Support the GITP forums on Patreon
Help support GITP's forums (and ongoing server maintenance) via Patreon
Results 1 to 9 of 9
  1. - Top - End - #1
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Jjkaybomb's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2008
    Location
    Flyover Territory
    Gender
    Female

    Default Jj's Dreamspace Garbage Pile

    Like the title says, this is where I'll be posting whatever garbage comes to mind when I try and write. Maybe when I start up Evil Inc again I'll start posting it here.

    The Wanderer
    Spoiler
    Show
    If the man looked over the landscape, the space that he would see is barren and brown. Winter still took the air and whipped the winds that always seemed to be yelling. It’s just so flat, so sparse, the winds love it here, they can run around and scream all they want while the people cover their ears and keep walking.

    The wind right now was playing with the man’s coat, making it flap around like a game of parachute. The man found no humor in this game and gripped it close to himself. He had never had children. Did being two or so feet shorter than his wife have anything to do with that? Possibly, not that it mattered now. He was not going to stop to play with the wind, they would not make a game out of him. He had to go, not to stop. Destination was secondary to the movement. Clutching at himself tightly he barreled past the children and their playful screeches.

    Or made his dog barrel past the children, but the dog was essentially an extension of himself, the fact that he was riding it does not mean anything.
    Out of curiosity, the man did in fact pass a glance at the landscape, still wrapped up in himself. Immediately tears were torn from his ragged face, the wind begging him to remember the barrenness of his lost home. Or not. He lowered himself back down and kept going, he saw nothing of interest here.

    Only in a place where spinelike trees only served to make the winds games louder and more cheerful as they climbed the barren branches did the wanderer pause to look up again. A man at least twice if not four or five times his size was on the ground, picking at it huffing and puffing and also batting away the games of the wind. The diminutive called out to him.

    “Hullo, good sir!” said he, stopping his steps. The dog complied. “What might you be doing among the dirt of the road on this dismal day?”

    “Well, I’ve tripped, that’s what!” the giant huffed, scrunching up his face like a wad of bad poetry, “And in a lovely twist of fate, a bag broke! I must find every piece, every piece…” the man grunted and resumed searching for every last piece of whatever piece he was rooting through dirt for.

    “Every piece of…?” the wanderer asks, helping only himself as he falls off his dog to help the tower before him. He falls to the dirt to pick at grains the wind so loves to toss about especially this time of year.

    The mass of a man only grunts and keeps looking while the wanderer frowns. The wind must’ve played hide and seek, there’s nothing to be found here.
    The diminutive figure leaves the mass of a man to his work. He’s got to move on.

    All that's here is... an introduction to the charactor, really...

    The Murderer
    Spoiler
    Show
    Still land silent in early morning falls shattering. A crack of gunshot glass broken boom. A hand held aloft smoking with deeds done tosses their hand aside to turn and leave this mess. Boots clump steadily against hardwood floors masked by a wet thud and gentle moans. A rub of fabric with movement, a sound so small made so enormous by the enormity of the situation, even drowning out a deeper thud against a wall. Heavy breath, both heaving, but one shot was all there ever was. There never had been another like it. Indeed, even the people stirring around unseen and unheard were ignorant of the events as a murder, if they had even gotten that far.

    The man could only mutter through his red cloud and deadened black night, the other could only spew anger at everything. But he was alive, and would remain so, as he threw off his burden and stumbled clumping out the door.

    “Let dying dogs die, I don’t know,” was all he could muster in self defense to the night, “And guns fuggin rule.”

    The sounds stopped, even his breathing. He had left the gun behind. The bootsteps started once more.

    “Hi again.” He put gruffly to the panting corpse as he shuffled his loud steps over to the shining glorious wand of death, “I forgot this.”

    The corpse only moaned its feelings, which certainly must’ve been many. Life flashing before one’s eyes, that stuff.

    “Oh, and I forgot this.” The night man out bluntly into the corpses’ side, squelching blood shouts eminating from mortal wounds. “And I forgot to mention I hate you. And that these are the way of the future. Of the present, of now, of… zahdammit, you know, killing things.” The man flushed and grit his teeth pounding across the corpse, “What we all live for, right? Ri~i~ight?! That and your stupid, stupid stupid!!” The man could not stop himself from pounding against the corpse with his heavy bloodstained boots ironically. He was here to show the power of the gun, not the pain of his blows. “Stupid stupid I hate you!” cuts across the night louder than the thunder of a gunshot with no words.

