|23-01-2005, 02:03 PM||#1|
Join Date: Aug 2004
Location: Shella, Kenya
There it is. Feel free to post here your writing works, share your opinions and behave properly - this is an high-class club!
therefore there are some rules:
1) avoid going off topic, any post not dedicated to the thread's purpose will be deleted.
2) see 1.
3) see 2.
Have fun and express your creativity k:
edit by Maikel: Pinned!
|23-01-2005, 02:27 PM||#2|
Join Date: Jan 2005
(Our Scene begins in a dressing room. In the dressing room, there are a few benches and doors. One of the doors open to reveal a 13-year-old girl stumbling in, holding her lower back. She is wearing navy blue and black wrestling boots and is wearing a pink gymnastics leotard with black polka dots .She leaves the door open and finally comes to a bench, where she stumbles stomach first. Background noise is coming from the door, which leads to the hallway from whence she came The girl’s name is Jessica.)
Jessica: (Wincing) Oh, man. My back!
(Jessica looks up to the ceiling, as if contemplating praying. As she does so, a huge woman of about early thirties. She is huge and is wearing a black bathing suit and boots. She also wears fishnet stockings. She stares at Jessica malevolently. Her name is Mathilda)
Mathilda: (Evilly) Hey, Jessica.
(Jessica, startled, turns around to see Mathilda. She still holds her back and has a hand on her chest.)
Jessica: (Fearfully) What? Haven’t I suffered enough? Oh Lord, what next?
Mathilda: Just came to ask how you liked the punishment I dished out to you?
Jessica: Please! You hurt me enough already.
Mathilda: (Starting to walk away) You are just an example of what happens to anyone that gets in the ring with me.
(Mathilda leaves while not closing the door. Jessica goes back to lying on her stomach and holding her lower back. Another girl comes in. She hasdark-blond hair and is about 15-16 years of age. She wears a navy blue and black leotard with high heel shoes, carries a cane, and is wearing a business shirt and jacket. She comes into the dressing room and closes the door.)
Jessica: (Turning around) Who are you?
New Girl: My name is Kate. I saw your match with Queen Kong. Not a very easy woman to beat. Might as well wrestle an elephant.
Jessica: That is what it felt like. By the way, you look like you are ready for a match.
Kate: I am. I am going to be wrestling some prison inmate.
Jessica: (Chuckling but still in some pain) Well, if you are going to fight a vicious prison inmate, God be with you.
Kate: Thanks. Is this your first time wrestling?
Jessica: Yes. How about you?
Kate: Same here. How do you feel?
Jessica: Still in some pain. That backbreaker move is very painful. Trust me. Lord knows.
Kate: I saw it. Just dashing you on her knee and then splashing you. That is brutal.
Jessica. Well, God saw it was going to happen at some point in the future. When do you wrestle?
Jessica: No. When do you wrestle?
Kate: In ten minutes.
Jessica: So, you still have time to talk.
Kate: If you want.
Jessica: That being my first match, I was so excited. I was hopeful to God that I would win using my wits.
Flashback: Jessica is taking off her jacket and giving it to the ringside attendant. Mathilda comes stalking down the aisle with a very intimidating look on her face. Jessica just stands and bites her lip. Mathilda slowly climbs into the ring and poses in a monstrous pose. Jessica, feeling confident, runs at her full steam ahead, attempting a dropkick to her back. Jessica falls to the ground and only pushes Mathilda forward slightly.
Jessica VO: I was about to pay the price for my presumption.
Mathilda then starts stomping on Jessica’s ribs. The scene changes into Kate’s face, who cringes.
Kate: That has got to hurt. Like, putting you in a match with a 200-something pound woman is like…. I don’t know….. murder.
Jessica: I know. Looks like God did not want me to win. I never even landed a blow after the failed drop-kick.
(Kate nods sagely)
Jessica: Or maybe God is saying this is much too advanced for me.
Flashback: Much later in the match, Mathilda is bringing Ax Handle blows on Jessica’s back. Jessica is screaming in pain. Mathilda then stomps on her back. Mathilda then pulls her up by the arms and head butts Jessica, who then falls on her back, barely moving. Mathilda then picks up Jessica and holds her over her head. Mathilda then kneels down on one knee and then dashes Jessica back first over her knee. This makes Jessica roll off Mathilda’s knee. Jessica is semi-conscious and weakly holding her back. Mathilda turns her over to her back and lies down on top of her. The referee gets down to count. The scene changes back to the locker room.
Kate: (Astonished and sarcastically) Surprised you were not crippled.
Jessica: Yeah. I know. God must have given me strength. Not to win, mind you, but to have survived that backbreaker.
Kate: How do you feel now?
Jessica: Still some pain, but God willing, my back will get better.
