said Phyre.
  “Ah,” said Vito. “Perfect for the Friday sacrifice,”
  Sacrifice! thought Vera indignantly. I’m getting out of here ASAP!
  She turned this way and that as hard as she could, and finally she managed to open the trunk lid and roll out.
  “Sowe!” Vera rolled hard on to the ground. As she clenched her teeth hard to make the pain on her back go away, Cayli felt it too.
  uuu
  Cayli was wandering deeper and deeper into the woods. She had no idea where she was going, except that she was following that tug inside of her. Suddenly, she felt a burst of pain on her back, just like the one in her head hours ago. This pain felt different, though. It was physical pain, not mental pain. As this was different, she didn’t try to contact Vera. She’s fine, she thought.

  Vera lay there, gnawing at her wrist bonds. She had managed to get the gag out and was still lying there on the road. She hoped with all her might that a hovervis would not come down the path and run straight over her, pouring their poisonous gas exhaust down her throat. She turned her head in desperation, and spotted a sharp rock lying-ugh-just out of her reach. She closed her eyes and concentrated very hard. A tongue of fire reached out from her bonded hands and snatched the rock a bit closer. She egged the fire on a bit more, and it slowly but surely picked up the rock and sliced her bonds open. Vera lost her concentration and the fire died away. She sat up and wrung her hands.
  “Oooh,” she said, shaking out her hands, and inspecting the welts.
  “That’s gonna last a while,” she muttered.
  As she undid her leg ties, she inspected her surroundings. She was in a big city (she assumed either Camroar or Equora) and was in a wide street surrounded by tall buildings. She stood up and tossed the bonds aside. She dusted herself off, and started to walk.

  “Oh no,” Cayli muttered. She was lost. The tug had lessened to nothing, and the forest was so dense, she couldn’t see the sky for the trees’ thick branches.
  She sat down on a nearby rock. The rock chirped.
  “What?!?” Cayli jumped. She crouched down and inspected the innocent-looking rock. Near the bottom, she found a lift able plaque. She lifted it, and it revealed a small orange button. Warily, Cayli pressed it. She heard a small creaky noise coming from above her. She looked up. A hologram was being lifted from the tree canopy. Instead of a mess of branches and leaves, she saw a tree house. A rather large one, at that. A rope ladder descended from the tree house. A girl about six years older than Cayli climbed down.
  “Hello! I’m Nara!”
  “Erm… Hi?”
  “Nice to meet you, Cayli!”

  Like her sister, Vera was lost. Completely lost. And to add to the horribleness of it all, she was in Garshne. She saw it on a store sign (Garshne Local Tailors). Garshne seemed to be made up entirely of dark alleys. As she walked down one, she passed many shady figures. She tried to avoid them, but they seemed drawn to her by some invisible thread. They peered at her eyes, at her legs, her hair. She walked quicker. As her eyes darted from storefront to storefront, she grew more scared, and while she grew more scared, she walked quicker. Pretty soon she was running, her eyes closed and her mind on her stomach, which was rumbling.
  BAM!
  She stopped, stunned. She had run into something. She opened her eyes. In front of her was a man, but not a man as Vera knew them to be. He was about seven feet tall and clad entirely in black. All of his body was covered, excepting his eyes. They stared at Vera with their inky blackness. Or were they silver? Vera seemed pulled in, but she shook herself out of the half-trance.
  “Hello,” said the man.
  “Wha-who are you?” asked Vera. She seemed to be getting her share of surprises today. “Are you Vito?”
  “Vito?” asked the man. His tone of voice hinted that he did not know Vito, but his eyes told Vera otherwise.
  “No,” said the man. “I am Kensor.”
  “Kensor,” said Vera.
  “At last,” Kensor said. “Vera Vae.”

  Chapter 6
  Welcome!
  Cayli stared. As she did so, Nara peered inquiringly at Cayli’s face.
  “H-how do you-”
  “Know your name?” Nara finished.
  “Yeah,” said Cayli, perplexed.
  “Oh, I knew your name for a long time,” said Nara. “I felt you were coming, so I knew your name,”
  “Whoa,” Cayli gasped. “Your element’s Time?”
  “Yes,” said Nara. “My traditional name is Timerabbit.”
  “Then what was that tug I felt as I walked here?” asked Cayli.
  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Nara. “That wasn’t me,”
  “Then what was it?”
  “Probably your conscience,” Nara said. “Now let’s forget about all that stuff. Welcome to the training center of the Battalion of Risho’en!”
  “You mean this is an Army place?”
  Nara nodded.
  “Wow, this is just what I’m look- oh yeah. I forgot you knew,” said Cayli.
  Nara didn’t say anything. She gestured towards the tree house.
  “You mean- that’s the training center?” asked Cayli in disbelief.
  “Yep, well, sort of,” said Nara. “A lot of our training with technology is done in there, like stimulations and stuff. Also, we have seminars and lessons in the smaller rooms. But most of the weaponry and exercises are done down here,”
  “Interesting,” Cayli mused. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll join.”
  “I knew it,” said Nara.
  This is going to take some getting used to, Cayli thought.
  “Yes, I’m pretty sure it is,” said Nara. Cayli groaned, but she was smiling.
  “Let’s go up and meet everyone else!” said Nara excitedly.
  “O-okay,” said Cayli, amazed at the speed of how things were going.
  uuu
  “Hey!!!” said Vera, loudly. “How do you know my name??”
  “Oh, that. ’Tis inconsequential,” said Kensor.
  “But I-” said Vera.
  “Ah, I see you are quite stubborn,” Kensor said. He moved his hands along the contours of Vera’s slightly pointed face,
  “Yes,” he said. “You will do,”
  “Do with what?” asked Vera. “Are you going to sacrifice me?”
  “Oh, no,” said Kensor. “Only people like Vito-” He coughed. “Only the Sarrelos do that,”
  Vera was suspicious. She looked at Kensor’s face to see what his intentions were. She was surprised to see something was blocking her.
  “What is your, ahem, traditional name?” asked Kensor.
  “Why do you want to know?”
  Kensor stared at her with his piercing eyes. They seemed to be compelling her to answer.
  “It’s Fireswan,” said Vera.
  “No,” whispered Kensor. “That is not right,”
  “What do you mean?” asked Vera. “That is the name the spirits told my parents when I was born!”
  “No. Your true traditional name is Darkswan,”
  Vera shook with anger and fear.
  “Darkswan? I’m not evil or-”
  “I’m not saying you are,” said Kensor. “Come, follow me,”
  They walked down the many dark alleys of Garshne for a while. Finally, Kensor stopped, and put out a hand to make Vera do the same.
  “Here we are,” he said.
  “Where exactly is ‘here’?” asked Vera.
  “The training center of the Vorenion Army,” said Kensor, smiling.
  “Wha?”
  “Yes, this is an army place,” said Kensor. “But it isn’t for the Dekranians. It’s for the supporters of the Dekrockans,”
  “Oh my sowe!”
  Vera started to run. Kensor somehow got ahead of her and stood in front of her. He kneeled down to her height.
  “It’s a common misconception that Dekrockans are evil,” he said, luring Vera in with his eyes.
  “But they are!!”
  “No,” said Kensor, with the air of someone telling a 17 year old that 3+3=6. “They have the right idea. Dekrane is not in very good hands right now. The king does not know right from wrong. The Dekrockans do,”
  “You sure?”
  “Yes,”
  “Then-then I’ll join.”
  Kensor smiled.
  “Good. You’ll be getting your weapons and bodyguards shortly,”
  “B-bodygu-”
  “Yes, yes. Now let’s go meet everyone else.”

  Chapter 7
  Training

  The tree house was huge. Much, much bigger than it looked from the outside. Cayli supposed someone in the battalion had the Space element and expanded the house. There were rooms branching off the sides and computers blinking on the walls. A group of people was sitting on mod chairs and a girl who looked to be about Cayli’s age was talking at the front.
  “Nobody knows what the Dekrockans are. Inspections of the dead and wounded have proved fruitless, as they dematerialize when killed. After extensive research, we have discovered that-”
  The girl looked up. Nara had softly rapped on the doorframe.
  “Li,” she said.
  “Nara! I thought you went out on an errand!”
  “I did. I’m back.”
  “Oh,” said the girl-Li. She noticed Cayli. “Who’s she?”
  “My groceries,” said Nara sarcastically. “I found her down in the forest. She’s a new member.”
  “Wow!”
  “Cool!!”
  “Nice to meet you!”
  The battalion erupted with friendly chatter.
  “Guys!!” Nara shouted, half laughing. “I haven’t even told you her name yet!”
  The battalion fell silent.
  “My-my name’s Cayli,” said Cayli.
  The crowd started to chatter again.
  “Nice name,”
  “What element?”
  “Y’tterp’pe!”
  Cayli was flattered.
  “Um, thanks. My traditional name’s Airswallow,”
  This time nobody talked.
  “What is it?” Maybe they don’t like Air, she thought.
  “What do you mean, ‘What is it?’ Nara’s going to talk!” a girl with bright blue hair said.
  Nara was standing where Li previously was. She had her hands in the Dekranian planetary symbol for quiet. “Oh,” mumbled Cayli.
  “Now, Battalion, I have something to tell you. I have been meaning to convey this to you for a while. I have a feeling. A very strong feeling. It is a feeling of war.
  “I am pretty sure that this war is going to be instrumental in the control of the planet. We need to start more intensive training tomorrow. Practice elements. Get your Duen powers up to scratch. Dekrane will need our help. I know it.”
  The Battalion clapped. They got up, and headed out the many doors. Li and Nara stayed by Cayli.
  “We’ll show you to your room, and give you your uniform and battle weapons,” said Li.
  “Yako,” said Cayli. She let herself be led to a door marked Air Dormitories.
  uuu
  Five months passed. Cayli befriended everyone on the Battalion of Risho’en. There was overexcited Jiara, shy but powerful Ko’noz, and the extremely tall mage Rukalo. In her dormitory there was a bed, a personal computer, a bathroom, and a cabinet full of Air-designed weapons and personal technology such as a communicator, a mapbox, and a mini magifax. The days were full of classes taught by almost everyone in the Battalion, about every subject on Dekrane. Anduen, Enduen, Senduen, elements, Big Stick, Little Stick, mind magic, war logic, you name it. In the third month, Cayli was allowed to teach a class on the history of the Duen method. Cayli loved it. She hoped she could stay there forever. But there was only one thing she’d forgotten- Vera.
  uuu
  The damp, dark apartment building wasn’t what it looked like. Inside, it was lit by Darklight globes and the windows, dark from the outside, were hung with diagrams and maps. Many little groups of people were hanging around little kiosks around the large foyer. As soon as Kensor walked in, the foyer fell absolutely silent. The people turned to face him. They were all wearing shades of black, gray, and dark red and blue.
  “Army,” he said. They all snapped to attention.
  “We have a new member,” he said.
  Vera stepped forwards. “Hey,” she said. “I’m Vera. Fir-Darkswan.”
  The crowd mumbled as a collective. One of the kiosks beeped.
  “Permission to speak at Kiosk Farri,” said Kensor.
  “How long shall Darkswan be with us?” asked a voice coming from a man in a hooded blue cloak.
  “As long as we need her,” said Kensor matter-of-factly.
  One of the smaller kiosks beeped.
  “Permission to speak at Kiosk Onaro,”
  This time it was a girl in a blue skirt and black hooded cardigan that spoke. “How long shall that be?”
  “Until the war starts in five months.”
  Nobody questioned this odd prediction. Kensor clicked a small button on the side of the doorframe. The room seemed to surge with magical energy for a moment, and then two people the same height as Vera walked towards the front of the room.
  “This is Keso,” said Kensor, pointing to the man on the left. “And this is Rasz.” He was on the right.
  “Their traditional names are Darksnake and Spaceroc, respectively.
  “They will be your bodyguards and personal trainers, and will be with you all the time.”
  Vera looked at Keso and Rasz. They didn’t seem as shady as the rest of the people in the room. She looked closely into their eyes and found, to her relief, that they did not have the same hypnotic quality as Kensor’s.
  “Nice to meet you, Vera,” said Keso.
  “Emoc’lew’we,” said Rasz.
  Vera shook both of their hands. Despite the dark atmosphere, Vera felt almost at home with the Vorenion Army.
  uuu
  Five months went by. Vera grew more and more comfortable with the soldiers of the Vorenion Army. At the base, she learned about the actual good intentions of the Dekrockans, the specialized weapons for her age and Duen, the unique methods of the Dekrockans, and much more. The classes were only taught by trained specialists. An actual Dekrockan came to the base once. It (as it didn’t seem to have a gender) was a crackling thing of purple energy in a humanoid form. Vera only got a glimpse of it, as she was pushed away by bigger soldiers. She got her outfit: a dark green skirt, silver tights, and a black peasant blouse. Her fire, water, and air skills improved by the fivefold. Her Dark powers slowly emerged and developed. As the predicted date for the next war grew closer, Cayli and Vera forgot more and more about each other, and by the day before Nara predicted the call to battle, the twins had completely drifted out of each other’s minds.

  Chapter 8
  Call to War
  As Cayli was teaching her lesson at the end of the fifth month, a loud rawreeee-rawreeee sound split the air. Some of her students covered their ears and GIissa dropped her focuser.
  “What the?”
  “Sowe!”
  “GUYS!” That was Li, who was a longtime member. “That’s the emergency alarm! Something’s up!”
  “Okay, then!” said Glissa, retrieving her focuser. “Let’s get going to the main room!”
  The class ascended the ladder. When they reached the door, Nara’s head stuck out.
  “Emoc’co no’o!! Hurry!”
  They did. The room was packed, even more crowded than when Cayli arrived. Nara was standing at the front of the room. Oddly, she was wearing her full uniform complete with metal breastplate and shooter gauntlets.
  “Now, this is extremely important. I sounded that alarm you heard. I have recently received a message from the Upper General of the Main Dekranian Army. The Dekrockans have attempted to take control of Vorna. They have taken hostages at the base in Emmelo Shinia. Actually, one of the people taken was the President of Nie.”
  A gasp went around the room.
  “President Biabarox?”
  “Yes,” said Nara gravely. “This means war. I knew it.”
  “Literally,” muttered Li.
  “We must be at the Gengara battlefield at the border of Calaen by 08 Myro.”
  “Bu-but that’s in two days!” said Jiara. “And we don’t have access to any sort of vis!”
  “Yes, I have discovered that,” said Nara. “We shall have to walk through the Hallyn Forest.”
  “When will we leave?” asked Cayli.
  “As soon as the Battalion gets their uniforms on and gathers their weapons. Go!” The Battalion scattered to their respective dormitories. Only Nara, Li, and Cayli remained.
  “This is gonna be big, I know it,” said Nara, sighing.
  “Yup,” said both Li and Cayli. They were best friends by now, and often said things at the same time. “Now let’s go!” they both said. Li looked at Cayli and vice-versa. They both burst out laughing. Then they left towards their dorms; Cayli in Air and Li in Light.
  uuu
  They emerged a quarter of an hour later, along with the rest of the Battalion. They were all dressed in their uniforms, brightly colored shirts, skirts, and pants coupled with loose tights, green boots, and headbands. A many pocketed belt for each of the warriors held weapons such as ray guns, Big Sticks, Little Sticks, and an extendable metal battlestick.
  The Battalion stood there, assembled and alert, as a battalion should be in the case of war. Nara stood at the front as usual, wearing a pair of black boots signifying that she was a leader.
  “Now, are you the Battalion of Risho’en?” she asked with a glint in her eyes?
  “Yes!” called the Battalion back.
  “Then let’s kick some Dekrockan butt!!!” The Battalion cheered. Cayli started for the door, and the battalion followed, climbing down the rope ladder ’till they reached the ground.
  “Now let’s go!” And they did, walking, running and stomping through the woods, scaring away every squirrel that knew what was good for him.

  Vera was sitting in one of the many rooms encompassed in the Vorenion Army’s headquarters. She was learning about the origin of the Dekrockans. Now that she had been there for five months, she had realized how good the Dekrockans actually were. They just wanted to make Dekrane peaceful. Suddenly, a loud beeping similar to the beeping of the kiosks rang through the apartment.
  “Up!!” shouted the teacher, Darkwolf. The students and members did so, leaping out of their seats and dashing to the foyer as the alarm rang irritatingly.
  When the group reached the foyer, they took their places at their own kiosks. Vera was located at Kiosk Tiori with Keso and Rasz. Kensor took his place by the door as usual.
  “Did you all hear the alarm?” he asked.
  “Yes,” chanted the Army obediently.
  “That means war,” said Kensor. A gasp went through the room.
  “Don’t be wimps,” said Kensor strictly. “Get your weapons. We have to be at the Gengara battlefield by 08 Myro,”
  Kiosk Farri beeped. “Permission to speak at Kiosk Farri,” said Kensor.
  “But we don’t have access to a transovis!”
  “I know that!” said Kensor angrily. He stared at the speaker, a man called Himmio (Waterleopard). Himmio fell silent. “We must start walking today. We will be facing a small Dekranian battalion. Now go! Get ready!”

  Chapter 9
  Captured!

  The Battalion of Risho’en was walking through the woods, slowly but surely. They had been walking for over four hours. Having left at the ninth, it was now the fifteenth. A few of the warriors used their magic to sustain them. Some of the others had brought along large packs of necessary supplies such as food and beds. The water could be supplied by the Anduens, light by the Enduens, and shelter by the Senduens. The Hallyn Forest was famous throughout Calaen and Dekrane in general for its varying amounts of light and trees. One moment the Battalion was surrounded by dense thicket, and the next they were in a wide clearing.
  They continued on until nightfall. When the seventeenth hour came and the sun was setting, the air-enabled members set up the earthsilk mattresses. The Battalion lied down and crashed.
  uuu
  The morning came with a groan from the Battalion.
  “WHY?” asked Li, turning over on her bed and pulling the blanket over her head. “WHY do I have to get up??”
  “Well, there’s lots of reasons,” said Cayli sarcastically. “One: The Dekrockans are attacking and we need to fight, and two: I’m going to tickle you if you don’t!”
  Li didn’t move, so Cayli tickled her madly. Pretty soon, they were rolling around on Li’s mattress and laughing like hyenas. Nara walked over and stood there with a stern look on her face. Cayli and Li caught their breath and hopped up.
  As the Battalion slowly awoke and got ready, Cayli sat down and thought like she used to like to do. Used to… Her old life slowly came back to her, and as it did, so did Vera. All of Cayli’s memories of her sister, once held in by the barrier of the Battalion, came flooding back. Cayli almost cried with the shock. Suddenly, she missed her sister with a stronger emotion than she had ever realized.
  “Cayli, come on!”
  She snapped out of her reverie. The Battalion started again.
  uuu
  “Urgh,” said Jiara. She was not her usual self, and neither was everyone else.
  “I just want to fight!” grumbled Nirrelis.
  While they were walking, Cayli became aware of strange crackling noises coming from the bush around her. This continued on until-
  “AAAAAAAAAAH!!” Half the Battalion screamed as a man clad in dark robes leaped out at them. He was holding a gun.
  “Come with me. You have been taken hostage by the Dekrockan Army.”

  Chapter 10
  Eureka

  Let go!” screamed Jiara as the Battalion tried to fend off their attackers.
  SEEEEEER! SCHEEEEEEEE!! Nara used all of her force into blasting the Dekrockans with bolts of swirling time. Li threw handfuls of dark earth magic. K’rari even summoned a pink Light and hit her hulking capturer with it. But nothing seemed able to stop the Dekrockans. They just moved slowly through the Hallyn Forest.
  Finally the strange group came to a halt. Cayli looked around, searching for a building of some kind; a garrison or a prison. She saw nothing. Then it occurred to her that it might be hidden, like the Battalion of Risho’en’s base. Her suspicions were confirmed when the leader, the man in dark robes who had jumped out at them, cast a spark of magic-probably Dark- towards a knot on the trunk of a gnarly tree nearby. The ground split open like a vault door. Glissa fainted with fright. Li tried to go over and comfort her, but the short, stout mage that was holding her wouldn’t let her go.
  The group walked towards the gaping hole in the ground. The first pair, the leader and Ko’noz were the first to reach it. Cayli didn’t know what they were going to do to get down. As the leader stepped towards the crevice, he brought up a field of negative electricity about the size of one of those round plastic sleds. He stepped onto it, and tugged the reluctant Ko’noz with him. The platform of lightning started to descend down the hole.
  “No!” cried Nara.
  “Shut up, you diputs’su!” said her captor.
  The Dekrockans forced the Battalion one by one down the hole, using many methods, including opposite levitation, DarkWings, and bubbles. At last, there was only one pair left. A woman wearing a cloak made of shiny material, and a boy called Meono that no one ever paid much attention to.
  “You won’t take me alive!” said Meono. With a burst of strength surprising for someone his size, he broke away from the woman and ran off into the dense woods. The woman, who was named Harraia, shrugged. She didn’t feel like going after him, and after all, she thought, what damage could a twelve-year-old boy do? She didn’t realize he could do a lot.
  uuu
  The grim darkness of the Dekrockan’s prison seemed to seep into the Battalion’s minds, lowering their hope and draining their strength. They were attached to a mossy wall with rusty manacles. A woman dressed in rags brought them their daily ration of bread crusts and water once a day. On the second day of this torture, an actual Dekrockan walked into the Battalion’s grimy room. He was seven feet tall and constructed of purple energy. A black belt was strung around his waist, holding scary-looking guns and weapons.
  “Pitiful,” he said, in a voice that sounded like a cross between the screeching of nails on a blackboard and the strumming of an extremely out-of-tune guitar. “Even if we did let you go, you would never beat our army,”
  “Why are we here?” demanded Nara.
  “Ooooh, patience,” said the Dekrockan. “We don’t want you silly Dekranians winning the war, do we?” His sentences were punctuated by crackles of magic. “The Vorenion Army is our newest outpost. It was sure to win even if you did come, but we didn’t want to take any chances. That battle will decide the fate of Vorna. We want it, and we will get it.”
  “That’s never going to happen!” yelled Li.
  “Yes it is, you little girrivak!” And with that, he left.

  The third day was no better. The Battalion set their jaws and faced another day of crusts and stale water.
  “We’re never gonna get outta here in time,” groaned Jiara, normally so active.
  “Yes… We…. ARE!” grunted Li, struggling with her chains.
  “You are so right,” said a voice. The Battalion gasped and turned around. Meono was standing near a door that none of the battalion had seen. “Let’s go!”
  There was a creak near the main door. The Battalion turned around. The woman who brought them their food was standing there, eyes as big as soup plates. As Nara started to summon a burst of magic, Cayli shivered. Her eyes… She seemed to be getting strange vibes from that woman. The woman slammed the door, and Cayli heard the sound of running.
  “Come on!” The Battalion ran out the hidden door.
  uuu
  As soon as the Battalion reached the fresh air and sunlight of the Hallyn Forest, they spun around in ecstasy and breathed in the wonderful scented air. They didn’t even question how Meono got out.
  “Let’s continue where we left off,” said Li. The Battalion laughed. And they walked and talked and thought. Cayli, after her revelation of three days previously, tried to contact Vera. It didn’t work, as she’d suspected. She sighed. Suddenly, something hit her. That woman she’d seen… “I’m going back,” she announced to the group at large.
  “But- why?”
  “Uh, no!”
  “Eht’ta leh?”
  Cayli ignored the questions and expressions of confusion. “That woman who served us our food? It was my mother.”

  Chapter 11
  Walking into War

  The Vorenion Army slowly traipsed through the Hallyn Forest. The Army was loaded down with water, food, and supplies, as none of the warriors had Earth or Air powers.
  “Geez, are we almost there?” asked K’m’ro lethargically. “Not even close,” moaned Ximmina. They slowly trudged on, with Kensor at the front as usual, and Vallori taking up the behind. As the sun slowly set and the time approached the 16th, the Army set up camp in a clearing surrounded by fanflora. K’m’ro flopped down on his small pine needle mat and fell asleep immediately. Ximmina, Vallori, Harrio, and K’hain soon followed. Vera, Keso, and Rasz stayed up a bit longer than the reset. They talked a while about fighting and wars, and finally Keso grew tired. “I’m going to retire,” he said, stretching out on his pine needle mattress. “Good idea,” agreed Rasz. He did the same, but shot up immediately, as a pine needle had stuck him in the behind. Vera burst out laughing. Rasz glared at her angrily, then started to laugh himself. They then took control of themselves, and Rasz settled down to sleep, first checking for any more stray needles. The bodyguards were asleep in less than half an hour, and Vera was left sitting on the bare ground and staring up into the sky.
  She saw many constellations, ones that were familiar to her from Astronomy training at the Vorenion Army’s headquarters. She saw The Leader, The Magic, Jeweled Focuser, and The Tesnali. She thought she might’ve seen Twin Warriors, but it was hard to tell. Jiriad, the Astronomer, said that Briia’ti, the bright star that made up the easily recognizable eye of Twin Warriors, was fading. Cayli always said that was her favorite star…
  Cayli! Vera almost leaped up in realization. Her sister! She had forgotten about her for so long… It almost felt like a dream, her previous life. She almost immediately remembered her telepathic link. She was stirring up her concentration, almost ready to contact her sister, when…
  “Vera!” Kensor leaped up out of his bed and dashed towards Vera. “Don’t try,”
  “Why not?” asked Vera. She felt that after not seeing her sister for almost six months, she should be allowed to at least say hi.
  “Because I have set up a protective field around your telepathic center. You cannot contact your sister, and if you tried, you would experience unendurable pain,”
  Vera was shocked. “Why would you do such a thing?” she asked Kensor.
  “Your sister has taken the wrong path. I do not want you getting ideas, learning where she is, or in any way wanting to rejoin the Dekranians. That would be bad,”
  Vera sort of saw the logic in this. “I will get to say hi to her eventually, right?” she asked.
  “Yes, of course,” said Kensor gently. “Now get some sleep. We have a big day ahead of us.”
  uuu
  Vera yawned. “Do’go, Kensor!” she said, burrowing deeper under her thin, ratty blanket. “Why so early? I would think it is barely the fifth hour!”
  “You are right, Vera,” said Keso, checking his communicator.
  “We must get up because we are expected at the battlefield day after tomorrow,” said Kensor.
  “But-but that’s two days later than you said!” mumbled Vallori.
  “Ah, yes. Our battle has been moved. The date for our battle was reserved for the Main Force of Dekrane and the Battler Stronghold of the Dekrockans. We have three extra days,”
  There was much rejoicing throughout the Vorenion Army, but eventually the Army had to leave and keep walking.
  Vera was a bit worried about Cayli. What did Kensor mean by “taken the wrong path”? Did that mean she was lost? Or with bad people? She didn’t have much time to think, because Kensor, who had previously been secretively chatting on his communicator, stopped. “That was just my old friend Kagar’no,” he said, putting his communicator in an inside pocket. “Our opponents have been captured by some friends of mine and are now in a prison six miles from here. We will almost definitely not have to fight, but in the unlikely even that the prisoners escape, we will need to be at the battlefield. We have one more extra day, giving us four days to get to the field,”
  Keso raised his hand. “Keso, permission to speak,”
  “Whom exactly are we facing?” he asked.
  “Oh, just some insignificant little group called the Battalion of Risho’en.”

  Chapter 12
  Mother

  Cayli ran through the Forest as fast as she could. She wished she had had her realization sooner. The Battalion was no more than forty-five minutes away when it happened. Cayli breathed heavily as she started to develop a stitch in her side. She plopped down on the ground for a second. Then she realized she didn’t have much time. She slowly got up and started to run again.
  “Oh no,” she gasped. She had just remembered something. She didn’t know where in the world the prison was. The Battalion hadn’t exactly taken the time to remember where they were held in captivity. Cayli summoned up all her strength. She concentrated on her mother, and a wisp of air blew past her ear. “Go left,” it whispered. Cayli followed the air’s directions, and pretty soon, she cam to a familiar-looking clearing. “Open it up,” said the wind. Cayli stared at the ground. She focused her energy powers on the ground and threw a slim purple beam at the place she assumed the opening to be. Slowly but surely, as if the ground was unsure of itself, the earth split like a book to let Cayli in. She summoned up an almost invisible platform of air. Uncertainly, she stepped on to it. “Down,” she whispered, and the air platform slowly descended into the prison.
  uuu
  Cayli was extremely scared. Two Dekrockans had already passed her in the hall. She had only managed to not be seen because she had stolen some dark robes from a store closet. She approached a door at the end of a hallway. It seemed to be locked, but as Cayli got closer, she saw the lock was hanging on it’s side and there was a brassium plaque on the door. She leaned in. It read:
  Vae, Masyi
  Servant
  This, of course, made Cayli sure of her decision to come here. She was about to knock on the door when it opened. A familiar face peeked out. When Masyi saw Cayli’s Dekrockan robes, she gasped.
  “Oh, my! What did I forget? I’ll do it, I promise! Please don’t hurt-” But as she looked up and Cayli removed her hood, she stopped groveling and looked up into her daughter’s face. “C-cayli?” she whispered. “Yes,” said Cayli, who was more worried about getting out of the prison than having a lovefest with her mother. “Can we please get out of here?” asked Cayli. “Yes, but how?” asked Masyi. “Never mind that,” said Cayli. She pulled her mother along as the pair dashed along the dark hallways.
  “Hey, you!” A guard had spotted them. Cayli and Masyi stopped in their tracks. “D’you have authorization to leave the prison?”
  “Here’s your authorization,” Cayli muttered. FFFFZZAAM!! The guard was instantly entangled in a mass of writhing fire. “Get’m off me!” he yelled, but Cayli and her mother ignored the guard and ran on. Masyi seemed impressed, but she did not say anything. They reached a large room.
  “This is it,” said Cayli. She heaved a bolt of energy at the earthy ceiling, and lo and behold, it opened. She summoned up another platform of air, and, tentatively, Masyi stepped on, followed by Cayli.
  uuu
  The two emerged into the forest.
  “Are we safe?” asked Masyi.
  “Not yet. We have to get out of this area.”
  Masyi and Cayli started to run, not looking back. As soon as Cayli was sure they were pretty far away, she stopped. So did her mother. They faced each other. Transmitting a basic telepathic signal, the two moved towards each other, and embraced.
  uuu
  As the maternal love session ended, Masyi suddenly looked around.
  “Where’s Vera?” she asked.
  “Um… I really don’t know,” said Cayli, and launched into an explanation of the past six months. When she finished, she saw her mother down on a rock.
  “What’s the matter?” asked Cayli worriedly.
  “Vera. We don’t know where she is, or what she’s doing… She could’ve been kidnapped and we wouldn’t know a thing!”
  Cayli felt her mother’s pain, but she knew they had to keep going. “C’mon,” Cayli said, lifting her mother into a standing position.
  Cayli and Masyi walked on and on, sometimes stopping to drink or eat. Finally, Cayli heard something up ahead. She listened closely and realized it was the sound of war. She could hear swords clashing and laser guns being shot.
  “Mother. I hear my friends fighting.”
  “So?” asked Masyi.
  “So, I have to go fight with them.”
  Masyi nodded sadly. Her daughter had just rescued her, and now, she was leaving her to go fight and maybe get killed. Masyi started to think that the prison life was better.
  “I will leave you here to be safe,” said Cayli.
  Masyi nodded again, and Cayli walked through the trees and bushes towards the battlefield.

