Literary Endeavors

[Dhavaer]

This is the place to put fan fiction, other fiction, or possibly non-fiction, for viewing and reviewing. It is a far-too-late successor to Amotis' thread of similar purpose and vastly inflated name.

Now write, puppets!

[Amotis]

and vastly inflated name.


::) guilty. ;D
Will type out my "Veridian Verdigo" from my notebook as soon as I get the time. 8)

[Dhavaer]

Conspiracy - Introduction

A beach, somewhere on the Italian coastline. The wind is weak, and the waves are so small as to be practically nonexistent. There are no people on this beach, and the only litter is that of the sea itself, driftwood and seaweed.
The beach is overlooked by a cliff, not so untainted by civilization. There is a villa here. A balcony serves as a lookout, staring down at the beach. On the balcony two women sit, facing each other across a table laden with a continental breakfast.
One is dark, so much so that if it were not for her hair and clothes she would seem to be a void in a woman’s shape. Her hair is white, so much so that it would shame snow. She faces away from the sun, which in the midmorning is far from bright, yet she wears mirrored sunglasses.
Her companion is pale, with hair a deep, dark, rich brown.. She faces the sun without glasses. When her eyes flick to Sol’s radiant countenance, she does not blink or look away. When they look at each other, there is cool friendship and respect. In the brown-haired woman’s dark green eyes, there is also a little lust.
The sit together quietly for some time, eating the food and admiring the still, elegant beauty of their surrounds. Brown hair is the first to break the silence.
“Do you feel that?” she asks.
White hair is still for a long moment. “What?”
“Something is beginning.”
White hair pauses for longer, taking a deep breath and letting out slowly. She licks her lips, as if tasting.
“Yes. I feel it. A harbinger.”
Brown hair looks up at the sun. “The dawning of a new day.”

[PhoeKun]

I'll set the bar really low. I'll post slightly too late, and wind up lowering the bar instead. Damn you and your interesting writing, Dhavaer!

A while back I wrote a sonnet after watching too much of the Bleach anime. This was the result:

Antipode

Sitting upon the frosted heavens,
The Ice Ring; the Dragon of Frozen Stars
Bears her icy fangs at my heart. All men
Who try to win her find only frost burned scars
As they drown in a deluge of hate. I
Melt before her. No failures if I try
To see behind that crystal heart, Finding
Empathy I know is there. We two
Are the same. Crescent blades on chains binding
Fates, binding hates. Its with my fangs I woo.
You said things like “I can’t laugh” and “I hate
People.” Crystal blushes crimson and abates.

With glacial fury my heart you smother…
But someday we’ll understand each other.

[Dhavaer]

The forum's lack of tabs makes paragraphing difficult. I've tried to do it with spaces, but it doesn't have the same effect.

Edit: PhoeKun, I think I like it, but it gives me the feeling that it's oddly formatted. Are the lines mixed up, or is it supposed to be like that?

[Amotis]

If I can somehow scan my music (vocal ones) I'd love to put them here, as well a few choice poems.

[PhoeKun]

The forum's lack of tabs makes paragraphing difficult. I've tried to do it with spaces, but it doesn't have the same effect.

Edit: PhoeKun, I think I like it, but it gives me the feeling that it's oddly formatted. Are the lines mixed up, or is it supposed to be like that?

I don't think fully indented paragraphs are all that integral to a piece of writing, unless you're going for one of those stylized works where it's supposed to look like something.

But the poem is in it's original format. If I might ask, which part seems off to you?

[Amotis]

I don't think fully indented paragraphs are all that integral to a piece of writing, unless you're going for one of those stylized works where it's supposed to look like something.

But the poem is in it's original format. If I might ask, which part seems off to you?

It's in broken meter. Not a bad thing, just some people it erks.

[Dhavaer]

A lot of the sentences start one or two words before the end of the line. I don't know what it would be like read aloud, but it's very confusing to read.

And I like tabs. It makes things much easier to read, especially on a computer.

[Amotis]

A lot of the sentences start one or two words before the end of the line. I don't know what it would be like read aloud, but it's very confusing to read.



Oh, that's pretty common.

[Dhavaer]

That's it. I'm not big with terminology, but its the broken metre/meter that annoys me.