    The next several ages would only be filled with shouting.

    I was kindve thinking... the first paragraph. Then I found out who this story was about and was like, "wait, it doesnt happen that way" and then I was like "go with it"

    A Location Thing I had to do for Class
    Spoiler
    Show
    The attacking northern winds whistle and shriek over the silenced grasses and quieted planes like the voices of the thousands who died screaming and demanding justice for the brown rushes and shattered leaves they cherished and closely. They slam into the already battered and broken gloom of hovels held up only by the thin threaded remains of their sheep’s wool long gone and the glimmering hopes of times to come. Some eyes train for the sparkle among their dust, batted about by the screams and wails; zipping in several directions only to catch the luminous glimmer of preshattered glass. From their cultivated fields of goats long past, other wind-scarred eyes no longer look among the remains, but to the cloudy spires that so pierce and bleed the sky with their endless peaks, holding the barrier between their world and another. The last, the few, the most broken of all the beaten, merely take a twist of their necks to the tainted towers of their tyrant, the teeth of which open and tautened to take a bite. An open devouring maw that swallowed the land to satiate itself and no one else.

    Ooh... melodrama. Sorta the start of everything, really...

    Bubble Monolouge
    Spoiler
    Show
    All that ever matters in my world is going forward. Gathering life and supplementing your own. It never matters where you were from or who you were, all that matters is the gains at the end of it all. And if you died, then that was just that. They would use that death to further themselves, and all you would amount to was the amount you had invested in yourself, how much you fed the demon that ate you. If even that; humans would just destroy us completely.

    That’s just the world, I guess. Demon, human, somewhere in between, life is just about living until you die, and getting on top is the goal before that happens.

    Though I’ve never seen the five on top fall. My guesses are that they never will.

    So, maybe what I’m trying to say is that it’s never about where you’ve been or how you got to here. You can have the most amazing tales told in the most verbose and beautifully charming way, and it won’t tell me a thing. Especially since I have a bad habit of thinking everyone’s lying about that crap. I tend to just trust what I see for myself. Just a survival technique.
    I don’t know why I’m writing this down, then. What does it even matter anymore? What does it matter if it really was true care, true compassion? It’s in the past now. I have Chris now. And Chris has

    It still might help me figure out emotions, if I look back on when I had none?
    I don’t know, he just keeps preoccupying my mind. When I think of Chris, I can’t help but think of him as well. Especially when Chris

    It’s funny, both my fathers had become more preoccupied with women when they’re around. I’m interesting, they care, but when Thryza comes in, I am merely a secondary.

    I’ve seen enough proof to know that he cares! I have. It’s just that I can’t make my dad as happy as she could. The very thought that Chris enjoys Thryza more seizes up my cores and makes them function poorly, cracks in my shell loosening and leaking sticky, fluidous magic.

    Which is why I always think back to him, to Ruby. What did we have? Was it more, deeper, broader than what I have with Chris now? I certainly never cried for Ruby, but maybe that’s because I never truly lost him. There were times with Chris.

    I could sum up Ruby’s an I’s long history together in the fact that we were twins, mates, yet not mates. True mates surrender everything to one another; they are merely two bodies of the same demon. Ruby and I never had that sort of trust, or maybe we did. The fact is that we never truly tested our faith. Long, long years together, working for thousands of years for only the two of us alone. Yet all that time were we merely using one another? At the first sign of weakness would we take the other’s life? I still don’t know, and just talking about it will not help. So I will recount my past to myself, and hope that I make something clear. I must do it externally, as processing is interrupted frequently by these bursts of emotion.

    Sometimes the best way that I write... I was just experimenting otherwise, really...
    Last edited by Jjkaybomb; 2009-02-26 at 01:55 PM.

