Needed some inspiration to kickstart the writing juices the other day, so got Nick and Des to give me random numbers. This is the first page, second one’s coming a bit later. Let’s see if this will be a story…
Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.
Quick Prose-ACK CAFKL Update: Thank you to everyone who came and bought our books! They’re all sold out. :) Chapters 2 will be published by end of this week, I still need to clean some bits out. Thank you very much for your support!
And as a tiny bonus, here’s a quick ficlet I did for the 15-Minute Ficlet challenge on Dreamwidth:
Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.
Inspired by em-pyei-n vari-fen jang
Note: I probably have the Cyrillic all wrong. ^^l
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.
She awoke to the smell of smoke, coughing.
It was so bad that she turned on her side and continued to cough, trying to expel the smoke from her lungs. There was no heat associated with the smoke; her mind immediately supplied that it was the haze. In an odd sort of mind loop, she found herself surprised that she could make such an association, then she realised she had just wanted something to take her mind off the efforts of her body to cough her lungs out.
“Misha?” her partner spoke, awakened by her coughs.
“I’m… ok,” she choked between coughs, then gave up and got out of the bed.
She stumbled somewhat towards the kitchen and poured herself a cup of water. It soothed her throat somewhat, but she still felt like coughing her lungs out. She heard her partner come out of the room, but did not turn. Warm arms enveloped her shoulders, drawing her close.
“Nightmare?” a soft, loving voice near her ear. She shook her head and leant back, grateful for both the warmth and company. Her mind asked her again, what had she done to deserve such an understanding partner?
“No, just this bloody haze,” she finally looked up towards the window.
The city in the valley was covered in a soft grey blanket, like a thick fog. The only difference was that fog was usually cold, not hot. And she felt very warm now.
Though not warm enough to leave her partner’s embrace.
“No running today,” her partner whispered, looking out towards the city.
“Assuming we get water today,” she sighed.
They stood like that for a long time, watching the sun rise over a haze-covered city.
Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.
This post was written for the 100 Themes challenge. For the full list, click here.
Chapter 3: Lightning
There are shadows, and then there are shadows.
Some shadows you can see easily; darkness created by an obscured sun. Others live only in the fear of your mind, hidden in the deepest trenches of your soul.
Most terrifying of all are the shadowkeepers who wield both. They wield them like weapons, to manipulate, horrify and control. They are not a large number.
But they exist.
Or so the girl told herself as she sat in the middle of an empty house in the forest, stirring a pot and whispering soft, arcane words.
Her voice had a singsong quality, rising and falling in measured intervals. She took a deep breath before each new line, a shallow one whenever she had to add ingredients. A great sigh escaped her lips when she reached the end of the incantation.
“For thus I swear, and thus I curse, their life together in a hearse,” the tune made no sense, yet as she finished, there was the crack of thunder, and a flash of lightning. The fire under her stirring pot went out, and she felt chills on her spine.
Soon there was nothing left in the abandoned house, not even the tiny light of an ember.
Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.
Had the itch to write, but no idea what. Please note that this story is NOT for resale or redistribution except with permission (those who are mentioned in the story are of course exempted from this). Cut to save F-List:
Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.
This took longer than I expected. Work and all. Sorry for the delay!
The challenge: One word and a number. 1-203. No fanfics. All oris.
First 5. Go!All slots have been fulfilled!
Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.
Strings of an instrument
Rhymthic fingers caressing
Shades of a stage
The sickly spotlight shines
He sleeps
She lies awake
Possesive, his hand around her
Comforted, she smiles
Soft, soft moans
A lady bent over
Cramps in her stomach
She walks in
Quiet, quiet
The building sleeps
Not a sound
Not a soul
Comes to stir
The club sings
The humans dream
Within the walls the music
dance
Harmony ascendant
Sultry, silky, smooth,
Teasing, provocative, deliberate
He lures her in
Till applause breaks the spell
Off the stage he goes
Behind the wall she beckons
All in the silence
Of tonight…
Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.
Based on yesterday’s eroge. Need to finish the last ending, but I think these are ok for now. Might polish the first two later and rewrite them though.
Generic Good Ending: Cleaved in half
Generic Bad Ending: Angel’s blood on my hands
WTF I don’t know what they were smoking ending: Melt into you
Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.
I came up with this while reading Shiro’s plurk. :3 Thoughts?
