Welcome to Gaia! ::

Introduction

Alright, even though I told Enmy that I wasn't likely to post anything on this page just about.. less than five minutes ago, I've decided that I shall post stuff up anyways, but only the stuff that I actually like... which prolly won't be too much... Now that I'm actually done typing this though.. it's more like... half an hour ago, since I got side-tracked.

So anyways, I've decided to make a thread here that's much like the Treetop Refuge, except tailored for this forum. I know that Enmy has that little application business of writers getting readers that will help them to improve their writing, but to be honest, I don't want something that formal since I dunno where I'd actually fit in the chain of writer/reader, since I could technically be either and I don't really want to apply twice... Ok, so basically, I'm going to go outside Enmy's lovely system and make this place instead.

Ok, that was probably as bad a description as I gave in the Treetop refuge... but I'm afraid you'll have to deal with it since I'm too lazy to make it comprehensible.

The Rules

1. You may post whatever you wish here. Personally, I suggest short stories, poetry and songs, but really, you don't have to restrict yourself to those if you'd prefer not to.

2. Always be polite. People spent time and effort on these writings, and randomly flaming people's hard work is not appreciated. Constructive criticism on the other hand, is loved and welcomed, just make sure that you don't write something along the lines of "that sucks stop writing.."

3. I guess I ought to say that everything posted must be pg-13, though I think it sort of goes without saying considering gaia's rather stringent rules about posting anything above pg-13.

4. I don't actually have a fourth rule, which is a good thing, but I reserve the right to change the rules when necessary without any other warnings.

Breeze glanced around the dark cafe, claiming a table lightly lit from above by the stained glass window of the muse of Euterpe with her flute, "Y'know, there really isn't a muse for what I'm going to be reading today," she spoke aloud in the empty room, "Maybe I should have picked a less illuminated table." She glanced down at the table before her, watching curiously as the precipitation from the glass of sweet tea spread outward toward the torn and wrinkled paper before her. Though she considered picking up the paper, in the end she left it alone, water slowly seeping into the corner as she watched the dark imprint spread. The papre had seen far worse in it's short span of existence, and the words upon it weren't in ink that would blur with a little damp. It'd been through spilled cups of tea, being crumpled up and thrown aside, being pressed beneath books to try to straighten, folds upon folds upon folds, and never had the paper torn in the important places, never had the bold words written bled.

Staring at that piece of paper, the small lavender-haired child tried to gather up her courage to read it aloud in that place. There weren't many people in the cafe, but she was self conscious, and unsure as she sat in a comfortable chair with a poem titled "Fledgling" staring up at her. She would feel less self conscious just sitting in that seat and talking to herself all day than if she were to go up on that stage and read a poem she'd written herself. But if that were the case, then why had she come here? To sit back and be a coward once more, too afraid to let the world hear her small voice upon a tiny stage in the middle of nowhere?

Sighing to herself, she stood up finally and made her way to the empty stage where a chair and a microphone had been set up in anticipation of her performance. The owner and hostess, a kindly motherly woman, beamed up at her with pride, knowing the difficulties she faced revealing her longtime hobby and turned a dim spotlight upon her as she finally began to read, months of hesitation finally leading her to bring her work out into the open.

"‘Cross the moonlit starry night,
Little fledgling takes first flight.
Looking out from its small home,
Wondering if it dare roam.
Still it sees the distant flare,
Tiny lights fill dusky air
Though the world seems big and wide
Fledgling knows it can not hide

Watching from a bit away,
Mother worries as she prays.
Will her child fly her way?
Will her child go astray?
Questions running through her head
As she sees it in its bed.
Now's the time to watch and see
Watch and let the child fly free

Little fledgling going to fly
Looking out from way up high
Taking heart and flapping wings,
Joining mother, where she sings."

Her voice was quiet throughout, just loud enough to be picked up by the mic and projected out to any who might be listening, and silence fell on the small cafe once more when she finished her reading.

((I know, lots and lots of angst for one tiny poem, but I'm really not good at sharing this stuff. I'm really not good at sharing at all.))

