Something To Look Forward To

[Larenxis]

You all know I love you.
What you may not know is that there are some villainous people that want to take me away from the internets for two whole days. So, while I'm in this terrible abyss of a weekend, I'd like something to look forward to. Some glimmer of light to keep me going. When I return, I want this thread brimming with stories, poems, pictures, reviews, letters of admiration, declarations of war, and movie pitches. A smörgåsbord of contributions! You're thinking it? Type it! As long as it won't get you banned/this thread locked I want to read it! Is there something you've always wanted to tell me but never have? Well now you can, and then you can edit it into perfection because we all know you don't see things straight until you've clicked Post. Ingenious!

I'll hopefully be back Sunday night (Pacific) so get cracking. I will not accept the second page!

 

[cheatking]

...No NEXT THREAD!

Sigh I'll do one poem

There once was a old man called Dave,
Who dug up a prostitutes grave,
She was mouldy as shit,
Missing one tit,
But think of all the money he saved.

 

[PurpleRain]

Ahh, god, you've put me on the spot. (Starts doing an awkward dance).

I'll write something up when you're gone. That way it's a suprise.

.

.

If I feel like it.

 

[smallharmlesskitten]

Have a yoshi

 

[Labyrinth]

Oh fuck it. Here's an actual story.

The Saxophone

Sometimes I just feel as though I'm going to get more than I bargained for, and I know I'm not going to like it, at all. It was one of those nights, the knowledge crawling over my subconscious, a melancholy romance in the air as it settled around my shoulders like a comfortless embrace. It was one of those nights, when you can hear the street cry out for solace, a listening ear or failing that a bottle of something vile.

My very skin tingled as I walked along my favourite stretch of road. This particular one had a huge store on one side, giant mirror-like windows reflecting everything, and a café on the other. I just wanted a drink.

The bar I went to was quiet. No one seemed to bleed small talk as they usually did. I was well into my second glass of Pinot Noir when the band arrived. Like most bands that you see around bars, the clothing was shabby, well worn. Instrument cases were the same, although the treasures within them gleamed. There were two white guys, one on piano and another with a double bass. The remaining two people were one black man playing the drums and another, who?s nationality I couldn?t quite place although it appeared to be largely Latino, playing a beautiful saxophone. The brass glittered as he turned with it. ?Hey there, kiddo. How?s life in Rosie?s world?? it seemed to enquire with a husky voice. I crouched back over my drink, slightly unnerved by all the energy in the air. After one or two songs however, my cynicism took a back seat and I began to really enjoy the music.

The sound did not cut through the silence as much as absorb and transform it into an elegantly musical tool. By that time however, I was onto my fourth glass and taking it slow, almost in regret that this music would end. The last song they played was just saxophone, and pure magic at that. It reached into my ears flipping switches I wasn?t aware I had. Finding that I had tears coursing down my cheeks was a shock, finding others with the same more so. Unlike the macho men sitting around however, no one payed any attention to a woman weeping, still bent over her glass of wine.

Tears still drying on my cheeks, I left that bar to wander home again. Running my fingers through lavender in a window box, I stopped as I heard some desperate gasps from the alleyway next to the contained garden. I peered around the corner to see the saxophone player up against a wall, hands pressed to his gut. All senses left me and I rushed over to help, easing him into my lap to get a better look. ?Don?t bother, lass. There?s nothing to be done now. Bastard got me good ?n? proper yes he did,? he gasped, pain filling his brown eyes. ?If you want to hep, grab me my sax would you? I want to die with my sax.? Nodding with a fresh wave of tears moistening my cheeks I found the sax and passed it to him. He smiled a pained, exhausted expression and lifted it into his arms before sitting back with a sigh.

?I heard you playing tonight, you?re really good,? I couldn't help but say, a hitch in my breath.

?Ahh.. so that?s where I recognise you from then. Thankyou? it?s best to go out on a good note. If you see the band, tell them to keep playing? They could do really well.?

I bit my lip, nodding. A pause and he took my hands, his own grip surprisingly strong. Lifting them to his lips, he pressed a gentle kiss to my fingertips. Within a few moments, his beautiful, sad eyes glazed over as his heartbeat slowed then stopped. Crying hard by then, I stroked his hair, fixing the saxophone more firmly in his grip and waited for sleep, death due to hypothermia or cops to take me, whichever came first. All the while, his sweetly mournful saxophone music played in my ears, and in my soul.

And a poem... Oh, how I like showing off.

The Parking Dance

One-ton steel ballerinas
Dance
Prance
Cavort.
More grandiose, yet less graceful
Than the most proud mating dance
Of some great bird.

No care is given to muscle-strength;
Nor a thought to anything
Save the ever-smaller distance
Between two giants of the
Modern World.

A deep purr in each chest;
A deep-sprung eagerness
In bright eyes which glare across;
As though hungry for what
The other has.

One-ton steel ballerinas
Touch
Crunch
Grind.
Each mark there, lingering
With no natural healing
Nor chance for reprieve.

And some drawing..

Save me?

(Full sized image can be seen here: http://labychan.deviantart.com/art/Save-me-71554682)

Photography...

My Love Is Like A Potato
Planted, it will grow.
Ignored, it will die.
And there's always the option of chips.

 

[cheatking]

Oh fuck it. Here's an actual story.

The Saxophone


My very skin tingled as I walked along my favourite stretch of road. This particular one had a huge store on one side, giant mirror-like windows reflecting everything, and a café on the other. I just wanted a drink.

I'll give her somehuge she can drink on *Bow chika wow wow* Just joking, liked the poem reading the story now. got to that paragraph and felt it must be said.

 

[Labyrinth]

This Post Is Available Night And Day!

Advertise Your Ego here

 

[The Lyre]

Oh fuck it. Here's an actual story.

The Saxophone


My very skin tingled as I walked along my favourite stretch of road. This particular one had a huge store on one side, giant mirror-like windows reflecting everything, and a café on the other. I just wanted a drink.

I'll give her somehuge she can drink on *Bow chika wow wow* Just joking, liked the poem reading the story now. got to that paragraph and felt it must be said.

The only thing she'll be drinking after that comment, is your soul, from your battered, stabbed, maimed and castrated corpse.

Through a straw.

I'm REALLY tempted to just write something short on the spot, but whereas Labyrinth has the eloquence and confidence to create something haunting and striking, I lack a fair bit of both.

Okay, got a very short something here, as part of a little idea I've been toying around with;

Spoiler: Short intro;

"You are doing God's work."

Marshal Devlin's voice echoed ever so slightly as he addressed the recruit; the empty, poorly-lit basement carrying the Marshal's soft, nasal tones into the dark edges of the almost cavernous room. This basement was one of several, and in each one was both another Marshal and another recruit, and in each room was a bound figure. Perhaps this figure was babbling, or sobbing, or just drooling on the floor, but each was bound, each was fully shaved, from bald head and eyebrows to hairless toe, and each was undeniably insane.

Not just insane, but infected; infected with sin. The recruit knew this; that evil itself had crawled into their once-innocent minds, and now all that remained was a blank shell, albeit a shell with terrible power. The recruit knew this because he had been told it was so - and what reason did he have to doubt? He had seen what these sinners could do, seen them tear men apart with a mere look. These...things were practically feral; more animal than man, and the recruit held this with blind conviction. However, even one blind with conviction can gain a glimpse of the light that is morality;

"This is not just the will of the government, nor is it only the will of your monarchy; it is the complete will of our God. So, when I give you this rather exquisite custom-design .40 caliber revolver, you know that this is not simply a gun you hold, it is an extension of your faith."

The recruit held the gun in his hand, a bead of sweat rolling off his brow as he cautiously palmed the grip, feeling the weight of the weapon. Marshal Devlin, however, was not going to wait for the lad to take his time getting used to the gun;

"Shoot it - for London, for the King, and for your God."

The recruit snapped his head up, from left to right as, in a conflicted expression of horror and fascination - the power and lure of the weapon against the immorality of murder. Indecision changed to resolution; the recruit, barely more than a boy at the age of 16, handed the gun back to the Marshal;

"No God would demand this."

Marshal Devlin took the gun, looked with regret into the eyes of the recruit, before raising the gun and blowing away the recruit's face, frozen in his last moments in contorted shock. The bound, bare figure shrieked, perhaps at the noise, perhaps in instinctual fright, or perhaps this one's sin was pre-cognition, and was witnessing his own imminent death before the same tool of destruction.

