Country: United States
July 05, 2014
01/21/2019 07:51 PM
On the shore , in the eve , i see the moonlight .
Where my sea , i'm dreaming of my heart .
I stay forever , waiting for the wave i want to hear , but still , where is my star , i wish , who's coming ?
Wandering , far away , what is beyond the sky ?
Spread your wings , you will know , what it's like
you hear my seashell , it's will churning into your ears , but how , to understand , his words , he singing .
Asking why ? in my dream , it is illusion
All i had , adventure , was unreal
And with my journey , don't you ever forget to this song or me , in all my heart , your dream , in your heart
01/21/2019 07:50 PM
If I die young, don't let my beloved family put me in a church or place they deem holy, for its not holy to me.
If I die young, lay me down by the roots of an old oak tree.
Let the wind blows my hair and caress my cold skin
If I die young, take care of him.
Take care of the boy I taught like a son and loved like a brother
Teach him everything is okay and that I was once ashes and I will be ashes once more.
Tell him I loved him and give him all my possessions
Teach him that I will be okay and I will watch over him as he grows up strong and wise like I taught him.
If I die young, take care of my children.
The ones who fight against their monsters with battle axes and confidence that I'll be proud of them
Tell them I died fighting just as they are now
And tell them never to give up because I'm still so proud.
If I die young, burn me with the logs of trees long dead
Let my ashes spread through the sky and fall like fresh snow
Make sure to give everyone my best.
If I die young, please
Please don't forget about me
01/21/2019 07:47 PM
Here we lay our scene; it was a rainy and dismal day in Baltimore on October 3rd. The first character to make their appearance within this tragic story is Joseph Walker, a simple man on his way to Gunner’s Hall. The hall was a public voting house, for it was election day and Walker himself disavowed the idea of not casting a ballot. He was a man of many vehement opinions and he was determined to vote in the forthcoming election. However, the author’s journey to Gunner’s Hall was interrupted when he exited the carriage and paid the coachman his owed amount before taking his leave. His trek was short lived when he suddenly came across a man lying betwixt the street and the pavement, looking relatively disheveled and in a euphoric state. Walker approached this seemingly delirious man only to find him recognizable as the gothic poet, Edgar Allan Poe himself.
A week aforetime, Poe was bade to sojourn in Philadelphia to edit some poems by Mrs. St. Leon Loud, so he commenced his departure from Richmond, Virginia. Poe’s trip from Virginia to Philadelphia would take nearly fourteen arduous hours, however, the itinerary could be prolonged if weather conditions were to become asperous. Marguerit St. Leon Loud was a fair woman who took joy in poetry and was the composer of a collection of words called Wayside Flowers. Marguerit was fairly content with her work, however she desperately desired it to be edited by her long time acquaintance, Poe.
Poe was pleased to hearken that Marguerit wanted him to edit her work, so, Poe accepted her offer and decided to depart from Virgina the following night after writing a letter back. Upon waiting for the carriage to attain their location, Poe waited with his fiance, she continued to fuss over the fact that Poe appeared sick. Poe was always a disquiet traveler but despite that, he assured his helpmate that he'd be fine.
“My dearest, I will be fine, I'll write to you upon my arrival in Philadelphia” Poe assured her, despite the reassurance, she still didn't want him to wend in his condition.
Moments later, the carriage arrived with the sound of them black stallion's hooves clapping against dirt ground. Poe turned to face his spouse with a weary smile. “I will be fine, my love, don't fret, I shall see you anon.” Poe uttered his farewell before boarding the carriage. The poet couldn't help but heed that the coachman if the carriage was oddly conspicuous and shady, but fret he did not for Marguerite had mentioned that she and the coachman were acquaintances.
As he closed the carriage door, he set the brown leather suitcase containing his luggage aside. It was square with dark brown leather, that of cow hide, and it had his name engraved on it for it was a bestowal from his spouse, Virginia. Poe felt the carriage begin to take motion once more at the sound of the coachman's whip and the stallion's cry. With knowledge of knowing the journey would be long, Poe closed his eyes in attempt to get some rest, he was a bit feverish and he felt sluggish. He wasn’t the one to usually fall ill, but he didn’t think much of it for he has had worse illnesses in the past, and he considered St. Leon Loud’s request as one of preponderance.
Getting lost in his pondering thoughts, the poet drifted into a calm slumber, unaware of the threachary yet to come.
Unaware of how long he had been asleep, the poet awoke only to find two other individuals within the carriage sitting placidly crosswise from him. Poe was rather perplexed since he was positive Marguerit had said the carriage was reserved exclusively for him, but in his tired haze, he questioned none of it and avoided eye contact with the two other’s athwart from him. He couldn’t help but heed how peculiar the two individuals were, not by just miens but by presence. The two individuals were dressed in black and had an overall gloomy presence, the matron’s pale face was hardly visible due to the black veil that concealed her face and she dressed in a long, and slightly thathered, blank gown and her partner wore a partially wrinkled jet black suit. The man next to the conspicuous matron looked prodigiously anxious, as if the gent had just witnessed a liquidation. The gent had a slight tremble of the hands and he clutched his grey handkerchief close in his shaking hands.
Flummoxed by how and when the two individuals had entered the carriage, Poe debated on whether he should converse with them or not, however his mental debate came to a conclusion when forthwith the matron shifted her veiled gaze to Poe. The eerie matron opened her mouth only to utter “Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath bin? Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win.” her voice wavered in a ghostly way that sent a shiver down Poe’s spine. The poet could help but recognize the citations the matron spoke of from out of the blue. Those were quotations from the fictional novelette featured in his most neoteric creation The Fall Of The House Of User. What conflicted Poe the most out of this situation was simply the question of why? Why was this seemingly ghostly woman reciting quotes from The Mad Trist from his novelette? Perhaps she was a follower of his works? He questions remain inconclusive a weak sounding mumble came from the gent abreast from her.