  Chapter 13
  The Battle

  Cayli broke through the bush and stepped on to the battlefield. She was surprised only a bit by the scene of war around her. She saw laser beams streaking through the air; she saw bright white flashes as swords clashed; she saw swirling orbs of magic being thrown through the air; she saw one or two bodies strewn on the ground. They seemed to be breathing. They looked like Dekrockans, as they were wearing dark green and blue robes. She spotted Nara fighting with a burly woman with streaming dirty blonde hair. Nara threw a blast of green Time magic at the woman. It hit her square in the chest, and she dropped her Big Stick as she fell to the ground.
  “Nara!”
  Nara spun around. “Cayli!” She ran over to her. “Finally! Glissa’s out, so we need you to go over to the northeast corner and fight the machina-sols!” Cayli followed her orders, and jogged over to the northeast corner of the battlefield. There she saw a scene of mild carnage. Three or four bodies were on the ground, laying over each other. One of them looked like a Dekranian, and none of them seemed to be breathing.
  “Aooooooch!!” A battlestick had struck Cayli in the back. She fell to the ground in agony. A shadow loomed over her body.
  “Oooh, little girlie can’t even survive a poke!” A Dekrockan leered over her. He smiled. It was a terrible smile, physically and figuratively. He had many teeth missing, and the ones that he did have were blackened or yellow. Cayli summoned up all her strength, and stood up to face the Dekrockan. “You’re gonna pay for that,” said Cayli. She grabbed her battlestick out of her weapons belt and started to fight.
  uuu
  Five minutes or so later, the Dekrockan was strewn on the ground. Cayli smiled a bit at her battlestick prowess. She became aware of something behind her. She spun around with her battlestick in front of her. Unpleasantly, the crunch of bones could be heard as a cloaked figure fell into the grass. Cayli cringed.
  “HELP!!!!!” A desperate cry rang around the battlefield. Cayli spun around in alarm. A familiar figure was leaning over Li, holding a gleaming knife. “Vera?!” gasped Cayli. She started to feel faint. Vera? How could she? When did this happen? She’s not on their side?
  The hooded figure-Vera-looked up. “Cayli?” Cayli didn’t say anything; she just stared. Vera bent down again and resumed her murdering stance.
  “Vera!!” Vera didn’t look up this time. She bent lower over Li and prepared to kill her. She had an odd glint in her eye that Cayli had never seen before
  “Stop! Don’t” Vera still did not move. Li was petrified. “Vera! I know where our mother is!” That did it. Vera snapped up. “Y-you do?” Cayli nodded. She slowly beckoned Vera over to a corner of the field. Vera walked over to Cayli. “Where is she?” Vera asked. Cayli didn’t answer.
  “What I want to know is why the narifli you are with the Dekrockans!” said Cayli.
  Vera cocked her head as though confused. “Don’t you know? The Dekrockans are good, not evil.”
  “No,” said Cayli in exasperation. “That’s what they want you to think!”
  Vera plopped down on the grass. She sighed. “I’m having to rethink my ideals for the second time in half a year,”
  “Yes, but will you leave the horrid Dekrockans?”
  “They’re not horrid! They have the right idea, unlike you!” Suddenly, a silver bolt of Storm magic screamed over Cayli’s head. She winced.
  “If only I could make you see things from my point of view,” murmured Cayli, sitting down alongside her sister.
  All of a sudden, Cayli spotted something. Five Dekrockans were fighting mercilessly against two Dekranians, one of which Cayli recognized as Jiara.
  “Look there, Vera,” said Cayli. Vera lifted her head. ,
  “You see them fighting? They want to fight. They are warlike and merciless, unlike you.”
  “I think I see your point,” said Vera. “But they took care of me and canara,”
  “That’s how bad they are, Vera! They would take in an almost defenseless girl like you and train her to be evil like them!”
  Vera was quiet as she contemplated this. Finally, she looked up. That strange gleam in her eyes had vanished.
  “Okay. I’ll join you, but only because you’re my sister. I might go back if I don’t like your side.”
  Cayli was so relieved. “Now, let’s go fight.”
  uuu
  They ran over to Nara, dodging streaking blasts of magic.
  “Nara!” called Cayli.
  “Enoces’se!” called Nara back. She conked her opponent in a place better not mentioned, and then taking advantage of his sudden incapacitation, Nara and Loravako wrapped the Dekrockan in strands of silvery Space magic. He struggled on the ground to no avail.
  “That’s Rasz!” gasped Vera. She was about to leap forward to help him, but Cayli held her back. Rasz then started to scream at the retreating bodies of Nara and Loravako.
  “You freakin’ ganijos! Who the sowe do you think you garnivin’ are? Niri canasa!! Sowe you!! Niri canasa!”
  Both Cayli and Vera were taken aback at Rasz’s excessive swearing.
  “You don’t want to be friends with someone like that, do you?” asked Cayli.
  Vera shook her head in disgust with herself.
  Nara came over to the twins. When she saw Cayli and Vera standing together, she stepped back. “What are you doing?” she demanded of Cayli.
  “She’s a friend,”
  “A double agent?”
  Cayli nodded. “Sort of.”
  “Well, now we have an advantage,”
  Cayli brightened. “What do you mean?”
  “I mean that if she was once on the Dekrockan’s side, then she knows their weaknesses!”
  “Whoa,” said Cayli happily. I hadn’t thought of that!”
  A streaking bolt of lightning came whizzing over their heads. “C’mon!” yelled Nara. They ducked down behind a makeshift fort on the right side of the field. The Dekrockans had set up their own black fort on the opposite side. Glissa and Li were firing their strongest Energy bolts at it, but it seemed to be invincible.
  “You have to hit it with three elements at the same time, and if a person with one of those elements is inside, it won’t work,” whispered Vera embarrassedly. So Glissa, Li, and Nara hit the fortress with Moon, Light, and Time respectively. The fortress cracked, then shattered. As the Army spilled out, Cayli thought she heard a tall, dark man whisper, “How in the world did they know?”
  uuu
  Two hours later, almost all of the Dekrockans were splayed out on the battlefield ground. Thanks to Vera and her knowledge of the enemy, the Dekranians were winning.
  BRRRRRROIING!! Nara’s communicator buzzed, and Loravako put up a shield around her as she took the call. Seconds later, she emerged, smiling a bit.
  “The Dekrockans have been defeated at Zumari and Fellodin,” she shouted over the crackling of a Dekrockan’s bolts of Storm. “But the Jii’ka Bridge has been broken. So we’re going to have to find another way to get back. But, that means that if we win this battle, the war is won by the Dekranians! ” This spurred on the Battalion of Risho’en. By now, there were only three Dekrockans left. One of them, a tall and skinny woman, looked as though she was about to press a button on her belt, so Cayli spun a web of air around the woman’s hands so she couldn’t reach her waist. Li and C’oomar defeated a powerful-looking mage with a combined hit of Moon and Sun. Two to go. Glissa and Rukalo beat down a man with their battlesticks. Finally, only one Dekrockan remained. He was tall and dark looking, and Cayli could see from even where she was that his eyes had a hypnotic quality to them. As formidable as he looked, he was on the ground, clutching a wound on his side. She, Ko’noz, Nara, and Li were about to take him down when Vera rushed over.
  “No!” She stepped in front of the group, and ran over to the man. “Kensor,” she murmured. “Vera,” said the man. “I was hoping you’d come…” Vera looked at him. They stared at each other, and as she was about to kneel down beside him, she raised her leg and stamped hard on his face.
  The Battalion cheered. Vera looked quite proud of herself as she dashed over to them. Nara broke the celebration of double-crossing by shrieking.
  “Oh my sowe! I just realized… We’ve won the war!”

  Chapter 14
  Reunion

  The Battalion stood stunned for a moment as the importance of Nara’s words struck them. Then, starting with Li, the Battalion erupted with cheers, hugging, and delighted whooping.
  “We’ve won!”
  “Lashiri Dekrania!”
  “YAHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”
  Vera hung back during the festivities. Cayli left the chattering Jivinnith and Glissa, and walked over to her sister.
  “What’s up?”
  Vera looked depressed. “I don’t feel as if I should be celebrating,” she said.
  “I understand,” said Cayli knowingly. “I think now would be a good time to go see our mother.”
  uuu
  Cayli and Vera pushed through the dense bushes to the clearing Cayli had left Masyi in.
  She was sitting on a log, on the side of the clearing. When she heard the sound of breaking branches, she stood up at once. She was rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet when the twins arrived. When she saw Vera, expressions of ecstasy, nervousness, and great surprise crossed her face.
  “Vera!!” Vera ran to her mother’s open arms. They hugged until Masyi, with her head over Vera’s shoulder, saw Cayli hanging back.
  “Sorry, honey, I didn’t see you!” said Masyi, breaking apart from Vera and moving towards Cayli. They hugged too.
  “Ehrm… Mom?” said Vera.
  “Yes?”
  “How’re we going to get back? The Jii’ka Bridge was broken!”
  “Oh, I’ll think of something. Can I borrow your communicator?”
  “Sure,” said Vera, handing over her black ’cator. “But I don’t understand,” she said, confused. “You can’t charter a vis, you don’t have a permit or anyth-”
  But Masyi had put up a soundproof shield and was chatting away. The twins sat on the log until their mother had finished. She removed her shield and stepped out of the area. “That’s settled, then.”
  uuu
  Less than an hour later, a shiny, white transovis stood (or rather, floated) before them. Cayli and Vera’s jaws dropped as Masyi struck up a casual conversation with the driver.
  “Hop in!” Masyi called. Vera jumped right in to the vis, but Cayli hesitated a second before climbing in.
  The vis took off more smoothly than any Cayli had ever flown in before. It glided through the pink skies of Dekrane like an overgrown metal albatross. If one on the ground took a pair of Maginoculars and peered up at the passing transovis, he or she would see the black-framed face of Vera Vae scanning the fertile ground of Calaen.
  uuu
  The vis landed as smoothly as it had taken off on the Vae’s front lawn. “So you got a new house,” said Masyi as they stepped on to the self-watering TechnoLawn. Vera was confused for a moment, and then realized that her mother had been kidnapped at the bombing of the old house.
  Soran Vae peered out of the door and stepped out with a bemused expression on his face. “Cayli! Vera! I heard the war was over, but how did you get…”
  He then spotted the transovis. “Ahah… But where did you get one of…” His confused mumble trailed off yet again, as his eyes searched and caught on Masyi, lingering behind Cayli.
  “M-masyi!” He ran to his wife and looked over her as if checking that she was real. When he was satisfied, he embraced her, and then gathered Vera and Cayli in a great big family hug.

  Chapter 15
  Vae- a Royal Name

  The Vae family home seemed to be settling down. It had been three days since Cayli, Vera, and Masyi arrived back home. The first day had consisted mostly of “I love you”s and “I’m so glad you’re here”s. The second day was Masyi commenting on the “new” house. Now it was the morning of the third day, and the family was happily eating Cayli’s famous taeh’we toast with windbutter.
  “This is the best meal I’ve had in thirteen years,” remarked Masyi.
  “Get used to it,” joked Cayli, finishing up a batch of scrambled eggs. She danced over to the table and set the ceramic platter down. When she had served everyone, she sat down herself and dug in.
  uuu
  Halfway into the second serving of eggs, the holophone in the middle of the table rang. Soran pressed the “Answer” button, and a dark-robed man sprung out of the projection base.
  “You are hereby summoned to the court of King Airhawk for a congress with His Majesty,” said the man.
  Masyi put her hand over her mouth. “Reasons?” she asked the hologram.
  “Reasons shall be undisclosed at this moment,” said the man.
  Masyi nodded silently. The family abandoned their half-eaten eggs and headed to the garage. They arrived in the garage, and Soran pressed the button that opened the door of the family hovervis. Masyi smirked/smiled/laughed. “Nice! 905 model, I see,” she said.
  The Vaes climbed into the hovervis and set the precourse navigator to Rayale Amin. They traveled for an hour, with Vera staring out of the window; Masyi making little sparks of magic to amuse herself, and Cayli drawing something. Soran was keeping an eye on the road.
  The vis drew around a roundabout, and Cayli caught her first sight of the Castle of Dekrane. It was a hugely majestic building, a half-mile in length and man

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  7

  ☛Kiki the Great☚

  in January 15th, 2007 @ 18:48

  y miles high. Turrets, towers, and flying buttresses were everywhere, as were ugly and interesting gargoyles, one that looked suspiciously like Norravan Kovisza, an infamous commander.
  “Ga’ani,” said Vera in awe. “C’mon,” said Masyi. They walked up to what looked like the front door. A guard who looked similar to the man that had called stood in front of the door, clutching a staff topped with an energy mace. The Vaes approached the formidable-looking guard. Next to the seven-foot tall behemoth, the Vaes were positively diminutive.
  “We’re here to see the King,” Soran half-said. The guard scanned the family with his penetrating eyes. Silently, he stepped aside to let the Vaes in. They walked through the doors into a hallway full of guards. They moved their eyes up and down like the first one. At the end of the hallway was a gilded wooden door covered with intricate carvings and shining jewels. Yet another guard stood here, though this one was reading a book. The Vaes approached him, but he seemed completely engrossed in his reading material and did not look up. Soran cleared his throat. The guard looked up in surprise, and shoved the book in the pocket of his jacket.
  “Ah! Uh…yes!” he muttered, straightening up.
  “Purpose?” he asked officially.
  “We’re here to see the King,” said Vera.
  The guard took a bit more time scrutinizing the Vaes than the other guards. He squinted and tilted his head. Cayli laughed. She liked him.
  “You may pass,” he said, sounding like he was trying not to smile.
  The guard produced a spark of white magic that floated over to a lock on the majestic door. It flew inside a small keyhole, and the twins heard a click. The guard took the silver and bronze handles and pulled the door open. “In you go,” he said, and in they went.
  The throne room’s ceiling was hundreds of feet high, and painted with famous scenes of Rayalian mythology. The walls were mostly windows of beautiful stained glass and the highly polished wood floor gorgeously reflected the colored beams of light coming through the windows.
  Cayli, Vera, and Soran gaped in awe at the huge, cavernous, royal chamber, but Masyi ignored it like she had seen it before. She strode up to the beautifully carved, bejeweled, fanflora-wood throne at the far center of the room, which the King was sitting in, talking to what looked like an astrologer in a star-spangled, glimmering robe.
  He looked up from his conversation, and spotted Masyi. “Masyi! Good!”
  Vera and Cayli were utterly discombobulated.
  “Wha?” said Cayli.
  “Mozhero?” said Vera simultaneously.
  The King ignored the twins’ confused exclamations and turned to Soran. “There is something I have needed to tell you since our last meeting,” he said.
  “I think I have deduced that,” said the General, glancing around at the confused Cayli and Vera, and then politely nodding.
  The King then started a story. “Almost fourteen years ago, you asked for a wife. I complied, and the rest is history.” The king nodded reminiscently, and his second chin bobbed. “You got married, and moved to Calaen.”
  Soran nodded.
  “But I didn’t tell you that your wife had once lived here, in the castle, as the sister of the Young Duchess Earthcat.”
  “Oh my s-” Cayli covered her mouth hurriedly. She didn’t want to be caught swearing in front of the King!
  “So our mother was a Duchess?” asked Vera in her calm, controlled way.
  “Not exactly,” said the King. “She was the younger sister of Earthcat.”
  “Oh,” said Cayli and Vera.
  “And that leads me to the reason I brought you here. Spacelynx,” he said, addressing Masyi. “Your sister, Earthcat, was tragically killed in the front lines of the war.”
  “Oh! Kianala…!” Masyi ran over to Soran and broke down in his arms.
  Cayli and Vera felt sorry for their mother, but they shed no tears themselves, as they had never met their late aunt. But Cayli, as always, was thinking. “If Earthcat died,” she said slowly. “And Mother was her younger sister…”
  Vera could almost see the cogs working in her twin’s head.
  “Then… we’re… DUCHESSES!!!!!” she shouted. The King nodded.
  “AAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!” the twins screamed in glee.

  Epilogue
  After the shocking conversation with the King, Soran decided with Masyi to move into the Royal Castle in Rayale. The Secondary South Wing then became the new home of the Vaes. The Vaes adopted their traditional names, as royals do, and Soran, Masyi, Cayli, and Vera became known as Firebear, Spacelynx, Airswallow, and Fireswan respectively. Vera decided not to reveal her true element. Vera and Cayli took up Advanced Duen classes, with Cayli going to Anduen lessons and Vera to Senduen.
  The weather in Rayale Amin was always peaceful, and Cayli and Vera often went swimming in the Bay of Basskera with Firebird and Waterfox (the two princesses).
  Soran, obviously, became the Duke of Dekrane, and had many duties, including overseeing the colonizing of Niv’venthar and ordering ships for intergalactic exploration. Masyi, being the Duchess, was the one associated with speeches, helping the public, and suchlike. Thus, she became the vild’ovo to four foreign countries: Majitor, Shapay, Polsenia Orey, and Corbahal.
  The twins had their education in the castle, with tutors and private teachers. Vera got interested in art, and produced a painting that got showcased at the Royal’s Art Show in Kinglosa Grah. Cayli sat down at her blackwood desk and wrote a memoir, which was shipped across three galaxies and became a best-seller. Maybe you’re thinking, ‘Wow, I would have loved to have read that.’ As a matter of fact,
  You just did.

  About the Author
  Yes, that’s her.

  ☺ Allegra R******** is eleven years old and is in fifth grade at M******** Elementary in S*****, Illinois. This is her second novel. Her favorite color is effervescent purple, and her favorite food is tomato soup. She was influenced by JK Rowling, Garth Nix, and Douglas Adams. She is a huge fan of Monty Python. She wrote (or tried to write) this novel for NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. Visit nanowrimo.org for more info. The character Cayli was influenced by Allegra’s personality and imagination. ☺

  Glossary
  Of Dekranian Words

  Dekrane (de-KRAYN) You should know this. The planet where this book takes place.
  Laser Cannon (LAY-zur ca-nin) A cannon that instead of shooting cannonballs, it shoots powerful laser bursts.
  Calaen (cuh-LAY-en) A medium-sized tropical country.
  Dekrockans (de-KROK-ins) Big, evil, energy beings. All-around meanie-weenies.
  Hovervis (hu-ver-VEE) Basically a hovering car. Personal.
  Sky Villa (SKY VILL-uh) A tiny resort atop the Camroar Amin Tower.
  Telepathic (tell-uh-PAH-thik) Mind-reading or through minds.
  Arija (are-EE-juh) Gosh, jeez, for goodness sakes.
  Y’zar’ca (yuh-ZAR-kuh) Crazy.
  Shanis (SHA-niss) A small but relatively powerful country.
  Shenii (shay-NEE) Daypacks/backpacks.
  Nesesa Sha’ara Tarisa (neh-SEH-sa sha-AR-a ta-REE-sa) Onwards and outwards.
  Holophoto (HALL-uh-FOE-toe) A three-dimensional photo.
  Crossroads (CROSS-rodes) A place in each town or city where there are roads and/or paths leading out of the town or city.
  Equora (ee-KWORE-uh) The army base city in Calaen.
  Camroar (camm-RO-are) The capital city of Calaen.
  Peddlevis (PED-ul-vee) A peddler’s hovervis.
  Garshne (GARSH-nay) A slum city.
  Ogagis (oh-GOG-iss) Garshne’s twin city. Much more prosperous.
  Anduen (OHN-doo-en) See Duen.
  Earthsilk (ERTH-silk) Durable fabric made out of natural material and woven by magic.
  Casnai (KAS-ny) A delicious, meaty bird.
  The Hallyn Forest (the HOLL-in FORE-est) A forest near Camroar famed for its size and percentage of explorers who have gotten lost inside.
  Communicator (kuh-MYOON-uh-kater) A cell phone-like contraption.
  Hologram (HOLL-uh-gram) A protective field of illusion (used in that context).
  Sarrelos (sar-ELL-ohs) A cult of human sacrificers. That’s all you need to know.
  Traditional Name (no pronunciation needed) The name given to a child by the spirits that designates the child’s element and the animal they will be able to transform into.
  Y’tterp’e (yuh-turp-pay) Pretty.
  Duen (DOO-en) A group of powers. If you have red hair and/or blue eyes, you are an Anduen, which means you get fire and water in addition to your original element. If you have blond hair and/or green eyes, you are an Enduen, which is sun and moon. Brown or black hair and/or brown or black eyes, that’s Senduen, earth and air.
  Yako (YAH-koe) OK, yes, fine.
  Enduen (EN-doo-en) See Duen.
  Senduen (SEN-doo-en) See Duen.
  Big Stick (no pronunciation needed) The larger of the traditional weapons of choice.
  Little Stick (no pronunciation needed) The smaller of the traditional weapons of choice.
  Farri (FAR-ee) Five.
  Onaro (oh-NARR-oh) One.
  Emoc’lew’we (ee-MOK-loo-weh) Welcome.
  Focuser (FOH-kuss-ur) The politically correct name for ‘wand’.
  Emoc’co No’o (ee-MOK-oh NO-oh) Come on, hurry up.
  Vorna (VOR-nuh) Dekrane’s largest moon. Is inhabited and has water.
  Emmelo Shinia (em-ELL-oh shi-NEE-uh) The biggest base on Vorna.
  Nie (nee) A country.
  Battlestick (no pronunciation needed) A stick used in battle.
  [pink] Light (no pronunciation needed) A Light is an orb of magic; a Pink Light is a… Pink Light.
  Diputs’su (dee-POOT-soo) Stupidhead, a general insult.
  Opposite Levitation (AH-puh-zit lev-ih-TAY-shun) Instead of levitating UP, you float DOWN.
  DarkWings (DARK-wings) Attachable bat like wings generally used by bad guys.
  Girrivak (geer-ih-VAK) A swine-like animal.
  Eht’ta Leh (eh-ta LEY) What the heck.
  Fanflora (fan-floor-uh) A type of tree.
  Do’go (doe-goe) Geez, gosh.
  Brassium (BRASS-ee-uhm) A metal similar to brass or iron.
  Machina-sol (muh-SHEE-nuh SOLE) A battle robot.
  Narifli (nar-IH-flee) Heck, or the other word very similar to heck.
  Canara (kuh-NARR-uh) Stuff, etc., and others.
  Enoces’se (eh-NO-ces-see) One second, wait a minute.
  Ganijos (gah-NEE-joes) Evil people, nasties.
  Sowe (sow) A very bad word indeed.
  Garnivin(g) (garr-NEE-ving) Garn means poop or excrement, Garniving means “pooping”. An insult.
  Niri Canasa (NEE-ree cuh-NAH-suh) [badword] you.
  Lashiri Dekrania (la-SHEE-ree de-KRANE-ee-uh) Long live Dekrane.
  Transovis (TRANS-oh-vee) A taxi or limo, depending on the quality. And of course, it hovers.
  Maginoculars (MAH-jih-NOK-yoo-lers) Binoculars magically enhanced.
  TechnoLawn (TEK-no LON) A self-watering and self-pesticiding lawn.
  Taeh’we (TAY-weh) A grain used in bread.
  Windbutter (no pronunciation needed) Butter who’s taste is enhanced by Air magic.
  Holophone (HALL-uh-foen) A holographic telephone.
  Rayale Amin (rai-ALL-ee ah-MEEN) Rayale is a country, and ‘amin’ means city. So, Rayale City.
  Ga’ani (gah-AN-ee) Whoa, wow, my gosh.
  Mozhero (mo-ZHER-oh) What, Huh.
  Rayale see Rayale Amin.
  Niv’venthar (NIV-ven-thar) A country (or region) on the dark side of Vorna.
  Vild’ovo (vil-DO-vo) A sort of ambassador; a helper to a country that is usually royal or of high status (the vil’dovo, not the country!).
  Majitor (MAH-jee-tor) A country.
  Shapay (SHAH-pay) A country.
  Polsenia Orey (pol-SEEN-yuh ORE-ay) A large country.
  Corbahal (KOR-buh-haul) A country.
  Kinglosa Grah (king-LO-suh GRAH) A skinny little country above Polsenia Orey.

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  Margaret

  in January 15th, 2007 @ 19:19

  I’ve been wanting to write a book since I was five or something, yet almost nine years later… -sigh- The life of a professional procrastinator who can’t come up with a plot.

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  Kiara

  in January 15th, 2007 @ 20:35

  7 – Wow. I don’t havethe tim eto read that right now but i will soon and from the few lines I was able to read i was totally amazed. I didn’t start writing anything so long until i was twelve and wow that is amazing kiki. (sorry about the amizingly long runon but I have to leave now. I’ll read this soon and wow it looks great. The scrollbar has gone really teensy……..)

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  Prarilius Canix

  in January 15th, 2007 @ 21:04

  The problem I have is that I’m good at creating worlds and characters, but the plots I shoehorn them into are sometimes cliched and overused. I’ve been trying to come up with a plot for a really good idea I had recently.

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  purplefinch

  in January 16th, 2007 @ 04:23

  I’m STILL working on my nano. But maybe I’ll finish it by next November… xD

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  M & M

  in January 16th, 2007 @ 12:45

  7- Wah so long. Looks excellent though. Will get to reading it sometime..
  I just enjoy writing odd little stories:

  Lake Joe (in memory of Bob)
  Once upon a time, in a not so faraway place, there was a lake named Joe. Long ago, he was a clean, healthy lake. A happy lake.
  Not anymore.
  People would litter, and throw cigarette butts on the dock and even into the lake. Joe became ever more polluted.
  “Oh. My. Gosh,” wheezed Joe.
  “Oh. My. Gosh,” wheezed the fish.
  “Oh. My. Gosh,” wheezed every living thing in Joe. Something had to be done. So, they hired a killer guard dog with a chainsaw to lookout for litterers and guard the lake. However, since we all know dogs don’t have opposable thumbs, they can’t handle chainsaws. Poor Joe didn’t know, so it was too late when the killer guard dog dropped it into the lake, polluting him even more.
  “Well, that was a failure,” croaked Joe. So they had another plan.
  Hire a killer guard monkey with a chainsaw. How could this plan possibly go wrong? They have opposable thumbs.

  Ok maybe I should stop there unless you guys actually want to read the rest. It gets a bit weird after that…

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  Anata~ChinTsu

  in January 16th, 2007 @ 17:32

  Have you read the afareet story, Kiki? Some of the powers you mentioned sound a lot like the afareet’s.

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  ☛Kiki the Great☚

  in January 16th, 2007 @ 18:27

  Erm… no I actually haven’t. Must be a coinkydink.

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  Kiara

  in January 17th, 2007 @ 15:32

  6,7 – Oh. My. Gosh. Amazingly good story Kiki. Like, everything was perfect. The only thing I noticed was how Vera and Cayli showed so little sympathy for their mother. Even though they didn’t know their aunt, their mother is, well, breaking down and they’re celebrating about being duchesses. *sniffle* Other than that, everthing was really awesome! How long did it take you to write that, and please, pretty pretty please with a cherry on top, post your first novel. *must (gasp) have more kiki writing!* Well, basically, that story was TOTALLY FR00DY!!!!!!!!!!! I need to write more…….

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  ☛Kiki the Great☚

  in January 17th, 2007 @ 16:48

  15- Thank you! I have some revising to do.

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  Prarilius Canix

  in January 17th, 2007 @ 16:58

  I have been working on a story for quite some time, but I haven’t even finished chapter 1.

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  18

  Queenie J

  in January 17th, 2007 @ 18:24

  Wow, Kiki, that didn’t just completely screw up the scroll bar at all. No, really. I quite liked it. I think the biggest problem Musers in general have with their writing is that they’re far too flowery. Also, making up a bunch of words, even if they’re cool, is just kind of confusing.

  Do you write by connecting scenes or in one line? For NaNo I had to write continuously, but usually I connect scenes. I’ll be like, “Oh, it would be so cool if this character had to talk to this one girl while he was upside down at gunpoint and had a bad cold!” and then I’ll jump ahead and do it, and then write the connectors later. I also like writing really complicated metaphors, just for fun.

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  19

  ☛Kiki the Great☚

  in January 17th, 2007 @ 18:38

  18- SORR-EE!!! j/k. Yeah, flowery is the word. lol. I usually do it by one-line writing.

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  20

  PinkPantherDiamond (agrrrfishi )

  in January 18th, 2007 @ 20:28

  The Short Talk

  A man in green stripes and a bowler hat strolled lazily up to a lady in a fur overcoat and blue heels,standing lazily at a glossy red phonebooth at the corner of Box and Vine. The man rapped his maple cane on the side of the red phonebooth. The woman jumped in astonishment.”Oh!” she cried. “I didn’t see you there. Are you in need of some assistance? The man nodded his head. ‘yes, I’m afraid I am, madam. Have you seen a young man with dark slicked hair in a brown suit and tie anywhere round here?”

