The Furry Forums
Creative Arts and Media => Creative Writing => Topic started by: Asia Kali Yusufzai on January 28, 2010, 10:30:27 AM
-
I'll just post the stuff I do up here. Saves me making a new thread for each one. :)
So first off:
The Haunting of Bradgate Park
“Right Darky-boy,” said Kieran. “You go from here to the stream and back, then I stop calling you Darky.” Avi, a young asian kid, nodded assured, before grabbing hold of the fence to Bradgate Park. He set his feet into its gaps, pushing himself up and over, landing trainers on tarmac with a clump. The boy looked around the place illuminated by the full moon. To the left, a shadowed building with a tiled roof stood solitary in the darkness, surrounded by hard, flat tarmac. Ahead of him, the road snaked away, slowly merging with the ground, covered in the dark as trees began to dot the area around the path. “Well go on then!” shouted Kieran. Avi jumped, then set off towards that path, by the trees. He felt the dull tarmac merge into a dusty, stone covered dirt path. Plants huddled closer and closer, crowding around the boy like curious onlookers, ogling. As he continued onwards, the smell of life began to build. Wet leaves and growing moss floating over the forest that sprouted either side of him. The path he was on appeared as though it were splitting up the trees, like a scar on a head of hair. Among the trunks, animals trod, silhouetted by the moon or smeared into the dark. Deer strolled by, antlers mixing with the branches. The cold, calm sounds of natural movement accompanying. Water could be heard, babbling not too far away and Avi looked into the forest to its direction. The moonlight shimmered on the dark stream’s surface, gleaming like a trophy among the broken twigs and over grown grass.
He stepped off the path, in among the trees; the deer watched him, as dark figures hidden in the forest. Avi moved deeper, the stream so close, its noise flowing and undulating along its way. Avi needed proof he had been there, so he stepped into the water, dunking his trainers. The moon disappeared. Every thing was black. The young boy turned to run back, but a sudden impact, and his feet left the ground. As his back hit a tree root, he yelped in pain, looking back his attacker. He could see a face, emanating its own glow and yet it lit nothing. The face of a young girl, twisted in righteous anger and pity at Avi, lying in pain at her feet. She moved closer, and the boy heard the clack of hooves against wood.
“Animal killer,” she growled, as he scrambled to his feet and burst out of the trees, pelting down the path back to Kieran. The hooves chased just behind him and as he reached the tarmac, it floated off to silence. Avi reached the fence and clambered over. Looking back at the forest, a deer looked back.
-
A little something i wrote for Gabag. If anyone else wants something written or drawn, just ask. It's free after all.
The Ascension
The sun floated through the window, shining off the angles and curves of the gunmetal power armour encasing Gabag like a turtle’s shell. He stared through a wide visor, lit up blue like a torch, and leaned against his locker in the lino tiled hallway of Osbourne High school; a beacon school for the local area. Fellow students moved on past, as though caught in a wave, pulled towards the classrooms. Gabag moved beside them, people swerving around him, staring at the armour compared to their own jeans and t-shirts. They arrived at their class and all found their seats; Gabag entering with them and sitting in the centre of the room; his chair bent beneath him. Those around began to budge their desks further to the edges. There was a wait, and everyone whispered and pointed at the bizarre form in the centre. Eventually the teacher walked in, a sharp, angular, prim and proper woman in pastel colours and librarian glasses, looking to Gabag and smirking. She stood at her desk; hands clasped in front of her and spoke clear and concise.
“Good morning class, I expect your holidays were productive. Perhaps we could share what we’ve done over the past few weeks,” she cocked her head, staring straight through Gabag’s visor. “Why don’t you start, dear,” she said. The student cleared his throat, making sure the microphone in his armour was on, transmitting it to the class and the teacher. He stood to his feet, the chair creaking in relief and with a pause, soaking in the stares, he began his tale.
“Oh I did plenty, miss. I travelled the world, fought a netherwurm, killed Julio Fernandez of the Memphis Mayors basketball team, trained in the Himalayas and went to Disneyland to meet Mickey Mouse.” The class were silent; those who wanted to laugh couldn’t produce, silenced by fear. “What did you do, Miss?” he added. The teacher stood, smiling ever broader with each word.