Poe continued to remain taciturnus, letting the eerie silence take over once more. He had known not why he was joined with these two shady figures or why the matron had quoted one of his works but a part of him thought of these two as the very Usher siblings he had created with in his novelette, but to prove that thought of his to be true, the matron spoke once more. “Rodrick…” her voice came out in ghastly lamentation. The gent adjacent to her seemed as if his anxiety was growing by the second, thus causing Poe’s mind to become overwhelmed with confusion and disbelief. What was happening? Was this some sort of levity? Perhaps it was some sort of fever-induced apparition. To Poe’s trepidation, he could no longer hear the sound of the horses hooves on the ground and the sound of the carriage wheel ricketing slightly. His vision went blank--he took heed that he was no longer in the horse drawn carriage but how, and where could he be?
As his other senses appeared to not be contemporary, the sonorous and ghostly call of a raven could be heard followed by the sound of threshing wings. Poe’s confusion was soon overthrown with feeling of pure distraught and grief, as if he himself had just lost his dearest spouse. He felt the overwhelming feeling of loneliness, a feeling that couldn’t be delineated in words. The cry of the raven grew louder and louder and the word nevermore echoed once, twice, for Poe didn’t even know how many times it had been. The strident cry of the raven almost sounded almost like rodomantade squawk as if the raven was mocking him. Abruptly, the dreamscape shifted once more, however this time the poet appeared to have his sight back. He found himself in a dark room, holding a dully lit lantern. He couldn’t fathom what was happening or where he was, the phantasm in front of him felt so real, so tangible. Before the poet could even analyze his own environs, he felt himself stride forward involuntarily and he heard the sound of rapid breathing coming from the bed that lay in the middlemost of the bedroom. With swift movements that were not his own, the lantern was discarded to the floor as the swift action of the bedding being pulled up took motion. As if he was a puppet of some sort, his hands, his own bare hands, took hold of the thin mattress and aggressively held it down upon a mass that lay on the bed, eventuating in a shrill and blood-curdling scream.
What was he experiencing, and why? Why were the ghastly scenes of his own works being portrayed in the nightmare of a phantasm? The mass he had involuntary smothered soon lay still, unnervingly still. Poe suddenly regained dominion of his movements once more and withdrew from the dead man laying on the bed before him, his hands trembled and his eyes darted from his hands to the liquidated man. He couldn’t perceive what had just occurred before his very eyes. The realism in the apparitions he was experiencing drove him to believe that this was no fever-induced trance from his influenza-like illness, this was reality, a nightmarish reality. The room he was positioned in seemed to grow darker as if someone had put out the small lit candle within the lantern he had discarded earlier. Another taunting call from the raven snapped Poe out of the current existential crisis the situation had thrown him into. As if what he had just seen never happened, the confused poet found himself back in the empty carriage, the calm sound of the horse’s prancing could be heard. The two apparitions of the Usher siblings seemed to have disappeared all together.
Perhaps it really was just a nightmare. Everything seemed back to it’s tranquil state. Poe was back in the moving carriage that was on his way to sojourn in Philadelphia, his leather case abreast from him, no sign of taunting ravens or apparitions of his very own creations. The poet shook his head to clear the overwhelming thoughts about what he had just experienced. “It was simply just a vision induced by my feverish state…” He told himself, his voice quavered and he let out a nervous chuckle. As he pacified himself, his mind wandered as he thought about the very things he just endured and an idea popped into his head. He was a writer with numerous ideas and wanting to pass the time, and he feared that if he fell asleep once more he’d find himself in the hellish dreamscape he has just liberated himself from, he decided to write a novelette about his experience. He decided to name the central character and narrator Reynolds, finding it to be a suiting name. As he wrote, his quill danced across the page though he remained cautious, not wanting to spill his ink with the movement of the carriage, however he felt himself growing anxious and disquiet. How could a nightmare feel so real, like he was truly there experiencing the odd happenings first hand? It was unnatural, nightmares are more hazy and hard to remember but Poe found himself able to remember every detail, every emotion, so how could it be just an incubus?
Poe’s thoughts were interrupted when the carriage came to an abrupt halt, no sounds could be hearkened from the horse or the coachman. Perplexed, Poe quickly put his ink, paper, and quill back into the leather case before moving towards the carriage door. The poet’s hands had a minor tremble to them as he carefully opened the door to reveal a dark forest he was not familiar with, had the coachman taken the wrong trail? Poe stepped out of the carriage onto the rocky path to ask the coachman why they had stopped but to his shock, the coachman was not present. Poe didn’t want to jump to conclusions so he figured that maybe the coachman had gone into the forest for something, however the deathly cry of a raven echoed through the forest, causing the poet to flinch. The caw grew quieter as if it was traveling further and further away, the raven’s call seemed to put the poet into some sort of trance as he soon found himself following the cry of the raven through the forest. The raven lures him in with its mysterious yet beckoning caw, he forgets all together about the carriage, the coachman, and traveling to Philadelphia, his focus was dead set on the call of the raven. Poe continued to wander, the trees grew thicker and the forest grew darker but the raven’s call, it grew louder, stronger, and more entrancing to the point that Poe was no longer aware of his environs and his mind went blank.
A week later Poe is seen wandering deliriously around the dismal streets of Baltimore, getting odd and quizzical looks from the individuals around him, but that is not what the poet sees, for he sees nothing but a dark forest and a raven flying from tree to tree, squawking loudly, luring him to follow like a siren. What we perceive as “crazy” or “unexplainable” isn’t always inconclusive, somethings have explanations. While it may seem like Poe is experiencing something straight out of his own writing, it was simply just a auditory verbal hallucination caused by none other than the brain tumor he was so painfully unaware of having.