Entering the café with an aura that radiated of sheepishness, Enmity glanced about the place with wide eyes. He was not one to often travel without a companion, however he had heard somewhat about the Corner Café and decided, against his typical nature, to go exploring.

Muddy eyes adjusted to the dim atmosphere as the redhead adjusted the grip he held on his laptop’s case, housing numerous piles of papers with tiny handwriting and a school provided notebook computer. Taking tentative steps inside the place, Enmity was suddenly surprised upon seeing Harxlily already seated at a table. Making a mental note of where his friend sat, the redhead first ordered a steaming cup of cappuccino before heading towards the pink haired other.

“Hey buddeh…” Greeted Enmity, speaking in a low but playful tone of voice. “What’re you doing here?” Though the answer to the question was more or less obvious, it seemed customary that the be-spectacled man ask…and plus, it was in his character to question the obvious. He was dumb like that sometimes.

Soon enough however, Enmity’s attention was captured by none other than Bree…reciting a poem. Closing his mouth and offering a respectful silence, the redhead pondered to himself throughout the poem.

I like how every couplet rhymes and makes sense. It’s harder than most people expect. The word choice is sound and carries a nice beat…no extraneous words and superfluous descriptions. It’s simple…but well thought out.

Taking a sip of his cappuccino, Enmity continued to listen. Aww…the bird goes back to its mother. All in all, it’s a sound poem. I’m not much of a judge, but it was good, no denying that. The sentence fluency, the word choice, the theme of the poem…it was all superb.

As Harxlily broke out in applause, Enmity chose a more subtle form of appreciation by snapping the fingers of his right hand together, offering Bree a warm smile from his seat. “Good job, Ree-Ball,” he said quietly, sure that the other had not heard him above the noise. Though, it was nice just to say it…sharing one’s literature was harder than most would deem.

Ferreting though his own belongings, the redhead procured a crisp sheet of white paper, ink from a printer just barely finished drying on it. Standing up with suddenly weak knees, Enmity began threading the distance between him and the stage, passing both Harxlily and Bree a smile before taking a place in the spotlight. Attempting to act with more confidence than he felt, the be-spectacled Gaian stood before the mike with a bright smile, parting his lips to speak in a wavering voice, “H-Hello.”

That would not do. Clearing his throat, Enmity summoned some courage from the depths of his heart and tried again. “Hey um…my name is Enmity and I’ll be sharing a little piece that I wrote just today. It’s an idea that I’ve had for a while and…only got around to writing now. So…hope you all like it. It’s…kind of dark and angsty, but…I dunno.” Scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, the redhead continued. “If it offends anyone, I’m really sorry. It’s just about two people that I role play so…anyway…here goes.”

- - - - -

Warnings: Contains torture and death. Nothing overly…”graphic.” But this is not meant to be funny.
Date: 1.18.09

Author’s Notes: This is a scene I’ve been playing around with in my head for a while. It’s between two people I role play, DKay and Kalvaan. These two often work as partners on various missions and they’re the best of friends. So, hope you all enjoy…and sorry for the angst xD I’ll post something funny next time. Or…I dunno. The setting is modern...though the place they are in is very...medieval and backwards o_O
Rating: “T” for Teen.

How long was he expected to withstand this?

As expensive silk was torn apart, Kalvaan felt as if his heart was being shredded along with it. Pulling with all his remaining strength against the bands that constrained him, the elf felt rope burns forming on his arms, legs, and neck…their captors would not give him any chance of escaping. So he was caged to a wall…forced to watch the travesty before him.

On a wooden platform, caked with an array of dried blood, was a large wooden pole…and shackled to it, was none other than one of the people Kalvaan had come to care most for in his entire life.

“DKAY!”

Once again pulling against his restraints, Kalvaan felt his lavender eyes prickling with tears, his voice hoarse from all his previous screaming.

