Post by Sonic on Feb 10, 2010 20:30:38 GMT -5
Some stuff that I've been writing. I have at least five to start with, so I'm just gonna post them all. Tell me what you guys think.
An Inability to Tread
The wind-lashed trees whisper out to me as I make my way out to the sea. I look up and see the stars; they're beaming down, almost incessantly. I plunge into the cold glass of water and wonder for a moment what this all means. These hands, this boat, this paddle. Why must I row so hard? Wouldn't it be easier to let go and let the wind do the job? These monsoons, blowing me across waves so diligently. Almost as if speaking a language, no, not almost, indeed it is. A native tongue I never knew existed, until she herself had the courtesy of telling me. My muscles grow worn, my hair shorn from the now razor sharp waters. One who was so kind is now the foe, and I furiously fight for my life. Quickly it turns into a losing battle, and I sink deeply into the catacomb-like depths of the blue. Why now? Why so soon? She'll never tell me.
I Was the Fool, btw.
What is it that confuses me so? A life so full of effervescence, of vigor. Taking a walk through these twisting tunnels seems to simultaneously illuminate yet darken my vision. She, she is the beacon of searing polarity that galvanizes the nerves, like being struck with Zeus's full fury. A solid foundation I want to lay in, to grow accustomed to again. Yet I know this is in vain, for times change, and I am a man now, a man who still seeks her affections like a 10 year old's tryst with that special one. Why? Why do I continue? I have yet to know. Only time will tell if I was the fool or the gallant in this story. If only I could harness Father Time's power, if but for a moment. The comprehension of it all trickles slowly through the crevices of my mind, but I find solace in the fact that someday, it will form a pool of knowing that is large enough to dive into, head first.
Hostility Incognito
The shockwaves reverberate throughout the land, making me glad that I'm on sand. I feel monsters coming out to get me, so I run and make the best with what I have. Spears, knives, and bombs have no effect, until I come across a dilapidated building, entirely derelict. My savior, I sprint inside, only to find it was not with best interests she permitted me passage. Bravely I soldier on, scaling the crumbling stairs with tenacity and little else. My penchant for adventure betrays me, and I feel myself topple back, into the pits of the earth. Black, so black. I strike fire, and barely see my hands in front of me. I can sense her sighs and suddenly understand: All this was just an act. She is loving, an exercise in nurture. A mother forced to bear this torture that we so greedily insist on. We sow the seeds and expect to reap them infinitely, but she sees things differently.
Red and Blue
The anger fogs the cortex like an ominous nimbus cloud. It causes the synapses to snap and fray in disarray, and the eyes to glaze over as if they've had hot wax poured onto them. Physical objects no longer pose a threat, as you can simply smash through them with one rage fueled strike. It brings with it a needle-like focus, or a scattershot wave of contempt bursting through all the pores, aimless. I sit atop that proverbial fence, nor the former nor the latter. As I walk through the snow, scalp flaming, ears fuming, the frozen crystals evaporate by merely visiting my immediate vicinity. With a well aimed haymaker, I feel bone connect with bone, the supremely satisfying crunch echoing out. He collapses to the floor, now a rag doll of his former self, a marionette. Instead of leaving him there, I cruelly continue, tugging the strings of his unconscious body, manipulating them to make him do asinine poses, all while I cackle, and cowardly eyes peer from their homes, too frightened to take action. The sensible me who is usually present has now taken a premature vacation, and isn't returning for a while. He did leave a note however, and my eyes accidentally fall upon it. It reads, "Is it worth it?" My mind reels. These four simple words have a rather Herculean effect on me. I drop the comatose body, horribly shocked at what I'd done. Trudging home, my feet ice, I think. And I realize: I feel no regret.
And last but not least, a short story I'm working on:
The Adventures of Ulysses, Chapter 1
Ulysses made his way through the vines and bramble, his gamble all but blowing up in his face. He had never intended for it to have ended this way, and yet here he was, relentlessly hacking away at foliage, each slash more frantic than the last. The brazen behemoth galloped not far behind, causing tremors that were akin to a cyclops going for a midday stroll. His .45 cried out, the acrid smell of gunpowder assaulting his olfactor. The all powerful trampling sound slowed ever so much, indicating that he had indeed struck, but not in a critical area. His ankles were greeted with the sudden stab of cold water, and he realized he was in a quickly deepening river. Could the beast swim? He looked back and saw that the brute had abruptly stopped, the trees no longer shaking whilst glaring at Ulysses. Guffawing with glee, Ulysses made his way across the fairly profound trench, stumbling up to the other side of it. He had even kept his beloved .45 from getting wet. His victory was short lived however: At least 50 natives suddenly dropped down from the trees, surrounding him, shouting at each other in an indecipherable tongue. "Well, I'll be damned," Ulysses muttered.
