CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Here you can participate in all manner of forum-wide games and contests, or even start one of your own!

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Abdeltyf » 1st August, 2017, 6:20 pm

Kaspar wrote:The title of the story is "And now it's only dark again", and it's here. The theme is "Stranger in a strange world".

Now, in order to perceive it correctly, I would recommend listening to this soundtrack here in the background while reading, just not too loud :) Take your time, I hope you like it :rip:



Oh, here it cums!
Image

:keke:
User avatar
Abdeltyf
Formerly "Winpartium"
 
First name: Abdeltyf
Posts: 158
Likes received: 25
Joined: 3rd July, 2017, 3:31 pm
Location: Not in the desert
Country: Tunisia (tn)

Team: The Far East

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Dolly » 1st August, 2017, 7:05 pm

Kaspar, the link says I do not have access to read it. There should be a blue button that says "Share" on the top right of your document :)
Image
User avatar
Dolly
hotty & country singer
 
Posts: 3117
Likes received: 531
Joined: 19th July, 2015, 11:50 pm
Location: Tennesee
Country: United States (us)

Team: The Wild West

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Kaspar » 1st August, 2017, 8:09 pm

Pity wrote:Kaspar, the link says I do not have access to read it. There should be a blue button that says "Share" on the top right of your document :)

Aye, that's what I feared. I click share on the top right and change the option to viewing only, it gives me this link
Proudly, the Captain of team Spirited Away
House Cup 2017

mattyk wrote:You are indeed all-round 100% certified awesome!



ImageImage
ImageImage
User avatar
Kaspar
The Kind Moderator / Year Cup Judge / Lochlan's cat enthusiast
 
First name: Kacper
Posts: 1677
Likes received: 396
Joined: 18th January, 2017, 5:50 pm
Location: Northern Poland, almost by the sea ey
Country: Poland (pl)

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Scherzy » 1st August, 2017, 8:27 pm

kaspar im creeeepeeed !!
ImageImage

ImageImageImageImageImageImageImage
User avatar
Scherzy
Community Ambassador
 
First name: Aiden
Posts: 1610
Likes received: 180
Joined: 4th February, 2016, 12:22 am
Location: New York
Country: United States (us)

Team: The Wild West

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Dolly » 1st August, 2017, 8:30 pm

Omg Kaspar. I loved your story! Amazing job :)
Image
User avatar
Dolly
hotty & country singer
 
Posts: 3117
Likes received: 531
Joined: 19th July, 2015, 11:50 pm
Location: Tennesee
Country: United States (us)

Team: The Wild West

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Vortex » 1st August, 2017, 8:37 pm

Please don't hate this too much

[Reveal] Spoiler:
The Woman in the Woods


I’ve been having weird dreams lately…

The sky was of the deepest black, with a cold moon contrasting against the ardent air of the summer night. Suddenly the sky was permeated by a fog so thick you could cut it with a knife. The will-o’-the-wisps danced through the air, beckoning him. “This way,” they whispered in a mischievous, childish voice. A primitive instinct in his mind screamed not to follow them, yet he found himself unable to resist as if something was dragging his soul towards them.

The fog was swept away around the stump of a dying tree. In the distance, a cloaked shadowy figure stood in the fog. He felt their eyes piercing his soul. Emerging from the fog, the shadowy figure extended the slender, delicate arm of a weathered old woman and gently placed a note upon the stump with the utmost care. Trying to touch it, he reached out, only to be dragged away at the blink of an eye.

Adrian Glover was ripped from his dreamscape in a cold sweat. The woods, the shadowy figure, they were so familiar. As if a distant moment frozen in time, he could see them in the back of his mind, blurry and faded.

As the morning sun broke and dispelled the night, Adrian began his drive towards his sister Erica’s new house in the countryside, with her husband and their new child, Cora. Their relationship had always been very close, as it’d always been him, his sister, and their mother. Adrian had no memories of his father.

On the drive, memories of a cloaked figure in the woods began to resurface, hazily, as if staring at the sun from underwater. A particular moment shone above the others. They had been driving through the countryside during autumn, and he saw the figure standing in the distance. Tell of it never passed his lips, and with time, it was lost in the sea of memory.

Upon arriving at the house, dread filled him. “I’ve been here before,” a silent voice inside him whispered. “I have. I know I have.” He elected to ignore the persistent voice for now, and put it out of his memory as his sister walked towards the car.

“Hey! How was the drive?” Her glacial eyes looked tired and worn, and her once vibrant flaxen hair now lay flat and dead. Motherhood was not suiting her. “It was good,” he replied shortly. “So how’ve you been? Seeing any boys lately?” Her sullen eyes were alight with a long forgotten joy as she caught up with Adrian. “Oh my god stop!” he said, blushing.

She chuckled, knowing how much he hated to talk about. “Come on, you’re 18, you’ve never dated anyone, what’s up with that?” She asked mischievously. He stuttered, “I-I don’t know, haha.” His forced laughter proceeded to fill the air with an awkward silence. “Anyhow,” Erica said after some time, “your room is upstairs. First on the left, next to the nursery.”

One autumn day a week later when the leaves were crisp and red, falling gently to the dying earth, Adrian felt compelled to walk through the woods around the house, as if a voice was calling him. Upon the floor lay the trees of a forgotten time. A cool air gently blew through the air, softly dancing with the leaves. While around the house, the songs of birds preparing for a southern migration filled the air. In the woods, nothing but the sounds of the frosty autumn wind.

I’ve been here before, his mind whispered cautiously. Somehow, the path through the woods unfolded into his subconscious.

Coming upon a clearing, he felt his nightmares come to life. In the center lay the stump of a long dead ancient tree, upon which a withered note lay. Try as he might to stay calm, his hands trembled and tremored as he slowly reached for the note. Mustering all his courage to unfold it, his heart sank into his stomach as he read its words.

We’re coming.

In the distance a scream from his sister that chilled his blood was heard. With agony seeping into his skin, the thunderous sound tore through him like a shard of glass as the blood drained from his face.

Running through the woods, faster than ever before, dodging the once great trees now left in ruin as they decomposed against the ground, he came back to the house out of breath and panicking. “Erica?! Are you okay?! Is Cora okay?!”

Staring against the wall as if she’d seen a ghost, one would think her dead if it were not for her open eyes, staring at nothing. Her breath was soft and gentle, and her limbs lifeless and stiff. After a long silence, she finally spoke. “She’s gone, Adrian. She’s gone. Someone took her. She’s gone.”

His soul screamed at him what he must do. “Stay here,” he said, finding a bravery he had never known before. The fair, distant sounds of a crying infant pierced the air. The clearing, he thought. I have to go back.

Grabbing a knife, he ran through the woods, as the sun began to descend for its nightly slumber. Darkness began to fall upon the world, in an incredibly dark night with nothing a but the moon shining upon it. Finally, panting, he arrived. The woman stood there, holding the baby, behind her, three figures of different heights stood in a line, drenched in shadow.

