forum Random writing excerpts

Started December 04, 2018 by @ThousandWisher

tune

Hey guys! If you want to share poems, random writings, or maybe writing prompts, feel free to post!

But keep it clean please! Young aspiring writer here who'd rather not read, to put it nicely, smut. Thanks!

She stumbled as she stood, with an arm gripping his shoulder.

"Thanks," she breathed heavily.

He just smiled warmly, but something wasn't right. That glimmer in his eye, it was gone. The shine to his smile, that too disappeared. She took her arm off his shoulders, stumbling away and supporting herself on a nearby column. She lifted her helmet and removed her breast plate. Large spikes lined the insides of the armor, each covered in blood. Her precious blood. As she stared she saw the spikes begin to shrink. She looked him dead in the eyes and saw him making gestures, as if crushing the air between his palms. She dropped her breast plate.

"You did this," she said narrowing her eyes, "You were playing with me. You made me think I did this all to myself."

She shucked off every scrap of metal on her. With a wave of her own hands a polished silver shield and sharp sword appeared in her hands.

"You're only hurting yourself," he whispered, "Here. Give those to me, I don't want you doing this to yourself."

"You lie," she growled, "This was your scheme the whole time."

She advanced on him. With a twirl a black cobra replaced him, hood open and hissing loudly.

"Haaaaaaahhhsaaaaaahh," she hissed at it.

It reared up, his fangs glittering in the torch light. Just as soon as he had, he twisted away and slithered down the desolate hall.

"And don't come back!" she said, baring her teeth like a wolf. She turned on her heel and kicked the remaining armor aside. She needed a healer. And quickly.

this was a bit of a thing for a scene i wrote that I've since scrapped, but like too much to delete, so here:

Just as I was about to reply with a witty retort, a hush swept over the assembled guests.
No, that’s not right. The hush didn’t sweep over the guests, it fell upon them. You may not think there is a difference, as indeed most people wouldn’t, but that is only because those people have never experienced a falling silence.
Sweeping silences are relatively common, though they are still rare enough to be of note. Sweeping silences occur when something dramatic happens before a crowd. They appear when mysterious strangers enter taverns, or when royalty descends the stairs to the ballroom. Some are small, like waves on the beach, gently lapping at the sand for a few seconds before receding back into the ocean of conversation. Some of them are large, like great waves in a storm, washing away everything in their path and scarring the ground that it leaves behind, so that it’s never quite the same. Some sweeping silences are pushed back by the force of conversation, by rich, egotistical lords who think their blatantly false stories are more important than the source of the silence, or by musicians that are too disciplined and professional to succumb to the temptation to stop and look. Some sweeping silences can move so fast as to be mistaken for a falling silence. But they are not.
Falling silences are different. If a sweeping silence is akin to a dancer making a single misstep, then a falling silence is akin to them breaking both legs. They occur when whatever has occurred is so significant, so much more important than anything else that could possibly be occurring at the same time, that everyone nearby knows not to break the silence for fear of distracting from it in any way. If anyone who witnessed it were alive to tell you, they would say that when the first princess of Arkadia stepped onto the balcony on the night of hainsfell eve, four hundred and twenty-three years ago, she was so beautiful the entire castle was brought to absolute silence in a fraction of a second. If anyone who witnessed it was brave enough to tell you, they would say that silence fell upon forty thousand men when the witch king stepped onto the battlefield to face them. And if anyone who witnessed it was sane enough to tell you, they would say that when the mad god woke and looked out upon his followers, every single one of them found themselves unable to even think, let alone try to speak.
The silence that descended upon the room in that moment didn’t sweep over the crowd, it fell. And it fell hard.

Thumbs up @Tarrant_Korrin, it is long but I like the last line especially, it really emphasizes how dramatic the moment is.

The phoenix sang a melancholy tune as it looked upon the young girl's mangled body.

"Please," she pleaded, "Heal me. You can heal all maladies. Please, heal mine."

He landed beside her and laid his head on her temple. A glistening tear ran down his face and dropped onto her cheek. She'd finally be healed! She stayed still, letting her body be slowly healed. But she felt nothing but pain. Pain that neither increased nor decreased. She waited. 10 minutes. 30 minutes. An hour. Four hours. A sickening reality came upon her until it echoed mournfully in her ears. Not all maladies can be healed.

I wrote this a hell of a long time ago as an intro to one of my scenes. Might as well post it because I most likely won't use it

His voice echoed throughout the large space, loud words, shouted responses, and whispered revelations. It bounced off the eardrums, danced in the channels and grooves of their shriveled brains, and lastly resonated in the hearts of overfed, sweaty religious zealots. Their pig like noses, and gaunt skin glistening under the light sneaking through the stained glass windows. The women had smooth ivory skin spread like cream cheese over bone, like a melting sculpture of paper and sticks, their long locks pulled back like straw, and their fingernails painted like the speck of blood Alistair saw on the preachers holy sash. The men, with their bulbous stomachs like pregnant bellies, became hoarse from their shouted agreements and arguments. Their skin was rough and coarse like the tongue of a cow, with beads of sweat rolling off their necks as they praised the lord and cried for their daily bread. A flash of red across the eye, no, that's not right. A blink, a squint, and back to the normal cold blue it was before. The speck of red blood not in the eyes, but on the sash of the preacher, surely he cut himself shaving, nothing more nothing less, right?