(Just then, there is a knock on the door. Kate goes to open the door. Jessica by then is now starting to sit up with her hand still on her back. Kate opens the door to reveal a well-dressed man in his early thirties. This man is the promoter)
Promoter: (To Kate) Kate, your match is coming up next in a minute. So, you might want to get ready.
Kate: Okay. (To Jessica) Nice meeting ya!
(Kate leaves the dressing room and the promoter approaches Jessica on the bench and sits down with her.)
Promoter: I was watching your match. You have confidence and faith. I admire you for that.
Jessica: Thanks. It is with God’s help that I get through the day.
Promoter: (Nodding) Yeah. You told me a lot about your faith.
Jessica: It is what gives me strength.
Promoter: Listen. Do you think God would allow you to take part in another match?
Jessica: (Thinking) If it is in the divine plan, then Yes?
Promoter: How do you find out the divine plan?
Jessica: (With a smirk) In the heart and in the conscience.
Promoter: Okay, if your heart and conscience think they will allow you to take part in another match, call me.
Jessica: Yes, Sir!
(The promoter then leaves the dressing room. Jessica takes off her boots, revealing her bare feet. She pauses to consider on whether or not she should take part in another match. She looks at the ceiling in a contemplative prayer. Jessica the gets up, leaving her boots and still holding her back, trying to catch the Promoter.)
Jessica: Sir! Wait! I want to take part in another match! Wait for me!
(As Jessica walks out of the dressing room in her bare feet, the screen fades to black.)
lista - nowa wersja. Oby przeÅ¼yÅ‚a!
|24-01-2005, 10:26 AM||#3|
Join Date: Oct 2004
Location: Opole, Poland
Wrote this half a year ago, re-wrote recently and now decided to share...
Sci-fi story from Warhammer 40k universe
Seventy five million years ago...
A lone star flies through the depths of interstellar abyss.
For untold aeons its journey was alone, but soon it will no longer be. From untold depths of space comes a visitor...
A large planetoid, cast into the void by force of some unknown cataclysm billions of years ago, passes nearby. This star is just another of thousands it passed on its eternal journey...
But this time, something is different. The spaceborn rock has lost much of its original speed to the gravity forces of all the stars it has passed by, and this time its speed is not enough to let it escape the star's tremendous gravity.
The planetoid flies towards the star, and by some strange twist of fate the remainders of its momentum allow it to enter a stable orbit around its new sun.
The journey of the new system is undisturbed... for now.
Sixty five million years ago...
A silver point like a gleaming drop of mercury rockets through the black emptiness of space at speed more then a tenfold greater then the speed of light itself...
It is uncrewed, yet its course is being altered by some strange sentience inhabiting the metal shell...
It is searching, the object of the search unknown even for the nameless intelligence dwelling within its smooth curves.
Just a millisecond ago, it found exactly what it was searching for. World perfectly matching the requirements of its unknown masters. A lone, lifeless planet orbitting a young star for the last ten million years...
The probe sends an encoded signal towards its world of origin and then continues onwards in its neverending search of next target...
Sixty million years ago...
Space bends and twists as a crescent-shaped vessel emerges seemingly from nowhere into orbit around the planet.
If somebody out there could analyse the titanic crescent of metal, they would quickly find out that it was bereft of life - and yet its passengers are unnumbered. Free from the weaknesses of life, flesh and feelings alike, they have been sent to the world discovered five million years ago to serve the purpose of their masters. To this world.
Soon, great edifices of obsidian-colored metal begin to appear on the sand-covered surface of the planet, each exactly mirrorring the others of its like on this planet and unnumbered other worlds, scattered throughout the universe...
From the onyx desert sprout six pyramids surrounding the monstrous central construction. It is also a pyramid, but several times larger then the others and each of its walls bears a great sigil of unknown purpose.
The giant starship has completed its mission, and is now disappearing inside a huge sphere of asteroid debris. A powerful force pulls the pieces of rock together, enclosing the ship and making it look like a small moon. Almost all systems have deactivated, but a tiny part of its electronic mind remains active and waiting...
On the surface of the planet legions of metal figures march into the pyramids, disappearing in their portals. A command is issued and all machines deactivate in an instant. Only a single system remains powered, little more then a simple receiver.
Then all falls silent. The world seems to be dead again, but it harbours a terrible force now. An army out of time is sleeping there, waiting for the time to awaken. Long aeons will pass until then, but to those for whom thousand of years is like a blink of an eye it means nothing. They can wait for all eternity if needed...
The pyramids sink beneath the sands, only the very top of the greatest construction remaining on the surface.
This world is dormant, and it shall be for sixty million years...
In last sixty million years, much has changed in the universe... Entire worlds have been destroyed, not all by natural forces...
Many sentient races came and gone, fighting their petty wars, now all forgotten...