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  PinkPantherDiamond (agrrrfishi )

  in January 18th, 2007 @ 20:40

  The Short Talk

  A man in green stripes and a bowler hat strolled lazily up to a lady in a fur overcoat and blue heels,standing lazily at a glossy red phonebooth at the corner of Box and Vine. The man rapped his maple cane on the side of the red phonebooth. The woman jumped in astonishment.”Oh!” she cried. “I didn’t see you there. Are you in need of some assistance? The man nodded his head. ‘yes, I’m afraid I am, madam. Have you seen a young man with dark slicked hair in a brown suit and tie anywhere round here?” “I haven’t, I’m afraid,” the woman said. “If I do, I shall inform you immediatley.” “Thank you”, said the man,”I am sure that he would appreciate it. You see, I have something that I need to give to him. It is rather urgent, and it must be delivered immediatley.My thanks anyway. And by the by, what is your name?” “Puitacia Pwinns “, the woman replied with a curtsy,”at your service, sir.””And Joe Burnnes, at yours, ma’am.” The two shook hands in a dignified manner, and the man went his way.
  At the moment Joe turned the corner, a man stepped out of the red phone booth He wore a brown suit and a black tie that matched his shiny locks that had a slight spike although they were wetted down. He smiled at the lady. “Thanks, Pwt”, he said in a gleeful voice.”I never would’ve gotten away from his pieing fury, him being an Editor and all.” Koko pulled a British head flesh mask away from him, and shed the suit to reveal his stick body. Pwt sighed.”Why do I always have to be a girl?” he groaned.

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  SupremeMuser2000, the All Mighty Queen of Museicalifornia

  in January 19th, 2007 @ 17:32

  I’m trying to write a book. Seeyin hoow I has purfuct grammer.

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  PinkPantherDiamond (agrrrfishi )

  in January 20th, 2007 @ 09:36

  part of my novel… don’t know if its good but my friends say it is…

  VIDA

  Chapter One

  If you had been a passerby of the dank cobblestone alley on the corner of Weinstead and Birch by the Tricorner Pub in Chattanooga at half past 9 p.m. on the evening of November 22nd, 1864, you may not have seen any sign of life in the alley at all, just a few rusty bottles and a pile of smelly old rags that blended perfectly in with the dirt-ridden pub wall and a heaping mound of trash. Only if you looked carefully would you see the whites of a round pair of brown silk eyes. These eyes were that of a small person. Actually, a small girl.
  She went by the name of Vida, tho’ she ought not to have needed a name. Most people just called her “girl” or “slave”, and her identity was of no use. She was a skinny thing, bony as a rail, and the mud and bugs of the alley ground only accented the dark brown of her African skin. Her thick black hair hung damply around her streaky yet beautiful face. She had no known relatives, and the only people that she could actually somewhat consider family were a Mr. and Mrs. Elliot Stone, her white mistress and master.
  Mr. Elliot Stone was a plump man with a fat black moustache that barely concealed his fat cheeks and puffy lips. Hair was stuck like a dark doily on his graying head. His large dark eyes stuck on you until you prepared supper to nourish his rounding belly, held in by a black tweed suit on good days. Now Mrs. Jezebel Stone was a thin woman, but not too thin and not too fat. She wore a red raspberry calico dress with black lace trim around the bottom edge and the sleeve edge, and had a black yarn shawl around herself. Her dirty blonde hair was always back in a tight topped bun with a white bonnet on top. Their daughter, Arabella, was a beauty with fair skin and light bluebell eyes that her blond curls danced around. She wore only high skirted silk dresses with fancy puffy sleeves, and dainty satin slippers on her cloud abiding feet . Her favorite pastime was to cane Vida morning, noon and night, because she had a hearty dislike for Vida that none other could partake in satisfaction.
  The girl sitting in the alleyway was a mark of the dread of a slave in the time of the Civil War. After a particularly nasty beating from Arabella, she had fled in vain from the cream white plantation house where she had slaved away in the blazing sun all morn’. Now, suddenly, all the street lamps went out with a puff as lightning split the horribly black sky and rain began to pound on Vida’s head like a couple of bass drums. As she got up to leave, she heard a creak from the old rusty hinges of the bar’s back door. From the burst of light that had flown free of the kichen for but a fleeting moment, she could see a squat, balding gray haired man with a tin of trash clutched near him waddling out of the back door.
  He spotted Vida on the stones where she had quickly crouched, in fear that it was the cranky bar’s owner , Mr.Fletcher, coming to shoo her away. But instead, kindly old Mister Baron was out emptying the garbage. She peered cautiously around the edge of the rubbish pile. The whiskery face of Mister Baron peered right back, smiling, as he did, in a friendly manner. ”Why, hello, little one. Another visit to mah humble alleyway, I pass?”
  ” Yes, sir”, said Vida in a voice as small as the scurrying mice near the rubbish. “I’m just frightened of me mistress, sir. She’s a given me a caning I isn’t never want again.” The old man smiled in agreement, and Vida could see the wrinkles on his cracked and dirty white face shift in a weary sort of manner. He answered her,”Yes, Ma’am Jezebel can be a rough one at times. But you keep on fightin’, lassy. You do that”. The girl and the barman looked up just as the tom-clock in the square chimed the toll. BONG, BONG, BONG, BONG, BONG, BONG, BONG, BONG ,BONG ,BONG! It was ten o’ clock. Vida’s heart rose to a crescendo of terror as she rose to her mud caked feet. “Sir, my apologies, but I gotta go, my mistress will be furious!”
  Vida waved her hand in a farewell and took off at a sprint down the stones of the walk, as the rain rose to a high note and the stores of the street doused the dying lamps. The plantation house slid into sight as she rounded the last shop corner an headed down the dirt buggy road to the slave’s quarters.

  She reached the wood door with a broken hinge mere seconds later. She knocked silently on the topmost plank of wrought oak as silently as possible, so as not to disturb the workers in their free hour. The door slid open with a low creak, and a green eye peered cautiously through the crack of open space. A voice whispered, “Vida! Wha…?” The door flew open fully, and Vida slipped inside the dim room.
  She now could see the full of the boy who stood before her. His dark face was like hers, but more gaunt and pale, and much cleaner. A head of curls framed his thin mouth, small nose and emerald eyes that glinted subtly in his sockets.” Look at ya! What’s happened to your dress?” The boy stared down at her torn muddy lump of clothes. They had, in truth, once been a coarse calico servant dress, like that of the others on the plantation. Compared to his brown pantaloons and blue-button shirt, she was lower than a pile of muck. ”Bartholomew, I explain later, but now I must get my other set on!” Vida and Bartholomew trod silently into the slave’s quarters.
  Though the slaves who worked mostly in the house and not on the cotton field had slightly bigger quarters than that of the field slaves, the room was tight. Six or more house slaves sat bunched and crowded on the stiff, rough wood benches with thinly worn blankets pulled to their chins, while a few, one or two that is to say, milled through the gray stone room. Some who were a little luckier had straw pallets to lie on, though they were without blankets. Trying not to attract attention to her dirty form, Vida slid after Bartholomew through the room like ghosts to the trunk and wash room.
  Vida tiptoed to her straw trunk where she kept her belongings and slid back the lid. There was not much inside. There was a thin black mourning dress and bonnet for funeral marching, a canteen, battered brown, and, laying on top of her new set of work dress was a single pearl on a piece of thin cord. It had belonged to her mother, and her mother before her, and so on back to Africa, where it had been found. It was her most prized possession, and she never let it out of her trunk. Only Bartholomew knew she had it. It was something even for Arabella to want to steal, being worth so much money. She slid her work robes out of her basket and tucked the pearl back into a dress pocket.
  Bartholomew left the room so Vida could wash up and change. She slipped on her work robes, and scurried to the pot of dirty water that was the washbasin. Scrubbing herself vigorously with her small rag in her pocket, she was soon quite clean, and, hair combed out a little more, was flung over her shoulder. She pushed through the woven door to Bartholomew, waiting in anxt on the stone wall. He straightened up as Vida approached. “I just done heard from Samuel. The master ain’t happy with ya’ll, Vida. He wants you to see him in the parlor at once.” Bartholomew’s face was pale as he spoke. “Things don’t look good”. Vida trembled. Had she not just been caned that very day? Did she yet deserve another beating? Frightened as she was, her fingers were steady on the rope knob as she pushed open the door.
  She waved a goodbye to Bartholomew, and walked into the open air, fresh after the heavy fall of rain. The dirt path was wet against her feet as she trod toward the big white house. She plodded to the slave’s door, and it opened with a creak into the cellar. As hungry as she was, she did not touch the good meat hung temptingly on the wall. The jerky beckoned to her, the ham wafted its smell gently to her nose, but still she walked, up the wooden staircase, her hand now shaking on the rails. She put her hand slowly to the metal handle, and gave it a tug.
  The parlor, usually warm and inviting, seeming warningly cold, shunning the warmth of the fire from her aching body. The rug was angry, the furniture turned away, even the twinkling doorknobs of golden brass and finely shaped china glass were dull and empty. And there, in the middle of it all ,were the Stones. Arabella was suppressing a look of glee, but the Mr. and Mrs. Showed no signs of happiness. They were frozen in a stony expression of anger, as though carved of ruddy gray stone, boring her though into endless darkness, falling endlessly into an empty tunnel.

  Chapter Two

  “Arabella, back to your room. Now!” Mr. Stone ordered his daughter with a sort of vindictive fury on the features of stone he now possessed. Arabella was not even attempting to hide her pleasure now. Grinning like a jackal, she floated up the stairs to the landing and turned out of sight. The Stones turned back to Vida in a slow circle. Mrs. Stone was tapping her foot angrily on the wooden floor. Mr. Stone opened his mouth to speak. His voice was harsh and sharp.
  “Where have you been?” he asked.
  “ I.. out…” Vida stuttered.
  “Did you have permission to leave the house or your quarters, girl?”
  “No, sir.”
  Why, then, did you leave?”
  Vida kept her mouth shut. Talking might worsen the situation. But…
  “Answer me when I speak to you, girl!”, he yelled, and slapped her sharply across the face. Vida cowered in silence. She looked anywhere but at her masters.
  “R…rest, sir.”
  “REST? You are a WORKER here, girl! You are not here to mill about and laze as you please! We feed you on occasion and house you without pay, and our thanks is that you take hours off your working time to rest! You may rest in the evening, but NEVER during the day!” Mr. Stone was a delicate shade of maroon by now, and his tweed suit coat was doing him no good to hold him back.” Elliot, move on!” said Mrs. Stone.
  “For such a dismal crime, you will have no rations for a week. Do you understand me ?” Vida bobbed her head up and down. ”Yessir.”
  Mr. Stone cleared his throat noisily in a businesslike manner. Then, he said, in a harsh but firm tone,
  “There is to be a slave auction at our plantation on the 23rd of November at half past one o’ clock p.m. A simple few others have been chosen to be auctioned off. We feel that the plantation is much too crowded with old faces begging for food and pennies. We need new and younger workhands on our plant. We are taking it upon you to be the bearer of the news to your fellow slaves. If you do not, we shall give a licking you shan’t forget. Also, I… “Mr. Stone stopped abruptly and yelled, “Arabella, I said to bed with you!” Vida saw a flick of wispy blonde hair as Arabella turned back round the landing. Mr. Stone continued in an offhand voice.
  “You are to see that EVERYONE knows, all righ’? EVERY one! Got that through your head, girl?” Vida slowly nodded her head. She was eager to leave. “You, for a punishment to your running, have received what is deserved by you. Let the burden lay heavy and…ARABELLA! TO BED!” Vida caught a glimpse of Arabella’s face as it rounded the corner back to the upstairs, her wide smile baring all her perfect white teeth as she narrowed her eyes at Vida in a pleased and menacing fashion.
  For the third time, Mr. Stone turned to Vida.” Ahremmm… Let the burden lay heavy on you and the suffering take you in for what you have brought upon your fellows. They, are, undoubtedly to be… unhappy. Go on,girl.You are dismissed.”

  As soon as she was out of the house, Vida made her tracks, not for the quarters, but back to the cobblestone road. Down the buggy drive, past the bar, far down the streets to the small store of brick and straw paste. A creaking wood sign hanging over the door and rocking in the slight wind read: Shasta Mills, Pasties and Candies for Sale! The words could barely be read, however, worn down as they were from bugs and rainy hailings long gone by. A smaller, hand lettered sign sat in the window. This one read, Two pennies for the rock candy!, and, near that, an even smaller one that read, Closed. But the store was never closed, not to Vida, anyways. She crept silently around back, her feet rubbing against the barren dirt on the path. She reached a back entrance. She grabbed ahold of an ornate brass lion knocker, and slipped her palm into the handle. She rapped, THUD THUD THUD, and without waiting for an answer, pulled the door open quietly by a thin rope knob.
  The small back room of the shop, however cramped, was cozy and warm, a fire lit in a crackling pit, and a table set with a measured portion of food. As Vida stepped inside, the blanket of warmth swept over her entirety as she swept gracefully toward the fire. Suddenly, as she whirled around, she saw a door on her left now creaked open to reveal a dark and shadowy form, that of a person…
  “Why, Vida, it‘s you, dear!” A woman’s voice boomed a little too genially from the space leading into the front shop. ”Weren’t s’pectin’ you at this late hour!” The woman stepped into the light, so Vida could see her fully.
  She was a thick, plump, dark skinned lady. Though she had an air of strictness about her, her softy black eyes were kind. Her brown calico dress had a thick white apron over it that was stained all over the place. Her big hand lead Vida to a seat at the wrought wood table. As she walked, Vida noticed her usually tight black haired bun loose and limp over her shoulder.
  “Now, girl, you best take a seat, get yo’self some food and tell Miz Mills what done happened to ya’ll now. Vida sat down, hesitated, and blurted, “Miz Mills, oh, it just ain’t fair!” She spilled the whole story to Miz Mills in a heartbeat, as she swam in and out of consciousness for the smell of the beef and cornbread that tempted her senses until she chomped out another bite. ”And then, he lets me go, and, and…it ain’t fair at all! If ole’ Arabella hadn’t been so cruel, I, I…I wouldn’t have done it!”
  Miz Mills helped Vida to her feet, and they walked into the shop main. As Miz Mills pushed open the backroom door, Vida couldn’t help but start at the difference of the room since the last time she’d been there.
  Instead of a big, cozy inviting shop, with small pastries behind counters on shelves and loaves of old, warming bread on the wood shelves, there was pasting rot and decay on the wood chunks, to every bare stretch of the wall. The floor, once polished and clean was overcome with a wave of dirt and dark mud.” Them white men’s done gone and shut me out”, said Miz Mills. “Ain’t nothing in my business I couldn’t sell. They shut me down anyways though. Didn’t even listen to reason, they didn’t, and a no good thing that is for me, isn’t it?” Vida could not answer. She could only stare at what had once been a lively place, full of talk and bustle. Not many slaves were regulars, but a few white folk gave Miz Mills some decent business. Vida was appalled at the injustice. ”B…but Miz Mills, who done it?” Miz Mills sighed, as though she had the world on her shoulders, and the load was too much for her to bear. “Child, if I knew I wouldn’t tell ya’ll. I shan’t be sayin’ what I know. Tempers running high and all, oh dear. Things ain’t fair all the time, sweety. You gotta hang onto them till they gone.” She paused, and stared at the clock, the only thing left on the bare wall. “My good lord! Look at how the time done passed! You best get back to the plantation, and mind you hold your tongue in certain company, ya’ll hear me now?” Vida nodded. “Yes’m, but…” Miz Mills cut across her. ”Now, no backtalk, ya’ll hear me?”
  “Yes’m.”
  “You be more careful, girl?”
  “I will, Miz Mills.”
  “Then ya’ll best be on your way.”
  Miz Mills shooed Vida out the back door. Vida stared longingly back after it had shut, but knew that her absence would be remarked upon when the overseer came to check them to their quarters in a half hour. She sprinted down the path with determined strength, renewed by the food now in her stomach, and the dust at her heels speeding her on, running down the path to her home.

  Chapter 3

  As soon as she reached the stone wall of her quarters, Vida slowed down, and began to walk at a leisurely pace. She could see the white house a little ways away, the night pounding on it and giving it a glowing sort of look. The sky was inky black now, and the overseer would be leading the others inside in only moments. Those who worked later than the others into the latest night only got a few hours of sleep until they had to work again. Vida sighed audibly. She pushed open the house slave door and went inside. Most of the slaves were asleep, and Bartholemew was no place to be seen.
  Vida sighed again, and plodded over to a hole in the wall that served as a window to the outside world. Vida could see the smooth wood trellis in Mrs. Stone’s garden that was papered in thick red rose blooms. Vida had often admired those blooms. One slave friend of hers, Andrew, had always said that life was like those roses on the trellis. In the spring, they bloomed, and lived their lives as best they could. Then in the winter they died, but there would always be some to return at the dawn of the next spring, and the next, and every one to come for years on end, maybe until the world itself fell onto the path of life, bloomed, and died as quickly as it had come.
  As much as she wanted to, Vida could not escape her old life on the field and start one over just as the spring roses could. Soon the roses would be able to leave their lives on the trellis and escape into their sleep until the dawning of the next spring, when the slaves would be newly returned to their field and be working until the winters to come. They could begin again, as Vida could not. She could try to run away, but the master had big black dogs in his house. They could be sent after her, and they could hurt her. She remembered a day when she was new on the plantation, and a foolish boy of twelve named Zacharias tried to run. The masters had brought him back and whipped him ‘till he couldn’t stand any longer. Old Momma Neila, a slave whom had been an herb woman and a slave and died long ago, had cleaned his wounds and bandaged them with cloth strips. “Now let this be a lesson to ya’ll. If you be stupid ‘nough to go and run like that in the daylight sun, ya’ll might as well be whipped fo’ nothin’”, she had told the children who had gathered around her in silent anticipation.
  Vida, having been one of those children who had watched Zachariah be bandaged, knew the severe consequences of her actions, and would not give her life to those Stones for her foolishness. She could not help but feel, however, that she deserved a taste of freedom. Was it not owed to her that she might get some taste of freedom’s nourishing sweetness? She had worked on plantations all her life, one to another, and yet had no actual life of her own. She was looking at the rose blooms now without even controlling herself. Why couldn’t she be like that? Human being had never before interested her quite this much. But now, she felt even angry that humans couldn’t be like all those who could do what they wanted, like the geese that were flying over the house in the darkness. She was still thinking this way when the door of the quarters slammed to the wall with a loud crack. Vida and the others jumped high into the air. Now she was aroused from her daydream, she saw a dark shape in the hole of the doorway, and she knew who it was without question.
  —————————————————————————- how do you guys like it?

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  24

  ☛Kiki the Great☚

  in January 20th, 2007 @ 09:38

  21- Lotsa adjectives. Funny though. I give it an 8/10.

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  25

  Lady Visala of Reverie

  in January 20th, 2007 @ 11:29

  *blink*

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  26

  Himura Kenshin

  in January 20th, 2007 @ 16:38

  I love it!!

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  27

  PinkPantherDiamond(Agrrrfishi)

  in January 21st, 2007 @ 08:40

  26-Love what?

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  28

  PinkPantherDiamond(Agrrrfishi)

  in January 21st, 2007 @ 09:29

  An englishman walked at a brisk pace down the cobblestone streets in a quiet town of Great Britain. He hurries as his shiny black shoes clacked on the creamy hard surface.He stopped then, quite abruptly, but with good reason, as he had pulled a shining golden pocketwatch out of the pocket in his fancily starched and mended black suit. Out of the same pocket came a blue chiffon silk handkerchief. He mopped his brow in a dignified manner as he flipped open the watch cover,and gasped as he saw the time. “Great Scott!”, he cried in astonishment.”I’m late!” He began to run down the street, not bothering to hail his neighbors as he dashed by.
  He arrived at the stately building at 8:04, and was late by four minutes past his 8:00 deadline. Although the building was tall and very no-nonsense, the man was quite afraid. The man whom had called him had sounded not too harsh… He stepped through a pair of metal doors with frosted glass and started up a set of rusty stairs to a room marked “Conference, 104”, just as the caller had said it would be marked. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. He gasped as he saw not one figure around the long table, but nine! One was not even in his seat, but fluttered above it, just like… The man started back out the door, but the person at the head of the table raised a spindly hand that was barely visible with the little amount of light in the room, as it was black on black. Then all of the figtures removed their hats. “Hello, Mister Davies.”, came a voice from the head of the table.”We’ve been expecting an Editor by now. You’re late.”

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  29

  Queenie J

  in January 21st, 2007 @ 10:14

  28-That’s not stereotypical at all. Not. I like the description, though.

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  30

  Pentatonikk

  in January 21st, 2007 @ 21:17

  Penty is back! Yay?

  And she is very happy that we now have a writing thread and is going to read Kiki and Aggrfishi’s stories one of these days and she is going to post part of Dreamlandscape one of these days and she is going to do something other than randomly squee over the writing-thread-age one of these days.

  But not today.

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  31

  kricket

  in January 25th, 2007 @ 19:32

  23- I love it!

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  32

  kricket

  in January 25th, 2007 @ 19:33

  Kiki- I read the whole story/novel and I loved it! It was AWESOME!!!

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  33

  kricket

  in January 26th, 2007 @ 14:56

  Okay I’m going to post the Prologue to my story. I think I’ve posted it on this site before but oh well.

  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!”
  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.
  ___________________________________
  how do you like it? If it were a book and you just read the prologue would you like to read the rest of the story?

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  34

  Prarilius Canix

  in January 26th, 2007 @ 16:14

  33-Seems good. I’m working on the basic plot for a story right now. It involves a city on the back of a giant flying creature.

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  35

  Prarilius Canix

  in January 26th, 2007 @ 16:44

  One question, Kiki, about the Duens- What if you have, say, red hair and green eyes? Would you be an Anduen or an Enduen?

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  36

  ☛Kiki the Great☚

  in January 26th, 2007 @ 17:32

  It’s usually your hair. It depends on what the Duenmasters think of your personality.

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  37

  Kiara

  in January 30th, 2007 @ 19:10

  33 – Great! Gimme more!

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  Prarilius Canix

  in January 31st, 2007 @ 19:57

  To test the waters;
  PROLOGUE
  The runner looked back nervously at the nebulous gray clouds piling up in the sky. A strong wind was beginning to stir the grasses on the prairie all around him. As the first few drops of rain began to fall, he started running again, chest heaving, feet pounding on the moss-covered white stones of the deserted road.
  The wind blew even harder, and he found it difficult to run. Arl Manor was an indistinct blotch a few hundred yards away. He kept going, though the sweat poured down his ruddy face. The miles he had run were inconsequential. All that mattered was getting the package to his masters on time.
  The rain began driving down almost horizontally. The runner came to a full stop occasionally, but he struggled onward. Thunder rumbled in the dark sky.
  At last, he reached the gravel path that led through Arl Manor’s ornate gardens. He stumbled forward, every step agony for his screaming muscles. Sobbing with relief, he started up the steps. He almost collapsed, and grabbed the iron railing for support.
  A bolt of lightning sheared out of the sky like an avenging spear, striking the rail and blazing through the runner’s body. It crackled out of his fingers, striking the lock on the case he clutched. The air inside the keyhole, heated to hundreds of degrees, underwent a sudden and furious expansion. The tumblers were forced out, and the lock popped open. The runner’s lifeless body fell to the ground.
  The case skidded on the slick grass, finally coming to a halt at the base of a large rose tree. The flap at its top flopped open, and a small package wrapped in oilcloth slid out.
  A figure, crouching behind the rose tree, bent down to pick up the package. He was clad in a bright yellow raincoat* that did not fit the utterly sinister look on his face. Uttering a quiet chuckle, he disappeared into the depths of the garden with his precious burden.
  *I did this to break out of the tiresome bad-guy-wears-black-cloak cliche. How do you like it, overall?

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  39

  Purple Panda

  in February 3rd, 2007 @ 07:00

  Here’s a story I wrote a few weeks ago (not even close to being finished, but…) when I was really bored. It probably doesn’t make much sense now, but I have a plan…

  I used Kiki’s name for the main character, Allegra, and her last name is “Taiwoupe,” which is the letters of “Aeiou,” and “Pwt” put together. The “bad guy,” is Baraka Orudmet. His last name, Orudmet, uses letters from the name, “Midwest Educator,” the lady who gave Muse gad reviews on Amazon.

  On a warm, gray day in October, Allegra Taiwoupe packed her bags to go home. She was a book editor for a prominent publishing company in the country, Sunfish Incorporated. The company published books for children and young adults, and many of the books were even written by young adults. Allegra remembered a girl who she worked with one of her first years working at Sunfish Incorporated. She was fourteen years old, and wrote a book about children in an orphanage. Allegra especially enjoyed working with this girl and editing the book, because Allegra grew up in an orphanage. She was given the job of editing this book just for that reason.
  Allegra enjoyed her job, but was always eager to walk out the door on a Friday afternoon.
  Walking out the revolving doors of the rather large building, Allegra was greeted with a gust of leafy air. She stopped for a moment to brush herself off before proceeding to the corner to catch a bus home.
  Allegra leaned against the telephone pole and waited for the 46K, the bus which took her to her house. She had shoulder-length brown hair and dark green eyes. She had light creases under her eyes, which normally signified old age, but Allegra had had these creases since she was born. She did not know how she got them, and could not easily ask her parents, since she did not know who they were. Allegra also had other characteristics that were not human characteristics. She had a thin skin between her toes, for example. The orphanage where she grew up had a small swimming pool, and she was always the fastest swimmer because her feet were like diver’s fins and she could speed through the water like lightning. She also had unusually thick fingernails, which never grew. She never had to use nail clippers.
  When the 46K arrived, Allegra stepped on and scanned her monthly bus pass. She walked to the back of the bus and sat down in a seat. The bus seats were uncomfortable, and she had actually thought of bringing a cusion to sit on just for the bus ride, but she always forgot. Allegra looked out the window and saw the orphanage where she grew up. Allegra smiled, then stopped. Her childhood at the orphanage was a good one, she had many friends, but it also made her sad. It reminded her that she had no family. She did not know her parents, her grandparents, cousins, anyone. She had friends who became her family, but she always wanted more. She saw a shooting star once in her life, when her orphanage went on a camping trip, and she wished to see her parents. She wanted to meet them more than anything.
  When the bus arrived at her house, Allegra stepped out and greeted the unusually warm air once again. She walked up the rickety stairs to her small apartment. Upon entering the cozy little house, she dropped her bags, took off her shoes, and walked to the kitchen to make some dinner before unpacking her bags and talking to her friends. After all, it was the weekend.

  “Is it ready?”
  “No, not yet.”
  “Why not?!”
  “I am very sorry sir, um, we had some technological malfunctioning. We will fix it as soon as we get the resources and materials to do so.”
  “Well make sure you get those resources and materials pronto, because I need it ready before next month!”
  “Yes, sir, yes sir.”
  Baraka Orudmet sighed angrily and stomped over to his desk, slumping down in a very expensive armchair. His plan was not going as planned. He picked up a high-tech pencil and placed the point against a piece of high-tech paper. He focused his thoughts toward the pencil and his words began flowing onto the paper.
  Baraka made three copies of his letter and ordered them to be sent to the governments of three different planets in which he was in alliance. Then he walked outside and sunk into the sand.
  Below the surface of planet Hinguin, Baraka took off his long-sleeved shirt. It was warmer down there, closer to the core of the planet. Baraka walked over to one of his friends, Garimba Kuchela, and slapped him hard on the back. Garimba’s high-tech glasses almost fell off of his face with the force of the slap.
  “It malfunctioned,” Baraka said, with an angry look plastering his face.
  Garimba focused his glasses on Baraka. “Silence the mechanics.” He said, right away.
  “No, Garimba. We cannot do that. They are the only ones who are up to this job!”
  “Then threaten them with something. We must find the Hale agents. As soon as possible.”
  “Ok. I’ll think of something.” Baraka went back up to the surface of Hinguin, and put his long-sleeved shirt back on. He went to the mechanic’s building and swallowed a special device which would make his voice extra loud and boomy. He needed a big voice to make a threat.
  Baraka stormed into the mechanics department. “I have a new deadline threat,” he said, cutting straight to the point. “If you men do not have it ready before next month, you will be silenced!” He heard his boomy voice echo through the laboratory, and a few gasps escaped the lips of frightened mechanics. Baraka smirked, then left the department. That should encourage them to work more quickly, he thought to himself, before going down once again to tell Garimba his success.

  After a nice, relaxing evening, Allegra walked into her room and collapsed on her bed. She was still exhausted, so she decided to go to bed. Without even taking her shoes off, Allegra climbed under the covers. She turned the light off and closed her eyes, but she did not go to sleep. She just lay in bed, thinking. This often helped her fall asleep. She did not really think about anything in particular, she just thought. Soon, she fell asleep.
  When she awoke the next day, Allegra felt stiff. I should not have slept in my clothes last night, she thought. Sleeping in her clothes was usually what made her feel uncomfortable the next day. At least, that is what she thought. What she did not know, was that on another planet, a planet not even discovered by humans, was a plan hatching to kidnap her.
  Allegra got out of her warm bed and walked to the kitchen to make herself some breakfast. She felt chilly walking into the kitchen, so she walked over to the door of the apartment and turned up the heat a few degrees. It was only November, but it was already getting chilly where she lived, in Muse, Pennsylvania.
  After a delicious breakfast of cinnimon pancakes, Allegra decided to take a walk in the park near her house. She was often taken there as a child in the orphanage, and she enjoyed walking there. She put on her coat, scarf, and gloves, and walked outside to greet air that was a tad bit nippy. She sighed, wishing for the warm weather they had just yesterday.
  Walking in the park, trees surrounding her, Allegra felt so happy. She had not felt this happy in a long time. Just walking in the woods, nature all around her, she felt wonderful. Allegra decided to take walks here more often, because it just felt magical. This forest had the most magical animals Pennsylvania could offer, and she could nto ask for anything more.

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  40

  100% Cotton

  in February 10th, 2007 @ 00:20

  prarilus: I like it overall, particularly the yellow raincoat.
  one thing, you say run, or some variation of it, alot in the first paragraph.
  excellente!

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  41

  Sweet Melpomene

  in February 16th, 2007 @ 18:05

  Some original fiction I’m working on, just a short story.

  It’s half of a conversation, fill it in, take it as you like. Advice and constructive criticism more than welcome.