[Mattaeu]

Lucid

The day was wearing on and the pavement was not getting any softer. Flowers were closing up, waiting for tomorrow’s sunrise, and footsteps were disappearing toward home. The sun had not come out today, except for a brief jaunt from the seaside horizon to the wide framing clouds; eastward, it completed that same run, save back to a watery bed.
Pickett Street, at night, resembled a picket fence; there were all white office buildings, same height and width, lining the road and spiking the sky with sharp roofs. Small alleyways in between those bluffs made a trite impression of teeth, and the windows, in concert, portrayed the back slat, connecting the wooden figures.

The window looking out into the street was covered with a parabola of paper stacks. It would let in the light, but there was none. Fluorescence filled the room with brightness and made sure every typeface was visible. Blacks and whites filled out the remainder of the room, with color pictures set up like jokes along the walls. J & R Collating; the shadow cast on the floor by the etched mainlight was merely whelming. However, people still filed in and out on the hours, and left their trail of leaves from door to desk.
Piles of excess paper ate up the white noise. Looking down the row of workstations, the “upbeat” employee cubicles identified themselves. The downtrodden left papers on the floor as a mock revolt; they would pick them up eventually. The room was about large enough to fit several rows, but management cut down the working staff last fall. Just several employees remained to fill up those several rows, and most of them were thin.
At the end of the single corridor was the main office. J loved his office so much; he hoarded it with his closed door. Only the now past workers had seen the inside of it. Perhaps it was just the fact that J did not have a window, and turned out the lights when he left or after he had already entered and closed the black door. He never spoke to anyone, except the deceased, and the only feature even partially telling was the J inlayed in gold about the also gold door handle. Reports were filed under the door; facilitators bowed to the monolith, feeding it their work.
There was a water cooler just opposite the door, which either no one had ever touched or had been refilled by a deft person; it was always full. Dust did not collect there and neither did people. Some would swear they had heard at least one person use it on a constant basis because of the disrupting gurgle it pronounced, but there it sat, squared next to the window; a window that looked out to another brick wall. Directly between this wall and that, however, was a small, neatly trimmed courtyard. About the size of the cubicles inside, this outside section had a kept appearance, and much like the cooler, it never ceased to be full of life.

Yeah, but it also never had any means of losing it. I don’t get how it’s not connected to any service doors or alleys. Matthew looked out the window and vaguely saw the one tree standing straight up. He felt it a pity that the sun had only hit it a few hours that day. Yet somehow the thing seemed to be green, from his view at least. He chuckled to think that the dirt probably was about as green as the tree truly was.
Matthew turned from the window and felt the cubicle wall next to him. After a few steps, the blurry bubbling machine peeped into view. At least I don’t have to worry about anyone coming around the blind corner. Ha. Blind. Matthew turned the corner blindly.
He knew that the row was only a few steps long with his space at the end. He could suppose that he was favored, being so far from J’s office and so close to the front door. He enjoyed his cubicle and the nice soothing color that covered his sight when he sat down. There is that nice reception desk that no one sits at, facing the front door with just a little desk space. He could not be the receptionist; people do not react kindly to squinting, even though there was not an actual one. He would love the desk though; his was just terribly awkward for sorting paper.
Matthew looked out from his cubicle when he heard the door open. Usually patrons just left their stuff on the desk with a note atop saying which page to go with which. He thought that with the nice ones. The misfit paper collating jobs were his. Being near blind increased the other senses a lot, but his touch had seemed to gain the most. Already on his desk were the sheets for today, a mix of watermark, 200 count, 100 count and embossed needful of organizing and collection. Someone breezed in, though, and set their papers on the empty reception desk and turned to exit. The leaves were still following the first direction of air, and Matthew noted the way they collided with the person’s jacket as they rushed back out the door. Even with his terrible eyesight, the pile looked big and mismatched. Matthew sighed.