  2. - Top - End - #2
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Jjkaybomb's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2008
    Location
    Flyover Territory
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Jj's Dreamspace Garbage Pile

    Zeke
    Spoiler
    Show
    Glittering and catching the light as it bounces up and down and back and forth. It clicked too, or something clicked along with it. Tch Tch Tch Tchch Tch. It was very rhythmic, he was sure he could make a song out of it. He began playing one in his head, beats slowing down and speeding up to match with the clicking shiny thing. He started humming.

    “Shh!” his brother snapped at him, jerking at his hand nervously. Then he sighed, but not like a light one or a quick puff. But a heavy one. Meanings behind these actions were always lost to Zeke. Maybe someday he’d learn. That’s what his brother told him, at least. He’d learn everything, like who he was, and who his brother was, and who the church was, and algebra maybe too!

    “I’m sorry, Zeke, I didn’t mean to snap at you, we don’t have to be quiet…” his brother said suddenly, turning to him. But they were still walking, and Jarron still gripped Zeke’s hand tightly.

    Zeke’s foot splashed into a puddle. It was quite exciting, but they had to keep moving. Even when they were waiting for something, Jarron couldn’t stand still. Zeke giggled as he imagined Jarron’s shoes being on fire, the plastic melting, and it could only be stopped by constant movement. Dancing about forever. It felt like forever.

    Zeke stopped his thoughts at the look on Jarron’s face. His eyebrows were smushed together and his mouth held weights at their corners. Zeke nodded. His brother’s brow tightened further, but he turned back around and sped up his pace.
    This is actually how I imagine Zeke most of the time. Yes, lawful stupid Zeke is actually not a main part of my story about him. Thus why it's so much fun to play him. No, wait, its so much fun to play him because he's complex and always changing.

    Bubble Journal Day One
    Spoiler
    Show
    So we left

    So we left

    What now?

    Hungry?

    Laughter, You know the answer to that, we’re both hungry

    Yet not so bad as before

    Of course all this communication may or may not be happening in words. All five senses and then some are used.

    I think what you need first is a nice warm meal. Sensation of touch, image of smiling, warm caring feelings. Minor infusion of personalities. Of course we were one person now.

    Caring, I like this emotion. Most emotions wreak havoc on my cores, good or bad. But that didn’t mean it was a bad thing. Chris thought it was all a bad thing.

    Sighing, Please, Nunda, we need to find emotional individuality, it’s not healthy to be dependent on a person for your own self comfort. A quick mental hug, blending again. I can think of nothing better than blending and dreams. Absolute trust, finally, I have it. Another feeling I love.

    Chris is better off without me anyway. Emotion fires up and shoots off little painful sparks.

    We cannot fall into that rut as well, we cannot fall victim to these emotions. We must reign them, understand them, and not let them control our every action. Seeing as how we can’t get rid of them.

    Image of nodding, feelings of confirmation and feeling wordless.

    So. Hungry?

    Yes but. Fears of hatred, moral issues, desire, rejection, empathy of loss with other people by thinking of loss of Chris or my other half.

    I’m here too guys

    SHUT UP EMERALD.

    A problem then do we have to content with morals yes we do I do not want to be alienated from all my friends.

    Then our solution is to eat evil people. Feelings of uneasiness and uncertainty.

    Processing becomes too complicated to represent in simple words. In fact, I might’ve been simplifying too much already. Rethinking of keeping journal, rethinking of way of recording journal.

  3. - Top - End - #3
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Jjkaybomb's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2008
    Location
    Flyover Territory
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Jj's Dreamspace Garbage Pile

    Nothing I wrote the past two days is any good
    Thats why this is a garbage pile.
    Bubble Journal Day Two
    Spoiler
    Show
    A lamp post

    I’m not sure why I’m remember a lamp post out of everything. But when I arrived here, there was a lamppost, the only one of the street. It cut through the darkness and revealed the world around me, a dark grimy place with buildings attacking at the sky and trying to swallow it with wires. It really reminded me of my original world, and I was being swallowed by a demon vaster than I.

    I had walked here. Not for long, Town was a crossroads of sorts. Which I guess is why I was drawn to the lamp post, it showed me the way to where I am now. I’ve visited that lamp post several times since I’ve been in this world, Mennicha, and haven’t found my way back to town. Maybe it was a onetime event, I don’t know, I’m just glad that I didn’t have to expend energy to transport myself here.