  Here I go again. This happens every time I take the car out. I’m sitting at this STOP sign as car after car passes in front of me. And I’m watching myself step on the gas and not watch where I’m going. Straight and forward and into something with a loud crash. The wailing of ambulance and police car sirens follows…
  Of course, I don’t. Still, the thought of doing so… I play it over and over in my mind.
  There’s about a million reasons why I want to, and number one on my list is because I don’t know why I want to. Just do it.
  Not today.
  Today, I can’t remember how to get home, but I will. It’s one of those weird memory things I do…
  Like play a song on the piano without watching the notes or what my hands are doing. If I pay too much attention, I’ll mess it up. This time, I make it home without a scratch, as always.
  Aside from the dozens of accidents and collisions I’ve been in. And there was the roof of the mall collapsing. Not to mention the gasoline igniting and the car exploding. Don’t forget the gunman in the department store…
  But now I’m home, unscathed. Some days I wish it weren’t the case. Most days, really.
  Now I watch as an icicle falls in slow motion, somehow sliding through my throat, or some major artery. It does that a few times, until it’s just right…
  Blood splatters bright red across the snow and ice, all over the frozen world of my pathetic front yard.
  I open the door, and slip into the spotless foyer. My shoes are probably going to track bits of cinders and dirty snow and dead things… I can’t be bothered.
  Besides, the bookcase will fall and crush me any second now…
  Yesterday was worse. A truck slid back down the mountain onto the car. Crunch. And my bus went off of the road, too. Don’t have to worry about that today, seeing as it is Saturday. I also tripped and fell down the stairs. And had an accident in class with gas and a burner…
  And I’m doing it again. So I seem to have a sort of… morbid fascination with, well, myself, my own death. Stop making that face. It’s not like you don’t. I know you’ve done this before…
  Erm…
  You know what? Never mind. So I have a bit of an attitude problem. My attitude towards life is problematic. Very much so.
  No, it isn’t. People in general just seem to have a problem with my attitude towards life, them… Ugh.
  Sometimes, in conversations, it is best to simply nod and say, “Mmm,” whilst looking thoughtful. That way, people will shut up and go away sooner. And not get in your face about something they feel strongly about. With which you strongly disagree.
  Because, of course, disagreeing with someone so good, so worthy of respect, is highly disrespectful. How dare you.
  Anyway, what was I going on about before?
  Never mind. I’ll take a shower and go to sleep.
  So here I am, standing in this shower, watching the water bubble in the grooves of this disposable razor and instead of thinking about slicing it through some of my flesh, I’m pondering intermolecular forces. Science class does weird things to your head.
  I guess mine is messed up enough already…
  I can’t even look at suntans anymore without having thoughts of UV rays pelting someone’s skin… I’ll wear sunglasses most of the time to avoid burning my retinas out. I haven’t been this far gone in quite a while…
  Where was I? I’m really done washing, and now I’m just thinking about all of this again. I wonder how long I’ve been here…
  Whatever. I have time. No one else is here, and the near-silence is absolutely glorious. I can go on and on…
  But…
  Talking can be tricky. Well, if you’re having a conversation with someone other than yourself. That is, if you aren’t very forceful or if the other person in the conversation is extremely conceited.
  It’s the worst when they don’t know it.
  Like those old people who seem to think that they’re entitled to some sort of special treatment. They call it respect. I refer to it as delusional worship. Ever experience that? What? There’s a huge difference between disagreement and disrespect. Some people just can’t see past that.
  That’s when they turn into mechanical creatures that slice your limbs off.
  Seriously.
  Sorry, no, I didn’t mean you. Really, you’re my buddy. Thanks for listening and all that lovely stuff.
  I guess I still can’t stand it that some people have these notions that they’re entitled to something. And you can tell, too. Everyone can, but they can’t admit it, by universal, unwritten law. Those sorts of confrontations aren’t worth the annoyance. Especially because everyone has that sort of notion.
  Whatever, I probably do, too. Join the hypocrite club. The rest of humanity’s in it, whether they acknowledge it and pay their membership dues or not. High five?
  Hmm, I seem to have drowned.
  I’ll be getting out now. Great, my clothes are wet. Should have dried my hair or something.
  Nah, it would have caught fire.
  Hmm, suddenly I’m not so sleepy anymore.
  Where did you get to?
  …the kitchen? How long have you been there? You might want to watch out for the stove. Uses gasoline, you know.
  Actually, you know what? Maybe we should just go somewhere to eat. I’ll drive, no problem. Seriously, I’ll be safe this time. Seatbelts and all.
  This isn’t so bad, is it? I think there’s a fast food place about ten miles away. Cheap and easy, right? Heh, cheap and easy… not the best joke for someone wearing a skirt at the moment, eh?
  I think I’m in a breaking mood right now… We are, after all going downhill, coasting, even. Would be a fun ride, don’t you think.
  Hey, don’t worry, it’s not like I’m going to do it. Just wondering what it would be like… Or maybe if those chunks of ice fell from the truck in front of us…and at this speed… Actually, I doubt it would hit us.
  If it did, what do you think it would do to the windshield? Hmm…
  Fine, I’m pulling over… What’s the deal?
  You want to drive? Go ahead. Just don’t get us into a huge accident; I’d prefer not to have my blood and guts all over the highway for some news cameras, thanks.
  You’re speeding, you know.
  And you think I have no concern for my personal safety? You’re bloody brilliant, you know that?
  Was that a flying saucer? I think it was.
  Oh, it most definitely was.
  Don’t drive into the wall of the building. Don’t. I know you’re going to hit it and either the car is going to get all smashed up or we’ll go straight through. Is the gas petal on the floor? Are you mad?
  Wow, you are much better at parking than I am…
  Excellent job, buddy. Really splendid, let me tell you…
  What should we order? You know, those aren’t really hot dogs.
  Well, they are, but it’s not really meat. You never know what’s in them. Same with the processed chicken or whatever.
  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
  This place is packed. The stove’s going to blow any minute now, and we won’t get out. Probably get trampled just trying to. Best to just sit here and let things go by, wouldn’t you agree? How are you enjoying your meal, by the way? I think there may have been something suspicious in my water…
  Do you think it tastes sweet? Could that be anti-freeze or something? It’s fine? Well, if you say so…
  Oh, I did? I forgot about those sugar packets, right.
  Well, anyways… How are you this wonderful Saturday evening?
  Oh, sorry, guilty.
  Uhh, thanks.
  Hmm, never did know how to react to that. I suppose I’m flattered?
  Done already! That was quick. Don’t worry, I’ll eat eventually. Just not in the mood at the moment.
  You’ll drive back? Splendid. Really smashing!
  Haha, smashing. Don’t crash, please. Oh, whatever. If you really want to…
  No, I’m a fine driver, just a bit nervous.
  You’re going to rear-end him.
  Do it.
  Do it.
  Do it!
  Well, if that’s what you really want to do.
  You were speeding again, weren’t you?
  Funny thing about driving is so many people do it. Well, I guess you wouldn’t know the public transportation drivers, or they wouldn’t like you or something. Maybe they wouldn’t go where you needed to. Not that going for food was all that important. Just think it’s wise to avoid the kitchen for a while, that’s all, you know? Weird things happen in kitchens.
  Here, let me get the door. Watch out for the icicles. You never do know about them…
  Yes, I’m safely inside. They missed me this time. Good thing, too, eh? You would have had some time explaining that one. And even if it had been the other way around… Dunno what I would have done.
  Of course I can take care of myself. I’ll just go lie down. Probably get smothered by the covers or fall out of bed and break my head open. No worries, though, it will not have been your fault. Really, sit down or something.
  Need a drink? I think the fridge is fine, if it doesn’t fall on me again, and if I don’t get stuck inside like that one time, two summers ago.
  Yup, I was in there for a good twelve hours, at least. Dunno how I got myself into that mess. Think I may have died.
  Don’t really remember.
  Nothing? Okay. Stay if you will.
  Of course I’ll be getting to bed. The stairs aren’t all that scary, right. I’ll make it…
  Wait, please don’t go. Sorry if I ramble… It’s just I haven’t spoken to someone in ages. Really.
  I could tell you about the time the shelves in the grocery store dominoed or this one weird dream I had. Or the time I was at the bottom of a lake.
  Yeah, it turned out there was an entire forest down there. Lived there for a few months before I realized that I can’t breathe underwater. Had to evolve to get back out.
  Bit of a sticky situation, eh?
  Hey!
  Really, what would you have done? I made it out, yes?
  Seriously, where are you going? Leaving? You just got here.
  I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much! What?
  Really, don’t!
  Alright, then, I’ll just go jump from the attic window.

  What say you?

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  42

  Countess Pentatonikk the Unctuous of Leighton Buzzard

  in February 17th, 2007 @ 00:01

  41 (SM)- I like it. A lot. I really really really love the formatting and such, and it’s so prettily morbid. ♥

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  43

  Milady the Most Honourable Kiki the Wholesome of Deepest Throcking

  in February 17th, 2007 @ 07:44

  41- Whoa. Er… yesh. I like it. Send it to Stone Soup.

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  44

  PinkPantherDiamond

  in February 19th, 2007 @ 14:20

  I grow myself a cherry tree
  And pass sweet blossoms unto thee
  To be together, even think
  Us together:Tickled pink!
  And this time you shall be mine
  Oh sweet, oh dear, oh valentine.

  -Go ahead, read it to YOUR valentine, and see if they slap you across the face.

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  45

  Elizabeth

  in February 19th, 2007 @ 16:50

  41- it’s…interesting. Don’t get me wrong, I like it, it’s just different than anything I’ve ever read.
  44- haha, I bet they would, that is, if i had a valentine… but if i did and read them that, I prolly wouldn’t have one anymore

  I should put on my “Johann and Jack” poem. I wrote it in 7th grade, but it’s probably the best poem (maybe even best writing piece) i’ve ever done. Ok…just let me find it… here it is! In a binder in one of the boxes in my closet

  Warning, it’s a little long… but it’s REALLY good (if I do say so myself)

  Here is the story of Johann and Jack,
  They both flew their planes, they flew to attack.

  Johann is 19 and Jack just the same,
  They know that their fighting is not just a game.

  They think of their families at home and afraid,
  they think of the price that s many have paid.

  They both get their orders, their orders the same,
  Fly for your country in you’re fighter plane.

  Jack’s in a strange land, Johann’s near to home.
  Jack goes to Danzig, and sees the ocean’s foam.

  He looks out the window; can he drop his bomb?
  He hears a mother yelling, “Oh, Tom, Where’s my Tom?”

  He can see the faces of the people he’s to kill,
  They’re on a boat over the Baltic Sea’s chill.

  He knows there are hundred’s of people aboard.
  Over the boat Jack flew and soared.

  He knows these people are innocent civilians,
  they’re just part of the millions.

  Jack looks down at the burning town,
  drops his bomb and turns right around.

  He’ll not forget the sights that he’s seen.

  Johann’s assignment is to destroy other planes,
  He hopes he can tell Americans from the Danes.

  There’s the first plane that Johann spots,
  he shoots at the wings and there it drops.

  Johann had killed the man in the plane,
  he couldn’t help think ‘is this really a gain?’

  He’ll not forget the sight’s that he’s seen.

  The next plane he saw just happened to be Jack’s.
  Both men saw the other and couldn’t relax.

  They knew that their duty would be to stay,
  and kill yet another “enemy” that day.

  Both thought, ‘not another, i can’t kill no more’,
  they’d both had their share of blood and gore.

  Jack looked at Jahann and Johann at Jack,
  they flew by each other and never changed tracks.

  Neither felt guilty for passing the other,
  they were just glad that they didn’t kill another.

  They’ll not forget the sights that they’ve seen.

  If you haven’t already guessed, this is about world war 2, Jack is american and Johann is German. I wrote this as one of the last pieces in a portfolio that we had to do in 7th grade. I’m always surprised that I could ever think of a story like that to write as a poem and make it work with rhymes and all, I’ve never been very good at poetry. Some of the things that I mentioned are things that really happened, sort of. like, I had a great aunt that was on a boat in the Baltic sea when someone flew over and bombed it.

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  46

  Elizabeth

  in February 20th, 2007 @ 18:32

  does anyone here ever have trouble thinking of suitable names for their characters? I do..

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  47

  Kiara

  in February 27th, 2007 @ 12:09

  46 – Try spelling really long words backwards. I think Rowling did it because Azkaban sounds a lot like Nebraska spelled backwards.
  Azkaban
  Nabakza
  Nebraska
  Aksarben

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  48

  Alice

  in April 28th, 2007 @ 18:36

  I don’t see the difference between this and Books in Progress, but hey! Now there’s two writing threads.
  I don’t really want to post one of my stories write now though, and there are too many to read… Later!

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  49

  Agrrrfishi

  in April 29th, 2007 @ 09:18

  YEEE! Thread is open again! Is anyone still here?

  The sun shone like a beacon of wavery silken gold onto the raised high patio surrounding the rainforest’s shanty treehouse. the people inside, their sallow dark skin glowing by the light, were lacing throngs of grass sandals back together, and mashing starchy green roots for a pauo paste to consume when the brave men grew hungry as they hunted for the meat of the large fearsome Cat That Prowls. He had killed many villagers in the past, including the High Chief Mokulo, who had been replaced by Rahki, who now lived in the dark hollow of the Old Oak, big as 10 men holding hands all around.

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  50

  Alice

  in May 11th, 2007 @ 22:54

  Has anyone here tried free writing? You know, where you just open a document and type? It’s supposed to help writer’s block, and give you ideas, and stuff. I tried it today. (Not because I had writer’s block, I just wanted to try it.) It’s really weird, kind of like your fingers have a mind of their own, and they’ll type what they want. You’re mind doesn’t have to be connected. I just wrote random, pointless sentences such as “spellcheck is kind of cool” even though I’ve never felt one way or the other about spellcheck. After a while I slowed down my insane typing rate, and then my sentences started to be connected to each other. But not before. It was weird.

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  51

  e~a, whimsical dreamer

  in May 11th, 2007 @ 23:54

  50- I’ve done that before. Yes I liked it. it was fun.

  A story idea popped into my head today. I like story ideas that randomly pop into my head.

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  52

  Alice

  in June 21st, 2007 @ 15:17

  Wow, this thread is dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead – you get the picture. Of course, I am bringing it temporarily back to life by posting here, so it is really impossible to claim that a thread is dead, save on another thread. If that made any sense. One good think about dead threads is you can sit there and prattle on about nothing in particular, and no one will ever know. Isn’t that cool?

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  53

  E2MB

  in June 21st, 2007 @ 15:38

  I didn’t even know this thread existed, but now I do.

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  54

  I.A.A.M.D.T. (Increasing Awareness About Mostly Dead Threads)

  in June 21st, 2007 @ 15:42

  53- Hurrah!

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  55

  E2MB

  in June 21st, 2007 @ 15:59

  54 – Are you alice?

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  56

  I.A.A.M.D.T. (Increasing Awareness About Mostly Dead Threads)

  in June 21st, 2007 @ 16:13

  55-Yeah.

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  57

  Alice

  in July 7th, 2007 @ 00:42

  6, 7 (Kiki)-That is WONDERFUL! I ♥ it. It goes a teensy bit fast in places, but honestly, it’s great.

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  58

  Jadestone

  in July 7th, 2007 @ 17:48

  I liked Kiki’s, it was good. A little fast as Alice said in parts, but still very enjoyable.

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  59

  Prarilius Canix

  in July 7th, 2007 @ 18:33

  Kiki: I never posted a review of yours, so I’m going to now.
  Bad news first. I agree that it seemed to go a bit fast in places. I also found it a little hard to relate to the characters because the world was so different from ours. A suggestion: Do some scenes that seem mundane, like things that would happen on Earth, but with some Dekranian (is that the right word?) elements mixed in. Like maybe a scene where they’re preparing taeh’we toast with windbutter. I think that the Decrockans need to be more developed- their motives, their physiology (do they eat or sleep?), that sort of thing, so they become more real and sinister to the reader.
  Now the good news. The sisters’ interaction is realistic (do you have a sister?) Your imagination is superb, and your writing style is colorful and entertaining. You made me want to visit Dekrane. Keep up the good work!
  Note: I did read it all the way through, but it was a while ago, and I just skimmed it to write this review, so if I made any unjust judgments, or misspelled anything, I humbly apologize.

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  60

  E2MB

  in July 7th, 2007 @ 20:15

  Don’t forget Kiki’s father co-wrote it.

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  61

  E2MB

  in July 7th, 2007 @ 20:16

  Oh wait, I thought you were writing a review of her article in Muse! *bangs head agaisnt table*

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  62

  biblioRose

  in July 8th, 2007 @ 12:55

  Kik did a very good job!

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  63

  Alice

  in July 8th, 2007 @ 17:07

  10- Yeah. Or not even cliche, just partial.
  18- I generally write scenes and than try to connect them later on, but all the books that I did that with got way too confusing and I’ve backtracked. The book I’m writing currently is being written straight through. It needs a lot of editing though…
  23- I’ll read that another time… It’s way too long.
  38- That’s very good. Is it the one that you’ve been working on lately?
  It has occurred to me that I rarely get to read Canix’s writing, out of the RRRs. Ah, paranoia. But what I have read is very good.

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  64

  Jadestone

  in July 8th, 2007 @ 20:10

  Mmkay, I’m reposting this from the Writing Chalenge thread (with spelling corections), because this is more like a short story than a segment of writing. I’d apreciate feedback, please, it’s a bit long for that thread so some people might not read it.

  ***

  Jasper sat on the edge of the roof, his long legs swinging idly as he traced his slim fingers along the cold roughness of one of the stone gargoyles that adorned the cathedral’s bell tower. A stiff breeze swept his crow-colored chin length hair across his face and into his eyes, disrupting his view of the city landscape stretching out below him.
  Casually letting go of the stone rim with one hand, he scraped the hair out of his mouth and tucked the offending strands behind one ear, just in time to watch the final adagio of the sunset as it sank gloriously behind the skyscrapers, illuminating the glass structures in dazzling colors that burned his eyes and left their echoes behind, even as he blinked them away. They lasted only a few moments before their source of illumination slipped out of the city’s iron and steel grasp, escaping to the ground and faint line of the sea, far off. On it’s way to be someone else’s dawn.
  He sighed absentmindedly, glancing down at the city dwellers as they hurried, rushing from place to place. They hadn’t noticed that the burning disk of fire and light had vanished; it would soon be replaced by a thousand cheap copies, much closer and just as bright in their minds. But the light didn’t compete; it only carried a tiny way into the alleys and crevices of the city, where dark thrived.
  A shadow passed over him, and he gave a slight, crooked smile to the girl who was now perched on top of the gargoyle he had been mindlessly stroking.

  “Hey, stranger.” He said, his voice low and soft.
  The girl giggled, folding her legs so she was perched precariously in a cross legged position on top of the stone creature’s head. Her pale skin and dark hair matched his own, but her hair was even more riddled with hints of blue and purple and shining then his, making it dull by comparison.

  “Hello Jasper,” She replied, her voice a clear and bubbling brook of energy and life. “Watching the nightrise again?”
  He shook his head yes, smiling. It wasn’t ever about the sun for Verdandi, but the moon and the night. “It’s just so peaceful, and clear, and alive,” she had described it to him once. “Not like the nasty burning brightness, far to hot.”
  Now, she hummed softly a broken melody as she watched the people below her.

  “So very rushed, they are. No time to sit and admire to stars. I used to live on a star.” She informed him. “With my sister. But them we had to go and do things, Elder said. ‘Be useful.’ Wasn’t very much fun, but she’s not yet finished. So I’ll wait until she is and then we’ll be to gather again.”
  Jasper smiled again, such tales were not uncommon from this strange person. There was something off about Verdandi, perhaps the way she appeared so suddenly and noiselessly out of the very sky, and when her eyes changed color to match the heavens. Right now they were a light purple with blue at the edges, the purple dark but somehow sparkling like the lonely star the hung in the sky, waiting for it’s comrades.

  “What was it like, Ver?” He asked, instead of dismissing her wild stories. “The star.”

  “Oh, it was lovely. An icy blue, with little purple tendrils. And it tickled ever so much, when it felt me with its flames. Skuld scolded me for teasing it, when I played with it’s inner Spark, but it was only for fun, not out of spite like someone might, to get it’s energy.”

  “And what were you doing on the star?”

  “Oh, we’d just constructed a lovely little planet, all purples and greens. And such lovely crystals and caverns there. Life hadn’t come around yet though, so there was no one to play with.”
  Jasper took this in stride, gazing up at the deepening palate of dark blues and purples and a thin line of bright gold. Colors, he had always had a passion for them. He wasn’t very good at painting or drawing where this might be useful, but he dank them in anyway, tasting them as one might a fine wine.
  Not long ago when he had first saw this strange woman sitting on top of the cathedral and climbed up from the bell tower to meet her, he had told her of this secret love. She hadn’t laughed it off or shook her head like the other few he’d shared this with, but listened to him and nodded. “The colors are all you have, living here. No space to breath or be alone, there’s always far to many people. The sky is a sanctuary.” He’d been stunned she could read his soul this way at first, but she was the first person to understand this, let alone put it into words. So he’s stayed and talked with her, and learned of her strange life.
  Now, nearly six weeks later, he was still climbing onto the roof and talking with her. The priest didn’t seem to mind when he came here, he assumed he wanted to pray alone. Jasper wasn’t very religious, and couldn’t make himself believe in any deity, even when he tried. He’d seen a picture of the Grand Canyon once, and heard someone say it had strengthened his faith, because how would something like that exist without someone to design it? For him, it spoke the exact opposite. How could someone create that? All the colors and crevices and shadows, the way the light entered and illuminated some parts but not others. But he didn’t mention this, only nodding and smiling along.
  Ver watched him as he thought, but he didn’t elaborate as to what he was thinking.

  “You’re remembering.” She said decisively.
  Jasper chuckled and nodded. Ver could seem so young sometimes, with the way she saw the world, yet there were moments that sent shivers down his spine when he knew she was old, older then the planet and the stars she loved. These times didn’t last very long, but they left him shaken and a little afraid, even as he had to explain such simple things as normal human behavior to her she knew infinitely more than he could ever comprehend.
  Ver sat up suddenly, listening intently to the air, and went still. Jasper’s breath caught, and her didn’t move wither, transfixed by the change in the very atmosphere around Verdandi. She stayed this way for several seconds, not breathing, not moving, seeming to be as rock hard and unmovable as the snarling beast she calmly sat upon. Something inside him moved, uneasy, and he couldn’t suppress a tiny gasp of air as it left his throat, this non-human, this, this-
  And the moment passed, Jasper let out his breath as Ver relaxed and turned towards him. “Skuld is done,” she told him, a little sadly. “I will go and meet her now.”
  Jasper felt his insides drop a little at this news. Ver would be leaving, and he would never see her again. Even if something like her could remember this short time with him, the earth would likely be long gone before she thought of returning.

  “How far away is she?” He asked, a hint of loneliness and loss creeping into his voice.

  “Many galaxies over,” She told him. “Don’t be sad.” She told him, a hint of distress in her soft words.

  “I won’t.” He responded. “I will miss you, though.”
  Verdandi nodded. “I’ll miss you too.” She said faintly. And she would, for a time. As she was flying to her long-parted sister of a spirit she would be racked with something she hadn’t felt before, and would remember this place and day. But after a while she would forget, and how could she not, for what were these few short weeks in comparison to someone who was there for the birth of time itself?
  Neither of them spoke this, but both of them knew it. Ver swept him a kiss on each cheek, and he hugged her tightly as they stood under the stars.

  “Guess there’s no time for you to teach me to fly then.” He said softly. It was one of the many things that she prodded him with, how could he not fly? It was as natural as, well, laughter to her.

  She giggled quietly again. “Oh, you can still teach yourself. You always could.” She told him. “It might just be harder without someone to give you a push.”
  With that last thought still on his mind, she turned away, leaving him inhaling the deep, sweet air that always encircled her, regardless of the pollution the city spewed out every minute. She leapt into the dark purple tinged air, no more than a whisper of breeze swept er up and away, not as a person but a cluster of violet sparks and dreams and memories, growing ever distant s they streaked across the sky, to be mistaken for a shooting star.

  And she was gone.

  Jasper sat back on the stone ledge, and the last of the sweet night perfume wafted away. The memory remained, though, and even if Ver couldn’t hold onto it for log, it would never leave him. That was something.

  He decided to stay longer than usual tonight, and watch the nightset.

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  65

  Alice

  in July 8th, 2007 @ 20:23

  I really, really, like it, Jadestone. It’s so magical.

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  66

  Jadestone

  in July 8th, 2007 @ 20:26

  41- Ooh, I like it. Morbid, yet… very very good.

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  67

  Alice

  in July 9th, 2007 @ 22:39

  You know, with all my RRRs plus my normal projects, I have everything I could ever need.
  Clichèd but fun save-the-world-from-Evil (Role-playing Writing),
  Science-fiction with lots of drama (Terraformed),
  Nautical, vaguely 18th-century fantasy (The Sea Roc),
  Humor and fairy-tale-ness (fractured fairy tale),
  An imaginative world with a very good plot (Etheterre Chronicles),
  Slightly Arabic elemental-magic type thing with DRAGONS(!!!!) (2006.1),
  Corrupt government, thievery, and another very good world (Terenika),

  The Makepeace War (I can’t explain it.),
  Kids, sorcerers, evil beasts (The Black Lion),

  and many other things I will revive another day.

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  68

  widdershins (e~a)

  in July 9th, 2007 @ 23:24

  Jadestone, I read it on there! (and I shall critique it… eventually…)

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  69

  Jadestone

  in July 21st, 2007 @ 19:53

  no one else notices but me, alone i am in context staring up at the swirling patterens in the eternal as everyone else hurries, hurries by and she tugs on my hand exasperated that i won’t come with her she never looks up, none of them do not up or at each other or into the beyond. when i try to explain the night later she will punish me for telling stories but they were there, i saw them the colored sparks just like before only this time much more eternal they say it’s all in my head and I must supress these thoughts and take pills that take the wonder out of the world, and shake their heads when i laugh and tell them i dont mind them. so the pills go down my throat by another’s bigger hand and mother tugs me along on the way home, telling ym that the doctors will make everything better and soon the fevers and hullusinations will go away and i smile and wave to the aperitans and they wave back, startled that i can see them but they’re smiling i can tell.

  Um. Yeah. No idea what that was, it started as a poem but didn’t like to stay that way. It’s different, at least. Not very good though, maybe I’ll edit it later or something. Thought I should post it somewhere though, even if it didn’t go the way I planned.

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  70

  Alice

  in July 21st, 2007 @ 21:38

  69- That was odd.

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  71

  Prarilius Canix

  in July 23rd, 2007 @ 15:15

  69 was good, but I think it would be better as a poem. Or a full-length story.

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  72

  cilroxmysox

  in July 29th, 2007 @ 14:04

  its good the way it is

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  73

  Penty the Pantsless Communist

  in August 2nd, 2007 @ 14:33

  70 (Alice)- Odd is good.

  69 (Jadestone)- I really like it. The character is definitely a little crazy, and you convey that beautifully with the stream-of-consciousness style it’s written in. It does seem a good deal like poetry, but I don’t exactly know what to call it–prosetry? Poetry without line breaks? Er…even if it is stream-of-consciousness, spelling is still good. (I am not hypocritical for saying this. I can spell, I just often choose not to.)

  Be a dear, someone, and tell me which of these stories you’d be most interested in from the tiny summaries?

  The Golden People: Steampunk with a hint of magic. Set in a wealthy and fabled desert region constantly at war with itself (sound familiar?) and detailing the adventures of a sixteen-year-old with a prophetess for a sister.

  Letters from the Butterfly Court: Vaguely Asian magicless fantasy, dealing with politics, war, survival, and the implications of murdering one’s sister-in-law.

  Diffusion: Urban fantasy plus ghosts. Climb a dorm building, kiss a ghost, go jacketless in Chicago in January, run until you’ve got no breath left.

  Drink the Sea: Epic fantasy without elves, dwarves, dragons, or even magic. Politics, two civil wars, deposed rulers wherever you look, and a whole lot of water take their places.

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  74

  Prarilius Canix

  in August 2nd, 2007 @ 15:02

  The Golden People sounds very intriguing and original. I’d like to read that.

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  75

  cilroxmysox

  in August 2nd, 2007 @ 16:19

  the golden people could be good if it was written well but diffusion sounds best

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  76

  Alice

  in August 2nd, 2007 @ 16:35

  In this order:

  Letters From The Butterfly Court
  Drink the Sea
  The Golden People
  Diffusion

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  77

  Alice

  in August 3rd, 2007 @ 20:28

  Or maybe Drink the Sea first. I can’t decide. I would read them all, I think.

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  78

  Alice

  in August 3rd, 2007 @ 20:37

  64- I want it to last longer, it’s over so quick. But all the same I can’t imagine it being longer. So it’s kind of bittersweet.

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  79

  Jadestone

  in August 3rd, 2007 @ 20:50

  73- Psh. There’s not time to check spelling while writing! Usually I’d go back after and fix most of it but I was trying to figure out what it was about, heh.

  73(again)- “jacketless in Chicago in January.” You didn’t say it was a horror story.

  Otherwise…

  Diffusion
  The Golden People
  Drink the Sea
  Letters From The Butterfly Court

  78- I was thinking of expanding it a bit… not a lot, but a few more descriptions (heh, rather a lot of those) and paragraphs with more to them. I allready added a tad. It wouldn’t be more than a short stry though, this way I don’t have to deal with pesky things like plot.

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  80

  biblioRose

  in August 3rd, 2007 @ 21:10

  I like the golden people, diffusion, and LFTBC the best, but they all sound good.

  The man tred silently through the darkened corridor, tip-toeing around embroidered rugs and hung finery.
  The palace was loud with the buzz of silence, and the talkative prince wished suddenly for a companion.
  At last he came upon a glass window where a shaft of amber light cast its glow on a pedestal. Atop the stool lay the prize he had longed for, the information
  his kingdom depended on, and the secrets of a lond-dead house servant who had know far to much. Atop the pedestal lay a book. His saphire eyes alight suddenly.
  A bejeweled finger clasped the aging cover. That was when he sensed a presence.
  “Stay still and I might spare you.”
  He felt somemthing hard come lightly agianst the tender skin of his throat. The feeling was foreign. He had felt swords agianst his throat before, and this most certianly wasn’t one.
  “And to who may I ask do I share this hallway with? And what might it be that you have placed so carefully under my chin?” He questioned cooly.
  The voice, feminine yet forceful spoke once more.”The first is of little importance and the second…. well it could be the rusty blade that King Pratingwell used to defeat the rebublic of Maddintogone one hondred years ago. Or it could be the firm end of a peacock feather.”
  “It’s common knowledge King Pratingwells blade was burned by Harrison Of Maddingtone, miss. And I doubt you could obtain a peacock feather. So what am I to believe, good lady? ”
  She gave a laugh, surprisingly high and gigglish for a woman who had the power to destroy the prince of gallish.
  “You know your history. And you should also know that if you ventur even near to the palace of Welldord again our soldiers will slice those rings off your fingers before you could yell “gaurds!”
  This time he laughed.
  She recoiled her mystery weapon from around his neck.
  “You have been warned. Now leave” she snapped.
  He sprinted away and out of the granduer of The palace of welldord, where a ship called “The sea blade” awaited his return.
  Before arriving at the beloved safety his galish-bound ship he chanced a glance at the window he had been on he other side of mere moments ago. Across the wished for book he could swear he saw the rich hues of a peacock feather.