The Marshal sighed at the blood on his uniform; the white and red design that indicated his high rank now more or less simply red. He turned to the still screaming figure, and emptied the second chamber, cutting the howl abruptly short. Devlin sighed again before taking a short-wave radio from his equally bloodstained white belt - Devlin understood patriotism, but the white and red design just wasn't practical - adjusted the frequency, and spoke into the transmitter;

"This is Marshal Devlin...guys, the God thing just isn't working; this isn't the dark ages, no one is going to kill in the name of something they can't see or touch anymore...just, think of a new way to brainwash our kids...Devlin out."

 

[Labyrinth]

Oh fuck it. Here's an actual story.

The Saxophone


My very skin tingled as I walked along my favourite stretch of road. This particular one had a huge store on one side, giant mirror-like windows reflecting everything, and a café on the other. I just wanted a drink.

I'll give her somehuge she can drink on *Bow chika wow wow* Just joking, liked the poem reading the story now. got to that paragraph and felt it must be said.

The only thing she'll be drinking after that comment, is your soul, from your battered, stabbed, maimed and castrated corpse.

Through a straw.

I'm REALLY tempted to just write something short on the spot, but whereas Labyrinth has the eloquence and confidence to create something haunting and striking, I lack a fair bit of both.

Oh, those were written a while ago, and lurked on my DeviantArt until now.

 

[Labyrinth]

Spoiler: The New Challenge - A Short Story (4,200 words)

The New Challenge

War has its challenges, harsh and violent ones, but the post-war period brings its own trials, some of which can be as difficult as any that war can muster.
* * *
The sound of rifle-fire, machine-gun bursts and the sporadic, faded sound of distant artillery fire filled the air as the squad, now numbering nine ? three had been shot ? made their way through the forest. The private smelled only the acrid smoke of bullet propellant, and his thoughts were occupied by the carnage that was unfolding around him as more and more of his comrades and associates were gunned down by the enemy.

The sergeant in charge of the squad screamed out disciplinary orders as the rest of the squad, comprised of a corporal and seven privates, reluctantly trudged through the uneven ground beneath their feet. They knew their eventual fate, and they would not march into it blindly.

As the sergeant continued forwards through the trees, the other soldiers continued behind him. The squad were supposed to have ambushed the enemy, but had failed as enemy reinforcements had arrived in greater numbers than could have been anticipated. Now, it was a case of finding their way back to friendly ground, while avoiding hostile forces in their weak and exhausted state.

The private grunted and continued his trudge, feeling his rifle, which he had strapped around his shoulders, knock into his abdomen with every step he took. Finally, the sergeant stopped for a moment to get his bearings, and the private allowed himself to relax temporarily, especially relaxing his shoulders, which carried the burden of his forty-kilogram rucksack, along with his rifle and two belts of machine-gun ammunition.

The private observed his surroundings. Trees scattered everywhere, a loose layer of dead leaves on the ground ? essentially, the same thing he had been looking at for the past hour and a half. But suddenly, his eye caught on something which looked out of place. There was a patch of the ground, about three hundred metres from his position, which was completely bereft of tree cover. Following the patch horizontally with his eyes, he noticed that the trees were missing from more than just that one patch; the treeless ground cut a clear swath through the forest.

"Sergeant," the private asked, "Can you see that line of treeless ground over there?"

"Yeah, I see it. What about it?"

"I'm pretty damned sure that's a road through the forest."

The sergeant contemplated this for a moment and checked his maps. A minute later, the sergeant replied, "You could be right about that, Private. Squad, reform. If this is the road I'm looking at on the map, we're only three miles away from base camp."

The private's heart lifted. Three miles more was nothing when they had covered over twenty that day, and with those three miles of extra effort came security, comfort and a temporary respite from the madness of war. With that, the private reshouldered his pack and his gear and followed the sergeant on the march over to the road.

It transpired that the private had been correct, as the sergeant observed when they were one hundred metres from the road. However, this brought a brand-new problem with it: the enemy were likely to use such roads for their own purposes, which meant that there was most likely a hostile convoy in the vicinity of the squad. Unfortunately, the sergeant's maps revealed an unsettling truth ? there was no way back to base camp which did not involve crossing the road at some point.

The decision was made. There were no enemy personnel in sight and no indication that there were any in the immediate vicinity. They would take the chance, making their way across the road quickly, before any enemy vehicles had the chance to turn the blind corner that blocked the squad's view of the road.

The squad kept low while they made their way over to the side of the road; there was no guarantee that the enemy had no sentries in the area. The private held his rifle by his hip, ready to fire at the sign of any disturbance.

Suddenly, one of the other soldiers stopped in his tracks, signalling with his hand for the rest of the squad to halt. When the sergeant confronted him about it, he said, ?I'm sure I heard something. Sounded like an engine.?

The sergeant replied, ?You're probably jumping at shadows. The quicker we get out of this god-damned forest, the sooner we can get some rest. Now, come on!?

As they approached the side of the long dirt road, the soldiers turned their full attention to their surroundings, knowing that if they were to be ambushed, that this was the most likely point for it to occur. ?One at a time,? the sergeant said, ?and keep it quiet!?

The corporal was the first to venture across the road, resting his rifle on his shoulder, ready to attack. As he crept forth, his head darted from side to side, trying to pick out any disturbances. Finally, the corporal had crossed, turning and giving a thumbs-up to the rest of the squad. The sergeant was next to make his way across, this time more quickly than the corporal.

The private was fifth in line. Once the two preceding him had crossed safely, the private stepped forward. His hand trembled as he clutched his rifle tightly by his hip. He had suddenly had a premonition of his imminent demise, and he was not going to tempt fate by making any dangerous moves. He crossed slowly, moving his weapon up to his shoulder and sweeping his eyes rapidly across the area.

Eventually, he had reached the others who had crossed already. He had panicked for nothing, it appeared, proving the effects of a claustrophobic environment on the psyche. The next soldier was proceeding across the road as planned.

Suddenly, though, that soldier stumbled on the uneven ground present on the worn-down road. With his hands on his rifle, and unable to regain his footing, he crashed to the ground, his shoulder thumping into the ground, leaving the soldier no recourse but to howl in pain.

The private's insides suddenly felt like they were made of ice. The soldier's innocent mistake had suddenly alerted any enemy personnel present of the squad's existence and location. But at the same time, they could not leave the soldier there to be captured or killed by the enemy; they had to assist. The private reasoned that he had nothing to lose except his life and instantly volunteered to assist the fallen soldier.

As the private rushed towards the soldier on the road, the three soldiers on the other side quickly rushed across to the rest of the group. There was no point in maintaining stealth any longer; their cover had been blown, and they felt that it was almost undoubted that the enemy had heard. The only option left that they could consider was to try to escape at full pace.

As the private reached the grimacing soldier, who was clutching his shoulder as he lay on the ground, he put out his hand for the soldier to prop himself up. The soldier grasped onto the private's arm, his face contorted as he pulled himself onto his feet.

"Thanks, mate. We'd better get out of here quickly. I hear something in the distance. Something rumbling."

As the private and the soldier sprinted over to the rest of their squad, the private listened to the ambient noise. The soldier was right, it appeared. Something seemed out of place, a rumbling. Almost like that of engines, the private considered.

Returning to the rest of the squad, the private discovered that his thoughts had become the consensus among the rest of his comrades, and the squad were becoming irrational. "They'd have already plugged us full of lead if they were already here. Let's find some cover and wait until they pass us by," one of the soldiers reasoned.

"No, that won't work at all, you idiot. Maybe they're just combing the area. I reckon we should run for it, get as much distance between us and them as possible," another soldier contended.

A small argument threatened to break out, before the sergeant interjected with his own comment. "Find some cover. We're going to wait it out. Go!"

The private was uneasy, but he crouched behind a tree in order to take full advantage of his camouflage, his rifle raised by his chest. The rest of the squad found their own places to hide, while they waited for the enemy to pass by, the noise in the distance becoming louder and more distinct from the noise of the wind whistling through the trees. They were diesel engines, the private gathered as the low bass rumble of their engine notes shattered the calm air. His hands began to tremble. The vehicles were only a few hundred metres away.

Finally, after a few agonising seconds, the private could hear the vehicles turning the blind corner on the road, only about two hundred metres away from their position. A few seconds after that, the vehicles began to rumble down the road, only a few metres away from the private at the closest point.

