Kasai

I would like to get a feel for your writings. So! For our first workout, yes not challenge, I'd like for you to write something down in a journal. It could be about anything, just as long as it comes from you. And then post it in this thread. . All of you have access to this board. I do expect activeness in this clan.

In fact, get a journal and keep it just for our clan. We'll be doing lots of work in it. N.Y. Soulja knows how I run my regime.

This will give me a little information about you and your writing style.

Workouts: Our workouts will be little practices to get us ready for the challenges I have planned.

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N.Y._Soulja

A young woman walked through a town of Bael. The sudden burst of wind blew her long light brown hair. She noticed the demons watching her as she walked through the settlement. They all shouted and cheered as she walked through. They could all tell she was a demon, but what got their attention was her beauty.
The lustful demons could see her every movement, her every curve, they could do nothing but stare and cheer at her beauty. Who wouldn’t? Her large round breasts held by her tight red tank top, her black skirt hung by her hips. With every step she took, her hips swung side to side, her entire waist was visible. A sheath dangled around her lower back.
The young woman grinned as she walked through the demon town. Maybe one of these idiots know where he might be, she thought.
Two skinny demons confronted her. The young woman stopped and watched them; they admired her sharp red eyes. One of them had the nerve to run his bony fingers through her soft hair. “Hey sexy.” He said.
“Hello gentlemen.” She responded with a smile. “Hey there little lady, what’s a nice girl like you walking down this town all sexy and such?”
The young woman’s brow twitched. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Well, is there any way we can help you?” They both said grinning.
The young woman signaled they couldn’t. “I’m sorry unless you two happen to know where I can find the demon Saigon.”
They both stopped grinning, their countenances in horror, “Why are you looking for that monster?” One of them asked.
The young woman grinned, revealing two rows of sharp teeth. “What is your name?” The other demon inquired.
The young woman’s grin seemed to sharpen in malevolence. “My name?” She began, “my name is Ciel.”
The demons looked at each other, and then at her, “you are looking for that monster Saigon!?”
She nodded slowly.
The other demon was the one to notice. “Iza, look at her grin!”
The green scaled demon looked at her grin, and in it he saw it, the nightmare from ten years into the past, the grin of a creature, so evil that his death was and still is a rumor. “Why are you looking for that monster Saigon?” Iza asked.
Ciel looked at Iza “that monster is my father.”

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Death Is Certain; Its Hour Uncertain

There Is No Need For Redemption

Soldat of life

Well here is a small story I had started to write...no clue if this is what you want to read, here goes...



Valiant Valiente

Directions lead within one,
A voice within a crowd.

Exteriorisation of a goal,
Willing to participate for greater good.

Determination to go on,
Passionate beyond words.

Without a doubt I know not much,
Within a thought I say thank you.



"This was the most recent and final text known of Maxime Girard, a simple Canadian citizen that disappeared from the face of the earth in a flashing light one winter night of 2006. As the authorities came in to see what had caused this huge light from Lévis, a coastal city not far from Quebec, many testimonies from near neighbours had seen the young man enter his apartment, but never leave it before and after this strange occurrence that still remains clouded in mystery.

What makes this event so poignant is that the light emitted was brighter than anything man has made so far and registered even from the passing space station far off in orbit. Everyone is still interested in this event as some call this light that of God and maybe the beyond. No one knows for certain, but if anything comes up, be sure to be informed. This was Gilles Vigneault at Radio-Canada, back to you Karine and good night. "


3 hours earlier

Maxime was watching the end of the winter Olympics as Valiente at RPGC on his AIM handle logged off. He started to wonder what he could do as time passed. Tomorrow he would be starting everything anew, getting ready to try once again a go at a program that will lead him to his future job and much much more. His dark brown eyes peering at the mirror before him, seeing his recently made hair cut, missing already the lengthy and thick brown hair he had just a week ago. One good thing came of short hair, he only had to wash it and no other care was needed to look good. His clear gaze wandered off looking at his day old bear already taking a dark tone on his pale skin that barely sees the sunlight of the outdoors. Getting up to get something to drink, his five feet eight inches made it easy to get a clean glass in one of the many high places cupboard. His thin build let him go through the narrow area between the table and the washing machine reaching the water tap finally to have a refreshing beverage almost straight from the St-Lawrence, though much cleaner and processed for safe drinking. His fine hand keeping a good grip on the small glass, he turned the cold tap to the right and let the water cool down. Though it didn’t take long before it became quite cold as the weather outside was quite below the freezing point.