Please let me know what you think!

A few weeks had passed since the fire had happened. Police chief Clark Keen was busy writing up reports, and making a list of those that had been killed in the fire. He let out a sigh as he was going through the list of those that had been horribly injured enough to require being sent to the hospital. Amongst those on this particular list was his own daughter, Jane.
“Excuse me Chief Keen?” Came an unexpected voice. Clark turned to see who it was. Kelly Bradshaw stood holding a file. Her long auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her green eyes were shining.
“What is it Bradshaw?”
“Your son is here.”
“Send him in.” Clark says. Kelly saunters away only to be replaced by Jack several moments later.
“Hey dad.” Jack says.
“What ya want Jackson? You know that I’m busy with trying to sort things out from the fire.” Clark says and sneaks a swig from his flask.
“I know that dad, but I think that I have some information that you need.” Jack states, and plops himself down into a chair. Clark turns to look at his son.
“And what would that be?”
“That the fire was started intentionally.” Jack states.
“There was only one sign of arson, Jackson, so that bit of info is useless to me.” Clark tells his son, and turns back to what he was doing. He takes another drink from his flask, and lets out a sigh while running a hand over his head. “Your poor sister. She’s burnt pretty badly. Doc says that she’ll be stuck in a coma until she’s fully healed.”
Jack stands up, walks over to his dad, and places a hand on his shoulder. “I’m worried about her to dad.” Jack states. “I also have a feeling that I know who started the fire, and did this to her.” Clark looks up at Jack at this, a look of slight hope hanging in his eyes.
“Who did it, Jackson? Who hurt my baby girl?”
“Jason Flayme.” Jack responds.
“His name has been popping up quite a bit lately. With how many fires he’s been accused of starting I’m surprised that the system is letting him out on bail.” Clark states, and takes yet another drink from his flask. “However all the evidence against him is purely circumstantial, and doesn't really hold up in court. Gotta wonder how he wound up in the juvenile system then. Oh well, everyone deserves another chance.” Clark admits. Jack takes the flask from his dad, and puts it back where his dad can’t get to it. A knock at the door has both of the Keens turn to see who had knocked.
“Sorry Chief, but it’s urgent.”
“Then out with it, Bradshaw!” Clark snaps. Kelly glances over to Jack.
“Um, I’m not sure if he should be in here for this, sir.” Kelly says. “It’s about the fire.”
“What now?” Clark asks. Kelly stands silent, searching for the right words to say.
“Something’s been found, sir. Something that I think is crucial to the case.”
“And that would be?” Clark asks, and then realizes that Jack is still in the room with them. “Jackson, why don’t you go back to the hospital, and spend some time with your sister.” Clark suggests instead of asking. Jack walks out of the room, and leaves Kelly alone with his father.
“It should’ve been emailed to you by now, Chief.” Kelly states. Clark opens up his email account, and sure enough there is a new email entitled ‘New Evidence’. He clicks on it to open it. The email links to the profile of a student from Midford High.

I like the idea! It's great, just remember to do extensive research if your doing a murder mystery, those tend to be the hardest to write.

I write poems too, I wanted to share this one.

Lashing My Mind

My body is limp and weak,
I struggle towards the healing water of the creek.
But like an old balloon, precious air I leak.
Searching for the creek, some bit of healing from it I seek.

I fall to the forest floor,
Your words rotting my core.
Why take that away from me when I was already poor?
For it was my heart and mind you tore.

Then you come back,
Pleading me to forget your track.
But I'd rather be stuck with a tack
Than put me on a rack.

I stay frozen in place,
Never looking at you face
Because I'm a dire case.
You I'm not willing to chase.

I get up and run,
Fleeing towards the glowing sun.
I will never let you hold me under a gun.
Neither will have a victory won.

Oh my broken soul
Will I ever be whole?
I flee from your gravitational pull
And the sound of my own sobs to sleep I lull.

Oh streaming tears,
Let go you fears.
Forever his eyes seem to leer.
Never do my eyes seem to clear.

My heart, my heart!
Your love is sweet yet tart.
I search, I search for the bleeding part;
Trying to repair my bleeding heart.

Will I ever heal?!
Or shall I forever kneel?
Everything around me feels so unreal,
And often my fate looks sealed.

How loud I feel I plea,
Feeling a crushing weight upon me.
Can no one really see
How damaging you can be?

How blind was my sight!
Never reaching a higher height.
You held me tight
And I thought I'd never see light.

Through me you plowed,
My vision was a cloud.
But with the knowledge I have now
To you I will never bow.

Repeatedly lashing my mind,
Feeling as if I was always behind.
And for your friendship I pined,
Because everything I saw in you was silver lined.

I clutch my head,
Fearing that I'm as good as dead.
On piercing pins I'd tread
Seeing you ever again is what I dread.

I walk in the rags left of me,
I had fought and was finally free.
I will never be again on bent knee.
Rather, choosing to flee.

Wrote this nearly 3 years ago:

---

A Dragonelle's Fury
The dragonelle slowly exited her cave, the gem in the middle of her forehead glowing red. She glanced back, hearing the pitter-patter of little paws. Soon, her chick had joined her. It looked up at her with big eyes, its own small gem glowing but that of a soft lavender. giving a chirrup. The mother rumbled softly, leaning her head down, nuzzling her chick. She then gave it a gentle nudge back to the cave, then jumped upwards wings flapping.
The chick raced back out, peering over the rock as it watched its mother fly off into the mountains. It's little muzzle upturned into a smile. A butterfly suddenly fluttered past, catching its attention. The dragon chick turned around, playing much like a kitten, chasing the colorful insect.
Soon, it had the butterfly pinned between its paws. The chick then noticed something, a shadow, which was not that of its mother. The little dragon turned its head, seeing an armored human, drawing a sword. Without any warning, the human struck at the little chick. It dodged, giving a screech, in hopes of its mother would hear it in time.
The dragonelle's head shot upwards, hearing the distress call. She snapped open her wings in an instant, quickly taking flight. It was only a matter of seconds before she landed upon the edge, racing inside. What she found, was a massacre. Her chick laid in a pool of blood the red liquid splattered against the walls. Where its gem once was, had been carved out of its skull.
She nuzzled her little one, hoping, praying, but in the back of her mind, she knew it was gone. The dragonelle sat in defeat, cooing over the loss. Her eyes shined, slowly closing them, tears falling.
When the dragonelle slowly opened her eyes again though, no longer did they hold sadness and mourning. Instead, they burned with an intense fury, the fury of a mother who's child had been murdered in cold-blood.
She whipped around, flaring her wings out, leaping into the sky. The dragonelle released an enraged roar which echoed throughout the land. She would let her rage be known, they would pay for murdering her chick and taking its gem.
After some time of flying, she suddenly dived down from the safety of the clouds, releasing a blast of red flames. The flames were directed upon the outskirts of the main kingdom, the castle located in the middle. The dragonelle knew in the back of her mind that it was suicide, but she was not going to let this slide.
Her flames burned, racing through the villages and towards the castle. The dragonelle's sharp ears heard a cry, then the storm of arrows came flying towards her. She flapped her wings, trying to rise up above the onslaught, but it was too late. The dragonelle took a sudden nose-dive, crashing into the middle of the courtyard. Where she had crashed, she remained.
The dragonelle slowly opened her eyes, arrows, swords, and spears sticking from her body. Blood oozed, pooling underneath her. Her eyes dimmed to a dull glow as she glared at the male that stood before her. On his neck, he wore a necklace…with her chick's gem. Her eyes suddenly seemed to catch on fire once again. With her last ounce of strength, the dragonelle lunged forward, snapping her jaws around the man who had killed her chick.
As she managed to revenge her young, a storm of sharp metal clanged, and men shouted. The dragonelle drew in a final shaky breath, before leaving this world, feeling at peace. She would meet her chick again, very soon now….they would be reunited once again.

@Tarrant_Korrin Wow you described that so beautifully. That felt almost like what you'd get if you mixed a descriptive scene by Douglas Adams, and a descriptive scene by Kate DiCamillo, which, granted, is a strange combo when I think about it but man does it work.

@ThousandWisher, I really like your poem!

Just a clip from one of my stories, it hopefully introduces the type of sibling relationship that two sisters have.

Aeshma Songmoon hid from her sister in the tall grass behind their home. Said sister would say that a Council member shouldn’t behave so childishly. She’d remind her that she was only 14 and though legally adult, was still considered a child by many. As she played out this familiar scenario in her head, a tall, white bird landed next to her.
“Well you’re a handsome one, aren’t you?” She reached out to stroke him and, no surprise, he let her. Adramelech always said she had a way with animals.
It didn’t last long, though. Soon he was spooked by a sound not quite as loud as thunder, but that certainly had the same intensity. Her older sister tumbled over, landing next to her, out of breath from running down the hill.
“You don’t have to stomp so loud.” Aeshma folded her arms.
Adrey scoffed, her mouth left open in disbelief. If it’d been the other way round, Adramelech would have scolded her for “catching flies.” “Really? You’re the one lecturing me?”
“It’s not a lecture. You just scared away that bird.”
The young woman dropped her head back so that she was gazing at the sky. “You’re too much sometimes.”
“So are you.”
Aeshma watched her sister close her eyes and breathe. Her long eyelashes hitting high cheekbones, her delicate hand rising on her stomach with every new breath, her statuesque wings sprawled out against the ground above them, her naughtily uncovered obsidian hair curling gently about her head. She’d never be as beautiful as her.