Author Topic: Story Collection  (Read 12244 times)

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Sushi

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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #30 on: November 11, 2010, 11:45:15 PM »
Pff, I've corrected you several times already. >w>
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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #31 on: November 12, 2010, 05:02:55 AM »
Let Me Out is a pretty interesting story. It is pretty interesting about the difference between Jekyll and Hyde. And if you compare them to people, you can understand how most people would fight between the choice of letting the monsters in them out or keep them in. And at times, letting out the monster is what they think their only chance of freedom is. Nice story, Vash. ;3
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Vasha

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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #32 on: November 14, 2010, 08:26:12 PM »
Spoiler: Sonnet • show

I search, but I can't find a hand to hold.
I'm running, running, running out of breath.
And in this world I find so very cold.
I'm running, running, running to my death.
When I'm all alone and finally snap,
When the darkness I feel can't hid my shame,
Like a creature dying, a beast that's trapped
I need to end this never-ending game.
Bu then the light I've longed to see does show,
Lighting my path with every step I take.
As I walk—hopefully forward—I go,
From my nightmares I finally awake.
   The clouds are gray, yet still I see the sun,
   And I know a new day has just begun.


Spoiler: Bunch of Haiku • show
The wars of the past,
The wars of the present, future.
Will it ever end?

Tick tock tick tock time.
Always moving, leaving. Time.
Wasted, wasted time.

Through the darkness run,
Through the blood, tears and hurt—swim.
True love conquers all.

The wind hits your face—
Always changing, never still.
Always something new.

All things end sometime.
Life to death, summer to fall.
But Spring will yet come.

The sun melts the snow.
Can snow ever block the sun?
No, warmth always wins.

What more can I give?
Perfection is just a myth,
So why try at all?

Rushing, blue water.
The wheel turns and turns and turns.
It's lighting my world.




So, yeah, random poetry. Yippy? :P

Vasha

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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #33 on: November 14, 2010, 11:31:32 PM »
Double Post.

Spoiler: The Wanderer • show
I walk through the woods,
The sun shining on my back,
And listen to birds.

As I walk my walk
I come to an old cabin,
And let shadows fall.

While I sleep I dream,
And I'm warned of horrible things to come,
Dark, nightmarish things.

I see evil worlds,
Of beasts, living in darkness.
They come to kill me.

And as they reach me,
I wake to the real darkness
In the worst cold sweat.

But I do not stop.
I stand, I stretch, I proceed.
On my way I go.

But I keep thinking.
No matter what, I can't stop:
Omens fill my head.

And as I still walk,
I notice the darkness come
And claw at my soul.

I know I'm alone,
But I still feel its presence.
It is everywhere.

I run through the woods.
Darkness and trees rush by me.
But I cannot move.

The darkness holds me.
It keeps me in its clutches.
And doesn't let go.

I cry out in vain.
The darkness smothers my screams.
And quiets my voice.

At last I break free,
But feel a pain through my brain,
It cuts deep through me.

I fall to the ground.
I cry out in agony
And pray for my life.

And then it all ends.
I can feel my mind fading.
My memories... end.

I feel my eyes close.
I feel my breathing ending.
I feel my life end.

I wake in the woods.
My head throbbing, I look up,
And start my journey.


So yeah, this was just a random idea I had of a tiny story written in haiku form. Whadya think?
« Last Edit: November 14, 2010, 11:56:27 PM by Vasha »

Reives

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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #34 on: November 15, 2010, 01:01:10 AM »
Cool idea there, Vasha. c: At first I page-scrolled a bit too much and missed the first few stanzas, and so not knowing that it was all in a dream, the ending made me go "whoa, what ze". :P In an interesting way though. Great job with the descriptions and imageries. I especially found the line "darkness smothers my screams" to be very effective.

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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #35 on: November 15, 2010, 05:11:36 PM »
Thanks! :D Yeah, that is a pretty great line :P I've got another sonnet to post up, but right now my printer isn't working, and... yeah, I dunno, I just want to have my printer working when I type it up so I can print it immediately D:

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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #36 on: November 15, 2010, 11:52:09 PM »
Double post of death~ :P

Spoiler: Sonnet 2 • show
Is perfection a myth? Can it be caught?
It's certainly sought for, that much is sure.
But can it be learned or can it be taught?
It can not, is not, for we're all impure.
While one thinks you perfect, still others not.
A rich man or a thief — it all depends.
No man is content with what he has got.
After all, all people serve their own ends.
A man seems good to you, to me not so.
I see his deceit, I see all his greed.
We all wear our masks as along we go.
We hide our sorrow and we hide our need.
   Yet if you ask, I'll tell you what I see.
   You will be forever perfect to me.

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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #37 on: December 16, 2010, 09:27:38 PM »
Triple post cuz apparently people do not like poetry :o

Spoiler: War Is • show
   War is a hell, and you cannot refine it.