  The End

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  81

  Alice

  in August 3rd, 2007 @ 21:19

  So I’m stealing Penty’s idea, partly because I love writing tiny summaries, partly because I’d like to see which of these appeals to other people, and partly because it’s interesting to see how cool I can make my books sound in two or three sentences.

  The Makepeace War: Manipulative officials, adventurous teenagers, dank dungeons, beautiful horses, and important scraps of paper. Set in a rambling city, a tiny village, and the forests and fields of two countries.

  The Black Lion: Evil creatures roam the woods and dusty spellbooks hide in modern-day libraries. Three fourteen-year-olds uncover it all.

  West of West: The adventures of a young girl trapped in Fairyland. A goblin market, a princess with a heart of ice, riddles, and three unusual hills.

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  82

  Alice

  in August 3rd, 2007 @ 21:21

  80- Nice…

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  83

  Jadestone

  in August 3rd, 2007 @ 21:42

  I keep getting good story ideas I’d probably never use and forgetting them. I had a good one today I was thinking about making into a short story, too… grr.

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  84

  Axa

  in August 3rd, 2007 @ 22:17

  I have been completely blocked the last few months…

  73) Drink the Sea sounds really interesting…after that maybe Letters from the Butterfly Court. They all sound good though.

  I think this thread might help me somehow. Hmmm.

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  85

  biblioRose

  in August 4th, 2007 @ 12:21

  81- Oooh, West of West is my favorite.

  May I try it now? I don’t know how to do italics but here it go’s….

  Tea blossom: Set initially in early twentieth century Denmark. Wealthy young girl. Tyrant King. Loads of tea bags, a lost father, and a jade box that allows her passage to China to save her father and uncover the mystery behind the myth of the Jade princess. Little fantasy.

  Arena Of Itella: Fantasy island of Itella, where girls have little freedom. ritualistic scent beads, a deadly plague, and a ship of pure silver. Told in the format of a diary.

  ?: a girl (my all my characters are girls!) discovers her Uncle is being bewitched to fall in love by a sorceress posing as a soclailite. After being sent away to boarding school, the girl discovers several of her peers are also young sorceresses and enlists there help to break the spell on her uncle (and gaurdian).

  None of them are fantastic, i realize now. They’;re not as good as penty and alice’s.

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  86

  Alice

  in August 4th, 2007 @ 14:02

  I like Arena of Itella best. The ship of pure silver intrigues me. My next favorite is Tea Blossom.
  I don’t think that the problem lies in your stories, Biblio, but your summaries. They don’t capture they imagination. No offense.

  I like West of West best too, but I mustn’t play favorites! I’m trying so hard to finish The Makepeace War before I go onto anything else, and when I’m done with that it’s only fair that I work on The Black Lion, since it’s been around longer than either of the other two. I think that with either The Black Lion or West of West I’m going to use NaNoWriMo to jump-start the process. If I have a set goal like that I might work harder to finish it than if I didn’t have a set goal. I don’t know.

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  87

  Prarilius Canix

  in August 4th, 2007 @ 14:25

  I’m thinking of writing a story in which the world is ruled by corporations.

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  88

  Alice

  in August 4th, 2007 @ 14:53

  87- What kind? Toothpaste corporations?

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  89

  Prarilius Canix

  in August 4th, 2007 @ 15:54

  88- Big ones.

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  90

  Alice

  in August 4th, 2007 @ 15:55

  I need names for towns. I had one a little while ago, but I forgot it.

  Carlidale
  Anita
  Piper
  Green Hollow (this one belongs to a different book, I think, not Makepeace.)

  Those are the only actually good ones I have, though I’ve used nonsense words and such as filler.

  I haven’t used Carlidale yet, actually. Hmmmm.

  I use names a lot, like actual names.

  For The Black Lion, I may need to create a whole world, but one exactly like our own in all respects but one, and that’s places. I can’t set it in America and I can’t set it anywhere else, so I have to create somewhere that I can set it.

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  91

  Prarilius Canix

  in August 4th, 2007 @ 16:16

  Catskiln
  Andersberg
  Firwood

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  92

  Alice

  in August 4th, 2007 @ 16:29

  91- Oooh nice, can I use them?

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  93

  biblioRose

  in August 4th, 2007 @ 17:57

  I like thinking of names for people best. I have quite a few original ones but won’t post them here.

  86- Oh. *doesnt know how to make a sad face* I’m not very good at summaries. Thanks for the earlier compliment though.

  90- My dogs name!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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  94

  Alice

  in August 4th, 2007 @ 21:13

  I wrote this on the writing challenge thread, but no one goes there anymore, so I’ll post it here.

  The Mooncat, or, Prove

  It hung like a luminescent pearl in the star-studded heavens. I lay on my back in the sweet-smelling grass and breathed in the summer night. A cricket chirped near my ear. Far away, fireworks exploded with a BOOM! I had been so put out, so disappointed to hear that I should miss the fireworks. But now, staring up at the great opalescent disc that was the Moon, I didn’t care quite so much.
  “Fireworks are flashy things,” spoke a voice near my head. “So loud, so painful to the senses.”
  “Yes,” I said. “But beautiful.”
  “Fireworks are beautiful,” the voice agreed. “But so is the Moon. Fireworks are short-lived. The Moon is Eternal.”
  “Eternal?” I asked. “But soon it will set, and in a little while there will be nothing left at all.”
  “Not so,” said the voice. It was deep and smooth and sleek, and it flowed like a languid river.
  “So,” I replied. “It is not Eternal. It changes to much for that.”
  “Who says that Change cannot be Eternal?” I could hear the capitals as though they were written on paper.
  “Prove it,” I said. “Prove that Eternity can Change.”
  “Very well,” replied the voice gravely. “Turn around.”
  I turned. A huge silver panther sat behind me, Mystery and Magic etched into it’s feline features. In its eyes I saw both Eternity and Change. Still, I refused to believe it.
  “Prove,” I whispered.
  “Get on my back,” said the creature. “I will prove it, if it is proof you want.”
  “It is,” I said, my voice growing stronger. I stood up, suddenly cold in the faint breeze.
  “Then mount. Or are you afraid?” There was the smallest hint of a taunt in these words, a challenge, a dare. I didn’t need one. I mounted. The great beast was smooth and sleek beneath me, and its fur seemed to glow faintly, illuminating my fingers.
  “My name,” it said, “is the Mooncat.”
  I shivered. The word held deep and ancient power. “I am Eliza,” I whispered into its shining ear. “Prove.”
  And it leaped up, up, up, into the heavens, and we danced among the stars, with Leo, and Cassiopeia, and Draco, and then we flew onward, toward the Moon, and I saw. It was Eternal, and yet ever-changing, and it held such magic and power that I laughed and cried at the same time, and I leaned down and said into the Mooncat’s ear,
  “You have proven it. My thanks to you.” And then the Cat flew even closer, and I was afraid.
  “What are you doing?” I cried, and the terror ran like liquid ice in my veins.
  “Proving,” said the Mooncat, and I cried with fear and yet awe at the same time.
  “Stop!” I shouted. “I have seen enough! Do not go further!” But the creature paid me no heed, and when we were so close that I could see each glowing stone, it dove into the Moon.

  White. That was all. Pure, glowing, pearly white. I could not move, I thought, but when I looked down the Mooncat was still beneath me, its silver fur seeming dull and grey in this shining expanse, and my terror abated.
  “I will prove,” said the cat.
  “You have proven,” I said. “You need not prove any further.”
  “I have not proven. What you saw was nothing but an echo of the Moon’s true Eternity and Change. Now be silent.”
  I was silent. And slowly, it began to change. So very subtly, the pure and shining white became silver, and from silver it turned to cold, blue-white ice. And then it was a hue that I have no words to describe, and it could only be called moon-color. It was ever-shifting, ever-changing, and the Mooncat beneath me shifted and changed too, and I felt nothing but deep awe.
  “Now have I proven it?” asked the cat.
  “Yes,” I said simply.
  And the Mooncat turned and bounded away, and we danced home among the stars.

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  95

  Prarilius Canix

  in August 4th, 2007 @ 22:22

  92- Go ahead.

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  96

  Alice

  in August 4th, 2007 @ 22:35

  95- Wow! Thanks!

  Hmm. Does my story need something? Anything? Maybe I’m just hung up on how short it is.

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  97

  biblioRose

  in August 5th, 2007 @ 07:00

  94- I really like it! Its different than your usual style, with more detail.

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  98

  Alice

  in August 5th, 2007 @ 10:18

  97- I wanted to keep a moon-y mood while I was writing it.

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  99

  Alice

  in August 5th, 2007 @ 11:30

  I liked writing that. It was so much more magical and detailed than most of my writing, and so short. I’m going to write more!

  The Changeling, or Golden Rain

  Each raindrop fell like a bead of gold, sparkling in the morning sunlight. Sunlight and rain, a rare and beautiful combination, fell to earth together, twinkling and glinting, turning the garden into a king’s treasure chamber of gold. Once it hit the grass, it was nothing but a small wet drop, but in the moments before…

  Belle pressed her nose to the window, staring out at the golden shower and twining a lock of equally golden hair around her finger. She felt like she should be out there, it was her birthright. She wanted to dance in the rain, to drink the golden drops, to catch them on her fingers and hold them up to the sun to preserve the glitter of the gold.

  And on an impulse, she opened wide the window, fumbling with catch, sliding it up, and climbed out.

  She stood in a bed of vivid scarlet geraniums, but she didn’t notice or care. She had eyes only for the rain, the glorious, shining, rain and the sun that bestowed it with such glory.

  She held out her hands to the heavens, she tilted back her head and caught the raindrops in her mouth, she twirled, laughing, across the wet lawn. Her dress plastered itself to her legs and her curling hair lost all its curl, but she cared not. She was free, she was herself, she was a river whose dam had finally burst, and she flowed strong and hard and she danced a solo ballet in her garden.

  Looking out the window, the woman saw her, dancing in the garden, a delicate, golden, drenched-with-rain sprite, and her heart turned hot and cold with fear. She knew. Rushing to her daughter’s bedroom, she saw the window open, the curtains hanging from the window, their blue cotton the only dull thing on the bright day, and the room smelled of rain and the fresh new world that came with it.

  “NO!” she shrieked, leaning out the window, heedless of everything but her dancing daughter, her dancing daughter who was not her daughter, the laughing changeling, dancing in the garden.

  And then Belle turned around. In her deep green-gold eyes there was nothing but the utmost joy and freedom. “Don’t worry,” she said to her mother. “When you lose a changeling, you get your own child back. Everyone knows that.”

  And the rain stopped. Belle stood for a moment in the garden, motionless, and her mother also was motionless, and they stared into each other’s eyes for one long moment that was less than a second. And then a rainbow came arcing down from the heavens, sparkling with all the colors of a rainbow and more, blues and greens and reds and one pure strand of flawless gold. Belle waved once to the woman who had been her mother for so many years, and then she ran home across the bridge of color, running into the distance on bare feet until the rainbow faded away.

  The rain began again.

  Belle’s mother turned slowly around. The blue curtains, sodden with rain, seemed even duller than before. The whole room seemed dull and oppressive and filled with dark colors, nothing like the delicate fay child who had dwelt here for so long.

  The woman sighed and went back into the kitchen. What was gone was gone, be it your a rainbow or your child. A changeling was never meant to be contained, cooped up, put in a room full of dark colors and fed on peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches. And there was something Belle had said, before she left, faint words which meant nothing to most.

  “Amelia.”

  The woman entered the kitchen. Sitting at the table, dark hair plaited neatly, eating a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, was a child. She looked up.

  “Hello, mother,” she said.

  “Amelia.”

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  100

  biblioRose

  in August 5th, 2007 @ 12:56

  99- Lovely. Perfectly wonderful. I have golden curly hair and like to dance in the rain too! This new detailed writing style is very good.

  The last bud of may

  Rose perched herself on the antiquated stone bench, watching as the opulent, peachy rays of the sun faded to the ebony of night. Even amid the fading light one could tell she was a beautiful girl. With Porcelean skin, saphire almonds for eyes, and plump lips the perfect color of sweet peas ,her appearance was spoiled soley by the melancholy in her expression. being cursed for 400 years tended to have that effect. As she had every night she stroked the tightly closed buds of the flowers willing them to open, nearly convinvcing them with her voice like tinkling glass.
  Sometimes she would remember with fury how she had picked that beautiful, single stem from the garden enhaling its sweet aroma, her nose lost among the pink petals. How the sorceress woman had appeared her black hair like spun cotton, her lips moving like two dried rasberries speaking the curse that would imprison rose until every last bud had unfurled.
  So, like every other night lay waiting, waiting for the last flower to appear, waiting for her freedom from this beautiful prison.

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  101

  Alice

  in August 5th, 2007 @ 14:26

  100- It’s really hard to keep the writing style up. I can only write short bits, ’cause I have to keep a certain mindset.
  That’s a very good piece.

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  102

  Agrrrfishi

  in August 9th, 2007 @ 13:05

  Ok, since i’ve been gone, ive written much. here are some samplings.

  DEAD AND GROUNDED
  Written by Agrrrfishi

  “C’mon, Julia, just a little farther, then you two can head on home.” I sighed. Me and Leslie, my friend that had moved here only a week ago, were following my mom down a winding dirt path that people normally travel on by foot. I guess you could drive a golf cart or a small car down it if you were careful, but I had never seen one. We had driven to the edge of the path, and then begun to walk. The old path wound silently into a dark grove of trees that is the town graveyard. The only building in the graveyard is the one where you register a dead person to be buried, which is the largest gray shadow. Then, there are hundreds of stones in grassy places along more branches of the winding path, and a few large tombed mausoleums. In the daytime, the graveyard is sunny, even cheerful. But now, at night, it seemed creepy and eerie.
  We had come to the cemetery with my mom to water the flowers on my grandfather’s grave, which was farther back, since we live less than a block away and our his closest relatives. We had a long ways to walk, and Leslie and I were happily anticipating our sleepover that would happen tonight. We just had to make a quick stop. As we walked, Leslie turned to me with a smile. “Hey!” she said excitedly. “My brother told me a scary story about this place once that Daddy told him. Want to hear it?” I figured it was a good way to pass the time. “Sure!” I said.
  “Okay,” she began,” but it is freaky. One time very long ago, a girl about our age was coming to the graveyard to think and rest. She enjoyed resting in the graveyard often, when she had nowhere to go. She would sit on the steps of a tomb and think about death. One day, as she was walking slowly down the path, a motorcycle came roaring down the pathway and smashed her, running her through from behind. She died instantly. The girl had nobody who was willing to pay for a funeral or even a coffin and headstone, so two men who worked there took their shovels, dug a hole in the road, and tossed her in. Nobody but the two men is sure where she was buried, but the people who own this place say that on some nights, you can see her sitting on the steps of the mausoleum made of white marble, moaning and wailing, only to disappear in a flash of light.”
  She grinned at me. “Well?” she asked. “Wasn’t that good?” I nodded my head, too absorbed in the story to listen properly. Then I was jolted back to earth by the voice of my mom. “Julia! Come on, I’m done! Let’s go!” I walked obediently down the path towards the two of them, my mom and my best friend, and as the path wound back to our Jeep Liberty, I wondered if the large white shadow of the tomb in the distance really did harbor a spirit…
  That night, Leslie and I sat giggling in my room, watching a Wallace and Grommit movie and thinking about things like the next Lucy Golden album and our newly manicured nails, when Leslie burst out,” I have an idea! Let’s go play a game.” I agreed because I was bored and had nothing to do. “Truth or Dare?” I suggested, and Leslie was keen on the idea. We spent half an hour daring each other to talk to guys and prank call friends, when it was my turn to be dared, then said,” I got it! I dare you to go into the graveyard and see the ghost from the road!” I objected. “No, it’s a waste of time, and my parents would kill me if they caught us.” But Leslie wheedled and prodded and finally I agreed. So we pulled on old jeans and sweatshirts and headed off out my window and down the street.
  The cemetery is never closed, but it was dark, so we brought flashlights for the trip. Leslie walked with me to the gate, and then stopped. “Well, go on” she said. “Wait, aren’t you coming with me?” I asked. “No, this is your dare. I dared you, so you gotta go alone. Just go to the tomb and back, and if you see the ghost, yell and I’ll come running.” I wasn’t too scared. After all, it’s not like there is any such thing as ghosts, right?
  I trudged into the graveyard slowly, choosing my paths carefully and stepping wisely. I finally took a step onto the path that could lead me to the mausoleum. I walked and walked and then I fell with a thud onto the ground. I had tripped over something, and turned back to see what it was. I gasped. It was a headstone that seemed to be scrawled on a piece of broken headstone with a marker, sunk into the dirt about a centimeter. It looked almost new. But what scared me was the inscription. It read: LESLIE JANE COPPERFIELD, 1993-2007, LOVED BY HER FAMILY AND FRIENDS. This was not possible. It couldn’t be Leslie. But it was…
  I started to run toward the tomb, telling myself that there was no such thing as ghosts, there was no such thing as ghosts… And then, there came a faint sound. A wail, frightening and not of this earth, coming from the tomb that sat glistening in the moonlight ahead of me. I crept slowly toward it, arms raised in front of me, and then the wails ceased instantly. Through the wall came a figure, her eyes sunken and dark, more like pits, hair lank about the skull like head, and clothed in white. It was Leslie…
  “Now you know, Julia” she said to me in her faint voice. “Now you know why I have brought you here. Nobody cared about me enough to bury me, Julia. I have no family. I had no friends… until you. You were kind to me, and you will stay with me here, forever, and ever, and ever…” And she grinned, widely, sunkenly, and I began to run. “Julia!” I heard her cry. “Won’t you play with me Julia? Please?” I ran as fast as I could down the dirt path, winding my way, and then I heard a noise. It was a roar, the roar of a speeding engine. There were two great beams of piercing yellow light, and the deep honk of a horn from the vehicle racing towards me…
  And so here I am. My parents don’t know where I am. I don’t know where I am. All I know is that it is dark in here. It’s musty, and smells like the earth, but then again, it should. But hey, why don’t you come and see me some time? Maybe when you’re lonely, and you need some company from all us lonely souls down here. But I’m not saying that you’ll run into one of us anytime soon. After all, there’s no such thing as ghosts. Right?

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  103

  Jadestone

  in August 10th, 2007 @ 11:54

  I came up with an idea for a stor yesterday I might write soon. It’s about when the golden eggs laid by the goose from Jack and the Beanstalk… hatch. o.O

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  104

  Prarilius Canix

  in August 14th, 2007 @ 17:35

  103- That reminds me. I have a story whose outline I’ve plotted out. It’s a fractured fairy tale called Pantagruel’s Ring. I might post it.

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  105

  Prarilius Canix

  in August 14th, 2007 @ 19:22

  Of course, I’ll only post it if somebody wants to read it. I’ll do a short description.
  Pantagruel’s Ring
  Intrigue with a touch of magic, conspiracy with a touch of ditto, sports car made from baked goods. If that’s not enough to recommend it, I might mention the army of gung-ho gingerbread men or the Gruff crime family.

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  106

  Alice

  in August 14th, 2007 @ 20:22

  105- I want to read it!

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  107

  Prarilius Canix

  in August 16th, 2007 @ 19:25

  Pantagruel’s Ring
  You all know of the sorcerer Marcus Dimwood, the man who is now accounted to be the greatest magician in all of Deepforest, Carabas and Wunsaponna. But he was not always so. Listen, while I tell a single chapter in the story of how a young boy ascended to become the one of the wisest and most powerful beings of all time…
  “WAKE UP, MARCUS, YOU MORON!”
  Marcus woke up. In fact, he shot out of bed, landing on the stone floor entangled in his sheet. A great horned owl was perched on his ornate, gargoyle-shaped bedpost, looking thoroughly exasperated.
  “Saraswati… ” he muttered.
  “Yes?” the owl said, clacking her beak.
  “It’s eleven P.M.”
  “I know. And you’ll be late for the Convention if you don’t get off your sorry rear.”
  “Convention? What convention?”
  Saraswati drummed her talons on the gargoyle’s cheek, waiting for the penny to drop.
  Marcus suddenly remembered. “The Convention! Oh, no! If you hadn’t woken me, I’d have missed it!” He ran from the bedroom, the midnight-black bed-sheet still wrapped around him like a toga.
  “You’re welcome,” Saraswati said to empty air, then fluttered after him.

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  108

  Alice

  in August 18th, 2007 @ 01:49

  107- I like it! Write more!

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  109

  Prarilius Canix

  in August 18th, 2007 @ 16:27

  Five minutes later, Marcus appeared somewhat more respectable. A dyeing enchantment had turned his normally brown eyes and hair (not the sort of sinister appearance he wanted) to a deep black.

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  110

  Prarilius Canix

  in August 18th, 2007 @ 17:49

  His outfit was also properly menacing: a swirling black satin cloak, with black breeches and a black leather jerkin beneath it. A belt with an ornate silver buckle completed the ensemble.
  “That is so out of date,” Saraswati remarked as he emerged from the dressing room. “Seriously, black was in fashion back when Ahriman was still a mewling demonlet.”
  “If it was good enough for sorcerers back then, it’s good enough for me,” Marcus replied. “Besides, last time you gave me a fashion tip- ”
  “Oh yes. The Incident. I swear, it was nothing to do with me. Galen said they were the latest thing.”
  “Your screech owl friend Galen needs to figure out the difference between sorcerers and witches. People are still calling me Pinky.”

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  111

  Alice

  in August 18th, 2007 @ 18:00

  Haha.

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  112

  Prarilius Canix

  in August 18th, 2007 @ 21:52

  Marcus strode onto the launching platform at the top of the tower, Saraswati following him. It was utterly spotless. It had to be: sorcerers his age usually left their masters and set up house in ominously brooding fortresses in the thickest part of Deepforest. Unfortunately, Marcus was a bit low on cash, and had to rent a small tower in a rather treeless and sunny clearing. It didn’t exactly brood, either. It was only five stories high, and somewhat crooked. But it was all he had, and he was determined to keep it in excellent condition.
  “Come on, Sara,” he said.
  “What, me? Aren’t you the one going to the Convention?”
  “Of course, but this is my first one!”
  “I know. You’re 13, so you’re old enough to go. That still doesn’t explain why I have to come.”
  “I need to make a good first impression.”
  “On who?” Saraswati winked at him.
  “Well- the senior Witches and Sorcerers, of course.”
  “Sure it’s not just Aleksandra you want to impress?” The owl nudged him playfully with one wing.
  Marcus’s face reddened. “Sara- shut up.”
  “C’mon! I’ve seen you staring at her-”
  “SHUT UP!” Marcus snapped his fingers, and his staff appeared in his hand. He leveled it at the owl and let off a small thunderbolt.
  “Ooh, sensitive, are we?” Saraswati said, rearranging her scorched feathers.

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  113

  Jadestone

  in August 21st, 2007 @ 13:06

  Haha, that’s funny. You should continue it/continue to post it.

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  114

  Prarilius Canix

  in August 21st, 2007 @ 17:43

  “Just get up here,” Marcus grumbled. Saraswati obliged him, fluttering up and perching on his shoulder. “All right,” she said. “Now get out the magic carpet, and away we go.”
  “The carpet!” Marcus exclaimed, and a look of horror crossed his face. “I forgot! It’s in the shop!”
  “Well, now you remember. You have a broom?”
  “Of course not! I’d look like a sissy riding one of those! There’s only one option left. We’ll have to travel by weather.”
  “Whip up a Thunderstorm,” the owl suggested. “We’ll arrive in plenty of time.”
  “Sara, you know I can’t do a Thunderstorm yet. The only things I can manage are Whirlwind and Gale, and even those are going to be tricky in these conditions.”
  “Weren’t you working on Blizzard?”
  “I can’t get the hang of it. It always turns into Rainstorm, and you can’t travel in one of those. Not if you don’t want your cloak all soggy.”
  “Gale, then?”
  “With all these crosswinds, it’ll be slow and hard to manage. I’ll try Whirlwind.”
  With that, he slammed the tip of his staff into the exact center of the turret’s floor. “Enolcyc! Em yebo!” he cried.
  Nothing happened for a moment. Then the tip of the staff began smoldering and glowing. Three trails of smoke drifted up from it. But instead of dissipating, they began to swirl around him, thickening as they accelerated. A wild feeling of power rushed through Marcus’s limbs.
  “It’s supposed to be going widdershins, you know,” Saraswati added from his shoulder.
  “This is going to be hard enough without backseat driving,” Marcus replied through gritted teeth.

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  115

  Prarilius Canix

  in August 22nd, 2007 @ 18:14

  The whirlwind lifted off, and Marcus’s ears popped. He settled into a cross-legged position (traditional when traveling by whirlwind) with his staff held at an angle, directing the wind currents.
  The first half of the trip passed without incident. Deepforest, the greatest and last haven of the Dark, flew by below him. The stars twinkled above him like gnome-silver dust scattered on a fate-woven cloak.
  Saraswati was the first to notice something wrong, though she couldn’t put her talon on it. It made her uneasy, and she shifted restlessly on Marcus’s shoulder.
  Then the young sorcerer noticed that his staff was trembling. He tried to quiet it, but the shaking only grew more violent. And as it did, the whirlwind began to slip out of control.
  “I told you it should be spinning widdershins!” Saraswati yelled, before jumping off his shoulder and extending her wings, hoping to ride out the ensuing storm.
  Five minutes later, the whirlwind had grown into a full-blown tornado. Marcus was hurled every which way, tree branches and fence posts striking him painfully. Saraswati fared better. Her wings allowed her to ride the gusts, and her head spun in the opposite direction to the cyclone to keep from getting dizzy.
  Marcus’s memory of the catastrophe was somewhat fuzzy. At some point, his cloak had ripped away, and then entangled his arms with his staff. A large hanging tree (thankfully, nobody was dangling from it at the moment) had been sucked up by the merciless winds, and the noose had cinched around his legs, leaving him unable to move independently.
  His next memory was of Saraswati screaming in his face. “How do you stop this thing?” He told her the correct incantation through flapping lips, and she recited it, gripping the staff so hard that her claws left marks.
  Then Marcus found himself suddenly still. He was vaguely aware that his dyeing spell had malfunctioned, and his hair was changing color. All the blood had inexplicably rushed to his head, and that combined with his recent gyrations produced a disagreeable effect.
  He threw up, and watched in amazement as his half-digested dinner rose above his head to land with a splatter on the stone ceiling.
  He slowly came to realize that he was upside down.
  Marcus was hanging outside a massive stone building that looked vaguely familiar, but the inverted view made it hard to place. The free end of the hangman’s noose had caught on the granite fang of a large gargoyle. His staff was wedged between his arms in a roughly horizontal position. Saraswati perched on one end, not a feather out of place.
  “The good news,” she said, “is that we’re at the Convention on time. The bad news… ”
  And then the frayed rope finally broke, and Marcus fell twelve feet straight down into an ornamental kelpie pond.

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  116

  Alice

  in August 22nd, 2007 @ 18:57

  That’s great! I can’t wait to read the next installment!

  In the meantime, I’ve got to figure out how to describe an auto-librarian.

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  117

  Robert Coontz (Administrator)

  in August 24th, 2007 @ 09:44

  agagabagabag has just sent us the first chapter of his philosophy book:

  Buddhameyoga
  Chapter One: The beginning of our part of the universe to what people generally know about pre-history

  It would be inappropriate to start my writings off with “In the beginning”, because the theory that I believe is most probable one is that the universe is a never ending cycle of an unimaginably large group of matter consisting of orderly but somewhat random components stretching out to its greatest limits and then retracting into a microscopic ball of great density over a span of many billion years. This chain is infinite and was not created by any being; it simply just existed and will forever exist, unless some force of seemingly impossible power should accidentally intervene. This is no great danger for our part of the cycle, for due to the theory of relativity, it would take such a force so much time, unless it could travel a seemingly infinite amount times the speed of light, that our planet’s matter would already be recycled into the next link of the chain.

  Life is purely a random quality. We will never know if universes prior to ours have contained it, or if it will exist in a future universe, but it is likely that there has been something similar in a previous one. For all we know, our cells once belonged to some past alien and we are in a sense, all reincarnations of planets, stars, gas clouds, or some foreign unimaginable objects.

  However, in expansion of matter that brought the incredible, beautiful, quality of life into our universe, a proportionally small bit of hydrogen gas experienced a fusing of its atoms, flattened out, and sent a fiery halo into space. When all this calmed down, the thing that we owe everything to, the sun, came into being. A cosmic speck, our sun soon gathered many bits of matter around it, and those bits of matter combined to form the planets of our solar system. Those essentially less evolved forms of matter orbited the sun in the forms of the asteroid belt and the Kuiper belt.

  The third planet from the sun was covered in molten lava. Colliding pieces of rock and ice collided to envelope the lava in land and sea, and this was when life started on Earth.

  Many people say that humans can exist on Earth because it can support life. I believe that in the universe, there are many other forms of life that are either far too small or too large to see, and that Earth’s properties merely shape what its life forms are like physically.

  Life on Earth started as simple chemicals reacting off of each other that created functions. These chemicals grew larger and packed closely together to create the first cells; likewise, these cells bonded together to make the first plants. Since the atmosphere consisted mainly of carbon dioxide, these chemicals often consisted of it and plants adapted to take it in, breaking it down and excreting just the oxygen. This pure oxygen mixed with iron, creating the air we currently breathe.

