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'Aloo thar, and welcome to my uh, post. Story. Thing.
Anyway! This wall of text here tries hard to be the first part of the first chapter of my novel-to-be. There will be cookies if you make it to the end. Enjoy!
By the way, I like weird words.
---
Theron winced and staggered backwards, a blow that hit him directly in the jaw sending him reeling further into the dark alley tucked between two squat wooden houses so very common in the village he called home. His eyes narrowed with anger as he swiped the red off his lip, and, regaining his composure, stood upright, facing the group of sneering local teens that he knew all too well.
“What’s up, flowerboy? Come on, gimme your best shot. Go on, eh? Or have you spent so much time with your momma that you’ve forgotten that you’re a man, with a reputation to uphold?” mocked the one who had delivered the punch. His entourage of four neighborhood youngsters laughed insultingly. Theron’s lip curled with rage, and he...
I walk along the path of sorrow
and the avenue of tears.
Laced with ribbons of vitality,
its stones don’t utter a sound.
A street where masks wear smiles,
but no joyful faces to be found.
Maggots infest the lost bread
my mind half-baked.
They move like a deadly virus,
waiting for its living meal.
Their infection clouds the discernment
of what’s fake and what’s real.
My mind shadows the wisdom
of great malevolent light.
I laugh and weep in shame
as I behold my shattered scheme.
Reality cracked the pavement
on the boulevard of broken dreams.
-
I'm not completely satisfied with this. I need some help getting rid of how disjointed it becomes in parts.
Otacon’s white lab cloak rustled in the light breeze, he pushed his glasses back into place and looked at the gravestone before him. It was like every other gravestone in the cemetery except for the words that said: “To a man who released us from the shackles of the Patriots.”
“You deserve better than this Snake,” Otacon whispered. He turned around and walked across the hallowed grounds to the parking lot. There were only two cars sitting in the empty parking lot. Otacon made his way toward his black car and opened it with the fingerprint scanner. “Dr. Hal Emmerich?” asked a voice from behind.
“Yes,” Otacon said without turning around. “You said you had information for me Meryl?” He turned around to see a woman with red hair held back by a headband. A pistol sat in its holster at her hips.
“Yes,” she said crossing her arms. “It isn’t good news either I’m afraid.” She pulled out an envelope from her back pocket and hand...
In the not so far off distance, he could see a shimmer. He attempted to steer himself away but his curious side had very different ideas. And so he walked, only half reluctantly, towards the shimmer.
The constant burning of the sand beneath his feet; a never relieved reminder this was most likely a bad idea, never mind being dangerous as well. Then again, he thought, walking outside the safety of the tribe grounds was dangerous in its own right, and he has survived that danger for all this time walking.
As he neared the shimmer, it began to take form. As he came closer he realised it was a tree. He was taken aback, although never breaking stride; trees were a rarity in this wasteland of a desert, especially so near to the plain of rock. Still he walked, wondering all the way. He started with mouth agape when he saw what was dripping down off of it, water!
‘That can’t be right,’ he said aloud in surprise.
And yet there it was, a steady dribble from the long leaves. H...
please leave any comments and/or suggestions on improvement
thanks in advance
note: this is an older version that i added changed a bit on the end (im on holidays and i forgot my memory stick that has the most edited version at home ) and im afraid i might not be able to add the next chapters until i get home (which is in a few days)
The Oath
Prologue
He feels he has walked this path before, along with his brothers and cousins. Along the hot gleaming sand. Slowly roasting his feet, preparing them, for the barren bone-dry plains of rock yet to come.
It is hot; he feels it through his hardened skin, through to his bones. The single relief is the slight wind, kissing his skin where there is sweat. This is the god’s reward to his race, for the sweat offering drawn from their skin by the light goddess Sol who travels across the sky and shares her harsh heat. Even when Sol finishes her journey for the day and takes the light, the sand still roasts anything brave eno...
I like my idea, but I need help with it. I'm kindof lost if you can't tell from the story. Not with the plot, but with making it flow nicely and whatnot. You'll see...here is Harriet the Cat:
Many years ago I was a lonely lawyer with a great job. I had a small suburban house in the Big Apple far away from relatives. I lived a good life, but found my house too empty. One Christmas Day I found myself in a pet store. When I walked through the door my eye was immediately drawn to an orange kitten sitting all alone in a cage. I knew this kitten needed me, and I needed her even more. I adopted her that day and named her Harriet. The name meant “ruler of the home” which was perfect since I was at the office for most of the day.
Harriet grew bigger with each passing day. She brought comfort and love into my life that had not been there since I was a small child. I looked forward to coming home just to play with her. We had many great nights, snuggling up together in front of ...
Chapter 1
Evelyn listened at the door of her dad’s room trying to figure out why her mom would call. Maybe she’s coming back? She cringed at the very thought. Her dad was too much in love with her mom. He couldn’t see how horrid that woman was. Eve sighed. That had to be what was happening.
She needed to talk to Jack. She snuck away from the window and called him. “Hey Jack,” she said sweetly.
“Hey babe, what’s up?”
“She may be coming back.”
“Ouch, got any idea when?”
“Nope.”
“You need a pick-me-up night don’t ya?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Meet ya at midnight?”
“Quarter after eleven.”
“Alright, see ya later babe.”
He hung up. Aw damn, she really wanted to just shoot the breeze with him. She hadn’t talked to him all weekend. She sure missed him.
“Evelyn!” her dad called. Shit, she is coming!
“Yeah dad?”
“Your mom is comin for a visit.”
“What?!” Eve started down the stairs, “dad you can’t be serious can you?”
...
He had disappeared from any of his usual haunts. For days, in rare cases once a week or so, students would bring up his absence. Teacher’s bemoaned the loss of a star pupil for a while longer, but they too gave up after only a few months of inquiry. A notice or two was delivered to his parent’s mailbox. Only the giant aviator corporations, tragically, really investigated his disappearance, sending weekly telegrams of job opportunities, even sending company representatives a couple times. His parents had done a resigned but adequate job of pushing these people away, while keeping his location ambiguous.
“Oh, he’s off visiting his friends.” They would say. Or, “He’s studying abroad.” No one really asked any more questions than that, and business cards exchanged hands before going ending up in the families trash. And so a young man led a life that officially didn’t exist. After a while, no one really came around any more. And he was allowed to return back to life.
They’ve got me surrounded. They’re bound to catch me now. There’s only one route of escape and only a fraction of a chance I can make it back to base without getting caught. I could try to outrun them. Maybe I’ll make it.
Maybe I won’t.
At base I’ll be safe, that’s not the problem. They’re getting closer now, calling my name, telling me all my friends have given up but I know it’s not true.
They’ll be waiting for me. Waiting for me to run the 25 yards back to base.
I’ll have to risk it.
My breathing is heavy; my hearts pounding; my old, mud-caked trainers are pounding the dew-filled grass and finally; my hand hits the cool metal of the lamppost and I shout:
‘Forty-forty in Craig!’ and its over.
I’m panting and leaning on my knees, like my golden Labrador, Mush, does when he sees my mum’s roast beef on the kitchen table on a Saturday afternoon.
As I’m staring at the mud, I notice another pair of trainers next to my beat-up...
To anyone who reads through the whole thing, I thank you.
Prologue
“I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand your game,” Dala grumbled, digging her talons into the supple wood of the toddlers crib, leaving a trail of archaic patterns in her wake.
“What don’t you understand?” Theol barked through venom-soaked fangs as he eyed the small child through the flimsy bars of her crib.
Dala spun away from the bundle of flesh and pressed her back against the wall defiantly. “Well, why one so young? That thing can’t be more than two summers aged. It’s not like she’ll even be able to fight your magic.”
“That’s precisely the idea, dear Dala.” Her black eyes examined him suspiciously, expecting a more extensive explanation. He didn’t deny her the knowledge and continued, “I won’t finish her off just yet. We’ve watched men at the peaks of they’re existence fall under the insanity of the Nightmares in less than a fortnight. We’ve watched the...
OK, I expect a lot of mistakes. I need to get this perfect so could you point out all the mistakes you can find. Thanks guys! I really appreciate it!
Chapter One
Jack Muldoon
"Class!" shouted Dr Bannockman. "I want silence in this classroom." The class then shut there mouths and sat down. "That's better," continued Dr Bannockman. "There should always be silence in a maths lesson. Now, today we're gonna start a new topic. Algebra." The class all groaned.
Dr Bannockman was Head of the Maths Department at Waid Academy. He was a very tall man with a small moustache and wore a black, expensive-looking purple striped suit and a black tie. He was in his late thirties but looked around forty-five.
Dr Bannockman looked around at his second year class. A handsome-looking boy with magical blue eyes then caught his eye. Dr Bannockman grinned.
"Jack Muldoon," said Dr Bannockman, smiling.
"Yes, sir?" replied Jack.
&q...
So I havn't gotten many critiques on my writing so far, so anyone who critiques I will give a critique to, (instead of randomly) maybe it'll help...
This is a part of a story I am writing out of order.
As wrong as it was to even allow her to go on living, I had to see her again, if only to test myself, it was impossible she could effect me so… so very much. I couldn’t remember feeling so alive with such conflicting emotions ever before. It would be simple enough to orchestrate a meeting, knowing where she lives. Another thing that helped was knowing that the city dwellers had no idea what I looked like in my human form, a form I felt more comfortable and more vulnerable in, a form I delighted in letting lore build about; lore that turned me into a one eyed bald man with a jagged scar and an even more jagged sword, or a horrendously fat man, or in rare cases a grandmotherly old woman. I left my fortress to find her with happy thoughts about my reputation and...
In a nutshell, this is about an island revolution and immigration. I posted this story about six months ago, but it has undergone so many changes since then that I'm reposting the entire thing (in parts of course). Enjoy!
Running down his brother’s ornately decorated hallways, Ramon Perez reaches a pair of doors. Pausing a moment to compose himself he enters to take his place at his older brother’s deathbed. A dichotomy of grief and ambition fills Ramon’s brain with undesired ecstasy. He leans down to take Carlos’ shaking hand, straining to replace the gleam in his eye with tears. “Ramon,” whispers Carlos in a raspy voice, “Cambia is yours now. Carry on my legacy. Keep control.” Without another word, the feared yet respected leader of Cambia releases his fragile hold on life.
The grieving family exits the room with bodyguards in tow, leaving a middle-aged lawyer alone with Ramon. He holds a folder of considerable bulk. “There is no t...
This is a short story I wrote two years ago, I think. This is the first story I have written in a long time so there's definately a good bit of problems with this. A lot of things feel unclear but I haven't a clue how to fix them. Any advice you could give me would be deeply appreciated. Sorry for the length.
The Sandman
A long time ago on a small isolated bay in the heart of society, a young boy frolicked along the beach side with some friends of his sex. As they buried their companion in the sand, dinner was called to the young ones. Their forgotten friend struggled against the harsh sand to find his legs caught under the weight of the giant mound spread over him and his hands could only move so far. As the tide grew higher and the night grew in shade the young boy drowned under the ropes of sand.
Upon a century's passing a young girl looked out at the bay from by the rocky shore branching out into the depths of the ocean before her. As she walked closer to ...
Hee. Hello everyone! I have been (to the point of driving myself to distraction) re-working the Prologue of Diary of a Villain. I was trying a new angle recently and wanted some feedback (though I am planning on working on the rest of the novel from here on out, so I might not act on advice until later). Thanks in advance everyone!
**************
“You’re dead, you know,” the demon pointed out tactlessly. To his annoyance, she kept walking. She was quite something, walking single-mindedly through the streets in nothing but the sorry excuse for a gown given to souls when they were granted their temporary ‘body’.
“Even if you died at the same time, the chances that you actually arrived at the same time are very slim. Some souls spend centuries in transit,” he informed her more loudly. By now, souls were turning to watch as the six foot black demon chased after the little soul.
Yazra stopped walking. She turned on the heels of her new ‘body’ and grabbed the co...
