I think I need a mini-rant right about now... Maybe rant's not the best word... Ah well. Read on if you will...
Have you ever noticed how powerful illusions can be? She was sitting on the desk in over-large black clothes, the bones of her frame jutting at odd angles. She spit fire with her eyes as well as her mouth. Her words cut into him. Joking. Toxic sugar. She was tearing him down and he let her. Poor guy. Poor girl. He painted her portrait in ink on cardboard. Black. Dark. Angular. The way he saw her, and the way I saw her. She looked over and tore it to shreds with her words. Laughed off the hollows in her cheeks and the black of her eyes. And she knew it was true. She retreated to a computer screen in a darkened room and drew. Again and again. She came out strangely pale, her shoulders slumped, arms curled about herself. And she left without a word to anyone. He sat there and stared at her portrait. Stared and pondered what she'd said. He doodled in his notebook, her face still in his mind, lashing out with venom. He'd think about it all day. He'd pound each of her words into the metal at lunch. He liked the solitude, the lack of silence. As I passed the library, I saw her work on display. It defined her. Dark not in the physical sense, but in the understood. Every brush-stroke meaning another. And she laughed as she cried inside.
Gosh. True story. Why does my AP Studio Art have to be this dysfunctional? 'Sha and Ian.
Bingo! You guessed it, you genius, you! I'm not online as often because I have a life! Unpleasant though it may be (organic chemistry. Grrr.) at times, I must devote a spit more time to my studies (idiot that I am, I'm also studying for AcaDec) and my art. I'll still be about now and then, so please talk to me!
If you're wondering, non-academic life for me is pretty much like a festering wound. I would go into more graphic detail, but I think I'll spare you this time. In case you're very very interested, I may relate my story more completely... Or I may not. It's worth a shot!
***!BETTER! Character list/teaser... Just because the other one was horrid.
Anna is around 20-something at the beginning of the novel. An accident in her past robbed her of her family and her sanity. She was rescued and adopted by an old woman who ran a school for girls, giving Anna the opportunity to study. Having no ties to anything, however, Anna turns towards art to try and relieve her contorted soul. When the old woman is taken by a sudden heart attack, the new proprietor of the school turns Anna out into the cold (age 16). She lives off of London's streets, drawing and scrounging for basic necessities until she meets James who helps her, at first with little donations of money (buying pictures, etc). They become lovers over a period of time and ... *MUST LOG OUT PRESENTLY AND DO HOMEWORK. WILL CONTINUE THIS LATER!*
I'm thinking to give you a little teaser to see if I should really write my story and make it available for reading... or if I should write it attempt to publish it...
Meaning... I'm looking for an editor/beta/fa
Setting: England and France (so far) 1870-1930 or later
Main Characters: Anna, Sam, Frederick, John, Sarah, Elizabeth, Jane, Arthur, James, Robert
Their occupations and a bit about them:
Anna- Artist, part-time mental patient, part time surrogate mother
Sam- Artist, small time forced prostitute, partially insane, and partially left to be decided
Frederick- Writer, part-time student, part time maniac, part time lover
Jon- Frederick's father, part time merchant, part time alcoholic, full time romantic, partially mad
Sarah- Gypsy, part-time dancer, part time lover, part time enigma
Elizabeth- Part time Lady and widow, Full time denial.
Jane- Part time Lady, part time mother, full time party girl, part time slut, Drunk as a skunk
Arthur- Lover, Fighter, and businessman
James- Writer, lover, (perhaps once dealt in opium) dead
Robert- Friend, writer, enigmatic and lost in space
Lizzie is to Jane is to Fred as Anna is to Sam is to Fred. Jane is to Jon as Anna is to James and Fred is to Sarah.
Tricky enough for you?
Warning for character death, suicide, psychosis, alcoholism, child abuse, and family secrets.
Be wary, though. This is a series in the making (expect 100s if not 1000s of pages). Title can change without warning and no, it isn't quite as sad as I'm making it sound...
So... Are you interested?
Take my poll!!!! <poll:5189>
Deep into the early hours of the morning, dark visions began to haunt Dimitri's dreams… Tall dark stones rise high to scar the night air. The crimson earth almost ends in a perfect line, the ground within the great circle was lush and green. The blood and death long gone away, the flowers grew back and all was well… suddenly, the peaceful meadow bursts into flame. The indescribable moans of lost souls, the sickening scent of the dying filled the air and mingled with the smell of burning flesh… all but within the circle. The flames of hell couldn't reach out to touch it. An invisible cage of moonlight and silver seemed to keep it all away. The sanctuary from the demons and the heart of all hope. It was a circle within a circle, a dream within a dream. There seemed to be a fallen star upon the earth, for the center shone so brightly, it was horridly difficult to keep his eyes fixed. A great flare, and the force field was broken. Shards of lightening met groping hands of fire. The opposite powers fought and intertwove, a beautiful and deadly cosmic dance… but as quickly as it had begun, it had all ended. There was no silver, there was no gold. All that was left was a barren hill, a circle of stones, the velvety sky, and the twinkling of many stars.