   It makes monsters out of innocent boys, filling their heads with flashbangshootimages they can't erase. The lucky ones are robbed of their souls until they've become empty, machines that know only destruction, feeling no sympathy for those just like them that they firepowbangcrashshoot. Just kill kill kill and shoot shoot shoot and clangbatterbangbamdeath.

   War is eternity, and you cannot kill it.

   The unlucky ones are haunted by the things they have seen for the rest of their life. War after war after war, shot after shot after clangboomdeathbang shot repeat play. War after war after war, shot after shot after shootboomdeathbangimages you'll never forget. Ghost in your head go shotbangkillrepeatplayshootbangkillrepeat and never end, swarming your head with shotbangkillrepeatbattlefield after battlefield, battle after battle. Long after the guns have been put down, the war rages on and the ghosts in your head go shootbangkillrepeatplayshootbangkillrepeat.

   War is an enemy, and you cannot fight it.

   Behind every corner, under every bed, in every head, in every head, in every head, shotbangkillrepeatgofight. War cannot be stopped. War is universal. With all the differences in all the people in all the world, everyone bangkillmurderfirepulls the trigger in the same language. You don't have to question what the bangfirecrackshootboom of a gun means. War is war is war is war is death. Death in all. All in death. Death in war. In everyone lies the urge to fighthatekillstabshootmurder, and all it takes is one shotbangboomcracksplitstab to plunge the world into war is war is war is war is death.

   War is nature, and you cannot stop it.[spoiler]

Just fyi, I'm not necessarily anti-war :P

silversun

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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #38 on: December 16, 2010, 10:17:24 PM »
Interesting how I read this just a day after I heard a statistic on how the international war spending in 1 year is 700 times the UN budget in a year.

That's pretty depressing...

Also, your line "War is an enemy, and you cannot fight it" reminds me of the ending to A Separate Peace...

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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #39 on: January 06, 2011, 05:15:35 PM »
Spoiler: show
Does death result in the dying of our love?
   Ever and always, be assured my love remains.
   After you've gone to sing with angels up above,
   The memory of our love shall e'er remain.

   Heaven's Lord may keep you in His courts,
Immanuel may listen to your voice,
   Still when I arrive at death's dark ports.
Never dying, we shall both rejoice.

   Only when we're there on heaven's side,
   Then our love shall finally be complete.
There, when melts our foolishness and pride,
   How joyful tides shall o'er and o'er repeat.

   Everything and all shall be for our view.
Everything, yet could not compare to you.
   Now ask I again: is death the end?
   Death has no hold, my dearest friend.


Just a little poem-y thing I wrote yesterday and today. Yes, there is a method to my madness of indenting :P

No, I haven't stopped writing, I've just got a larger story I'm working on, so that's why I'm not updating this right now.

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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #40 on: January 07, 2011, 06:13:55 PM »
Spoiler: Tina • show
"Take care of my loves; I can't hold on.
            Keep me alive while I die."


A soul is lost in the darkness, crying out for relief. She shouts and screams for someone to save her -just to offer some help - but no one listens. And so she succumbs to the darkness. She bathes in death and the flames wash over her.

Hell reaches out its flames to draw her in as as she cries aloud in agony. No one in the world hears her call; no one comes to help her or even takes heed of her troubles.

And so instead she whispers.

She whispers and prays for help and a still-small voice answers back.


The flames die down and light forces the darkness from her world. The baptism of fire has left her burned and scarred, but she's alive.

So don't try to tell me miracles don't exist.

Because I know

Her life is a miracle.

      "I missed my chance
      Send one more chance
            I'm not wasting this one more chance."


So I've been tossing around the idea of writing something based off of this for awhile now, and this is what I've decided on.

It's based off of this song:
Flyleaf - Tina (lyrics)


which is in turn based off of the story of a girl/woman the  lead singer met at one of her concerts:

Hrrm, well I was going to quote the place that the singer talks about the person, but I can't find it s: Basically she (Tina) tried to burn herself alive, then either prayed to God to save her from the pain, or said to herself that 'If there's a God, the pain will go away' (different places have said different things), and then she went unconscious and survived. So...yeah.

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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #41 on: January 11, 2011, 09:23:58 PM »
Spoiler: Remembrance, or Requiem for Childhood • show
I can remember the carefree days of yesteryear quite clearly, when life seemed as an eternity of bless, and all one had to do was pick the fruit from the vine and bit into it to indulge in the juicy delicacies that the world had to offer.

I remember our house - the one that mother, father, and I shared - perfectly well. The floor of my room was always littered with toys and stuffed beats of some sort that my father had bought for me. Across the hall was my parents' room, where stormy  nights would find me nestled twixt the comforting forms of my two favorite people. At the estuary of our hallway was our kitchen, where the potent scents of pies or meats or whatever my mother decided to bless us with could waft through the house and taunt us with the treats still to come.