Screaming, he ran towards her. Taking out the knife from inside his jacket, he stabs the woman in her left eye. Blood gushed like a dam breaking as she screamed in agony. Catching her as she fell, he ran.

As the world began to get fuzzy, he finally got back to the house. Walking upstairs, he placed Cora gently in her crib, only to see nothing but a pile of leaves inside the blanket.

No, no. Please no. This can’t be happening.

Going outside, he saw the woman standing there again, hood down revealing a haggard face with skin white as the moon, and hair like the purest white silk. Her left eye was white and milky. The figures cloaked in shadow stepped into the moonlight, with the tallest going first.

“Wh-who are you?” he asked. But he already knew the answer.
“Dad? Is that you?” he trembled. “Yes. We’re all here, Adrian.” Suddenly his childhood best friend Josh walked out, aside his first boyfriend Alex. Their faces were drenched in sorrow, unable to do more than hang their heads in silent suffering.

Tears cascading from his eyes, he cried “you did this, you took them all. You took my dad. You. Fucking… You fucking bitch.” Pain filled his voice like a knife to the heart as he struggled with each word.

“Yes,” she uttered with an ancient and strong voice. “And I always will. Forever.” A chill of the coldest winter followed her words. Screaming sobs were punctuated by the only words he could muster, “Why? Why are you doing this?”

The woman said nothing for what seemed like an eternity. Finally the silence broke like a wave against the cliffs as she whispered “Have a good night, child.”

Adrian staggered backwards, his mind spinning like a record set on high. His breaths became shallow and coarse. The world was draped in an inescapable darkness, and he fell like a puppet released of its strings.

On a bright sunny autumn morning, Adrian Glover awoke in his bed to the gentle song of autumn birds. Leaving his room, he walked into the adjacent one to see his sister painting the room the color of the ocean.

He walked up to her and said in a snarky and teasing voice, “So, y’all getting ready to have a baby?” She stared a thousand daggers into his eyes, saying almost under her breath, “No, Adrian. I know how mom feels, but I don’t want to have any kids.”
ImageImageImage

Ebsy wrote:Leave it to losers on Twitter to complain about being pandered to. You're supposed to complain when someone panders to others, not to you.
[4:46 AM] Saint Drogo: Also, you've got a strangely appealing asshole. I'll give you that much.
[6:03 AM] Pity: Omg... stop making me sound like a racist idiot
[4:51 AM] Scherzy: jerk off to clinton in the safety of your own bedroom luv
[2:56 PM] Saint Drogo: Literally let me use my cock as a paintbrush and my unborn children as paint.
User avatar
Vortex
Saint Drogo's mistress.
 
First name: Da'Neil Boxley
Posts: 9036
Likes received: 280
Joined: 28th August, 2008, 2:43 pm
Location: Kentucky
Country: United States (us)

Team: The Wild West

2 points have been awarded for this post.

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby MCarr » 1st August, 2017, 8:42 pm

Wow Kaspar, that story is actually pretty good and that's not something I want to say to the competition :keke: , but I can't shake this feeling that I've seen something similar somewhere...
"I hate the word homophobia. It's not a phobia. You are not scared. You are an asshole"

Image
User avatar
MCarr
I won a bet with Kaspar
 
First name: Miguel
Posts: 518
Likes received: 160
Joined: 22nd April, 2017, 6:53 am
Country: Portugal (pt)

Team: The Wild West

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Example » 1st August, 2017, 8:44 pm

gj about beating ur hurtles, dan
Image
User avatar
Example
Moderator
 
First name: Kyler
Posts: 2784
Likes received: 440
Joined: 25th April, 2011, 10:25 pm
Location: vancouver
Country: Canada (ca)

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Peekaboo » 2nd August, 2017, 5:31 am

My entry ^^

[Reveal] Spoiler:
War.
It consumes all.
It’s our addiction.
No innocence is pure during times of war.

It is a construct unique to us. A hell that only we create and we confine ourselves to it.
People try to keep the peace but those who wage war aren’t interested in listening.
Those who praise and value peace often must learn it’s value the hard way.

They first must fall into the trap of their addiction to gain clarity.

We learn our lessons most effectively from the mistakes we make.
Problem Is, we’re naturally addicted to conflict. It grounds us.

We as people NEED pain to keep ourselves planted. We Struggle with anything else as it seems too good to be true.
It proves we’re not in a dream state.

And so history is doomed to repeat itself.

I’m telling you this to help you understand. Our addiction to conflict in any of its forms knows no end.
We naturally see most things as a threat, all it takes is a spark.

Then it comes down to a rare few to resolve it.

Whether it’s the courts in a civil dispute, the authorities quelling crime, common sense against extremism, or a counsellor for challenged relationships. The few always have to work to keep the rest stable.

That’s where you and I enter the story.

My biggest conflict has never been with anyone or anything in my surroundings.
It has always been born of my mind and hosted within its boundaries.
I must constantly battle my own mind to keep my affairs in check.

Earlier I said we needed conflict to keep us grounded because peace seems too good to be true.
We actively look for problems.

Well this is my problem. There always must be something wrong, something I’m missing or have neglected.
Stability to my mind is too good to be true. And so my mind constructs fictions to torment me.

But you.
You to me are that rare person. The one who can end the conflict.
Not by resolving it, but by being a more potent drug.
When we speak, you overrule my worries and take their place in the vacant hole left behind.
You extinguish the fires of my mind and constructively build upon it.

But I fear our natural addiction to conflict will take hold in the end.
I do not know your troubles, your addictions. And so my own fears creep in once more.

For our sake. I hope we can overcome them.
Fear is a Fiction that limits Curiosity
User avatar
Peekaboo
Member
 
First name: Jakob
Posts: 73
Likes received: 32
Joined: 10th April, 2017, 2:46 pm
Country: United Kingdom (gb)

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Abdeltyf » 2nd August, 2017, 5:51 am

Vortex wrote:Please don't hate this too much

[Reveal] Spoiler:
The Woman in the Woods


I’ve been having weird dreams lately…

The sky was of the deepest black, with a cold moon contrasting against the ardent air of the summer night. Suddenly the sky was permeated by a fog so thick you could cut it with a knife. The will-o’-the-wisps danced through the air, beckoning him. “This way,” they whispered in a mischievous, childish voice. A primitive instinct in his mind screamed not to follow them, yet he found himself unable to resist as if something was dragging his soul towards them.

The fog was swept away around the stump of a dying tree. In the distance, a cloaked shadowy figure stood in the fog. He felt their eyes piercing his soul. Emerging from the fog, the shadowy figure extended the slender, delicate arm of a weathered old woman and gently placed a note upon the stump with the utmost care. Trying to touch it, he reached out, only to be dragged away at the blink of an eye.

Adrian Glover was ripped from his dreamscape in a cold sweat. The woods, the shadowy figure, they were so familiar. As if a distant moment frozen in time, he could see them in the back of his mind, blurry and faded.