He came back to his chair before his personal computer and started to check his e-mails as well as turning on his usual play list of soothing music to prepare for a good night sleep. But as he turned the music on, something startled him.

“Meow…”

As he turned his head around, Ma Belle was leaning on her two back legs and her front legs grasping the side of the chair, showing eyes that meant that she wanted to be taken care of. He collapsed before the cuteness of the old beast. Turning back to his computer that was getting old, an AMD Athlon Thundebird 850 MHz from 2001 that could barely run the top of the line PC games that ask more than his monthly or yearly budget could afford. Something else startled him after the cat left to drink a sip of water. It not only startled him, but made a quick and small slash at his neck. The cat suddenly hissed at something that had exited the room Maxime was in and leaped at it. The body was immediately pushed back and blood stained the white and blue ceramic floor. The animal lay inanimate and the last thing the young man saw before falling unconscious was his own blood dripping and running slowly from his wound, falling in a deep dreamless sleep…light began to shine upon him and a strange presence disappeared, leaving as well an empty chair where a sleeping body slept just moments ago.

*To be continued*

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Thanks to Xelhes for this amazing work of art ^.^
Poetry Corner

BrightShadow_96

Well, here is a small sample of a first-person short story that I've been working on lately.

Part I
The Dwelling and It's Dweller
I crept into my newly bought, worn abode near the crowded slums of a large city. I stood gazing upon it. The house had wooden floors that were thoroughly veiled by a thick layer of dust. The walls were made of plaster, and in one corner of the wall, there was a large crack in it that could be easily seen, even out of the corner of the eye. Upon the ceiling, an old fan hung by a single wire. Even the smallest breeze made the fan sway freely.
I allowed my pet cat to follow me into my new, rotting domicile. I was holding a small yet heavy suitcase in my left hand that held the belongings that I had brought from my previous home. The dreary home had no source of illumination other than the vague light from the sun, which was somewhat cloaked by low, gray clouds that hung in the sky. My cat entered the living room, though it seemed hesitant in it’s entrance. I looked down at the darkly colored cat, which returned my look with a small frown, showing it’s disappointment.
“Well,” I began. “It may not be a beautiful home, but it is my home, and I will take what I can get.” I set my suitcase down on the floor as my cat dashed out of sight.

As I inspected the house, I noticed that it had only one floor, though it did have stairs that seemed to just end suspiciously. Behind the backyard rested many dead bodies, a graveyard that was placed only inches outside of the property line. As eerie as it seemed, it did not bother me. I merely ignored it and continued to examine my new dwelling. Upon reaching the kitchen, I began to worry. There in the center of the worn out kitchen rested a fully grown wolf. At this moment I had proven to myself that I wasn’t afraid of things that did not move, but did have a fear of animate beings.
The wolf had a dull gray hue to it’s fur, making it look similar to many wolves that I had seen in pictures as a child. It rested in a position that concealed it’s face from my sight, making it more difficult to describe the wolf’s appearance. The wolf was snoring loudly.
I very carefully crept closer to the beast, never allowing my eyes to leave it. My steps gradually became slow, so slow that not even my own cat could not hear them. My heart pounded into my chest as I grew near. When I was only a few feet away from the inactive wolf, it gently moved in a slightly different position. I shortly gasped, and as I heard my own resonance, I became nearly sure that the wolf would wake. But, fortunately, the wolf did not stir. Once I had positioned myself in a place where I could take a very good look at it, I could see it’s face. The sight made me literally jump back, as I became dumbfounded at the prospect. The wolf’s face was stained with blood, and, though I could no longer see it, I do recall there being a vast amount of blood that had dripped from it’s face onto the kitchen floor.
Disturbed by the noise that I had made, the wolf aroused. It stood up and glared at me with crimson red eyes. The blood on it’s face could now be seen again. A powerful bark made me flinch, but the bark itself did not originate from the wolf in front of me. The sound came from behind me. I languidly turned around to find that the noise had been made by yet another wolf, nearly identical to the other. The only difference was that this new wolf did not have any blood on it’s face, yet it did have a large graze engraved into it’s left fore leg. Both of the wolves now had awkward looks on their faces, as if they were laughing in hysterical happiness.
“New prey this soon?” I heard a voice call. The voice’s tone was low, and just to make sure, I looked at both of the wolves to see if either of them had spoke. Neither of their mouths had moved, but something told me that they were really, literally speaking to me.
“I suppose so,” a similar tone answered, “It’s been a while since we’ve had a new mind to corrupt.”
The voices laughed in unison, forcing a powerful shiver to run through my spine.
The first voice chuckled. “How should we begin to crack this victim’s psyche?”
The two wounded wolves began to circle me, as if trying to force me into an anxious position. They were trying to toy with me, and watch me squirm. I could feel their evil grins facing me.
The second voice questioned at me, “Are you scared? You can feel yourself getting colder can’t you? You can feel yourself falling apart!” The wolves jumped at me, but as they should have collided with me, they vanished without a trace. My cat entered the kitchen and stared at me with a low ‘meow‘.
I spun around, scanning the whole room. I wasn’t sure what to think. Two imaginary wolves just told me that I was going insane. And, in my mind, I was wondering if they were right.
-to be continued...