His method was easy. Pick up a page; squeeze; if it was 200+ thread count, check for embossing; place to the left or right; repeat. From the outside, it looked very menial, and from inside, it was. He could not remember the last time he had not gotten a paper cut from a day at work. Matthew’s hands were, to him, rough as pillows. He could feel the ridges, both the fingerprints and the canyon rims from innumerable cuts, but he could not see them. He could barely glimpse that they had independent digits. Matthew wondered how he could still feel the width and weight with all those severed nerves.
Seconds separating turned the hours by. Nine to five was basic nowadays, and J intended to keep each worker just that long. He never tolerated tardiness, and on the same note, he never expected them to work longer than scheduled. Hour lunch breaks were designated the same strictness, and for that reason, Matthew never left the office for food. His pail sat in the bottom drawer until one o’clock.
Promptly, it was one o’clock. Matthew opened the bottom drawer and reached his pail. His subconscious registered that it was still full, that he had not snacked out of it. Matthew stood and turned left out of his cubicle, heading back for the window to the courtyard. He sat there everyday, but in the past month, the tree had appeared. Matthew had then begun to wonder at the little, secluded paradise behind glass. He opened the lid of his pail and looked inside. He felt the sandwich and fruit and crackers. Nearly everything anyone needs for food, Matthew thought. Lonely, he ate the sandwich. The crackers did nothing for an empty stomach. Matthew reached for the apple last and while he held it, looked out the window. How? And the weight held between his left thumb and forefinger vanished. He cursed under his breath, and got to his knees to find it. This back hall ended with another white wall, so he thought he should easily retrieve it. He crawled for some time and reached the end wall.
Matthew turned around clumsily to start back for his pail, hopefully to find the apple along the way, and his foot bounced against the wall. There was a very distinct metal sound, the sound a door and a handle give off. He stopped, puzzled. Slowly standing and turning around, Matthew saw a faint glimmer at height with his right hand. Hesitantly grabbing and twisting the knob, the door gave way with very little sound. The hinges were humble and used, and the white door was unstained. Instantly, he felt a chill. Air. The inner room had a bright light, but didn’t feel the same as what Matthew had just left. He stepped forward, and sank into the floor. A red wall stopped him from heading further, but to his right was emptiness. He shut the door behind him.

Matthew looked. Matthew stared. Matthew saw. Every blade of grass, each line in the brick wall, and the tree with yellowing leaves. He stepped out of the alcove made for the swinging door and into the plaza. No leaves had fallen from the tree yet. His footsteps did not echo and Matthew slowly approached the small trunk. He had seen the imperfections in the bark the moment he saw again. He did not trust this miracle, yet.
His fingers were tingling. Once he had stopped next to the tree, he did not know what to do, what he was seeing. With a single finger outstretched, he touched the imperfection, and traced it. In loving memory. He believed now. Matthew quickened his breath, elated and scared. He should not be here. Below the first imperfection, the trunk bore a second scar, an R. He did not trace it. Something pushed him back from the tree. He never took his eyes from the marks, but Matthew slowly walked to the door. He reached the handle and pulled the door open. Another R was inlayed in silver about this handle. Far too focused on and surprised by the second R, Matthew forgot about the step up. He fell.

The water cooler gurgled. Matthew picked himself up, and looked at the man by the cooler. He couldn’t make out any features; he kept staring at the black figure. His faced burned with embarrassment and the minute impressions of the carpet fibers.
“You need to get back to work.”
“I’m sorry."
J walked off towards his office. He drank the water in his paper cup, trying to calm his clenching throat. His eyes were stinging and red.


just a little something to help the thread. :)

edit: oh, forgot: I'm already dancing! ::)

[Amotis]

Antipode

Sitting upon the frosted heavens,
The Ice Ring; the Dragon of Frozen Stars
Bears her icy fangs at my heart. All men
Who try to win her find only frost burned scars
As they drown in a deluge of hate. I
Melt before her. No failures if I try
To see behind that crystal heart, Finding
Empathy I know is there. We two
Are the same. Crescent blades on chains binding
Fates, binding hates. Its with my fangs I woo.
You said things like “I can’t laugh” and “I hate
People.” Crystal blushes crimson and abates.

With glacial fury my heart you smother…
But someday we’ll understand each other.



A bit pop-y and vauge teenage angst, but nicely put together.

[Mattaeu]

...and a little something from about two seconds ago:

Swingline Skates or My Precious Ball Bearing
I went scootering around the island
In our kitchen today

And when the tile turned to your teeth
I smiled, and turned away

Laughing with you in revolt
From the bounds of our clay city

I spun till I fell down
Smiling, for lack of pity.

[Shadow_of_Light]

Oh man... if I posted all my writing here I'm sure I'd get kicked off the board, hehehe.

An extract from my Drakan fanfiction, which I think I finished in 2002.


***
Perfect... simply perfect.

Rynn glanced down the left hand tunnel, then the right. She didn't remember a fork. But this had to be the right way... she couldn't be lost.

She turned suddenly and sent a blast of fire down the passage she'd just come through. She caught a glimpse of black shapes leaping swiftly aside, and heard shrill, derisive laughter. The creatures knew, she realised with a sinking feeling. They knew she'd lost her way. All they had to do was dog her trail until she left her guard down or gave up and...