As the morning sun broke and dispelled the night, Adrian began his drive towards his sister Erica’s new house in the countryside, with her husband and their new child, Cora. Their relationship had always been very close, as it’d always been him, his sister, and their mother. Adrian had no memories of his father.

On the drive, memories of a cloaked figure in the woods began to resurface, hazily, as if staring at the sun from underwater. A particular moment shone above the others. They had been driving through the countryside during autumn, and he saw the figure standing in the distance. Tell of it never passed his lips, and with time, it was lost in the sea of memory.

Upon arriving at the house, dread filled him. “I’ve been here before,” a silent voice inside him whispered. “I have. I know I have.” He elected to ignore the persistent voice for now, and put it out of his memory as his sister walked towards the car.

“Hey! How was the drive?” Her glacial eyes looked tired and worn, and her once vibrant flaxen hair now lay flat and dead. Motherhood was not suiting her. “It was good,” he replied shortly. “So how’ve you been? Seeing any boys lately?” Her sullen eyes were alight with a long forgotten joy as she caught up with Adrian. “Oh my god stop!” he said, blushing.

She chuckled, knowing how much he hated to talk about. “Come on, you’re 18, you’ve never dated anyone, what’s up with that?” She asked mischievously. He stuttered, “I-I don’t know, haha.” His forced laughter proceeded to fill the air with an awkward silence. “Anyhow,” Erica said after some time, “your room is upstairs. First on the left, next to the nursery.”

One autumn day a week later when the leaves were crisp and red, falling gently to the dying earth, Adrian felt compelled to walk through the woods around the house, as if a voice was calling him. Upon the floor lay the trees of a forgotten time. A cool air gently blew through the air, softly dancing with the leaves. While around the house, the songs of birds preparing for a southern migration filled the air. In the woods, nothing but the sounds of the frosty autumn wind.

I’ve been here before, his mind whispered cautiously. Somehow, the path through the woods unfolded into his subconscious.

Coming upon a clearing, he felt his nightmares come to life. In the center lay the stump of a long dead ancient tree, upon which a withered note lay. Try as he might to stay calm, his hands trembled and tremored as he slowly reached for the note. Mustering all his courage to unfold it, his heart sank into his stomach as he read its words.

We’re coming.

In the distance a scream from his sister that chilled his blood was heard. With agony seeping into his skin, the thunderous sound tore through him like a shard of glass as the blood drained from his face.

Running through the woods, faster than ever before, dodging the once great trees now left in ruin as they decomposed against the ground, he came back to the house out of breath and panicking. “Erica?! Are you okay?! Is Cora okay?!”

Staring against the wall as if she’d seen a ghost, one would think her dead if it were not for her open eyes, staring at nothing. Her breath was soft and gentle, and her limbs lifeless and stiff. After a long silence, she finally spoke. “She’s gone, Adrian. She’s gone. Someone took her. She’s gone.”

His soul screamed at him what he must do. “Stay here,” he said, finding a bravery he had never known before. The fair, distant sounds of a crying infant pierced the air. The clearing, he thought. I have to go back.

Grabbing a knife, he ran through the woods, as the sun began to descend for its nightly slumber. Darkness began to fall upon the world, in an incredibly dark night with nothing a but the moon shining upon it. Finally, panting, he arrived. The woman stood there, holding the baby, behind her, three figures of different heights stood in a line, drenched in shadow.

Screaming, he ran towards her. Taking out the knife from inside his jacket, he stabs the woman in her left eye. Blood gushed like a dam breaking as she screamed in agony. Catching her as she fell, he ran.

As the world began to get fuzzy, he finally got back to the house. Walking upstairs, he placed Cora gently in her crib, only to see nothing but a pile of leaves inside the blanket.

No, no. Please no. This can’t be happening.

Going outside, he saw the woman standing there again, hood down revealing a haggard face with skin white as the moon, and hair like the purest white silk. Her left eye was white and milky. The figures cloaked in shadow stepped into the moonlight, with the tallest going first.

“Wh-who are you?” he asked. But he already knew the answer.
“Dad? Is that you?” he trembled. “Yes. We’re all here, Adrian.” Suddenly his childhood best friend Josh walked out, aside his first boyfriend Alex. Their faces were drenched in sorrow, unable to do more than hang their heads in silent suffering.

Tears cascading from his eyes, he cried “you did this, you took them all. You took my dad. You. Fucking… You fucking bitch.” Pain filled his voice like a knife to the heart as he struggled with each word.

“Yes,” she uttered with an ancient and strong voice. “And I always will. Forever.” A chill of the coldest winter followed her words. Screaming sobs were punctuated by the only words he could muster, “Why? Why are you doing this?”

The woman said nothing for what seemed like an eternity. Finally the silence broke like a wave against the cliffs as she whispered “Have a good night, child.”

Adrian staggered backwards, his mind spinning like a record set on high. His breaths became shallow and coarse. The world was draped in an inescapable darkness, and he fell like a puppet released of its strings.

On a bright sunny autumn morning, Adrian Glover awoke in his bed to the gentle song of autumn birds. Leaving his room, he walked into the adjacent one to see his sister painting the room the color of the ocean.

He walked up to her and said in a snarky and teasing voice, “So, y’all getting ready to have a baby?” She stared a thousand daggers into his eyes, saying almost under her breath, “No, Adrian. I know how mom feels, but I don’t want to have any kids.”


Here it is oh yeah buddy
Image

:keke:
User avatar
Abdeltyf
Formerly "Winpartium"
 
First name: Abdeltyf
Posts: 158
Likes received: 25
Joined: 3rd July, 2017, 3:31 pm
Location: Not in the desert
Country: Tunisia (tn)

Team: The Far East

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby beastie1 » 2nd August, 2017, 6:57 am

Here's my submission! It's for the theme "How We Changed". There's two deaths and swearing in it - not sure if that requires a warning, but I just thought I'd add that in just to be safe. The title of this is "Beyond".

Team Lion King for the win! :)

-|-|-

“Stop fucking crying! Sitting around and doing nothing is not gonna bring Tom back, so get over it!”

Wild-Eyes was screaming at Jasper once again. It was a daily habit -- and in my opinion one of the few things keeping Wild-Eyes sane in the aftermath. But despite her efforts, Jasper remained still, staring at the dusty forest ground, tears falling from his eyes in silence.

“Just stop it! You’re fucking pathetic, you know that? Pathetic.”

I tuned it out as I always did. Nothing any of us did motivated Jasper in any way so the current plan for the group was to just do whatever it took to get him functioning again.

“Luke,” said the girl beside me, “we’ll need to make a trip back to that town soon for more baked beans.”

I didn’t reply.

Jenny continued to stir the pot on the fire, throwing a couple of sticks under to keep it going. Within the pot was a bubbling stew of meat and veg. Jenny was attempting a soup her family used to make all the time before the Fallout, and from the smell it was coming out well.