Suddenly, the sound of shouted orders came from the vehicles and some of them came to a brisk stop. The private strongly resisted the temptation to bolt, to leave his squad to fend for themselves, but he couldn't take the risk ? he didn't know the exact way to the base, and wandering alone through the forest for any extended length of time would drive him insane.

A number of the personnel from the enemy vehicles stepped out onto the dirt road, their boots crunching the gravel surface under their feet. The private heard some of their exchange from his position.

"The lieutenant's informed me that the enemy's attack failed. We're setting up here. Some of them are bound to retreat through this forest," the leader of the enemy personnel noted.

"It'll be like shooting fish in a barrel. They won't stand a chance," another of the enemy soldiers replied with satisfaction.

The private's blood ran cold. From what he could hear, the enemy outnumbered his own squad by at least a factor of two-to-one, and they were fresh and well-armed, compared to his own exhausted state. From what he had heard, there was no chance of the enemy leaving any time soon.

Suddenly, one of the enemy soldiers shouted over to the leader of his detachment. "Sir! I just heard something! Some sort of disturbance, over in the bushes just there!"

The private jumped. They had been discovered, something which became apparent as the enemy began to shoot. One, then another of his comrades screamed in pain as bullets ripped through them from a sustained volley from the enemies' weapons, and the private was close enough to see the full results as abdomens were flayed, intestines were blown out through the bullet-holes and blood sprayed from the wounds.

Faced with imminent death, the private screamed at the top of his lungs, "RUN!", before jumping out from behind his tree and beginning a run deep into the forest. Just behind him, he could hear some of the rest of his squad, the ones who were remaining, follow his lead, and the enemy personnel in swift pursuit.

As the private thumped and smashed through the trees, he was intensely aware of his footsteps, the growing pace of his heartbeat and his rapid, deep breathing as he charged as if possessed. He had no idea of knowing how many of his squad remained, if any, as he heard the enemy maintain their chase. His body was at full work capacity, and accordingly, with that much physical effort, his mental capacity slowed; in other words, his external senses were dulled.

Leaves crunched beneath his feet as he ran for his life, narrowly avoiding contact with many of the trees by split-second jumps and dodges, but the enemy would not yield and were bearing down on him with great speed. The leaves underfoot gave yield to thick, viscous mud which affected the private's stability, requiring the rest of his meager energy reserve to merely keep himself standing up, let alone maintaining full pace.

Suddenly, with horror, the private noticed a thick low-lying branch right across his path, and he found himself unable to change direction in the sludge he was running through. Sliding through the mud, the private took full contact from the branch, which thumped into his abdomen with an almighty force which knocked the air from his lungs, knocking him immediately to the ground.

The private managed in the following seconds to prop himself up with one arm, his body and face covered in clotting dirt. His hands instantly reached for his rifle, raising it up as he tried to regain his breath. He wished for a respite, for somebody with authority to back him up, one who could cope with the horrors with more consummation than him, but he knew that this was a fruitless wish and expected that his comrades were dead. There would be no luck for him. He would die in this accursed forest, with the clotting mud obscuring his sight, with the bodies of his comrades scattered.

Suddenly, the enemy personnel that had been giving pursuit reached his position. Their faces were cruel as they walked towards him and raised their weapons ready to fire. The private raised his gun in a weak token gesture of resistance, dragging himself back to support himself against something. The soldiers were in sight as his back found a tree, which the private propped himself up against as they continued to walk forward. He took aim, knowing that this would likely be the last shot he would ever take.

The private screamed in terror as the enemy personnel continued to come towards him. There was a flash, and the rifle kicked into his shoulder.

* * *
The ex-soldier's scream of terror continued as he bolted from his bed. As he returned to the realms of consciousness, he took a moment to embrace the truths of reality ? the bed under him, the sensations of cold that he felt. He twisted to his right and switched on the electric lamp that resided beside his bed, bathing in the incandescent glow.

 He found it difficult to believe that he had merely been dreaming ? the sensations of smell and sound had seemed so realistic. However, he supposed, it was a clever trick of the subconscious mind, dredging those smells from the back of his mind, for this was reality as he supposed it. He was no longer a private ? the war had ended three months ago. The war had been vicious and it had been bloody, but it was over now, and his country had won.

(But what have they won?)

The war had taken away many of his friends and had stopped just short of taking him as well. However, for his survival, the ex-soldier had paid dearly, with the revisiting of the battles in his mind becoming a common occurrence. He had paid his pound of flesh also; his left arm was amputated just above the elbow.

There was a consideration which the ex-soldier had: He had experienced the battles, the scenes of bloodshed and terror once, and once had been one time too many. Why did his subconscious mind feel compelled to revisit, to fixate on those things which terrified him? Surely, he had paid the price for his own survival already, with his missing left arm and his dead family, killed when a crashed bomber flew straight into their house. Of all the vagaries of chance, the ex-soldier thought, for them to die in such ironic circumstances? He had been told that they had died quickly, as if this was supposed to comfort him or give him consolation after the loss of his family.

His girlfriend had left him, also. As he had continued to fight, his letters had begun to become more and more morbid as he tried to put to paper the inner feelings of his mind and express them to somebody, anybody who would listen. As each reply came in, he could sense the growing rift between them, as the letters from her became more and more impersonal. Still, he had continued to write letters of increasing morbidity, knowing deeply that he was losing the rest of his tenuous grip on her, but feeling compelled to express his sentiments to somebody who wasn't in his situation. The process of separation had been accelerated by the fact that he had been granted no leave (he had not even been given bereavement leave when his family had died, and had only been relieved of duty when his arm had been shot and amputated. They had needed the soldiers, they said). Perhaps with a break from the terror, he might have patched up the relationship; perhaps even regained some of his lost humanity. The soldier's emotions had been dulled until he only had fear and cynicism left. Yes, he thought, I have paid the price for my own survival.

The ex-soldier switched off the electric lamp, attempting to return to sleep, but after an hour of restless turning and twisting inside his sheet, he arose from his bed.
* * *
The ex-soldier had hobbled down the stairs and was currently in the process of making himself some breakfast. He had a bowl, a plastic bag full of corn flakes, a glass bottle of milk and a spoon. He had adopted a taste for cereals as he had been medically discharged; they were easy to prepare and eat with only one hand. The only difficult part was opening the cereal bags, but, necessity being the mother of invention, he had devised a plan to deal with that difficulty.

Once he had poured the corn flakes and the milk into the bowl (making sure not to use too much milk, for it had to last him the rest of the week), he picked up the spoon and dug it into his cereal. He had soon devoured the cereal; he was continuously ravenous, for rationing policies had grown particularly harsh towards the end of the war and farmers were only beginning to return their fields to the production capacity required.

After his breakfast, the ex-soldier stood up and walked over to the refrigerator. It was only a small unit, a counter-top model, for that was all that he could afford to run. Electricity rations had been discontinued, but the price of electricity had sky-rocketed as a result. As the electrical supply was controlled by the state, the ex-soldier reasoned (correctly) that this was a plan by the government to try to recoup some of the massive expenses that associated keeping the military in the field. He opened the refrigerator door and took a brief inventory. There was the loaf of bread that he had bought two days earlier, a few fruit preserves, a jar of mayonnaise, a block of butter, which the ex-soldier was using slowly, for the same reasons as he had used little milk ? dairy supplies had been struck especially hard by the rationing authorities. While that was on his mind, he grabbed the bottle of milk that he had left on the table and brought it back to the refrigerator, placing it into its receptacle. He continued his inventory and realised that there was no meat and that there were few vegetables and that meant that he would have to leave the house.

The ex-soldier now disliked leaving the house. He felt very conspicuous, resulting from the stump that was the sole remainder of his left arm. Once, a child had pointed and mentioned it to his mother. The mother had chastised him with the standard phrase, ?It's rude to point?, and walked off, but not before staring at the amputated stump before she had left.

He supposed that those who stared felt pity for him, but the ex-soldier did not want pity; he wanted normality. He wanted to be just another person, not haunted by the spectres of his fallen comrades, not terrified by the continuing replays that accompanied his sleep, not debilitated with a wound which was not held with pride but with indignation for the government that had conscripted him into their lines.
* * *
The ex-soldier had soon returned upstairs, dressing himself, albeit with a good deal of difficulty, especially when it had come to the buttoning of his trousers, a task which required a large amount of finger-dexterity to perform correctly. However, he had managed to put on his clothes properly within fifteen minutes and promptly took his wallet, keys and his ration stamps and left the house.

