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 Posted: Sat Dec 09, 2006 2:06 pm
WRIT WORDS The center in which all whom come to write may write. This is a haven for any written work that is not an RP can be posted and opened to public viewing. Think of it as a gallery of sorts. No pictures or artwork in here, please. Any genre of writing is welcome. Some examples? Of course!
Prose:
Essays
Short Stories
Novel Excerts
Fanfiction
Myths
Etc.
Poetry:
Lyric
Narrative
Concrete
Epic
Etc.
Review System:
An author may open up his or her work to the public by allowing them to post reviews in his or her thread. Please keep in mind that constructive criticism is allowed, but full-blown flaming is not.
arrow First-time Offence: A warning and a public apology
arrow Second-time Offence: Peace offering of gold/item
arrow Third-time Offence: Banned from guild
Roster:
Username:
Title of Piece:
Relation to Gaia (if any):
Inspiration:
Post this profile in the first post of your thread. Any further work posted will require the last three responses. We already know that you're posting it, so there's no need to repeat your name and sound redundant ^^
Any offensive material can and will be deleted.
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Posted: Sat Dec 09, 2006 9:36 pm
Username: Kumosan
Title: Mermaid
Inspiration: A fight I had with my boyfriend.
I bit back another surge of tears when I found the patio door locked. I’m not a baby, really. But when you’re having one of those days, one of those Oh-my-God-kill-me-before-one-more-thing-goes-wrong-or-before-I-kill-myself kind of days, every little inconvenience stings much more then it should.
I didn’t cry. Instead profanity came gushing out of me as I stomped around the side of the house, caustic and as crude as oil. The gate retaliated with a high-pitched ******** YOU! as it swung back and forth on its arthritic hinges after I kicked it open and crossed the yard, still stomping, still swearing. The backdoor slid open easily because the track on which it traveled had recently been cleaned or because it feared that I might smash through it with a potted plant if it protested even the slightest bit.
After tumbling through the darkness I finally poured myself into bed and cried until my pillow tasted like the ocean and I was gulping for air like a fish thrown down upon the deck of a boat.
Breathe, I told myself, breathe.
I lay in my puddle of blankets until the gulps became gasps. The gasps became a wheezing. And eventually the wheezing became the soft huff and puff of someone in need of another tissue or at least clean sleeve. I couldn’t find a tissue, and while the sleeve of my jacket was clean, I wanted it to stay that way because it would be physically painful for me (or any other girl) to blow snot all over an article of clothing.
A minute or two and a stubbed toe later I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror with a crumpled paper bag face to spare my eyes from the glare of the florescent lights. When I did open them, they flashed like scales in the hollows below my furrowed brow, brazenly green and irritated by their warm salt bath. I splashed a handful of water over my face to calm the flickering creatures and found that it only added to my wraithlike appearance. With water dripping from stubborn lips, across the pale skin of my Norwegian ancestors and my feral hair crowning my head like a dark halo, I suddenly understood why my boyfriend is so fond of saying I’m beautiful because I’m crazy. It was his own fault if it was anyone’s. The contemptuous mermaid glaring back at me was his creation. I imagined what she might think of all this.
“Did I overreact?” I asked her.
“Just a bit, but you had every right to be angry.”
“It was a stupid thing to fight about, I know that, but the point is that he couldn’t even pretend to care.”
“Yeah, he was kind of an a*****e.”
“I’m not going back over there.”
“You shouldn’t.” She glistened wickedly as she cast back a wet lock of hair without concern. “Let him sulk.”
“Oh, he’s sulking alright.”
“Good,” she sneered, and I straightened my shoulders in firm agreement. But because she seemed unpredictable to me I decided to watch the last hour of a James Bond marathon before brushing my teeth. I was sure her mood as well as my own would improve by then.
By flopping back into bed I roused a pile of fur from her pile of teddy bears. After stretching and yawning in that fancy way that felines do, the little orange thing waddled over to investigate.
I opened my mouth to say, “Why hello there, Kitten Mischief,” as he often did, and quickly corrected myself before the treacherous sentence could roll off of my tongue.
“Why hello there . . . Lily.” She didn’t seem to care there had been a change in her title. And because she was much too tired to scratch her own ears after a long day of sunbathing, grooming, and shredding my shoelaces, she curled up in a place where I could do it for her. On his pillow.
I ignored the implication and focused on the chattering TV. Watching Bond, James Bond, outwit bad actors and later kill them in overly-imaginative ways was somehow much more appealing the playing with a kitten. Or at least that kitten.
I had picked her out of a cardboard box full of her wriggling sibling only hours before my boyfriend picked me up for our first date. In a way, Lily was the reason I’d fallen for him in the first place. Any guy who surprises you with flowers at the door and a sparkly pink jingle ball for you kitten automatically earns the right to a second date and maybe, just maybe, the chance to apologize for being a jerk.
At the very least, I’d let him rattle off his I’m-sorry-I-love-you-so-much speech before slamming the door in his face and letting the dogs loose.
I needed to consult the mermaid. She would certainly remind me why I was determined to be mad. But halfway to the bathroom, with an itty-bitty tiger tripping over her own paws in an attempt to follow, there was a rapping at my window.
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