The stars died out, fading into high ceilings. Hard, stone walls appeared around him and before him lay the most macabre scene that his mind could take him to. People of various ages, races and sexes lined the walls, more dead than alive. They were all caught in iron implements that cut till they bled and writhed in pain. The sharp metal glimmered from some unseen torches and illuminated the many spectres. Some moaned in pain, some had given up, and some, more chillingly, had their mouths sewn by a cruel hand, the stiches ripped through the soft flesh of their faces, mingling their fallen tears with their stiffled screams that cried for death… an end… any end. Dark cloaken figures floated among these rotting corpses and shells of whatr, at one time, had been great men. Nothing was visible of these creatures but the look of pleasure that curled around the corners of their unseen lips. Blood, death, pain… yes, yessssss. They seemed to breath it, to live off of it, to feed off of the souls of others…
Again the scene changed, but this one felt different… so strange, so close… The heavy, vaulted ceilings receded and the stars appeared once more… the moon showed like the smile of a cheshire cat over the tips of the tall, knarled trees of a forbidding forest. In the other direction, there was ice as smooth as glass and as reflective as a mirror. A thin powdering of snow seemed to cover everything, and it was cold. Never in his dreams had Dimitri breathed in the crisp air, felt the snow crushed beneath his feet, or even for that matter been something, someone of substance. Quick steps lead to a maze of white rosleins, their winter flowers not yet in bloom. The thorns tore his skin, but that didn't matter. The slight wind cut down to the very bone, but that did not matter. He watched from as he moved forward, his body acting on its own accord. Behind a nearly crumbled down wall, there was the statue of an angel crying. It was so beautiful, so cold, yet so bitterly comforting. He felt himself climbing up to the outstretched wings and then sitting, almost lying between the wings of the weeping guardian, her sword long forgotten. There, he sat for a very long time. Finally, things began to fade, slowly, but surely, everything was turning black…
Dimitri awoke with a start. He sat up and found, not to his surprise, that he was covered in a cold sweat. Something was definitely wrong, he could feel it. Some part of him was falling away… but where and how. Pacing the room quickly proved useless, so he dressed in a pair of jeans and a black woolen jumper, smoothed back his hair, and pushed open the door to walk outside. He needed someone who could calm him down, get him back in touch with reality… there was now just one someone. The soft patter of his quick footsteps soon found themselves on the stairs of a plain brown apartment building. With a curt bow, he spoke to a rather disgruntled, fat woman (undoubtedly the landlady). Curlers bobbing, she led him up the stairs and left him at the third door to the left. The tall, blonde boy walked in, knowing what he would see.
“Gin? Hi… um… will you take a walk with me?” he asked quietly.
The redheaded girl looked up from her thick book, “Dimirti, what are you doing here… now?”
“Well, if it isn't too much trouble for you, I think this may be important…”
She eyed him warily as if she didn't know what to expect, but finally, she sliced through the heavy tension that seemed to dance around the room. “I guess so,” Ginny sighed as she stood up and stuck a dagger in her boot. “Just in case,” the blue eyed girl explained as she brushed a fiery lock from her eyes. She stood up and followed her friend's dim outline as they made their ways down the dim corridor and out into the winter air.
...
MMMMMkay, so here is a little story I had to write for Sophmore English Lit... The assignment was to write a murder story/essay/my
Required Info/Character
Jack Holstein-farme
John Thomas- Technician
Swiss Alps
a Tricycle (murder weapon)
Wardrobe was outdated (stupid motive)
Ebony
by Ana Maria V.
The sun was lazily spreading its slender fingers of light over the tips of the Swiss Alps. My doctor... no... my "therapist" thought the fresh air would do me some good, as in my line of work, one doesn't get out much. I was always a good skier, though most any other outdoor activity seemed beyond me. The lifts had barely started when I hopped on and was taken to the top of the mountain. Relatively speaking, it wasn't a very steep slops, and being the beginning of the season, there weren't too many tracks and the snow was still a soft powder. I don't know, I think I like the rush, the cold, the blinding whiteness... It was exhilarating, and I felt free from everything except my skis, my picks, and my lift ticket. That is... until I got to the bottom. Then, the worries of the world caught up with me. I'm on Sabbatical. The expenses! Dark memories. The economy failing. The Eclipses. The Accident. Everything I didn't want to remember came back. Do I sound crazy to you? Well, I was. I really, really was. It was something I couldn't escape.
Something had power over me. I took the pills they gave me, their "happy pills", but they didn't work. They just made me slow. Slow to think. Slow to speak. Slow to everything. But they kept coming... the memories kept coming. Except, as I'd found, in a few situations...
I used to paint a lot when I was young... After the... Accident... I put them away. Brushes, paints, canvas; all went into a little wooden box and the box went to the back of my closet.
Ode to Chemistry Class
or
The Lament of the Chem Student
Thinking here, sitting in Chem
Wondering what's wrong with them.
Sadly, this class is oh so boring
That even I can find myself snoring.