The soldier looked around him as he walked down the streets of the city, the sky still dark, but the shops just beginning to open. What was this world that he now lived in? Over three years, there had been so many changes; blocks of houses now lay in ruins, roads still had bomb craters which had not been filled in. The city of his childhood and adolescence had been blown to pieces. Yet, the ex-soldier thought, if the world of his adolescence were to be rebuilt, he would not feel at home. He had changed almost as much as the city. He was only twenty-six years old, but mentally, he felt at least thirty years older. In three years, a lifetime had appeared to pass before his eyes, a lifetime of hardship and bitterness.

One change had been particularly strange: While he had found that he had despised the conduct of war, he had soon found himself, and still found himself, constantly ready for combat. The army had trained him well; to fight no matter what the circumstances were, to distrust his emotions, to warp his instincts towards the conducting of war. He was constantly looking over his shoulder, convinced that somebody was out to kill him, because that had been the way for three years. It would take a lot of self-reconditioning before he was ready for this world again, to live as a civilian again.

Up ahead of him, he noticed a group of men and a few tall teenage boys, pulling concrete slabs and timber supports from the ruins of a house, beginning the process of rebuilding the houses, and in the processes, rebuild their shattered lives. The ex-soldier respected those who could look forward when everything appeared to be trying to push them backwards. Secretly, he wished that he was one of them, instead of the bitter and cynical shell that he had been left with.

There was an eerie silence in the air; the roads, which would, under normal circumstances, be packed with cars, were empty. Even the volume of parked cars, which one would reason, in the affluent city that this had once been, had been reduced to almost zero. The ex-soldier remembered the government-sponsored initiative which had asked people to scrap their cars in order to use the precious and scarce steel and recyclable plastics for the military machine. In exchange, the government had paid over the odds for each car which had been scrapped; the resources were more important than the money. Even if the cars had been around to use, few would have taken the privilege; petroleum had too precious a resource to the military to be flooded away in civilian automobiles.

Eventually, the ex-soldier reached the first of his destinations, the local butcher's shop. Before he stepped in, he pulled his ration book and his money from his inside coat, then pushed open the door, the action being accompanied with a sharp ringing from a bell attached to the door. The ex-soldier walked over to the counter, where an attractive young woman that he had not seen before was waiting patiently at the counter, eager to accept the ex-soldier's business.

As the ex-soldier reached the counter, the young woman asked, ?Hello, sir. May I help you??

As the soldier made his order, the young woman took the meat from the display unit, weighed it, wrapped it in paper, laid it on the counter and said, ?That will be three dollars and thirty-six cents, please.?

As the ex-soldier handed her a five-dollar bill, the young woman asked innocently, ?May I ask how you lost your arm??

Tactless, the ex-soldier thought. ?I'd prefer not to talk about it,? he answered gruffly. ?It brings back a lot of painful memories...?

?Oh! I'm sorry... I didn't mean...?

?Let's discontinue this conversation now.?

The ex-soldier promptly left the butcher's shop, clutching his package of meat under his arm. As he walked towards the next of his destinations, the greengrocer's shop, he passed by another group of men plucking concrete slabs out of the remains of a home. The soldier started to feel slightly bitter. It was good for them to be able to rebuild, but what about him? How was he meant to reassemble the broken shards of his life?

Well.. fuck. That was simply chilling. Shivers down the spine and everything. Fantastically written to.

And here's something else. Not written by me, but I've always found it moving.

Spoiler: To Be A Woman pt 2

To Be A Woman - by http://starlightofdawn.deviantart.com/

Is this what it means to be a woman? To have the smell of your body coming from me, to have your bite marks on my skin, to feel brutalised by you? I wouldn?t say that I love you, but you give me something that I thought I would never find. A feeling of being sexy, being attractive without being drunk. Even when you?re holding my arm over the stove, you?re turned on by me. Or turned on by whatever it is you do to me. When you put your hands around my throat last night in bed and choked me, was that an affirmation of my femininity? Does that fear I have, does that ? more than biology ? does that make me a woman? Forget the way my body is formed: my gender is in the thoughts in my head, the dry feeling of disgust in my mouth when you slide your hands over me, the revulsion at your assumption that you own me. To be a woman is to be constantly terrified.

The memories of last night make me want to vomit. One of your hands over my mouth, the other around my neck, your hips thrusting against mine, delicate smears of blood on the bed sheets. A scream half vocalised, but I knew no one could hear it. It wasn?t quite rape. I have to hold onto that thought. It hurts there, between my legs, and there are fresh fucking flowers blossoming over my breasts. It hurts to piss. You have turned the most sacred parts of me into pornography, into a crumpled Kleenex on the floor.

Shit, and now I?ve started to gag, convulsing as my body tries wildly to purge you from my system. I can smell your semen on me, like rotting meat and stale sweat. The scent sticks to my skin and no matter how hard I scrub, I can still smell you. I wonder for a second if you?re clean, but then I realise it doesn?t really matter because you?re slowly destroying my body anyway. If you?re going to kill me, I?m scared it?s not going to be quick ? that would be just like you. Fear seizes me again, and more vomit cascades from my limp body, curled over the toilet bowl. I don?t want to die. I whimper as a fresh bruise on my arm brushes against myself. Turning my arm over, I realise it?s a bite mark. I can?t stop vomiting.

You couldn?t look into my eyes as you corrupted me. This is the one victory I have. You own my freedom, the inside of my head and even my naked body. But you can?t have the look of disappointment in my eyes, whatever you do to me. This is mine, if only this.

To be a woman is to be controlled.

 

[zen5887]

Bm7 C#m75- Dm9 F#7M

Well I think its pretty

 

[MarcusStrout]

I need your kind of love
More than ever before
When I see your hand reaching out for mine
It leaves me wanting nothing more

When I walk away I find
The images of you ensnare my mind
When I walk away I can't stand
The feel of my hand without your hand

..just a snippet of a song I wrote last night.


EDIT: I PLAY SAXOPHONE AND I LOVED THE STORY YAAAAAY

 

[Anarchemitis]

Dah!
I'd totally have like seven high-resolution peices of art, half an animation and a sweet compilation from a video game if my computer was fixed already.

 

[Eldritch Warlord]

The Mouth of Sauron has excellent teeth.

See? [http://uncyclopedia.org/wiki/Image:Mouth_of_Sauron.jpg]

 

[NewClassic_v1legacy]