“I prepared,” she said, pressing a button at her desk. Under Gabag, the floor gave way, but quick reflexes grabbed the edge and assisted by his powered suit, pulled himself up, pushing off the ground to leap into the air. In mid-flight, his thigh opened up, revealing a small assault rifle. He pulled it out and let loose a hail of bullets. By this point, the class was screaming and racing to the exit, bottlenecking at the door before bursting out into the corridors like ants from a hive. The shots tore through the walls and the teacher’s desk, but the woman was fast, dodging to the left and running down the side of the class as wooden desks, plastic chairs and the glass from windows shattered all around. Gabag landed, planting the rifle on his back as the teacher whipped out an RPG. She took aim and fired a shot, watching the rocket spiral towards her target. He ducked onto all fours, as his armour morphed, accommodating a tail and two pointed ears from the top of his head. He ran beneath the rocket trail, before leaping at his teacher. The pounce hit her and smashed through the wall behind, bursting into another class, sending them running and screaming for their lives. Plaster filling the air like a blizzard. Gabag pinned his teacher to the ground.
“Oh and did I mention? I became a cat!” he said. The teacher winced in pain, before grinning wide, a spread of vicious teeth. Her eyes began to glow, brighter and brighter, blinding like the sun burning in her head. Gabag pushed off her, but too late as the room exploded in a ball of flesh and fire. The cat was sent hurtling up, crashing through the floors as a section of it collapsed over him. Eventually he found himself in the history corridor, knee deep in rubble, his armour crippled and blood running from his back to his tail. Climbing out of the concrete, he looked around. The principle was there, standing solitary, covered in navy blue, staring at nothing. His arm lifted a gun in his hand. He fired, Gabag ducked, then leapt through a door, peering through the window at his assailant. The principle put the gun into his mouth, moving his tongue against the handle. Wires shot out from it, stabbing into his flesh, combining with his mouth. His body twisted, curling backwards, his hands gripping the floor, allowing him to crawl to the wall, climbing up it and onto the ceiling at lightning speed.
Gabag moved back into the room, and examined his guns. His assault rifle was smashed, his pistols crushed. All that was left was his energy blaster that fired a spread of high velocity energy globes that exploded on contact. Gun ready, he leant round the wall into the corridor, but found nothing. The principal was gone. Gabag looked around listened, catching the sound of something crawling in the ceiling. He aimed up, took his shot, and down fell a leg, along with a squeezed screech that clawed at the ears. Gabag looked down at the leg, it had turned a deep black, with something crusting over the top, like a beetle’s shell. Above him, the ceiling gave way, and down fell the writhing form of what was once a man. Arms had turned to legs, his face was layered, screaming over an insect’s head. He kicked and bit in his navy blue suit. Gabag pointed his gun to the creature and fired.
The screams stopped, but were replaced by deep immense booms. He felt the building shudder beneath his feet, before everything fell. Gabag lifted into the air, his organs pushing upwards as the entire building began to fall into the earth. Glass shattered, and screams of thousands of students clawed at the growls and groans of tons of concrete collapsing. The world went dark, as Osbourne High School fell into an immense hole dug into the ground. Gabag was buried. The screams became wails of pain. He pushed the rubble up off his body, and sat up, finding a himself on an enormous grave. Through the chaos, he heard the sound of a slow clap, and turned to face a small Japanese man in a tracksuit. He was called Takeshi Kitano.
“Master,” Gabag said, as he climbed to his feet. “What’s going on?” His master gave a smile.
“Your final test, chika,” Kitano replied, his eyes were soft as he looked to his student. “Your feline ascension.” Before Gabag could move, Kitano was at his side, a gun to his head and the trigger was pulled. Gabag didn’t make a sound as he fell against the rock. His master stepped back slowly.
A light appeared, a readout on Gabag’s helmet, and began to blur, spreading like blood in water, flowing out onto the metal, covering more and more, soaking into his entire body, covering him blue. It soaked past the armour, connecting with his flesh, fusing the armour to himself. Fur began reaching out from between the armoured plates and from his gauntlets sprouted claws. His tail stretched out further, along with his feet, growing pads under his toes. He felt no pain, even from the previous wounds, as he climbed to his feet and felt strength in him. He turned to Takeshi Kitano.
“Master, this is incredible.” He reached out a paw and from his gauntlet, a pistol flicked out, shooting his master dead. “But is not worth the lives of innocents.” Gabag looked up. People lined the top edge of the hole that the building had fallen into, and were calling down to him, offering help. Gabag looked up and laughed.
-
I likeda Gabag story
as I told you before
it's spooky and mysterious
but why is he the animal killer?
-
Enjoyed both stories, as usual. Vivid descriptions, interesting stories. Like most of them, very creepy. You seem to have a knack for creepy and descriptive stories...