Although DKay was positioned so that only his profile would be seen if he looked straight forward, the albino turned his head in order to cast his sapphire irises on the other male. A smirk, the most pathetic one that Kalvaan had ever seen, graced the dirtied features of the proud man, his hands tied above his head with rough metal shackles that slit his wrists. Platinum white hair had been left down and remained now in a tangled mess, some strands housing dirt and grime. And yet, as his shirt was shredded, leaving his torso bare to their offenders…the necromancer merely smirked. The b*****d.

“DKAAAY!” Kalvaan called again, his throat burning from the friction of the ropes that held him back. If only he had not been stripped of his daggers, his weapons…if only he was not so weak! Then perhaps he could have broken free…and not had to watch this.

A brutish man came onto the platform, grinning maliciously and fueled by the cheers of the crowd surrounding the medieval stadium. They had been caught…on a mission and their enemies would not let the prisoners be left unscathed. Clutching in his huge hands a whip of nine tails, the designated torturer immediately turned his attention to DKay, not about to waste any time in fulfilling his duty.

DKay was a proud man, this Kalvaan knew well. He was only twenty-three and was already the leader of the military within the Black Dragon Guild. He was trained in swordplay, necromancy, black magic…he was skilled and educated. He was caring towards his friends, he loved to read big books, he used words Kalvaan never understood, he liked his sandwiches with no pickles or lettuce, and his favorite thing to do on a Saturday night was watch the Discovery channel.

How could he simply watch this man, this leader, this human being…his best friend…suffer?

“Leave him alone!” His pleas fell on silent ears, only adding to the jeering of the crowd and fueling their desire for entertainment. Sick. This was so sick…

Amethyst eyes never left DKay, wishing that somehow…the albino would cast a spell that would release them from their chains…but the hope was never manifested.

Rather, in reply to the elf’s passionate cries and tear glazed eyes, the necromancer turned to look at Kalvaan for one last time…and this time, pale and thin lips strained themselves, fighting to turn upwards in one last display of friendship. He would smile for his friend. For Kalvaan, DKay would remain strong…he—

The first lash of the whip fell upon his slender back, leaving kisses of blood trailing down the moonlight white skin. And it was then, that the first tear drop fell from lavender eyes.

“NO! Stop it! Stop this right now!” Pulling with even more vigor than before as Kalvaan futilely attempted to close the distance between himself and his partner, the green-haired male felt trickles of blood beginning to fall from his wrists. But he didn’t care. “DKAAAAY!”

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

With each blow, DKay’s knees begged to buckle from beneath him, and they eventually did on the third attack. Biting his tongue until the point he could taste coopery blood, the albino would not give their offenders the satisfaction of hearing him scream. His eyes shut tightly against the pain, long fingers gripped against the wood of the pole he was attached to, digging his nails into the bark. There would be an endless amount of cracks of the whip…and he was on his knees at the very beginning.

CRACK. CRACK.

“STOP IT!” Tears running freely down Kalvaan’s face, the normally eccentric and happy male screamed with all his might, his throat drawing blood in recompense for his outbursts. “PLEASE…St-Stoo-op…” Sobs overcame his ability to speak coherently as the male fought against his bindings. Kicking both legs and throwing useless punches in the air, Kalvaan did all that he was able in order to break the bonds…he needed to be by his partner. He could not allow DKay to suffer this alone. How could he simply stand there and watch while he was getting beaten for both their sakes?

“DKAY!”

With his breath coming in pained heaves as his body felt willing to give up the ghost, DKay attempted to stay focused on the voice calling to him so desperately…Kalvaan. He could not die yet. For his friend’s sake…he could not. Yet…that had been the agreement, had it not? His life…in exchange for Kalvaan’s. It was fair, he thought.

“Stop it! Take me instead! Stop it NOW!”

His heart fell with his tears, emotion choking his voice as his eyes became dark with a whirlpool of loathing, sadness…and pain. DKay was dying…in order that he could live.

“DKAY!...DKAY! Stop hurting him! I’m going to…I’m going to kill you! I’ll kill you! Do you hear me!”

Empty threats. Though if he had a weapon in his hand and these ropes were not holding him…he would not have hesitated to slit every man’s throat in this room. These people. These dirty, low-life people…they had not right to treat DKay in such a degrading manner.