As the poet continues to wander through the forest, he comes across a gloomy lake with a very melancholy aurora and atop a small hill just off a lake sits and old, withering mansion with crumbling stone arches that shared an uncanny resemblance to the mansion belonging to the Usher family. With a blank expression, Poe took a seat at the edge of where the lake stops and glances over the water at the mansion. The mansion looks ready to crumble like wet paper any second now and Poe watches quietly as the mansion’s beams seem to give away, slowly sending the mansion into the water to sink. His mind is blank, he has nothing to say, nothing to think as he watches the Usher mansion sink into the dark, mossy lake.
There he is found, lying in the streets just outside Gunner’s hall in trance and experiencing something that was not truly there for the poet had met the end of the line.
01/21/2019 07:43 PM
Nathan was fairly certain he knew what was going to happen to him. He had been inside the institution for enough time to realize that the workers weren’t looking out for his well-being. He was perfectly healthy and able.
He had been avoiding the rabid beasts for ages, but he knew that his luck had run dry once they had caught him. The once human creatures had grabbed him and yanked him out of his life for good. He would never be the same, and the realization hit him hard.
The way that they caught him was a constant mar in his memory. He had tried to repress the traumatic encounter, but no matter what he did, it would never vanish. Unfortunately for him, the recollection never fled his mind. Somehow or another, the experience was always in the back of his mind, taunting him for being captured and trapped for an unknown amount of time. Nathan was aware that he was merely a toy to the monsters, and that mere thought only managed to terrify him even more.
Nathan’s situation was life-threatening, and he knew it. The chances of him escaping were slim to none. Blood profusely exited his body from the chains that had been keeping his arms behind him for what felt like weeks. He had a large chain wrapped around his neck that made it extremely difficult to breathe. His back was arched in a position that was excruciating, and at that point, Nathan had been waiting to hear the inevitable snap that he was certain would soon transpire.
It wasn’t a mystery as to why Nathan was captured. It was quite clear to him. He had witnessed enough innocent people fighting for their lives. He knew that whatever was waiting for him was going to be even more of a nightmare than he was already enduring. As he trembled and closed his eyes tightly, he couldn’t help but envision what would happen to him once he was free from the chains.
When he first entered the dungeon, he couldn’t wait to be unlocked from the chains that kept him locked away, but the more he thought about it, he was pondering on whether being free from the chains was a good thing. He had heard enough ear-piercing screams from the people who had been freed from the chains, and he was terrified to find what was on the other side of the bloody, ominous door.
He had been very observant in scrutinizing every single thing that occurred in the room, and he found no luck in finding anyone who he had seen leaving the dungeon. The innocent people never seemed to return to the dungeon. As far as he knew, they had perished because of whatever those creatures did.
While he prepared himself for the inexorable circumstance to approach, he merely trembled for his life, wondering when his turn would finally arrive.
Sadly for him, the moment where he would finally understand the beast’s goals would arrive much sooner than he had anticipated.
A cyborg slowly traipsed into the room and it stared directly at Nathan. The look it gave him would forever scare him.
The cyborg had red, beady eyes that seemed to follow his every move and calculate every single movement Nathan made. Countless rows of teeth protruded from its mouth as its stature unwavered. It seemed like it used to be human, considering the skin that covered the mechanics that allowed the cyborg to be functional. The metal sunk into the flesh as slivers of blood stained the robot’s skin.
Nathan gulped as he eventually averted his gaze from the cyborg. “It’s your turn,” the robot proclaimed as it swiftly took the shackles off of his wrists, rendering for Nathan to shriek in pain. It had been connected to his bones, and the cyborg yanked it out of him with one strong pull.
When Nathan peered down at his hands, he caught a glimpse of the bone that used to be underneath the skin. It was misshapen and revolting to look at. The bone was curved in an unnatural manner and it was a miracle that the bone didn’t snap right off with the strength the cyborg utilized.
No blood oozed out of him until a few seconds ticked by. Then, an enormous amount of blood relentlessly poured out of him without any restriction. It didn’t take long for Nathan’s hands to be completely engulfed in crimson.
That was when the agonizing pain hit Nathan like a brick wall. He couldn’t hold back the screams that wracked his body. He could feel every single neuron in his mind firing as fast as lightning while he immersed himself in sobs.
The cyborg paid him no mind as he vigorously ripped the neck chain from him. He was lucky that the robot didn’t accidentally snap his neck in half.
“Follow,” the cyborg simply commanded as its eyes seemed to glare into Nathan’s soul.
He didn’t object to following the cyborg.
The robot quickly opened the door with a laser that escaped from its fingertips. The cyborg aimed it at a panel and the door immediately opened.
“Enter.” The cyborg quickly entered the room before he turned around and waited for Nathan to go inside. Reluctantly, Nathan approached the inside of the room and the door quickly shut and locked behind them all on its own.
Nathan was met with a man who appeared to be normal except that his eyes were red like the robot’s.
“Welcome,” the man greeted calmly, and that only managed to creep Nathan out even more. “This is the room where we evaluate your worth for this project.”
The man then motioned for the cyborg to join him. “I see you’ve met Xoron. This is my sidekick, if you will. He’s helped me with all of the projects so far. He experienced the same thing you will encounter soon enough.”
He kept his eyes fixated on Nathan was he continued on with his speech, but Nathan had a sneaking suspicion that his speech was identical to all of the other individuals he previously detained.
“I’m sure you have many questions, so I’ll be kind and answer only a few of them. You’re here because the world is coming to an end. There are monsters that threaten to claim Earth as its own, and mere mortals won’t be capable of stopping the intrusion. That’s where my project comes into play. When you wake up, if you do, you won’t be human anymore.”