Also, if it wouldn't trouble you...I'd love to see you draw my Fursona's face. That'd be grand, I absolutely love yours, I enjoy it as much as I enjoy iKero-Chu's. And if you decide to try it, maybe you can show me what it would look like if it were White furred rather than blue furred, still with the black heart over the left eye.
-
but why is he the animal killer?
animal killer?
Also, if it wouldn't trouble you...I'd love to see you draw my Fursona's face. That'd be grand, I absolutely love yours, I enjoy it as much as I enjoy iKero-Chu's. And if you decide to try it, maybe you can show me what it would look like if it were White furred rather than blue furred, still with the black heart over the left eye.
just to verify, you're not talking about my avatar are you? cus that's not mine. You can see my stuff on my art thread.
http://www.thefurryforum.com/forums/index.php?topic=9580.60 (http://www.thefurryforum.com/forums/index.php?topic=9580.60)
-
You did a really good job. There is a high level of tension from the start of each of these stories, and they are certainly curious, entertaining and a bit...dark.
Your descriptions are, for the most part, useful. They add to the atmosphere and help me visualize what's going on.
I have just a few tiny issues with these, though. You have an overload of commas. I used to do that too, even very recently, but some of these sentences don't make any sense when they are bundled up so much.
For Example:
He stood to his feet, the chair creaking in relief and with a pause, soaking in the stares, he began his tale.
Could Be:
He stood to his feet. The chair creaked with relief. With a breif pause, soaking in the stares, he began his tale.
A good rule of thumb is to keep only related things in a sentence. The chair and standing are actions that do not add to his starting to speak. They can be in a seperate sentence. Other than this sentence variety thing, the only thing else I noticed was that you could have postponed things a bit more. I understand they are short peices, but if you dragged things out just a little bit more, they would be more emotional.
But overall excellent work! :*
-
You have an overload of commas.
yeah, I know. It's my biggest problem that always sits behind me like a hungry dog. Though since these are both just second drafts, I'm happy with how they sit.
He stood to his feet. The chair creaked with relief. With a breif pause, soaking in the stares, he began his tale.
good point.
Other than this sentence variety thing, the only thing else I noticed was that you could have postponed things a bit more. I understand they are short peices, but if you dragged things out just a little bit more, they would be more emotional.
normally I do have an extended beginning and in fact I had one for the first story, but it doesnt fit with these particular stories. I should put up some of my other stories to show how I normally build things up. The first story lost its beginning because it was an assignment on urban legends. the focus was on what happens in the park and the kid has to be quite vapid in terms of personality. The second one was always gonna have very light characterisation. it was purely about silly action so I paid no mind to emotional impact. I have written a story that focuses on ridiculous action while also having those characters and I might post that if I'm bothered to rewrite them.
Anyway, thanks for the comments, you're one of the few people actually picking holes in my stuff. Thanks.
-
Welcome. ^_^ Honestly, I hate crit-ing other people's work because I'm scared of offending them or otherwise tainting things. I normally just say the things I like about stories, but you seem open to the few crits I have.
They are good as is, so you should be fine leaving them be. B)
-
“Animal killer,” she growled, as he scrambled to his feet and burst out of the trees, pelting down the path back to Kieran. The hooves chased just behind him and as he reached the tarmac, it floated off to silence. Avi reached the fence and clambered over. Looking back at the forest, a deer looked back.
in your haunting the mysterious lady calls the child an Animal Killer
-
“Animal killer,” she growled, as he scrambled to his feet and burst out of the trees, pelting down the path back to Kieran. The hooves chased just behind him and as he reached the tarmac, it floated off to silence. Avi reached the fence and clambered over. Looking back at the forest, a deer looked back.
in your haunting the mysterious lady calls the child an Animal Killer
yeah that got picked up on in my writing workshop. It's really just me not being able to think of anything for her to say. it's clumsy but oh well :P
-
Something a bit more metaphorical
Nw
Time had withered his arms, scratching little ploughed rows down his skin. His face and hair draining to the colour and texture of dust; a breath of wind would cause his flesh to float away.
“Age is kind to me,” he would say. “I’ve had just enough time,” then would pull the tape from the bottom of his shoe and give it away. A death bed covered in sand, cleaned out the next day, replaced by others. One replaced the other and another follows on. Families come and gone, some screaming through on red and fiery flying clouds others strolling into minefields. There was one who lived in the ice, covering his bed. They said he was loud, a barrel of fun; but pills from a box, knives from the cupboard, he walked on fire in a frozen wasteland; sleepwalking. He grew over the dead and living. He watched achievements and became fireproof, inhabiting the cold, finding his home. Age had given him extra time, enough time. The tape under his shoe flapped behind him, got caught on a rock and was torn away.