Overarching plot:
A demon sleeps in their village who haunts the dreams of twins. He is in love with the MC who is the reincarnation of his love, but she does not love him back. Rather, she was the one who sealed him away, and if he is unleashed, he will take revenge on all those who had imprisoned him. Said MC is also the descendent of the woman, strictly speaking perhaps one of the demon’s descendents? An angel is sent to ensure that the demon will not be released.
Cut to save the Flist.
Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.
From Tentabunny:
Prompt: Clavicle.
Song: ~Overture~ Brotherhood from FMA Brotherhood OST
He had always measured how healthy a person was by their collarbones. Or rather, by their clavicles, those bones visible just under the neck. He always went for the ones whose bones were just about defined. They were almost always quite healthy, and were very conscious of what they put in their foods.
So when she came to his studio to be photographed, he was instantly smitten by her. There was the slightest hint of makeup. Her skin was a healthy golden brown. Hair fell past the shoulders in glorious, unbounded waves. It was her clavicles that attracted his eyes when she removed the scarf though. They were delicate, yet well-defined. He stared.
“Is something the matter, sir?” she asked. “I’ve got a class to go to in a minute.”
“Oh yes, sorry miss. Now, if you’ll just look here and tilt your head up a little… that’s right.”
She never did make it to class, though her scarf hung in his closet, along with the items from his other… feedings.
~~~~~~~
From Neon:
Prompt: Knowledge
Song: Trust Me~ Instrumental by Yuya Matshushita
He was waiting for her when she left the studio. With a disdainful look, she turned away upon seeing him. He followed her, chatting nonchalantly. She refused to pay him any heed, until he said the magic words.
“I know what makes you tick,” he said in his most charming manner.
She stopped in her tracks, with a disbelieving look on her face. Without warning, she raised a hand to slap him. It left a red mark on his face.
Two months later, he proposed to her in the middle of a library, with the fateful words.
“You’re language. Rhythm and dance are but expressions of the same verbal intonations. That is what makes you tick. Expressions, is what a human being is, the expression of everything and nothing,” he went down on one knee while she was shelving some books. She smiled.
They were married in a museum. He had spent his life knowing her. She had spent hers gathering knowledge. Would it be surprising then, that their first child was born in an astronomical observatory?
~~~~~
The Prince
In 20 words or less
Prompt by LibraryTux (#nanowrimo)
He loves his country.
That man means what he says.
“Trust me,” he says. “I’m here.”
And so rose Germany.
~~~~~~
From Brandconsultant:
Prompt: Cricket
Song: Cruel Angel’s Thesis, Remix, from Gal Trance Party
The hill stood alone. From where she stood, the crack of the bats were unusually loud. She watched them play, a smile on her lips. Among those below, a boy playing in his first cricket game, was her son. He looked strong, eager, and happy. Watching his game, she fixed it in her memory. She would not scream. It would dishonur his memories.
Turning, she walked away from the hill to the sea’s edge. There, the setting orange sun shone in her eyes. With a smile, she stepped off the cliff. And soon disappeared.
They never did find her body.
~~~~~~~
From Neon:
Prompt: Hands
Song: Doll by Scandal
Note: Inspired too, by Tentabunny’s fic
“This… will take quite some time.”
The look she gave him told him she trusted in him completely. It also pleaded with him. He sighed. Of course he would do it for her.
“Come back, in 5 days. They’ll be ready for you then,” he turned away from her, taking the bag with him.
“Thank you, grandpapa,” she whispered, before running out his shop. The tinkling of the bell over the shop’s door marked the end of his life, the old man thought.
She came back, exactly 5 days later, at the hour she had left his shop. He had the news on, the newscaster droning about the man found with no hands. She looked unrepentant. The man, after all, had not survived the surgery. He was being buried. The old man looked meaningfully at her.
“An hour’s sunlight at most. No more. Then they’ll be as warm as you like,” he passed the bag over the counter.
She took them out. They were beautiful. Each nail was clean. The skin was wonderful to touch. There was no smell, no blood. To her surprise, the fingers were also flexible. The whole pair was. She looked at the old man in amazement.
“You asked me to give it some life,” was all he said.
“Thank you, Grandpapa!” she reached over and kissed his cheek, before stuffing the bag into her duffel bag and running out.
He sighed, and turned away. The obsessive love she had… must have come from home. He wept.