“What will I be then?” Nathan inquired with a small whisper. He felt his heart sink as the man informed him of the transformation his body would soon endure.
“That depends on your genetics. You could become a cyborg like Xoron, or a vampire, or a werewolf. The possibilities are candidly endless. Honestly, not many individuals survive the procedure, but if they do, we have unimaginable results.”
“Why do so many die?”
“The strain it puts on the mortal body, specifically the heart, is too much for most humans to endure, but we need a strong army that’s practically immortal. This is our best solution,” the man responded as he leaned against the large machine that Nathan would soon be forced into.
“Don’t you lose more soldiers by doing this?”
“That’s the entire point. We don’t want weaklings fending our world. They’re just a burden to the rest of us. This procedure helps to rid of the weak pests that feed off of the strong.”
“Did you go into the contraption?”
“I injected myself with the serum. It’s the same amount of pain and agony, but it makes me stronger and wiser. It allows me to be the leader.”
“Why do you hardly have anything physically different about you?” Nathan inquired as he assessed the man’s appearance. He certainly didn’t look completely human, but at least with him it was clear that he still acquired the necessary physical attributes, but Nathan was aware that the mental aspects that made humans was long erased.
“My genetics turned out to work in my favor.” The man paused before he continued speaking. “I’m done explaining things to you. I’ve given you enough time to ask questions.” The man snapped and the cyborg grabbed onto Nathan and threw him into the contraption forcefully.
Nathan banged his head on the wall of the contraption as he landed. He struggled to stand as he leaned against the contraption, his body feeling drained and weakened.
“Start it,” the man demanded, and within a few milliseconds, the contraption began Nathan’s transformation.
The pain that swirled around his entire body was unbearable. Nathan could only scream as loud as he possibly could as his entire body was submerged in torture.
He could feel his body getting cut up into pieces and he felt the blood pouring out of his profusely. Nathan kept his eyes latched shut, the fear of actually seeing the procedure terrifying him to the core. He didn’t want to know what was happening to him.
As Nathan’s body was sliced open, he felt a needle become injected right into his heart. He felt his heart pump faster than ever before as the torment only intensified.
Blood continued oozing out of his body, and before he knew it, the blood that used to flow through his veins was resting on the floor in a large crimson puddle, but miraculously Nathan was still alive.
“This has never happened before,” the doctor muttered under his breath as he quickly grabbed a camera to document the reaction.
Nathan’s piercing screams fell on deaf ears as he continually begged and pleaded for the rigorous torture and excruciating spasms to cease.
After what felt like an eternity, the machine finally stopped and stood still. Nathan had managed to withstand the contraption’s wrath, but his body gave up on him as he collapsed to the floor.
Xoron dashed toward him and checked his pulse. Without any emotion lacing the cyborg’s voice, it merely shook his head and announced, “Dead.”
The man cursed profusely as he slammed his hand against the wall. “That could have been a new species!” he yelled in an enraged manner. “Dump him.”
The robot said nothing as it walked out the back door and it threw him in the large dumpster that had been concealed from the public eye.
“Send in the next project, Xoron.”
Nathan groggily sat up, but he would soon regret that as pain courses through his entire body. “Where the hell am I now?” he inquired through gritted teeth as he muttered obscenities under his breath.
As he scrutinized his surroundings, it didn’t take him long to realize where he was. Once he felt what he was on top of, it all became quite clear.
He became part of the waste basket. He reasoned that the freaks must have believed that he had perished during the deadly procedure. Candidly, Nathan had been contemplating on whether or not he had truly been deceased, but the agonizing pain convinced him otherwise.
Soon, he forced himself to stand up and gently push the dumpster’s lid off. As another wave of immense pain shook his entire body, he leaned against the dumpster and held back a scream. He knew that if he screamed, he would be forced to be put back in the horrid dungeon. What would happen to him then would be a mystery.
He would do anything to remain free, and if concealing his painful screams was the measly price it took, then so be it.
Cautiously, he climbed out of the dumpster once the excruciating pain was somewhat relieved. As he climbed out, he immediately fell to the ground. The weight of his body was too much for his jelly-like legs. He had no idea how long he had been locked up for.
Once he regained some of his strength, he attempted to stand again. It was a struggle, but he eventually stood up and relied on the wall of a building to stand and walk.
He limped and trudged his feet down the alley before he finally approached civilization. However, where people would normally be roaming the streets, nobody seemed to be around.
No babies crying, no conversations, no footsteps- nothing. No sign of humans was to be seen. A prominent frown was imprinted on Nathan’s countenance as he surveyed his surroundings.
He was lucky to know exactly where he was. He was relatively close to home. Just 20 miles and he’d be home. If he somehow managed to walk at two or three miles an hour, he’d be home before dawn would arrive.
As Nathan began making his trek home, he caught a glimpse of what he looked like through one of the building’s windows, and he was completely shocked with what he saw staring back at him.
The severe injuries that he had sustained in his venture had been completely healed without so much as a scar. He rapidly picked up his shirt and leaned in the wall, checking for any lacerations or any other indication that he had been cut open, but all he was met with was flawless skin. Not even dirt marred his body. His hair was long and covered in a series of knots and he had grown a full beard, but other than that, it was as if he had never left home.
Nathan was extremely bewildered and terrified as he made his way out of the vicinity as quickly as he could manage; however, he found that as he fled the scene, the previously crippling pain had completely fled his body. He felt like a young man once more, and as he ran, he knew that he was never faster, but one thing freaked him out more than anything else. As he ran, he slowly realized that he didn’t possess a heartbeat.
“What have they done to me?”