Post Merge: February 14, 2010, 07:44:11 PM
Something slightly more solid, yet still very soft
Pastimes
She sat cross legged and pushed the cardboard puzzle pieces around on the wooden floor, finding two garish sections of pink and yellow to snap together, inching towards a complete picture. There was a tap on her shoulder.
“I’m not finished yet, just give me a little while and I’ll be done.” She continued working, forming the image. A rat ran past her, disturbing the dust that had collected. The figure that tapped her, hooded and cloaked, sat beside, surveying the visual conundrum. She looked to the figure and smiled. “You wanna help?” she asked. It shook its head. “How long you gonna keep that up, eh?” she asked. There was a sigh from both of them. The girl scratched through her hair and a spider crawled over her finger. She snapped two more pieces together then looked again over the collection, sifting through them on the floor. Plaster from the crumbling ceiling sprinkled onto the puzzle. She found the piece connecting two large sections together. The figure put an arm round her as she smiled at her accomplishment, though there were still many sections left floating on their own.
The girl sneezed, and the figure flinched before leaning forward to look at her face. She looked back and waved away the concern. “I’m fine,” she said, before finding more pieces to connect. The figure reached back into its pocket, pulling out a set of keys, presenting them to her. “Not yet,” she said, “Let me just finish this last bit and we can be on our way.” A door behind them was rotted, and fell to the ground, blowing dust, thick, through the room. The figure sat back, putting his hands behind to support him.
The girl continued to piece the image together. There was very little left to the puzzle, and her eyes stared, enraptured by the excitement of near completion. Slowly, one by one, she pressed each piece down into the picture, filling the gaps. She realised, one piece was missing. Looking around her, pushing away the cobwebs and clumps of fur from feral cats, she gasped in fear. The figure pulled back its hood, reached in and revealed the final piece. The girl held her breath as the picture was completed. She leaned against his shoulder and exhaled. They stood up, hand in hand, and left the house. It turned to dust and blew away with the wind.
-
Something a lot more furry than previous tales, though this is only a first draft and unfinished, will post second part later... also I would like to know if anyone is actually reading this stuff... probably not.
------------------------------
He stared up at the ceiling, a rabbit stared back. It was grey and white. Under his head, rabbits frolicked on his pillow, sprawling like ants. His quilt had rabbits. His wallpaper had rabbits. A rabbit ate a carrot in his clock on the bedside table. This sat on a rabbit patterned sketchbook. The boy hated rabbits; they made him ill; an allergy started as a child. The boy loved rabbits; they made him smile, and hated all them more for it. Rabbits on the carpet ran and jumped. The bag in the corner was covered in bunny badges, a swarm of bucktooth smiles. The boy frowned.
There was a knock at the door, which was covered by a bunny in a basketball jersey complimented by sweatbands. It held a ball at its side.
“Scott?” said a voice beyond the door. It was his mother.
“Come in,” he replied, staying as he was, lying on his back. The door opened and his small stout mother leaned into the room.
“Morning!” she chirped.
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” said Scott, waving his hand across the room.
“It was Josie’s idea. We thought you’d like it,” she replied as she stepped into the room and looked around. Scott stayed quiet, thinking, his eyes flicking across his brain, searching for something to say. “It’s good to have you back,” his mum continued. “How was the trip?”
“I don’t want it, mum.” He sat up, and moved off the bed and onto his feet, walking over to the bag and sitting down to pull off its badges.
“Nonsense,” said his mother. “You love rabbits.” Scott paused. The badges in his hand were dropped to the floor, and he sat there, staring at them. He let out a sigh.
“You ruined my room, mum.” His mother looked at him, silent for a while.
“I’m sorry Scott. Maybe it is a bit extreme. If you really want it all thrown away, just say so, but we honestly thought you’d like it.” She walked back, out of the room. “Dinner will be ready soon,” she said, before closing the door behind her. The basketball bunny stared at him. He reached to tear it down, but paused, stopped. His hand fell to his side and he turned away, back to the bed.
“Well that wasn’t very nice,” said a voice at the door, it was male. Scott only had his mother and two sisters. He looked back, the bunny had moved, spoke. “You don’t like us no more?” he said. Scott back away towards the wall, sat upon his bed.
“What the hell’s going on?” he asked.