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

Crimson red mixed with hair like freshly fallen snow…his delicate skin baring the marks of the savage whip. Yet he managed not to cry out in pain, though he could not help a few gasps of agony from escaping his lips. DKay had suffered before…but not as much as this. Sitting in a prison cell with minimum food and water for two weeks and no sunlight…then to be forced to endure this pain in his fatigued state, it was almost too much for him to handle.

So maybe it was time he let go…and just…faded away.

Prying open his eyes despite the pain of the constant whip, DKay managed to catch a blurry vision of his orange and blue adorned partner. Kalvaan was so easy to pick out of a crowd. So…easy.

Blinking a few times and wincing every time the nine tails whip fell upon his helpless back, DKay felt his heart breaking at the scene before him. Carefree Kalvaan…tied to a concrete wall, screaming though he now coughed blood, crying though the tears would amount to nothing…wishing for something that could not be.

Kalvaan knew he would not be of this world before the night was over.

So in that one moment, as time seemed to slow as the whip was still hanging in the air…while his face was free of grimacing and still completely his…DKay forced the last of his energy in order to pull his lips into a genuine smile, sapphire eyes shining with the tears he refused to let fall.

Thanks Kalvaan…it’s been…great.

CRACK.

The whip fell.

“DKAY!”

His back lurched as his eyes fell shut once again…

“No! No! No! Stop this! Stop please!”

And this time, it would be the last his eyes ever shut…never again to open.

“Take me instead! Please!”

Goodbye you Fruitcake…we had fun, didn’t we?

“I’ll kill you bastards! I’ll kill you!”

Sobs racked Kalvaan’s body as he finally fell to his knees, his head hanging in shame as he closed his lavender eyes. He could scream all he wanted, he could cry for all eternity…but none of that would change this. None of them could comfort him now.

DKay was gone, and he had merely stood on the sidelines and watched.

Goodbye…

(( So...I have a question. Do I have to post in role play format all the time whenever I want to post some writing here? o_O Just wanted to make sure...:3 ))

HaiiroNoNeko-San tentatively entered the dark cafe. He had been kicked out of the other writing establishment, and was told to come here. He got ready to share his short story/Roleplay idea.

"So this is a short story I wrote, and am thinking about turning it into an RP... but I fear it's too much like S24L. Anyway it's a survival horror story and I have named it "Silence", here and I hope you enjoy."