Original entry as appearing at Reach Into Your Soul.
“Or a good one, depending on whom you ask,” I muttered to myself, pulling the hood across my face to cover my lips.
Keeping my head down and the basket of figs close, I walked through the market. By the time I had reached it’s end i I knew there were at least two guards eyeing me suspiciously. That was fine. My main purpose was to distract them, after all. To distract them from their duties so no one would keep too close an eye on the Temple walls. Pretty soon, I knew, I would hear a scream. The longer the guards kept their eyes on me, the better.
Someone bumped roughly into my shoulder, causing me to drop my figs. With a curse, I bent down to pick them up, letting the hood fall from my head. From the corner of my eye, I couldn’t see if that had attracted the guards. Instead, the man who had rammed into me blocked my view. My hands moved quickly to gather the figs and some urchins stole my food, which I batted away half-heartedly.
“Move your feet, you’re standing on my skirt,” I said angrily, without looking up.
“Perhaps you should be more careful of whom you speak to, Child,” a bone-chillingly familiar voice replied.
I did not falter. Instead, I continued picking up the figs. The scream came, but was abruptly cut off. “Damn, there goes another,” I thought silently.
“I did not realise that you have so many lives to waste, Alin’sa. Or is that the reason why your women get pregnant so easily?”
My hands stopped moving. I turned to look at him, slowly, knowing what I would find. The sun shone behind him, so I had to squint, but the tell-tale wings were there. As were the bronzed skin. Skin I had kissed just two nights ago.
“Tis not your concern,” I stood up, taking my basket with me. He moved his feet off the hem of my skirt.
“It is when you’re talking about my child!” his hand reached out to grab me roughly. It was only then that I realised we had been speaking in the priestly language, for it had been his actions that drew everyone’s stares and not his words.
“Your child?” I hissed in his face. “What makes you think it is yours?” even as I said the words, I wish I would take them back. The look on his face was one I would carry forever.
“Whore!” he pushed me away from him, but our palms brushed as I fell and I caught the paper he passed to me. He walked away.
I picked up my basket and hurried back to my rooms. Opening my hand, I looked at the single note. It was not a note, but a crude envelope. Within was a simple rose petal.
I fell to the floor and cried.
Original entry as appearing at Reach Into Your Soul.
The young boy ran through the forest desperately.
He could hear the breath of the wolves chasing him. Unlike normal wolves, they did not bark, nor did they howl as they chased him, saving all their breath for the run. He did not look behind, knowing they were behind him was more than an impetus for him to run. The dry branches cracked under his feet even as his breath misted in front of him. Cold wind assailed his face ashe broke free of the forest and began running across the fields.
The harvest had been taken in and thus there was little to impede his way. He was on more familiar ground here. Darting between the bales of hay stacked high, he slowed down just a fraction to make quick, calculated turns. With any luck, he would be across the river before the wolves caught up with him.
Or not, he thought as he came to a stop in front of a tall stack of hay. He was to have climbed up it and thus across the fence, but the shaggy man on top of the hay put paid to that ambition. The man looked down at him and then howled, a long blood-curdling call to his brethren. Other wolves answered him, and he soon found himself surrounded. They growled softly.
“Just a brat, come to steal from the master,” the man growled and then jumped down, coming very close to the boy.
There was a gunshot.
The man turned and snarled as a woman, even taller than him, came up. She wore a fedora and a long coat that reached past her knees. In her arms she carried a sawed-off shotgun, locked and loaded for a second shot. The boy knew he was in for it.
“Let him go, Thomas,” she stood a safe distance away, her eyes on the man and her finger on the trigger.
“He stole from my master!” Thomas, the shaggy man, said.
“Lucas, give the man back what you stole,” the woman’s voice brooked no argument.
Lucas obeyed, removing the thin pack he had carried. He put it down on the ground, making sure to keep it between him and the shaggy man. Thomas growled.
“Now get off my lands, your wolves are scaring my horses,” the woman gestured. Thomas obeyed, but his eyes promised a cold vengeance to Lucas, who simply stood there, shaking in his boots.
“C’mere, Lucas,” the boy obediently went to the woman as they watched the man and the wolves skulk away. She did not move nor take her eyes off the forests until shadows on the ground had lengthened quite a bit, then she startled Lucas by smacking the back of his head.