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Nympho

This is about two days ago. A significant day. My nephew was born. And seems like something i should share. In the form of a diary, as asked. Or at least if i had a diary...this is what it would be like.

Tossing in my bed. The a/c has been on all night. So every part of the bed, is the cool side of the pillow. Frustrated by the suns cruel antagonism to flood my eyelids. A childish flop on my stomach and I reach for the shorts I took off during the night. I sit up slowly. Inching my way to my computer. I’d rather listen to my play list on Ares, than what’s on the radio.

Jammin’ to Sugarcult, I wrestle my shirt. And in mid wrestle. I hear knocking outside. I open my door partially. Don’t want to expose the exposed. Its my mother at the front door. Like magic the shirt fits over my pregger belly. And I gallop down the stairs. Its about 98 degrees outside. And she’s been knocking for 3 minutes. Before I can open the screen door. It bursts through her mouth like fireworks. “Your little brother just called, she’s in the hospital now. We have to hurry” Stunned and completely excited I run to grab my things to take a quick shower.

Room 475. We walk into a crowd of family. All huddling the bed. Waiting for a miracle to appear. We chat and share stories for 5 hours. And then at the 7th hour. Its time. We all clear out of the room as if the party was in the hallway. Ten minutes pass. And then thirty. At 8:28 a familiar voice breaks the waiting silence. “He’s here! 8:28 pm July 28th 7lbs 4 ounces….” She breathes in breaths that seem to be missed. Crying tears she never had. And covered in what seems to be birth fluid.

Everyone leaps from there seats in more anxiety than before. Forced to wait just a few moments more. My brother comes in the room. And screams out “I’m a father!” Everyone eagerly shook his hand and gave out hugs. Now the march to our new generation child. We all barrel into the hall to room 475. Ringing the newborn bell. Echoing through the hallways to makes its declaration . Turning the handle. Cries shoot out from the room. And there he is. Only Thirty minutes old. His pink body. His cries. I swell up and give in. And I cry with him. It seems like all I can do.

Before we all leave that night. Allowing both mother, father, and newborn to sleep. I hand back my nephew to his mother. And my brother. A very wild ,uncontrollable, rebellious child. Looks down on his son. With eyes I have never seen him wear before. They were softer. Like a calmness came over him. I watched him break from his shell. Into the resonance of who he will be, the father of his son.

A quick smile. Shutting the door behind me.

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I'm a glass child. I am Hannah's regrets. Monster.

Abu Dhabi

A home is the relfelction of the people who live it in. My home is dirty, ugly, hot, stuffy, constricting and discouraging...

I do not live in that home... I live in another home altogether...

My home is one room... in a house a few miles away... It's the color of the sky, with cool breezes and sunlight. Where emptiness feels like wholeness... where the shallowness feels like depth...

