|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Tue Feb 01, 2011 9:57 pm
will make this into a pretty table of contents some day LMAO CRIES...
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Apr 01, 2011 4:53 am
Advocatus Diaboli || Meta Solo
Today, had by all means, been a terribly slow day. As per usual, the store was empty with the exception of a rather irritable Mr. West and himself, bored to tears as he was forced to read some terrible romantic dribble drabble about forbidden love (he did not dare get up to fetch another book in fear of running into Mr. West and getting into yet another fight) and give Mr. West menial tasks to keep the young man occupied and as far as possible from himself.
It was at exactly 5pm on the dot when Mr. Darling led his employee out the front door, and with a forced and awkward smile bid him good evening and slammed the door shut. And it was at approximately 5:15pm that he made his way out the back door to the little plot of land he could hardly call a yard. He would water his plants before the sun would sink below the horizon, and return inside by 5:30 to prepare supper. It was a dull, but stable routine, and suited Mr. Darling just fine.
However, today had an unexpected variable, which would prove to unravel the life that Mr. Darling had fought ever so hard to keep in tact.
It began when the bird appeared.
Mr. Darling had been keenly aware of its presence since he had knelt down to tend to the weeds. It made no sound, save for its talons that scratched against the wooden fence as it hopped and swayed from side-to-side to seemingly better its view of Mr. Darling.
Scritch. Scritch. Scratch. Scratch.
Mr. Darling found it ironic really; that of all birds it was a crow that eyed him. Perhaps if Mr. Darling were a more superstitious man, he would think that this was a bad omen. Maybe even, that it was the devil itself staring a hole into his back, and that he was being judged in his garden of wolfs bane.
He almost laughed at his naiveté.
It takes a dirty creature to know its own kind.
It was as he rose to his feet to return back inside, that Mr. Darling now turned to face the ill omen plaguing his garden fence. He wondered if maybe his eyes were beginning to fail him, almost swearing that the crows black plumage seeped into the fence it perched itself upon.
“Shoo.” He lazily gestured his hand towards the bird, which replied with a hollow and ear-piercing call. The parchment it had carried ‘til then, fell elegantly to the garden floor and the crow called again, as if beckoning – no, bewitching Mr. Darling to come closer.
And so he did.
As if possessed, and without much thought or reason, Mr. Darling crept closer towards the crow and gingerly picked up the parchment it had dropped. His eyes glanced back towards the crow, which merely tilted its head to better gaze upon Mr. Darling, who forced himself to smile.
“Are you a messenger from the underworld?” Mr. Darling asked as he unraveled the parchment in his hands, forcing a strained laugh. “You should have no business here—“
“Grimm.”
As if badly scolded, the startled Mr. Darling dropped the parchment to the floor, falling backwards as he let out a strange and choked sound of fright.
“Basil Darling...”
“No…” Mr. Darling yelled out as he clasped his hands over his ears, and shut his eyes so tightly it hurt. “No!” The death had come for him. It would drag him away, down to the depths of the underworld and swallow him whole.
“The scent of blood lingers upon you as thick and pungently as the miasma of taint clinging to your flesh. It is plain for us to see, Mr. Darling…” The voice spoke over his own, clear as day despite the pounding of his heart beat in his ears.
“Miserere…” Mr. Darling began to pray. His hands began to shake and he choked back a sob - a cry of fear for his life. “Miserere. Miserere. Mis-Miserere…” He chanted again and again, his voice beginning to break as his entire body began to tremor with fear.
“…And we do not blame you,” The voice adds.
Mr. Darling’s chanting came to a sudden halt, and slowly he opened his eyes, scanning the parchment that lied before him.
“They were useless, weren't they? Just a burden to the world. A Remnant.”
Mr. Darling blinked, his once labored breathing steadied as the voice became almost soothing, reassuring him that he had never sinned. He was doing the right thing, he always was.
“But you, Basil Darling, are surely a Truth. You and your icicle would fit at home perfectly within our walls, safe, protected and well cared for. Of course, you could always just stay out there with the filth of the world but our hands will be here to guide and praise you while theirs will only condemn and torture.”
The parchment melts, vanishing before his eyes as though it never existed, leaving behind a black ribbon in the center of the garden.
He wastes no time in picking himself up, and without looking back retreats through the back door, shutting it quickly and gently behind him. His knees are still shaking, and he fears he may collapse, so Mr. Darling leans his back against the door for support until he kind find the strength to walk again. He can hear the hollow and piercing call of the crow in the garden, followed quickly by another call, and another soon after.
Scritch. Scritch. Scratch. Scratch.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Apr 01, 2011 2:58 pm
Apage Satanas || Meta Solo
“Please young Basil, do not feed the crows you’ll only attract more.”
