Fan-fiction, short stories, screenplays, poems -- anything text-based really belongs here.
Wed Mar 20, 2013 8:51 pm
Wed Mar 20, 2013 8:54 pm
Thanks, Blood, glad you enjoyed. Is it the first of mine you've read?
Wed Mar 20, 2013 9:04 pm
huh, I remember when you first wrote that and showed it to me. I helped you tweak it just a little bit, too. can't believe no one commented on it before now. I still like it, it's very good.
Wed Mar 20, 2013 9:09 pm
Tuor wrote:Thanks, Blood, glad you enjoyed. Is it the first of mine you've read?
Yes, and I look forward to some more. I'll probably look through your past ones as well.
Wed Mar 20, 2013 9:12 pm
Thanks. Most of my old stuff is poetry, enjoy!
Fri Apr 26, 2013 2:55 am
Here's…something…dunno what to call it, and it's not done
The day is cold, and wet, and grey. It's duck weather; it's weather for sitting inside, cozy, with tea or hot chocolate or a nice warm laptop. That was exactly what Matthew was doing as he reclined on a large couch in his living room, facing a wide window which looked down to the boardwalk. The water seemed alive as it writhed and frothed, slamming itself into the barrier. He watched it for a while. The sky was darkening, he could barely see that it was raining, except when he looked at the cones of light cast by the lamp posts, then he could see. And he could see a figure walking. He had been about to look away until they caught his eye. Bundled against the wind as the leaned into it, head bowed. They didn't slow, they didn't waver. A brave wave hurled itself at the wall and sprayed over, cascading across the figure. They barely flinched. Matthew propped himself up on his elbow now, taking more interest, but they soon passed from view behind some houses. He frowned before shrugging and turning back to the computer
He was halfway through the next episode of the series he was watching when he heard the front door open and slam shut. This annoyed him, so he went to investigate. As Matthew reached the foyer he saw his sister(?), Rachel, shrug out of her slicker and kick off her boots, before leaving them in little puddle and walking past him and into the living room. He frowned and followed. She wasn't in the living room when he got there, but he followed some small drops of water to the kitchen and found her leaning with her elbows on the island.
"Are you just going to leave those there?"
Rachel looked at him blankly for a couple moments before adding three teaspoons of sugar to her tea and stirring it slowly, watching the eddies created by the spoon.
Matthew sighed and approached the island. "Hey, was that you out there?"
"Out where?" She asked, blandly, without looking up from the cup.
"Whaddya mean 'out where?', out there, on the boardwalk." He gestured to the window, and boardwalk beyond.
"Mhmm." It was muffled as Rachel had been about to take a sip and hadn't felt that making a clear reply was worth stopping that action.
"But the rain, and that wave! Weren't you wet and miserable?"
"I just don't let myself, don't let myself feel it. It's just water, why should I care?" She shrugged.
"Just water? Hurricanes and tsunamis are just water too!"
Rachel laughed bitterly. "Jesus, Matthew, why are you so melodramatic all the time?" She braced herself against counter. "Sometimes things just are. Yes, rain is wet, waves are wet, whatever shall I do if some touches my skin? Think 'Oh, that was kinda sucky' and then move past it, don't let it consume you. Fuck." PIcking up her cup she moved into the living room.
Matthew stood stunned in the kitchen for a few second before turning to follow.
Thu Sep 26, 2013 9:42 pm
The moon shone down, pale and cold, silhouetting the naked trees. The boy hunched his shoulders and wrapped his arms about himself. I say boy, but in truth he is within that awkward phase of adolescence where he should probably start to shave but is too proud of his sparse facial hair. His breath streams behind him, a faint trail of mist left in his wake. He adopts a swaggering gait to bolster his resolve; the night scares him, though he didn't let on before. He didn't let on when rides were offered or groups were setting off for other destinations. Now he was alone; now he was terrified. The night was dark, but the moon shone eerily, showing the scape in sharp contrast.
As he walks he has cause to pause. The boy is passing by an area where the forest presses up against the town. Out of the trees he hears humming, sickeningly silky and sonorous. He begins to move faster and the humming follows, crashing after him. The boy turns to look and in that instant his foot catches and he tumbles into the brush. His hands gashed and his knee shredded, he lies still. He's perpetually short of breath, it's caught in his chest and he dares not inhale deeply. The humming is coming. Twigs snap and branches shuffle. Silent tears course down his face as he peers out. His heart throbs in his throat and suddenly his body feels on fire.
The humming is everywhere now. Words now. "The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."
A big crash comes from behind him and the boy whirls, ready to flee, or soil himself, or both. Nothing.
Then warm breath caresses his ear.
"And miles to go before I sleep."
Fri Sep 27, 2013 10:17 am
I like it, I especially liked the tapestry painted by the light of the moon! My only gripe is the use of "Shit himself" within the story. It seems awfully out of place to me. I mean, I get it, I understand the context and agree, but it doesn't seem to really fit a serious narrative. Otherwise this is really really good!
Fri Sep 27, 2013 1:33 pm
Thanks, man. Hmm, ya, I see what you're saying. Originally I used it because I wanted it to contrast the rest of the story and make that part pop, but I think it is actually too out of place.
Thu Nov 07, 2013 2:27 am
Pale light at tunnel's end,
please be warm.
The journey's been long,
and fraught with pitfalls,
yet none can waylay me.
Onward I stagger,
though my bones are weary.
Forward, forward, unto the light
Thu Nov 07, 2013 6:10 am
Reminded me of all the times I barely made it out a Minecraft cave that I never intended to fall into.
Thu Nov 07, 2013 11:16 am
Ah, the ambiguity of poetry, haha
Mon Dec 02, 2013 9:57 pm
Adding bits that I re-discovered in ye olde Poetry Pub
The Worship of Nature
The harp at Nature's advent strung
Has never ceased to play;
The song the stars of morning sung
Has never died away.
And prayer is made, and praise is given,
By all things near and far;
The ocean looketh up to heaven,
And mirrors every star.
Its waves are kneeling on the strand,
As kneels the human knee,
Their white locks bowing to the sand,
The priesthood of the sea!
They pour their glittering treasures forth,
Their gifts of pearl they bring,
And all the listening hills of earth
Take up the song they sing.
The green earth sends its incense up
From many a mountain shrine;
From folded leaf and dewy cup
She pours her sacred wine.
The mists above the morning rills
Rise white as wings of prayer;
The altar-curtains of the hills
Are sunset's purple air.
The winds with hymns of praise are loud,
Or low with sobs of pain,
The thunder-organ of the cloud,
The dropping tears of rain.
With drooping head and branches crossed
The twilight forest grieves,
Or speaks with tongues of Pentecost
From all its sunlit leaves.
The blue sky is the temple's arch,
Its transept earth and air,
The music of its starry march
The chorus of a prayer.
So Nature keeps the reverent frame
Lament for the Poets
Where now is the quill and the writer?
Where is the sound of poet writing?
Where is the parchment and the ink, and the brilliant words flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
Who shall gather the smoke of the deadwood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?
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