But the silent world on the eastern fringe of the galaxy still exists. To many of the civilisations now inhabiting the galaxy, it is just another dead world. But under its black sands, an ancient is waiting for the time to awaken... For the time that soon shall come...
The two receivers are waiting...
From the depths of the universe, the signal comes. A thin beam of energy, coding a simple message...
Originating from a world that the dominant race of this time has called Pavonis, the signal is too insignificant and weak to be detected by anyone... par its destination.
The sensors quickly intercept it and decode the message. It is a short combination of zeros and ones, but for them its meaning is clear. The time has come.
Deep within the central pyramid is a long corridor on both sides supported by long rows of paired columns, and between each of them a door with a symbol of skull upon it. Upon the corridor's end, there is a chamber where a rectangular metal sarcophagus is resting upon a raised platform. There is a sigil on it, an exact copy of those found on the pyramid's walls. Arcs of raw energy begin to course through the chamber as the circuitry executes its ancient purpose.
After a few seconds, the chamber falls silent again, but dead it is no more. A vile, green glow emanates from complex circuitry built into the walls as the arcane machinery begins the revival of its master...
The sigil on the top of the sarcophagus flares to life. The metal cuboid begins to rise from the surface, and soon stands upright on the surface. The symbol flashes with pure energy and then its power vanishes. A vertical crack appears directly through the middle of the lid and the cover slids aside as the being inside is exposed.
A polished metal skeleton stands within the tiny cell, arms crossed over the chest. Its right hand is holding an arcane staff and its head has shape of a stylised skull. On the forehead it bears a smaller version of the sigil that adorned its sarcophagus.
Suddenly, eyes of the mask burst with a green light, and the creature's arms unfold as it steps out of its former resting place. The lord and master of this world has returned. Ancient logical circuitry within the being's head is slowly reactivating to its full potential as the tomb infuses it with knowledge of all transmissions it has intercepted over the aeons.
He needs not to speak to command his charges, and thus he begins to send his orders to them and the tomb. Then a swirling colum of darkness envelops him and when it disappears he is no more there, now standing atop the great construction that juts from the desert. The pyramid begins to rise from the surrounding sands, as do its smaller kin.
<the time has come>
<statis fields deactivated>
<reactivation procedure intiated>
Within the corridor inside the pyramid, the skull-topped doors slid silently into the floor. When they open, they reveal similar corridors, at sides of which stand ranks upon ranks of metal tubes. With a metallic "clank" multiplied thousand times a thousand, they fold and vanish into the ceiling.
Legions of metal warriors spring to life. They were known under many names during the millenia. Necrontyr. Sleeping Ones. Necrons.
First only a few steps of metal feet resound within the smooth walls, but soon more and more join them as hundreds of mechanical creatures reactivate. Then they begin their long march towards the surface. Their number is legion. Their name is Death.
As legions of his underlings march in perfect unison out of the tomb, the Lord is waiting. At his command, millions of lesser warriors begin to exit the smaller pyramids, followed by swarms of diminutive scarab-like constructs. Giant porticulis on the tops of each pyramid open, and large pyramid-like constructs float off of the platforms present there to the ground.
On the walls of the main pyramid openings form from which yet another type of machine emerges, warriors resembling those that came from the main tomb, but mounted on flying devices in place of legs and with their right arms replaced with powerful four-barrelled weapons.
From the sands around the assembled army rise crescent-shaped constructions, cycling their weapon batteries towards the sky, and from the tomb entrances several hundred of giant spider-shaped machines come who assume guard around the portals.
Shortly before that, the dormant starship completed its reactivation. The power that once brought the rocks together now pushes them away, casting all the debris away.
The former moon would normally rise now over the tombs... the silver crescent of Necron starship appears instead.
The Lord gazed upon his massed army and altough the machines are impervious to feelings, his programming made him feel an equivalent of grim satisfaction on the sight of his millions of undying charges standing in perfect ranks on the black sand.
<all units awaiting orders>
<loading primary objective...>
<FIND LIFE. LEAVE ONLY DEATH.>
<EXECUTION IN PROGRESS>
|24-01-2005, 12:48 PM||#4|
Join Date: Aug 2004
Location: Shella, Kenya
I moved the Awakening short story into this topic.
Now, I'd like to point out to writers that THIS is the place to post their stories, unless they have more than one and want to start a personal writing gallery....ok?
|24-01-2005, 01:06 PM||#5|
Join Date: Oct 2004
Location: Opole, Poland
Oww... short story, you say... oww... it took me so long to write...
Anyway, here is another piece you might like. Longer too.
Chapter One: Gathering storm
The Warp. Source of many myths and legends, all equally composed of lies and truths. Eternally changing, realm of raw psychic energy. Home of many ghosts and spirits. Of daemons and angels, devils and gods.