Spoiler: Puff of Smoke - 3850+ Words

I stared out through the window. Rain was pouring from the sky. Another rainy day in the city.
I turned my attention back to the stove-top, where three slices of Spam were sizzling on my mom's old skillet. My eye trailed up to the kitchen cabinet, where the rest of my mom's cooking paraphernalia stood in stacks. I was learning to cook like I'd promised my mom years ago in college, but it was still a slow learning experience.
I checked the slices, guessed I had about another minute or two before they would be done, and jogged to the living area to turn on the TV or radio. Cooking was fun, but I felt like I needed something to occupy my mind. Cooking wasn't quite doing it.
The radio sat on the coffee table, but wouldn't turn on. I flipped the radio around and saw the batteries were missing. I reached for my TV remote, and plopped the batteries into the radio. I tried the power switch again, and the radio came on.
Talk radio came on, and I heard a thump from the kitchen. I turned back around to see the skillet, Spam slices and burning grease all over the tile. I panicked for a minute, and crouched to start slapping the grease out. I slammed my palm against the grease once, and learned quickly that I should get a fire extinguisher. I turned from the kitchen, and opened my apartment door, dashing down the hall. On the far wall of the hallway, a red fire extinguisher was hanging from the wall. I ripped it from the wall, and ran back to my apartment. The hallway erupted in whistling sound and flashing lights, as if the fire extinguisher was attached to the fire alarm. As I was running back to my apartment, I heard a thump. The floor rocked, and I stumbled, slamming into the carpet in the hall. The fire extinguisher tumbled down the hall.
I got up, and hurried back to the apartment. The kitchen was a horrible mess. My refrigerator was bowled over, my cabinets were all on fire, and my wooden table was in ruins. I turned around the counter, and saw my porcelain sink halfway through the ceiling. The cabinets had erupted outward, and I saw a horribly warped propane tank underneath my kitchen counter. The propane had probably exploded. The cabinets were all on fire, as was the carpet in my living room.
I hurried to collect some of my mom's cooking set, grabbed a skillet and a spatula, and hurried out into the hall. I tripped out of the apartment, dropping my cookware, and hurried to recover it. I got the skillet to the end of the hall, and hurried back into my apartment. I ran through the living room and grabbed the empty suitcase I keep under my futon for vacations.
I ran back to the kitchen, and dumped as many pots and pans as I could into the luggage. Blue and red bulb flashes were spinning in to the window. After getting all of the cooking stuff, I ran for the door. I stumbled over what used to be my coffee table, and dropped the bag so I could catch my balance. I stumbled, barely catching my balance before I slammed into the wall. I turned back to grab my bag, and got caught around the waist. ?Come on!?
I turned, and saw a fire-fighter's helmet. ?Get out of here!?
?But, my-?
?Go!? He shoved me toward the stairs, and I stumbled down the first five steps. I listened, and ran to the ground floor. The apartment's tenants were already outside, joined by a few ambulances and firetrucks. As soon as I was out of the building, two ambulance runners hurried up to me and checked me for burns or gashes. After a short check-up, they told me I was lucky that I had no burns, and told me to go get out of the rain. I watched the apartment building burn for a minute, reflecting on all of the furniture lost and money wasted.
Beside me, one of the onlookers elbowed me in the ribs. ?Whoever started that fire ain't gettin' they deposit back.? He laughed at his own joke, and walked off into the night, probably to his car. I stood, staring at what used to be my apartment. I felt groggy, and slumped against the brick wall of the building across the street.
Some time had passed between me getting outside and when an ambulance worker came and hauled me to my feet. ?I know, it's pretty shocking. You shouldn't stay out in the cold, you have anywhere else to go??
?Huh?? I finally broke out of my grogginess, and thought to the cell phone sitting in my pocket. ?Yeah, I can go somewhere.?
?Right, get there quick. You don't need a cold right now.? He thumped me twice on the shoulder, and hurried into his ambulance before driving off. I fished my cellphone out of my pocket, and hovered over the first number in my speed dial. My dad still lived downtown, and wouldn't take much time to get to him. He'd be with his girlfriend, though, and he would want to shove it in my face that I failed with my own apartment.
?Screw that,? I told myself, and dialed Sarah. Sarah was something of my best friend, and did a good job of being my main source of socialization in-town. I vaguely knew where she lived, since I knew what bus exit she took, but didn't really have a solid idea of where she lived. It'd beat the hell out of living with my dad again.
After a few rings, I heard a groggy answer, ?Mmph... Hello??
?Uh... Good afternoon, Sarah.?
There was a short pause, ?Mark??
?Yeah... Uh... I need a favor.?
Another pause, this one was probably to check the clock. ?Mark, it's midnight. You better have three hells of a good excuse to call me at midnight.?
?My apartment... uh... caught on fire.?
?That's not a go- Hold on, you did what??
?My apartment burned down...? I had some trouble keeping my voice steady. I was shivering pretty violently, ?I need someplace to stay, quick.?
?Oh my God, are you alright??
?No...? I got to a bus stop and sat down, shivering under the roof of the bench. ?Can you come pick me up??
?Sure, where are you??
?Bus stop you keep getting off on when we take the bus downtown.?
?Oh. Um... My apartment is just down the road. 2355, it's the building between the two Starbucks.?
?Okay, buzz me up when I get there.?
I ran through the rain for the last time, and got to the apartment. I buzzed the doors randomly until someone let me in, and got inside the lobby. I was shivering pretty hard, and I knew I'd probably be sick in the morning. I started to call Sarah to find out what apartment number she lived in when she appeared in the lobby wearing a long t-shirt.
And nothing else.
I looked at her blankly, and she ran up and hugged me. ?Oh my God, Mark, are you alright??
?Yes, yes.? I told her, leaning into the hug. ?Thanks for giving me a place to sleep.?
?Gladly, I'm sorry about your apartment. Let's go upstairs and talk over coffee.?
She stepped back and looked at her own rapidly dampening shirt, ?And some dry clothes.?
The apartment itself was small, but comfortable, with lots of girly colors and posh furniture. I sat against at the counter separating the kitchenette and living area, downing the coffee. I wasn't in much more than my boxers, but with Sarah in nothing but a t-shirt, so I was oddly comfortable. My clothes were running through the dryer cycle, and I explained what happened to my apartment while we were waiting for the clothes to dry.
After I had finished my story, Sarah looked pretty calm. I still felt in something of a shock from what happened, considering I was sitting in a girl's living room in nothing but my boxers. ?That's terrible, Mark. Did any of your stuff make it??
?Probably not. The only thing that I'll likely get out of that apartment is the bills.?
?Tough times.? She looked down the hall, and smiled, ?Hey there, Leon.?
I turned, horrified that there was another guy in the house. Instead, I saw a small black cat. ?Oh...? I said, worry coming out in a sigh, ?hey kitty.?
?Mark, this is my kitty Ponce de Leon. Leon, this is my friend, Mark.?
?Hey kitty.? I told it, getting out of the stool to give it a scratch between the ears.
After coffee, Sarah gave me another hug, then went to bed for work in the morning. I thanked her, told her goodnight, and went to go find myself a nice comfortable couch to sleep on. To my surprise, the dark furred cat joined me on the couch. I went to sleep hearing the cat purr.
I woke up hearing the cat speak. ?Alright, get up. You've had your sleep. The night has thus arrived. On your feet, time to move out.?
?Huh?? My mind wouldn't clear, but I knew someone was telling me to get up. I rolled off of the couch. ?I'm going, I'm going.?
?Hardly the time to be sitting around lolly-gagging. You humans are miserably slow at moving about. On your feet, on the double, let's go.?
I hauled myself to my feet, and looked around for the source of the voice. It had a strong Spanish inflection, vaguely reminiscent of various Antonio Banderas movies I'd watched over college. For some reason, I thought to look down, and saw the cat staring at me. ?Well, enough time wasted, let's move, human.?
?Move whe-? Click. ?Holy hell and satanic hand baskets, you're a talking cat!?
?And you're a slow human, follow me please.? The cat began toward the door, and I just stood where I was, and gawked. The cat poked its head back in the door, blinked once, and turned back around. Suddenly, on it's own, my body moved toward the cat. The cat took to a jog, which my body decided to match, up the stairs. We jogged that way up two or three flights, and out onto the roof. Rain was still falling in sheets, and the gravel stung against my feet as I walked.
We walked to the lip of the building, and I noticed Sarah and another cat were already sitting on the roof, waiting for us.
?Juan.? Came a voice from Sarah's direction, the other cat. ?Your human is slow.?
Leon turned to the other cat, rubbing his face against the other's in a very feline gesture, ?Yours was too, when she first started.?
?Slower than yours, in fact.? The other remarked. They turned to me, then Sarah, who stood comfortably in the pouring rain, as if it were common-place.
I glared down at the little cats, ?Alright, someone better tell me what the hell is going on.?
The wind gusted hard, and I nearly stumbled over the lip of the building. The light-furred cat sitting next to Sarah turned to me, ?Ah, that's our cue.?
?Our cue for wha-? Without any sort of warning, I lobbed myself over the building, and the pavement five stories below rushed up very quickly to greet me.
I closed my eyes, and knew that even if I were going to die, I sure as hell didn't want to watch it.

