Narrative #2

That stick brings the girl into a world where she is a warrior native. One that believes in curses and old rituals. She taps her stick on the ground three times to open up the world and release a pit of revenge. She is brave and has a cold spirit. She is crazy and wild,

and she,

is my sister.

Narrative #1

Running into a jump

Jumping into a leap

Leaping into a dance

Dancing into a trip

Tripping into a fall

Falling into a fly

Flying into a soar

It soars streamline

Fast, Furious, Fantastic

It, is my sister

Typhon’s Razbunare

A Greek Myth

When Zeus presented Pandora to both Prometheus and Epimetheus, Prometheus knew this to be unwise to accept such a seemingly wonderful gift. He warned Epimetheus from accepting such a lavish gift, but his brother refused to listen. Unknown to Epimetheus was that even though Prometheus refused Pandora he had fallen deeply in love with her, but there was nothing he could do about it. Whenever the opportunity arose Prometheus would find a way to be around Pandora, she was breath-taking. It just so happens, that Prometheus was in the company of Pandora on the day that she opened her cursed box. He truly knew then, that he was indeed correct about Zeus’ gift not revealing all its intended purposes. Transfixed, Prometheus watched his beloved man being brutalized by the terrible evils Pandora had released.

Unknown to Prometheus several miles below his feet, just beneath the underworld, the new evils unleashed had reached the gloomy, bleak lands of Tartarus. The Hekatinkheires have been faithfully, and peacefully guarding the volatile creatures banished there, for there was no place for their deeds on either Mount Olympus or Earth. The Hekatinkheires came to the realization that they had been guarding the bronze gates of Tartarus for many a year and one can only grow weary by spending an eternity in the same company. All of the others faults grew clear to each of the Hekatinkheires and a dreadful fight came about. Nothing could be accomplished though for the many hands of the Hekatinkheires disrupted the path of a well aimed hit. With the attention of the Hekatinkheires elsewhere, the opportunity arose for the dreadful Typhon to accomplish an unknown feat; escaping the grasp of the Hekatinkheires.

Typhon had but one purpose for what he knew may be his last moments on Earth. Not only had Zeus defeated him but he also humiliated him by trapping him under Mount Etna. Much time had passed while Typhon was imprisoned, and with that time, came wisdom. Zeus would defeat him again, this he knew, but the mortal who had warned Hermes of Zeus’ peril, Amadeus, had his legacy carried on through generations. With this he set out for either son or daughter, whichever did not matter. With Typhon’s newly gained wisdom, he decided it would be best to watch the mortal man, the descendant of Amadeus.

Under Typhon’s careful eye, he studied this subject. He was known as Eldante.

Eldante was the son of Joness and Clymia, born in Tascana. He was known throughout the land for a tremendous strength, but yet a gentle heart. When Pandora’s evils were unleashed he became ungrateful to the gods for his incredible gift, and boastfulness darkened his heart. Eldante would scourge the land in search of a worthy opponent, and once his adversary would lose, he would openly mock him to those around him. No man could do anything about this, for nothing would stop Eldante. Typhon carefully watching and planning, noted all of this, he felt the best revenge would be to strike where it would hurt Eldante the most, his pride. Finally Typhon’s opportunity came forth; Eldante no longer had any challengers and thus was preening in his wealth. It was time to expose himself once again to the world. From Typhon’s crouched position, he stood looming over the village that Eldante was currently residing in. With a mighty roar he bellowed his challenge, “I Typhon herby challenge Eldante to a duel, a fight to the death”.

As Eldante stepped from his abundant villa, he then realized his own folly. There was no way, that he would be able to defeat such a fearsome foe. What else he recognized was unless he was to fight Typhon, he would never leave and would torture the people of the Earth, for he remembered the tale his father told him of his ancestor being tied hand in hand with the defeat of Typhon. Typhon would not be at rest until he had his revenge. Bravely Eldante went out to meet the ferocious monster. It is said that any mortal to glance upon such an otherworldly creature would send them into an unrelenting shock, numbing the mind forever. The only thing that saved Eldante was the goodness still left in his heart, strengthening his resolve that he must end this trifle, no matter what the outcome.