    But how I got here, got this whole lovely base to myself, long, unrealistic, and… tangy? Tangy of all things. Words cannot describe my thoughts, they never can.

    Certainly was delicious.

    Y’know, I haven’t felt many urges to eat. Does that make my meals much better or much worse?

    Or is it better because I now share them? Sensation of personalities fusing. Yes, maybe that has to do with it.

    I never knew true mates to be less hungry or anything, in fact I’ve heard many more stories of death from two pair.

    Eh.

    Why did I even start at a lamppost? I suppose I’m just recording my thoughts as they come.

    Hmm… I curl deeper into the couch. Much better than my corner, much softer, I dig in deeper. It’s a hug, an engulfment… being swallowed? That would be a bad thing to like. Emerald?

    It’s not me, geez, you just said you liked it before you ever frikkin ate my core.

    Hey, you answered! Hi!

    A pause. Don’t mock me.

    Hey, anything else to mention so I can write it down?

    Why the hell are you even writing it down, you’ll remember it.

    I dunno, why not, posterity of mankind?

    Since when do we care?

    Oh, you be quiet too, we started this together, you know.

    Jeez, it’s like me myself and I in here… sensation of touch. Wait, external.

    “You know…” Karen hovers over me, touching my shoulder. I stare up at her. “Stop writing while I’m


    Bubble Journal Day Two Part Two
    Spoiler
    Show
    This journal is never going to have anything significant written in it if all I get is sidetracked and Karen. I swear, if she wasn’t my one connection to this world

    Eat her

    Shut up, Emerald.


    The Murderer 2
    Spoiler
    Show
    Another day, but one long before innocence was stolen, nay, torn from my supple form and devoured by beasts with humanlike faces.

    Okay, maybe that’s a bit melodramatic.

    Another day, childhood, when the whole world can be bright and cheery, or glaring and hateful. I’m not sure what it was for him. Light and brightly breezy, green everywhere. He had found a place of peace where grass would tickle, not scratch, and he could tug at it freely, reveling in his ability to pick it apart by the seams. Green dug into his skin, complimenting his fingernails and adding a delightful youthful odor to his quiet playful self.

    A hand from what only could’ve been the pits of oblivion darts forward and scrapes at the downy fluff of childish heads. A cry of irritation as the games are grounded and grinding against his face. Curses against kin.

    “Oh, sorry, did not mean to shove so hard.”
    Last edited by Jjkaybomb; 2009-03-02 at 08:47 PM.

  4. - Top - End - #4
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Jjkaybomb's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2008
    Location
    Flyover Territory
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Jj's Dreamspace Garbage Pile

    Bubble Journal Day 3
    Spoiler
    Show
    Maybe I should actually start telling how I got here to the base.
    I came to this world, like I said, through a street light. It was a hidden night where I could creep around corners unnoticed by all except those who might want to harm me. I was still a child then, I had no reason or want to change. And I was still dressed in the clothes that comfort me, the skin of my dad and his green tinted vision. I suppose that looked very odd in this steamscape.

    Odd enough to have a hand dart from no blackness in particular and try to capture me. And why not, I was only a child, what could I do?

    A lot. Boom. A tingling crackle, the smallest spark of magic zipping into reality, and the fool was sent sprawling. I’m very proud of myself for keeping my head, I only paralyzed the man. It was an act of charity, I would think.
    His friends didn’t agree with me.

    Pause. I’m not quite sure to put into words what I think when all my cores begin running. Words are so inefficient. If I could put pure memory into paper. I mean, put pure memory without spending every last drop of my precious reserves.

    Let’s try stepping outside myself.

    Night in the deep and dark depths of the streets gullet, a flash, arced lighting cracked the night illuminating a devilishly beautiful and completely innocent child as he defends himself from a roaring beast of a mortal being. Mortal and weak to be defeated by on so small and cute. Silence and soot smelling darkness, maybe burnt flesh and a hiss of breath. What moment passed before once more action reared up in the form of more guns.