A warm summer’s day, a harsh winter night; these things, like all other things we can see, touch, make up the world. Along with these things come all things in a larger scale: planets, nebulae, stars, galaxies, universes. All these things make up something bigger.
But what is that something bigger, a few of the good people in the world might be inclined to ask themselves or perhaps someone else. How come, when all else in the world is still, there is always something moving—atoms, electrons, protons, all moving in their own state of flux.
How, those same people could ask, raising their precious voices to the stars and beyond, can the earth be so contradictory to itself, bending in its own little universe as bubble-headed as those people who don’t care how big the universe is—or alternatively, those who don’t care about anything?
How—? Why—? When—?
These questions, I found out, were the questions I had been sent to answer. The ones...
Let's see if I can do this when I'm angry.
It's not called venting. That I did.
I lashed out at those around me furiously.
Strangers, stay out of my path;
you may talk as though you know me,
but you don't know the half.
I'm not pounding anymore, the
adrenaline rush has faded.
Now that it has, I find this not so easy.
If this is what it takes to climb on the express, -- Tell me if you think this line works...
then it ought to come more often and more simply.
I get these moods often enough, too often;
ask that spiteful person and they'll agree quickly.
When they do, perhaps it will come on again,
and I'll see if I can do this when I'm angry.
I'm considering separating it into verses like this:
Let's see if I can do this when I'm angry.
It's not called venting. That I did.
I lashed out at those around me furiously.
Strangers, stay out of my path;
you may talk as though you know me,
but you don't know the half.
I would like to dream forever. Because there’s something so lovely and beautiful about the good dreams, the really good ones where it’s bright and warm and full of what you’ll ever want and need. The real horrid moments are when you do wake up- like a person drowning. To have to reach repeatedly for whatever they can hold on to, except they can’t. Grab, grab, grab, and off it goes. The dreams: gone.
I would like to dream forever, maybe about a beach for the first few ones. Okay, so I’m on that beach, a tropical splendor come to life, like the ones in the movies. My toes are sinking in the gritty soaked sand, the tide coming back every so often like some reassuring chains on my ankle, a temporary grasp that promises to tickle my feet again. It’s strong, I’ll give you that, and at first I resist the pull, the seductive pull with a flash of fear. I'm thinking, I’ll drown, or, it’ll take me and I’ll never come back! Oh, God…
For everyone who helped me get this started.
Alice, RoryLegend, LilyReagan, Fandilocks…
If I’ve forgotten anyone please let me know
Owen walked down the darkened alleyways of New York with a feeling of dread. Typical paranoia, he thought, but the hissing of a cat burst him into a near run. Before long though, he was safely inside the bar, which he knew to be a blind pig. He didn’t have much money on his person at the moment, but that didn’t really matter. He looked around before sinking down into a wooden chair to gather himself. He took a few deep breaths and rested his head in his hands. It had been a long day, followed by an even longer night. He looked up and sighed, just great, he thought, it had started to rain.
He got up and walked towards the bar, planning on getting himself a strong drink to get his mind off the horrible feeling of dread. He sat down with a heavy sigh and looked around at the others in the bar. It was your normal crowd of late night drinker...
Hear you now the history of Gaia, that world on which you and yours reside. Long, uncounted years past, there was no world, only the Great Black in which are set the twinkling stars and the Dragon of Eternity. Now the Dragon, swimming through the Black, saw it was empty, and this saddened him. So he gathered together energy from deep in the Black, and from this he formed a young woman, who he called Gaia. She cheered the Dragon, who had existed forever with naught but himself for company.
But soon, he perceived that his creation was lonely, for there was none like her in all the Great Black. The Dragon could not stand it, for he loved his creation dearly and wished for her great happiness. So he reached deeper into the Black and, with this energy, formed a young man, who he named Dalen. This man pleased Gaia greatly, and she ceased her sorrow and, having fallen in love with the man at first sight, became his wife. And the Dragon was pleased, for his "daughter" had found t...
) and im afraid i might not be able to add the next chapters until i get home (which is in a few days)