Now within there, something stirs. A being of great power awakens. Aeons ago it was one of the Pantheon of Chaos. Now it is an outcast, exhausted by its eternal war against the four others. The power that unites against a common foe and tears unities apart. God of Balance. God of Chaos turned upon itself. MALAL.
Long millenia passed since it was almost defeated by the Four Powers united in the cause of its destruction. Yet a tiniest part of his essence survived and gathered power once more, unnoticed by the Ruinous Powers so far...
Now it has awakened, thirsting for vengeance...
Chapter two: A soul forever damned
The resurrected god is still too weak to face the Powers of Chaos on his own. Yet he can fight a war from the shadows, striking at vital points, altering the course of events to suit his needs. For this purpose he must find a champion. An avatar of his power....
He needs a creature of power, yet powerless, one that can be bargained with to do his bidding...
A weakened god, but a god none the less, Malal begins searching the universe for a being that will suit his purpose. Sending fragments of his own consciousness through time and space, searching through the billions of soul-lights faster then any mortal creature could, he is utterly dissatisfied with those beings he finds within this segmentum, the galaxy and then universe itself.
Then, Malal turns his mind to search within the multitude of other, alternate realities that are all parts of the multiverse...
Many they are, in some Malal has been born as the first god of Chaos, in others he is the only one that exists, there is one where his defeat was absolute, finally in a few he is dominant power of Chaos, to whom all the other gods have been forced to submit themselves to his will...
Not distracted by these compelling images, Malal continues of his task, setting his eyes on a faraway reality, where Chaos as we know it did never even exist...
Where devils and gods are weaker then where he came from, where they walk amongst the unaware mortals, altough displeased by the inherent weakness of this world, he found the being suited to his plans...
The daemon has once been close to godhood in his own universe. However, defeated by united powers of his rivals, he was forced into service of one of them. Millenia ago, he was bound to a human being to hunt others of its foul kind... To become something that was a daemon no longer... to become an avenger... a dark knight of justice... Then he was cast out again, like a discarded tool...
Now the creature has been offered a pact. A pact where he will be given greater power then he ever possessed before and an entire universe to exact his vengeance on. Unsurprisingly, he accepts it without even a second thought...
Now that the god has found part of what he needs, he searches for a second element... a vessel for the daemon, which will bring him to the champion...
And the vessel he has found. A steed, one perfect for a knight in time when knights are no more. Imbued with a fraction of the god's power and with his Mark placed upon it, the machine becomes far superior to others of its kind, gaining abilities that can bend the laws of material realm themselves...
Now the god seeks a Champion in this universe which for times untold has been the greatest battlefield between forces of Light and Darkness, however were they called... Order and Disorder... Chaos and Justice...
A Champion that will become one with the daemon, thus gaining power far beyond the sum of its components...
Yet a Champion must meet three requirements to be worthy of the god's attention. He must hate his enemy... hate himself... hate his god...
Chapter Three: Last man standing
He dodged another missile, and another. He did it so many times that he lost count. His superhuman reflexes never failed him so far. But his confidence in owen skills was going to be his greatest mistake now...
Incoming was another missile. He dodged it as well... just to find himself straight in front of another one. He could not avoid it this time, not at this speed...
Antonius was hurled into the air and then hit the ground hard as his bike exploded into a fiery ball of flames, his helmet torn off his head by the impact. Then darkness took his senses and he knew no more.
When he regained consciousness, the first thing that he noticed were bodies. Dead bodies. Scores of dead bodies littering the battlefield as far as one could see. Every one encased in powered armor, most bore black and white livery of Raven Knights Chapter. His Chapter.
He noticed familiar faces amongst those who wore no helmets. Velius, Aries and many others. His friends.
He could not believe that they were dead. He shook the motionless body of Lucius as if in hope of awakening his friend. But that did not happen.
Mindlessly, he knelt on one leg and touched one of countless puddles of liquid on the grounds. These were not filled with water. They were full of red, human blood.
He hated. Hated the Traitors for their evil, hated himself for his failure, hated the Emperor for allowing such a disaster to happen. He roared into the sky, calling for revenge. Unknown to him, his call was heard and answered.
Antonius looked ono the blood smeared over the gauntlet of his right hand, and understood that as the last man of his Chapter, he could do but one thing - follow the murderers of his battle-brothers and kill them, or at least die trying. He could not succeed, not against hundreds of foes equal and sometimes even superior to him.
Shapes of the chaos horde were still to be seen on the very edge of the horizon. Antonius looked around, and noticed a beautiful bike, laying in the mud on its side. Strangely, it looked completely new and entirely undamaged. He could not comprehend, how it made its way into here nor did he care about it. He knew only that it was a way in which he could reach his enemies and exact revenge upon them.