“You tell me,” the rabbit replied, “You used to scream and beg for anything bunny related.” He ran his paw along the shelves in the room, finding copies of Peter Rabbit, Watership Down and Little Grey Rabbit’s Storybook. He sniffed a laugh. “You used to love this stuff.”
“I still do,” Scott said. His voice tinged in defensive glue.
“Then why you hiding it? You never used to. You ashamed of us?” replied the rabbit. Scott tried to speak. He couldn’t say a thing. He sat back against the wall, head hung low.
“What the hell is going insane… I’m going insane,” he said.
“That would explain it,” said the bunny. Scott looked up, taking in the idea, chewing it in his head.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Shashi Hopper, but most just call me Hopper. I already know your name,” he replied.
-
Different story, based partly on Serial Experiment Lain (except far more simplistic and far more inviting), but mostly based on Kimmie66 (a comic book of excellent quality, both in art and story)
Here is:
Feralkat
I once knew a girl called Feralkat. Well, I didn’t know her real name, I never thought to ask; we were internet friends, we got along well enough, even having webcam chats every now and then. She had auburn hair, pale skin, and pale eyes. She killed herself about a month ago; I talked to her a week ago. I was playing RO (Ragnarok Online, a big Korean MMO. It’s where we first met and killed Chocos together.) I was trudging through the dungeons, dressed up like a toony pirate with ridiculous pink hair, grinding XP like everyone else. I watched my XP rise in the chat window, but also, I saw that Feralkat had said hello.
“DarkKnight24: Hi, who’s this?” I replied.
“Feralkat: watch the screen.” So I looked at the muddy brown walls of the deep cavern I stood in. There was a vomiting Ghoul, but that was about it, until she appeared, walking down the screen towards me. It wasn’t a user-created avatar, not a normal one anyway. Normally they’re an animé exaggeration, but instead of that, there was realism. It used every pixel to convey a real face. It looked like her. The monitor flickered. There was a sound; it came from the game, a sound I’d never heard before, like a tortured dial-up connection. She opened her mouth, and the game crashed. My computer restarted.
I logged back into the game, and searched around. She wasn’t there so I just sat there back, sighing, and scratching my head. Normality had returned. I watched my little avatar with his pirate headband and boots, standing in the middle of a grubby dungeon and I didn’t want to move. It felt wrong, I didn’t know why; I just knew that standing still, feet bolted to the floor, was a good idea. I stood there for three hours. I don’t remember those hours; I don’t know why I did it. I just know that afterwards, I felt satisfied, and logged off.
Now normally, when the game closes, I see my Ragnarok Online desktop wallpaper of a battle Feralkat and I were in; but instead of that, I saw her face. She was staring at me; I could see her hair flutter in a breeze. Her face was serious, sullen. She blinked and that noise returned; that sound. A scratching, screaming sound of dial tones through ripped lips. She opened her mouth. The monitor flickered. Now, at her forehead was a file, an executable. She crossed her eyes, looking at it. The title was Feralkat. She smiled. I moved the cursor over it; she grinned. I double clicked and the computer crashed.
Reaching down to the computer, my hand hovered over the power button. I hesitated, quivered, and in my head, there was still that noise, an echo. I turned the computer on again, hearing that reassuring beep, to show everything was okay, everything will turn on just fine. Windows booted up, but she wasn’t there anymore. The background was empty. There were no icons, no image, just black. In the right hand corner was a little MS DOS window.
“I’m ok,” it said.
“Press Enter.” That little white block flashed beside the words. I pressed enter. A flood of code poured down the window, with reams and reams of text. Numbers, letters and tons of file directories, opened, manipulated, created and deleted. It rushed through like a gust of wind, and then all at once, the code ended, the window closed. The computer shut down and restarted.
My original RO desktop was back, the image of a hundred little Ragnarok avatars, with me and Feralkat at the centre. I searched for our characters and I found mine, but hers had changed. The character that I had met before, the one with realistic face, realistic clothes, was in her place. The monitor flickered and for a moment, in the blink of an eye, I swear her face filled the screen. She was smiling at me.
My monitor has flickered occasionally ever since then and I see her every time, but other people don’t. They see something, but it’s too quick, gone before they can notice, and swiftly disregarded. But I see it. I know I do.
-
maybe I would understand more if I knew what the comic book was about but yea
You said she killed her self a month ago, and you talked to her a week ago so ill assume that the events you start with are those events. The level of need to see her (sorry couldn't think of a word) seems quite high for you to stay so calm and not freak out but to just sit there for three hours but I liked it over all I thought it was nice and easy enough to visualize but I'm not to sure why it resatred all the time must have something to do to what it was a reference to right?