  Back in the water, plants started to mutate and grow into different varieties, which evolved so that certain parts had certain functions. Earth had the first worms, complete with brains and organs. These worms branched off into many species, the most dominant ones called the trilobites. The trilobites were shelled creatures that would eat almost anything. They ruthlessly fought other animals, which goes to show that humans haven’t been the only animals to unfairly dominate the environment. However, we may be forced back into caves by some animal with an all new evolutionary feature, because some time into the trilobite reign, the first fish evolved. The early fishes had the first backbones, which made fish faster and stronger than anything else. These fish ventured onto land, where they evolved to breathe the oxygen with iron in it and became the first amphibians. These evolved into lizards, which evolved into birds and mammals, and it is then that people’s general knowledge of ancient time begins: the time of the dinosaurs. I will go no further, because most people have a decent grasp of what happened from there on until the present unless they are orthodox Christians.

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  118

  Jadestone

  in August 24th, 2007 @ 12:53

  I thought the first suspected life forms had been plant- and animal-like fungi, not plants? Anyway, from the excerpt it sounds good. Although you used both ‘fish’ and ‘fishes’ in the plural in the last paragraph, though both are correct maybe just stick to one to keep it consistent?

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  119

  agagabagabag zepata

  in August 24th, 2007 @ 14:04

  118- Gotcha. *scribles madly*

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  120

  the man for aeiou

  in August 24th, 2007 @ 16:29

  117- wow!

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  121

  Prarilius Canix

  in August 24th, 2007 @ 16:50

  I would remove “orthodox Christians.” It doesn’t really add anything to your philosophy, and it could offend a lot of people.

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  122

  Agrrrfishi

  in August 24th, 2007 @ 23:13

  I desperately need to write fantasy. NOW NOW NOW!
  _______________________________________

  A lady sat already by the side of the glowing crystal pool. She was fair, her skin with no flaws, her hair flowing, dark as the midnight skies upon her back. Her robes blended with the forest, darkest green, but in some ways she was not there. The edges of her delicately shaped figure were blurred, as though watercolours run in with the slightest tricle of moisture, and she seemd to be a part of the forest itself.
  As Tiotso approached the tree nearest to the crystal pool, she tensed immediately. She perked, sitting like an arrow. She turned that way, and then her lips moved, forming words.

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  123

  agagabagabag zepata

  in August 24th, 2007 @ 23:28

  121- Sorry, it stays. I don’t care about offending, and it gets a lot worse in that department.

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  124

  Agrrrfishi

  in August 25th, 2007 @ 07:24

  117_I forgot to comment on a very good descriptive job. Well done!
  I’ve been writing more scary short stories than ever. My friends say they’re good, but they’re people who’ve known me my whole life. So I REALLY need some feedback. I want to write when i grow up, and if my stories are a flop, well, I oughtta know early. Hold onto your hats, cuz THIS one’s a little scary, if I do say so myself.
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
  This Final Resting Place

  “There’s so much history here, honey. I can’t believe how lucky we are to be able to visit a place so old.” My mom was talking to me as we walked through a pair of oaken doors, worn down to a few inches of old, termite-infested wood, and so high I could barely see where they ended, near the roof. On the battered roof stood a battered old bell steeple, decaying and old, and underneath, a marble angel covered in lichen, holding a cross in her outstretched fingers. This church was so old I could barely imagine how it must have looked when it was built, sometime in the Civil War era, I didn’t know exactly when. Anyway, it was a good sightseeing spot to visit on our vacation to Georgia, so we decided to come in a little later than we had planned, because of how late dinner went.
  My long, dark plait thumped my back as we walked, side by side into the church. The entrance room was small and dimly lit by a lamp hanging over our heads. The smell of the place was too musty. I wondered why they didn’t put an air freshener in here. The wood below our feet had obviously been renovated many, many years ago. It creaked and groaned under our weight. A threadbare carpet was laid under a statue of the Virgin Mary, her head bowed in prayer over her folded hands. I was surprised that we seemed to be the only visitors, except for an old man. He was hunched precariously over a large sign, protected by a layer of plasti-glass. He polished the glass fervently with a worn old cloth, pausing every so often and dipping the cloth once more into a barrel of smelly glass cleaner that made my head feel light and dizzier than the musty smell did.
  We walked over to the man, and my mother asked, ”Sir, where are all the other people? Isn’t this church on exhibit?” The man turned around, apparently surprised that someone was here. He nodded fervently, the snowy hair on his head shaking with him as he went. Then after a moment of thinking, he shook his head no. “It’s after the late hour, madam. But if you like, you’re free to look around. Just don’t step on anything breakable, and handle the objects carefully.”
  My mother leaned over by the man to read the now gleaming sign. She read it aloud to me.”This is the Hoberwood Church, erected as a shelter for many, but as a resting place for final few.” She turned to the old man. “Resting place for few? What does that mean?” And the man smiled at her, revealing yellowed teeth. “I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me that question for a very long time” he said to us, and then began to speak again.
  “ When they first built this church, it was used mainly by the poor black souls who needed a resting place on their long journeys to freedom. Then it was hidden away by trees, some of which still remain, so that no white men could find them. Only they knew where to come, because the freedom givers told them so. One dark night, only a few days after this church was built, a woman came in through the storm and gale, bursting through the front doors as if she was on fire. The men who had begun to work in the church rushed to her. They could barely get a sensible word out of her. And clutched in her arms was a little girl, six or seven, wrapped in a blanket and paler than Death himself. She died soon after she was brought into the church, and her mother could not be consoled. Now the men could not define her in any way, and they had no money to give the poor soul proper burial. So, right a few nights after, one man took a hammer from the wall and pulled up the floor, and they buried the girl right under the church wrapped in that same blanket. Then they sealed the floor back up, and nobody ever questioned them again.
  But many years later, the same two men who buried her disappeared right out of nowhere on their watch, and neither were ever seen again. It was a deep puzzle, and all who worked in the church wee frightened. But none of them would dare look under the floorboards, in fear of what might be found there. And so the tale was told, down through every generation, and when the church was made a standing tourist attraction, the workers told the story to everyone who came in and out. And they still say that the ghostly little girl haunts this place every so often, pulling poor people back beneath the floor with her.”
  The man finally stopped. My mother had a horrible look on her face. “That’s absolutely terrible that they didn’t take time to give her any sort of funeral! I’m appalled that the mother would allow it!” But the old man said, ”She had no idea, because she left that night, and nobody ever saw her again. Now feel free to look around.” So my mother and I walked up the aisle, past rows of very old pews, and to the table that stood on an ornate rug, where they put the wine and bread of Christ. I wondered to myself if I was standing where those men stood years ago. The thought scared me, and I jumped away from where I was immediately.
  My mother said, ”Hon, I’m going upstairs to look at the artifacts. You coming?” I shook my head .”I’m gonna stay a little longer, okay?” She agreed, and walked up the staircase to the second floor that was the loft. I turned around and said, ”Hey mister, where did you say that girl was buried again?” But to my surprise, the old man was nowhere to be seen. I walked back down the aisle into the entrance room. There were no doors. Where could he possibly have gone? I walked to the doors and pushed. And then I gasped. The doors had been chained shut! I tugged and pulled but they wouldn’t budge one inch. I called out to the top floor. “MOM!” I shouted. There was no answer. I ran to the staircase and dashed up the wooden slats that were steps, curving to another floor.
  I ran down a hallway on one side of the church wall .There were framed objects, a kettle, a frying fan, some old clothes. I kept calling out for Mother, but nobody answered me. Then I saw a large opening in the wall with a pane of glass across the opening. It gave me a full view into the church. And there, kneeling by the table where the gifts were supposed to be, was a little girl, short, with a braid down her back and a scraggly black dress. Her head was bowed in prayer. I walked back down the hallway to the stairs, calling for Mother. Then, as I walked down the wooden stairs, I caught a glimpse of the girl’s face. I screamed.
  Sunken red eyes stared at me from a skull with strips of blackish skin clinging loosely to it. Bony hands curved from prayer to reach toward the altar, dragging the bony figure upward to stand. Clawed feet poked out of rags, and black, pointed teeth were bared at me, a pointed white tongue slitting through the cave of a mouth. The creature let out a horrible, unearthly cry, screeching and wailing and heading toward me. It moved so fast I could hardly believe it I tried to run, but I felt glues to the spot by those horrible eyes, such an unnatural shade of red. In a moment, those cold claws had me around my neck. I saw a dark hole, and then there was nothing to see.
  To this day, they tell the story of two girls haunting the church, one wrapped in a black dress clutching a blanket, the other with a dark plait down her back.

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  125

  Alice

  in August 29th, 2007 @ 10:19

  117- In the fourth paragraph, you used colliding and collided twice in one sentence, which sounds slightly redundant. Sorry. I won’t nitpick it anymore; I just had to say that. *reads the rest* Hmm. Yes, it’s good. I agree with Canix, though: that last bit makes it sound kind of immature and will probably offend someone.

  I’ll read and critique Agrrrfishi’s in a minute.

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  126

  Alice

  in August 29th, 2007 @ 22:08

  124- Oh. :wideeyes: That’s scary.

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  127

  I, man-gator

  in August 30th, 2007 @ 23:13

  117-hmm yes, that makes me grumpy…how will it forever be if it has been proven that there was a “big bang”
  126-eh, I’ve seen worse.
  Now for my french script, for french! Note:my name in french is Monsieur Pomme de terre(mister potato)It’s based off that

  Andre:Pomme de terre!
  PDT:Ben oui?
  I’ll finish it later-I have to go

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  128

  Alice of the Blackberries

  in August 30th, 2007 @ 23:51

  127- I’ve seen worse too, but it’s still scary. If I was scared by that kind of thing, which I’m not.

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  129

  Jadestone

  in August 31st, 2007 @ 11:48

  Eh, spooky stories don’t really get to me. It was well-written though.

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  130

  Kiki the Great

  in August 31st, 2007 @ 18:01

  BEGINNING OF (I THINK) GOOD STORY:

  With my head held high and my purple messenger bag at just the right angle to my body, I walked proudly into Antoine Morrison Junior High. All the kids rushing along the hallways and struggling to open their lockers stopped and stared. I expected nothing less.
  I had been the most popular girl in school since third grade, and everyone knew it. Even some of the kids in the grade above me respected my status. My clothes were always in style, my curly blonde hair was always neatly parted and combed, and my accessories (to quote my friend Amanda) were to die for.
  My locker was upstairs, so I climbed the steps and watched the throng of schoolkids part like the Red Sea as I walked through. I reached my locker, number 497, and confidently twirled in my combination. 12-34-46, I thought, as I recalled the five minutes for the past three days I had spent memorizing those numbers.
  The bell rang as my pink-and-gold watch beeped gently, signaling the beginning of first period. Without even bothering to check my schedule, I strode down the hall into Mr. Ramsayer’s sixth grade classroom. Like the kids in the hall, the whole class stared in wonder at me and my (might I say) fabulous outfit. Mr. Ramsayer, on the other hand, didn’t even glance in my direction. Without even looking up from his computer screen, he announced in a loud voice,
  “You are late, Ms. Marcus. Detention.”
  The whole class again stared at me, but this time it wasn’t in admiration. I could feel my face turn red in embarrassment as a bout of whispering spread throughout the students.
  “Sit down, Ms. Marcus,” said Mr. Ramsayer. “You are not a stick insect.”
  With my cheeks burning and my eyes staring at the ground, I took my seat.

  During recess and lunch, when I should’ve been hanging out and gossiping with my best friends, Lisa, Amanda, Terri, and Shelly, I was sitting in the detention room in the basement, writing the social studies essay that Ms. Weinberg had set for us. It actually wasn’t due till Friday, but I had nothing better to do. Hopefully, the whole sixth grade would forget this little “incident”, and I would be back at the top by tomorrow. Hopefully.
  ________________________

  IT IS A FANTASY STORY. REALLY.

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  131

  agagabagabag

  in August 31st, 2007 @ 18:34

  125- Gotcha. But the saying that it will offend people misses the point of the book. You have to read more. I e-mailed the GAPAs the rest of what I have so far.
  Gimanator- I have done research, and there’s nothing wrong with it. You have to read the whole thing before talking about offending. People deserve to know the truth, even if it means they must be offended.

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  132

  I, man-gator

  in August 31st, 2007 @ 18:54

  hmm…truth by your standards…and consider your age! though I will read the rest of the book…grump.

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  133

  agagabagabag

  in August 31st, 2007 @ 19:22

  Yes, by my standards. But don’t you agree that people deserve to know the truth, no matter what it is? And this won’t be my last book.

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  134

  I, man-gator

  in August 31st, 2007 @ 19:30

  if they want to know it. They can refuse it if they want. Thats part of their free will. Hmm…*thinks about insulting agagabagabags books*…okay…

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  135

  Prarilius Canix

  in September 1st, 2007 @ 15:10

  “Did they get all the kelpies off?” Saraswati asked. “They’re tricky little blighters.”
  “Shut up, Sara,” Marcus said for the third time that day, as they took their seats in the Magicians’ Quarter.
  The Convention Hall, more formally known as the Mandala Court, was an amphitheater of black marble, divided into four sections. To the right of the Magicians’ Quarter was the Nearhumans’ Quarter, currently filled by a jostling mass of vampires, werewolves, giants, ogres, trolls, dwarves, and various other creatures that could have passed for human had they possessed less hair, or blunter teeth, or been three feet taller or shorter. Past them was the Demons’ Quarter, and beyond that, the Monsters’, noisiest and brightest of all, with chimeras, gryphons and firedrakes fighting over the far too little space.
  In the center of the amphitheater was a large black table. A moonstone sat on it, reflecting the light of the greater moon above.

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  136

  Kiki the Great

  in September 1st, 2007 @ 17:39

  READ MY STORRYYY

  please?

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  137

  widdershins

  in September 1st, 2007 @ 19:22

  Half written ages ago, half written in a burst of inspiration after reading Axa’s on the Writing Challenge thread. Voila, here you go:

  Melanie sat in her room and stared at the maps cloaking the bare white walls, bookshelves lining what was not covered by maps and thought of the ideas she had never seen, the places she had never been to. She had read many of the books, yet there were so many others and the ones she saw reminded her of that. The maps, though some were of places she had been to too many times, reminded her of all the places she had not set foot in. She wished that she could see everything and it hurt her to know that she couldn’t. She walked to the window and looked out onto the tree-lined street and sighed. The orange leaves descending from the trees echoed her feelings exactly. As soon as they reach their peak of color, they fall.

  Only… they don’t quite fall. No, they tumble, they dance, they leap. If they fall, there’s a certain joy in that fall forming a descent that is bittersweet.

  Descending from her perch, the refuge of the attic window of her room, Melanie joined the wild, swirling, swift dance. Out wandering leaf-strewn paths, whorls of falling leaves dancing in the wind. Flying, falling. Memories half-lost, occurances not yet encountered, swirling, whirling, surrounding her with past and half-forgotten joys, experiances kept hidden, secret. Everchanging moments, fallen as leaves and kicked aside by passing feet. Melanie twirls, laughing in the wild wind and whorls of leaves. There is beauty in the fall as well, one just has to know where to look.

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  138

  Kagcomix the Special

  in September 2nd, 2007 @ 16:36

  i don’t have time to read everyones right now. i just knda want to talk about writing.

  i want to start writing again. sometimes i write bits of stuff. the thing is i don’t like writing dialogue. hmmm… lets see if i have anything to post *goes and checks computer* yeah. i did this a while ago. it’s about an assasine team called Death’s Messengers. I was goofing around with super heroes and stuff at the time. it’s not done. but please give me some feedback.

  A girl about 16 enters my room. She sits down in the chair facing me. She stairs at the floor, I can tell she wants to cry. I look her over. The long gloves pulled up to her elbows are the only hint of her deadly secret.
  The girl sitting in front of me is Nightshade (no other name given), one of the most deadly assassin group “Death’s Messengers”. Nightshade can kill by touching some one with her right hand and torture anyone she touches with her left hand. I open my mouth and she looks up.
  “Nightshade, what can you tell me about your ability?” I ask, neither of us seems eager to get to the point. She mumbles something.
  “Sorry?” I say, I need her to speak up. She clears her throat.
  “I was eleven. It was my birthday. It was just after I opened my presents, after we’d eaten the cake.” She stopped. I could see tears forming in her eyes but she quickly rubbed them away. “I was hugging my parents, a family hug. That’s when…” she ended with a strangled sob.
  “My mother was killed first. My dad started screaming. I touched him with my right hand and then he… then he… then he…”
  “Died?” I offer. She breaks down. I wait.
  “When I figured out what happened I ran. I was living on the street when Alicia found me. She welcomed me into Death’s Messengers. She gave me the love I had been missing in those five months after my parents… I hated myself; I hated what I could do. I still do I guess. But Alicia was like a mother to me. When I turned 15 she let me join Death’s Messengers for real. I would never do anything to her. Never, I loved her!” she starts sobbing again and I offer her a tissue. Nightshade blows her nose but keeps her head down.
  “So you are saying you didn’t kill Alicia Brown alias Danger Girl?” I ask.
  “Never!” she practically screams at me.
  “Who do you think hated her enough to do it? Or do you think it was an accident? I mean it was certainly set up that way, Alicia in the training room with a knife through her chest. You all practice throwing knives and assorted weapons I believe?”
  “Knife.” Nightshade replies. I know who she’s talking about. Jack “Knife” Mcmaun, another assassin. Knife hated having to compete with Death’s messengers but as much as I hated to admit it he was clean.
  “He’s clean.” I tell her, “He was no where near your headquarters that night. There are witnesses.” Nightshade doesn’t look convinced and looking down at my watch I realize our time is up.

  I walked into the lady’s office. I don’t remember what her name was. It started with a “c” or a “k”. I don’t know. She started asking me questions about my “powers”. Powers? They’re more like a curse. You see, the thing is, my name is Nightshade. I am one of the deadliest humans alive. I can kill with my right hand and torture with my left. I hate it. I wish it all had never happened. I wish I could run away from it all, but I can’t.
  The reason I was in the lady’s office is because there was a murder. I’m a suspect. We all are. Marie, me, Kitty, Bea and Alicia were part of Death’s Messengers but since Alicia’s death things haven’t been the same.
  I didn’t kill Alicia. She was like a mother to me. When I was living in the darkest alleyways she took me in and helped me. Alicia was the nicest person. She loved the colour blue, although her costume was always red and black. She knew just the thing to cheer everybody up. She also loved to sing.
  I think that a man named knife killed her. He was our rival. But way before that, about 10 years ago, he and Alicia were going to be married but Alicia found out that he was a cold blooded murderer, not an accountant as he claimed to be, and she broke it off. After about 3 years of continually trying to kill her he stopped and settled down. I guess he had had enough and just wanted to retire or he was waiting for the perfect chance. I think he got it because now Alicia alias Danger Girl is dead.

  I look down at my clip board and turn the page marking, as I do so, unlikely suspect on Nightshades sheet. I look at the new sheet: Marie St.Clair, alias Marieme was trained as an assassin by her father. St.Clair joined the group Death’s Messengers at the age of 15. lives with the other members of the group.
  There is a knock on my door and in walks Marie St.Clair.

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  139

  Kagcomix the Special

  in September 2nd, 2007 @ 16:39

  this is realy bad. but mabe someone will like it. sorry for the double post.

  Copernicus

  Copernicus was the last. The last of the dragons. Copernicus knew this and he began to cry.

  IF YOU ARE AN ENDANGERED SPECIES…
  READ THIS
  What to do when your population is dwindling.

  Rule #1: Don’t let this happen.
  Rule #2: Make sure you have food.

  Copernicus shut the book.
  ‘Stupid author,’ he thought. Obviously the Moeritherium who wrote this had never been in this situation.

  Dear Diary,
  I am hungry. No one has been here since last month and that was the old mailman. There is a castle nearby but that is where Natasha got dead last year.
  Copernicus, the Hungry

  Natasha…a tear hit the floor…Natasha was…had been his sister. A time of hunger hit then too but it wasn’t as bad as now.

  Ooo…
  Hungry…

  With these last thoughts he drifted off to sleep.

  Tap-tap-tapity-tap!
  Who dared to knock on a dragon’s door? Copernicus moved slowly towards the door. The pain of hunger was unbearable.

  Creak…
  No one…
  Hungry…

  Dear Diary,
  Today a goat wandered into the cave. It was plump and juicy. I’m not so hungry any more.
  Copernicus the Goat Eater

  More goats came. There must have been a heard nearby but soon they ran out.

  Rule #2: Make sure you have food.

  Dear Diary,
  My stomak grumbles no more. The goats were good.
  Copernicus, the Full

  Copernicus was content; the hole in his stomach was filled. Now he could hunt. He lumbered to the cave entrance.

  Thirsty…

  The river would be his first stop. Copernicus unfolded his wings.

  Oh… how long ago…

  He rose shaky but strong above the trees. His wings were weak.
  Must strengthen…

  Slowly he flew to the river, his wings creaking like the hinges of a forgotten door. Today he would drink. Tomorrow he would hunt.
  Thump!
  Oh! How good the grass felt. The cool water rushed down his throat.
  Ah!
  Once again his stiff wings opened. Up he rose and headed over the fields towards his home.
  Horses… Tomorrow…

  His landing was much smoother this time.

  Rule #3: Always have a good supply of water.

  When Copernicus awoke he was stiff, confused.

  Food…

  But where?

  Whatever told him to…
  I don’t…
  We don’t…
  He don’t… Mistakes are made.

  Copernicus opened his wings. Stiff wings. Slowly he mounted. He couldn’t manage to go fast enough to have the wind whip his face. Slowly… the place… the village… the castle… loomed nearer. He was now nearly over top of it.
  BANG!
  Pain ripped through his body, blinding him momentarily. Copernicus bent his head back and released a sound that was truly horrible. It resembled the cry of a dying moose, a cat with its tail stepped on, and an elephant.
  As he fled he heard a voice rise from below.
  ‘You shot it? That was a dragon, the last dragon.’

  

  Copernicus was in excruciating pain. He could barely move, let alone hunt.
  Oh… pain… ungn…
  Copernicus just lay there. He couldn’t move without the open wound in his shoulder hurting him. Every time he moved pain tore at his body.
  Copernicus lay there whimpering; then slowly, painfully drifted off to sleep.

  

  Rule #4: Don’t get mortally wounded.

  Stupid Moeritherium.
  Copernicus pounded his fist on the floor and screamed in agony as pain shot through his body.
  Ooo… Tears hit the floor.
  Copernicus was in too much pain to notice a girl enter the cave and walk towards him.

  

  The girl was one of those people who know more than they show. The girl knew a lot. The girl was especially knowledgeable in the ways of mythical beasts. Her name was Rose.

  

  Rose walked swiftly towards Copernicus.
  Friend?
  ‘I am your friend. I will help you,’ Rose slowly told Copernicus.
  Pain…
  ‘I know you are in pain. The best thing to do is to remove the bullet.’

  Rule #5: Remove any weapons that have harmed you.

  For once the Moeritherium had something useful to say.

  Dear Rose,
  I trust you. Please heal me. I hurt. You must help me live for I am the last.
  Copernicus, the Trusting

  

  Rose was ready. He was ready. It would hurt. ‘Ready’ was all Rose said before plunging her hand into the wound.
  Copernicus let out the sound of the moose, the cat and the elephant except this time it was fifty times greater.
  It was over. It was done. Rose held the bullet triumphantly in her blood soaked hand; then she was sick.

  

  A smell woke Copernicus.
  Food… Mmm…
  Rose was cooking breakfast.
  Meat…
  Horse meat it was.
  ‘ Copernicus.’ He turned his head to look at Rose. Pain shot through his arm. ‘Copernicus,’ she said again. ‘I think you’re dying.’ A moan escaped his lips and echoed through the cave. Tears hit the floor but this time they weren’t just his own.

  Dear Diary,
  I don’t want to die. I must live or all the dragons will be gone.
  Copernicus, the Dieing

  

  Rule #6: Try not to die.

  Stupid Moeritherium.
  Grief took over. Tears flooded the page causing the ink to smudge.

  Rule #6: Try  to die.
  .
  This brought more tears.

  Rule #6: Try 

  

  Rose had been hunting. Now she returned dragging the carcass of a horse.
  Food… Mmm…

  Dear Diary,
  I am dieing. I can barely write, let alone eat. Rose kooks the meat good.
  Copernicus, the Helpless

  Rose knew he was weakening. She didn’t want him to go. He needed… nothing could help him now. Rose walked towards Copernicus.
  Friend…
  Copernicus licked her hand.

  Rule #6: Try 

  ‘Oh Copernicus!’ she wrapped her arms around his thick neck and sobbed long and hard. That was the last time she cried while he was alive.

  

  After that things went downhill. Copernicus could barely move. Rose was near tears. He tried to cheer her up by humming an out of tune rendition of Heartbreak Hotel. I feel so lonely baby, I feel so lonely baby, I feel so lonely I could die.
  The day was so short and Rose grieved for soon his time would come.

  Rule #7: When your time comes be proud.

  Dear Diary,
  This will be my last entry. I feel that my time on Earth is ending. I shall soon be seeing my family. I will for sure miss Rose.
  Copernicus, the Last

  Copernicus wasn’t grief stricken at all about his spirit leaving Earth because he would be seeing his family.
  Rose…
  His tears fell for the last time.

  

  That night they sat together for the last time, side by side. Copernicus drifted off to sleep quickly but Rose stayed awake, listening to his rattling breath beside her until it finally slowed and stopped. Rose buried her head in his chest and let the tears flow.

  

  Copernicus awoke. No pain was in his shoulder; the wound was healed. He seemed to be flying. Copernicus looked down and he saw a girl crying over the carcass of a dragon. Wait, he had been the last dragon. The dragon down below must be him and the girl must be Rose. Poor Rose. Copernicus kept flying, flying towards the light.

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  140

  Kagcomix the Special

  in September 2nd, 2007 @ 16:45

  WOW. really sorry about the tripple post but i think this is funny. i found it on my computer:

  Things to Know About People or how to Know When They Are Mocking You

  Remember: half the time people say “I like your new sweater!” they are mocking you. Here are several tips to help you through life:

   Always think carefully when someone gives you a compliment. Consider their facial expression and tone of voice.
   Never ever forget that all people have some sort of evil in them. We are very good at lying.
  Don’t ever reveal any personal information, such as your name, age and date of birth.
  When asked “How was your day?” always answer “Good.” or “Fine.” because they quite honestly don’t care.
  Don’t get close with anyone. If you are friendless then you are a step ahead of me.
  Friends are a thing of the past. They make you look bad.

  If you have been dim enough to read the above points because I forced them in your face… TOO BAD. Maybe you’ll be dim enough to follow them, or maybe yet, dim enough to live by those points. If so, I laugh at you, Dim One. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
  Did I hurt your feelings? So sorry!! I really didn’t mean it.giggleNo, that was not me giggling.
  For all of you who have decided to live by my rules, please disregard the following message:

  By following these rules I do not guarantee happiness in life. The one thing I can guarantee is unhappiness and no fun. 

  For the rest of you:

  I hope my advice will lead to a new and not necessarily improved you. 

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  141

  Kagcomix the Special

  in September 3rd, 2007 @ 11:51

  130- I enjoyed that a lot. you’re realy good. keep writing.

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  142

  Alice of the Blackberries

  in September 4th, 2007 @ 10:30

  139- Not too bad. You need to break up certain parts, and write it in present tense, but it’s actually quite good in a weird way.

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  143

  I, man-gator

  in September 5th, 2007 @ 20:23

  I just read some LOTR and I feel in a writing mood…ahhh…that’s always a good feeling…
  —————————————————————————–

  Amy rode quickly. The wind was rough, and her robes whipped her in the face, but her olshgash was fast, and she had a strong will. She breathed deeply from inside her googles and mask. Her breath was slowly fogging up her googles as she rode, and the moisture was dripping on her nose. Even worse, her candles seemed to dim as she rode and she had trouble seeing in front of her.
  She grumbled to herself. Why had she chosen the harder job? She could have just picked an easy one, after all she had gotten first pick. But no, she had to rise to the challenge and ride through ternitia(pronounced ter ‘nish ia) to deliver the candlewax. She really had to stop herself from doing that, it was getting to be a problem.
  Amy was paying so much attention to her faults that she didn’t notice as a candle on her mount went out. The large fishlike creature was startled by this occurence, though, and turned it’s head. Neither of them were paying attention, now, so neither of them should have been very surprised when the olshgash’s foot hit a very prominent granite rock lodged in the black, hard dirt.
  They both flipped head over heels and amy hit her back hard on the ground. A bruise, she though, that would likely be very black when she saw it again, because her back was very sore. She looked around and realized that the rest of the candles on her mount, Raoul, must’ve gone out, as she could no longer see anything in front of her. She was afraid that her olshgash had fled due to fear from the darkness, so she called out to him. She was naturally relived when she heard a loud quacking-like noise from behind her.
  “Raoul, you stupid olshgash! Lookit what you did, now we can’t see and we’ll never get to the under city!’ Amy yelled. She soon realized that she was yelling again at somebody who’s fault she could not really be sure it was. Brash and proud as usual, she thought to herself, I really need to fix that. Suddenly it hit her. She was stuck in ternitia, the planet without sun, she was probably twenty miles from the ship, and the undercity, and she had no candles. People have died this way, she thought, she was starting to frighten herself.
  She turned around to look at her surroundings, there was nothing there. She stood up, brushed herself off and looked behind her. Still, nothing there. Everything around her was pitch black, she couldn’t even see her hand in front of her, as she waved it. She couldn’t tell that her robes were bright red, the sign of a deliverer, though she knew they were there. She abrubtly stopped. She didn’t have her rifle on her. Only some of the creatures that preyed on those lost in the dark had been discovered. Who knew what dangers lay out here?
  She flipped around in the direction of where she thought the olshgash Raoul lay. She had to get a candle, and light it somehow. Stretching her arms feebly in front of her, she staggered foreward. She tripped on yet another rock. Reaching out in front of her, she moaned. There was nothing there. Moving her trembling hand to the left she felt cardboard. It was the box of candles. Amy breathed very deeply. She pulled herself up, stumbled, and reaching out, open the box quickly, she pulled out a candle. Fumbling in her pocket, she found a familiar small box. “Matches.”She said to herself. After a minute, she had pulled out a match and lit it.
  Light flared up in front of her. It was faint, but it was still light. Pulling her other hand up in front of her, so she could she it, she rotated it over and lit the candle. She blew out the match, and cautiously walked forward torwards the crash site. She began to make out blurry shapes. What were they? Monsters preying on Raoul? She stopped herself. She was mumbling to herself. She leaned forward and saw her olshgash, hunched over, with his fish-like face hunched over his foot. Peering down, she saw his flat, claw of a foot was larger and redder then normal. He appeared to be bleeding.
  Amy sighed to herself. Why was all this happening to her? More importantly, why had she chosen this stupid job? To look good in front of her classmates? For someone who was 15, she felt very stupid. She saw her rifle was in front of her, and she casually strode over to it, and picked it up. She then turned to her olshgash, and, putting her hands on her hips said in a nagging voice, “Look what you did to your foot! Now I have to bandage it up! Tearing a piece from her long robe, she wrapped tightly around her mount’s foot.
  —————————————————————————
  I should write some more, but I want to get a reaction off people first. What do you guys think? do you want to read more?