He pulled the bike to an upright position, and mounted it. Then he noticed that the fuel intake cap was splattered with mud, even as the rest of the bike was perfectly clean. He swept it away with his right hand, uncovering a strange rune: a bi-sected circle holding a stylised black and white skull, left half being white over black, the right half holding same colors but reversed.
He traced the shapes of the symbol with a finger, as if trying to understand its meaning. While he did so, a drop of blood from his hand touched the symbol.
Suddenly, the rune began to glow with hellish light. Antonius tried to dismount the bike, but found his legs unable to move, as if frozen in place. He could only cover his face with his arms in vain attempt to protect himself from the blinding radiance...
Chapter Four: Burning vengeance
The light exploded with a strength of a thousand suns. Both Antonius and the bike were engulfed in hellfire.
When the flames went out, Antonius was no more.
On the black bike stood a figure encased in black power armor, on his chest and shoulders the same skull-runes were emblazoned as the one on the bike's fuel cap. Where the being's head should be, there was a fleshless skull wreathed in a mane of hellfire. In his right hand, he wielded a spiked chain burning with hellfire.
Antonius was dead, and from his death an avenger was born.
The being spoke, its voice loud and inhuman.
<span style='font-family:Courier'>"THE SOULS OF THE DEAD THIRST FOR VENGEANCE!"</span>
It turned it's head to where the dust and smoke marking the Chaos horde's position could still be seen.
<span style='font-family:Courier'>"TODAY, VENGEANCE WILL BE SERVED!" </span>
Then he gunned the bike and drove off in pursuit of his foe, the blazing wheels of his bike leaving a trail of fire in his path...
Meanwhile, not far away, the Dark Apostle ordered his foul charges to stop for a prayer and a sacrifice to the Dark Gods... little did he knew it was to be their last...
Chapter Five: Trial by hellfire
Berzarael ran through the night, his heavy breath showing the scale of his effort to get as many miles of wasteland between him and that... that... that THING as possible.
Just a few minutes ago, they began preparing the sacrifice to the Powers of Chaos, those few Raven Knights who were unfortunate enough to survive only to become the Word Bearers' captives.
When Razhaar began chanting the Litany of Chaos, they heard an unearthly howl, and then a scream. The source of the scream soon came into the light as the body of Ardragan, one of the guards, was thrown directly into the middle of the assembled ring, knocking the Dark Apostle off his feet. Flesh of the corpse was horribly burned, and even so there was no mark of fire on his armour.
"Who dares to interrupt the Hymns of Chaos!?!?" shouted Razhaar getting to his feet. No word was spoken, the only answer being in form of a long chain burning with pure hellfire that tore right through armored bodies of several Traitors as if their armour was like thin paper and not the ancient Ceramite that has been blessed with the unholy strength of the Dark Ones themselves.
"What fool attempts to stop the ritual!?!?" shouted the Dark Apostle again. And this time the answer presented itself when a black armored biker whose head was a skull wreathed in hellfire emerged into the circle of light created by the pyres.
<span style='font-family:Courier'>"THE SOULS OF YOUR VICTIMS CALLED FOR VENGEANCE. I AM THE ANSWER TO THEIR CALLS."</span> the creature said in a voice that sounded like something a tombstone could have spoken if it had a voice.
"Brothers, the foul unbeliever has uncovered himself! Destroy him for the greater glory of Chaos!" the Apostle called upon his brethren.
Spurred to action by his order, dozens of figures in dark red armour threw theselves onto the being, each eager to earn the attention of Powers that Be by being the one to kill the rider. For a moment, they seemed to succeed as the black-armored creature was completely obscured from view by their sheer numbers.
Then there was a burst of light, a bright flame and stench of brimstone in the air. Traitor Marines were cast away in all directions as if smote by a mighty fist, many of them screaming as they were consumed by fire. Even their suits of power armor were ablaze, even though the ceramite was supposedly inflammable. Some of the Word bearers were running away, while the being turned its attention towards the corrupted Chaplain.
"You shall be destroyed by my power! Feel the strength of Cha..." the Dark Apostle did never complete the sentence as the creature flung its chain through the air, its weighted end crashing right through the deamonic icon that once was Crozius Arcanum. Razhaar caught a glimpse of a flaming shape with a horned head and twin red eyes staring at him with a rage at the thing's millenia-long incarceration within the Crozius. Then the flame seemed to liquefy as it passed into his body, melting away a piece of ceramite that stood in the way.
The traitor's eyes filled with shock which quickly turned to sheer horror as his armour began to warp and crack when the daemon toyed with his flesh, chaning its shape at whim. He turned his bloodless face to his assailant "...wha..t...ha..ufe...y...don..." he barely managed to mumble through his rapidly mutating lips.