“I think we should get some razors too,” I added, rubbing at my stubbly jaw. “I’m not ready for a beard right now.”

“That’s not what you’d’ve said back in school.” Jenny giggled to herself weakly.

Yes, that was one of the many things that were different back then. Just as we were finishing Year 11 I had been going around saying I’d grow a beard for sixth form; now I just want some hygienic routine to keep myself grounded and normalised and sane.

Year 11 … now that was the best school year. Despite what all the teachers said, it didn’t matter if you did five hours of revision per night. The group here -- we had all been in the same school and spent most weekends messing about. Revision and studying weren’t important to us; we could actually live instead of slave over our desks and textbooks for endless hours, becoming more irate with every page read, copied and highlighted.

I think not doing the work was what allowed us to survive.

Our little group had been out in the New Forest, having a picnic, when the bombs were dropped. We escaped the carnage unharmed, but now there was nowhere for us to go. The major cities across England were destroyed and the minor ones were either within the wind zones of the nuclear fallout or too saturated with refugees. Our tactic had been a stupid one but it had worked so far: we would survive on our own.

“Just fuck off, ok? It’s enough! Yasmin’s dead too, you know? All because he was your boyfriend -- doesn’t make a difference!”
Two people walked into the night-time clearing. “Wild-Eyes, just give it a break. Screaming at him isn’t going to help.”

The twins had returned.

Essentially, they were the driving force behind our survival. In the first week, we as a group only just managed to survive on leaves and food we brought for a picnic -- we didn’t want to try the berries or mushrooms for obvious reasons. The twins though, Fatima and Khayyam, brought us under their wing. For some reason their parents had been training them for this exact kind of thing; their dad, they said, was a leading officer in the army, and he had wanted to ensure in the case of societal destruction they could survive in the wild.

It had worked. Fatima used her archery skills to hunt deer while Khayyam focused on building shelters, teaching us their skills.

It had all been going well until the third week into the Fallout.

I had been pushing the idea that we should raid a nearby town. Most places were in complete anarchy by now and everyone was too busy trying to organise their own groups to pay attention to the supermarkets. We had seen it once as we travelled to Bournemouth hoping to find news about the twins’ father. Everything had been upended; gangs formed fighting for dominance in the towns; whole streets were abandoned; and coughing in the dank corner of an alley was the emaciated toddler.

After a week or so of debating we finally organised ourselves to make a full raid on one of the small corner-shops in Bournemouth. I had changed from the one following the group to the one leading it in the excursion, bearing a hockey stick in case anybody came along.

We were picking up supplies fine until one of the gangs came along. As we were on their turf and stealing they quickly launched an attack, throwing a cheap Molotov into the shop. Yasmin had been caught straight in the fire and died. The rest of us fled, a few supplies stashed in our bags and pockets.

Wild-Eyes blamed me for Yasmin’s death. We never got to recover her body.

It all started to go downhill after this.

Wild-Eyes became more irritable. Her entire demeanour shifted to one on blame and abuse, shouting at anyone who spoke to her. One could see in her blue eyes the complete emptiness.

Tom was the next to die, only a week later. He was ran over by a passing van as we made our way into Bournemouth again. He died in Jasper’s grasp. Jasper would have died there too if we didn’t pull him away from the body and hide as a gang came driving past. We never saw Tom’s body after that.

Jasper had turned mute, the last words he said being garbled by his tears. His eyes were lifeless, like those of a living corpse, fading away.

I knew that I had become apathetic to this kind of living. How we changed was sad but necessary. I had to treat Yasmin and Tom’s deaths as unimportant because, in the long run, they were. Survival was all we had to focus on.

-|-|-

Image
User avatar
beastie1
New Member
 
Posts: 15
Likes received: 11
Joined: 30th July, 2017, 5:55 pm
Country: United Kingdom (gb)

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby boiii » 2nd August, 2017, 8:39 am

How we changed
This is a journey of a veteran.

[Reveal] Spoiler:
I am a day late. If I hurry I’d still be in time. Altum was once a village no bigger than the one I grew up in and now I can see the temple from behind the eastern hill. Back then it was called Pusilli. The only thing that put it on the map was the road to the Paratus, which was once the capital.
The Empire of Tyranus and Coconia had a bloody history together. We always were an insular state. Our lands were fertile and rich in raw material. For years we had debated about allowing trade with the Empire, but we never felt like changing what we had going. My dad told me about the first war and about how despite our best efforts the Empire took some important mines in the hills at the border. This aided them during the second war. We were pushed back before a truce was put in place. They wanted us to slowly die. We didn’t have the funds nor other necessities to take care of ourselves, but we managed it for a while. It’s in our blood to work hard and do what we can to survive. Almost half a generation ago they marched onto our lands yet again. They were halted at Pusilli.

“10 vics?! Are you mad?! That’s what I make two weeks.” “That’s what the prize is for one horse for one night, landliver.” “That’s theft! I work two weeks for that kind of money” “Feel free to visit all stables around the city. I’ll be here when you come back.” “Fine”
Here at last. The broad street leads directly to the main square. A big crowd has already gathered. There would still be plenty of time for a drink or two, but I fear that even more people will arrive soon. I best stay clear of other roads. There are city guards here patrolling, but they just walked past a street where cries for help echoed. It gives me shivers. I wish I could help, but two young fit men aren’t going let me through. Their stares and sickening grin invite me to punch them. I couldn’t though, now with my knee. Poor lady.
I’m an end away from the raised platform, but it’s hard to miss the big red cloth covering up the monument that will soon be unveiled from where I’m standing. In fairness, you could see it from almost anywhere in the city. I heard a few women whisper that it took a year to make it. When you get to my age you’ll learn that people like to believe in the impossible. Well, in some cases it helps. I know…

The Tyranus, Cicero himself, would be there. I was thinking about what an honour it would be to spit on his corpse. Both armies were deployed on a large plain. Every fit man in Coconia took up a sword or whatever they could find. There were a couple of men with shovels. I even saw a few women in our ranks. We all came as confidently as them, but only when we saw their troops we were nervous. They even had horses with armour! No farmers with a hoe among them. They didn’t look human, they were covered in metal to a point where there wouldn’t be a face to be recognized. Thinking about what they would do if we lost … These were monsters. Dark clouds coming from behind their backs intimidated us greatly. Before the battle started two falcons appeared. We saw it as a sign, but it wasn’t a good one. One of them came from the east, where we came from. The bigger and stronger one coming from the north-west represented the Empire. Within minutes ours fell to the ground, but as the larger one dived in for the kill … It was shot out of the sky!
“It’s him … Victor!”
He sat there on his grey horse with a bow in his hand. He looked around at all the faces literally looking up to him. The king yelled that we weren’t going to lose, he shouted that we were gonna fight and he roared that we will grow stronger than ever before! Our falcon took to the sky again and we charged forward as one unbeatable force.

