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EdomKing
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27 Aug 2012, 11:42 am

Inside the House of Singing Floors,
Narrow halls and tiny doors,
A booming voice is heard to say,
"Come dance my brother, pay your way."
A heart is ignorance lost in bliss,
A brain so formed from the formless mist.
A chord is plucked,
A tune so scattered,
Ear drums broken.
And eyes are shattered.
The Singing Floors claim their own,
In dance, and nails, and rotten boards.



sunshower
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03 Sep 2012, 12:09 am

China people
Lost and found
Like scattered pieces
On the ground
Fallen off the world


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Into the dark...


BrandonSP
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03 Sep 2012, 9:19 am

First chapter of a historical fantasy featuring the ancient Egyptian and Persian civilizations:

Escape from Persia Chapter One

Tears cascaded down Pharaoh Sekhmethotep's dark brown cheeks, for she had lost the battle to save her kingdom.

She planned every one of her footsteps to avoid treading upon any of the bodies that carpeted the sandy plain. Human and horse corpses mingled with splintered weapons, shields, and chariots, dying the sand red with their blood. The stench of rotting flesh and spilled entrails misted over all the carrion. The evening winds howled and vultures squawked, but nothing else disturbed the calm after the storm.

At least it provided a welcome respite from the day's clamor. Every one of Sekhmethotep's muscles ached from all the running, twirling, and reflexes she had performed since sunrise. Countless Persian scimitars' blows had dented her bronze armor and countless slashes had painted her sword red. The griots back in Sekhmethotep's palace had sung of war as a glorious adventure, but in truth its monotonous violence could drain a fighter's spirit—especially if they ended up defeated.

The Persian camp's torches made a glowing island in the darkness that fell as the sun sank towards the western dunes. Inside Sekhmethotep burned hotter than any fire towards those ravenous pale barbarians who slaughtered her people. If she could not avenge Egypt and give the Persians the punishment they deserved with her own blade, surely fate itself would. The gods would never tolerate any disruption of life's balance for long…or so Sekhmethotep's parents had assured her when she was a little girl.

Then again, gods who unconditionally cared for Egypt and her people would never have let the Persians even consider invading her to begin with. Perhaps the Egyptians had somehow lost the gods' favor or incurred their wrath. Exactly what would have provoked them, the gods never explained, but Sekhmethotep surely had nothing to do with it. She always prayed, made the proper sacrifices, and ruled her kingdom with justice. She had even made the right decision to reject the Persian Shah Mehrdad's offer of satrapy; after all, that greedy son of a jackal had threatened to crush Sekhmethotep's armies if she did not surrender her kingdom's freedom.

And the Persians had done precisely that.

No options remained for Sekhmethotep now. She might as well give the Shah what he demanded.

A trumpet blared when she entered the camp. Robed Persian soldiers marched out of their tents to surround her. Lusty sneers crossed their pale brown faces as they examined her. One soldier swaggered to Sekhmethotep from behind and groped her derriere.

"I see what they say about Egyptian women is true," he said. "She wouldn't even need a cushion with a rump like that!" The other soldiers roared with laughter.

Sekhmethotep slashed for his throat with her sword, but her blade merely whistled through the air as he ducked. Another soldier grabbed her sword-arm while a third wrenched the weapon from her hand.

"Ooh, so you're still fiery even when you've lost!" the first soldier said.

Sekhmethotep lunged at him, teeth bared and ready to bite, but his comrades wrapped their arms around her and pulled her away.

Another trumpet blared. The soldiers parted to make way for servants hoisting a throne of two gold bulls. Mehrdad, the Persian Shah, lounged on this throne and grinned down at Sekhmethotep with his nose raised high.

"I apologize for my men's lewdness towards you, Sekhmethotep of Egypt," the Shah said. "Though I must say that it does put you in your place…"

"And what place would that be?" Sekhmethotep said. "I am Pharaoh, Daughter of the Sun, and Mistress of the Black Country!"