<span style='font-family:Courier'>"DEATH WAS TOO GOOD FOR YOU. THIS WAS WHAT YOU DESERVED." </span>
Razhaar was no more. In shreds of red armour a gibbering creature whose form defied recognition flailed with its many limbs, mouths opening and disappearing within its constantly mutated flesh, the soul of the Traitor howling through them in rage and despair at its imprisonment. The daemonic knight looked with a measure of satisfaction at the Apostle's plight. This was a suitable vengeance for what the ex-Marine has done to so many righteous warriors.
Whatever sanity remained within the mutated frame of the Chaos Spawn, it was quickly gone when the chain tore the thing's warped flesh apart in an explosion of gory viscera. Somehow, the flesh and blood did not fall onto the ground in a naturally random way, forming a red shape of a skull in a circle, its left part drawn in blood, the right being drawn by the areas of the ground that were not covered in blood filling its half of the symbol.
Seeing the fate of their former master, the remaining traitors, Berzarael amongst them, broke and ran into the night, screaming in fear. They did not escape far, as Berzarael could ascertain from the flames and cries that soon pierced the jet black darkness of the night.
He thought that he managed it, that the creature has not noticed him. His hopes were shattered as a burning chain grasped around his legs, knocking him to the ground.
The daemon-rider hurled a blazing ball of fire onto the traitor Marine with his right hand. It passed right through the Word Bearer's armor and into his flesh. For a few seconds nothing seemed to happen... and then Berzarael suddenly began to scream and convulse.
<span style='font-family:Courier'>"What! - Uugh! - The! - Aghh! - Eye! - Ghhhh! - Are! - Aaaaarrgghh! - You!" </span>the traitor shrieked as the purifying fire spread through his body, burning flesh and soul alike.
<span style='font-family:Courier'>"I AM ZARATHOS. I AM VENGEANCE."</span> answered the Champion of Malal to Berzarael's charred corpse.
|12-02-2005, 06:00 PM||#6|
Join Date: Jan 2005
This is a story wot I wrote about a gargoyle.
He did not know that he was made of stone, so the gargoyle watched through the lead-lined window, turning away from his ever-vigilant guard over the castle moat.
And what he saw, he would guard for longer: his first memory, cherished with a warmth that betrayed his carven concrete mask.
Through the window, beyond the silk-soft curtains, the young mother sat by the dancing flames of the blue-brick fireplace, gently rocking the newborn child at her breast as the father, tall and proud, smiled delightedly. The infant tilted her head, and did not cry, but smiled with her eyes at the face at the window.
And the gargoyle called her Lady, for that is what she was. Yet his marble companions took no interest in Lady, for they knew that they were made of stone, and the heart-ache of age cracked lines in their grimacing faces as they huddled in mossy blankets of self pity.
And Lady grew, and he liked her bigger just as much. He played the sentinel as she played ball, but the ball fell in the moat, and Lady was still much too small to rescue it.
In fear he gazed down at Lady, lying on the bank, reaching for her plaything like it were a drowning brother; gazed down as Lady touched the ball, only to have it bob away from her grasp into the centre of the water, flitting from sight beneath the glassy surface to temptingly reappear for the briefest span, like the will-o’-the-wisp luring the lost traveller deeper into the marsh; gazed down into the infinite darkness of the black water, and at the white streak of a single pike, staring up with ugly dead eyes and a tortured face, reflecting the gargoyle’s anguish.
He wished he could dive into the water, swim in the moat and rescue the ball. But the gargoyle did not know that he was made of stone, so he dived, and he swam, and he rescued the ball, and Lady got all wet, and laughed, and he liked the sound of it.
Yet his marble companions did not notice Lady’s laughter, for they knew that they were made of stone, and the wind sang mournful songs through their pouting mouths as it eroded their expressions away.
And when Lady slept, he watched her little-girl’s-dreams flit through the room, adoring the glittering palaces, the snowy white unicorns and the enchanting elven maidens, who danced around the bed, and sang their moonlight songs.
But that vision fled when the spectre arrived.
The gargoyle watched in helpless horror as the glittering palaces crumbled and burned, as the snowy white unicorns blackened to night-mares, and the enchanting elven maidens withered and aged, and cackled the chorus of hags and witches everywhere.
And Lady turned and whimpered in her sleep as the spectre whispered misty poison in her ear and spread his rotting mantle about her.
The gargoyle longed to scare away the spectre, and let Lady sleep in peace. But he did not know that he was made of stone, so he sank his horny teeth into the spectre’s leg, and the spectre yowled in agony at the pain of the bite, so the gargoyle swallowed him whole.
Yet his marble companions were not impressed with his courage, for they knew that they were made of stone, and raindrop tears cascaded down their chiselled cheeks to shatter on the paving below.
And when Lady learned to dance, the gargoyle loved to watch. He would creep down the leathery ivy that snaked up the castle wall so as to see through the stained glass windows of the Great Hall as Lady reeled across the ebony floor, her cheeks rosy with pleasure, her satin skirts wheeling about her waist as the music perfumed the air with its fragrance of life, and love, and times to be remembered, and times yet to come.