Instead of coming to a violent stop and blackness swallowing me whole like I expected, I felt flooded by a sudden light, and lost my orientation. For a minute, the sensation of falling rocked, and I slammed against a wooden structure. It bobbed with me when I landed, and I felt the structure bob in rhythm with three thumps. I opened my eyes and looked around. I was on a row boat, with two short-looking Europeans in the front of the boat, and Sarah in the back.
I craned my head over the lip of the row boat, and saw ocean in three directions, and a shore a few feet away from the row boat. I jumped out of the boat and scrambled to shore, trying to control my breathing. ?Stop, just stop. What the hell is going on??
One of the Europeans, a young looking English boy, grinned , ?You picked a winner, Juan.?
?Relax, human.? Called the other European, a Spanish man in traditional armor. ?All will be explained soon.?
I waited where I was until the row boat had made it to the beach, and stared at the Spaniard expectantly. He ignored me, and hurried toward the forest. Sarah came to me, helped me up, offered me a reassuring smile, and we both followed the Europeans into the forest.
A small tent had been pitched in a small clearing, and Sarah got inside. She came back out shortly afterward in puffy trousers and clunky armor. There was a machete hanging from her belt, and her hair was tied up by two strips of leather. I blinked at her, then looked down at my own boxer-clad self. ?Screw it, it's not like today can get any weirder.?
?The day is still young.? I heard from behind me as I entered the tent. Freaking cat-people-teleporter things. They still haven't told me what the hell was going on. In the footlocker on the floor, I found a puffy suit of clothes, and a few pieces of armor. I slowly pulled the clothes on, and took a few minutes figuring out how to attach the armor. I left the tent, creaking uncomfortably in the new, and poorly fitting armor. The Spaniard looked at me with a very amused expression, but clearly made an effort to say nothing. He walked into the tent as well. The small European boy, couldn't have been any more than 16 years old, walked up and tightened the straps on my armor. They fit quite a bit better, and moved less when I walked.
I heard a few locks slide into place, and then he came out and closed the tent. ?Alright, we are ready to re-commence our search. ?M'lady Sarah, this is your cue to take point.?
?Of course, Leon.? She told him, unclipping her machete. She walked toward the bush and walked through an opening in the brush, occasionally lopping off an overgrowth. ?Okay, Leon, what the hell is going on??
The young boy laughed, ?Eloquent, isn't he, Juan??
?Yes.? He said, distractedly, ?Alright, sir, I'll answer your questions to the best of my ability. My name is Juan Ponce de Leon, I have been looking for the Fountain of Youth for several hundred years.? He turned to me, and asked, ?And you, human, what is your name??
?Uh... Oh. Marcus Robbins.?
?Very well, Marcus. To my right is Leonis Delacrue, my right hand boy.?
The European boy beamed at me, ?Quite the honor, Marcus.?
?When you aren't making fun of me,? I grumbled, trudging along behind the duo. ?So, why the hell am I part of this little excursion??
?Simple,? Ponce de Leon said, ?you shall help me find the fountain of youth, and our adventure can be done. Simple, no??
?Yeah,? I said, looking around at endless jungle in all directions, ?easy as breathing.?
After what felt like hours of walking with little to no signs of progress, I shifted the armor's straps onto a different part of my shoulder to distract my mind. ?Ponce,? I said, ?How am I going to get back to Orlando??
?Ah, yes. Sarabelle asked me the same question. After the night is complete, you'll find yourself back in her apartment. Worry not.?
?Okay, I guess...?
After another few minutes, Leonis took Sarah's place with the machete and I spent the rest of the time catching up with her. We laughed about our trip to the downtown comedy club, talking about how the security almost threw me out. The reminiscing rapidly faded off, though, and was replaced with odd conversations.
?You alright, Mark??
?I guess,? I told her, scratching my head, ?this is just a little too weird for me. Why can't I just wake up in my own bed, comfortable and relaxed??
?Because your apartment burned down.? She told me, looking forward blankly.
?Out of the fire, and into the frying pan? Not very comforting, all things considered.?
?Sorry, Mark. I didn't like it the first time, either.?
I looked at her, curious, ?How many times have you done this so far??
?I lost count, at least fifteen now.?
?Oh,? I said, sinking into an uncomfortable silence. Sarah smiled at me once, and pushed ahead to catch up with Leonis. ?Delacrue, I'll take over.?
?Marvelous, my arm is sore something awful.?
After what could have been hours, we finally got to a sign of civilization. There was a sign bolted to a tree, but I couldn't focus on it. ?Ah,? Ponce de Leon crowed at the sight of the sign, ?where shall we go from here, Sarabelle??
?Let's head west today.?
?Wonderful.? Ponce de Leon said.
?Exciting!? Leonis was genuinely happy.
?Ah crap.? Was my clearly enthused reply.
The trudge was boring, filled with the ramblings and stories of Ponce de Leon. Sarah had gotten a break from machete-duty because the forest abruptly cleared off. We were roaming the plains for the upwards of a few hours when we came to a small valley. Below were sounds of water, but it wasn't until we reached the edge of the cliff until I saw a natural fountain coming from a spring.
?Oh my Lord,? Ponce de Leon began, gaping at the spring below.
The cliff was completely lined with thick brush, and there were bushes and plants jutting from the water of the spring. I looked down at it, and heaved a sigh of relief. ?Okay, we found it. Use your strange cat-magic and get us back to Orlando.?
?But we've come so far,? Ponce de Leon said, readying himself to climb down the cliff toward the spring. ?We must take of the fountain!?
?Hurrah!? Leonis cried, already getting down to brave the cliff. Before we could get our bearings to begin the long climb downward, there was a loud, warbling cry from above. As I turned to look, arrows streaked from the sky down onto us. I yelped, and slammed into the dirt on my stomach. The arrows were largely warning shots, only a few feather-flecked shafts slamming into the dirt and grass around me.
?God, save us all.? Ponce de Leon said, terror clear in his voice, ?Tribals...?

Before I even had time to panic, Leonis was on his feet. I hauled myself to my feet, and saw Sarah and Leon already retreating. Leonis was already halfway around the crater, sprinting away from the clearing. I ran after them, hoping to get further away from the clearing before another volley of arrows came down on us. My lungs were already burning, but I continued to run. Weeds and rocks jutted around the floor, and I tripped over one while running. My legs caught each other on the stumble, and I dropped hard into the weeds.
No one turned to save me, but I managed to pull myself up and get a limping lope away. Arrows were now seasoning the ground around me, shafts piercing the dirt. I couldn't guess the time we ran from the clearing, but after what felt like hours of panicked running, we reached the forest edge. We were not equipped for combat, but Ponce de Leon would not have anything less than reaching the fountain. Right then, right there.
We took inventory of our ?weapons,? which boiled down to roughly two machetes, and a crossbow with only a handful of bolts. Ponce decided that Leonis and I will take point, himself on our flank with the cross-bow, and Sarah at his flank with a sling.
We charged the now-appearing tribal warriors, Leonis deftly handling the machete with smooth, easy strokes. I aimed purposefully for their weapons, attempting to crush the weapons from their grasp. Ponce de Leon was merciless with the crossbow, striking heads and throats with flying bolts. Arrows were still flecking the ground around us, but in less volume. I was far more concentrated on not dying in close-quarters fight.
?Eyes up, gentlemen.? Called Ponce, spinning to my side and taking the machete from me. Sarah and I fell back, lobbing rocks from the far side of the plain. To our horror, we discovered the tribal warriors were dousing their arrows in fire. Burning shafts were already raining on the plain.
?Oh God,? I said, ?more fire...?
?Too close to home, Mark??
Flame-tipped arrows flew overhead, ?Not funny, Sarah.?
?Sorry Mark, trying to laugh without freaking out.?
We continued fighting for what could have been minutes, or hours, when I heard something of a roar behind us. I turned, and saw the fountain of youth, the spring of eternal life, towering with flames. Sarah turned moments after I had, and sank to her knees, ?Oh no...?
?Oh Heavenly Father...? Ponce De Leon sounded in shock, I turned, and he was on his knees, gripping dirt with his fingertips. ?Please, God, no...?
?Leon, look out!? I moved toward him, leaping at the oncoming warrior. He raised his black-stoned weapon, and I rushed for him mid-air. His arm arced downward, and I knew there'd be no escape. I was going to die. For the second time in 12 hours, I closed my eyes. Death was not something I wanted to watch.
The small thrum of fire was the sound that greeted me when I opened my eyes again. My chest was uncomfortable, and I felt soft padding behind me. My eyes jerked open, and I shot upward. ?Where am I??
?Oh,? Sarah said, from the kitchenette, back in her apartment, ?you're in my apartment.?
?What happened?? The cat on my chest looked at me, meowed once, and hopped off of my chest. I could breath again.
?Your apartment burned down.?
?What about the fountain of youth? How it went up in smoke??
Sarah walked around the bar, setting eggs and bacon out on the table, ?I... uh... Were you having a nightmare, Mark??
Nightmare? ?Was I??
?Probably... Come on, I made some breakfast.?
We ate in silence, enjoying one another's company. We talked about nothing, and I didn't use my brain at all, just coasting through the entire conversation. When I finally broke out of my conversational reverie, my brain passed me a thought.
?Why aren't you at work?? My watch confirmed that she was very late.
?I called in sick today, my friend's apartment burned down.?
?Oh...?
She smiled at me, hugged me once, and said, ?So c'mon, let's go house-hunting.?