After Pandora had released the evils into the un-expecting world, Prometheus had been searching for any sign of misgivings. He witnessed the rise of Typhon once again and had been failingly tracking the creature. A cry of pain from the mortal Eldante alerted him; such a sound could only come from the terror Typhon could unleash. Horrified Prometheus watched as Typhon delivered the fatal blow, he was too late.

Prometheus is well known to be “before-thought”, so in a rash decision he withdrew a small lump of clay and hastily formed a small, delicate creature. Zeus who had been notified by Prometheus’ despair, witnessed the exchange of the mortal and Typhon, decided his entertainment was over and it was time to intervene. Grasping a lightning bolt he hurled it down towards Typhon stunning the monster, and at the same time transforming Typhon into the body of the clay creature. Prometheus, knowing that all he could do was now over turned, turned to look at the mortal man who stood up to such an evil creature. To his delight he found the man weak but still breathing. Knowing the man did not have much longer to live, he hastened a larger animal from his clay. When Eldante awoke he found the world to be in multiple shades and suddenly had four great, gray lumbering legs, gleaming ivory tusks and a peaceful strength surrounding him. Then Prometheus spoke of what he had done, “Eldante you have a strong and noble heart, and an immense strength. But you dishonoured the gods by not being thankful for what we have given you, and letting a boastful spirit come over you. For these crimes which normally you would suffer severe consequences, you will receive another form of punishment because you fearlessly stood your ground before Typhon. You have been turned to a creature of the land. It is a great beast but with a gentle presence, it will be named after you Eldante.”

Humbly Eldante bowed before the titan whom had given him such a gift.

Typhon awakening heard the last sentiment and went mad with rage. Eldante should be dead with Typhon’s desperate need for revenge. But as for him as he tried to rise, the world around him suddenly became bigger. He felt so very small, which was a feeling quite foreign to him. Prometheus turned to him, “You, I know will never be kept in Tartarus, you will always escape so this is the form you will now take on. And after the man who brought your down fall all those years ago, you will be called the mouse, so that all will be reminded of how a mere mortal defeated you.”

From then on the eldante would forever fear the mouse for the eldante knew the evil the mouse had once possessed. That is also why when a woman sees a mouse she feels terror for she can sense the true danger lurking behind beady, black eyes.

In Nocturnal Silence

Oppressive heat exhausts us forbidden Jews

Deprived of everything. Anything seems preferable

We were hunched over

Exhausted, weariness had settled in our veins

True equality and nakedness

We trembled with different surfacing thoughts

Then separated strength, appreciated vigor

The furnace brings so much brutality

Exalted, Sanctified God

Never shall I forget

Even if I live long like God himself

They still murdered our soul

Hell. A camp interspersed with

Sobs and crazed men

Children dead bodies abandoned

Transformed under a silent sky

To be freed, dreams turned to ashes

Whispered Hope

Whispered Hope

Music of the skies above,
whisper down in tones of love.
Floating down between the clouds,
gifting men with lofty sounds.

Weaves its way through blades of grass,
gently shakes the river glass,
tumbles, leaps, twists and rolls,
finding paths to teary souls.

When I find myself alone,
feelings of loss and unknown,
Music comes and fills a place,
that’s empty from this life we race.

It comforts, soothes, reassures-
gives the hope to endure.
Then leaving a small part behind,
takes back off into the skies.

Flying with the purple wind,
singing out a soft, sweet hymn.
Searching high and all along,
another child needs a song.

Agonía

She didn’t understand. A terrible wave of agony washed over her, and complete horror filled her fragile bones. After everything that had happened, all of the promises of the future, it had ended. Never again would she be able to see eyes filled with a deep longing love, or had it even been love? A fresh wave of pain gripped her heart, refusing to release. Tears of shock and betrayal shook her very core; sobs tore through her, forcing trembling legs to the cold, hardened floor. She knew God loved her, and that he does have a plan for her, but why did this have to be his plan? The one thing she loved in the world, more than anything before, had been ripped from her grasp, without the slightest warning. Unknowing how she could handle this grievous pain any longer, she cried for the Lord her God, to take away the hurt that ravaged her broken body. All seemed lost, what purpose did life have now? How could she ever move past this? Desperately, she begged for Jesus to give her a heart of understanding, patience, love, forgiveness, and to not allow her the heart of bitterness. Food had lost its taste, and sleep escaped her. Brokenness was a constant ache she carried with her, and she couldn’t find the joy in life. The one so dear to her had moved on, faster than one could think possible, and it hurt. The love that was whispered of so tenderly must not have had been true. Her heart she had surrendered, she gave her everything, and now it was left, trampled in the dust. Loneliness consumed her. She never lost her faith in God, she trusted him completely, but in times such as this she just couldn’t understand. Jesus was her shoulder to lean on, and she wanted nothing more than to live her life out for him. But at the same time, that part of her life that was now missing, and she was constantly reminded of it. How could she go on?