The Shah cackled. "I see your delusions of divinity still afflict you, 'Daughter of the Sun'. Surely you saw Persia smite your troops as a tiger smites a monkey. You know, all that could have been avoided were it not for your arrogance!"

"My arrogance? You think me arrogant for not selling my people to your greed?"

"For the final time, I did not offer enslavement! I offered satrapy, a condition which actually would have changed your position very little. Indeed, I would offer it again now but for your stubbornness!"

"Oh, so what terrible torture do you plan to inflict me on instead?"

The Shah stroked his beard and grinned again. "I have a son, the Prince of Susa, with a particular affinity for 'exotic' ladies like you. Nothing could break even the strongest woman like being forced to lie with a man…" He cackled again.

Sekhmethotep spat in the Shah's direction. "I'd sooner slit my own throat and bleed to death than lie with any pale jackal!"

"Then suit yourself. Give her the sword back."

The soldier who earlier disarmed Sekhmethotep lent her weapon back. She gulped as she gazed down at her reflection on the blade. She could go only to the abode of the dead now. No hope of escape, no hope of freeing her people from Persian clutches, remained. Not even the gods could save her now.

But then, the gods worked in mysterious ways, ways which she would never see if she killed herself. She could not betray them by killing herself.

Sekhmethotep inched the corners of her mouth upward into a very slight smile. She tossed the sword onto the sand and hung her head low.

"Your son shall have me, Shah of Persia," she said.

"Then congratulations on finally seeing reason's light," the Shah replied. "Gentlemen, the Pharaoh of Egypt has surrendered her throne! Praise be to Ahura Mazda!"

Sekhmethotep gently shook her head. "No, Praise be to Amun," she whispered under her breath.

#

The weeks across the desert between Egypt and Persia blended into each other for Sekhmethotep, whom Shah Mehrdad had cooped up inside a wagon during the whole journey. Few things could insult a Daughter of the Sun more than such prolonged captivity, but perhaps the one that came closest was the day they finally arrived in the satrapy of Susa. The fresh air that greeted Sekhmethotep upon exiting the wagon then provided only temporary relief at best.

Now the Shah dragged her behind him on a lease, as if she were a pet, as he strutted down his son's audience hall. A rope bound her hands together. An entourage of spearmen in sunny yellow robes marched behind. In the shadows of the hall's columns, courtiers gazed at Sekhmethotep with either incredulity or the same sneers that the soldiers showed her on the night she surrendered. As if all this attention didn't discomfort her enough, for some reason the Persians never gave her any proper clothing whatsoever. Only gold bangles adorned her limbs. Her hair, which she had shaved short back in Egypt, had grown into a copious ball.

Thankfully her indignation kept her warm despite the audience hall's cool air.

At the hall's end the young Prince Gaspar leaned forward from his throne to gawk at Sekhmethotep like a boy receiving a shiny new present. "I don't believe it! Is that the proud Pharaoh of Egypt herself?" he asked. "Come to visit my place?"

"Your eyes don't deceive, my son," the Shah said. "Our little safari went more easily than expected, really. The Egyptians may sound fierce, but we practically rolled those shrieking savages over—except this one. I figured you'd appreciate her as a swarthier addition to your harem."

Gaspar swaggered down to inspect Sekhmethotep more closely, licking his lips. "Polished mahogany complexion, luscious lips, slender curves—but boy, does she have an ample ass!" He patted Sekhmethotep's rump.

The courtiers exploded into guffaws.

Sekhmethotep thrust her head to bite him, but the Shah yanked her back on his leash. "Why must you Persian jackals always comment on my ass?" she asked.

Gaspar's face flushed red and a glower replaced his grin. "You will show the proper respect for a Prince of Persia, woman!"

"Oh, believe me, I've shown you all the respect you deserve, Persian—no, more than enough. I swear, someday my gods shall crush your kingdom of pillagers into the dust!"