Nowhere near the talent of RAKtheUndead or Labyrinth. I'm okay with it, though. Hope your weekend trip was an enjoyable one.

 

[Johnn Johnston]

Here's a poem I wrote while in English yesterday. We were told to write about whatever was on our minds, and I was thinking about how I couldn't think of anything to write about. I decided to write about writer's block, and actually wrote more than anyone else. Go Team Irony.

Spoiler: Writer's Block: A Poem

Writer's Block
By Johnn Johnston

Captain Nelson on the deck,
Stiding forward...bloody heck.
This poem deal is really hard,
I'm barely writing like the Bard,

I can't think of a single rhyme,
Thought I've been thinking all this time,
Not a stanza, nary a pun,
I can't think of a single one.

Not a stanza, not a jot,
I'm feeling like a total clot.
This isn't funny any more,
And now it's just a total bore.

I stamp my foot upon the floor,
"This writing thing I do abhor!"
It's time to end this freakin' joke,
So bugger this. Off for a coke.

 

[Xhumed]

The beginning of something I've been working on for the last few months:

Spoiler: Hollow Hills- the prologue.

Prologue

The hillside was a hive of activity, unusually so for the middle of the night. The sound of the diggers drowned out the noise of several generators, which were powering several large floodlights and a computer unit which had been set up inside a large canvas tent. The darkness outside of the beams from the lights was absolute ? heavy cloud obscured the moon and stars. Fog was forming, tendrils of it creeping into the dig site. The area was far from the nearest town, isolated and remote, with only hills and dales for miles around. Doctor Robinson might have felt nervous if it hadn?t been for the mechanical background rumble, and if he wasn?t so excited by what they had discovered. The geophysics team had found a burial chamber inside the hill- one larger than anything previously discovered. The excavation had uncovered something incredible; the artefacts dated back to before the roman invasion of Britain, to the time of druids. And that had been just the entrance chamber. The main chamber had yet to be explored; their employer had insisted it be supervised by one of his men. Out in the gloom, the headlights of a Land Rover Discovery could be seen wending their way over the landscape. Robinson was almost bouncing up and down with anticipation at opening the gargantuan main chamber ? it was the find of a life-time. A short man, with slight build, grey hair shaved to disguise the rapid onset of baldness, Doctor Geoffrey Robinson wore a green Barber jacket over his brightly coloured knitted jumper and blue jeans. As the Land Rover finally pulled into the dig site, he stifled a yawn and checked his bright plastic digital watch- it was just on the cusp of 3am. He walked over the muddy ground, churned up by the treads of the diggers, and approached the now parked vehicle. A figure emerged, wearing a black wide-brimmed hat and long black cotton duster coat. The man kept his head slightly downward, so the brim of his hat obscured the top half of his face. ?Doctor Robinson, I presume?? The newcomers voice was low and gravely. ?Yes that?s me. I take it you?re here to observe the excavation Mr???
The dark man chuckled. For some reason the sound unsettled the archaeologist, but he couldn?t put his finger on why, and excitement reasserted itself quickly. ?I?m here to see what you?ve uncovered, yes.? In his eagerness to examine what he had found, Robinson didn?t register that the stranger hadn?t supplied his name when he had prompted. Or that there were more figures sat inside the Land Rover. He beckoned the black-clad visitor towards the tent and ducked inside. A computer sat on a trestle table, and when the man entered the tent, Robinson pointed to the display. ?You see here, the geophysics team found a huge cavity inside this hill.? Coloured blobs on the screen showed the density of the ground, with a large space in the middle which indicated the hollow area inside. Robinson continued. ?We dug at the base of the hill where the survey showed the entrance to the chamber, and uncovered a stone archway with a tunnel beyond. The carvings on it seem to be runes, we have photographed them so we can send them off to be translated??
?You haven?t dispatched them yet?? the gravely voice inquired sharply.
?No, no, they?re still here.? Robinson gestured to a digital camera which was sat next to the computer. The figure visibly relaxed. ?Anyway, the tunnel led to a small entrance chamber, which had a number of artefacts inside, which we think are pre-roman. At the far end of that chamber was a stone seal, also covered in runic carvings. As per our instructions, we haven?t tried to remove the seal. Now you?re here, we?re very keen to begin.?
The man in black nodded. ?Show me.?
The tunnel was lit by lights rigged to a generator and placed on the floor. Robinson led his guest down it into the first chamber. It was about eight feet high, fifteen wide and ten deep. In the middle of the far earthen wall was a circular stone, a foot thick and almost as tall as the chamber itself. ?There we are. I?ll just get some men to help roll the stone away and-?
?That won?t be necessary Doctor.? The stranger advanced past Robinson and griped the edge of the seal; with seemingly little effort, he rolled the heavy stone aside. Robinson goggled; it must have weighed nearly a metric tonne. ?Wh-who are you??
The man chuckled again. The archaeologist suddenly became aware that the noise of the mechanical diggers had stopped; the rattle and hum of the generators could be clearly heard.
?Come take a look Doctor. See what you have found us.? The man reached into his coat pocket and produced a flare. Lighting it, he tossed it through the uncovered opening onto the earth floor of the cavern beyond, where it burnt fiercely white. Robinson?s curiosity got the better of him; he slowly walked through the entrance into the new chamber. He looked up. And up and up and up, taking in what was within. His mouth hung open in astonishment at what he saw. He turned to the figure behind him. ?But?but? that?s?? The stranger looked up, into Robinson?s eyes, revealing his face for the first time. There was a flash of silver as the flare?s light reflected off metal, then another, and suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his chest. The Doctor looked down, and saw a knife handle protruding from his torso. He heard muffled pops and screams coming from outside the hill, and was suddenly conscious that his assailant hadn?t been alone in the vehicle. He sank to his knees, trying to speak but only managed gurgled choking. He looked up into the face of a horror, as the blade was removed brusquely. His eyes bulged, and he was only dimly aware, as black bordered his vision, of the sharp metal slicing into his neck, before darkness overtook him, and then he was aware of nothing.

 

[PurpleRain]

Wow, didn't realize the true talent here.

Ok, here I go:

Stories

Spoiler: Peter the Right-Wing Rabbit

Once there was a rabbit named Peter. He made all sorts of strange laws to ban fun and happiness in the land.
One day, he met a Lungfish named Ted. Ted was Left Wing and loved to help people.

?Bah,? said Peter, ?the only way to help people is to watch them through cameras and impose strict restrictions on all the lands.?
?But,? Ted responded, ?are you happy??
?Of course! Why wouldn?t I be??
?Well you spend so long trying to help people by taking away their freedoms, that perhaps you need help to see that to help someone? you have to let them be free.?
?Gee,? Peter said touched by the lungfish, ?I never thought of it that way.?
?And you never will??

At that, Ted stabbed Peter the rabbit and began to set fire to the building.
?Anarchy! Anarchy! Burn down the system! Unfuck the world!?

And Peter wasn?t Right-Wing any more? cause he died. Them the breaks. Get used to it kids!

Poems

Spoiler: Christmas of Cthulhu

I told you I'll make it. It's barely finished, the poetic flow doesn't always flow properly and jumps around a lot because I cut most of the 'investigating' stuff. Only 1st draft and it's a tad long but I hope you enjoy it:

Christmas of Cthulhu

Two days until Christmas, decorations were ready
Billy?s list was written; he wanted a car and a teddy.
Sadly, his room lay bare, parents with tears rolling down there face
For Billy had gone, with nary a trace
The police searched high and they searched low
But nothing had turned up, the investigation was ?no go?

Until the mother called the investigators to help
?My son is gone, you must find him,? she did yelp

Gathering clues from across the house
It wasn?t the butler, the husband or spouse
Where did he go, why did he leave?
This was one thing, no one could perceive

?He?s been taken, just like the rest!?
She pointed to the paper, names it did address
Sally, Daniel, and David too
All little children, taken without clue

Heading to the police station the investigators flew
The cops must no something; there must be a clue
?A madman had done this,? said the copper stroking his chin
?Obviously taken for the man?s lunch or even his din?
?But something we found, it?s quite above me,?
?A note that said, ?A Partridge In A Pair Tree?,?