"Rynn?"

Rynn suppressed a gasp of relief and blinked at the glitter of light approaching around a bend in the right-hand branch. It was Ebontyne, her fire magic bobbing beside her helmeted head.

Surprisingly, the War Mage looked relieved.

"I thought I'd gotten lost," Ebontyne admitted reluctantly, and her expression turned to one of self-disgust. "I could have sworn I'd come in this way."

Since she could afford to be honest, Rynn decided she could as well. "You're not the only one."

"That's something, I guess. It was tough going for me before I decided to use magic to defend myself. The creatures down here seem to be resistant to my sword's power."

"Like that black unicorn?"

"Exactly." Ebontyne looked back over her shoulder, down Rynn's tunnel, then at the third branch, which had a distinct downward slope. "I guess we go that way. I'll watch our backs."

They started walking, Rynn feeling much better with some human company. The darkness was so absolute outside the circle of firelight, save for the glittering of eyes, and the ceaseless sounds of the quicklings' chattering and the scratchy sounds when they darted across the ground had started to get her nervous. This place reminded her a little of a spider cave she'd cleared a while back... only worse.

Here you couldn't see the webs.

"What the..!" Rynn stopped abruptly, wiping something from her face. It was hair-thin and clingy, sticking to her hand as she tried to shake it off.

Ebontyne drew in a sharp breath. "Rynn... does it look like the walls are... moving?"

Rynn looked quickly at the tunnel wall on her left. It wasn't going anywhere. But... it did look like it was shifting... like its colours were warping within the boundaries of the stone. No... she peered closer. Colours? The wall was black, with only varying shades of dark grey and even deep violet. What was that hazy stuff drifting cloud-like out of the stone?

"Shiv'arass Ravine," Ebontyne whispered, and when Rynn looked at her there was an expression of open horror on her face. "We have to go back. Now."

Rynn didn't have to be told twice. They spun to dash back up the passage... which wasn't there any more. Only a wall of that shifting darkness.

Darkness...

"Ebontyne," Rynn said slowly, "this isn't the place where you got the material for your shadowshiv sword, is it?"

Ebontyne nodded, her face even paler than usual.

"What's going to happen?" Rynn demanded. "What's down here and how do we fight it?"

"Darkness is down here," Ebontyne replied softly. "And you have no more hope in fighting it than you have of fighting water as you drown."

"But you've been down here before?"

"Only the edges." She shivered. "I had no idea we were this close. Or that the darkness had spread this far."

"Ebontyne, focus," Rynn said, her commanding tone deliberate. The other woman's eyes hardened at the words, and some of the steel returned to her voice as she said, "What do you want to do?"

"Get through," Rynn answered firmly. "Any ideas how we can do that?"

"Only one. Walk straight in with your head high, and no fear."

"What?"

"That's what this place is. That's what this is," Ebontyne said, drawing the shadowshiv. "The stuff of nightmares. Your fears. It gets into your mind... and you lose control."

Remembering her encounter with Ebontyne's sword, Rynn didn't doubt it.

"It's worse than that," Ebontyne rasped, once again seeming to read her mind. "My sword is a mere shadow compared to this blackness. What you saw that day by the shadowshiv's blade is nothing, literally. A vision. Down here where we're surrounded by it's very substance, what you feel is real, Rynn. You will live out your fears. And if you're not strong enough, your fears will eat you alive."

"There must be more to it," Rynn objected, chilled to the bone and already feeling very much afraid. "I mean, that unicorn was afraid of me, but he wasn't affected by your sword!"

"Vakailan is a creature of this place. He's a spawn of darkness, fear and chaos. Fighting him with a shadowshiv would be like fighting fire with fire. You can't. It must be the same for the other creatures down here." She fell silent.

Rynn stared into the vast darkness before her, the black walls of the passage growing more indistinct and less solid by the minute. The two magical fires were dwindling, too, as though they were being choked. Rynn felt a panicky need to laugh at the notion of darkness overpowering light, and opened her mouth, taking in a ragged gulp of air.

"I don't even know if there is a way out," Ebontyne said, almost too softly to be heard.

Rynn offered her hand and Ebontyne gripped it tightly. As a passing thought, she was glad she was wearing gauntlets. Her sweaty palms would have given away her terror in a second.

The darkness pressed around them, a hollow, whispering sound filling the air.

