Okii,so i have been having a huge trouble with writing.I used to write a lot before,now i am in lack of energy to write for my comic.
I am looking for a writer that can help me this way with a comic. I want to be open minded and full of ideas.I only have one idea for the comic,but i need someone that can team up with me and help me crying
No need to bump in this forum, it can take up to a month before your topic falls off the page.
And I'm interpreting from this that you already have a story idea in mind and you're looking for a writer to just chat with and get advice on where to direct plot and such? Just asking to clarify xD
Darkness. It swallows me whole; surrounding me in a deafening silence. My limbs move with ease. I look around; nothing but darkness meets the eye. A glimmer of light oscillates in the distance; my never ending curiosity pulls me towards the seemingly harmless dot. As I get closer the light splits in two, it bobs and weaves like a hyperactive child. Within feet of this mysterious light, it ceases all movement. It was then I could hear it. A low moan trailed by a growl. Hissing spawns goose bumps upon my body, my hair stands on end, and my heart jumps against my chest. Fear soaks into every nerve as I realize what the light is. Eyes. A streak of light flashes between us. It lunges and I scream.
My scream echoes off the steel walls and inside my head. Sweat rolls down my forehead, chest, and spine. My breath is quick and shallow. Fear quickly dissipates as I get my bearings. My room. Safe. I take a deep breath and hold it for ten seconds then slowly release it. The bed creaks as I fight my way out of the blankets. Light from the full moon casts a shadow on the floor as I walk by, I don't bother to turn on the light in the bathroom when I walk in. Cold water freezes the fear and shatters it to bits. I hope it erases any trace of it on my face. If only it could erase those horrible memories. I look up into the mirror. A white scar stands out against my flushed skin. Hair partially blocks my sight; I need a haircut, but that could wait. I look like crap. The thought made me laugh and shake my head. Just as I was about to turn and head back to bed the alarms sounded.
An earsplitting roar erupted from us as we charged into battle. Bullets ripped into my armor and bounced off my helmet. Both Angels and Devils fell to the ground; blood pouring from various points on their bodies. I switched to my combat shotgun since our space was limited. Blood splattered on my helmet and neck. I quickly turned, shotgun raised, an Angel fell to the ground missing his head. Claire smirked behind him with her sawed off shotgun. "One!"
I returned her smile, the bout was on. She ran the opposite direction yelling numbers as each Angel fell from her fire.
In my idiotic distraction an Angel reached for my chest plate; I bashed the end of my gun into his head until he fell to the ground. I swung the gun around pressed it to his head then pulled the trigger. Even with all my experience I stumbled at the buck. I ran straight into the middle of the rampage taking shots at Angels and knocking Devils from the path of fire. A bayonet cut the strap to my leg plate, a bullet seared through my thigh. I fell to the ground gritting my teeth in pain; the hole throbbed with each beat of my heart. Devils circled around me; I quickly wrapped up the wound and prayed it didn't hit a vital vein.
"Grin and bear it Soul Seeker! We almost got them!" one of them yelled into my ear.
Another lent me a hand; the pain was almost comforting. It meant I was still alive. He patted my shoulder and moved his lips; before he could get a word out blood, hair, bone, and brain exploded onto my face; I never heard the shot. He slumped to the ground, lips still parted.
A low growl reverberated within my vocal cords. I launched myself at the Angel who killed my protector. My hand connected with his face; sending vibrations up my arm. Using the momentum from the punch; I placed my hand on the dirt to hold my balance while my leg raised then arched down, destroying his windpipe. He twisted on the ground clenching his throat straining for air.
Sandy, his housekeeper, busied herself in front of the stove. Bacon piled high on a plate caused his stomach to growl again. Osiris walked in just as Sandy turned with a plate full of scrambled eggs.
She let out a high screech, “Dear Lord! Don’t sneak up on an old woman like that Osiris! You’re bound to cause a heart attack!”