01/21/2019 07:40 PM
Along with the sunrise, a new day begins. For some, it was a day of work. For others, another day of survival or adventure; starting with a blank sheet of paper. However, not everyone has a background as the pure as the color of said sheet. Some unfortunate souls happen to be in debt, a debt of blood followed by their starving hounds.
Someone like that was Ayne Kravel, a kid that Varren took under his wing. He felt a strange connection and sympathy for the girl. His sheet may be pure on this side, but papers have two sides. The opposite was darker than he, himself, thought.
Varren rose from his floor bedding, awakened by a horrible smell, and looked over to the opened window. The moment he dared to look toward it, he got blasted with an overwhelming odor coming from below. The stench was so strong, he immediately closed the window without hesitation to look for the root of it.
"Jesus f***in Christ," he choked as he was gasping for air. "It’s a good thing we’re even alive," he said, as he looked to the girl who was supposedly sleeping, but the bed was empty.
He stared at the bed for a while, shrugged, then decided to put on his clothes with intention of leaving the tavern. After a swift change into his usual getup, his attention was hooked on a small mirror on the wall. He stepped closer to it and lifted the cold iron mask off his face. He stared deeply into his missing eye that was replaced with a weak, red glow. He touched the mark on his face; the result of his contract with the creature.
"Maybe I shouldn't have gotten up that day. Perhaps I could’ve seen her if I didn't." his mind rambled as he was examining his scarred face.
"Varren?" a familiar voice rang behind his back.
Caught off guard, he quickly put his mask on and turned the direction of the voice. It was Ayne holding a basket with both hands.
"What were you doing?" she asked, confused.
"Contemplating." he answered shortly.
"Oh, really now?" she slightly raised her brow.
"Really, really. Now, where have you been?" he asked.
"I woke up early. So, I thought it would be nice if I got us something for breakfast." she said as she raised the basket, pulled off a piece of cloth, and revealed: bread, cheese, fruits, vegetables, and two brown jugs.
Well, at least Varren thought they were fruits and vegetables. Since he’s never seen ones like these.
"What? Never seen local fruits?" the girl said, noticing his intense reaction to the basket.
"You could say so. We should eat and decide what to do next, nonetheless. Can't really stay here for long since you’re being searched for." he replied, taking the basket out of Ayne’s hands and placing it on a small table.
"What about you?" she asked, with a worried tone as she watched him sit down on a chair.
"What about me?" he looked back, confused. While he tore a piece of bread, he completely forgot he had his mask on and accidentally pressed it against the metal sheet of his face cover.
Ayne chuckled as she watched the unusual scenario. She wouldn't have expected it from someone like him.
"What?" he asked slightly irritated, wiping the bread crumbs off of his second face.
"No, nothing" she snickered as she sat on a chair in front of him. "Don't you think it would be easier to take it off, like you did moments ago?"
"Some things shouldn't be seen by others or in the daylight" he answered with a grumpier tone. He reached for another piece. This time, he lifted his mask enough to make sure it made its way to his mouth.
"You hate your face?" asked the girl, grabbing for a weird purple fruit.
"It’s somethi- what the actual hell!" he stopped mid sentence after he watched Ayne grab a knife from the table, plunge it into the center of the fruit, it responding with quiet scream, slowly shrinking and wrinkling, then proceeding to retract the instrument of cold-blooded murder from her victim’s body and put it back on table.
"How do you even eat that thing?" he asked, disturbed, yet curious.
"Well, it's quite simple. After making hole to the core." she replied, then continued to demonstrate by taking the fruit and squeezing its juice into her mouth until a small wrinkled sphere remained.
"That's brutal." he said pointing at the remains of the plant, resting in Ayne’s palm.
"Is it?" she asked. "Pretty normal to me." she shrugged.
"Never seen a fruit that would actually make a sounds and start shrinking" he said as he continued to stuff his face with bread.
"They are fairly common here, though." she said, looking at the wrinkled ball resting in her hand. "You sure aren't from here, are you?" she continued as she put the remains near the basket.
"I told you before, I am just a friendly wanderer."
The rest of the meal, they sat in silence. Sometimes breaking it with small chatter, but even if it was mostly silent, it was quite pleasing for Varren to eat with someone. Even if they ate screaming purple fruits that caused chills to run down his spine.
"Well I hope you are done eating, because we are going out" he said while adjusting his mask to match his face.
"But where?" she wiped the juice off her face.
"Don't you have any relatives?" he asked.
"My uncle lives 5 days away from here." she said "He has a big library, always looking for new books to add to his collection"
"Big library eh?" Varren rubbed his metallic chin. "Alright. But, before that, we will do some shopping."
"Do you even have money?" she asked.
"Of course I do." Varren shook his head. "Now, let's go. I want to make this shopping trip as short as possible" he picked up his leather bag from the ground and rushed towards door.
"H-hey, wait!" shouted Ayne, almost falling out of the chair. "Why are you like this?" she asked with annoyance while following his lead.
"We don't have time and I said I would bring you to your family in one piece." he explained.
"Right…" she said changing from annoyance to sorrow.
"And for that we…"
"Oh, hey you are already up!" shouted the same waitress who was trying to hold him down last night at the bar.
"Sh*t" he said quietly under his breath. "Yea." he turned around, but quickly sprung back when he saw her face a centimeter away from his, beaming with enthusiasm.
"Where are you two going? You’re not leaving the town are you?" asked the girl, worriedly.
"We’re just leaving to get some stuff from the market." he replied shortly.
"Oh, that's great! Make sure you have money and don't overdo it! You are still recovering from that nasty stuff!"
"You better not scare off anymore clients."
"That hurt, you know." replied the redheaded girl, doing a dramatic pose.
"Just like your enthusiasm is killing me." he grabbed the doorknob and left with Ayne behind him.