“Just what the hell were you thinking, boy? That was a completely foolish thing to do! What use are you if you go and get yourself killed for your thieving rush? Tell me!” she didn’t actually give him a chance to speak, instead twisting his ears and making him walk home in that state, with a tirade loud enough to carry down the road, where the neighbours merely shook their head in amusement.
“Are you alright?” the woman’s sister got up quickly from her seat by the hearth, as Lucas was shoved through the door.
“Barely,” was the reply, before the door was bolted.
“I’ll get the carriage,” a child’s voice piped up.
“Stay still, Griselda,” the woman put the shotgun on the table while her sister took out a box to tend to Lucas’ ear.
“Sister?”
The woman did not reply, but instead went silent, trying to hear for something. Her sister reached into her apron for a weapon, while Lucas and Griselda went rigid. When the woman was like that, no one moved.
“They’re coming back,” she whispered.
“How far away?”
“They’ll be here before the carriage is done. Horses, now!” the woman grabbed her shot gun and a bag by the door, while her sister grabbed a pack by the hearth.
The two children ran out through the back, where the horses were. The horses were already saddled, but they needed to be unleashed. It was the duty of the children to do that. As they led the horses to the road, they heard the pot crashing to the floor and flames beginning to lick the flames of the house. A moment later, the two sisters came out of the house at a run and jumped easily onto the saddles. Each of them also grabbed a child and settled them on the horse before taking off in a full gallop. They left the burning house behind them.
Original entry as appearing at Reach Into Your Soul.
They were not what the elders wanted.
Original entry as appearing at Reach Into Your Soul.
The first thing they saw was the scythe. Always the scythe. They almost missed the boy with his book. It was a book after all, not nearly as threatening as the girl who wielded the scythe.
But they were always a pair. Always together. And when they were in action, everyone disappeared quickly.
For the girl was harmless on her own. Relatively, compared to the devastation her brother created. When the scythe swung, the book was opened. When the book was opened, the boy chanted. When he chanted, the girl attacked.
And when they were done, the battlefield was cleared.
Original entry as appearing at Reach Into Your Soul.
Inspired by this song. Which will have to be posted later cause my Internet is being dumb. All fixed now.
Hot nights
Heat waves
A songbird cries its melody
Even as the night grows dark
Otherworldy spirits walk the roads
The animals fear them not
The owl hoots
Takes to flight
At the head of the column
The Dark God walks
Guiding his way
The owl leads
Soon they reach
Their destination unaccosted.
Within, a family slumbers
Without, a gang of thieves watches
The Dark God stands by
As the gang attacks
Haunting, his maidens sing
They cover the screams within
A child runs outside
She stops in front of them
Accusing, she points
At him
He smiles
Her death certain.
Original entry as appearing at Reach Into Your Soul.
The prompt: Two characters discussing the lethality of pencils by C.
“Stabbing.”
“Cancer.”
“Lead poisoning.”
There was a pause.
“That would be most unlikely.”
“Statistics exist.”
“Pencils are made of graphite and clay. Not lead.”
“Huh.”
“What else?”
“Jousting.”
This time he looks up. She’s in her chair, leaning over an armrest, legs hanging over the other.
“The small kind, I assume?”
“The normal kind. If we can make a 65-foot pencil, no reason why not a tournament-sized one.”
“It won’t pierce armour.”
“It’d be lightweight. Momentum from galloping horses.” She smiled viciously.
He gives up. Throws down the pencil.
“Will you be serious?”
She laughs. “When we’re talking about absurdity? Never.”
Original entry as appearing at Reach Into Your Soul.
I am Gemini. The one who disrobed Christ. Preparing him like a Lamb before the slaughter, to be nailed to the Cross. As we disrobed him, my green Twin and I, I see his wounds. His body glistens with sweat. The blood and flesh have mixed with the sweat. As we peel away the robe, he winces in pain.
My heart swells with desire to heal him. To spirit him away, and to cleanse his wounds. I know not who he is, nor what crime he has committed, only that he is innocent. Compassion, not pity, fill my heart. Would that I could spirit him away, to cleanse his wounds, to heal this man.
Yet I could not. Instead, I watched as they led him to the cross. I watched as they hammered the first nail into his hand. I flinched at his cry of pain. I could not stop them, stop them from killing a man I knew innocent of whatever they accused him.
I am the Red Twin, and I stand on the Left hand of God.