Dust blew down an empty street. Moaning can be heard for miles, along with distinct gun shots. Cowering in a rundown, abandoned building sat Millie Stewart. Her hands covered her long raven hair for protection from the falling debris. She was wearing a nice business suit, strange attire for such a humble abode. Suddenly at the door to the room, there was beating and wailing. Millie grabbed her knees and cowered even more in her little corner. As the beating grew louder, the wood of the door started to creak and splinter. As her doom grew nigh, Millie thought, how could it have come to this?
The day had started as ordinarily as any other; Millie had got up early in order to go to the office for a meeting. As she had got up she turned on the T.V. While she brushed her teeth, she heard the reporter recounting the events of the previous day, “More and more people have fallen strangely ill, in what some say is a sign of the coming apocalypse, the number affected has risen from just ten to thousands in seemingly hours. Symptoms of the disease are extreme tiredness, sore muscles, and excruciating headaches, if you or any loved ones show signs of the symptoms, we urge you to get to a hospital immedi”– The T.V. cut off as Millie stepped on the remote, hurrying out the door one hand in her jacket and the other one fighting it’s way into the folds, a piece of toast dangling precariously from her mouth.
As Millie got into her blue compact, she looked around. The street was desolate and empty; strange, she had just heard children playing next door while inside. But this was no time to dawdle; she had an important meeting to get to, that her entire career rested on. She got into the car and closed the door with a dull thud. Millie searched for her keys and then turned them in the ignition. The car started with an explosive grunt and as Millie pulled away from her street she thought she saw a red ball roll out into the street, followed by a small limping boy, in her rearview mirror.
When Millie reached the highway and pulled into the metro lane, she noticed that the traffic on the other side coming from town was backed up, and was it even possible, people running between the cars? Millie rubbed her eyes and looked again and saw nothing but the huge line of cars trying to leave the city. Confused but unconcerned, she continued toward the large indistinct building that was her office. While Millie pulled into the underground parking structure, she noticed a profound lack of cars for a regular work day. Fumbling with the keys while she tried to lock her door, Millie swore she heard moaning. A deep and long full lamentation, coming from the direction of the elevator and stairs; Millie dropped her keys and turned around.
There standing in the flickering florescent glow of the artificial light stood her boss, Mr. Jones. Only he had a pipe protruding from his skull and was covered in blood. He let out a long groan as Millie stood frozen with fear. Drip, drip, drip came from what remained of Jones’s brains as they sprinkled to the floor. Millie then turned around and started to open her car door when in horror she realized it was locked. She looked around on the cement searching for her dropped keys and saw nothing. Mr. Jones then began scuffling forward toward Millie and an excruciatingly slow pace. Millie then saw a glimmer near the rear of the forward tire on her car and leaned down to reach for it. As she had suspected, they were her keys, but to reach them she would have to lie down and crawl midway under her car. With the horrifying specter looming ever closer she hurriedly dropped to her belly and fished out her keys. When she returned back to full height, Mr. Jones had reached within five feet of her and had his arms outstretched, a dismal wail exiting his gray lifeless lips. He staggered toward Millie with increased speed. Millie ripped the car door open and jumped inside. She slammed the door just as Mr. Jones’s fingers were on the glass of her window. He scratched at the glass with listless vigor a dull moan emanating from his empty mouth. Millie turned the keys at the car shuddered to life. She backed up and drove out of the parking enclosure with all the speed her car could muster.
During the time she had spent underground, the whole city had changed; the usually bustling groups of crowds had turned into empty deserted streets. Just then, one of Millie’s coworkers, Edmund Spencer, came running out of the main office building and saw Millie. He ran over to her car and banged on the windows to let him in. Millie noticed in the process of Edmund entering her car, that he was caressing his right hand. In was rapped up in some ripped bloody cloth.
“What happened to your hand?” asked Millie shakily
“Have you seen Mister Jones?” Edmund asked tentatively
Millie’s face turned a ghostly pale as she realized what happened. Edmund was the company brownnoser and always showed up for meetings first to humor Mr. Jones. He must have been in the council room waiting for Jones to arrive, but whatever that was down in the parking structure was not Mr. Jones.
“Why what happened?” asked Millie, trying to get a better understanding of the situation.
“Well, I had been waiting in the meeting room for Mr. Jones to arrive. He came in and said he had been mugged on the way to work and some hooligans had bit him”-
“Excuse me, bit him?” interrupted Millie incredulously.
“That’s what I thought too, but then he collapsed. I called the hospital, but the line was dead. That’s when something strange happened. Mr. Jones got up and lunged at me then grabbed my hand and bit me. I wrenched my hand free and fled with Jones stumbling behind me. I grabbed a pipe from a janitorial cart and tried to fend him off, but he was unrelenting, then….. I accidently stabbed the pipe into his face… but he kept coming. That’s when I ran out of there.” finished Edmund.
“Well, what’s going on?!” inquired Millie.
“I don’t know lets just get the hell out of here!” yelled Edmund.
Millie stepped on the gas and the car burst forward away from the indistinguishable office building. While they fled from the city, they passed through the slum part of town. Edmund then loss conciseness and collapsed sideways onto Millie making her veer into a telephone pole. Smoke rose from the totaled end of the car. Millie looked over too see if Edmund was alright, but it was in vain. A large splinted piece of telephone pole had penetrated the windshield and had impaled Edmund through the heart.
“No… this can’t be happening…” Millie leaned forward and cried silently into her folded arms. A slow doleful tune played through the air, Millie looked up to see Edmund staring at her, his eyes a misty veil. A silent moan escaped his lips and he reached out for Millie.
“No, not you too!” cried Millie as she jumped from the car and ran. Edmund had been pinned into the car by the splinter wood, and could not give chase. Millie ran through the streets for so long she got to were she couldn’t feel her legs. Another monstrosity came lunging at her from a hidden alleyway, and she evaded them then ran up the stairs of a near beat down building. Millie climbed the stairs and hid her self in a small room with one window. The sky had become a brilliant crimson twilight as the sun set in the distance. Gun shots rang though the air and endless moaning filled the silence. The door that Millie had just closed and locked shook and began to be banged upon while the perpetrator gave a lamenting wail. Millie huddled closer to the wall wishing for a hero to appear.