And later, after much shy refusal, Lady taught the gargoyle to dance under the hunter’s moon in the shade of the orchard, and Lady smiled with her eyes as the gargoyle spun about her with dizzying speed and performed cartwheels across the rose-ringed garden.
And the gargoyle did not know that he was made of stone, so he danced and danced until he and Lady collided together in an exhausted embrace and sank to the dew-swept grass.
Yet his marble companions were not inclined to dance, for they knew that they were made of stone, and their hooded eyes, carved of rock and hard as flint, watched with tragic longing the two figures huddled together below them until the sun slid above the horizon and dazzled them to blindness.
And when Lady met the Young Man (so the gargoyle called him, for that is what he was), the gargoyle was very happy, because Lady was so very happy.
From his vantage point on the green-tiled window-sill, he watched Lady and the Young Man through a small split in the varnished oak shutters that hid Lady’s room from the frost of the winter nights. And he smiled in curiousity as Lady’s lips met the Young Man’s lips and they embraced. And so the gargoyle sat there, puzzled, and brought the back of his cold grey hand to his chipped rough lips and kissed himself as delicately as Lady had kissed the Young Man, and was surprised - he liked the sensation, as he liked the gentle brushing of grass on his face, or the light touch of the wind caressing his skin.
And later, when the Young Man had left, the gargoyle showed Lady the sensation, taking her soft warm hand in his own, and kissing the back of it, and Lady smiled and blushed, then kissed the gargoyle on his chipped rough lips with her own sweet mouth, and he liked it better than the gentle brushing of grass, or the light touch of the wind. And the gargoyle wished to say the words to Lady that the Young Man had said, the words that summed up those feelings and their friendship so perfectly. But he did not know that he was made of stone, so he said the words, and Lady embraced him, and told him that she loved him too.
Yet his marble companions cared not for kissing or for words of love, for they knew that they were made of stone, and the hollow wounds in their breasts echoed with whispering sighs that not even time would heal.
And the gargoyle watched in impatient awe as Lady’s maids helped her comb her long dark hair, and helped her powder and paint her delicate features, and helped her into the flowing white gown. And when Lady finally twirled in the wedding dress, and her father and mother smiled and applauded, the gargoyle, at the window, smiled and applauded too, for he knew that Lady’s twirl was for him as much as for the father and mother.
And he was dazzled by Lady’s beauty, for never had he believed that anything could be so lovely.
Yet his marble companions ignored Lady’s beauty, and did not smile and applaud, for they knew that they were made of stone, and their taloned fists clung to the lead guttering as though longing for the weight to drag them down and sink them in the soil and clay, and tuck them into the bed-rock at night.
And the gargoyle watched as Lady’s carriage disappeared through the gate and down the gravel road towards the horizon, and he wished that he could go to the wedding, and see Lady in her pretty dress beside the Young Man in his handsome uniform. But he did not know that he was made of stone, so he leapt from the roof and flew over the moat, flew over the gardens and the orchards, flew through the gate and towards the horizon after Lady’s coach.
Yet his marble companions did not fly, for they knew that they were made of stone, and prayed silently for a merciful wind to blow them from their perches and disperse them in a cloud of dust.
And the gargoyle flew over forests and fields and farms and fences, and soared above the clouds, waving to griffin and scaring the birds. Laughing, the gargoyle plummeted down through the clouds, and hovered in the air as he drank in the sight of the land below him. Hills and valleys became no more than the imaginary kingdom that was Lady’s blankets as she played her bed-time games when she was little, with her patch-work mountains and knitted fields. And, down in that miniature world, the gargoyle rejoiced to see Lady’s carriage weave its way along the copper thread that was the gravel road, perched between the void of a cliff and the shadow of a forest.
Then, just to be closer to his beloved Lady, the gargoyle dived down through the trees, racing alongside the coach, weaving about branches and boles and bushes and brushwood, waving to dryads and scaring the deer. And the gargoyle so frightened a fox that it fled out in front of the carriage, and the horses pulling the coach were so frightened by the fox that they screamed, and reared, and bolted.
And the gargoyle watched helplessly as the horses ran, and fell from the road, taking the carriage, and Lady, out into the void, down into the ravine, to be broken on the savage rocks below.
And the gargoyle fled back to the castle, weeping and lonely, and longing for Lady.
The gargoyle, keeping an ever-vigilant guard over the castle moat, wished that Lady would come back for him. But he knew now that he was made of stone, and Lady did not come back.