Gaspar's smirk returned. "As they crushed my father's armies, no doubt. Take her to the seraglio, guards! She needs some rest anyway."

One of the guards banged his spear's rounded butt against Sekhmethotep's forehead. As she collapsed onto the floor tiles, the world turned black.

#

When Sekhmethotep's eyelids drifted back open, the faces of naked young women hovered over her. Their skin colors ranged from caramel to snowy, but no darker browns like Sekhmethotep's own. Ginger or golden hair cascaded from the whiter girls' heads, though blacks and browns predominated among the rest. Whatever their color, all these ladies' hair had a straight texture unlike Sekhmethotep's. A couple of the dark-haired women had the slender eyes and rounded faces typical of far easterly races.

The women stroked Sekhmethotep's body and then studying their own hands, perhaps expecting some brown paint to rub off. A couple of girls plowed their fingers through her hair. Sekhmethotep jerked her torso upward and away from them.

"Don't touch my hair!" she said.

The ladies snickered. "Awfully sensitive about your ball of wool, aren't you?" one of them asked.

"I heard Egyptian women don't even like their own hair most of the time," another said. "They always shave it off and wear wigs instead."

Sekhmethotep growled. "That's for protection against lice, you fool!"

"Wow, look at her butt," a third woman said. "No wonder Gaspar seemed so excited about his new toy!"

The snickering blossomed into full-blown laughter exactly like that of the courtiers back in Gaspar's audience hall. With a snarl, Sekhmethotep drew her hand high above her head.

"Stop it or I'll whack you b*****s senseless!" she said.

"Ooh, looks like you have a bad attitude!" another one of the girls replied. "Typical Egyptian."

Sekhmethotep roared and swiped towards her tormentor. She missed as the other woman recoiled. Sekhmethotep prepared for another slap but a third lady's hand grabbed her by the wrist.

This woman, a Persian by her physical features, stood out from the crowd by her violet robe and gold tiara. "That's enough misbehavior from the lot of you," she said. "Girls, leave the newcomer alone. Give her time to adjust to her new home."

Once the Persian let go, Sekhmethotep slipped off the wooden bed she lay upon. The torch-lit bedchamber that surrounded her must have belonged to the Prince's private seraglio, or else the rest of his harem wouldn't have come over to visit.

"I'm dearly sorry for the rude greeting you've received," the Persian woman said. "Almost none of these girls have ever seen an Egyptian woman before."

"I could tell," Sekhmethotep muttered.

"Let's try a more proper introduction: I am Shabnan, Prince Gaspar's Head Consort and mistress of this harem. I recall you are Sekhmethotep?"

"Pharaoh Sekhmethotep, Daughter of the Sun and Mistress of the Black Country."

Shabnan chuckled. "Still think yourself a goddess in the flesh, don't you? Well, forgive me for reminding you, O Pharaoh, but you lost your title a long time ago. Now you are a concubine, a servant and entertainer for the Prince. Know your place right now or else…"

"Or else what? What could you do to me that would put me in my place?'"

Shabnan clapped her hands. Instantly a troop of shirtless, muscular Persian men stormed into the room and dug their cold spears into Sekhmethotep's neck, driving her against the wall.

"Meet our eunuch guards," Shabnan said. "You may have fought for your country once, but now that you've no weapons of your own, you have no hope of getting past these gentlemen."

Sekhmethotep gulped. Not even she could tackle several big men with spears with only her naked body. Getting herself killed even fighting for her own freedom would do her people back in Egypt no good at all. "All right, you have me beaten…again."

Shabnan smiled and told the eunuchs to leave. "Good. We'll let you rest for the night, but expect Prince Gaspar to come here any moment soon. Without a doubt he'll be excited to try out his newest plaything."

Sekhmethotep grimaced and stuck her tongue out. "And I'm supposed to simply let him have his way with me?"

Shabnan nodded. "I thought you agreed not to resist anymore. Don't worry, you'll learn to love him in no time."