    Now the night was loud and screaming, an explosion thrown into a child’s face like a deadly pie being thrown comically at the face of a clown.
    A deadly pie. Yes, a deadly pie. That’s just ridiculous. Tis what the boy felt. Does not stop it from being ridiculous. Moving on.

    It might’ve been the mafia. Spotting a hapless child hopelessly lost and happily thinking of kidnapping for fun and profit. Foolish them, for the child was nothing short of a demon, and hungry at that.

    Actually, I wasn’t so much hungry as peckish, but details details.

    The crafty, innocent little demon

    Innocent demon is an oxymoron. Y’know, if it’s not one thing, it’s another. Let’s just tell the story and not be interrupted by core processes getting in a jumble. Frustration consention laughter.

    Yes, there were guns. Now I’ve lost my train of thought. Processing gets muddled when too many senses and thoughts run at once.

    I think ahem. The demon was still alive, of course, but how could fools who had never seen any beings besides themselves understand suddenly that the child before them had lived? Especially since the clever and beautiful form of the child was merely playing with them, pretending that death had overtaken his pallor.

    It was also much to dark to see the magic seep out of him. Nonetheless, fools! Tangy fools. You think they would be, I don’t know, grilled, or charred, considering how dirty they were.

    BUT I’VE GOTTEN AHEAD OF MYSELF.

    The child was curious. This certainly was an excessive amount of force for dealing with a child who merely sent a spark arcing across their dark and charcoaled night. As he lay on the ground, letting the juices seep out of him and hoping they didn’t notice that it was not blood, he listened to their conversations, hurried, jabbering, and in a panic.

    They were up to nothing but foul deeds that night, black of the moonlessness that surrounded them. The child had not been grabbed at as a secondhand thought of a kidnapping, but seen as a weak and helpless little being that could be easily dispatched to rid of, lest he had seen the dark deeds the men had committed.

    Say that ten times fast. Why do I always interrupt me?

    For these men, these cracked and warped sinners, were mafia! People. And they were doing something with something and tonight they were doing something. I found it kind’ve silly how secretive they were trying to be, yet they fired off guns at me. Did nobody hear that? I know there is some magic in this world, maybe they had some silencers, I don’t know.

    Anyway, they couldn’t leave a dead body outside their base, so they decided to take it inside to prepare to dump it or something something, I don’t know. They were clearly evil, or at least perpetrating evil, and weak. I was in a world where I could do things that I could never even attempt in Town. If that made me a little bit kill crazy, then dammit it did.

    Inside was a good place to be. That was the end to their pathetic operations. I have committed a good deed through a foul one, but I regret no actions that I have taken.

    It was a spur of the moment thing. Am I defending myself? Only because I think it needs defending. Again, toss my thoughts back to Town. Maybe it was because everyone I met had power to stop me, even Morgan. With words, because I longed to stay and fit in to feed myself more. A way of survival.

    Here I had no attachments, I had no limits, I have no regrets
    It was a very good meal too. I got a base out of the deal and since affirmed that the people I killed were evil through Karen.

    Karen, honestly, same night she came bursting in here toting a tommy gun. She wanted revenge herself, only to find me contemplating over that tangy meal.

    I still wonder what she thought about that.

  5. - Top - End - #5
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Jjkaybomb's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2008
    Location
    Flyover Territory
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Jj's Dreamspace Garbage Pile

    I felt like I couldnt write today.
    But I did anyway.
    The Murderer 3 came out pretty smoothly once I started going.

    Sai
    Spoiler
    Show
    And you’ll soon see. I come for vengeance / for the first son of light / and I’m ready and I’m willing and I’m prepared to… ~The Protomen

    Shiny. Glistening and slick silver blade, curved and beautiful. Not a nick on its smooth frame. This blade cannot be broken so easily. Thousands of years, hundreds of hands, not a scratch. Beautiful as the day that it was first made, wrought by the greatest hero the world had ever known. Carotain. To this day his name rings out beautifully and in honor, cheered and chanted for, the greatest hero ever known. The creator of the five legendary weapons. And one of them was now in the hands of a deluded young boy.