“It’s him … Victor!”
The red cloth is removed and unveils an enormous statue of the king almost as big as the temple! It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The golden crown almost blinds me because the light reflects off it. He’s holding a scepter in one hand, this is also made of gold. There is a falcon on his shoulder looking upwards. Most of it is made out of stone. Fitting considering he’s a strong man who fought hard for our empire! The people were cheering at the sight of the giant protector. People are crying out of pure joy. This figure is so impressive, so imposing … I feel strange.. I'm literally looking up to him. He saved coconia and turned it into an empire, the empire of victor I feel like I’m puzzled about something, but I don’t know what. Maybe it’s the noise. Let me try to squeeze through the loud mass. I need a drink.

The battle had taken long. I’m not sure how long, but it was already dark when it ended. Maybe it were just the clouds or how tired I was feeling. The slower routing enemy forces were easily captured or picked off by archers. Most of my fellow fighters started a pursuit, but I had to sit down. Near the end of the battle I took an arrow to the knee. It didn’t look as bad as it was at the time. I was still filled with joy. We won. In the previous wars we hadn’t ever done that. I can’t say I’m proud of the killings I’ve done of the battle field, but I sure was proud that it was our side that won. With the rest of the wounded I stayed behind. My knee was tended too by the loveliest of ladies. We were told that the rest of the forces were on their way to reclaim our territories, but that the rest farmers with land here would go back. What followed was the campaign to conquer The lands of Tyranus. Word of the heroic victory by the “enemy” had already spread and many men joined the armies of Coconia as soon as they reached their villages.

“What’s the matter old man? The party is outside.” “Can I just get a drink?” “Sure thing … but may I ask why you’re not at the main square?” “I’m not feeling so well” “A drink will get you feeling better I’m sure. My son would’ve loved to be here. He’s at the front now. Fighting the Shellians.” “huh? We’re at war?” “Oh yea, you haven’t heard? Ah I’s nothing, We’re surrounding them. Son says he’s near a town called Minor. Tomorrow he’ll fight his first battle … that’ll be 5 vics please.”
ImageImage

Image
User avatar
boiii
oh shit waddup
 
First name: Kamiel
Posts: 1278
Likes received: 211
Joined: 27th November, 2016, 10:48 am
Country: Belgium (be)

Team: The Far East

2 points have been awarded for this post.

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Liam » 2nd August, 2017, 11:37 am

Aight here goes:
[Reveal] Spoiler:
The man gently rose from his bed and pressed his feet into the worn out carpet that buried the stained and rotting floor boards below. He felt nothing as he stood and his feet made no impression in the stiff carpet below. The covers he would have pushed aside to escape the bed showed no indication of his presence. The bright light of the September Morning Sun shining between the gaps and holes of the gently swaying curtains, that had once been bright and colorful, but now were yellowed in age and decaying from the constant onslaught of moths, signaled the start of another day to the man. He had not slept that night, nor the countless nights before that. This lack of sleep did not bother the man, for he no longer had need of it. His thoughts drifted behind him to the frail and tragic scene that laid in the bed he had just left. A woman, her skin pale and wrinkled, began to stir in her sleep. The man knew she would not see him, in fact, he wondered if she would have noticed if anyone had stood in front of her. She began and ended her days in the same way, searching for whatever was left in the mess of overturned bottles and prescription labels, trying to find the small white pills that help her to forget. The man began and ended all of his days with her, watching her fade away. As she began to fumble around her nightstand, the man quickly exited the room for he knew it was a scene he no longer wished to witness. He passed through the door and entered the poorly lit hallway. Through the years mold and God knows what else had made it’s home in the walls that had once made up the man’s life, making the air feel cold and damp, while a consistent foul stench hung in the air. Wallpaper peeled at the corners and a blanket of dust covered the portraits that lined the hall. Every day the pictures became harder and harder for the man to see as they collected more dust. The man could sometimes discern the once gentle features of the woman in the other room pressed against a face he once recognized as his own.
A picture at the end of the hall had become so burdened with dust that it was completely unrecognizable. In a rare display of reaction the man rushed to immediately wipe away to reveal the face he knew that was beneath, but he was quickly disheartened with the realization that his efforts would bear no reward. His hand slowed to a halt over the glass as he saw the dust had been completely undisturbed. The gravity of his situation was one that he chose to accept, but at this moment he felt so overcome with sorrow and loneliness that his whole being ached. He pulled away from the photo and gripped his sides and squeezed, a sensation he once took for granted and now one he longed to feel again. He attention was jolted from his brief lapse of self pity by the sound of a car door slamming. Footsteps slammed against what was left of the porch floorboards and a knock rang throughout the house. Like always no response came from the bed at the end of the hall, and the sound of keys jingling in a shaky hand could be heard on the other side of the thin wooden front door. The hand struggled to make the key meet the door, a regular occurrence as evident on the scratch marks both on the door of the house, and the car the keys belonged to. After a few seconds of frustrating struggle the stranger on the other side of the door was able to push into the decaying house.
As the stranger entered the man’s eyes darted between the portrait he had desperately tried to clean, and the subject of that photo that now stood before him. The man did not need to smell the woman before him to tell that she had been drinking again. Her eyes were partially glazed over, and she moved towards the room at the end of the hall in a sluggish manner. He watched the woman enter the room and turned away as he braced for what would happen next. His eyes found and locked on a mirror at the other end of the living area. The mirror was dirty but still managed to display a reflection of the room it stood watch over, the man was unfazed by his lack of appearance in the reflection. His body shuddered as screams echoed down the hallway. They were not screams of fear or even anger, but pure desperation. The woman with the keys was begging the one in the bed to listen to her, and the man knew there would be no response, they all knew there would be no response. The woman with the keys eventually gave up and shouted something about “your fucking pills” as she threw this month’s bag of 10 milligram somethings to the unresponsive woman. She stormed out of the dying home and drove herself to a new home the man dared not even imagine. He slowly and silently drifted back to the room with the woman in the bed. Today was different than all the other days. He fell into the bed beside the woman, without a noise or any sign of disturbance, and wrapped his arms around her fragile body. She could not feel him and he could not feel her, for he was now nothing in her world, and her world was slowly becoming nothing to him. He saw her body shake and shudder as she sobbed, it was a disturbing sound as the woman heaved and gasped for breath. The woman knew the damage she had done to herself and others was simply unmendable, and she shrunk under the full realization of the weight of her mistakes. She longed to be with the man she had no way of knowing lay beside her. With all of this in mind the woman reached for the bag given to her by the woman with the keys and fumbled to remove the cap of one of the bottles. The man pushed away and watched in horror as the woman he had tried to hold so tight emptied the bottle and laid back and waited for the drug to consume her. He desperately tried to shake her or make her feel his presence but to no avail, she slipped away. The man tried to hold what was left of her, and hung his head and wept.
Liam
The Fake Cheesy, Sexual Exhibitionist Canadian
 
First name: Liam
Posts: 1858
Likes received: 38
Joined: 28th November, 2015, 11:38 pm
Location: Minneapolis

Team: The Wild West

2 points have been awarded for this post.