Sekhmethotep snorted. "Sure I will."

Shabnan ordered the other harem women to follow her out of Sekhmethotep's bedchamber. As they marched through the doorway, several of the girls pouted at her. Perhaps they seethed with jealousy that Gaspar would pay her special attention tonight. In turn Sekhmethotep envied them, for at least they would sleep unmolested tonight.

She fell back-first onto her bed and broke down into sobbing. Imagining Gaspar naked and thrusting himself into her continued to churned her insides. Sekhmethotep would sooner take her chances with the eunuchs, or perhaps even perish in the abyss of hell, than endure such torture from that warthog.

Speaking of hell…maybe she could make a deal with demons, or rather the warthog. Surely Gaspar had other uses for a fighting woman like her than a mere sex object. Yes, the very man who imprisoned Sekhmethotep could have the key to her freedom. All she needed to do was wait.

#
When at last sandals started clipping against the seraglio's floor outside Sekhmethotep's bedchamber, she scrambled into a sitting position on her bed and feigned a smile. Sure enough, Gaspar poked his head through the doorway to gaze at her, only to furrow his brows in confusion.

"Considering how upset you acted earlier, you seem awfully glad to see me now," he said. "What are you up to?"

"Well, while waiting here for you, it occurred to me that you may not realize my full potential to benefit you," Sekhmethotep said. "Right now you regard me as a mere toy for your lust, but I can do so much more than that."

"Like what?"

"As your father knows, I am also a warrior. I've trained in the martial arts since childhood. Surely a Prince of Persia could have use for my skills?"

Gaspar rubbed his chin. "Well, now that you mention it, Persia does have enemies that need disposing. Yes, an assassin or mercenary would aid us immensely…but first I must see these 'warrior skills' of yours for myself."

"Oh, maybe I could demonstrate them tomorrow? It'll help me practice anyway."

Gaspar shrugged. "Sure, why not? I'll arrange a demonstration for you on the courtyard tomorrow, probably pitting you against my best fighters. In the meantime, you need as much rest as you can."

A smile stretched across Sekhmethotep's face. "Wait, you mean you don't want to do, um, whatever you came here to do?"

Gaspar chuckled. "Honestly, it isn't as much fun when the woman obviously doesn't enjoy me, anyway. We have a deal."

When he walked away from the bedchamber, Sekhmethotep moaned with pleasure as she lay back down on the bed. All she had to do was impress the Prince and then she would win her freedom…and perhaps her country's freedom too. For once since the time she surrendered, the gods had favored her.


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puddingmouse
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13 Sep 2012, 6:07 pm

Inner Blue

Hasten shortening days and upturned leaves,
then make my anger stiff and russet, too
and fall away as withering forms do.
All life that thinks of self then surely grieves;
so silence thought, or make those thoughts so few
as stars in city skies amid deep blue.

Amid deep blue above garish signage
and fumes, privileged place: this calm, sad space.
A turmoil waits throughout your dumb homage
to resignation. Dying during life
is never done with godly sleights of grace.
Even godmen get angst. It's vital to
confront your storms, to chase and hunt your strife.
Then you can die and find your inner blue.


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TeaEarlGreyHot
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20 Sep 2012, 7:44 pm

Words unspoken
Burn the tongue
As the world liquefies
And the walls turn against you


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awes
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25 Sep 2012, 11:15 am

Grey is decay, darkness is oblivion!
You are the sun itself, your inner light illuminates my world wherever we are.
Everybody who stands between us is only a shadow in my eyes, a desaturated projection of life, dead materia, the fluid of gloom formed in a cookie cutter yet without them how could I ever see you?
Because like the universe I never know where you begin, where you end, in your endless colours, in your endless diversity there must be the paralyzing normality of the countless to see the difference between the par and the variance.
But now that I've known it... please devour the darkness with your throat of light!
You are everything. I am me. You are everything and me. We are everything and me. I am seperated from the cone of spacetime in the fourth dimension, bound to it in the fifth, unified in the seventh...
Heaven.