“Old? You just turned forty-eight.”
“Forty-eight is old enough young man,” she shoved him into a chair, “Now eat up! A growing boy needs his sustenance.”
“Yes Ma’am.” All kinds of breakfast food sat within reach. It reminded him of the old days of eating with his family. He picked a few slices of bacon, a spoonful of eggs and two waffles.
Sandy sniffed. “If I eat anymore I’ll get fat.” He laughed.
“A growing boy needs to eat a healthy diet.”
“I have grown enough Sandy. Besides,” grease dripped from the bacon he held between his finger and thumb, “This isn’t exactly healthy.”
She sniffed again as then sat across from him and left no empty space on her plate.
“Your weekend trip is coming up soon.” He sipped his coffee.
“Aye, that it is. You planin on staying out of trouble?” her suspicious look made him laugh.
“Yes Sandy. I will stay out of trouble as much as possible.”
“As much as possible? No, no, no! You must stay out of trouble!” egg fell off her fork as she shook it at him.
“Sandy-“
“Don’t talk back to me boy. I may not be your birth mother, but it won’t stop me from acting like it. You always come home broken and bruised. I don’t want to worry about you during my trip. I already lost one son. I don’t want to lose another.”
A jumpy old man sat in the corner, he threw a fit if anyone else sat there. From what the voices tell me, he is a war veteran plagued with memories of the war. Mary, a mother with Munchhausen Syndrome by proxy, sat between her brother and her probation officer. I think it was her daughter she abused for attention. Maybe her son. Poor Billy sat near the entrance with his social worker. He witnessed his father rape then murder his mother then he blew his head off. And then there was me. Susan Graham. Or so I've been told. I have no memories of my name or my life before I woke up in the hospital.
Every Tuesday is the same. I wake up and eat breakfast. I go to the doctor then eat lunch. After lunch I head to the therapist then go home. At dinner I order a pizza and eat in. That was my ritual for weeks. Two weeks? Or three? I can’t remember. I forget small things. Not that I care per say.
The bus ride home was uneventful. Usually I see a drunk or two. Not today. No one was in the entry way of the building. A businessman stepped off the elevator as I got on. The hallway was eerily quiet. This must be the week my neighbors are on vacation. Or they got arrested. The thought made me smile while I turned the key. I had just sat down and kicked off my shoes when my head began to tingle.
He’s coming.
“Who-wait…why am I talking to myself?”
He’s coming.
I decided to humor the voices “Does he have a name?” I must be going nuts.
Trust him. A male’s voice. How refreshing.
He’s here.
She was right. He knocked hard door seconds after her voice faded. I didn’t want to answer, but I did.
I have a secret. A secret I have told no one. A secret I will tell as the tale itself emerges. I have two journals. In one, I will write my life in this world. The other, will hold my adventures on the other world. That’s right, I said other world. I am not from this world. I do not belong in the other. I have no place to call my own. No heritage to claim. No path to follow. So, I will forge my own path. I will create my own heritage. I will make a home to call my own, whether in this world or the other. No one will stop me. Nothing will break me. I will succeed. –Page one of Alyssa (Aliciea) Baaschs ‘Journal.
The first journal was found lying next to her outstretched hand. Most of her blood had seeped out of her body through a hole in her chest. There was no murder weapon to be found. To our disbelief, the coroner said a sword or some other large blade had killed her. However, there was no sword to be found, neither on her property nor on any of the neighboring properties. Her death was a mystery. Discovery of her journals deepened the mystery.
Some theorize Alyssa suffered from Multiple Personality Disorder. Others say she was just crazy. A few however, took her words to heart. I, the Author, am one of those people. I knew Alyssa. We were friends, we grew up together. Alyssa was not the kind of person to make up stories or to tell lies. She was honest to a fault, a little naïve, and she was more stubborn than a brick wall. There was always an air of mystery about her. Her eyes, even when smiling, held secrets. I remember her disappearing off the face of the Earth for months at a time. No one knew where she went. No one had seen her, heard from her, some didn’t even notice she was gone. Her disappearances held no pattern. You would never know when she would leave. That is why I believe every word she wrote down is true.