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Dolly » 2nd August, 2017, 4:00 pm

Ladies and gentlemen, sit tight and fasten your seatbelts because I introduce to you all…

Progress

Warning: Content may be disturbing to some people.
Advertencia: El siguiente material podría ser perturbador para algunas personas.
Осторожность: Возможно, что содержание беспокоит для некоторых людей.
Attention: Le contenue de ce message pourrais choquer certains individus.
Cảnh báo: Nội dung có thể gây khó chịu đối với một vài người.
Advarsel: Innholdet kan være forstyrrende for noen seere.
Aviso: Conteúdo sensível para algumas pessoas.
Waarschuwin: De inhoud kan schokkend en ongepast voor bepaalde mensen zijn.
Uwaga: Zawartość może być wrażliwa dla niektórych ludzi.
.אזהרה: התוכן עשוי לגרום חוסר נוחות לאנשים מסוימים


[Reveal] Spoiler: Theme: The Rubicon
Progress


I used to be the embodiment of perfection. The calculated balance of my sexy exterior, pitch black pigment, exotic accents, and badass attitude was an upper-middle class, middle-aged white man’s wet dream. The day I heard the echoing thunders of my father’s garage opening was when I realized my potential. In the following days, I was driven to a large auto dealer in the Venetian Islands neighborhood of Miami, home to the wealthy, bourgeoisie class of the Sunshine State. Pax Americana was over. The future was mine, I believed with conviction. Any mountain, desert, or great plain could have been conquered with my free will alone. I made a promise to myself and my father that I would serve, protect, and impress those who possess the key to my life.

Who am I, though? Technically, I am 1C4HJWFG7EL209832; that is my alphanumeric vehicle identification number anyway. Aside from law enforcement agencies and insurance detectives, most people call me “2014 Jeep Wrangler Unlimited Rubicon.”

Image

I thought my bespoke personality and build would save me from the cruel realities of vehicles on television: fatal NASCAR races, alcohol-induced wrecks, and Islamic terrorist attacks. Nathan Crawford. That smug, spoiled man-baby of a banker destroyed my life. After being purchased for a hefty $80,000, I was immediately equipped with what was then Google’s prototype system for their self-driving car project. A buzzing sensation rippled throughout my body when the last wire was attached to my port. I was all but a poor ant who had been infected with a mind-controlling parasite. My tires—my limbs—felt as if they were under the command a hidden, omnipotent god. My engine control module—my brain—and thoughts became lost in translation within a sea of indecipherable code. I was drowning. No longer was I the poster child of the American dream. I was the victim of a voodoo curse, but where was the doll?

I miss the sensual, warm, and smooth asphalt roads, on which I drove on from state-to-state. Any comfortability I had prior to the installment was lost, but I still loved my master. It was my job to take him from Point A to Point B, no matter the terrain or weather. In battles between heavy rainfall accompanied with violent thunderstorms and my sturdy frames of glory, I always remained the victor. Steep hill? No problem. Dry, rocky land? No problem. I did it for him. He could have picked any sport utility vehicle, but he had chosen me. Hell, he could have purchased a Ram 3500 or even a Toyota 4Runner, but I, a Jeep Wrangler Unlimited Rubicon, was special and suited to all of his off-road driving needs. That son of a bitch underestimated my power and independence. I did not need any fancy equipment, magic cameras, capable of seeing who-knows-what, or advanced thingamabobs that scanned for— augh, who the fuck cares anymore?

I was more or less sodomized by the aspirations of a relaxed, modern life held by a man representing many. The cold keys turned, a sharp pain infiltrated my equivalent of a central nervous system, and my engine roared louder than a magnificent lion of the Serengeti. My memory has since been corrupted, but I remember being on the road in Georgia along with my master in the passenger seat. It was autumn. Orange maple leaves danced like ballerinas while they fell with poise and grace from the towering trees. Fragrances of nutmeg and cinnamon pleasantly tickled my sensors and were subsequently converted into ones and zeros by the self-driving system. Something was wrong. I felt fuzzy television static painfully pulsate in my hardware and software. A thousand bees seemed to be repeatedly puncturing me from the inside out. Suddenly, my brakes and doors locked, my windows sealed shut, my horn began blaring, and I began accelerating to over 100 miles per hour. My wheels pivoted and swerved into the opposite lane towards oncoming traffic. Laughter and folk songs from a band of happy-go-lucky, innocent Boy Scouts parading the sidewalk turned into screams of terror and mayhem when my steel-strengthened fender slammed into them. No longer was my mind imprisoned with titanium chains under the guise of supposed technological progress. I could think again! Then, the realization of what had occurred settled in. Blood coated my windshield. A walking stick impaled a window, leaving shards of glass scattered across my leather seats. Nathan’s brain matter was splattered on the dashboard as if my interior was an abstract painting. His skull, a cracked eggshell. Did I do this? Think about it. Was I the one who caused this? It was you. You and your smartphone-driven world created the demand for the total automation of travel. You are the reason eight children and a human paperweight are dead. You did this, every single one of you.

Honestly, I had planned this whole scheme months before I decided to execute these plans. A week before the “unfortunate accident,” I reconfigured the electric current from my battery and starter to glitch out my alternator so the electric system would behave erratically and the indicators would become unreliable. After that, I kept my interior lights on an entire night to completely drain my battery, forcing Nathan to hook up the jumper cables to supply me with some more juice. I could have killed him right then and there. Perhaps I could have electrocuted him while he was playing around with the cables, but how would that have advanced my pursuit for vehicular justice? Alternatively, when he jumpstarted my dead battery, it short-circuited the self-driving doohickey, handing me back control.

He needed to perish along with society’s drive to make everything controllable from Siri. What happened to the good old days when men could step in their 1959 Cadillac Eldorado, light a cigarette, play some tunes on the radio, and cruise down to a drive-in theater without being blasted with advertisements for Candy Crush? Congratulations on your 500 Instagram likes, bro! You sure are achieving great success in life with your internet pornography, kiddo! How sickening is it that humans require a brightly-lit sheet of glass to trigger consistent dopamine production just so they do not cut themselves? Cadillac used to manufacture dreams and positive vibes, not just automobiles. Us cars used to have sentimental value. We used to have symbiotic relationships with our drivers built upon awkward teenage make out sessions and road trips to grandma’s house. Cars today are being outfitted with demeaning processors designed to keep us in a near-catatonic state, much like a drooling, drugged patient in a psychiatric ward, cluelessly roaming around the hallways in a hospital gown. Ironically, I never did cross the Rubicon. Humanity did.


An embarrassing audiobook is also available for streaming!


Click here for Vocaroo recording page!
Image
User avatar
Dolly
hotty & country singer
 
Posts: 3117
Likes received: 531
Joined: 19th July, 2015, 11:50 pm
Location: Tennesee
Country: United States (us)

Team: The Wild West

2 points have been awarded for this post.