Please excuse my broken English.
If somebody wants to correct it I would be happy too.


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equestriatola
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27 Sep 2012, 1:00 am

It is not often that I do get around to writing things, but here is a rare example of such. Warning, this is rather dark, and I am not trying to be emo here; this is all a creative effort on my part. With that said........
---
DISCLAIMER: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

NOTE: The song here is “Hoshi no Ichibyou”, by EUROX, used in the 1984 mecha anime Panzer World Galient. To hear it, go to www.youtube.com/watch?v=hAicilcn_MQ
----
To tell the truth
I am never that strong
Though I'm not what I appear to be
Don't get me wrong, never that strong


Hello, my name is Andrea Thompson, from Los Angeles. A few years ago, I met this man named Johnny Garfield from Seattle, and he really swept me off my feet. I mean, the guy said he was snakebitten in life, what with people comparing him to Casey Anthony, Jerry Sandusky, guys like that. I told him I would NEVER compare him to such people and that I would love him always and forever. Or so it seemed. A week and a half ago, my love lost his life in a motorcycle accident…… I was just stunned and devastated over the news. And now here I am, at a helipad in Los Angeles, with a box containing my true love’s ashes…… I just need to hold back my tears.

Talking to the daisies
One day at a time
I fall into a doze
Full of tears in my eyes


Los Angeles was always Johnny’s home…….. Even though he lived in the Pacific Northwest all his life, he always struck me as the L.A. type. He was always so upbeat, full of life; this was one reason I loved him in spite of his slight mental handicap. Every day, he would tell jokes, and by gosh, I would laugh at almost each one of them. He was also like a walking, talking encyclopedia; I had never known a man who knew so much about a lot of things: Anime, sports, comedy, TV shows, some movies…… he really impressed me.

But I know I know for sure
It's no use crying all day long
So I dream a happy dream
And dry all the tears that I shed


That day I got the news that Johnny had died was around 8pm two weeks ago. A friend told me “I am sorry to report your fiance Johnny was killed in a motorcycle accident…… he was so full of life.” When I heard this, I sobbed uncontrollably until my friend came to my home and hugged me. It was the worst day of my life….. And now I had to accept that he was gone, but the process was tough.

I never cared where I really belonged
And what I could for my land
But now I see that I am completely grown
I'll forever be where stand
'Cause I am a man, Who adores this land


As the helicopter began to run, it was time to say goodbye. It would be a 12-some mile long flight from the helipad in central Los Angeles to the Santa Monica beach…… which is where my Johnny’s ashes would be scattered. During that time, I thought about the good times we shared in our several years together, and how I helped him become a better person…… I shed a few tears thinking about it, wondering what would have been with him had he and I got married. I also held his Scootaloo plush, but I would not ditch that at sea; I would hold it to remind me of him, and how much he LOVED My Little Pony, especially his fave pony, Scootaloo.

If I were to sacrifice my life to God
I would tell Him that I'm really glad
'Cause I know I know for sure
He and I have got the same design
So I'll always be a happy dreamer
No matter what it costs


And then, once the helicopter made it to the Santa Monica Bay, it was time for me to lay his ashes over the Pacific Ocean. “Goodbye, Johnny…… rest in peace, and the world of sports, comedy will never be the same to you. I hope to see you again when my journey is over………. Bang.” That last word was uttered by Spike Spiegel in Cowboy Bebop, and I thought it would be fitting to remember him that way. Farewell, Johnny….. I will always love you, and Los Angeles will never be the same without you.

THE END


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Albirea
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04 Oct 2012, 7:10 pm

(Yay, I posted another random thing based on my RP character!)

Every morning, Altaira heals her teammates.

Every morning after that, she goes off to work in her lab.