The Soldier

Standing still in the middle of the chaos of D-day, was a boy. His glazed-over eyes tried to focus on something, anything, but there were no colours. Everything was grey, grey, grey, no wait, his eyes caught something red. What was it? The water, the water was red; why was it red? A bullet whizzed past the boy’s face, and suddenly everything flooded his senses. Gunfire exploded in his ears, the sound of soldiers being punched full of holes, sand everywhere, mixing with blood that was gathering in pools. A man with his legs blown to shreds, was shaking, and crying, ‘Mama!’ His olive drab uniform was littered with pieces of burnt flesh. It was too much. Keeling over, the boy vomited, and collapsed on the blood tinted sand.

His mind was back in Kellington, Idaho. Playing down at the creek with his older brothers, the sand between his toes. Tightly gripping the old rough rope, and letting go to splash into the crisp, cool water. There were no cares, no cares in the world. The water caressed his body, pushing back his hair from his forehead. That was all before the war-before the town changed, before his family changed, before his life changed. He wanted to stay submerged in the flood, but reality was pulling him back.

He spat out the sand and sour vomit still in his mouth. Pulling himself up, he wondered why he was here. What was the point? One soul blowing up another, for what? Glory? Honor? There was none of that in this murderous graveyard, only despair and death. He wanted so badly to go back to those peaceful days. If he could only run, and go back to that time. But rapid machine-gun fire reminded him that he couldn’t go anywhere. “Private!” was someone calling him? “Private! Get your a$$ outta there!” He looked and saw his troop leader beckoning from behind a rock. The boy ran towards him and dove to the shelter, where several others were huddled. The leader glanced around at the group, “Here’s the plan men we’ll move out…” The boy didn’t want to do this. Yes, it might be disobeying his officer, bringing dishonor to his country, but he couldn’t go on fighting this war that made him sick. He just wanted things to go back to how they used to be.

Going back to those days he remembered when he and his brothers finally saved enough pennies to buy model airplanes. The feel of the sanded wood, smelling the fresh white paint. His brothers were always trying to get rid of him, telling him that he would ruin the plane, but he loved spending time with them anyways. And after a long afternoon of playing cowboys and Indians, Mother would give them a cool glass of water, and bread with Crisco-it was cheaper than butter. At bedtime he would climb into the bed all three of them shared, and Mother would give them all a good-night kiss.

It was peaceful, so different than what was going on here. But then, there maybe, possibly, was a bigger picture than what was going on here. Bigger than the dying and the suffering right here, right now. Maybe the real reason why they were fighting. Maybe the real reason was not for glory or honor, but for peace. So that other families could live on to experience peace, and joy, like his had been given the chance to. It was hard to imagine that peace could come out of a mess like this, but maybe, this was the only way. And if this was the only way to wash out the evil, well then he had no choice. Reluctantly, the soldier picked up his gun. He glanced down at the streams of blood draining into the ocean, and followed after his officer.

Hanging Along the Edge

Dear Starlee,

Yesterday, as I was doing my morning rounds around the meadow, I straddled the horse with my strong thighs. Leaning back, I stretched out my arms and hung my head back. The wind searching my hair. When the black beast is unleashed it runs in circles, shows how stupid she is. In spiral motion time slowed, and the sky twirled behind the clouds. You know that feeling, to hang off a horse, half sticking out in the air. I just needed to get away. Star, things are getting worse. You know it and so do I. The meadow is a safe haven. Why would we even need it if there wasn't places needing escaping?