    A smirk spread across Zeke’s face. Sai, the blade of destiny. The blade that he would use to change the world. He held it aloft, feeling the heat in his hand. It was his now. His responsibility, his weight, his right, his ability. Died, torn, killed… all of them, senselessly. People didn’t deserve to die before they were ready, prepared for it, and no child should have to suffer such things. Zeke would make sure no evil, not even the smallest, would be allowed to live.

    They would all be safe. A sigh, he resheathes his blade.

    Yet, so easily he gave it up…
    Not proud of this peice at all, nuh-uh. I wrote it because I miss playing Zeke.

    The Murderer 3
    Spoiler
    Show
    Would anyone know what it was like?

    Today, a meeting, strategy, a plan, he has a plan, and his brother knows it. He knows, no, he wants it, he begs for it. But its so muddy, so murky, the room shivers and leans to the side, breathing heavy and hot. Could he do it? Could he?

    Younger, earlier, previously, another time. His brother leans against him, clings, hangs on for dear life, unable to say and unable to tell. He grips at his brother like the solid lifeline he was, shocked and hammered into the ground. The murderer reaches out to hug his brother, for once looking down at him instead of up.

    “It is hard… it is just hard…” the brother mutters, breath shaking like his body, “I… you know, I…” his eyes bathe themselves, but are unable to cleanse the brother of his feelings. “You are so lucky, Zoiladdo… so lucky to have been born second…”

    A hand grabs at the murderer’s organ and pulls at them, contorting them, making them impossible to use, pain and fire shoved inside him with laughter and mirth. The world spins, spins, spins, head unable to hold under such duress.

    Today, today, old men deciding how to run the world on their old and outdated ideals. Snip snip snap snap this is how the world runs I’ve seen it, I’m better than you. Nothing the murderer will say will do a damned amount of good. How old are you, Zoiladdo? Have you experienced nothing in thirty years of life? Have you seen what we have seen, for if you haven’t, then you should start seeing it as soon as possible.

    Words are nothing but breaths to a void, space listens better, space between walls. But actions break walls. It makes sense to him as he stands, grip warm and burning with the act he must commit.

    For his brother.

    A crack of life being devoured, warm splatter of blood and brains crashing across all the words of the old men, silencing them with one shot.
    For his brother, his brother had asked, pleaded, begged to die in his eyes and words. And now his mouth whispered thank you a million times silently.

    “Guns.” The murderer puts bluntly, “Have won. And they have been winning.” He strides up to the source of pain and silencing, the upholder of all the old, skin stained with his seeping stupidity. If only he could pull a gun on that man as well… “And will keep winning if we don’t at least ATTEMPT!” a pause, effect, dramatics, the old men like that, “Attempt to learn, adapt, and shoot back.” He eyes the old men in triumph, head filled with fire, room spinning, spinning, spinning. The old men’s heads spinning. At least his brothers had stopped.

    The old men bicker.
    Zoi is a pain in the ass to play. I never like to, he was basically an experiment topped with the fact that I wanted more serious charactors. I dont know, he never got defined clearly in my head, and just became this nagging annoying critic.
    The Murderer, however, is fun and easy to write.

  6. - Top - End - #6
    Troll in the Playground
     
    Green-Shirt Q's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2007
    Location
    Canada, okay?! Yeeesh.
    Gender
    Male

    Thumbs up Re: Jj's Dreamspace Garbage Pile

    I shall give thumbs up. Great writing.

    I also approve of you mentioning Morgan.
    AVATAR BATTLE ROYALE!
    Spoiler
    Show

  7. - Top - End - #7
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Jjkaybomb's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2008
    Location
    Flyover Territory
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Jj's Dreamspace Garbage Pile

    Hey, we said he was mentioned before, just not by name.