-
Actually, it didnt reference these comics at all, it just took their premise. It's meant to be a kind of ghost story, hence the whole "killed herself a month ago, talked to her a week ago." The computer crashes and restarts because that's her effect on it, overloading the system with info or something like that. And he doesn;t know why he stood there for three hours. It's meant to be a kind of almost semi-possession. She is persuading him on a subconscious, ghostlike level. I can see why you wouldn't understand that or even half of the stuff here, maybe I should elaborate the story a bit more.
-
It was a good story and the other stuff wasn't big enough to make you go back and change it because you don't want to over inform the reader and bore them
-
Great build up of tension Asia, definitely fits the genre of 'ghost story' very well. I love how you switched from an average scene of playing a game and chatting to some online friend, and twisted it all in one instant with the line " She killed herself about a month ago; I talked to her a week ago. " which is also where you first start to instigate tension and a general surreal feel to the piece which contrasts so well to the first couple of lines.
As per usual, great literary work :3
-
thanks kitt. I've updated it recently so it's much better, and i've written a more horror centric one for the same class. It was good.
But yeah thanks for the feedback. It means a lot.
-
I was lost at first with your rabbit one. I thought the rabbits in the room were real, but it donned on me as I read through. That time your descriptiveness flew right over me, haha. As for Feralkat, it creeped me out. Though I was comfortable as it was in a virtual realm, in which I enjoy being a gamer. I also thought something at the end...."White Noise" Or what ever that movie was...
Good job, enjoyed them.
-
thankyou very much indeed.
I wonder why this thread hasn't been deleted, I'm sure i sent vince a link to this one along with all the others for cremation, oh well, I'll just have this open just in case I change my mind and hope beyond hope that someone will read my stuff within a week of it being posted.
-
whenever i get the chance, between doing coursework and other stuff, i try to check out your literary works and rp's Asia :P
-
hmm, i guess I should only post stuff if i want feedback over the long term. I should have like a space of a month or two between stories
-
writing a new little thing purely improvised out of a need to do something.
Driving in the country, twenty miles per hour, in a sleek little XK8 Convertible, and its raining like the devil. Heavy beating on my head. My suit jacket flooded and my dark jeans darkened. My paws are wet on the wheel, steering me and my Jag down the rough little road, passing blind dogs and badgers with human faces, snarling, gnashing. I blow them kisses as I pass. Turn on the radio. Bop the head, flick the ears. The road goes on, grey tongue in a grassy mouth, chunky and covered in bumps. A hill rises, watching the sky, clouds racing and sweating onto my big brown eyes. The peak leads to fall, and I hurtle past hedge, horse and tree. The trees have got no leaves, and dance naked in the rain. There's gate up ahead, by the road side, Landrover tracks tearing the turf. Three guys, leaning against the posts; pheasants in tie-dye T-shirts and skinny jeans. Ruffled up feathers in the rain. I slow down, stopping beside them, my music and the rain shouting each other down, forcing each to go louder. I bop my head, leaning back, look at the sky and taste the rain. Ears stroke the back seats, everything's wet. The pheasants look to each other.
"Are you alright, there?" One says to me. He's a big one. A big one with a bent beak and dull feathers.
"Are you alright here?" I reply, still staring at dark and darker grey sky.
"For now," he says. The others smile, sweet smiles. A facial pat on the back for the big boy. But he was looking at me.
"What you doing here?" I ask.
"Waiting for the tent to arrive," he replies.
"What tent?" I ask.
"Our tent," says one of the others. Smaller, average size and bright as a blast in the highlighter warehouse. The last pheasant wont speak. Small, bleak, shadow dweller, likes to listen, rides the wave of his friends.
"What for?" I ask. I sit up, looking at them now, eyes blinking away the water.
"Don't know," says the big one. I look at the sky, then look at the birds, and myself, and my car. I turn off the engine, get out and stand beside them. They look at me, unsure, especially the little one, shying away, back of the line.
"Guess I'll join you then," I say.
"Why?" they ask.
"Why not?" I reply, and as i stand by them, seven points around us, stretching up, an orange tent growing like a tree, stretching over us. The rain is blocked, and we're stood inside, surrounded by applause.