The work is fascinating, but tedious. It was always “do a bit of work, wait an hour for results, write down the results, do more work”. The rhythm of the lab sends her into a trance sometimes. Work. Wait. Analyze. Work. Wait. Analyze. Mess up. Start over. Work. Wait. Analyze. Work. Wait. Maybe doodle a little. Analyze.

At the end of the day, usually something gets done, be it big or small. The nutrient plates are ready to be inoculated. The results of the growth curve have been recorded. The DNA has been purified to her liking.

And at the end of the day, she puts the plates of bacteria into the incubator, turns off the lights, and leaves for home.

She heals her teammates again. Most of them have been injured in some way while in training. A broken nose, a torn muscle, a scrape or cut here and there. She is exhausted.

Finally, she enters her house. Ember runs at her and tries to jump into her lap. An enthusiastic greeting, it really is, for a little gryphon of his size. She feeds him the freshly caught mice and sits down alone with a cup of coffee. She sighs. She thinks about work. She thinks about life.

It was a satisfactory life. Her coworkers and she got along well, and Ember provided a good ear when she needed someone to hear her musings. Her teammates were there to defend against the occasional little skirmish. But still she was not satisfied. There was something missing in her life… Someone, she should say. Someone important.

She sighed. It was time to get back to work.


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TheDarkMage
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05 Oct 2012, 11:19 am

I have no idea how to write poetry but i came up with this:

Neighbours

Can you see? Can you see from behind your curtain?
Gathering tales to tell for certain.
You spin your lies from what you’ve seen,
Make up things about what you’ve been.

A street of hate is this our fate,
To be mocked and shocked from morn till late?
Cursed by them dumb, morally slack
Waiting in line to stab our back

Nothing did we do but claim our right.
No one we hurt in line of sight.
A condition that sets us different from them,
Seems to make us nothing but phlegm.

Nice we are, moral and all,
Educated, good parents, proud and tall.
Government, media all to blame
Brain-washing those to play this game.

Do we not deserve life for lack of work
Jobs we never chose to shirk?
You curse us for having no career
Yet we know the truth you hide in fear

You provide no help no support,
Who are you to make us sport?
Leave us be in our life of peace
Take your lies, make them cease.


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rablanken
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08 Oct 2012, 1:34 am

1.
Lips are dry;
Always anxiously repetitive in the the licking of them.
Eyes are drooping;
Time spent
Wasted on other things,
Necessary things.
Back creaking;
Countenance twitching;
Ready to rest,
Finally.

2.
A white space in my mind,
So many things there,
Dancing.
Smiling;
Wish I could stay.

3.
Stay a while and listen.
Now get lost.
Get lost in something,
And find yourself.

4.
Feeling like
Blue.
Wishing I was
Green,
Green again.



Albirea
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09 Oct 2012, 9:42 pm

---Altaira---

She could feel herself withering away.

She was thirty-four. Ever since she was a teenager, she’d been absorbed not in men, but in reading and research. She was in love, but with science.

The first few years were exhilarating. She had just graduated from college. Every day in the lab, she felt at home. She delighted in the warmth of the water bath, in which she would put beakers of freshly inoculated bacteria in their growth medium. She came to love the unique smell of the incubator. It was putrid at first, but it quickly grew on her. Whenever she completed an experiment, she was filled with elation at her success. At that point, there was no greater joy.

She was thirty-four. The novelty was bound to wear off sooner or later.

How foolish she had been. Instead of getting her life into order, she had chosen to stagnate on what she thought she had loved the most. Science, as rewarding as it was, couldn't give her complete happiness. No one knew her outside her little circle of friends, and the occasional journal publication.

And now, after mindlessly delving into her research, she was thirty-four.

She has achieved much scientifically. The many years of work had paid off. But it was beginning to dawn on her that something in her life is amiss.