And his marble companions watched the seasons change, and sympathised as they grieved for losses of their own. For they knew that, eventually, we are all made of stone.
|13-02-2005, 09:13 AM||#7|
Join Date: Oct 2004
Location: Ljutomer, Slovenia
Here's a little something I wrote as a responce to the war in Iraq (when the agression started). It's not really a story, it's more an impression... I got tones more of this stuff, but I haven't translated it to English yet, so...
Beyond,… the great pond
It falls slowly. I watch it calmly. It’s so small and warm. So colorful and full of life. It falls slowly, or is just my time running differently.
Once I gazed in the morning sky and saw,…
There, on the blueness a line was crossing and now I’m cross at it. From yonder comes a sound I fear.
I was not afraid back then. A kind neighbor looked the same way and said: “It’s a plane.”
No one has that look anymore. A glassy horror in the eyes is voicelessly shouting that it knows all to well what comes on the wings of progress.
It landed. The puddle waved a little and I was a bit closer to it. But here’s another. Just like all before her she’s going the same path. She’s going down under. Full of life it slowly falls into the puddle and I watch her.
Armed with a stick I ran after a bunch of rascals. We were going to the fence, where we thought out trenches. There we placed our neighborhood pride. Some stolen laundry mostly. We never saluted the not quite yet dried just a while ago smelly socks. And yet they were a symbol we struggled for.
Is maybe THIS peace of fabric more noble?
Maybe because the world can place me where I am right now according to it?
How big the puddle has become and getting fuller of life. It flows toward it. To an ordinary puddle.
So and so many years of grabbing success and sleuthing for meaning - pointlessly.
It’s slowly running out. Drop by drop. Small and red. Full of life – MINE.
And just a pond of blood softened the last hit of the face to the ground.
|15-02-2005, 07:39 AM||#8|
Something that jumped off my mood...
He was on his way. There were only about 3 days left until he would reach his destination. The stars were shining beautifully around him, but he didn't notice them. His thoughts were circling around the grey-yellow shining planet, that grew larger with every day passing. He didn't notice the black mark on the right side of the ship that came closer...
He awoke suddenly. He didn't understand what awakened him, but he felt some unrest. Upon investigating the illuminators, he noticed the sun, shining calm and beautiful in this distance. Then there came the shock: the lower-right illuminator wasn't visible! Upon investigating, he understood what was the cause, and he stopped breathing. Then there came the violent hit.
...He finally reached his destination. But not as he intended to. His ship started to circle around the planet. And his fuel capabilities were emptied already. Slowly there came the painful realization. His fate from now on was to circle forever as an artificial moon around his so long awaited destination.
All the time alone, awaiting his not anymore that far away death. Bathing in the yellow rays of Saturn...
|19-02-2005, 08:02 PM||#9|
Join Date: Feb 2005
Location: Kaunas, Lithuania
*sorry, copyright acclaimed* :angel:
|19-02-2005, 08:06 PM||#10|
Join Date: Aug 2004
Location: Saint Joseph, United States
Heres an old one I did for the scary storys topic. It's not my best, but I liked it.
A man is heading to a conference concerning agriculture in Wyoming. The man's name is Jacob Oland. Jacob is a rather frail man, afraid of many things, and not too bright, but he is good at architecture and planning. He travels to and fro in his Mercedes, a shiny one that, no matter how much dirt flings toward it, never seems to get dirty. His meter says he is running on a full tank of gas, but what he doesn't realize is that it is really nearing empty. As his car stalls near a seemingly deserted farmhouse, a heavy storm breaks out. He decides it isn't safe to do anything about the car that night, so he heads toward the farmhouse to seek shelter. He makes it to the farmhouse safely, but no one answers when he knocks.
He turns on a light by the door as he enters the house, and finds everything to be completely cleaned, polished, and well-taken care of. He figures that the owners must be off in town on some errand, so he makes himself comfortable on the couch. As he sits down, he thinks he hears something moving upstairs. He calls up the stairs, but hears nothing. Even though he thinks it his imagination, he decides to head up the stairs just to make sure. As he goes up the stairs, he thinks he sees a shadow coming from one of the bedrooms off to the left. He enters the bedroom and jumps back with a shriek at what he sees. There in the bed is a fresh corpse with the limbs on it's right side cut off, and a pentagram on it's chest. He rushes out of the house and runs for town, not stopping once. When he reaches the police station, he explains all he saw and what happened. He returns to the scene with two officers, but they find no trace of the body and the officers say he is mad. He hops a ride into town in their car and decides to stay at a hotel.
He has a good nights rest and awakens to a knocking on his door. He opens it to find the corpse standing there grinning evilly. At that instant, he goes mad and laughing with drool flinging out his mouth, he jumps the corpse. The owner hears a horrifying scream, and rushes to the room where he heard it. There on the floor is Jacob, wearing an eerie grin on his face, and a pentagram on his chest. And on his right side, both his arm and his leg are gone, with no trace of blood anywhere.
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