-
o.O
I like it :3
Really good imagery and metaphors as usual Asia :P
-
reading it back, god that's a strange one. It's got real flow to it. I was listening to the Gorillaz at the time... curse you Damon Albarn :P
-
Just wrote this. First draft, but it took a while to write, written as it was during the commentary of Once Upon A Time in the West. It is slightly imbued by its atmosphere as well, hopefully. I thought maybe somebody would enjoy this:
Something scuttled over thick dark cables, in dark crevices embedded in the ceiling. It looked down to a factory filled with steam, dripping down steel walls.
Through the mist, standing on a steel grate floor, was a humanoid with a hammer instead of the right hand. Its body was silver curves and musculature shining as this arm raised and fell. A clang against an anvil bent a cold sheet of aluminium.
Cables hung low from the ceiling, and something scuttled along to its lowest point; grasping hands with two thumbs, on all six arms, heading down the cable, moist with steam. It stared down with chameleonic eyes, twitching up and down the figure, then to the hammer, fused to the right arm.
Swinging down again, clanging, and bending the sheet of metal. The figure stopped, and picked up its work with a thick left hand formed of wires and elastic modules, surrounded in a cold shell, dripping. It walked. Metal feet against a metal floor, lumbering across the room with its shaped aluminium in its hand.
The creature, above, following the humanoid with its eyes, twitching. One eye flicked to a door, deep in a corner, thick with mist. A large handle sprouted from its edge, like a claw.
The hammer hooked around the handle, pushing it down, pulling the door open. It stepped through, disappearing as the door closed shut.
-
Interesting... as always your descriptive imagery is brilliant, I can really see it, interesting ideas as well.... Yeah, I enjoyed reading that :P
-
reading it back? oh dear god it's a mess, but there's some good stuff in there. Such is the way with first drafts.
-
Yup, but each time you refine and hone it down to the best it can be... until hopefully you finally get somthing your satisfied with :P
-
I've just written the latest part of the novel I'm working on. Here's a little section that I thought might be enjoyed. It's good because it doesn't reference anything previously in the book, so it's rather self contained and I can post it without people getting confused and without spoiling my story.
It's a first draft so will be filled to the brim with errors.
A metal hemisphere, stood upright and gargantuan in the centre of a room that was covered in paintings of the real and the unreal. Abstract battles of raging colours burst from the wall, next to exaggerated cartoons of biological creatures, including some humans. Everything stood out; everything grabbed the eyes of those who dared to look. One painting had cameras surrounding a dark swarm that swirled in the centre. Below the pictures, around the room on shelves, sculptures surrounded the hemisphere. Large and small; they stood, crouched, lay prone and even hovered in various forms and expressions. Wild robots screaming out spikes through human mouths, and others just danced and played. The cold, metal hemisphere reflected everything off her round body. A small chrome beetle stood at her peak, twitching and crawling over her. Something clicked inside the hemisphere. Motors began to move, electronics warmed up along with the heat sinks. A split rain straight from one end of the hemisphere, over to the opposite side, right beneath the beetles legs. The motors hummed, and this crack spread, like opening eyelids. The beetle jumped onto one side, riding the reflective casing as it slid away. He looked down into the chasm, and was greeted by the most enormous of cameras, staring back up at him.
-
:o
Caaaameras......
Good stuff, only major error i noticed was:
A split rain straight from one end of the hemisphere
I'm guessing that should be 'ran'
Interesting to read, i have to say it caught my attention well and i just had to read it through to the end... nice and powerful imagery throughout :3
-
Reading it back, there's a few mistakes, but thanks for enjoying it. It is rather good even though I say so myself. It just needs cleaning and clearing.
Thanks again for reading it. It's much appreciated.
-
I seem to have a habit of posting the first one or two paragraphs up here, and then hiding the rest away because publishers dont like work being thrown around everywhere before they get to it.
Anyway, I started my creative writing project for my final year at Uni. I should have started months and months ago, but i was too busy living life and drawing stupid stuff and writing my novel (which is at 45000 words so far. I should be at 90 by the end of the year, hitting my target in january.)
Anyway, creative writing project, first draft of the first paragraph or so, written while tired and extremely hungry:
Wax dripped onto his hand, as he balanced the candle in his palms.
“You shouldn’t be so nervous, you know.” His hair clung to his face like dark brown veins curling over his cheeks and nose, crawling into his mouth and down his throat, making his voice strain and gulp as he spoke. “They chained it up, sealed it away. You can talk safely with it, though it will only scream to be set free.” His mouth stretched across his face, in a wide reptilian smile. “You could do as it asks.” He blinked. She could hear the water on his eyes, and saw it dribble down his cheek.
“I don’t even know where it is,” she said with a voice like a feather. Soft and beautiful, but a hard and sharp core.