She discovered how to love. But at her age, most of the men she loved were either married or in a serious relationship. She tried dating events, but to no avail - she came off as too intimidating and professional. She went to the local tavern at one point, but was too disgusted with the men there that she left and never returned. After years of searching, she was still lost and alone. And every night, she would silently cry herself to sleep, longing for a pair of embracing arms and the warmth of a loved one beside her. Her soul was weary and neglected, as if she had been running a never-ending marathon her whole life.

She was thirty-four. Time was running out, and she knew it.


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BrandonSP
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24 Oct 2012, 12:13 am

Deleted scene from a short story:

Quote:
The thunder of talking drums echoed off colossal trees. It drowned out the rainforest's regular chorus of bird squawks, frog croaks, and monkey hoots. Although perspiration beaded her black-brown skin, Mukondi’s insides chilled like mountaintop snow. The boomings’ familiar rhythm cried out her name, but at a much more frenzied pace than usual. Only during wartime would the drums roar so furiously. Whatever Mukondi’s people meant to tell her, they must have needed her more than ever before.

Mukondi clenched tighter onto her bow’s grip and resumed stealing through the tropical undergrowth. She planned every tiptoe to avoid snapping the twigs and vines that lay all over the spongy earth. Leather bands bound a machete to her right hip and covered her forearms and lower legs. Reptile-hide strips protected her breasts and loins from thorns in the foliage while bronze hoops guarded her neck. Mukondi’s necklaces of fangs and claws displayed her greatest hunting victories.

Perhaps she could embellish them yet again the moment she conquered the coming adventure. Of course, that assumed she even survived it.

Mukondi did not need to guess whence the drums had sounded. Like her ancestresses before her, she claimed this area of the jungle as her traditional hunting ground. Thus she recognized each of its trees, plants, and rocks the way villagers knew their houses’ insides. Indeed, years of hunting and exploring had drawn a whole map of the territory in Mukondi’s mind. The moment she passed one familiar landmark, she knew what came next.

The drumbeats accelerated in pace and raised its loudness. The forest thickened with vines, branches, and smaller trees. Nonetheless Mukondi weaved her lean body in between them without pause. The jungle always grew densest near its edges, and sure enough it opened up into a glade where banana, yam, and cassava plants grew in stands. These crop fields in turn gave way to a cluster of wooden stilt houses, the village of Buala Ngulu. Sentries in kente loincloths made the drums speak outside these houses. When Mukondi entered the village, one sentry blared his ivory horn to announce her arrival. The drums silenced.

The stilt houses encircled a dirt clearing where the villagers gathered, parting to make way for Mukondi. In the crowd’s center stood Headman Mfumu, whose kente toga and ebony staff showed his status. Mukondi knelt on one knee before him.

“The drums almost spoke of war,” she said.

“Not quite,” Mfumu said. “At least not a war against people. Nkosi has struck for the third time this moon.”

The mere naming of Nkosi, the great bone-cruncher, made Mukondi’s heart throb like the drums. “Where did he strike now?”

“Buala Imbua, our closest neighbors to the north. At least seven dead and many more wounded. He’s leveled half of the houses too. They say he grows bolder with time.”

“That can’t be. Surely more than one Nkosi must be behind these attacks!”

Mfumu shrugged. “I can’t believe that three different Mankosi would attack three villages close to each other within one moon. I say we have one on the rampage, and he could strike us next!” He raised his staff and shook it in the air.

The crowd gasped.

Crossing her arms together, Mukondi shook her head. “Mankosi do not wage war like humans do. They might drive people off their hunting lands, but rarely would any go so far as to besiege three villages in a row.”

“Maybe this Nkosi is a man-eater by habit. Surely you know those exist?”

“Yes, but you speak as if he acts out of malice. Not even a man-eater would dare wreak that much havoc.”

Mfumu paused to scratch his chin. A frown spread across his face as his eyes widened. “Then it must be sorcery!”

Mukondi snorted. “Not even the strongest sorcerer could hex mighty Nkosi like that. I’m sure there’s an explanation for this somewhere, but we can’t simply guess it from far away. I shall investigate.”