    Glad someone commented eventually! Thank you thank you! XD

  8. - Top - End - #8
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Jjkaybomb's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2008
    Location
    Flyover Territory
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Jj's Dreamspace Garbage Pile

    The Woods
    Spoiler
    Show
    Stumbling crash. Thrashing wood with green scent batted aside to spring back a second later. Thick wet air not sharing a drop of its collected water with the caked and heavy breaths of the runaway. Trees grab at the sky around him with no desire to share light. Glaring at the greed, let them have the sky, the dark is better anyway. But with fits of weary coughs begging for the rough, tearing bushes and branches around to just share some of their precious water. They could flick all the sick little multicolored orbs they wanted at him, but just some water, that’s all he wanted right now. His tears weren’t enough to sustain him. Snappy branches whipped him to continue, stumbling along, only getting drinks of dirt if he strayed his wary.
    Was it worth running for this? Was it worth causing and escaping death only to die? He would beg the arching trees what his gut said to him, they only flicked more of the chokingly sour orbs. Maybe he was dead, maybe this was hell. Maybe that was where he was going. Sticky and sour and smelling horrible, consuming bits of his own soul until he turns into a demon and flies to snatch the sky from the towers around him. It sounded profound.
    Pointless to wipe filth from filth, he sits in the shade and stares at the sky.
    “I’m going to die of boredom too,” he sighs, eyes heavy as his breathing. His whole body doesn’t even hurt when he pushes himself up for the infinite time. Yet it still does, all of it. Was he supposed to cry again? He didn’t know, he just kept heading towards the sun. No, away from the sun, it was past noon. Was it? Water, maybe that’ll bring sense. Water is sense. Sense is not these woods, sense is not death, sense is not where he was or where he was going.
    Sense was not his thoughts.
    Water? No, still wet air.
    Water now? This air is stupid. Everything is stupid. These shoes are stupid. Off they fly. He couldn’t feel pain anymore with how much pain he was in. Scratchy dirty wet cloth, muscles so tight he’s hunched into a circular himself, guts alive like worms cut in half, throat stuffed with dirt cakes. All screaming so loud you couldn’t hear it anymore. What was losing the sweat-filled rub of bloody cloth?
    …Ow. Squirming, he collects his shoes once more and moves on, feeling familiar pain like the wonderful thing it was.
    He concocted a theory. New pain still hurt, old pain stopped. So if someone got stabbed through the gut and lived, eventually he would get so bored it wouldn’t hurt anymore. So if the little wanderer could just get bored of all this pain faster…
    Or just find water.
    Days it’s been, days, get bored of water please.
    But its water. It’s so good, so cool, so refreshing, so water. He could just see himself drinking a glass. And another and another and another. Eternal loop over and over and he fell and drank dirt. It was not water.
    Coughing, spitting, he walked on. Dirt must be water’s enemy. They must fly around and fight with amazing explosion sky battles death. Then Water wins and he gets a drink. It was a refreshing thought. Or not, he still had no water. The thought tore at his lips and made his eyes sandy. Or maybe that was more green whips tossing at his face.
    He was a hunter, prowling and stalking the forest grounds, following the near invisible tracks of his prey. He was a badass, living off the land, tying his cravat around his head like a bandanna. Total badass. Why did he even still keep his cravat? So he could tie it around his head and be badass. Mom would never let him wear a cravat like this, hell, no one in the whole castle would. Suddenly the boy was seized by his throat and his eyes reminded him how sandy and dry they were. Again, he drank dirt, but this time of his own accord and will.
    It was all better off now, he assured himself; he had done the right thing to bring the blood on his hands. Mother wouldn’t cry and no one would hiss behind their hands like snakes with no poison to strike. And no one would look at him like he was his father. Or look at his father like he was his father, for that matter. The badass hacked through the layers of sand, feeling the blowing wind rush up and down his body, tickling with the dirt kicked up.
    Desert badass. Hunter of water. Water. Water? Water!
    A run and a fall, but this time it wasn’t dirt that he drinks. He chokes and coughs, settling down on the rocky bottom of a rushing white stream. Caressing liquid envelopes his body, suffocating at first, a wave of panic, muscles snapping, head bobs above the foam, coughing. He sits upright, taking deep hacking breaths unquenched. This time he eases his head into the clear glitter of life below him, whole body loosening and floating freely in the free flowing cold bite of life.
    And here he wanted to get bored of the wondrous water!
    The grime of blood and travel soaked off him, lost in his tingling rush. Only stains remain, ever to be forgotten. Coughing, pain of the rough mud cake gone, yet his whole body still throbbed in tight knots, blisters exploding to bite his lip, holding in the loudest of the moans. Grabbing at his escaping cravat, he splashed forward, feeling the flow in his thighs interrupted and batted about, played with.