Lets cut to the chase. This world is corrupt and falling apart. The government is on the case, which means wide open spaces and pits of black. There are barely any trees left in Forpath Vally's and something needs to be done. That something, is us getting out of here. You'll be kicked out of Star stables soon. Churned, planned, trouble is being created and it's pointed in our direction, and as I fell off the beast while day dreaming it hit me as hard as my head hit the ground. They've been druggin your horses. You know he'd never let me go. They've been all over the place these past couple weeks. The government has been getting stronger and smarter and they've been against us ever since we rebelled. They're takeing us down. Starting with our horses.

This place is very bad Starlee and I'm getting out while I can. Lets hitch a ride on another world and we can even bring the horses. Will you run away with me? Think about it.

Love Orphila

Midnight Flight

BONG. Sound reverberating through the air - the churchbell slices the pretense tranquility that hangs dense in the sky. Black ink, suddenly tumbling to Earth, spattering the cobblestone streets, the stepels of cathedrals, and the windows of townhouses.

BONG. The flutter of a quickened heart - the darkness is shattered, but presses thick around the woman. A quiet hiss escapes her lips - there will be no simple flight now. She slinks out from behind the towering oak, shadow melting along the ground, black cloak flowing through the grass.

BONG. The castle looms to her back. One glance behind her, and she stiffens. This is the last chance to turn around, to put on false airs, and to make it all right. Silently deliberating - but only for a moment - until she begins her departure, slinking back into the willowy protection of the trees.

BONG. A full moon illuminates her every movement, leaving her shadows to flicker across the damp ground, and bleed into forest undergrowth. There is no sound but for her quiet, laboured breathing. She darts and weaves through the towering trees, whose tendrils seem to reach down to the woman, tempting her with a whole new fate.

BONG. "What's done is done." This is what she tells herself - this is all she has to cling to. She always knew that she was dedicated - a dedidcated student, they called her - but this has taken her beyond dedication. She has entered an entirely new realm. No, she is no longer simply 'dedicated'. She is fierce. Courageous. Zealous. Resilient. Resourceful. Impertinenet. Yes.

BONG. How could this have happened? She is fleeing from the one place that she felt offered her protection, however little that may have been. She felt safe within it's vicinity - castle walls are deaf ears - they cannot interpret those hushed, evening exchanges. They do not disclose heavily guarded secrets.

BONG. The flutter of the wings of a nearby bird awaken her from her trance, willing her to continue. Tis' a raven. This brings a faint smile to her lips. "We are alike, you and I", she murmers, extending her arm to the creature. It lands with the harsh quiver of feathers, and it meets her eyes, with a black, black gaze.

BONG. The churchbell's toll sends the bird spiraling away, into the somber sky, uttering a single cry as its wings are swallowed from view. The woman turns her head, smile vanished from her face, and watches it descend upon the indistinct horizon.

BONG. Right. The woman spins on her heel, and pads discreetly through the last strains of the wood, the trees thinning as she nears i's edge. She draws a shallow breath, preparing herself. This is her only obstacle. Across the clearing, too the eastern thicket, and she'll be beyond the iron grasps of her twisted superiors.

BONG. She does not hesitate. She emerges from the forest - and binds her destiny, with that single step. The moon - naught but a lucrid lemon drop in the sky - catches her in it's light. It illuminates her silhouette - undermines the stealth that she has tried so carefully to preserve. She breaks.

BONG. The wind rushes her face, tugs back her hood, and exposes her to the merciless moonlight. She is beautiful - beautiful beyond compare. Her features are all but feline - the dark, large eyes, sloped nose, pale complexion, and crooked mouth. Dark hair tumbles from a ribbon, flying behind her as a banner. Her black cloak ripples around her slender form, sending tremors down her spine, and aiding to increase her gait. She glides across the gound, with nothing but air between her and the trodden meadow. She is so close now - the awaiting limbs of the forest will welcome her.

BONG. She reaches the wood, heart palpitating like a timpani. The darkness instantly engulfs her. It seems impossible that she could come to a stop at such a pace, but her face is not all that is feline. Her breathing slows, and she places a delicate hand on her neck, trying to regain her composure. Replacing her downed hood, she dares a final glance back. One last, longing glance toward what could have been. Regret fills her soul - overcoming remorse. Why? Why has she done this? So many reasons, explanations, all so wrong. She touches her fingers to her lips, and closes her eyes, mouring what could have been - who could have been - who she could have been

A twig snaps.