A young, slightly pudgy and fair young lad turned to look over his shoulder to the elderly man sipping tea from the porch.
“Is that a bad thing Mr. Botelle?”
“Of course it is!” Mr. Botelle waved a hand in the air. “A flock of crows is rumored to bring ill health! In fact dear boy…” Mr. Bottelle leaned forward across the table and gestured the naïve young lad closer, “They say a flock of crows are souls of the damned that come and take you back to the underworld!”
The young boy did not hesitate to scoff at his elder as he stood and adjusted the large and round frame of his eyeglasses, “I do not believe in superstitions Mr. Botelle.”
---
Whish!
“They’ve finally come,” Mr. Darling says to himself as he hastily draws the last of the curtains shut.
It was not until Mr. Darling spent approximately half an hour hyperventilating in the corner of his bookstore that he came to the marvelous conclusion to barricade himself in the upstairs apartment. And so it is here we find Mr. Darling, shrouding himself in darkness (save for the dim light produced by a single candle that stood beside his bed) and clumsily seeking out his valuables to pack.
Mr. Darling knew better—only fools try to outrun death. But Mr. Darling was certain, and clung to a single thread of hope, that someone in the heavens would smile kindly upon him and spare him from such an ill fate.
Clack. Clack.
Scritch. Scratch.
Their claws scratched the wooden windowsill, and their beaks harshly pecked at the glass. Their calls became more shrill, sounding less like the call of a crow and more like the screams of the injured and dying—pleading for help and a savior.
Pleading to be let in.
---
It only takes him fifteen minutes to pack; if you could even call it that.
Mr. Darling merely grabbed random pieces of cloth from the ground, unknown even to him if he had actually grabbed clothing, along with random books he tripped over in his haste. Though, what Mr. Darling did take care to pack was a precious wooden box containing that and his old, worn-out diary.
These two objects were the most important.
With his belongings in tow, Mr. Darling scrambled through the darkness (by now he had grown accustomed to running around in the dark) and grasped the doorknob with sweaty and shaky fingers. He hesitated, taking in a deep breath as it crossed his mind that he may not be able to outrun the demons that wait outside.
Clack! Clack! Clack!
The violent and urgent pecking on the glass helped Mr. Darling make up his mind. And so with a deep breath he closed his eyes, gripped the doorknob as if his life depended on it, and swung the door open—
…
Silence.
There was not a single sound. Not the sound of a crows ugly call, their beaks colliding with the windows, or the haunting sound of their talons scraping against wood.
It was just…silent and eerily calm.
Mr. Darling let out a long and slow exhale as he opened his eyes, looking down the dark and dreary staircase that was his exit out.
What had happened?
Were they gone?
And as these thoughts ran through Mr. Darling’s warped and fragile mind, he swore he saw movement in the sea of black, waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.
And suddenly the darkness shot upwards and engulfed Mr. Darling.
Mr. Darling had no time to yell or cry as a swarm of feathers, talons, and beaks rolled into Mr. Darlings home like that of a wave at the beach. And just as quickly as Mr. Darling closed his eyes and bit his cheek, they were gone.
At approximately 7pm that evening Mr. Darling abandoned the idea of leaving and instead locked himself up in his bedroom.
And while Mr. Darling could no longer hear the crows at his window, Mr. Darling was quite certain he felt dozens of eyes upon him that night.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Apr 01, 2011 3:05 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Apr 09, 2011 1:16 am
Festina Lente || Meta Solo
The ingenious kidnapping of Mr. Darling.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Apr 09, 2011 1:24 am
Mater Memento Mori || Meta Solo
When Mr. Darling comes face to face with his own mortality.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Apr 09, 2011 1:28 am
Ubi Re Vera || Meta Solo
In where Mr. Darling's sanity begins to unravel.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 17, 2011 10:42 pm
Non Plaudite. Modo Pecuniam Jacite || Meta Solo
Beggers can't be choosers.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 17, 2011 10:46 pm
Veni, Vidi, Volo in Domum Redire || Meta Solo
A letter informs Mr. Darling the current status of his only home.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 17, 2011 10:59 pm
Pallida Mors || Meta Solo
A stranger visits Mr. Darling, and brings misfortune with them.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Apr 20, 2011 8:27 pm
Aegri Somnia || Meta Solo
In where Mr. Darling is trapped in a horrible nightmare.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Apr 20, 2011 8:30 pm
Respice Finem || Meta Solo
A familiar face visits Mr. Darling.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Feb 03, 2012 11:09 pm
Rara avis || Solo
There is a stranger in Mr. Darling's garden.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Feb 03, 2012 11:11 pm
Amicus verus est rara avis || Part 1 of Mission Solo
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Feb 03, 2012 11:13 pm
Pares cvm paribvs || Part 2 of Mission Solo
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