“Neither do I, but I’ll show you as far as I know.” The red flesh of his tongue writhed in his mouth, as he licked his teeth, and the veins of hair that wriggled inside. Taking one of these tendrils off the roof of his mouth, he pushed it out with that fleshy muscle, and guided it to the flickering candle flame. The hair glowed, and then burst into light that whipped over his face. It spread through the rest of his hair, at the top of his head, and down into his mouth, burning deep into his throat. It spread and danced with giddy energy, and he roared and laughed through his words. “Of course,” he said. “There’s no guarantee that it won’t recognise you, and bite you. It might eat you up, until there’s nothing left but a memory that will burn as people forget!” He laughed wild and hard, on and on, but he was faltering. His eyes were dead. They reflected the flames but were dark. He shut them tight and the flames of his hair calmed, turning to a rhythmic glow and fade in tune with his slowing heavy breaths. That strained voice he had, turned into a mellifluous song, coaxing and fanning the blaze, intensifying its glow over the tendrils that reached down into his gut. He illuminated the room, and it was all bare, with a black door and brown stained walls, while the boy had pressed himself to the corner, drinking his fire. His clothes were made of pigeons. They still had their twisted, broken and misshapen feet, and their heads with cracked beaks, all dangling like decorations. She winced and he smiled. “Sorry about this,” he said. “But to achieve your dreams, go through that door, not the others.”
She looked around but there were no other doors.
-
You are a brilliant writer Asia :P
Incredibly vibrant and powerful with your descriptions and atmosphere, that short extract was a great read... Honestly, I myself cant find any faults with it, but thats just my lack of experience or skill... Hopefully you will post more of this because i really enjoyed it :)
-
Sadly I don't think I'm able to post any more than I have. Considering the amount of work I'll be putting into this over the next year, this will be perfect material to advertise to publishers, so I might be able to put up the odd paragraph, but there wont be any sort of coherent story.
But thanks a lot for the praise. It's always good to think that my career choice is the right one to make.
-
You are really good at writing ^_^
I made a 130 page book called 'Behind the Rifle'... There was a guy who wanted to give me 300 dollars for it, but some girl got jealous and burned the book, her reason? She said she 'has a demon inside of her'
-
Okay then. There were some issues with word choice and comma use but these issues were very rare....... When I first read this all I could think was: what the? But then I read it again. And ding. I sort of got it. Still very WTF but a good WTF. No, a great WTF. My eyes were glued to my tiny flip open cell phone screen from start to finish in pure awe and wonderment of how anyone could think of that. An above excellent peice that was a very good way to spend to bus ride home. Great job.
-
You are really good at writing
I made a 130 page book called 'Behind the Rifle'... There was a guy who wanted to give me 300 dollars for it, but some girl got jealous and burned the book, her reason? She said she 'has a demon inside of her'
Thanks :)
Also, when you ever make something you're proud. Make copies.
Okay then. There were some issues with word choice and comma use but these issues were very rare.......
Yeah I noticed them too, but then, it's a first draft :P
When I first read this all I could think was: what the? But then I read it again. And ding. I sort of got it. Still very WTF but a good WTF. No, a great WTF.
That's generally the response I get from people when I really let my imagination run away with itself, and thanks a lot :)
An above excellent peice that was a very good way to spend to bus ride home. Great job.
That's always great to hear, especially from good writers :D
There are a lot of emoticons in this post
-
Emoticons = good, no? :P
Anyway, if you post anything at all it would be awesome. I love reading your work because its so different from almost every other kind of writing ive ever read...
It's always good to think that my career choice is the right one to make.
A very fine career choice indeed, your writing is unique :)
-
Thanks, but it's not really that unique. I found a book in the library called Silver Screen. I read it and instantly it came to my head, "This is how I write... this is how I've always WANTED to write." I mean yeah it was a flawed book, but it was imaginative, exciting, and it sounded like me.
But really, thanks. I'm throwing my life at this career :)
-
Well I say you have something great going for you. You have an eye for writing, so its an awesome career to give your heart to. I wish you all the luck I can...you may become my competition if we both go into fiction at the same time. :o
-
May the best writer win ^_^
-
On garde...lol. XP
-
Omg I been meaning to get to this, for like forever, sorry about the late comments.
Ok at first I was confused, about if you actually meant to say that his hair, was actually inside his mouth, but I love how you did, it . I left me confused and curious, and then when you set it in a fiery blaze, I was stunned and dazzled, curse you for putting this up.... I want more D:<
Great as expected