"Don't make that one of your fears, whatever you do," Rynn replied faintly, "or, as you said, it'll be real."

With a soft hiss, the lights went out.

...and in the sudden silence, Rynn thought she heard her brother's cry of her name...

[PhoeKun]

Mattaeu, that is some quality stuff. I really want to make more of a commentary than that, but the words just aren't coming. Maybe later.

In the meantime, here's a poem about my old hometown, with some broken meter for all your Dhavaer irking needs!

The Great Bloomsburg Pilgrimage

Its funny how the weather works in a valley.
You get some rain one week in October, and suddenly there’s a flood.
It’s the most fun time in all the year for Bloomsburg.
The annual fair has two demolition derbies, one official one in the amphitheater,
And another where people try to get out of the parking lot, which by this
Point is just a giant mud slide. See, the rain is part of what makes it fun.
The buildings have lines drawn up on them where the floods reach their highest.
6 feet, seven feet, you could drown in this stuff!
And earlier, the weather was perfect for the breezy autumn.
People wandered about the fairgrounds. A woman in a blue dress
Looked at paintings that had been borrowed from museums, and
In the next building over, a large, very disagreeable man tried to sell
Real-estate. Outside, kids ate caramel apples and funnel cakes, while they
Tried to throw those little ping pong balls into a bowl of water to win goldfish.
Makeshift stands sold fried pickles, which, by the way, taste even better
Than they sound. Next to a big, white building, under a small roof (in case of rain!)
A man in a clean white suit showed how sharp his companies knives were, slicing
Through soda cans and hammers, then cutting tomatoes. He spoke like an auctioneer.
Most of my time was spent a few hundred feet further down the road, where a slightly
Gruff looking man with a ponytail sold imported katanas, Chinese Broadswords,
And hundreds of throwing knives, which are fantastic Christmas presents when you don’t
Know what else to give.
It’s the only town in Pennsylvania. And for one week a year, its heaven.

[Jibar]

(Okay, I'm making this up as I write it...)
It was dark. It's always dark in here. It's what I get for having these screen things on my window, and never changing the light bulb. But you need atmosphere in a job like this, at-mos-phere!
The fan on my desk slowly turned from side to side, cooling me down. It was also throwing my papers all over the floor. That didn't matter. I could pick those up.
Outside it was dark. It was night. The streelamps let in a soft orange glow to my office, and the noise of cars speeding by was like music to my ears. This is the city of a thousand sins. But for however many sins it has got, I still can't get a job.
I'm Detective Edwardo. I'd smoke but I'm not an idiot. Well...I guess I'm more of a private investigator really...but let's not get into that. I'm the only detective in this city. And considering the huge amount of crime here, I've somehow been jobless for a year now.
The handle on my door twitched. I could see a figure through the window. It was a humanoid one. The handle twitched again, and the door swung open. On the otherside stood a Blonde Bombshell in a Red Dress (or a BBRD if you're in the buisness). She stood there, looking around as if dazed, before saying.
"I...wait...what am I doing here?"
I pulled the little string by my desk, and the door slammed shut. The wonderful about being a detective, is when you get the atmosphere in your office just right, and you sit around looking moody for more than half an hour, you're garunteed to have a BBRD walk in. That doesn't mean you'll get a job, but it does cheer you up.

[amorelli]

something we had to write in school - descriptive piece about a form of water. I took a slightly unusual form. She was expecting snow, ice, I gave her something different - the cup of water laid out for marathon runners. I'm no poet, but I think it's pretty good.

Runner’s Refreshment

I’m sitting on the side,
Amongst 100 of my twins.
A single white wall curves around me.
Through the non-existent roof,
I see my brethren of the skies –
White and fluffy –
Floating majestically by.

I wait to be chosen
. . .
I’m the first!
The winner grabs me while running by!

Part of me fuels, filling the void of departed saltiness.
Part of me cools, splashing against hot, sweaty skin.

My purpose fulfilled, the rest falls –
Crushed,
Discarded,
Forgotten –
To the pavement.

I slowly move down the street,
Trapped between road and curb,
To finally splash,
drop
by
drop,
Into the waiting drain.

[Mattaeu]

Mattaeu, that is some quality stuff. I really want to make more of a commentary than that, but the words just aren't coming. Maybe later.Hey thanks! um, which one? or both? :P I would dig out more, but they're all on my back up dvd and don't really feel like it hehe.