"Hmph, we will see after you are back!" she shouted to the backside of the hooded man while standing in the open doorway.
"We aren't coming back, are we?" Ayne was silent until now.
"No dice." he replied, simply.
"I really liked her." stated the young girl. "Anyway, what are we getting?" she asked as they traversed the town.
"Food, water, basic equipment" he reached for the pouch inside his coat. "We will split up. You buy food, I will take care of the equipment." he said as he passed a few gold coins to Ayne.
"But- wouldn't that be dangerous? I mean-" she suddenly stopped.
"It’s the peak of the day, I doubt anyone would commit discrete murder in front of everyone’s eyes" he came close to ruffle her hair.
"If you feel like you’re in danger, scream. I will come. The faster we get this, the faster we can leave and think up a way to vanish from their sights."
"I will do my best!" she confidently jumped up "Also stop messing with my hair." she quickly stepped away from Varren’s reach.
"Good, we will meet under the town gate" he turned to walk away.
"Good luck!" she shouted, but the only response she got from him was waving as he went on his way.
With few gold coins in her hands, she quickly went to the marketplace where there was plenty of food to buy at good prices. It took her about three minutes to get there since the inn they stayed at was relatively close to the centre of town. It was the peak of the day, so the market was filled with a tremendous amount of people. It was her first time going through such a commotion without anyone looking at her back. It was hard, yet exciting to finally be able to do anything on her own. She wandered around stalls filled with a variety of dried, fresh meats and fishes with quite a few vegetable and fruits stands. Gold carries quite a bit of value. Even one gold coin could feed them for a week if they wanted, but since she’s not rich anymore, money is now more valuable than ever. Especially, when equipment is expensive.
Using the experience she got from her father while being on the trade route, she got few items at a lower price than usual. Using her smarts, charismatic side, and perhaps a bit of her looks. People could say that she looks like a doll with her white skin and long black hair. That, and they would feel bad if she got sick.
"I guess observing dad really did help." she thought as she was strolling towards the gate with a bag filled with food and 2 gold pieces and 1 silver in her breast pocket. Everything was running smoothly so far, but she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. She thought it was because of her looks in a crowded place, but it didn't feel like the usual envy of other girls. Paranoid, she picked up her walking speed a bit, thinking she might lose this feeling. It was following her every move. Her mind filled with numerous thoughts and the fear of being alone, yet again. The fear of being abandoned by the person she trusted. Maybe he just gave her those coins and left the town? Maybe he just saw her as burden? Why keep a kid that has a death sign on her head?
She couldn't bare the thoughts anymore and dropped all the groceries on the floor. She sprinted towards the city gate, crying her eyes out, and hoping she was wrong. Maybe he was really waiting for her. She sprinted so intensively she couldn't feel her legs anymore, but one thing was sure, he wasn't anywhere near the gate. Maybe he was just taking his time buying right? Right..? As she turned back to look for Varren, she bumped into a man in a coat.
"Now, I have you!" he shouted as he grabbed the girl with his right grip. With one hand wrapping around her waist, and the other covering her mouth to make sure she doesn't let any sound slip through, he quickly ran to the back alley of nearby building.
She couldn't catch a breath, yet she struggled so much. She doesn't want to die, she wants to live, she wants to see the world. The despair crawled in, but she wanted to go, she wanted to see Varren’s stupid mask again even though she just meet him. With the last bit of her strength, she ripped her arm out of the man grip, using this moment to slowly pull his arm out of her mouth.
"Hey! What are you- arrgh!" shouted man as she sank her teeth into his hand, making him drop her tiny body free.
"Get back here!" screamed man when he realised that girl was running away as he grasped his hand in pain.
She ran as fast as she could, but man was catching up. She couldn't stop crying out of fear. She wanted to go faster, but her legs were giving up, not suited for intensive running like this. Soon the man caught her again by the back of her shirt.
"You little bitch! This time, you won't even have a chance to get away like this!" he shouted as she tried to resist.
Desperate for help, she started to shout. She shouted anything that first came to her head. "Varren, please! Don't-" she couldn't finish because the man covered her mouth.
"Shut up! No one is going to see you again! You are the only thing in her way right now!" he continued shouting.
Shortly after that, something had hit his head. He turned around and a saw a masked man in a long ripped coat.
"For someone who tries to silence something, you sure are loud" said the man in the mask.
"Mind your own business, weirdo!" shouted the rag covered man in a coat, pointing a crude looking firearm at him.
As soon as Ayne saw Varren, her struggle to get out of the man’s grip made it even harder for him to hold her, making his aim quite a challenge.
The man in mask slowly, yet steadily, walked towards the man in the coat as he was threatening to shoot him between the eyes. The tension was rising, the abductor was running out of options, his nerves reached the boiling point, resulting in the gunshot suddenly happening. However, the bullet missed its target because girl made it impossible to aim properly. Varren took this opportunity and quickly dashed towards the man, sheathing out a thick, pointless blade from his lower back.
The bandit was filled with panic. He took the girl and threw her in front of the running man as his last resort to escape.
"You can have the girl, but this isn't over yet! Not if she’s still alive!" he screamed as he ran away.
The girl threw herself in Varren's arms, crying and saying his name over and over again. He got her back, but she made it impossible to catch his possible information source. He put his machete back into its sheath and pat the girl’s back.
"I told you, I will be there." he said, as he hugged the distressed Ayne.
"I know, but I couldn't help thinking you would leave me like everyone else!" She cried.
"Let’s leave before any more creeps jump out." he said as he picked the girl up and gave her piggy back ride.
"Yeah." she sobbed.
After this traumatic encounter, they went towards the gate as planned, and left the town. Leaving everything she knew behind her. Her home, the townsfolk, everyone. But what she could do? At least she isn't alone anymore.