"I realize it kinda closes really fast, and I plan to expand on what happens more, and particularly to explore what happens between the flight from the office to the arrival in the slums. I hope you enjoyed it, and that it was even a little bit creepy."

HaiiroNoNeko-San finished what he wanted to say and that was that.

Bree tilted her head sideways slightly as Neko read his story, evaluating it as he read. The tenses get confused really often, which is only a mistake of grammar, but still has a devastating effect on the writing that forces the listener to reevaluate and rethink the story in order to figure it all out. Other than that, it's not a bad story, the topic is a little overused, but since everything is pretty much overused nowadays, then that's not really important. To improve sentence variation, it might be better to make some more compound sentences instead of the short simple sentences that are most prevalent. Still, that isn't really necessary since the short sentences add to the sense of urgency throughout the story. The action is intense and the portrayal of the modern American who's too busy and dense to notice anything around them is very realistic. ((erm... reading that again now, it seems a rather mean critique, so I'm sorry, but I'm better at pointing out mistakes than I am at telling what was good about a story so... please don't take offense at the kind of harsh evaluation..))

As he finished, she clapped lightly as she had done for Enmy and welcomed Neko to the table with a smile. "Hey," she greeted casually before remembering that Harx had replied to her earlier suggestion, "That's fine as well. You're welcome to do so."

"In the meantime," she continued, standing up from her seat, "I have another piece of poetry. This one's... very different from the first one in that it's rather grim and still incomplete. This one came from my depressed stage, which I hope you'll understand, since most people go through a stage similar to it at some period of time. I actually wrote it in two halves, and I think I'll only post the first half, since it's the only part that I have any respect for. The second half that I'm not posting was written about a year later when I got over my depressed phase, but doesn't really have the same impact as the part I will post, and the difference in the writing is rather noticeable so that they're almost like two separate poems. So I'm rambling again.. On to the poem."

"Turning circles round and round,
Staring from atop a mound,
People lying on the floor
All asleep to rise no more.
Everywhere you look you see
People lying wretchedly;
Broken limbs and burning flesh
All around without refresh.

People hurry here and there,
Passing by without a care.
Heedless little mindless snots
Disregarding others’ thoughts,
Living for a little while,
Growing old and then senile,
Living only for to die
In this world which is a lie.

When will people truly learn
That the world’s not meant to burn?
Broken homes and sundered land
Children learn of death firsthand.
Why can’t people look and see
Past collective misery?
Letting it die piece by piece
Giving us a bit of peace.

All the people holding on
To the beauty of the dawn
Cannot seem to find their way
In the shadow of the day.
Hatred hides the little light
In the darkness of the night.
As the people stay inside
Trying as they can to hide."

Enmity sat in a seat not far from his fellow guild members, listening first to Ree-Ball’s poem and finding himself closing his eyes as he allowed the words to flow through him.

Rather than attempting to understand the poem and overanalyzing it, the red-head simply found pleasure in listening to the well pieced words and organized thoughts. Hopefully his companion would not mind his manner of listening, he supposed that he could offer something of an interpretation if she really wanted.

He would make a point to ask her later.

As Harxlily took the stage, Enmity nearly found himself doubling in laughter. Oh…how…characteristic of his friend. Trust Harx to write something so…silly.

Snapping his fingers in support of both females, Enmity sighed in contentment. It was comforting to know there was still talent in the world.