Everything moves by so terribly slowly
Made clear to even the dumb and the lowly
Endless, repeating words fall with a patter
While chemicals spill and make quite a splatter.
Eyelids droop and my head falls on desk.
Fluorescent lights start to turn opalesque.
Yes, they have said this class would be trying
Harder, I say, is to watch some paint drying.
Again and again, the same numbers found
Waiting for reaction: the class makes no sound.
Maybe one day, it'll form excitement.
Flaming soap bubbles for pyros' delightment.
Happy, sleepy children never miss a chance
To make sure they fall into a narcoleptic trance.
Now I'm tired too; I'm going to sleep.
I know I won't miss one important peep.
So, boys and girls, you have now heard my rant.
Maybe... someday... Stupidity will recant.
~Ana Maria
Chem... 5th hour.
If you can't tell, I have this thing with rhyming. I've got a few poems that focus on alliteration, a good deal of freeverse, and a few haikus, but I don't think I'm going to copy them all... maybe one day...
*Symbolism behind the Last Judgement... copied again*
Ah yes.... I figured I might as well put in a little of the symbolism in it... just in case you're too stupid to see it/think of it otherwise...
The bells anounce religion, sadness, and death.
the doves symbolize grief and purity lost.
End of journey (if you didn't figure out that this is death, then you need some help)....
No-body is immune to death, regardless of what we had in life...
the arrow is time, it moves quickly and can't be stopped...
the archer... well...
time, fate, call it what you will...
the blood of death grows and covers us all, as a field is covered with poppies.
The reaper doth his scythe to swing,<--Grim Reaper, genius!
Darkest of night to bring<-- death...
Weary trav'ler, finally sleeping <-- Eventually, you get your rest in the valley of the dead
In the blackness, now falling <-- death descending over the eyes of a person
Guardians cry, Halo and Wing <-- Angels grieve for the loss of the damned
From the path, the spirit's strag'ling <-- sinners
Heart for soul is a-hag'ling <-- A last, desperate appeal for salvation
In the deep, the bones are rat'ling <-- time has finally ended and the dead awaken
Angels verses Demon bat'ling <-- The final battle
Army of the dead is rising!<-- guess... it's not that hard.
The Gone shall come again.
The Last Judgement.
The dark bells ding.
The mourning doves sing.
The end of the journey, this thing.
Spares neither peasant nor king.
Brought about by an arrow's twing
As the archer plays upon his lethal string.
Red flowers that bloom and sting.
The reaper doth his scythe to swing,
Darkest of night to bring.
Weary trav'ler, finally sleeping.
In the blackness, now falling,
Guardians cry, Halo and Wing.
From the path, the spirit's strag'ling,
Heart for soul is a-hag'ling.
In the deep, the bones are rat'ling.
Angels verses Demon bat'ling.
Army of the dead is rising!
The Gone shall come again.
The Knight Gone Astray
Let me tell you a tale
Of a stalwart old knave
Who one day set sail
For a maiden to save.
Yes, through wind and gail
‘Til, lo! There's a cave!
With his jacket of mail
And his heart, oh so brave…
He followed the trail
That the gnomes do pave.
To a place that glowed, pale.
Which men's hearts do crave.
With buckets of ale
That cause them to rave.
The land under the dale
Sweet kiss of death she gave…
*Two older poems... I thought I'd copy them from ET to EP... so I did!*
Hi everyone... If you scroll down, I doubt there will be much that strikes your interest.... Meh, I will add the questionare when I have the time and inspiration... Until then... well...
Anyways... I'm sitting/ was sitting in Precalculus, as it is the slowest most boring, simple, mathematics class I've ever taken, and I wrote a crappy little poem. Because it's lunchtime and I don't have much else to do, I think I'll copy it here....
*stemmed from English class, jsyk*
AND I DON'T TALK LIKE THIS! Exc. perhaps when I feel like being silly...
An MC's Ode to Snow White... or otherwise, Untitled.
Yo dere, Snow, ya got no flow.
Yer men were tiny; bend down low.
Kicked ya to the curb, said you gotta go.
Needles took yer pain, made ya feel so-so.
Bit the shining apple, given by a Crow.
Moron! Loco! Can't ya see it glow?
Hell with dignity! You turned "Hey Hoe."
His eyes were sparkling, you said "Hello."
Ya saw he was no average Joe.
He saw you were easy, ya mumbled real slow.
Had his fun then letcha go.
Gotta maintain the status quo.
Ya snapped like a string from a mighty tight bow.
You were now yer greatest foe.
Tried to hide it: drown your woe.
Couldn't stop screaming, clawing walls. No.
"This," you said "Was the final blow."
Silver Blade's your friend, you know?
Your last chance, you knew you wouldn't blow.
Now yer buried down the fifth row.
Labeled you, just another Jane Roe.
Sounds kinda like a story from Poe.
Yours is the spot where no flowers grow.
There is where no mourners go.
Yo dere, Snow, ya got no more flow...
Fin
What do you think?
There is an illustration to this, and I'll probably get it up here eventually.... eventually being the key word...