It has clothes, books, toys, games, consoles, music, DVDs, TVs, drawings and... Him. It has him... my breath, my soul, my heart, my blood...

My Love...

In this room, everything smells like him. I wrap myself in the blankets and can feel his arms around me. I flop on the pillows, feeling like my cheek is against his. In the bed, I feel the soft firmness of his body...

This is my Love.

This is my home.

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raja_psyche

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zyta

here is part of my first chapter to me book called Acceptance. it is quite long and i leave it here with a cliff-hanger. i wrote it when i was rushed, so please pardon that.

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Rubert stood, gazing at the darkness within the room, his back aching with each breathe he took. His eyes began to dilate to the room’s blackness. The sack on his back trembled lightly with each step he took inside, closing the heavy, wooden door behind, the light crawled under the crack between the door and floor and bent upward fading as it clashed with dusty particles.

Rubert gently lofted the sack over his head in a great arc and let it slowly come to a stop in front of him. He took a deep breathe, held it in and slowly released it, his back unclenching and throbbing with soreness. The sack hit the wooden floor with a soft pat as Rubert stroked the leather cord binding it shut with his calloused hands, untying it. With the knot undone he then released the sack to crease and cascade downward.

The sack crumpled and revealed a blindfolded, gagged, and bound young girl who seemed to have just reached maturity. She had her head bent resting on her knees shaking, her black hair rippled down and swayed with the smallest movement. Her hands were cupped together in the space under her thighs. Her body felt the sack drop against her clothes.

Rubert knelt down beside the girl, looking intently at her hair as though longing to stroke it, and slipped two fingers inside his left boot and pulled out a knife. With the other hand he delicately placed a soothing finger on her right cheek and caught a tear rolling down her face. She recoiled at his touch and withdrew further into her knees. Seeing this Rubert inserted the blade between the blindfold and temple and seared the cloth apart. He watched the girl shake her head and let the blindfold drop.

Slowly she raised her had and stared, her eyes were red, puffy and rimmed with tears though she no longer was crying.

“Wh…why?” she asked timidly, her voice quaking with uncertainty. The redness in her eyes was fading once more to reveal her light hazel colored, sparkling eyes.

Rubert, putting back the knife, gazed at her; her ruffled hair dangling down her face and looked away, blushing. His answer was sharp and quick.

“It was the Black Scripture,” said Rubert without returning his gaze to the girl. His chest was pumping with irregular breathing. He didn’t notice his hands, pale and dripping sweat, nervously entangling with the other. “I…I stole it,” he finally murmured.

The girl shook her head disbelieving every word he said. Her eyes were swelling again. Behind the door came soft scuffling and a cry both Rubert and the girl missed. The girl, stopping her head shaking, calmly spoke.

“And that made it okay to kill my parents?”

Rubert flinched, as though hit with a fatal blow, and stared at the ground, straining his eyes to do so.

“N...nn...noo,” he said curling both hands into fists. “Ma...Mary, I’m sorry. Truly I am.”

Mary blankly stared at him. The fire inside her chest emotionally scorched her heart, sending sensations down the curve of her back. She didn’t care that her body, already wracked with grief, gave up on living, suicide would be best; after all everything died. Would it truly make a difference if she died now rather than later?

It was then that Mary saw it; water swelling, building up in the eye, and watched as drop after drop slowly fell unwanted on the floor. She saw how Rubert’s body rocked back and forth, without effort to conceal it, like some small child does after a punishment. Mary, ignoring the bonds on her wrists, wrapped her arms around Rubert and pulled him into an awkward hug.

“Mary, I’m scared,” said Rubert, his voice was shaking and slightly muffled as he talked into her clothing. “I feel my body changing, becoming stronger as though filled with an undeniable lust.”

Mary heard every word, even though she had to still her breathing to do so. She continued to delicately stroke Rubert’s head, her hands shifted out the tangles and patchy areas. “What do you mean?” she asked already dreading the answer. “Surely not?”

Rubert stifled a sob. “After I stole the Black Scripture—and killing your parents—I opened it and began learning the forbidden arts. Now I know why they are forbidden,” said Rubert as he pulled away and began to claw at his eyes with his hands. “The first art, Terria Clow, was so horrid and…beautiful.”