Mfumu nodded. “Exactly what I wanted to ask you. For a moment I feared you would refuse such an uncommon challenge.”

“Me? Refuse a challenge?” Mukondi tossed her dreadlocks back and chuckled. “They don’t call me Lady of the Jungle for nothing. I will say though that I won’t necessarily kill Nkosi. If I can resolve his problem without death, so much the better.”

“Whatever you do, have it done when you return. Bring me one tooth from Nkosi’s jaws as proof of your deed. May Nzambikonda watch over you, huntress.”

Mukondi knelt again. “I shall pray to him every night.”

The villagers cheered and hooted her name. Mukondi smiled and waved her bow above her head, but secretly her flesh continued to chill under her skin.


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puddingmouse
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30 Oct 2012, 9:10 pm

Sandy (Fibonacci poem)

curves
crash
against
body as
it lies in ocean
stripped by her spiral dance that drags

Earth’s breath between locks that whip up
howls and high-rise tides
scatter what
covers
prone
land



Albirea
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01 Nov 2012, 11:26 pm

(Meh, not sure what this is. It's TF2-related, though.)

It had turned dark, and the soft, steady pitter-patter of rain could be heard from inside the house. Ember was curled up on the floor upstairs, silently asleep. It was chilly, but his many layers of feathers protected the huge gryphon against the cold, and he slept soundly, waiting for Altaira to get home from work.

Suddenly, there was a pounding on the front door. Ember woke with a start and flicked his ears toward the source of the sudden sound. The pounding grew louder and louder, but suddenly it stopped. He could hear voices outside the door, and he listened. Although he could not physically speak, he was intelligent and had learned the language of the humans from all the years he had spent with Altaira. He stood up, shook himself briefly, and slowly inched downstairs, ready for any sign of danger.

“Dammit boys!” A frustrated voice shouted from outside. “The door’s locked! We’re gonna have to break down this poor bastard!”
“Well no s**t, Sherlock!” Another younger voice intruded. “Uh, heh, I mean… yes sir! Hey Tav, we need a freakin’ hand here!”

There was a burp, and some footsteps approached the door. There were a few loud pops, and the sound of things hitting the door. It was unmistakable. Sticky bombs.

“Stand back, lads!” The Demoman’s slurred, incoherent voice shouted. Ember braced himself, and stood back, snarling. How dare they? When Altaira was still gone, no less. There was a loud explosion, and the house shook as the door was destroyed. They will pay. They will pay with their own blood. Anger boiled in Ember’s heart as the various members of BLU team ran inside, trampling over Altaira’s belongings.

Ember’s eyes turned a murderous shade of red, and he flexed his claws. He craved their blood, and he would get it soon enough.


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Muzey
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02 Nov 2012, 11:31 pm

I have been writing alot as of late.. I found that I like blogging and writing fiction..

Here are some links... :)

My Aspie Blog

But what I really want criteak is here...

My Figment Page

I have a story I am currently writing.. fantasy based and kind of dark. I have some poetry as well.

Sorry for links instead of content.. Have typed a bit and didnt want to get into it.


Enjoy!



equestriatola
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04 Nov 2012, 2:29 am

The following is a short story, from the POV of a random woman who is the only one that loves me. Her name is what you make it.......
----
I hold you in my arms, knowing that in the time that you have lived, you say that your are cursed because your Aspie's. When you tell me this, you start to cry. You then tell me you are snakebitten because of it; having Asperger's is a social death sentence. I reassure you. "Johnny....... we are all not perfect. Nobody deserves to be prejudged because of what you have; it's why our society has gotten worse and worse over the years....... too many mean people out there." I stroke your long raven locks, your chocolate brown eyes are all watery and with tears dripping down your face; all because of what society has done to you, look down on you and put you on the same level as a child molester or a baby killer. "I love you....... no matter what, and for all eternity." And then I sing something to you, that you are not alone.


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Feel free to talk to me, if you wish. :)

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