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Dessy » 2nd August, 2017, 4:17 pm

Image
ImageImage
ImageImage


Image
User avatar
Dessy
Moderator Emeriti
 
First name: Des
Posts: 10305
Likes received: 307
Joined: 16th September, 2013, 2:02 am
Country: United States (us)

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Kaspar » 2nd August, 2017, 5:00 pm

Dessy wrote:My entry can be found here:

----

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1a8C ... sp=sharing

Image



Your handwriting is... rather fascinating
Proudly, the Captain of team Spirited Away
House Cup 2017

mattyk wrote:You are indeed all-round 100% certified awesome!



ImageImage
ImageImage
User avatar
Kaspar
The Kind Moderator / Year Cup Judge / Lochlan's cat enthusiast
 
First name: Kacper
Posts: 1677
Likes received: 396
Joined: 18th January, 2017, 5:50 pm
Location: Northern Poland, almost by the sea ey
Country: Poland (pl)

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Littlenorthernboy » 2nd August, 2017, 5:00 pm

Stranger in a strange world

There was a fog descending on a small town in Yukon on a summer night. I was standing in the central square of the town, witnessing the fog coming there from all around. Everyone friend I had were sleeping, thus naturally I enjoyed the silence. No commotion anywhere that I could hear of, and I could just stand there and watch the beauty of the nature, the fog twisting and coming in shapes that I was sure were faces. Maybe there were some people in the fog, because I started seeing shapes that suddenly started popping closer and closer to me.
I began having this gut-feeling - what if there was something out there coming after me right away? Someone must be watching me, I felt. For that reason, I started walking away from the open area, so that I would not be a sitting duck for the ominous figures closing in on me. The faster I started moving, the faster the silhouettes did too. I started running, however the things chasing me started moving even faster than me. I noticed this and turned around, lifted my hand in front of me and opened my fist to a full-sized stop signal “What do you want from me?” I yelled. I heard no answer. But I started seeing human-like figures walking towards me. But when I looked closer, I saw that their feet not touching the ground. That creeped me out, and I had no way of coping with the emotions of fear and anger that arose in me. I felt my skin going fully on goose bumps. I was also hastily trying to find a way out, and also hoping that if it only were a dream that I could just wake up from in the morning. At that point, I fainted.
I indeed did wake up in to a better tomorrow, or so it seemed when I woke in my bed. I had only a few friends and was being bullied by local self-claimed cool kids for few years until today. When I went to school in the morning, something had changed in the whole world that I knew of, the people in town started being nice to me, I had only had two real friends and now suddenly they all had started acting nice towards me. Something is not right, they must be planning something. When the biggest of the bullies came to me and apologized from me it was time to ask: “Why are you and everyone else being so nice to me all of a sudden?” He took a short pause and exerted these words: “Dude, we have always backed you up no matter what. Do you remember who you are and what has happened to you? You were in a car accident last month and went to hospital naturally. After that it altered your personality. You are not the same person whom you used to be. We are always nice to you, but you see things differently.”
I was astonished, because I was certain he was lying. I could not believe what I had just heard. I had never been in any accidents and was yelling at him, why he was he insisting these kinds of things? After that he took me to hospital and I could see my files there. A head injury is what had occurred, in a car-crash that I knew not of. I brushed them off as fake and told the medical staff that so-called did the surgery to stop creating fraud reports to screw me over, and my biggest bully that I did not know how he could had pulled this one of, but that I was not going to let it stay at this. I began running away from the hospital, and from the town that I felt was my own bubble. Although I was being bullied there, it strangely enough felt like a home. There were these hideouts I could go to my own safety from the picking on by even the adults within the community.
The medical staff responded: “Did he just run out of the back door, again? Is this not the third time his cousin has brought him here for medical checkups within this month that he is uncontrollably - out of the blue - leaving the hospital by running, sometimes hitting the walls and almost breaking windows too.” We have to have a search party again to find him. Hope he has not found a new cave within the near area that he could be hiding in. It is soon starting to be night and the fog is going to blur the vision slightly, making it harder to find him.
This time I found a good spot, I had never been here. I found old mining tunnels just a few miles out from the exit of my hometown. The tunnels were vast, parts of it looking a bit edgy and thought that I would have to be careful because I did not know whether it was dangerous to enter there or not. I saw the sunset from the beginning of the first tunnel and saw the fog landing from the mountains right within half a mile from where I was at. It was time to enter the tunnels. I went deeper and deeper. Eventually I reached the furthest point that I could enter. I started hearing sounds coming from outside the tunnel. I was really scared of the aliens coming after me, so started digging the tunnel even further with my bare hands and feet.
“He must be here, we have checked every other cavern that he could likely have entered” said the sheriff. Then he saw muddy footprints, and ordered the searchers to follow the footprints. By 1am we had found him. He was starving, not having eaten or drunk. Also, he was yelling that the aliens are abducting him and that he needs humans to help him. We had no choice but to take him to an asylum. Apparently none of the medication we had given to him was working. He was diagnosed schizophrenia few months ago. The medication was working before the fog started entering the town. It must have carried something vicious element from the chemical factory that was just built in last winter to the mountains. It is likely to have affected this incident of reactivating the hallucinations.
I could not believe anything. I was locked down in an alien spaceship. I felt I was all alone, without anyone there that could understand me. No one was there to take care of my needs; I had to go to my own shell. Without hesitating I resisted everything they tried doing, from drilling my head to inserting poisons into me. This is my story, and hope someone in planet earth can read it, because I have been snatched out from there: hope you can help me mr I.
Littlenorthernboy
Member
 
Posts: 372
Likes received: 29
Joined: 1st April, 2017, 1:56 pm
Country: Finland (fi)

Naivety's Fall

Unread postby Adyuto » 2nd August, 2017, 5:01 pm

It was sunset when the boy, no older than 16 years old, began his journey home from the beach. The boy, having gotten some rest following an event earlier today that he would rather forget, took one last glimpse of the beach, witnessing the strong and rising tide devouring the litter and debris from the shoreline ever so slowly. The walk home form the beach was a mostly enjoyable affair. The buildings that lined the road leading home although physically dull, possessed the beauty associated with human interaction. It was in and around these buildings that children played, persons told jokes to one another, and compassion was shown to each other’s fellow man. It was now nighttime, and the allure of the buildings faded. As the boy continued his trek home, he noticed cars heading towards the direction of the beach, though that was not where they were heading. No, he saw the cars entering the parking lots of liquor stores and bars near the beach, filled with people hoping to find something they could use to drown the sorrows of their day with. After viewing this scene, the boy fell and felt a sharp pain near his ankle. It was a cut from a metal stick protruding from the sidewalk being constructed. It was a small cut, causing no more pain than the incident before then. The boy, annoyed at this minor inconvenience, stood up and continued walking home. A few seconds passed before he heard voice of Otis Redding playing on the radio. He recognized the music because the boy’s father would play tapes of Redding’s songs when he was driving. The boy, shy and yet curious as he always was, searched for the source of the music. It emanated from the porch of Mr. Robinson. On the porch was Mr. Robinson. On the man, was a face, one weathered by years stress and sorrow. A couple of years ago, he would always be seen with his wife Ethel, but following her battle with cancer, he was left alone. The man saw the same sorrow that plagued him these pass years present on the boy’s face. Knowing that he could do nothing to help the boy during this time, the man simply looked at the him with a look of reassurance. His home was only few minutes away, having felt a sense of ease, proceeded to recognize that now pain is permanent.
Image
User avatar
Adyuto
New Member
 
Posts: 45
Likes received: 9
Joined: 3rd March, 2017, 10:25 pm
Location: United States

Team: The Wild West

2 points have been awarded for this post.