    This is something that I'm working on for class. It's not done yet, not at all, but I was starting to feel a little uneasy about it....

  9. - Top - End - #9
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Jjkaybomb's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2008
    Location
    Flyover Territory
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Jj's Dreamspace Garbage Pile

    The Woods (Completed!)
    Spoiler
    Show
    A run and a fall, but this time it wasn’t dirt that he drinks. He chokes and coughs, settling down on the rocky bottom of a rushing white stream. Caressing liquid envelopes his body, suffocating at first, a wave of panic, muscles snapping, head bobs above the foam, coughing. He sits upright, taking deep hacking breaths unquenched. This time he eases his head into the clear glitter of life below him, whole body loosening and floating freely in the free flowing cold bite of life.
    A flood of life.
    Time still rocking back and forth, unsteady, when will it stop? Aches, pains, they never stop, not even now. What had he been doing these past infinities? What, where, why anymore? Not even a finger he could move. Well, maybe he could move a finger. Maybe he could sit up and breath. He was still alive, was it reason enough to keep running? He watches the blood get swallowed by the stream, the muck and the grime with it. He scrubs at stains, everything blending into a permanent brown. But at least it wasn’t blood, at least it didn’t smell so bad… Did it even smell? He can’t remember, it was a dream, that’s all it was, a dream. He fell asleep when his mother left red splattered and woke up here. A waking dream… nothing was clear, it all blurred together like the stains on his shirt.
    He breaths water, life to find life, his own life, his own dream. The water nips at his ears, blinding him, and all he can see is himself on the rocks. He shakes his heavy rock head side to side, and tries to follow the lifewater. It runs east, away from punishment and retribution.
    Because if there’s one thing he knows he did, the cause of the whole thing, the dream that makes him sleep, was the dark assassin nighttime deeds, his father’s blood verifying him to their order, payment for his mother, for all sixteen years of torture.
    Like a badass. He grabs at his cravat, floating down the stream, tossing water about in sprays. Around the head once more, he keeps walking, mouth curling and twisting like the eddies of his lifewater.
    Walking was still a chore. Walking still made him want to taste dirt, except he had water now.
    Ow…
    He rubs his head. He must still be asleep. Or dead.
    Nah, he wasn’t dead. He could still smell the green all around him. That’s what it smelled like, green. He could still look up at the sun through the blockage and turn away.
    Feel pain.
    His whole body heaves. He had found water! It still surrounded him! Why did he have to feel the burning rub of his half soaked clothes, his muscles crying and curling up fetally, his stomach clawing up into his throat like water’s not enough, his head pleading to hit the ground like it was a feather pillow?!
    “SHUT UP!” he squeals, voice ringing in his ears indignantly. They didn’t want to hear some kid’s whining after so many years of silence, they wanted to hear the manly forest assassin badass! He stuffs the bird at them and keeps walking and wailing.
    Mushy trudging. Hours. Dark. Cold. Very cold. Very cold. Water is cold. Dirt is warm.

    Please let it have been sleep, actual sleep. Not the waking dream and not death. Not death, please not death, even if I deserve it, even if it’s hell I deserve, not death yet.
    It’s warm. He remembers cold. His breath remains steady. Breathing is a good sign, right? Breathing is alive.
    But warm is hell.
    He can’t move his fingers! They won’t move, they won’t! Oh, there they go.
    His eyes too. He doesn’t remember dying, but this is not where he did it where is he?!
    By a fire, for one. The forest is burning down, hissing and cracking its knuckles at him, fires of hell trying to roast him, coming closer and closer, twitching, juttering, screeching, bloodthirsty for bloodthirtsers, a pressure to his side, a gasp of breath, and his whole body pounces for the gruesome demon kill.
    Except it was an angel, glittering warmth through golden waterfalls, towering over the poor feral child.
    “I thought I was going to hell.” Angel must be touched in the head, coming after a murderer. The angel’s face folds up and the boy weeps as the beauty of his savior is lost. He was such an idiot, questioning why he was going to heaven.
    Last edited by Jjkaybomb; 2009-03-23 at 08:16 PM.

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •