Write, Wrote, Written discussion
TMEB's Writing
>
Stories I may or may not continue
date
newest »
newest »
Ten centuries spent in silence waiting to come forth. Nine decades spent preparing for the fall. Eight years spent destroying everything. Seven months spent praying for the lost. Six weeks spent listening to the screaming of the damned. Five days spent rejoicing with the chosen. Four hours spent starting the world anew. Three minutes spent saying goodbye. Two seconds spent leaving. One moment before they come again. They are coming and the last time they came all of humanity died.
I don't know of I will ever continue these. This is just a sort of dumping ground for all my ideas. So I can come back later if I want.
I am already in the middle of writing a book and it is an epic fantasy so I am betting that (if I get it published) I will be writing the whole series for about 4 or 5 more years at least.
I am already in the middle of writing a book and it is an epic fantasy so I am betting that (if I get it published) I will be writing the whole series for about 4 or 5 more years at least.
p.s. I was looking back in my story cause I thought you meant I mistyped something. LOL :)
Prologue
"Grandfather won't you tell me where we are going" I asked as we descended the stairs into the darkness of the cellar.
"Hush, child," he replied holding the candle out in front of him.
"But Grandfather, I just want to hear some of your old war stories, I don't want to go down into the cellar. It's dark down there and I heard rats once." I replied, I was always impatient as a child and I had never liked the cellar.
"Ahh," Grandfather said, "here it is." He reached down and pulled off a piece of the wall that was broken and pulled out a cloth.
"Grandfather let's go up stairs," I said trying to pull him away from the wall.
"You wanted to know what war was like Jacob,"he said looking me straight in the eye, "here you go." He unraveled the cloth, sitting there was an old journal. I didn't realize it then, but that was the day my life changed. The day, back when I was but a child. The day I got the journal. The day I read a simple story about a warrior and a servant. The day I promised myself that I would one day do what my grandfather could not. I would take up the dagger and I would break the vase.
"Grandfather won't you tell me where we are going" I asked as we descended the stairs into the darkness of the cellar.
"Hush, child," he replied holding the candle out in front of him.
"But Grandfather, I just want to hear some of your old war stories, I don't want to go down into the cellar. It's dark down there and I heard rats once." I replied, I was always impatient as a child and I had never liked the cellar.
"Ahh," Grandfather said, "here it is." He reached down and pulled off a piece of the wall that was broken and pulled out a cloth.
"Grandfather let's go up stairs," I said trying to pull him away from the wall.
"You wanted to know what war was like Jacob,"he said looking me straight in the eye, "here you go." He unraveled the cloth, sitting there was an old journal. I didn't realize it then, but that was the day my life changed. The day, back when I was but a child. The day I got the journal. The day I read a simple story about a warrior and a servant. The day I promised myself that I would one day do what my grandfather could not. I would take up the dagger and I would break the vase.
The Fall
Emily smiled, it was over. She closed her eyes and took a step and down she fell.
They say that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. Emily Owens is ready to end it all, but as she falls she relives her entire life. Will she finally decide that life was worth living after all, and if she does will it be to late. Relive Emily's worst and best moments in the split second it takes her to reach the ground.
Emily smiled, it was over. She closed her eyes and took a step and down she fell.
They say that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. Emily Owens is ready to end it all, but as she falls she relives her entire life. Will she finally decide that life was worth living after all, and if she does will it be to late. Relive Emily's worst and best moments in the split second it takes her to reach the ground.
Made this as a challenge for the writing group I mod. Who knows though, I may make something out of it.
Arimeda
You always told me to be myself, to never give in to the stereotypes, the lies. Everyone always told me what to do, who to be, but you never did. You were my lifeline, the one point holding me, keeping me from falling off the cliff. Keeping me from becoming the person everyone else saw me as. And now, you're gone.
It feels strange talking to a slab of stone, like somehow this barren rock is you. When they found you, there was nothing left. Just a few bits and pieces. Your family buried an empty coffin. They miss you. Your little sister cried when they lowered the casket into the ground, she kicked and screamed. Your ma cried too, but not as loud. Your dad just stood there, he was always a hard man. Of course I didn't cry, you always told me that no one was worth my tears, even if it was you.
So here I am, talking to a piece of rock like it has replaced my best friend. I probably look silly, but I don't care. You taught me to not care what I looked like, to not care what other people thought of me.
Do you remember when we first met. I was twelve, and you were eleven. It was my first day at school, and nobody would talk to me. The other kids all moved their desks away from mine, everyone whispered, except you. You sat down right next to me, looked me in the eye, and told me we were going to be best friends. I didn't believe you, but it looks like you were right, you always were. It's been six years since we met. I'm almost eighteen, and you would've been seventeen last week.
I feel so alone, without you who am I? You always told me to be my own person, to define myself. You would probably laugh at me right now, you would find it funny how alone I feel. You would tell me that I was being silly, that it didn't matter if you were there or not, that I was still me. I would give anything to hear you laugh.
It's late, my ma'll probably be waiting up for me. She knows where I am, but that will probably just make her worry more. I wish she wouldn't, she has some much to worry about as it is, she doesn't need to have my late night trips to the cemetery to worry about as well.
I'm rambling again, you always hated it when I rambled. If you were here you would tell me to sit up straight, look you in the eye, and say exactly what I came here to say. The only problem is, I'm not quite sure what I came here to say. It's been three months Meda, three long months since you died, three long months since they buried that empty casket, under this slab of stone. Three months since I lost my best friend.
I guess part of me is here to say sorry. I should have protected you Meda. I should have run in front of that Train, and taken the hit for you. You were young, you had so much potential. Me, the only thing holding me to this world was you. I know your family blames me for your death too. They never liked me, hated it when you talked to me. Did you know that I wasn't allowed to come to your funeral, I had to sneak in and hide up in an oak tree. But I had to come, I had to see it for myself. I still come.
I remember when your family first met me. I was giving you a ride home on my bike. You were riding on my handle bars, I was swerving all over the road and you were laughing. I stopped at the corner where I always dropped you off, and there was your dad. What happened after that was blur, you were crying, I was on the ground, you're mom was screaming at your dad to stop. All your neighbors stood at their windows watching. I left as soon as I could. The next day, you sat down next to me at school like you did everyday. You didn't even bring t up. When I finally asked you why you were still friends with me, you said that it didn't matter what your family thought, you wanted to be my friend and that was that. We never spoke of it again.
I always wondered why you were so nice to me. You could have shied away, like everyone else did. Yet, you didn't. You saw so much in me Meda. Everyone else just saw a good for nothing little kid. You saw the real me. Everyone hated me, but you acted as if, as if what I looked like didn't even matter. You made me feel special. All of my life I had been prosecuted, by people who didn't even know me, just for what I looked like. When you hear that you're inferior, a monster, stupid, dumb, and all the other names they used to call me, enough times you begin to believe it. But you set me straight. You said that it didn't matter that I was black and you were white. You taught me that what's on the outside doesn't matter, it's whats on the inside that counts.
How am I supposed to live with myself now Meda. You were my only friend, the only one who saw me for me. The only one who cared enough to get to know me before you judged me. Without you I have no one.
I brought you something. Red roses, you're favorite. I remember after a show, I would always wait out back, because Negroes weren't allowed inside the theater, and you would come out the stage door in full costume and make up. I would give you the roses, and you would smile and say I was being sweet. I loved to see you smile. I would've loved it even more to see you dance. You always looked beautiful in your costumes, and I could imagine you spinning around and around. Rain or shine I always waited by that door for you, and you always came.
I miss you Meda. I guess that's what I really came here to say. I miss the bike rides, the dancing in the rain. I miss you're smile, the way your face would get all scrunched up when you were angry. I miss the way your face would light up when you danced. It made you so happy. I hope there's a lot of dancing in heaven.
It's been hard without you. Being the only black kid in an all white school is as it is hard. There are whispers and pointed looks, and bullies. But, you always taught me to stand up for myself. That no matter what they believed there was nothing that made me different from them, other than the color of my skin. Well, I finally did it Meda, I got accepted to Medical school. I proved them all wrong, and I couldn't have done it without you.
I love you Arimeda, I always have, and I always will.
Not as developed as I would like it to be, and the transitions need some work, but I'm proud of it
You always told me to be myself, to never give in to the stereotypes, the lies. Everyone always told me what to do, who to be, but you never did. You were my lifeline, the one point holding me, keeping me from falling off the cliff. Keeping me from becoming the person everyone else saw me as. And now, you're gone.
It feels strange talking to a slab of stone, like somehow this barren rock is you. When they found you, there was nothing left. Just a few bits and pieces. Your family buried an empty coffin. They miss you. Your little sister cried when they lowered the casket into the ground, she kicked and screamed. Your ma cried too, but not as loud. Your dad just stood there, he was always a hard man. Of course I didn't cry, you always told me that no one was worth my tears, even if it was you.
So here I am, talking to a piece of rock like it has replaced my best friend. I probably look silly, but I don't care. You taught me to not care what I looked like, to not care what other people thought of me.
Do you remember when we first met. I was twelve, and you were eleven. It was my first day at school, and nobody would talk to me. The other kids all moved their desks away from mine, everyone whispered, except you. You sat down right next to me, looked me in the eye, and told me we were going to be best friends. I didn't believe you, but it looks like you were right, you always were. It's been six years since we met. I'm almost eighteen, and you would've been seventeen last week.
I feel so alone, without you who am I? You always told me to be my own person, to define myself. You would probably laugh at me right now, you would find it funny how alone I feel. You would tell me that I was being silly, that it didn't matter if you were there or not, that I was still me. I would give anything to hear you laugh.
It's late, my ma'll probably be waiting up for me. She knows where I am, but that will probably just make her worry more. I wish she wouldn't, she has some much to worry about as it is, she doesn't need to have my late night trips to the cemetery to worry about as well.
I'm rambling again, you always hated it when I rambled. If you were here you would tell me to sit up straight, look you in the eye, and say exactly what I came here to say. The only problem is, I'm not quite sure what I came here to say. It's been three months Meda, three long months since you died, three long months since they buried that empty casket, under this slab of stone. Three months since I lost my best friend.
I guess part of me is here to say sorry. I should have protected you Meda. I should have run in front of that Train, and taken the hit for you. You were young, you had so much potential. Me, the only thing holding me to this world was you. I know your family blames me for your death too. They never liked me, hated it when you talked to me. Did you know that I wasn't allowed to come to your funeral, I had to sneak in and hide up in an oak tree. But I had to come, I had to see it for myself. I still come.
I remember when your family first met me. I was giving you a ride home on my bike. You were riding on my handle bars, I was swerving all over the road and you were laughing. I stopped at the corner where I always dropped you off, and there was your dad. What happened after that was blur, you were crying, I was on the ground, you're mom was screaming at your dad to stop. All your neighbors stood at their windows watching. I left as soon as I could. The next day, you sat down next to me at school like you did everyday. You didn't even bring t up. When I finally asked you why you were still friends with me, you said that it didn't matter what your family thought, you wanted to be my friend and that was that. We never spoke of it again.
I always wondered why you were so nice to me. You could have shied away, like everyone else did. Yet, you didn't. You saw so much in me Meda. Everyone else just saw a good for nothing little kid. You saw the real me. Everyone hated me, but you acted as if, as if what I looked like didn't even matter. You made me feel special. All of my life I had been prosecuted, by people who didn't even know me, just for what I looked like. When you hear that you're inferior, a monster, stupid, dumb, and all the other names they used to call me, enough times you begin to believe it. But you set me straight. You said that it didn't matter that I was black and you were white. You taught me that what's on the outside doesn't matter, it's whats on the inside that counts.
How am I supposed to live with myself now Meda. You were my only friend, the only one who saw me for me. The only one who cared enough to get to know me before you judged me. Without you I have no one.
I brought you something. Red roses, you're favorite. I remember after a show, I would always wait out back, because Negroes weren't allowed inside the theater, and you would come out the stage door in full costume and make up. I would give you the roses, and you would smile and say I was being sweet. I loved to see you smile. I would've loved it even more to see you dance. You always looked beautiful in your costumes, and I could imagine you spinning around and around. Rain or shine I always waited by that door for you, and you always came.
I miss you Meda. I guess that's what I really came here to say. I miss the bike rides, the dancing in the rain. I miss you're smile, the way your face would get all scrunched up when you were angry. I miss the way your face would light up when you danced. It made you so happy. I hope there's a lot of dancing in heaven.
It's been hard without you. Being the only black kid in an all white school is as it is hard. There are whispers and pointed looks, and bullies. But, you always taught me to stand up for myself. That no matter what they believed there was nothing that made me different from them, other than the color of my skin. Well, I finally did it Meda, I got accepted to Medical school. I proved them all wrong, and I couldn't have done it without you.
I love you Arimeda, I always have, and I always will.
Not as developed as I would like it to be, and the transitions need some work, but I'm proud of it
It's about a black boy talking to the grave of his dead friend, a white girl, in the early 1900s when there was a lot of segregation.
Born on September the first 1764, Daniel was always a bit odd. His parents Margaret and Daniel senior, bless their souls, cared and loved their only child deeply despite his quirks. Daniel was different, special his mother told him. Daniel hated being “special.” When he asked why he couldn't play with the other children, his mother told him that the other children wouldn't understand him, that they would judge him before they even got to now him. So young Daniel was locked away inside his parent's house. He had no friends, save for the two kitchen maids and the butler, and he always yearned for children his own age to play with. He would sit at the window, and look out at the rubble street, with the children playing hopscotch, and ring around the rosie. Most children wished to be different, to be exceptional, Daniel would do anything to be normal.
Despite his imprisonment, Daniel was happy. He loved his mother and father deeply, and knew that they knew what was best for him, so he never disobeyed. His father used to put him on his lap every night and tell him, “Daniel, you are going to do great things, the world just isn't ready for you yet.” Unbeknownst to the young family, the world would have to be ready sooner then they thought
Despite his imprisonment, Daniel was happy. He loved his mother and father deeply, and knew that they knew what was best for him, so he never disobeyed. His father used to put him on his lap every night and tell him, “Daniel, you are going to do great things, the world just isn't ready for you yet.” Unbeknownst to the young family, the world would have to be ready sooner then they thought
This is the prologue type thing for the Rumpelstiltskin retelling I wish to write one day. I got the idea from Emmeline, and tried to write a short story, but that didn't work out. I plan to write a full novel from this one day though...
There once was a kingdom, a kingdom that was run by a very greedy king. You all know the story of the poor millers daughter, the one who couldn't spin straw into gold. The one with the strange little man who came offering aid. You all know that story, but did you know it was wrong. Did you know that there was no straw, rather it was cloth, and it was to be spun into silk not gold. Did you know that the strange little man was not a man at all, but rather he was a young boy. Do you know the real story? No, well let me tell it to you. For this is not the story of the young miller's daughter, but rather this is my story. Who am I? I'll let you decide that for yourselves.
There once was a kingdom, a kingdom that was run by a very greedy king. You all know the story of the poor millers daughter, the one who couldn't spin straw into gold. The one with the strange little man who came offering aid. You all know that story, but did you know it was wrong. Did you know that there was no straw, rather it was cloth, and it was to be spun into silk not gold. Did you know that the strange little man was not a man at all, but rather he was a young boy. Do you know the real story? No, well let me tell it to you. For this is not the story of the young miller's daughter, but rather this is my story. Who am I? I'll let you decide that for yourselves.
Mod
:D
I wrote this a long time ago, still I feel it could probably be made into a pretty good middle-grade book one day.
April 17th, 1896
The waves crashed against the wooden hull of the ship, Victoria. Gust after gust of wind hit the sails rattling the timbers and making the masts creak and groan. The captain of the old schooner, a man by the name of Sal, was strapped to the deck barking useless orders at his crew desperately trying to save his ship. He was a short, elderly man, with a small amount of white hair on top of his absurdly large head. He was known by all the sailors as a tough, but fair and respectable captain. He had a way about him that made people respect him, he was a leader and I personally would've followed him into any battle no matter how bad the odds. But, that day the man who was usually so confident and optimistic, knew even then that they weren't going to make it. He was sure that the crew couldn't hear his useless orders over the noise of the storm and even if they could it wouldn't have made a difference.
Water splashed against his leg as yet another humongous wave struck the ship. Sal looked despairingly at the sky. It was only 3 hours past midday but the storm had blocked out all of the suns light. Instead, the sky was covered in angry black and gray clouds pushing and shoving one another for space, over crowding the sky so that whenever one of the clouds had a chance to move another took its place. Sal was an experienced sailor and had never once gotten seasick, but when he looked up at the sky at that moment the constant shifting and changing of the dark mass was enough to make him want to go to the rail and hurl. Thankfully he did not act upon this thought because not a moment or two after he thought this another crew member did throw up and though he was also strapped the ship he was swept away by the roaring sea along with the large chunk of railing he was attached to.
Sal sadly surveyed the ship. Even through the downpour he could see that the vessel was in ruins. One of the three masts was cracked almost in half and was leaning at a dangerous angle over the deck. Half of the wooden planks, so expertly put together ,were wrecked and the other half was drenched in sea water. The once beautiful carving on the rails was destroyed. In just thirty minutes the monstrous storm had reduced the majestic ship to a simple raft barely floating. He knew that if they somehow made it out of the horrible storm they could never make it to land.
He sighed and looked at the palm of his right hand, on it was a star. The gold symbol made his old sea cracked hands seem like a beacon of hope in the mist of all this despair. He smiled and for once that day he was happy. Sure he was going to die, but he had lived a full life. He was a Guardian after all, the symbol on his hand proved it.
Suddenly an ear splitting crack rang through the air. Sal looked up just in time to see the middle mast hit the ship cracking it in half. He was sent flying through the air and into the cold Atlantic ocean. As he sank beneath the waves the old man had only one thought. That if the ship was one day found that they would know how beautiful she once was and they would know that he had tried his hardest to save her. With that final thought the Victoria and her ever loyal captain sank beneath the waves.
Of the thirty or so passengers and crew on that ship only two survived. You could argue that it was the large amount of magic protecting them that kept them alive, but I would disagree. I think that the reason that young Cora and Thomas lived that horrible day was the sacrifice their parents took not only to save their kids,but possibly everything they worked so hard to protect. You see all the Guardians were on that ship and with them all the knowledge that could lead a future generation into finding what they were protecting. The children were now the last and final clue to a treasure so massive and powerful that it could never possibly see the light of day.
For a long time the children were to drift not lost but protected from society until one day, when life itself was being threatened and there was great need of the Guardians, I would call them and they would awake into a different world where they would have to carry out the task that their parents and all that came before them had done.
April 17th, 1896
The waves crashed against the wooden hull of the ship, Victoria. Gust after gust of wind hit the sails rattling the timbers and making the masts creak and groan. The captain of the old schooner, a man by the name of Sal, was strapped to the deck barking useless orders at his crew desperately trying to save his ship. He was a short, elderly man, with a small amount of white hair on top of his absurdly large head. He was known by all the sailors as a tough, but fair and respectable captain. He had a way about him that made people respect him, he was a leader and I personally would've followed him into any battle no matter how bad the odds. But, that day the man who was usually so confident and optimistic, knew even then that they weren't going to make it. He was sure that the crew couldn't hear his useless orders over the noise of the storm and even if they could it wouldn't have made a difference.