Original entry as appearing at Reach Into Your Soul.
“Towards the far end of the city. Pass the fires. There!” Danhwa’s inner voice guided the massive dragon.
They landed on the outskirts of the city, near one of the many shrines that dotted the landscape. The shrine sat atop a hill, offering them a great view of the surrounding area. It was also near the sea. As they landed, Zhilbar let Danhwa tumble out of his claws.
The God rolled himself on the ground, allowing the grass to cover him in a cocoon. Within moments, it had covered him completely. Zhilbar, who had seen this happen only once many years ago, shrunk himself to human size again. The land was actually draining him of his powers, something he found incredible.
As he sat down to wait for Danhwa, an assassin came out of the shadows, running on silent feet. Zhilbar turned just a tad too late; the assassin’s thrust was unstoppable.
Unstoppable except for the fact that the same grass that had enveloped Danhwa now shot out of the ground to stop the assassin. Zhilbar coolly walked over to where the assassin’s sword had dropped and picked it up. It was a wonderful blade, but it hummed. That puzzled him, until he realised what it was.
“Danhwa!” he called his friend, turning to the bundle of grass.
“I know, old friend. The ancient Enemy lives again,” Ran sat up, naked.
The initial attack and explosion had caught the God unaware, but here in this sanctuary he had made for himself, healing was to be had. And because he had made a decision to stay here, the ground had accepted him.
“The Reptilian One lives,” Zhilbar turned to the assassin. Now the tailed one’s attack made sense.
“And by His will, thus you die,” an unfamiliar voice spoke, the wind carrying her words.
The two Gods turned to find themselves surrounded. Somehow, the ancient creatures had slipped through their senses and were now all around them. Zhilbar counted about twenty of them, all small fry. Yet he was not interested in killing them, but in learning what they wanted.
“Reelian lives then?” The catch in Danhwa’s voice surprised him.
“Our Master lives, no thanks to your treachery. For that, you must die,” the young lizard woman detached herself from the group.
In her hand she had a single katana. Zhilbar could see her blood dripping off the blade. She had bathed the sword in her blood. The only races that would do that would know that mortal blood often poisoned Gods; their body chemistry was completely different from a mortal’s.
“Danhwa…”
“It’s Ai’ru. He’s alive.” Danhwa’s voice was full of venom, low in anger.
“For the sins you have committed against my Master, you will die, Danhwa of the Pelequoi,” the woman proclaimed judgement.
“It’s not yet my time to die, child,” Danhwa replied, his eyes glowing golden and feral.
“So you say,” dozens of arrows flew at them.
Both Danhwa and Zhilbar took to the skies.
Original entry as appearing at Reach Into Your Soul.
The two of them watched from afar. With the exception of a few seconds’ delay, everything was going to plan. The man’s visitor, staying so late, was the only unexpected factor in their attack. Still, it was no matter. It would not affect the outcome of the attack.
“What’s wrong, Maiso?” his question broke her train of thought.
“Something is not quite right, Danijel,” she could not tell him more.
“The God will die, Maiso. Do not worry,” he took her hand with a smile.
She blushed, then looked back at the scene of the carnage. The assassins had boasted that they had killed many Divine Beings, but she did not trust them. The only mortals who could kill the Divine Beings were the Kamigoroshi clan, but if they could incapicitate the God that would be enough. She and Danijel would take over.
“Something’s wrong…” she breathed, releasing his hand.
Their hands stole to their weapons. She was right. There was a large roar and suddenly they could both see a majestic Golden Dragon take flight, growing in size as he soared. In his arms lay their quarry; the God Danhwa.
“The fools!” Maiso made to jump, but Danijel held her back.
“Do not be overeager, Sister. Watch,” he pointed to where the assassins were.
The Dragon floated above the area, his eyes on the smoking ruins of Danhwa. All around the neighbourhood, people were beginning to wake. Some had called the police, but no one had thought to look up yet. After debating with himself, the dragon fled, and the assassins followed. Apparently they were all working by the same rule.
The general populace must not know the existence of the Divine Beings.
“Now it gets interesting,” Danijel said.
Taking Maiso’s hand again, he led her away from the cliff and to the car. They would watch the battle happening on the outskirts of the city. The assassins claimed that they could take down a God; would they be able to take down a dragon?
Original entry as appearing at Reach Into Your Soul.
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