Her eyes fly open, probing for the source. Finding none, she removes her hand, and regains the the stoney gaze of the castle. "Adeui, A've Maria." She murmers. A final good-bye. With this, she begins a slow retreat, backing into the din - sinking, skinking, sinking. Black, Black, Black. She fades, surrounded and pressed by the darkness - alone. But that is the price that she has paid for freedom. She spreads her fingers, and allows the undergrowth to filter through. She is evaporating - her cloak, her hands, her face. Her eyes are the only thing that still shine through the black.

Until they are gone.

A lone figure is posed on the western turret, hands bound behind bis back. His smirk is nearly imperceptible, but it is there. Small and insignificant he seems, alone in a night as heavy as the stone beneath his feet. But he is the only witness. He is now the prize. And all of his suspicions are confirmed. What more could he ask for? And besides ...

It is midnight.

Morbid

Wow, our last couple posts have been depressing. We're a little morbid, aren't we?

Judgment, The Center of Our World

Everyone knows about those wacky, purple, patterned leggings that she always wears. So interesting, so smooth, so skin like. Everyone knows about her tattered clothing and the weird colour combinations. All the popular girls hate her. She's too different, to bold for a tenth grader. Why the heck is she like that? Why is it so hard for her to fit in? Why does she dance when there is no music? Why does her hair flow in all directions? Well I'll tell you a secret. Come nice and close. Over here, in the corner. Those tacky, noticeable, out-a-sight tights are actually her skin. Her scaly, alien skin that help her to run at high speeds. Why do you think they're her good luck charm on the track?

You say thats crazy? Well its true. She never takes them off right? And when you make fun of her in the hall its building up inside. Its burning, a deep rage, and its going to all come out soon enough. When it does they better not be around. All she needs is acceptance and if it isn't given to her she'll slowly get into your head. A quiet fog that encloses around the depths of your mind. It finds weaknesses or flaws and leaks them out through your ears. Spilling in pools around your feet, your self conscious has taken the biggest hit of your life. Tears drip down their faces. Compared to her they are worthless. There is no competition, she is who she is and she's won. They have been a big sore that is now embedded on her soul.

Next time you won't be so quick to judge.

Paronomasia

Honey. Sweet, pungent honey. The viscous smell poured throughout my unusually heightened senses. Blindly I search my way through the darkness that enveloped me only to find four walls meeting my touch. Something was amiss. I couldn't understand it. Strange emotions were rolling off the ink black walls...anger, hurt, evil, malice. Never before had I felt such things at once. A deadly wave of fogginess was muddling my thoughts; everything started to blend into one another. This wasn't right. Frantically I lunged forward in hope of finding a way out, anything. My outstretched finger tips barely grazed the surface of my soon to be salvation of cold brass but the smell of honey was like a chokehold...calling me back to the despair of the black room. The agonizing sweet honey oozed into my nostrils, then my ears. I fell to my knees as the as the honey took control. It had me. I had lost. No! It couldn't be over! With the last ounce of energy I had left, I excruciatingly inched along the cold, forbidding floor. Everything in my body screamed at me to let go, just give in to the tempting honey, but some part of me wouldn't allow that. Sweat beaded my forehead, my hands started to quiver. Desperately I made an attempt for the beckoning doorknob. Relief swelled in my chest as the door swung open. With one last and final heave, I flung myself out into the cool hallway. I lay there, stunned. A gentle calm washed over me. Oddly enough, the only sounds in this desolate hallway were my ragged breathing. This couldn't have happened. No. No. How was this possible? There was something that was tugging at the back of my mind...how did I know where the door would be? I had never been in that room before, and I literally couldn’t see the hand in front of my face. Just as I was about to haul my exhausted body up to take a look at where I was, the deadly scent of honey wafted over me once more. The ground began to circle; I felt a strange tingling in my left hand. I glanced down to find blood pooling from 4 circular incisions I hadn’t noticed before. The world started to fall away. The last thing I saw as my head hit the ground was the door of the room I had just left, slowly swing open.