The abandoned Santa Workshop they did spot
They looked left and right; guarded, it was not
Opening the door, with an audible creek
A clue in this cabin, the investigators did seek

(After making a Listen roll)
Something was wrong with this little house
Nothing stirred, not even a mouse.
It was as if nothing living dwelt there
?This is no normal cabin,? the investigator did declare

When behind them, hooves they did hear
Emerging from the door, was something to fear
An undead deer, sunken eyes watching them if it only it can
All the investigators made a roll for their SAN

The deer was destroyed; the investigators were relieved
But a cry for help they did heed
A young boys voice sounding nearby
?Billy is in danger, we must fly!?

Finding a secret stairwell behind the Santa shop
Within was a basement, tidy it was not
(After a spot hidden and Tracking Roll)
Foot prints in the dust, lead to the opaque wood
They had to open it some way; a button or leaver should

?Please don?t kill me!? the boy cried
?Cthulhu Fthagn!? Santa replied
Raising the knife above his white bearded head
Soon little Billy would surely be dead
But from out of the shadows the investigators yell
?Let the boy go, or I?ll blow you to hell!?

?Ho, ho, ho. You?ve all been bad this year!
What have you done with Rudolf, my poor little deer??
?His dead, like you?ll be if you don?t give the boy up?
?You playing with powerful magic here. You see, I don?t give a fuck!?

After a vicious battle with jolly Chris Cringle
Santa did laugh muttering a strange jingle
It wasn?t a poem or song that we?re so used to hearing
But spelling the resurrection of Cthulhu of which it was nearing

Bloodied and beaten, Santa fell to the floor
The insane hypocrisy of evil Santa was no more
The statue of Cthulhu stood by menacingly
When suddenly Santa began to laughed with such glee
?Ho, ho, ho, Cthulhu will return.
That which is not dead will be a lesson you learn!?

Ground shaking the statue trembled with a might roar
Breaking free from its restraints the statute hounded its call!
A SAN roll of D20 the investigators must make
As the statue materialized and their nerves it did shake

Running in terror, the investigators fled
Billy was alive, if only a few of them were dead
Christmas was saved; Santa nine feet under
What lay in Santa?s cave was a strange ancient wonder

Pictures

Spoiler: Bad Arse Yoshi

I tried to find the most badarse mofo one around.

Reviews

Spoiler: Viva Pinata review I just whiped up

I sometimes wonder about things. Is there really a Godzilla? If I start dancing at a train station, will people think ill of me? And why such a consequential and deep game can be marketed towards children? By that I mean Viva Piñata. Sure, they look cute and make funny sounds, but this game tests your humanity, pushes your limits and questions your very own spirituality. Under a deep layer of colours and lovable critters, is a philosophical passage that would make Nietzsche scratch his head.

The horror... the horror.

It begins innocently a few hours into the game. It questions your humanity and where you would place the value over life. The game has you buy and trade animals for simplistic things like hats, gardens, and houses. It would have you breed your cute animals to sell for no other purpose to be beaten by children. As I lay over the by/sell button, I asked myself, ?could I?? If I didn?t my garden will fail, crops die, my position in society among other gardeners would perish. But if I did, I would send that critter to his baseball bat doom. I would have to be heartless, I would have to suck it in and surrender him.

The game doesn?t stop there for the heartless value of things. Viva Piñata has you hunt and kill other animals placed as ?evil? Sour Piñatas. How am I to know that they?re evil? How can I judge evil? For one, this is destroying the ecosystem. The natural order. Animals hunt the old and weak to survive. The old and weak are ratted out of the animal society to allow the pack to move faster and stronger. If I start killing off the Piñatas predators, am I ruining Charles Darwin?s theory?

Of course, the name of the game is to build a wonderful garden, to rival your dead fathers, or grandfathers or something. I wasn?t paying attention so much. I was more looking at the horrible waste that has become of the garden. Junk, trash, a used washing machine and more waste. Is Viva Piñata trying to send a message about cleaning the environment? The first mission is to clear of the trash and lay down a mat of grass. But this contradicts the above statement of turning the ecosystem on end. Or simply is it trying to portray human?s ideology of beauty over the environment?

Sometimes I wake up at night screaming.

Of course comes the religious statement. According to Christianity, humans were once able to breed incestuously without birth deficiencies. Viva Piñata has you breed brother/sister, father/daughter (and is yet still managing to market towards children?!) with each next generation coming out as fit as the former. Is the Piñata?s a holy animal and if so, does the ability to control them and abuse them make you god?

These answers I cannot give you for they boggle my own mind.

Over all, this game scared me. The horror of and depth of this game had me more enthralled than say Bioshock or Half Life 2, in which is deep with political statements and human survival. Everything you thought you knew about religion, politics and humanity will fly out the door as you are forced into selling your creations as slave labor. As you stand above you pathetic little critter omni-potently, shovel in hand, deciding if this one is fit to live or die, call me back and give me your response to my statements made.

Also, I found it annoyingly difficult and boring.

6.5 outta 10.

Letters of admiration

Spoiler: Letter

Dear Larenxis,

I hear you?re not in at the moment. These two days has seemed strange to me. Going to bed at a reasonable hour and all.

To say you haven?t influenced my life would be a lie as learning of your way of thinking has greatly improved me as a person. I find myself more open to strangers now and happier with the general outcomes in life.
You seem ever happy and always a joy to talk to about even the most stupidest topics.

You deserve the praise you get with rightful due. Seeing that green little picture with the stupid puffed out cheeks makes my day.

You're intellegent, care about your work, care about doing a job right and proper ala this retreat thing, can alway make friends even out of the most bearded of hobos, extremely funny, chrismatic, and generally a great impression of how a human should be. I've learnt a lot from you and have gained the greatest of friends over the Escapist.

There is little I can explain in words but know that you should never feel alone. Though I'm half way across the globe I still admire and respect you.

From PurpleRa Your Secrete Admirer

Declarations of war

Spoiler: Denmark's going down!

I purpose we wage war on Denmark. Too long have they gone un-fought. They think they?re so good with their Danish Cheese and Lego Land. Once we conquer them, we can fund my drug and prostitute habit with their economy. Millions will die and homes destroyed. I really can?t see I reason not to. If we attack them quickly under the UN?s noses, they will be so caught up with paper work; they won?t know what to do until Denmark is finally Rainsville. I guess you can colour coordinate the country if you really want to.

Movie pitches

Spoiler: Greatest... Movie... Evar!

Four words:
Godzilla Vs Steve McQueen

Need I say more?

 

[Fire Daemon]

A parody of Cats in the Craddle by Harry Chapin.

It's a horrible parody but I think the message is there... I hope.

Here a link [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zH46SmVv8SU] to the actual song.

Spoiler

I joined the forums just the other day
Registered to the site in the usual way
And there were people to meet and friends to make
But I only ever really missed her when she was away
And I was gonzo before I knew it and as I posted
I said, "I'm gonna be like you, Larenxis,
You know I'm gonna be like you"

And the cats in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin home, Larenxis, I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, Lar,
You know we'll have a good time then.

She made an election thread just the other day
She said "It's great fun, Fire, come on lets play?" I said, "Not today,
I'm to busy with other RP games"
And then she walked away but her smile never dimmed
And I said "I'm gonna be like her, yeah
You know I'm going to be like her"

And the cats in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon
When you comin home, Larenxis, I dont know when,
But we'll get together then, lar,
You know we'll have a good time then.

Well she came back just the other day
So much like a mod I just had to say,
"Larenxis, I'm proud of you, can you post for a while?"
she shook her head, and he said with a smile

"What I'd really like, Fire, is to get a new badge
So you see, can you post in my thread for me?"

And the cats in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon
When you comin home, Larenxis, I dont know when,
But we'll get together then, Lar,
You know we'll have a good time then.

We've all long since left, Everyone famous had moved away
I PM'ed her up just the other day........
I said "I'd like to talk with you if you don't mind"
She said "I'd love to Fire, if I could find the time.
You see the new RP's a hassle, and most players have the flu.
But It's sure nice talking to you, Fire,
It's been sure nice talking to you........"
And as I logged off the Escapist it occurred to me
She'd was already just like me,
Larenxis was just like me..............


And the cats in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon
When you comin home, Larenxis, I dont know when,
But we'll get together then, Lar
We're gonna have a good time then.

 

[Johnn Johnston]

Did someone say limerick?
No?

Larenxis was pretty and shy,
But the curious thing was why,
Despite the photo,
Some people don't know
The fact that she isn't a guy.