01/21/2019 07:33 PM
My mother used to tell me stories of an old woman with long, cascading hair that shimmered and her sharp and focused eyes that peered through a magnifying glass. She said that the old woman would sit on a comfortable pillow made up of all the stars and the skies, and look through her glass at all the lives that were led. The fates of all the lives that she saw would wisp around her like thin little stings that were caught in a breeze. Normally she would never, but every now and then, the old woman would catch a string in her long, bony fingers. She would carve it, tie it, twist and slice it until it was a new fate, and then she would send it off again.
Although it might just seem like a bedtime story, I know for a fact that she is real. I met her. I met her, and we had a sweet cup of tea and we chatted, and she told me some of her stories. She told me four different stories that she had changed.
One of the stories starts out on a busy crosswalk. A man with messy hair, anxious for the light to change so he can rush to nowhere. He pictured himself weaving through the people...
And a woman, who was out for a walk around town, thinking about a nearby cafe were she could sit and work on one of her many projects.
The light changes, and the two would pass each other without even a second glance, but instead, they run right into each other, and the contents of the woman's briefcase spill everywhere onto the crosswalk. As the man helped pick up the papers, he noticed her sketches... and then he noticed the woman.
She was in her early twenties, like him, and had long, dark brown hair that fell just below her shoulders. She has a soft face and eyes that darted there and here, used to looking for tiny details and perfect corners.
She noticed his interest in her work. The cafe was only a minute from the cross walk... if he wasn't going anywhere, would he like to sit and chat? To talk about the thin, elegant lines on a paper over tea or coffee?
No, of course he wouldn't be able to do that- he had placed to go, things to do... but the old woman smiled and twisted the string just a bit, and he decided that it could wait.
Another story she told me was about two children, back to back, sitting opposite of each other in their own silent bubbles. Rays of sunlight danced on their faces as the both rocked back and forth on the bench on their porches.
A girl, with big, round glasses and bright freckles was reading, finding fantasy worlds with perfect romance and no limits.
A boy, trying to learn with nobody to teach him, fumbled with a knife and a twig, doing his best to form an elephant's ear.
Their eyes were wide with youth, so consumed by their activities that they had never noticed each other. The girl read a line in her book, and was so startled when a voice behind her read aloud the same words- "I give up". She turned around so suddenly that she almost fell off the bench. Could the characters that she had always so badly wanted to meet have finally arrived? Instead, she saw a boy toss a warped carving across his porch. She would have just turned back around and continued reading, not caring about her neighbor's world, but the old woman laughed and tugged at a string, and instead, she asked what he was trying to make.
One of her favorite stories starts under an awning between buildings of a school. The recent rain made all the colors vibrant, a bright contrast from the grey sky. Where a girl without a voice was struggling to keep from dropping her books. Her hands shook and her eyes welled up as words pierced through her like knives.
A boy who had to get to class would have never had cared. Her problem... not his. He would have just shook his head and went on, but the fate pursed her lips and carved the thread into a different shape, and he spun on his heel. He recognized the girl with her wild and curly, bright and fiery hair. He recognized the tears and the knives that the shadows threw. And so he did not shake his head and go on, he marched over to the girl and the shadows and stood defiantly between the two. And as he was about to leave, having done his good deed for the day, she caught up with him, and tapped him on the shoulders and smiled. "Thank you," she would have said, but he understood, and they walked to their classes together.
The last story she told me was on a dark day, where two boys with bloody noses and black eyes bent over each other in the street, one with a fist, one with a knife. The boys had heavy jackets and stern looks. One with his hands around the other's throat, and one with a knife, poised at the other's gut. An empty street... except with one bystander. She knew she didn't have to yell, or run, or call out. She just watched, and she caught his eye, and his face changed as another reality hit him. He dropped his knife, and stumbled to a dark ally, where he planned to sulk and torment himself over what could have been, as the other boy would walk home and his mother would wash away his cuts and bruises. The girl, clutching her bag, satisfied that she had not had any first time experiences today, would walk home before the dark fell, but the fate shook her head and pulled the knot in the string tighter, and she did not. Instead, the boy looked up as a shadow passed over his slumped body. She knelt down, and inspected a cut in his face. She stood again, and took his hand. They walked away, chasing the last of the sunlight, and a thin and glimmering thread wisped away in the breeze and a new fate was sealed.
So yes, I met the old woman. And I remember that when the tea was cold and I was just leaving, and the wisps where just about to take her back to her comfortable corner in your dreams, she had smiled. And I knew that my fate had been sealed, and that a thin thread, alongside so many others in a stream of decisions and experiences, would soon go careening around stars and suns to find me.
01/15/2019 07:19 PM
Stuff You Should Know
• I don’t care about length, lol. If you write the starter, I will mirror what you are comfortable with so we are both having fun. If I write the starter, you reply at whatever length you’d like! I’ll be happy to shift to your level of comfort. I attempt to get to things in order received, but there will be days that I put the longest replies on hold and focus on the smaller ones, and vice versa. There are people I will do one-liners with. I don't mind discussing first, but if you have a good plot in mind, a good starter that does not Intentionally lead to sex or relationships then by all means, send it. I prefer role-play in messages, but comments are fine.
• As with everyone else, and as it should be, Role-play is not a high priority for me. I have a family to take care of, a house to take care of, and bringing in the hard-earned cash/money/dollars. I cannot, and will not be online every day all day. If you expect me to put real life last on my list because you have no other life to live but RP, you'll be greatly disappointed. I am ‘selective’, I will only be role-playing with those who I express interest in writing with. I have low tolerance for drama, so do not pull me into your little games or I will block you. It’s nothing personal if I do not add or message back, I just may not see any possible way for our muses to interact.