I remember the large mirror on the living room wall which I could stare into for what seemed at the time like hours on end. I remember the person I saw staring back at me when I did. His blazing hair was pulled back into a thing trickled toward the back of his head, leaving a clear sight of the icy blue eyes he had inherited from his mother, which even now I flaunt with pride. I was awed at how, even then, his - my - cheekbones were starting to protrude through the skin in their delicate-yes-forceful manner. I remember the tooth grin as what I thought was my twin mimicked my every move.

I remember the old swing that used to hang like a bat from the limb of the greatest oak tree in our expansive yard. I remember how Father had given me the choice of any of the best swings available, and how I insisted on having the same lowly tire swing as my schoolmates, and how my father hesitantly yet obligingly gratified me.

I remember the girl, Lucy, who would always play with me on that swing. She had come from America with her parents, and everything about her foreign ways enchanted me. I remember her pulchritude as the wind from the swing whipped back her onyx hair, done intentionally the same as mine. I remember how, ever day, we would tell each other that we loved the other without truly understanding what it meant, and how, once I finally realized the weight of those words, somebody else had told them to her first.

I remember, many years later, how I stood in front of the newly-dug hole in the ground that held my parents, and how I could feel an equally large hole forming inside myself. I remember feigning hopeful whispers as my mind screamed images of the fire that took my world from me. I remember silently promising solitude to myself I threw a bouquet of flowers onto the hollow carcasses that once held the souls of those I cherished so dearly.

I remember moving into my house on the hills, as far away from the town whose memories still haunt me to this day. I remember how I shut out the world and searched for solace in my writings alone. I remember how I began to live my life alone, away from the prying eyes of the world.

I remember everything.


;O; I feel so bad for Caelyn and all the stuff I put him through! -comforts him-

So, yeah, this is another thing in Caelyn's series of writing, cuz I wanted to write the book that he was writing during Faerie Prance // Dance of Death, but I don't want to wait that long to write another thing from his perspective which is SO FUN TO WRITE FROM! But yeah, this is a bit different than his usual stuff, cuz he didn't get to write much scenery, and he didn't get to use his 'catch phrase,' and there wasn't any dialogue for him to not write out. BUT IT WAS STILL FUN! And originally it wasn't going to turn out sad, but apparently I am just addicted to sad endings or something? D:


ALSOALSOALSO! If you read this stuff, can you say? I like constructive criticism, but even if you don't have that, it's still nice to know that people are reading my stuff -feels awkward when he posts two things in a row and has absolutely no comments on either facebook or freebird-

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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #42 on: January 11, 2011, 09:37:45 PM »
WHOA TRIPLE POST. I wonder if that's ever been done before... :o

ALSOALSOALSO! If you read this stuff, can you say? I like constructive criticism, but even if you don't have that, it's still nice to know that people are reading my stuff -feels awkward when he posts two things in a row and has absolutely no comments on either facebook or freebird-

I started writing one before I even saw this. XD I very much like Cael's way of writing; it's very metaphorical and...sort of poetic, as well. It makes me think of my room when I was little, sharing it with my sister and it being a mess and all sorts of things. 

I have to wonder: is writing like this difficult for you? Does it take you a few minutes before you come up with a metaphor that would fit?

All in all, a very beautiful piece. Good job.
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"How is that a good thing?"
"Sad is happy for deep people."

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Vasha

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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #43 on: January 11, 2011, 09:44:54 PM »
Actually, no, it's not that hard. It takes a bit longer than my usual style does, but once you get into the rhythm of it, it's not that bad~ And it's actually a nice change of pace from my usual stuff, cuz most of my characters don't pay very much attention to detail D: Though I have one that I'm probably not going to finish that was kind of like this, too.

Vasha

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Re: Story Collection
« Reply #44 on: January 12, 2011, 05:20:27 PM »
Spoiler: The Dancer • show
I sit and watch, not daring to disturb the beautiful flow of her movements. The familiar sound of the string quartet fills the room as she dips and dives and weaves and bobs through the air, blending perfectly with her every step despite the faint-yet-notable crackle of the speakers. Her canary-yellow dress sparkles in the light as it shadows her. The silver band atop her head also glistens and brings out the natural sheen in the chocolate hair it holds back.

I stand up. She twirls as if she were a goddess floating in the air, but stops short as she notices me. Her cool, blue eyes lock onto mine and I find it hard to speak. The minuscule bit of fragrance she is wearing tickles at my nose like the slightest touch from a feather.

I urge her to go on - that she was breathtaking - and she blushes. She makes excuses of that she got tired or she had not known I was watching, but that only displays the beautiful innocent that I have come to adore.

I smile at her as her eyes race around my form. Even as I bow, I can see her face grow even redder.

"May I have this dance?"


I've been dared to write something happy, and so this is what you get :P