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Young Writers Society


Image Challenge



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Fri Apr 14, 2006 1:06 pm
Swires says...



Write a story surrounding the picture, about the picture, or with the picture in the story.

Image
Previously known as "Phorcys"
Witherwings Harry Potter RPG
  





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Fri Apr 14, 2006 2:03 pm
-KayJuran- says...



Oooh... I'm liking the picture... I might just have to try this! :P
"There you go - sausages à la bread!" - Blue.
  





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Fri Apr 14, 2006 5:26 pm
Poor Imp says...



All right...but it may be a couple of days before I get it posted. Good Friday, Easter - very busy here.

...It's cool picture - wonderfully obscure and so many ways put a story into it. ^_^
ex umbris et imaginibus in veritatem

"There is adventure in simply being among those we love, and among the things we love -- and beauty, too."
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Fri Apr 14, 2006 6:30 pm
Swires says...



The fog streamed into the Thames, the glowing of the dock lanterns were filtered through the fog’s meshwork and in turn, the water seemed yellow. The banks were chiselled hard away by the ferocious river tide, the choppy waters that carried boats from one side of the river to the other.

A passenger boat was flung from its linear journey as a chilling wind blew the waters into waves, the wood scared but would be healed as the growing moss invaded and made its home there. Lichen and dead sea barnacles fed of the wood worm riddled in the old boat, but were soon knocked off by the swaying fisherman, rowing his ornate ore at the side of his boat.

The retired fisherman squinted through the mist, a quick check for the trained eye to see if any other traveller boats were out, none were so he made another row. He looked at his guest, warily, a tall man in battered clothing, but yet glistening with all the gems of India, and bearded a finely cut beard on a clean chin. His skin was unreal, so pale, so thin and tight.

“Faster!” The guest commanded his voice strong and masterful, it was abrupt and didn’t carry, it didn’t need to because at the call of the master the fisherman exerted more strength into rowing. It was unusual for the fisherman to be ordered by the guest, but this guest, this master seemed to have a unique ability to command. His voice was laced with bloody threats and his eyes with despotic determination: A man not to be crossed.

The river bank was approached, and the boat stopped. The fisherman limped from his stand and out of his old boat, the guest from his standing position. The guest, master, looked out far and wide from the river bank and drew the dagger he had captured some three weeks ago. “When the dagger’s power is unlocked, it craves blood,” The master uttered with eyes filled with passion.

Lightning could not beat the master for speed, for in a flash the master had slashed the dagger across the fisherman’s arms, it glowed with a blinding white light once blood trickled from its tip. The master pointed the dagger at the boat, a disk of light sliced through the air and blew the boat into smithereens out of the water. The fisherman, cradling his arm, knelt before his smashed boat, his livelihood.

“And when I, Mascus, the first Death Mage meet life… I destroy it.” Mascus rose the dagger and pointed to the fisherman, crying and kneeling before hell itself, he begged for mercy, Mascus showed none. Mascus flicked the dagger once and another disk left it, it made contact with the fisherman and through blue flames he has disintegrated to dust.

“Hell’s tools come at a price dear man.” Mascus uttered a word in an unrecognisable tongue and from the pile of dust a blue flame rose to Mascus’ hand, he picked it up with his forefinger and thumb and hooked the flame to his heavy necklace, it turned into a blue gemstone like the several hundred already there, a sick trophy for a twisted servant of Hell. Mascus walked, barefoot into the east end of London.
Previously known as "Phorcys"
Witherwings Harry Potter RPG
  





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Wed Apr 19, 2006 12:37 am
Poor Imp says...



The sun is gilt glamour on the shadow-faded sea. Our narrow boat ripples water in a garish ring, gold - dark -gold…darker shades beneath of truth and imagining. Twilight filters day’s change like an hour glass…grain by grain of light catching in the slate sky.

Gueldon murmurs… “Yo ho…hmm. Yo ho…and shadows of the sunset’s well…” His gentle rhythm worries with his voice. Stroke and one, pause - stroke and one; the boat shudders.

In the prow, pale, Beven shivers. His shadow falls like a hollow in the water.

“It was an ill wind,” he says, “An ill wind, I said.”

Disquiet threads his face.

Gueldon shakes his head, muttering; he breaks the gentle shanty.

“Let it be, lad,”

But it is an ill wind, a flitting, peevish breath that catches in the smooth sea face and pulls blackened clouds over the dusk horizon. We know it.

I curl into silence beside Beven’s cast-off cloak; the shadows are darkening and the gilt turns to silver stars stained by sun's dying hues.

“Hsh,” I say.

“Hsh,” Beven’s drawn features twist, bitter. “Hsh, and what? the shadow comes all the same.”

“Hush.” says Gueldon. “Hush, lad.” he rows, even and his shanty comes as he hums.

Yo ho...ho...and shadows of the sunset's well...

I peer wary into dark water. It flickers light, fades. Below is endless, shadow-swept depths and the horizon has become dull...a well fading into the sea.
ex umbris et imaginibus in veritatem

"There is adventure in simply being among those we love, and among the things we love -- and beauty, too."
-Lloyd Alexander
  





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Wed Apr 19, 2006 9:32 am
Myth says...



(Interesting picture)

*

“Roben, will you row or not?”

“I’m admiring the view, give me a minute.”

“Does it look like I have a minute?”

The two men were sweating and their moods were darkening every so often. The water beneath them was murky, orange sunlight danced across the surface and mists were thickening around the boat. The strange surrealism about the place made them shiver and row faster towards the bank.

Overgrown tree roots blocked the bank, the other side was in total darkness and the cries of wolves chilled them to the bones.

“Hurry!” the first man hissed. His hands were shaking and his rod nearly slipped out of his hands.

The narrow boat collided with the tree roots, they scratched at its wood with bony fingers making the boat wave from side to side. The first man picked up the bundle from the bottom of the boat and hurled it into the dark wood; once he was satisfied with the thud of it dropping he used his rod to push away the boat.

They glided away down the river towards civilisation. “Let’s hope no one finds it,” Roben said looking back towards the wood.

“They won’t, now row, this place freaks me out!”
  





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Sat Oct 21, 2006 10:48 pm
luna_the_shiekah says...



It was an image she'd often seen in her dreams. A vague memory of places beyond her current position and forgotten. Forgotten by her at least.

She'd always had the feeling that the two men were leaving her behind. Leaving her to fend for herself against the cool breeze and fading sunlight. But were they abandoning her?

Or were they running from her? As her gaze fell upon her palms, soaked with the two men's blood, it became clear.

They had been running, even when she was too small to run after them.

A smug grin pulled at her mouth.

They hadn't run fast enough.
I cannot name this
I cannot explain this
and I really don't want to
just call me shameless.

-Ani Di Franco "Shameless"
  








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