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  144

  Alice of the Blackberries

  in September 5th, 2007 @ 20:32

  Mmm. I like it; it needs a plot, though. Something not too fantastical, but not too mundane. Something along the lines of being lost on Ternitia.

  But that’s just my opinion.

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  145

  I, man-gator

  in September 5th, 2007 @ 20:32

  I’m going to draw a picture of an olshgash, too, but where should I email it to, GAPAs?

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  146

  I, man-gator

  in September 5th, 2007 @ 20:45

  144- this is just the beginning. I’m just using amy getting lost as a way to show her personality, and explain who she is. She’s got a long way’s to go, if you ask me. I was going to make it rather complex, but if you don’t think it’ll work…

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  147

  Alice of the Blackberries

  in September 5th, 2007 @ 20:53

  146- It depends on the type of complex. I would be happy merely to know more about this world, and all that needs is a very simple plot (think Zahrah the Windseeker). But a complex plot might be good too.

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  148

  I, man-gator

  in September 5th, 2007 @ 21:00

  Well, there will be many characters introduced, and they’ll probably have intertwined subplots. kinda like richard the third. ‘cept not as confusing.

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  149

  I, man-gator

  in September 6th, 2007 @ 15:35

  GAPAs? Where do I send pictures to?

  [gapa @ musefanpage.com –Robert]

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  150

  I, man-gator

  in September 6th, 2007 @ 21:59

  ah yes, thank you.

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  151

  I, man-gator

  in September 7th, 2007 @ 09:53

  I need to write more! But, I have so little time…I’ll try and write after school. GAPAs, did you get the picture?

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  152

  Rebecca Lasley (Administrator)

  in September 7th, 2007 @ 16:09

  An illustration of an olshgash for I, man-gator’s story:

  
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  153

  Alice

  in September 7th, 2007 @ 19:31

  I was playing around and I came up with this, the beginning of a haunted house story and an experiment with 3rd person omnipresent.
  ~~~~~
  Who knows how long it had sat like that, its windows shuttered, its door locked? Centuries, decades, years? It was the kind of house that kids dare each other to go into, because they have to find out what’s inside, but they don’t dare find out themselves. So they tell their friends to do it instead, using taunts and bribes and blackmail, and maybe they find out eventually, or think they do.
  But the problem with that is that you never really know the truth. You think you do, but there’s always a nagging doubt in the back of your mind. You never know whether Katie is pulling your leg with the horror stories, laughing behind your back at your gullibility, or if Jack is assuring you there’s nothing in there just to forget the way he screamed in terror when he saw the severed hand in the bathtub. You don’t know whether your friends really explored the house at all, or if they stayed just inside the door until the time was up, snickering at how easily you hand over the chocolate bar. You don’t know any of these things, unless you go in yourself.
  That was how Abby felt, as she stared at the bleak grey shingles and curtain-less windows. She would have given all her allowance for a week to know what lay inside, but she would give twice that not to go in herself.

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  154

  Kagcomix the Special

  in September 8th, 2007 @ 17:03

  143- i didn’t read it all but i like it so far, you need to give an explanation as to how things survive on ternitia if there is no sun.

  153- that’s great, i can’t wait for the rest.

  this is the begining of a story, i’m not sure where it’s going yet.

  There is a country far away name The Land of Enid. Through this country runs a mountain range. The mountain rainge is very wide and very long, with over 300 mountains, all named after past rulers. These are The Mountains of Enid.
  The Land of Enid was not a particulary war torn land. Its inhabitanta lived peacefully, or as peacefully as large numbers of people can. Overall Enid was a good place to be; the people had a good ruler, the crops generaly tended to flourish and everyone earned a decent wage. There was one place, though, where things were not as nice as they seemed. Inside the palace a storm was brewing. everyone could sense it, aprehention cloaked the servents of the pallace. Queen Lola and her youngest daughter Cobalt were not getting along.

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  155

  I, man-gator

  in September 8th, 2007 @ 19:17

  154-that’s the only problem…*sighs* I can’t think up areasonable explanation. I’m gonna give everyone there really thick cloaks, that’s what I already planned at least. I know! I’ll have them all live underground! Hmmm your story reminds me of ‘The Queen’. If it has enough action, I’d like to read it though. Now for the long awaited(by few) next installment of my book/story!

  ——————————————————————–
  Amy sighed, everything seemed to hate her at the moment, her olshgash, her goggles, her mask, even her candles. “OK, get up, Raoul, you can walk on it now.” Her olshgash seemed to understand her words and tones, because he instantly stood up, and looked directly at her. It seemed strange to Amy, because he seemed to look right through her. She put the candle on her mount’s candle-saddle, after lighting the others, then pulled herself up.
  Off in the distance she saw a small light, and a loud noise, seemed to get louder, and closer with the light. Amy’s mind raced; what could it be, a monster, a candleseer, or a messanger like herself? The possibilities seemed endless, and she became relatively positive that it was a monster. She started to breathe harder and sweat. Should she turn back, and run? Or, should she see what it was?
  The light was very near, now. Amy breathed heavily, and strained her limited vision. “It’s a-“, She started, but her heavy persperation and breathing had fogged up her goggles so much, all she could see was a fuzzy outline. She was so nervous, that she started to teeter back and forth on her olshgash. She closed her eyes from fear. In her mind, she had a short conversation with herself.
  “Amy.”
  “Yes?”
  “Amy, you need to open your eyes, moron.”(how do you turn OVR off?-to be edited out later)
  “Why?”
  “You’ll get eaten if you don’t.”
  “How do you know?”
  “Well…I don’t. I’m you.”
  “Then I shouldn’t, should I?”
  “It could be a monster.”
  “Well…”
  Amy’s conversation was abruptly cut off, as she realized that the noise had stopped. She opened her eyes, but all was still fogged up. The light seemed to have left. Amy chuckled to herself, she was glad it had ignored her. A pair of paws or hands, Amy wasn’t sure which, grasped her firmly on her sides. She screamed out loud, and was greeted with a man’s voice.
  “Shush! I’m trying to hide here!”
  “What, you’re a man? Not a monster?”
  “Yes, now please be quiet, little girl.”
  Amy started to notice that the hands were slipping quite low on her.There was a pause as the hands moved. Suddenly Amy yelled very loudly, slapping his hands, “What are you? A pervet that prays on young, unsuspecting girls?!”
  “No, no, I’m a respectable gentleman, now please, I’m trying to stay hidden!”
  Amy crossed her arms, and thought to herself, Oh, well, I am rather attractive. I should have many fans, and this man doesn’t seem to be too old.
  “Wait a minute, what are you hiding from?”
  Another loud yelling noise started to come from the distance, again. Amy turned her head.
  ——————————-
  Phew, I’ll write more. Now, I’ve introduced a new character, though she can’t see him, so I haven’t described him that well. I gotta go now, I’ll write more again, later, please let me know what you think.
  —————————————

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  156

  Alice of the Blackberries

  in September 8th, 2007 @ 23:15

  My new goal: Finish TMW by November 1, leaving my whole mind open to work on NaNo. I think I’ll do WoW for NaNo…

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  157

  Alice of the Blackberries

  in September 8th, 2007 @ 23:17

  155- What’s OVR?

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  158

  I, man-gator

  in September 9th, 2007 @ 10:56

  157-It’s a thing that when you type behind text like solike so(i wrote the first one second) it over writes it. If I tried to do that it’d get rid of the first one.

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  159

  Kagcomix the Special

  in September 9th, 2007 @ 10:57

  155- perhaps the heat comes from the core of the planet… I love the bit where she yells: WHO are you a pervert who prays on young, unsespecting girls or whatever it was. very funny. i wrote the idea for my story a very long time ago. i think it is going to be a mash of two of the ideas floating around my brain. I don’t know ‘the Queen’

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  160

  I, man-gator

  in September 9th, 2007 @ 10:58

  156-er…what are those? I mean, what titles are they?

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  161

  Alice of the Blackberries

  in September 9th, 2007 @ 11:16

  160-

  Alice’s Handy Guide To Acronyms (AHGTA)

  TMW = The Makepeace War
  TBL = The Black Lion
  WoW = West of West

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  162

  I, man-gator

  in September 9th, 2007 @ 16:29

  159-thank you, that’s what I was thinking. They all live underground to stay warm. The queen is an oscar winning movie about the queen of england after her daughter-in-law dies. It’s boring, but intersting. I’ll smooth the character out after a while. I want to keep it appropariate for MB.
  161-thanks
  At least so far, there are two people actually waiting to see how the story goes…

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  163

  I, man-gator

  in September 9th, 2007 @ 22:08

  SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER- but only if people care about how my story-line goes, and not spoiling the story. I need to write a basic outline.

  -New guy1(pervert)softens out, likes amy
  -new guy2(Dreamboat rogue, who joins party as they run for being framed in crime) pretends to like amy
  -amy likes new guy 2
  -new guy 2 seduces(romantically, not sexually, i wanna keep it appropariate) amy
  -amy rejects new guy one
  -new guy2 betrays amy, she goes to jail
  -now amy can be w/ new guy1
  very basic.
  and only one section of story.

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  164

  Alice of the Blackberries

  in September 10th, 2007 @ 18:24

  Um. Well. That’s . . .

  Um.

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  165

  I, man-gator

  in September 10th, 2007 @ 18:42

  164-I figured that you wuoldn’t want to read it after you read that. You said you didn’t like reading romance, it’ll have action and whatnot, as well.

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  166

  Alice of the Blackberries

  in September 10th, 2007 @ 18:53

  But the core will be romance. *sigh* When you have to read romance because the book has an interesting plot it’s one thing, as long as it’s not too much romance. When that’s the whole point of the book, it’s quite another.

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  167

  I, man-gator

  in September 10th, 2007 @ 19:50

  166-actually I was planning on not making the plot fundamentaly romance. More action, or I wouldn’t read it.

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  168

  agagabagabag zepata (trevor the decent)

  in September 10th, 2007 @ 20:14

  Um, gapas, that link was within the fan page.

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  169

  I, man-gator

  in September 11th, 2007 @ 21:34

  Alice-it seems as though you are going to be avoiding my book from now on, no matter how much I tell you it’s not going to be romance…

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  170

  Alice of the Blackberries

  in September 12th, 2007 @ 19:23

  Ach, prob’ly. But maybe not; you never know.

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  171

  I, man-gator

  in September 12th, 2007 @ 19:33

  170-you’ll see when I write more, although at the moment I’m felling particularly lazy, after having rewriten an essay for school.

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  172

  Koko #2

  in September 14th, 2007 @ 23:09

  All Things Wrong and Irrelevant : Take Two is in the works. It’s a whole fable-thingy jabbing random fun at BIG BOX STORES, Shakespeare, and the color grey. I’ll post it as soon as it gets typed.

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  173

  Alice

  in September 20th, 2007 @ 20:47

  Diane studied the little girl as she kneaded the bread dough. She was young: ten or maybe a small eleven. Her sandy hair curled liberally, and lay loose over her shoulders in a most impractical way. Her eyes were very round, brown flecked with blue, and her dress was dark red wool.
  “Why are you going to Ardaberg?” Diane asked. “Why do you have to go after this missing girl, not someone older?”
  Maria shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?”
  “None at all,” agreed Diane.
  They were quiet. Maria polished off the last of the porridge, and Diane set the bread in the oven to rise. “You know,” she remarked, “I’m going going to Ardaberg myself tomorrow.”
  Maria looked up eagerly. “Really?” she said, her face glowing. “Will you take m?”
  Diane cringed inwardly. She knew she had been offering by saying she was going tomorrow, but the thought of this child following her about as she sold the books made her want to cry. “I suppose,” she said cautiously. “You can only come for the ride. When we gt there, you have to find this girl yourself.”
  “Yes, ma’am!”

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  174

  Kagcomix the Special

  in September 22nd, 2007 @ 20:00

  165- I still want to read it. *cough* i like romance more than I want to admit. but keep a good storyline.

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  175

  Alice

  in September 23rd, 2007 @ 00:20

  174- I would never have thought of you as the type to read romance, any more than I.

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  176

  Jadestone

  in September 23rd, 2007 @ 14:36

  Ahg, had an interesting idea for a book a few days ago but lost it. *grumblegrumble* I should start thinking about (dare I say it?) Nano soon…

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  177

  Prarilius Canix

  in September 23rd, 2007 @ 15:12

  I asked for a NaNoBraSto (Brainstorm) thread. The GAPAs might put it up if others concur.

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  178

  Alice

  in September 23rd, 2007 @ 15:19

  177- I concurred. I even . . . *deep breath* . . . I even used the zeros.

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  179

  Kagcomix the Special

  in September 23rd, 2007 @ 15:41

  175- yeah it’s my deep dark secret.

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  180

  Prarilius Canix

  in September 23rd, 2007 @ 16:03

  Any more concurring from people on NNBS?

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  181

  Prarilius Canix

  in September 23rd, 2007 @ 17:55

  Por favor?

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  182

  Alice

  in September 23rd, 2007 @ 18:01

  Bitte?

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  183

  Alice

  in September 23rd, 2007 @ 18:06

  This could be a whole new game. Say a word in one language, then someone else has to reply with the same word in as many languages as they know it in, and at the end of their post say a word that’s somewhat connected, and someone else takes it from there.

  My practical side tells me that NaNoBraSto won’t live if the GAPAs make it this early.

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  184

  Prarilius Canix

  in September 23rd, 2007 @ 18:14

  It’s almost the sign-up date. And I’ll keep it alive- I’m doing it this year, but have no plot, just a vague set of ideas.
  Tevreden?

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  185

  Alice

  in September 23rd, 2007 @ 18:29

  184- Okay.

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  186

  agagabagabag zepata (trevor the decent)

  in September 28th, 2007 @ 18:27

  Kagy! Here’s the idea:
  A 12- year old in san fransisco is the first to notice the evolution of bees, or at least think anything of it,until it’s too late.

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  187

  Kagcomix the Special

  in September 29th, 2007 @ 09:07

  186- tell me more.

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  188

  Gimanator

  in September 29th, 2007 @ 09:50

  174-ha-HA! Motivation! Just what I need! Boo-yah!
  —————————————————————
  It seemed that there were a group of people charging in Amy’s direction. “What did you do?” she gasped at the man ducking behind her mount. Or at least, she thought he was there. Her goggles were very fogged up. She heard a voice come out from the darkness.
  “You there! Little girl! ‘ve you seen a candleseer come through here? By the name of Andre? If you have, speak.” The man put a strong emphasis on the work speak, because spittle flew onto Amy’s face.
  “Ah,”she said, then chuckled nervously, “er, um, that is…”
  Something very cold and sharp was being pressed at Amy’s neck, she could feel it through her scarf. “Oh, yes please excuse me um…”Amy continued to mumble on.
  The man must have been suspicious, because the dagger he was holding was being pushed closer and closer to Amy’s neck. At this point, sweat was dripping down her face quickly, all she could see was very thick, yellow fog in front of her with a few dark shapes.
  Amy realized it was the fault if her mask, and it was making her very frusterated. She snapped the mask off her face, and threw it to the ground, as if to say, ‘there, now I’m better’. Abruptly, Amy realized how cold it actually was. The colors didn’t un-fog, as she wanted them to, they just seemed to swirl, and all of the things in front of her seemed to fade away.
  ————————————–
  end chapter 1. OK, it’s a little short.
  for foreign languages- si’l vous plais?
  186-ooh! sounds like fun! can I join?

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  189

  agagabagabag zepata (trevor the decent)

  in September 29th, 2007 @ 19:51

  well, first a large hive of bees is threatened by development, giving them a need to evolve. Their stingers smooth out, letting them sting repeatedly without dying, and they grow bigger. Humans other than the boy don’t notice until they become quite large. Even then, exterminators only take out the weak and stupid ones. they develop a language, which the boy understands, and dissapear for a while. When they return, theyr’e larger than humans, have massive stingers, and have bullet resistent exoskeletons. They steal the giant lasers from airplane factories, equipping them with triggers suited to their bodies and use them as weapons, and grow in number, devastating humans. The boy is one of the few smart enough to evade the bees, and does so for months while the bees spread worldwide, replacing humans as Earths dominant species. This saddens the boy, but he realizes that the bees aren’t evil; this is just nature’s way. Understanding buzz, the language, he manages to convince the bees not to wipe out all humans.

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  190

  Prarilius Canix

  in September 29th, 2007 @ 20:47

  189- They couldn’t evolve that fast. Not without some sort of mutagenic influence.

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  191

  agagabagabag zepata (trevor the decent)

  in September 29th, 2007 @ 22:41

  They are mutants. Evolution is GENETIC mutation that benefits the species, and passes on. And human’s evovlution is slowed by our leisure, yet we invent new things everyday. Anyway, the thing takes place over 2 years, when bees dissapear for a while. This is based on the us’s bee dissapereance. l didn’t mention that.

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  192

  Prarilius Canix

  in September 30th, 2007 @ 12:27

  191- There is no way such complex evolution could take place in two years. Even humans evolving from Australopithecus took millions of years.

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  193

  Kagcomix the Special

  in September 30th, 2007 @ 15:32

  actually, i REALLY like the idea. I’m just going to say this now: this is going to take a REALY REALY REALY long time to do. so if you don’t hear about it’s completion for a year. don’t wory. these things take time. a lot of time. you’d better be okay with that.

  I’m not sure whether the protagonist should be a boy or a girl yet. I know you said boy, but i’m still thinking. and i think i know what format i’m going to do it in. now to start writing and drawing.

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  194

  agagabagabag zepata (trevor the decent)

  in September 30th, 2007 @ 16:11

  192- l don’t quite think you understand how it works. The bees are social creatures, and contact other hives. That way, all the mutations are spread about the bee population.

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  195

  agagabagabag zepata (trevor the decent)

  in September 30th, 2007 @ 21:44

  Wait. A year? How about l just write it, thend send it via GAPA? l’m startin’ now.

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  196

  Prarilius Canix

  in October 1st, 2007 @ 14:30

  194- But for the evolution to take place in a few years, the mutations would have to come one after the other, which is extremely unlikely.

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  197

  Kagcomix the Special

  in October 1st, 2007 @ 17:06

  195- that was a test and you failed…. it won’t take me that long. I reviewed the format I wanted to put it in and have already started with what i want to do. i’m thinking short four panel strips that tell the story. I think this would take the least amount of time. and it takes a long time to draw stuff because then i have to ink it. but no worries i can probably have it don by x-mas or sooner depending how fast i work. tell me if this makes sense to you and your vision.

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  198

  trevor the decent, snarkmaster, resident blog-spy

  in October 2nd, 2007 @ 18:33

  l failed? Does this mean you won;t write it?

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  199

  Alice

  in October 2nd, 2007 @ 19:01

  The days were getting shorter. When I dragged myself out of bed, the only light in my bedroom came from a streetlight up the block. When I walked to my bus stop, my surroundings were blue with early morning light, and the wet road glisted with headlights and streetlights. A wind played with my hair. It smelled of the river, rain, and the early morning. I breathed in deep. Fall was here.

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  200

  Alice

  in October 2nd, 2007 @ 21:44

  The people surged around me, girls and boys in all manner of dress. I alone stood still, knowing full well that it was making a nuisance of myself, but I didn’t care. I scanned the surging tide of people for Jo’s conspicuous red hair, but she seemed to be missing.
  “Aw, darn it,” I muttered. If Jo wasn’t here by now, she must have had to miss school, and that meant that I was friendless for a day. “Curses!” I said under my breath.
  It should have been easy to make friends. I had always been a social person, outgoing, cheerful, and even in my previous school I had been hugely popular. But here I seemed to melt into the walls. No one remembered by name, no one remembered my face, and only Jo bothered to talk to me. But I had the feeling Jo was odd anyway. Something hinted at it, and it wasn’t just her eccentric outfits and amazing dedication to both school and friends. Jo was faintly otherwordly, or rather, I realized, Jo was the one normal person in a high school full of otherworldly people.

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  201

  Alice

  in October 2nd, 2007 @ 21:50

  But what did that mean? Was I normal? Or was I just an outsider, not a popular, well-known outsider, like Jo, but just a shadow against the walls, a ghost of a once-colorful figure? I sighed, slumping against the mauve brick wall. The bell rang, and I watched as the teenagers that had filled the cafeteria departed, wandering away, chatting, laughing, plodding agead full of dread of their next class. When the room was empty, I turned and walked, in full view, to the doors and out. No one noticed. How easy it was when you were just a shadow.

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  202

  Vixen in the Eyes of the Moon

  in October 4th, 2007 @ 09:13

  Night fell quickly although it was just past five. Night always falls quickly. It surrounds a person and gulps the person up, transforming all light to shadow. Night is shadow. Night is Shadows. They creep around the houses, spooking horses and cats, making the children hush with fear. They slip under the doors, swooping into a room and doing their bloody work, leaving the candles blown out and the corpses drained of life and blood.

  “Vampires!” the pastor shrieks to his congregation, “Witches! Ghosts! Satan’s followers! We have displeased God and let Satan’s followers hide in our mist!”

  They hanged the old women yesterday morning, the one everyone had always whispered about.

  It had no effect. The shadows returned that very night, killing a baby in its cradle. Mary Walkin’s baby, the merchants wife. She always walks with silk scarves and boots made of Spanish leather.

  (And so begins my Halloween story. I shall continue if you wish….)

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  203

  Jadestone

  in October 5th, 2007 @ 10:50

  196- Unless the plant that was being built near them let off radioactivity.

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  204

  Prarilius Canix

  in October 5th, 2007 @ 15:32

  203- Good point.
  I’ll continue Pantagruel’s Ring.

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  205

  Kagcomix the Special

  in October 5th, 2007 @ 15:53

  198- ofcourse i’ll still do it….. i should probably be working on it now….

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  206

  Prarilius Canix

  in October 5th, 2007 @ 15:56

  A sonorous bell rang through the Dark Mandala Court, and four figures began making their way toward the central table.
  Saraswati pointed out the names of the representatives to Marcus. “That’s Komondor the Blind, representative for the Dragons. He’s extremely famous- lived more than a dozen centuries so far, and still going strong. And let’s see, who’s that? I’m not sure,” she said, indicating the representative for the Nearhumans, a long-nosed, swarthy troll. “In any case, he’s probably presiding- it’s the Nearhumans’ turn this year. For the Demons- ooh, that’s Asmodea bin Efrit herself!” she gasped, referring to a darkly beautiful, yellow-eyed woman whose barbed black tail lashed languidly behind her. “And of course, for the Magicians… ”
  Marcus needed no prompting to figure out who the plump, steel-gazed woman making her way to the table in the company of an enormous black tomcat. “Hazel Marrowbone,” he whispered. “The greatest witch in the world.”
  The four representatives gathered at the conference table and sat down.
  No sooner had they taken their seats than the moonstone began glowing. If glowing was the right word. No, Marcus decided, it definitely wasn’t. It was darkening, sending an ambiance of gloom throughout the room.
  An awful voice resounded through every inch of the Mandala Court. “THE THREE THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED SEVENTY-THIRD DARK MANDALA COURT WILL COME TO ORDER, NILS X. YMIRSSON PRESIDING.”
  The troll, presumably Ymirsson, stood up. Marcus tried to get a better look at him.
  He was dressed in the traditional fur garb of his race, his extravagant cloak decorated with cave-pearls and gnome-gold. His nose, the pride and joy of most trolls, was almost half his height of four feet. Marcus knew the extreme length indicated that he was a member of a highborn family, as if the name of Ymirsson wasn’t enough proof of that. He carried a large staff made from the wood of a bristlecone pine.
  “Good night, friends,” he said, his rich, syrupy voice easily audible. “I welcome you to the Mandala Court.”
  “We are grateful for the welcome,” said the other three representatives in unison, as tradition dictated.
  “Have you any statements to make before the Court commences?” Ymirsson continued.
  “Nay,” they all answered in succession.
  “In that case,” Ymirsson droned, “I declare the Court open.”
  Marcus grew bored with the proceedings and began attempting to return his hair to black, or at least its normal color, which would at least be better than the vivid puce it had been since his whirlwind malfunctioned.

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  207

  Prarilius Canix

  in October 5th, 2007 @ 16:18

  Thanks, Admins.
  
  [You’re welcome. –Admin.]

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  208

  Alice

  in October 5th, 2007 @ 20:19

  202- Oooyes.

  206- Good as always.

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  209

  agagabagabag xarcu zepata

  in October 5th, 2007 @ 22:02

  203, 204- No, no, no! Forget radioactivity! lt’s not required!

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  210

  gimanator

  in October 5th, 2007 @ 23:13

  209-your story is too cheesey and unrealistic. no offence, but it’ll need some revisions.

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  211

  Prarilius Canix

  in October 6th, 2007 @ 15:26

  However, he had only succeeded in making it shade through the spectrum. Resigning himself to it, he hoped he could stop the spell at indigo, which would at least seem a bit more ominously respectable than puce.
  However, it was not to be. Saraswati poked him in the eye with her wing, breaking his concentration halfway through green. “Listen!”
  “To what?” Marcus snapped irritably, trying to revive his hair. “A fascinating discussion of the changing price of donkey cabbage and its possible cause and repercussions?”
  “No, something interesting. Shh. Ymirsson’s speaking.”

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  agagabagabag xarcu zepata

  in October 6th, 2007 @ 17:38

  210- Cheesy? Cheesy? lt’s carefully thot out!

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  213

  Gimanator

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 15:00

  212-evolution so bees are as big as humans? in two years??? MUTANAT BEES? it sounds like a bad old horror movie. “I’m not going out there! The shrews are out there!” Monster Shews. It’s from a movie.shrews. bees. *Cracks up*

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  agagabagabag xarcu zepata

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 15:43

  Mutation refers to their evolution. See, lt works because it would catch people by surprise.

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  Prarilius Canix

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 16:08

  214- That’s not the point. There is no way a population of insects could evolve that fast.

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  gimanator

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 16:11

  214-I’m losing intrest. fast.

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  Ebeth

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 16:27

  215-that’s why it’s fiction? seriously, there have been less plausible plots than that that have worked out fine. You get the realistic sense of it through the writing, not the story.

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  gimanator

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 16:34

  good point. I’ll stop bugging him. I just won’t read it.

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  219

  Beavo the Online Stalker

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 16:42

  Whoa. I have NEVER posted on this thread.

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  King Wachtelschlag Fliegender

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 16:47

  You know what screenplay I should write? Crocodile Dundee vs. Indiana Jones. Smart money is on Crocodile Dundee, people.

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  Alice

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 19:46

  I had a rather good dream several months ago, and discovered my shoprt summary when reading the old dreams thread. Now, read it and tell me that it wouldn’t make a wonderful book. Or part of a book.

  https://musefanpage.com/blog/?p=902#comment-103

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  222

  Prarilius Canix

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 20:05

  It would be wonderful.

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  Gimanator

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 20:33

  it’s be weird, but cool. I’m guessing that the cat would like tutenbaskhet.

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  224

  Prarilius Canix

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 20:49

  Of course, you’d have to invent a system for the world. I usually only like fantasy if it has an underlying logic.
  Unhappily, all the ideas I’m coming up with are remarkably similar to Sabriel.

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  225

  Alice

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 21:12

  224- Hmm. I see what you mean…But I also think of The Fire Hills.

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  226

  Prarilius Canix

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 21:16

  I’ll go back to the dreams thread and see if any of mine inspire me.

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  227

  Alice

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 21:20

  226- The dreams thread is super fun to reread. In fact, now that my homework is done (except for one sentence), I’ll go finish it…

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  228

  Prarilius Canix

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 22:06

  I’d like to collaborate on a novel with somebody sometime.

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  229

  Alice

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 22:43

  228- Yeah, me too. I’ve tried to collaborate with my sister, but of course it was a fail. I’ve never tried to do a novel, but I am writing a sort of ongoing very poetic and lacking in plotconflictetcetera story with whoever shows up at the bakery Sunday mornings. Today was the second Sunday.

  “A murder of leprecoseri!”

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  230

  agagabagabag xarcu zepata

  in October 7th, 2007 @ 22:48

  lt’s not impossible, people. Read prey.

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  231

  Gimanator

  in October 8th, 2007 @ 09:58

  230-that…is…totally…different…*stops bugging*

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  232

  That guy who posts quite a bit (agagabagabag xarcu zepata)

  in October 9th, 2007 @ 19:20

  l’ll make it five, you whiners, but no more. lt’s not at all different from prey, except for timing, which is much longer.

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  Gimanator

  in October 9th, 2007 @ 19:50

  232-no comment on the dumb idea…

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  agagabagabag xarcu zepata

  in October 9th, 2007 @ 20:43

  C’est ne pas stupide. Tu est stupide.

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  235

  Gimanator

  in October 9th, 2007 @ 20:50

  je n’est pas stupide! tu n’est peux pas comprende francais!

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  236

  Rebecca Lasley (Administrator)

  in October 9th, 2007 @ 21:29

  (234, 235) If you’re going to insult each other, at least do so grammatically.

  –Ce n’est pas stupide. Tu es stupide.
  –Je ne suis pas stupide! Tu ne peux pas comprendre français.

  Now perhaps you could please steer back towards a more appropriate use of the Writing thread. D’accord?

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  237

  Prarilius Canix

  in October 9th, 2007 @ 21:35

  236- De acuerdo. (No hablo frances, pero hablo un poco de espanol.)

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  238

  Gimanator

  in October 9th, 2007 @ 21:38

  236-oh woops. I got confused with etre…oops, sorry.

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  239

  Vixen in the Eyes of the Moon

  in October 10th, 2007 @ 13:20

  208+ In a bit. I’ve a scarily good idea.

  Acting.

  It’s a lot harder than it looks In the bathroom, an hour before the show, I stand, leaning towards the mirror, layering my eyelashes with mascara and my skin with pinkish spotlight powder.
  I begin to strip myself of myself. First goes my nervous me. The me who feels naucous as she reads a book report as the class giggles or gets butterflies in her stomach.The one whose hand quivers before restraining herself into the seat of a rollorcoaster. I cast her aside.
  I peel of my layer of dignaty. It comes off painfully, like the scab that falls off much too early.
  My calm personalty is partly flushed down the toilet. The different characteristics that make up me that clash with the person I’m to become must be shoved aside.
  I throw off my comfortable swagger. I walk with power and honor.
  I find I do not have much left. My ugliness, the jealousy and hateful feelings have risen to the surface. My costume is dragged on, but myself is pushed away.

  I then forget everything about me. My family and friends, my tribe, become strangers in a crowd. My memories blur and slide out. I forget my name.
  In this case I become a demon, ready to posess a sweet girl. But that is a part of me. It is a part of us all.

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  240

  gimanator

  in October 10th, 2007 @ 18:42

  239-my, how true that is.

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  241

  Alice of the Blackberries

  in October 10th, 2007 @ 19:00

  239- That’s good.

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  242

  C++darkmage

  in October 13th, 2007 @ 20:47

  143- heh heh, ternitia!!! thats that game we played, and where candle-seers are!!i’m happy i read this thread now!!! yay!!

  186- ? uumm… i think he got that from real life, he thinks bees are evolving because kids keep catching and killing themmm…. uuummm..

  230- prey IS different. the micro- things are TRYING to evolve, and at least they didn’t turninto giant super- sentient beings that work lasers from a common insect about an inch big in 5 years… yaa, and prey’s writer is more experienced in making non- plausible things into something that wouldn’t work but is fun to read… stick to realistic/ non- fiction, agag….
  sorry, but that is what you are good at…

  239- its good, i like the idea of putting on a different persona while acting. i thought about that before, but never thought to make a story!! i will read more if you write more.

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  C++darkmage

  in October 13th, 2007 @ 20:54

  117- its good, but i would leave the part about orthodox christians out…. you don’t need to be constantly insulting people because of their religon on purpose… and don’t start saying some thing about “buut they need to know” or something else, if they wanted to accept something besides what they believe, then they would think like that without your help, and if they don’t then they wouldn’t be reading you book… so you don’t have to say insults that never reach the people you insult, besides, most of them would never accept the opinions of a 13- year old anyway… just saying…

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  Gimanator

  in October 14th, 2007 @ 12:40

  243-he is rather eager to put down other religions, isn’t he?

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  C++darkmage

  in October 14th, 2007 @ 18:09

  244- ya… oh well… i guess he might not have many religiously varied friends… that aren’t kinda annoyed, that is. (heh, like you)

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  That guy who posts quite a bit (agagabagabag xarcu zepata)

  in October 14th, 2007 @ 18:57

  242- With the bees, in real life it’s not so drastic. lt’s’ a takeoff on that.
  Could you guys stop insulting me? You’re supposed to be my friends.

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  C++darkmage

  in October 15th, 2007 @ 18:19

  246- yea? heh, its more fun this way, but you’re still my friend, I just think you are being illogical about the pie war…..

  …
  and I like gim’s story better that yours. (heh, sorry, sorry…)

  but i still think that you are a very good writer, even if erik did get a better score on that writing thing you were happy about… but believe me, when you write about something you like it turns out better. (even if it is stupid like cars…) just look at/ ////// wait… maple story is almost loaded, gotta go!!!!!!!

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  Vixen in the Eyes of the Moon

  in October 16th, 2007 @ 09:40

  239 was a narative I wrote two days before going on stage. It was a large part, and I am timid. I did fine though. The idea that actors don’t put on a persona but rather find the persona inside themselves is a relatively new idea.

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  C++darkmage

  in October 16th, 2007 @ 19:58

  248- heh, cool.

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  Gimanator

  in October 19th, 2007 @ 23:02

  246-okay…yeah…sorry.

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  251

  Cedar

  in October 21st, 2007 @ 19:52

  Some excerpts, from my second most favorite book ever:

  Destined for Destiny – The Unauthorized Autobiography of George W. Bush

  Please remember that this is all fiction.

  Chapter 04 – Teacher’s Pest

  Even the teachers, could not escape my wanton nicknaming. There was Mr. Winston. I gave him the nickname of Mr. Dizzy Wizzy. Because he was a science teacher, who had outlandish theories. Like the one about the earth orbiting the sun. Which flew in the face of common sense.

  I was the kind of kid, that made friends easily. And those I could not make friends with, I would tease relentlessly, until I was assured of their loyalty. I met a boy in school who was to become a lifelong friend. Albert Tolliver. I would torment him endlessly, with taunts, teasing, and bullying. But he always came back to me and said “George. You are my best friend.” We have remained close to this day. He, his wife, and kids, have joined Laura and me, for dinner, on many occasions. But before they could come over, they had to be subjected to the same battering of grueling loyalty tests, that I put him through. They were each taped to the flagpole, forced to put their tongues on a freezing cold monkey bar in the dead of winter, and repeatedly dunked, headfirst into the toilet bowl. But after this, we proceeded to have a pleasent meal.

  Chapter 11 – The Greatest Love of my Life – Jesus

  [After explaining about his introduction to the Bible, George says]:

  But I did not know much, about Jesus hisself. And what I did know of him, I did not particularly like. What with his funny sayings, and his raggedy clothes. He seemed like a dirty and foul person. One who appealed to, what in those days were know as the hippies. Or the Jesus freaks. Other then that, I was what some might have called a sinner, who enjoyed good times. What did need, I thought, with someone like Jesus, who could save me from all the fun.

  [But eventually he brings Jesus into his heart, and joins a men’s Bible study group]

  It happened right there in the Bible Study Meeting. I looked up from a conversation I was having with some of the other men. And there he was. On the other side of the crowded room. Smiling at me. Our eyes locked, and it was an instant unbreakable connection. I felt my heart skip a beat, as they say. I examined him closely. He wore a tattered rag-like robe. His skin was a slightly darker hue. Like that of an east Indian (or Mallato). And he had a face, like that of the movie star Mel Gibson. But, more jewishy. He bent down to help an injured lamb. At first I was surprised that there was a wounded farm animal in the hotel confrence room. But I was touched, and filled with great rejoicing, when he touched that lamb, with his magical healing energy, to mend the creatures broken leg. The goat ran free, into a field of flowers.

  DFD is also available in audio book format.

  2 excerpts that are only available on the audio book.

  Ring-ring

  I’m reading my audio book. What going- It’s an emergency? …
  Can’t you just bomb em? That sounds good, I’m gonna get back to work.

  Later

  Ring-ring

  I said don’t call me. What part of don’t call me don’t ya understand? (fakes a cheesy crying sound) What? Well how many people got kill- Is that hundreds or thousands. Alright well I’ll make a statement later. Hark some prayers. Etc. I’ve gotta get back to this chapter… Now don’t call me. Short of the whole planet exploding, don’t call me.

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  agagabagabag xarcu zepata

  in October 21st, 2007 @ 22:53

  Kagy, some news:
  l’m thinking that it should be 7 years, from ages 7-14 for the main character. And a little thingy: could the protagonist’s mother say something like, “Eat your breakfast, dear” while he ponders the bees, and his cereal is a honey nut kind with a bee on the box?

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  Gimanator

  in October 23rd, 2007 @ 20:47

  252-hee hee. honeybee-o’s. *laughs*

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  C++darkmage

  in October 24th, 2007 @ 18:06

  253- hohoho, ah- hahahaaa

  slow thread. please continue with your story, gim! *begs on knees*

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  agagabagabag

  in October 24th, 2007 @ 20:51

  253, 254- lt’s supposed to be funny. ls that why you’re laffing?

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  Gimanator

  in October 26th, 2007 @ 21:08

  255-it’s kinda like a bad pun. you laugh.
  254-I wanna continue…but I’m lazy ummmm….

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  C++darkmage

  in October 27th, 2007 @ 11:42

  yaaaaa…

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  agagabagabag

  in November 4th, 2007 @ 17:25

  1) If mammals were to evolve on a sunless planet (note the oxymoron) then they’d be very, very hairy.
  2) Instead of having candles, the inhabitants wouldn’t have eyes, which would be useless.
  241,C++DM- Wait a minute. How on earth do you know what l’m good at? You’ve hardly read any of the things l’ve ever written, and those you did read were those genres. Yeesh.
  Another thing- It irks me how obsessed you are getting with that book. It’s really not incredible literature.

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  Kagcomix the Special

  in November 4th, 2007 @ 17:44

  252- err….. about that…. i haven’t really been working on it…. my house is kinda under reno and i need to dig out the folder it’s in…. anyways… what i was thinking is sort of a luz girl of the future stl thing. it would be a relatively large series of short strips that tell the stoy of a boy named will and his conection to the bees. it will be cool, no woriies. but probably not the same as you envisioned it, which is okay because in writer/artist teams the writer does 10% of the work and the artist does 20% but you’rew not really writing it. you just had the concept that i’m going on. and someday i will finish it…. now to dig out that folder…. or mabe start again

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  Prarilius Canix, taking a break from NaNoWriMo

  in November 4th, 2007 @ 17:45

  258- Perhaps the inhabitants are colonists from a different world. Or perhaps the planet does have a sun, but a recent catastrophe sent particles of a certain mineral (unique to this planet, which blocks out most visible light but not infrared) into the upper atmosphere and caused an extinction of anything which couldn’t survive without light. This would include most plants, but a few animals (including olshgash) which fed on fungus and the like would live.

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  261

  agagabagabag

  in November 6th, 2007 @ 17:58

  260- That’s not what he said. And can’t you use your technique of rationalization to make my story make sense to gim?

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  262

  Kagcomix the Special

  in November 10th, 2007 @ 12:05

  anyways: up date on Kagcomix writing, tho i doubt anyone cares… well, i want to challenge myself and do a realy long comic. that i will plot, script and lastly draw. i have planned out the plot and now am going into the grueling phase of writing out the script. which is kinda stupid because i hate doing that. i’ve tried before but it didn’t realy work. so i’m gonna try harder this time. but you know whats stupider? i don’t have anyfriends that would edit/ proof read it! i feel extrodinarely stupid right now. but i’ll keep writing/drawing. it’s a challenge. challenges are supposed to anoy me…. right? anyways… it’s about fairys. and the plot is friken four pages long. 4! this is going to take me a long time… okay i’m done feeling sorry for myself now. please go on with your lives.

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  263

  Alice

  in November 10th, 2007 @ 13:18

  I would proofread, Kagy.

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  Prarilius Canix, taking a break from NaNoWriMo

  in November 14th, 2007 @ 16:36

  261- I have no idea how.
  I had this idea for a book which I have to force myself NOT to write, as I am doing NaNoWriMo right now.

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  265

  agagabagabag

  in November 15th, 2007 @ 12:55

  Waaaaaaaaaiiiiiiit a minute. lf they still use candles and swords and the like, how do they go to a different “planet”? There’s not enough tehcnology!

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  Prarilius Canix, taking a break from NaNoWriMo

  in November 15th, 2007 @ 13:28

  265- You have a good point there. Care to explicate, Gim?

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  Prarilius Canix, taking a break from NaNoWriMo

  in November 16th, 2007 @ 18:04

  Nobody’s on here… of course, I’m not technically on here, as I am writing my NaNo.

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  268

  agagabagabag

  in November 16th, 2007 @ 21:04

  l’d like to say that my book is nearly done.

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  agagabagabag

  in November 18th, 2007 @ 14:57

  Well, l’d like to. lt’s about 3/4 of the way done.
  Wow. l saw the bee movie last night. The biggest difference between that and my comic book is that the bees sue humans in that movie.

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  Prarilius Canix, taking a break from NaNoWriMo

  in November 27th, 2007 @ 19:25

  I’ll get back to writing Pantagruel’s Ring as soon as NaNo is over.

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  BeMoreAmazed

  in November 28th, 2007 @ 12:54

  188- s’il vous plait, not si’l vous plais

  here’s something weird i just wrote, i suspect it’s kind of bad because i haven’t looked over it or anything, which is sort of a recipe for disater if you’re me. anyhoo

  They walked to the park, Alessa’s little hand in her own, small feet skipping. When they arrived, she ran to the other children, her friends, and Naomi joined the awkward ring of nervous parents encircling the play structure. It was shortly afterward that she chanced to glance over her shoulder and saw him. But- this wasn’t- it couldn’t be.
  It was.
  Trusting Selena to the hawk eyes of the other mothers, she turned and half-ran, tripping in her boots, up the path. The man opened his arms to her and they embraced, briefly, in the way that two people do when they aren’t sure as to the proper reaction that should occur between them.
  “Naomi!”
  “Bash! What are you… I mean?”
  “I was in the neighborhood and I thought, hey, maybe I’d just stop in.”
  “But how did you know where we were going to be?”
  “I got to you’re house and saw you walking down the street. Funny the way these things work.”
  “How’ve you been? You’re looking good.”
  “And you. I’m fine. I’m-“ he hesitated, glanced sideways at her. “I’m clean.”
  “Oh my god! Since when? I mean, that’s, that’s… really good. Congratulations!”
  “Thanks. But how are you? Have you been here, in Rome, all this time? How is…?”
  “Alessandra? She’s fine. She turned seven a couple months ago, can you believe it? But we’re doing OK. I’m teaching English, at a middle school. Here, walk with me back over there. I’m terrible paranoid these days- like a mom, I guess.”
  They walked, arm in arm, back to the children. His eyes roved over them, and she saw them light on Alessa, her beautiful coffee skin, the curly, untamable hair, The bright orange vest and tattered jeans.
  “Let’s say hello.” She urged. To her surprise, he drew back, suddenly alarmed.
  ”Why not?” she asked.
  “How can I look her in the face?” he demanded “After everything I’ve done, and not done?”
  “Oh Bash’ she said softly “That doesn’t matter. She’d love to meet you. Please just say hi. She doesn’t even have to know.”
  “No- it isn’t right. I don’t deserve-”
  “To meet you own child? How can you even say that? This is ridiculous. I’m going to call her over. Please. Just stay.” Turning to the playground she called “Lessie! Lessie! Vieni qui per un momento!” obediently, Alessa turned and ran toward her.”
  “I can’t do this.” Bash muttered. With a final squeeze on her shoulder, her turned and walked away.
  Alessa appeared, out of breath, cheeks red from the cold and exertion, smiling”
  “Sì, Mama?”
  Naomi forced herself to smile at her daughter. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Are you tired? Do you want me to hold your scarf? It could get caught on something.”
  “ Sto bene, Mama, I’m OK.” She said. “Mama, who was that man?”
  She straightened up and sighed. “Nobody, Caro. Nessuno. Go play. It will be dark soon enough.”

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  Prarilius Canix, taking a break from NaNoWriMo

  in December 1st, 2007 @ 12:22

  I will continue Pantagruel’s Ring as soon as I’ve recovered from NaNoWriMo.

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  Alice

  in December 1st, 2007 @ 18:12

  So far my story is utterly depressing. I have a three-year-old orphan, 6,001 dead people, and an orange striped cat.

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  Shadow Gallery

  in December 1st, 2007 @ 22:27

  NaNoWriMo sounds…more or less insane. But thousands of high-fives and pies and pounds of virtual choklit to all of you who weren’t lazy. *pies*

  I wrote this at one o’clock in the morning for my advanced English class about a month ago. It was during the tech week for my musical, so I was incredibly sleep-deprived, but I kinda like it. My short stories usually kinda suck. And keep in mind that I haven’t gotten around to editing it yet. Feedback, s’il vous plait?:

  I sat at the edge of the railing, longing to simply take off my pleated pants and feel the breeze on my sticky legs. The Brazilian sun snuck below the hotel awning and scorched my grey-shirted back, which was seeping with additional sweat from my neck and hair. Swimming wouldn’t add to the humidity. I had been sitting there for over an hour, and she still hadn’t shown up. With the background music of pop stars crooning out familiar tunes on a spotty radio, I watched bug-eyed tourist after bug-eyed tourist, lovely couple after lovely couple, ornery businessman after ornery businessman, check in and check out in the shady, open-air lobby of the hotel. When things were slow at the front desk, I pretended to be fascinated by the metallic beetles scuttling on the large, sweaty leaves on the vine that was snaking down the building along the awning. They were pretty things, but as brainless and gooey as they were attractive. I wondered if they could talk, what they’d say to me. Still, all I could think of possibly saying to them was, “it’s hot.”
  It is dull business, waiting for an actress to show up. “Fashionably late”, my producers say and shrug it off, but I’ve met almost every girl on modern Broadway and none were as fashionable as this one. That is, every girl on Broadway, for the last ten years, and I still fidgeted nervously while I waited. I had studied the walls in the grandiose lobby of the Palace for the last ten years, and I still found them entrancing.
  The clerk had begun to give me a warning eye, but I ignored him. I was staying at the hotel, and wasn’t doing any harm. I truly did not want to deal with him, or the heat of the outside, and kept right on sitting there. It was then that I realized that, at the left entrance to the hotel’s open-air bar and restaurant, was a statue. Her face was brilliantly dynamic: the heavily sculptured features in the medium of thick brown clay created a genuine expression, one where her wide grin and crinkled, ebony eyes did not look like the work of an artist, but the conveying of a truly blithe and thankful inner spirit. Her hair looked like the essence of straw, her outfit looked like that of a ratty old nun’s, her job was to hold a painted sign directing the reader to the ice, and she was missing a hand, but she still smiled without a want in the world and held her arms wide and welcoming.
  I stared at her for several minutes and the world seemed to slow down. No-one else was in the lobby except for me and her, though I had a sneaking suspicion that we were being watched. And not by the clerk. He had long since left his shift and gone to change and for a drink. The quiet din of the radio faded into the very corners of the room, whispering, not wanting to interrupt this perfect, moment of hypnosis.
  I reluctantly moved my head to see if my actress had arrived yet. I almost didn’t want her to, I wanted to simply sit and look at this beautiful young girl in the sculpture. Nevermind she couldn’t dance and grace the ground, or sing loves songs like the angels. She was beautiful. However, it seemed I was not solitary in my thoughts.
  On the right side of the lobby, guarding the entrance to the courtyard, was her companion. His skin was paler, smoother, softer…his eyes more pensive than merry, smile more internally pleased than outwardly expressive. His hands were gentle and calm, gesturing around a broken “exit” sign to the brown girl on the opposite side of the lobby. It made sense that he would love her…
  I yawned widely, and as soon as I did, I regretted it. I could feel the blood squirting next to my ears inside my head, and it seemed to immediately fall. My whole head felt lifted from my body, and it hovered in the air before settling down on my shoulders as an enourmous weight. I swayed back and forth on my confused inner ear and shut my eyes tightly. I set my hands on the rail beside me to steady myself, and only just succeeded. I sat still, and kept my mind clear. But it was soon swimming again, and I lost my grasp.
  There they were, flashing in my mind, on opposite sides of the sweatiest, breeziest, busiest hotel in the village, loving each other, relishing each other’s existence. Through the jet-lagged crowds, the drunken midnight walkers, the heavy cloud heat and humidity, they saw each other and smiled their own smile. “One day,” they thought, “one day we’ll touch. One day, nothing will be between us. One day, there will be stillness. One day the world will find peace. One day their sweat will be towards mining joy, not misery: contentment, not endless want.”
  “One day,” the boy thought, “will come. That one day when everything will fall into their places, that one day when the play will be effortless and smooth, and the actors know their every line and their every cue. There won’t be confusion backstage, the curtains will rise and fall, the spots will know their place before their fade into view. Every pitch will be met, every dance perfection.”
  “But until that day,” the girl thought, “let the actors fumble, let the mistakes be made. Come opening night, such things will go unnoticed. The story will be beautiful, the music will be of the angels, the dances genuine and heartfelt, each line spoken with a definite emotion. Never mind the falls. We have today, and one day might never come, so today is all we’ll need. Today we see each other. Today we love each other, and less than we will tomorrow.”
  “Today is our One Day,” the boy wondered.
  “Perhaps,” the girl considered. “Perhaps that is because it is better than any One Day we could’ve imagined.”
  “But what about the stillness?” The boy asked her. “What about the world knowing peace, what about the joy and contentment, what about no barriers?..”
  “Do you live in peace?” The girl asked. “Do you live in joy? Do you love me? Do you let the miseries and ignoramuses of the world become an obstacle for beauty?”
  “I love you,” the boy thought with certainty, “I am happy, I am peaceful, I see beauty.”
  “Are you, truly?” The girl challenged gently. ”Are you truly content, do you truly keep such patience?”
  “Truly,” thought the boy. “I truly am.”
  “I cannot argue,” said the girl. “What you feel, you feel. What I feel…I feel. What I see, I see: and I see you out of every sweaty pore in every restless crowd. And I see peace there.”
  The boy smiled, the girl’s eyes deepened, and things felt still again. My eyes were hesitant to open, but once they did, the statues were sitting at their posts just like before. However, they seemed like they had somehow changed: there was a stronger aura of calm contentment about them. I sighed and wished I hadn’t woken up. My eyes drifted lazily around the lobby, with my head propped on my hands, elbows resting on my knees. My eyelids fluttered in trying to stay open, but didn’t have to work as hard once I spotted a young woman at the front desk, wearing a long, white, fitting dress, light leather sandles, and golden anklets. Her hair was dark and wavy, and I could see strings of it clinging to her back. She spoke quickly with the clerk, accompanied by frustrated hand gestures. He nodded soon after and indicated my direction. I sat up, trying to look dignified, and slid down from the railing. My back was stiff, so I hid a wince, forgot m nervousness and introduced myself. She nodded and smiled, introduced herself, and we walked towards the courtyard, passing the statue of the boy. She apologized for the wait, and said that next time she wouldn’t be a minute late. But I’ve known every girl on Broadway, and such a thing is something a director could only hope for.

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  275

  kricket

  in December 2nd, 2007 @ 10:19

  124- Whoa. That’s very very good. *is speechless*
  274- I really like that. It’s very sweet. So did the statues actually like come alive or was it just the guy’s imagination?

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  276

  Lady Visala of Reverie

  in December 2nd, 2007 @ 11:40

  275– Thanks. I think the guy’s mind was just wandering aimlessly and the conversation is what it came upon. He didn’t try to imagine it or create it, it just kinda materialised all on its own.

  I think that some of my description is a little shaky, and some transitions are too abrupt…basically the writing could be a bit stronger. But like I said, I haven’t gotten ’round to editing it yet.

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  277

  Shadow Gallery

  in December 2nd, 2007 @ 16:14

  Shat. My computer is remembering my old name.

  I’m still Shadow Gallery, everyone.

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  278

  BeMoreAmazed

  in December 2nd, 2007 @ 18:37

  274- i really like the use of the statues. two things, just spelling-y
  1. you say loves songs when i think you mean love songs
  2. you describe the girls dress as fitting, did you mean fitted?

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  279

  BeMoreAmazed

  in December 2nd, 2007 @ 19:52

  i’ve been working on this series of vignett-y things about this girl and her mother who live in rome, and her mother is seriously insecure/silghtly crazy, but she has this face of competence and cool, and the girl is sort of slowly discovering her real mother. i posted the first on here, it’s post 271. the thing is, i haven’t got a title. help?

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  Shadow Gallery

  in December 2nd, 2007 @ 20:43

  278: Thanks for pointing those out, I hadn’t really noticed them. Like I said, I haven’t gotten ’round to editing it yet…and I initially wrote it during the wee hours of the morning.

  Think it could be worthy of being published in a high school literary magazine, anyone?

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  281

  BeMoreAmazed

  in December 2nd, 2007 @ 21:06

  absolutley

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  282

  Prarilius Canix

  in December 5th, 2007 @ 21:39

  Pantagruel’s Ring time!
  Marcus made a mental note to turn his hair black again as soon as possible, then focused on the proceedings below.
  “Now,” Ymirsson said, “I should like to draw your attention to an issue that greatly threatens the reputation of the Dark. This story is only one example of a larger problem. How many of you know Jotun Brig?”
  Komondor and Asmodea shook their heads, but Hazel Marrowbone spoke up. “As I recall, he lent me a bushel of rampion once. An estimable troll. He keeps the third largest garden of magical plants in the known world.”
  Ymirsson nodded. “Good friend of mine. Another question. How many of you know the Gruff brothers?”
  Asmodea snarled, clouds of sulfur blasting out of her nostrils. “Those GOATS!! They’ve got criminal records as long and twisted as Bigg Gruff’s horns. I have a personal grudge against one of them.”
  “Exactly. Grand larceny, breaking and entering, racketeering- the list goes on and on. Most famous crime family in decades. A week ago, they attacked Brig, beat him within an inch of his life, and flung him off a bridge. Then they raided his garden and ate all they could hold, burning the rest.
  A family of dangerous criminals empowered by consuming magical vegetation would be bad enough, but it pales in comparison to this.”
  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled weekend edition of the Wunsaponna Times.

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  283

  Alice

  in December 5th, 2007 @ 21:58

  Pantagruel’s Ring is back! Now if I could remember what was happening, everything would be just lovely.

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  284

  Prarilius Canix

  in December 5th, 2007 @ 22:27

  283- Marcus, after various embarrassing incidents, is finally attending his first Convention of the Dark Mandala Court.

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  285

  &separate pentity;

  in December 6th, 2007 @ 08:47

  What do you find the hardest about writing? (You may not say ‘everything’ or ‘nothing.’) Take how frustrated you are with that and multiply it by ten and you will have my feelings toward my complete inability to plot. I am especially jealous of the rest of the blog, especially Alice and PC, who seem to have good original plot ideas dropping on top of them left and right. (I’m sure it’s not exactly like this, but let the metaphor stand.)

  This, I think, is at the heart of why I can’t finish stories. I don’t know where the plot is going, so the story stagnates and I get bored with it and quit. Ugh. Any advice? I am not asking for plot ideas themselves, but rather advice on generating and originalizing them.

  This section is tl;dr 2 DA MAXX. Basically, it’s me coming up with a chapter-by-chapter outline of Golden People, my ex-Nano now under the process of complete rewriting. (Alice did something similar on BIP, I believe.)

  Part 1
  Chapter 1
  The First Storm
  Chapter 2
  Caravan
  Chapter 3
  The Oasis
  Chapter 4
  The Blooded Birds
  Chapter 5
  Kovro Hears
  Chapter 6
  Railroad
  Chapter 7
  Nai Elid
  Chapter 8
  The City Gates
  Chapter 9
  Mezhat
  Chapter 10
  The Second Storm

  Part 2
  Chapter 11
  Ttare
  Chapter 12
  Drums
  Chapter 13
  Iyu Listens
  Chapter 14
  Every Whispered Story
  Chapter 15
  Ezil and Goril
  Chapter 16
  A Favor
  Chapter 17
  The Pearl Maiden
  Chapter 18
  The Nameless
  Chapter 19
  Railroad Away
  Chapter 20
  Kovro Speaks
  Chapter 21
  The Third Storm

  Part 3
  Chapter 22
  Gunshot
  Chapter 23
  The Highest Bidder
  Chapter 24
  Innocence
  Chapter 25
  Return
  Chapter 26
  Necroloquy
  Chapter 27
  The Desert Sky
  Chapter 28
  As You Shall Give
  Chapter 29
  The Golden People
  Chapter 30
  The Fourth Storm

  If you actually got through all that, what do you think of it? How much plot is evident? (I’m going for vague chapter titles on purpose. I don’t want to give myself too many constraints, and I also hate it when chapter titles give me spoilers.) How’s my pacing? Any other thoughts?

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  286

  the man for aeiou

  in December 6th, 2007 @ 12:12

  can we have v.2007.2 ?

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  287

  Alice

  in December 6th, 2007 @ 12:39

  285- That sounds very good. It does seem to have a plot, but I can’t tell what it is.

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  288

  &separate pentity;

  in December 6th, 2007 @ 23:19

  287 (Alice)- Thank you. Writing out the chapter titles definitely helps come up with more of a plot arc, although I’m still not sure exactly how it ends. Structuring it around the four different storms helps, I think.

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  289

  Prarilius Canix

  in December 7th, 2007 @ 20:24

  “This news story,” Ymirsson said, with indignation smoldering in his eyes, “paints the Gruffs as heroes who freed the land of Carabas from an evil troll who hoarded the only food in a time of famine. Needless to say, it’s an editorial. This is only one example of a larger problem. How many of you have known of beings who were unjustly treated by the Light and then portrayed as villains by the editor of the Wunsaponna Times, Hans Grimm?”

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  290

  Gimanator

  in December 7th, 2007 @ 20:54

  My story is dead..must rewrite…too…lazy…slash…busy…with…pie wa…war…

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  291

  Agrrrfishi, Holder of the Diamond Keyboard

  in December 8th, 2007 @ 12:03

  Figures dance
  Angels sing
  Through the streets the carols ring
  But I am somber
  Menacing
  On this merry Christmas Eve
  Nativities hung on the scene
  I do not enjoy
  For lank and mean
  I prowl the streets
  In black, unseen
  For in the dark
  I take my leave
  I strike on places much too bright
  There is a sound
  There is a sight
  A scream of terror
  Wail of fright
  I bring upon this Christmas night
  And lo!
  Throughout the ages past
  My reign of terror ever last
  Their faces carve a look, aghast
  Upon my visage
  Plaintively
  I wander south
  My angry voice
  From ridden mouth
  A tiger waiting for the clouth
  Of people, angry gone
  On
  This night
  of Prowling Cat.
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  How’s that for not making any sense?(Sorry for the Christams poem to Jewish and other religious groups, it’s a poem. No offence.)

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  the man for aeiou

  in December 8th, 2007 @ 18:35

  can we please have a new one? it is taking a long time to load, and this will not be a year long theard. please?

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  293

  Prarilius Canix

  in December 8th, 2007 @ 18:59

  I think a new one would probably be in order. This one is almost 300 posts, and most of the posts are pretty long.

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  294

  Rebecca Lasley (Administrator)

  in December 8th, 2007 @ 19:16

  (292, 293) Okay, you’ve convinced me. Here you go.

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