Water splashed against his leg as yet another humongous wave struck the ship. Sal looked despairingly at the sky. It was only 3 hours past midday but the storm had blocked out all of the suns light. Instead, the sky was covered in angry black and gray clouds pushing and shoving one another for space, over crowding the sky so that whenever one of the clouds had a chance to move another took its place. Sal was an experienced sailor and had never once gotten seasick, but when he looked up at the sky at that moment the constant shifting and changing of the dark mass was enough to make him want to go to the rail and hurl. Thankfully he did not act upon this thought because not a moment or two after he thought this another crew member did throw up and though he was also strapped the ship he was swept away by the roaring sea along with the large chunk of railing he was attached to.
Sal sadly surveyed the ship. Even through the downpour he could see that the vessel was in ruins. One of the three masts was cracked almost in half and was leaning at a dangerous angle over the deck. Half of the wooden planks, so expertly put together ,were wrecked and the other half was drenched in sea water. The once beautiful carving on the rails was destroyed. In just thirty minutes the monstrous storm had reduced the majestic ship to a simple raft barely floating. He knew that if they somehow made it out of the horrible storm they could never make it to land.
He sighed and looked at the palm of his right hand, on it was a star. The gold symbol made his old sea cracked hands seem like a beacon of hope in the mist of all this despair. He smiled and for once that day he was happy. Sure he was going to die, but he had lived a full life. He was a Guardian after all, the symbol on his hand proved it.
Suddenly an ear splitting crack rang through the air. Sal looked up just in time to see the middle mast hit the ship cracking it in half. He was sent flying through the air and into the cold Atlantic ocean. As he sank beneath the waves the old man had only one thought. That if the ship was one day found that they would know how beautiful she once was and they would know that he had tried his hardest to save her. With that final thought the Victoria and her ever loyal captain sank beneath the waves.
Of the thirty or so passengers and crew on that ship only two survived. You could argue that it was the large amount of magic protecting them that kept them alive, but I would disagree. I think that the reason that young Cora and Thomas lived that horrible day was the sacrifice their parents took not only to save their kids,but possibly everything they worked so hard to protect. You see all the Guardians were on that ship and with them all the knowledge that could lead a future generation into finding what they were protecting. The children were now the last and final clue to a treasure so massive and powerful that it could never possibly see the light of day.
For a long time the children were to drift not lost but protected from society until one day, when life itself was being threatened and there was great need of the Guardians, I would call them and they would awake into a different world where they would have to carry out the task that their parents and all that came before them had done.
Kaeden lay on the cold dark pavement. Above him a single star flashed brightly against the dark sky. A crowd started to gather around the mangled body. Clutching shawls and jackets they stared at the ghastly scene in front of them. The driver of the car stood of to one side being questioned by the police. Everyone seemed cold and tired and scared. Except for two figures standing near the edge of the crowd.
One was a young girl, around 6 years of age. She was dressed in a simple red sundress, but did not seem to be effected by the cold. She looked upon the scene with interest, before turning to the elderly gentlemen standing next to her.
"Why did he have to die Simon?" the young girl asked.
"You know it is not our job to decide who lives and who dies child." Simon replied, "we simply help them move on"
The child nodded slowly as if she did not fully understand his explanation.
"When your older child, you'll understand. Everything on this earth dies eventually. Everything has its time, the sooner you except that the easier this job'll be."
The young girl nodded her head once more and grabbed the old mans hand. "What about you Simon, when will you die."
"In time child, in time." The old man said as he turned away from the ghastly scene. "Just know that I won't go until you're ready to take over from me. Now come along, we have a long night ahead of us."
The strange couple turned and walked away from the place where the 3 year old boy had just been hit by a truck. They walked right through his weeping mother and disappeared in a flash of light.