Alyssa had no family in this world. Her Guardian’s passed away during her freshman year of high school. Strange enough, she listed me as her next of kin. I could not refuse. It was an honor really. The day after her funeral I started cleaning her house. She left it to me. However, I was not quite ready to move in. Her death shattered my heart. I couldn’t even plan her funeral. I thank my mom for helping me through it all.
She nods in understanding showing courage while feeling fear. Switching gears as if she had done this a thousand times Midori takes up a battle stance. Not knowing what to do she relies fully on her instincts. The shield drops. Hundred of Demons stream into her plane surrounding her. A few fledglings attack right off only to be knocked down. With swifts movements Midori dodges, punches, and kicks her way to survival. She soon tires. Elder Demons sway waiting for her to falter.
“Come now Midori!” Her mentor yells within his circle. “Call forth your weapon. It is a part of you! Constantly calling! Always reaching out! Listen to the voice under the voice!”
“How am I supposed to do that with all these Demons trying to kill me?” she jumps over the swing of an ogre-looking creature landing on the head what seems to be a were-wolf. She generates a shield spell to bounce a fireball into the masses burning a few.
“Listen to the unspoken words Midori.”
“I’m trying!” She yells back. She misjudges her timing and gets
"They say, when you hear the call of crow three times in a row, you die." she spoke in a low whisper.
"That's absurd Marylou." she pushed her glasses up.
"I'm telling you the truth Maryann!"
"Where's the proof Lou?"
"It's in the papers Marybeth! You believe me Maxine, don't you?
"Huh?" her chair clunked against the floor as she sat all four legs down.
"Geez Max pay attention." Marybeth giggled.
Marylou sighed then retold her story, keeping her voice at a whisper. “When the crow calls, Death comes for you.”
“I highly doubt that.” Maxine crossed her arms.
“Come one Max! You read the newspaper. She told me she heard the crow call three times in a row. The next day she died!”
“Cindy was suicidal. She refused counseling. It was bound to happen.” Maxine kept her voice low as well.
“Right after hearing the crow three times in a row?”
“Coincidence.” Maxine shrugged. “Where did you hear this anyways?”
“From Yuki.”
“The Japanese exchange student?”
“Yeah. He heard it from his friend back home. He said one of his classmates heard the crow three times and died the next day.”
“Why three?”
“What do you mean ‘why three’?” Marybeth interjected.
“Japanese associate the number four with death. Not three.”
“We don’t even associate three with death, that’s thirteen, I think.” Maryann added.
“Wicca has something to do with three, but I don’t think its death. So some anti-Wicca nut probably flipped it around to suit his rampage.” Maxine ran her hand through her red hair which ran loose down to her shoulders.
No need to bump in this forum, it can take up to a month before your topic falls off the page.
And I'm interpreting from this that you already have a story idea in mind and you're looking for a writer to just chat with and get advice on where to direct plot and such? Just asking to clarify xD
omg,sorry,i didn't know -feels so ashamed- v_v
Well,i am looking for a writer that would write the story :3,i can't do both things by myself,since i am really busy lately :3
I just wanted to say that your writing skill is amazing 4laugh
I wish i could write like that in english! I might think about it! But you have got an A+ from me vnv". Though,i will have to think about it since i will be gone,so,don't be afraid 8D i might pick you,your style really amazes me and inspires me to draw .Haha biggrin
I just wanted to say that your writing skill is amazing 4laugh
I wish i could write like that in english! I might think about it! But you have got an A+ from me vnv". Though,i will have to think about it since i will be gone,so,don't be afraid 8D i might pick you,your style really amazes me and inspires me to draw .Haha biggrin
Yay! I shall await your answer, whichever it may be.
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