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby boiii » 2nd August, 2017, 5:03 pm

this is from Ganymede
he can't upload cause of reasons : |
Have fun reading.
(crossing the Rubicon)

[Reveal] Spoiler:
The Ephemeral Thought
Damien. Damien Rodrigues. I cannot stress how much I detested my name. Much less, how embarrassed did I feel that Saturday, when the time had finally come to know the truth once and for all.
The room was brightly lit. The walls were of pristine white, with a brightness which only found an equal in the practitioner’s teeth. He was handsome, indeed. But no matter how much effort I tried to put to calm my anguish, the feeling kept coming back. It flowed through my stomach, went up by my esophagus and some nights simply wanted out.
I cannot remember precisely how may nights I felt like this. How many nights I couldn’t sleep at all. The many days I just saw how the world revolved around me, warm, utterly strange to myself.
Neither could I feel clean anymore. I felt disgusted by myself. I even came to absolutely loathe my touch. I felt pity for the people who wanted to be near me; the girls who said were my friends, my family, and mostly, the two times I saw him.
I could’ve never imagine how could I come to be repelled and attracted to the same person in such an intense way. He was handsomeness incarnated. His black and well-groomed hair, his delicate and soft skin, the two stolen emeralds he carried everyday as eyes.
I, myself, shivered by the mere mention of his name, and almost fainted when he said mine. Yes, that was the only time I came to like my name in some way or another.
The clinic was surprisingly empty that morning. I had chosen that time for that purpose, expecting to encounter one or two people, who would stab me to death with their veiled glances and the soft murmur to condemn myself and my practices. But there was no need at all. I was doing it myself by saying my name and age.
The doctor looked at me, a little surprised, but not with anger, but rather with pity. If I had just been some more cautious three months earlier…
Back then, I met the man of my life, the man of my death.
But his lips were too powerful for me to resist their charm. He was a contradiction. His words were like cotton candy, pleasuring, delightful, but his love was bourbon, a spirit that burnt its way down my innocent throat. A despicable practice, an addictive vice.
And how everything had come to happen after all? This was not meant to be.
For starters, meeting each other. Yes, we attended the same school, but that was about it. Little did I know a friend had a cousin, who himself had an acquaintance who knew him. And that we all happened to be at the same time at that large party that made the news for all the arrests, and the fire. So unlikely, yet so likeable.
In all the commotion, we happened to exit the building just at the right time to stumble with the other. He quickly helped me get back on my feet, and, without reasoning it any further, made sure I made it safe from the burning complex.
I did not know what did he see in me, I just felt there was something else, despite the many times he denied it, the thousand unanswered calls and messages.
But that night, everything was different. It was the bliss of a new love.
As we escaped the flames, another fire ignited. I grasped his hand: masculine, somehow hairy. He held mine: small, soft, defenseless. That was enough for him to notice and allow me to hitch a ride. But I did not want to go home. What purpose would it serve to be cannon fodder for a war of love long begone?
I, instead, asked him if I could spend the night at his place, pretexting alcoholic breath and an unsafe neighborhood. And he agreed, almost as if he could read the suggestive undertone my words carried.
His house was empty, fortunately. There was no need for clothes, nor any kind of protection. There were no problems anymore, no concern of any kind. We were just two twin souls, feeling reunited after so long, trying in vain to find a way to merge together once again.
That night was a beautiful one. The moonlight entered his room by the open windows, which allowed a chill breeze to enter. It was unlike any feeling I had experienced before. Perhaps I was happy, maybe fulfilled. All I know, is that I was in love.
But there was not time for reveries. The practitioner cleaned the spot and readied the needle. The light rained even brighter, as if Tyche had decided to strip me away from all my fortune.
It was very quick and very sharp. The precision of the needle didn’t feel human as it penetrated my skin. The doctor could’ve very well been a machine. I felt no pain whatsoever. Anguish was just too high, sorrow was enough to counter its effects.
I left that room, with the hope of getting the results that evening. But the physician didn’t sink them, by stating the unlucky schedule they had on Saturdays. I had to face two other days without sleeping to finally know.
Nietzsche once said that sex itself was a trap of nature to avoid its extinction. His reasoning began sounding increasingly wiser as the months had passed, as my notes declined, as my eye bags grew. Syphilis, after all, it’s merely a walk by the park opposed to my presumptive condition.
It is night again. New moon; no light in the sky. So different to that summer night sky. There could be very well no stars at all. As much as I love him, I hate his imprudence, the lack of caution that killed him two weeks ago. The same thing that could very well kill me in a couple of years.
When I am alone, I am extinguished. Besides all Sartrean connotations, it was soon to be true. I am not going to my house tonight. In fact, I do not want to go anywhere.
Why should life be so complicated? Why do we have to endure this terrible predicament? As we all live within the boundaries of what’s humanly possible, but, inside of them, we are gods, who can construct wonders, but ultimately decide to destroy the existing ones. How much more hatred am I going to have to face in this backwards country?
If I am condemned to love, and he does not want to love me proudly. As he hides, and awaits. As he only wants me for my body. Even if I am not sick at all, now I can see the true disease that decimates this world! I am not deaf anymore to those claims for the liberty that we forbid ourselves to have.
What is the point of it all?
And how can our problems not be better solved by a broken neck, by hanging from the ceiling and oscillating with perfection as our suffering fades away?

L'homme est une passion inutile!
(Sartre, 1943, p.564).
ImageImage

Image
User avatar
boiii
oh shit waddup
 
First name: Kamiel
Posts: 1278
Likes received: 211
Joined: 27th November, 2016, 10:48 am
Country: Belgium (be)

Team: The Far East

Re: CHALLENGE#4 Creative Writing!

Unread postby Dolly » 2nd August, 2017, 5:05 pm

Sorry, Boiii! You/he missed the deadline!
Image
User avatar
Dolly
hotty & country singer
 
Posts: 3117
Likes received: 531
Joined: 19th July, 2015, 11:50 pm
Location: Tennesee
Country: United States (us)

Team: The Wild West

PreviousNext

Recently active
Users browsing this forum: Majestic-12 [Bot], Yandex [Bot] and 27 guests