An Inability to Tread
The wind-lashed trees whisper out to me as I make my way out to the sea. I look up and see the stars; they're beaming down, almost incessantly. I plunge into the cold glass of water and wonder for a moment what this all means. These hands, this boat, this paddle. Why must I row so hard? Wouldn't it be easier to let go and let the wind do the job? These monsoons, blowing me across waves so diligently. Almost as if speaking a language, no, not almost, indeed it is. A native tongue I never knew existed, until she herself had the courtesy of telling me. My muscles grow worn, my hair shorn from the now razor sharp waters. One who was so kind is now the foe, and I furiously fight for my life. Quickly it turns into a losing battle, and I sink deeply into the catacomb-like depths of the blue. Why now? Why so soon? She'll never tell me.
I Was the Fool, btw.
What is it that confuses me so? A life so full of effervescence, of vigor. Taking a walk through these twisting tunnels seems to simultaneously illuminate yet darken my vision. She, she is the beacon of searing polarity that galvanizes the nerves, like being struck with Zeus's full fury. A solid foundation I want to lay in, to grow accustomed to again. Yet I know this is in vain, for times change, and I am a man now, a man who still seeks her affections like a 10 year old's tryst with that special one. Why? Why do I continue? I have yet to know. Only time will tell if I was the fool or the gallant in this story. If only I could harness Father Time's power, if but for a moment. The comprehension of it all trickles slowly through the crevices of my mind, but I find solace in the fact that someday, it will form a pool of knowing that is large enough to dive into, head first.
Hostility Incognito
The shockwaves reverberate throughout the land, making me glad that I'm on sand. I feel monsters coming out to get me, so I run and make the best with what I have. Spears, knives, and bombs have no effect, until I come across a dilapidated building, entirely derelict. My savior, I sprint inside, only to find it was not with best interests she permitted me passage. Bravely I soldier on, scaling the crumbling stairs with tenacity and little else. My penchant for adventure betrays me, and I feel myself topple back, into the pits of the earth. Black, so black. I strike fire, and barely see my hands in front of me. I can sense her sighs and suddenly understand: All this was just an act. She is loving, an exercise in nurture. A mother forced to bear this torture that we so greedily insist on. We sow the seeds and expect to reap them infinitely, but she sees things differently.
Red and Blue
The anger fogs the cortex like an ominous nimbus cloud. It causes the synapses to snap and fray in disarray, and the eyes to glaze over as if they've had hot wax poured onto them. Physical objects no longer pose a threat, as you can simply smash through them with one rage fueled strike. It brings with it a needle-like focus, or a scattershot wave of contempt bursting through all the pores, aimless. I sit atop that proverbial fence, nor the former nor the latter. As I walk through the snow, scalp flaming, ears fuming, the frozen crystals evaporate by merely visiting my immediate vicinity. With a well aimed haymaker, I feel bone connect with bone, the supremely satisfying crunch echoing out. He collapses to the floor, now a rag doll of his former self, a marionette. Instead of leaving him there, I cruelly continue, tugging the strings of his unconscious body, manipulating them to make him do asinine poses, all while I cackle, and cowardly eyes peer from their homes, too frightened to take action. The sensible me who is usually present has now taken a premature vacation, and isn't returning for a while. He did leave a note however, and my eyes accidentally fall upon it. It reads, "Is it worth it?" My mind reels. These four simple words have a rather Herculean effect on me. I drop the comatose body, horribly shocked at what I'd done. Trudging home, my feet ice, I think. And I realize: I feel no regret.
And last but not least, a short story I'm working on:
The Adventures of Ulysses, Chapter 1
Ulysses made his way through the vines and bramble, his gamble all but blowing up in his face. He had never intended for it to have ended this way, and yet here he was, relentlessly hacking away at foliage, each slash more frantic than the last. The brazen behemoth galloped not far behind, causing tremors that were akin to a cyclops going for a midday stroll. His .45 cried out, the acrid smell of gunpowder assaulting his olfactor. The all powerful trampling sound slowed ever so much, indicating that he had indeed struck, but not in a critical area. His ankles were greeted with the sudden stab of cold water, and he realized he was in a quickly deepening river. Could the beast swim? He looked back and saw that the brute had abruptly stopped, the trees no longer shaking whilst glaring at Ulysses. Guffawing with glee, Ulysses made his way across the fairly profound trench, stumbling up to the other side of it. He had even kept his beloved .45 from getting wet. His victory was short lived however: At least 50 natives suddenly dropped down from the trees, surrounding him, shouting at each other in an indecipherable tongue. "Well, I'll be damned," Ulysses muttered.