• This goes hand-in-hand with the previous. If you expect me to reply to you right away, consistently, all day, and as soon as you reply, again, you'll be greatly disappointed. If you're the impatient "reply now or be deleted" type, you may as well delete me now (or don't add me). I don't roll like that. Not anymore. This is a hobby, not a way of life. If you can't accept that, we can't be friends. I will never pressure anyone to reply right away, or threaten to delete them if they don't. This also applies to general greetings/starters/chatting.
• If I've blocked you, it's not because you've "won" it's because I'm man enough to stay away from you, and to know that you are no good for me. I do it because I don't need confrontations, or stress. My real life profession and private life is stressful enough as it is. No, I'm not stalking you by blocking you. I'm doing us both a favor. However, if I've blocked you and you're still reading this? Get professional help.
• No bull·sh*t, whether it's drama on my friends, or myself. I do not condone any of it. You will be blocked, and if you continue, you will be blacklisted as well. Any drama queens/kings start any crap with me will be gone. I wont re-add you, once you are deleted you are gone. Sorry to sound like a total d*ck, but I wont tolerate childish drama.
• It doesn't matter to me , who added who. I don't apply "You add, you talk first" because it just isn't realistic to me. Sometimes people add and don't talk right away because of anxiety/intimidation, or they're busy but are interested. I'll gladly initiate unless otherwise stated.
• Please do not ask, or hound me for real life details, or to connect away from RP. (Facebook/Discord/other social sites, texting, calling, ID badge.) Please respect my decision.
01/15/2019 07:12 PM
Cold lips whisper silently
Words I've never heard in a song I can't understand
You speak in tongues unknown to me
And yet I listen to every word
A drawn out sigh leaves my lips
And a long awaited breath fills me
My chest rises steadily
As they rest against me
Blue light fills us up
And until dawn comes we stay in silence
A secretive glance shared between us
Among this harsh blue sheets
Cold words roll across my tongue
And you answer back with a cold shoulder
Once we may have been under blue sheets
But now we sit in red, blue no longer
Drawn to you like a moth to the moonlight
Now stepping backwards from that glow
The blue nights shared between us
Are nights left in past nights long ago
Blue filled my heart once
Now replaced with a fiery red
Though red means to some 'Passion'
To me it reeks of the dead
Cold lips may be thought of as blue
A dead whisper only some can hear
But dead is how I'd rather feel
Instead now I face my fear
A fear drawn by your light
A blue glow turned hot and passionate
Your passion in making me suffer
But perhaps I may deserve it
Blue was the color of us once
Turned now to bright red flames
Blinding, hot, and painful
Anger seeps into our names
Cold tongues no longer speak in song
We were once cool and calm
Now we sing of hatred
Twisted tongues can't get along.
01/15/2019 07:11 PM
What is beauty to you?
Is it someone’s long and gorgeous blonde hair?
A person with the perfect body?
Ask yourself this question
What is your purpose on this world?
To reach and accomplish your dreams?
To impact the people around you?
To be the best?
Or to just live?
I have spent these last two weeks in the mazes of my mind
In the gardens of my thoughts
And even the darkest part of my heart
And the one thing I came to realize
Is that beauty and my purpose is practically the same
You see, we are only put on this world for a short time
And we are all looking for something, for meaning
We are all looking for our answers to our many questions
We are looking for the reason of life
Maybe, we are all blinded by the answer that is always right in front of us
And that is the people around us
The people you love to see smile
The people you love to talk and talk to
The people you would do anything for
And The people you love the most
You see, Beauty can never be defined
Because every single human being is different but every human being is beautiful
Beauty is me
Beauty is you
Beauty is nature
Beauty is love
Beauty is something we all love to see
We don’t realize that everything and everyone is beauty
That Beauty is something we come across
But after this realization
I came upon another obstacle in my mind
What is my purpose?
As I spent these last two weeks observing the world and trying to dissect it
A star fell from the sky and crashed onto my head
And it’s light seeped into my brain and tricked down into my heart
And for a moment the world froze
I looked around in this starstruck moment
And The star that was in my very veins whispered to me
And this is what it said
Look around you, my dear child
What do you see?
The answer is staring right at you
I see my family
I see my friends
I see the trees covered in snow
And the bright sun
I see the frozen smile on my mother’s face
And my friend’s mouth open in mid laugh
I see other people around me
And I see the world
I will give you a hint before I have to go
There is one thing in a person’s heart that we all have in common
That is the answer to your question
The one thing that everyone has in their hearts is love
Love is beauty
Love is what keeps us going
Love is what gives us happiness
Love is what makes us smile
Love is the answer
You see, sometimes people say that love is dangerous
Love can break your heart
And hurt you
But I never understood that
Because without love
There would be no beauty
And without Beauty
There would be no life
Maybe I am crazy
Maybe I am dramatic
But ever since that day
I look at the world and the people on it with a smile on my face
I look at every person with love in my heart
And it has changed me
It has changed my perspective
Everything to me is beautiful
All Of you reading this, are absolutely beautiful whether you think so or not
The one thing I want you to know
Is that I love you so much
And a lot of people love you
And that YOU are the definition of beauty
And you deserve to love
You deserve to love
And you deserve to conquer the world knowing that you are beautiful
01/15/2019 07:09 PM
It was a game we all played as a child
Then some of us made it a dream worthwhile
More to learn, not as much time to share
Because in our hearts we really cared
We have worked the late night hours
While others slept away
Handles a doctor's many moods
Then found time to pray
Critical moments that remain as memories
Some good - then some are sad
Then there are the tragedies
That will never be understood
We see a newborn baby smile
As we watch another slip away
And that completes the circle
The price for life's that paid
Sometimes not appreciated
When just a hug will do
We are proud of our profession
A gift from me to you
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