“How?” Mary interrupted. She instinctively began to slither away and got a considerable distance away. “No don’t tell me! I don’t want to hear!”

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zyta

my post part two, lol


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“Why not? I stole it for you,” said Rubert. His voice suddenly not his own; it rapidly grew cold and absolutely sure of everything it said: the alluring voice of sin. Rubert stood quickly bringing out the knife and brought it near his face.

Light, reflecting off the blade, gleamed across his face. His eyes were bloodshot, narrow and distant, each pulsing with a murderous intent. His nose was small and slightly bent nursing a broken bone. His mouth was curved upward in a happy, twisted smile. The front of long, sharpened objects protruded out of the mouth, yellowish in color and rotting to the gums. His skin was pale, paler than the feeble light that the two moons fought over.

Mary shrieked silently and shuffled backwards. She plunged deeper into the darkness feeling her way along the wooden planked floor. Ahead she could hear heavy, steel-toed boots keeping even pace with her and she also heard a low, cackling laugh advancing at the same speed. Suddenly Mary collided her back with a dampened stone wall and immediately curled into a tight ball with her eyes alert and watching the silhouette watching her back.

Suddenly the door swung open and slammed against the wall, a cloud a rising dust filled the air. Trails of light blown through the dust as though it were not even there and silhouetted out a dark figure standing a head and a half smaller than the door-frame. Mary jerked up sharply and stared at the door.

The shadowed figure looked down on them with piercing blue eyes with a sinister darkness to them. The pupils looked mystifying; kind of like water’s surface, always changing and rippling. The eyes remained half-hidden behind a thin curtain of straight black hair that swept across his face like a veil of soft silk that shimmered in the moonlight. The figure looked to be extremely well-built, but not muscularly adept, more of one who understood what his body needed and acted upon those needs flawlessly.

Rubert stood rooted still looking at Mary as though the arrival of the figure was anticipated, and welcomed. His mouth twitched and a second later blood had beaded and ran down to his chin in a small fine line, finer than the purest pen stroke. Rubert turned to face the figure that was still hidden behind the dust and smiled.

“Ah, Biggs,” Rubert spoke with a tantalizing sweetness. “What kept ya? I almost began without ya.” Rubert paused and took a step closer to the figure. “Biggs, where’s Wedge?”

“Them?” spoke the figure; it belonged to a man with a cold and slightly raspy voice. As the man spoke it seemed almost in a mocking tone. “So they had a name, if I had known that,” he paused for a slight moment which was filled with uncoordinated laughing. “I would not have mistaken them for animals ready for slaughtering.”

Rubert’s expression stiffened as sweat drops appeared along the side of his temple. He was taking in air gasps, sharp and yet taking in no air. It was like every fibber of his will vanished instantly from within and escaped through holes the size of rice grain. Behind him Mary quivered yet held her gaze on the stranger, her eyes were bulging however scared she was, she felt a kind presence from the stranger that she could not yet explain.

The stranger took a step into the small storeroom and another and another until he was directly standing a foot away from Rubert. The stranger’s hand was held tight on the bloody sword at his side, though made no attempt to use it yet. Rubert stared back into those dark eyes with pure contempt.

“You killed them?” said Rubert with a shaky voice, it was clear that he didn’t want it to be true. “You actually killed them, for no reason…you little shit!”

The stranger looked deep into Rubert’s eyes in an inspecting manner. Then slowly he lowered his head—wet water mingled with specks of blood dripped off accordingly—in an unmistakable nod.

Rubert’s eyes flashed with rage. His body twitched as though holding back the strong desire to lash out at the stranger. A black light rose up around Rubert, engulfing him; the light lashed out and rose up in fury, much like a tsunami. The light was colored purple with fine lines of pure black. Rubert reared back his left hand and extended it forward, aiming it straight for the stranger’s cheek.

Mary panicked when she had seen Rubert expose the light, though she did not know why. For now she was more afraid of Rubert—whom she knew all of her life—rather than the stranger. Mary edged away from the pair and took refuge behind some barrels she found in a corner. During intervals of hiding she would peer over the top of one of the barrels to see how things faired, for her or not.

The stranger made no indication that an attack was heading straight for him. He did however grin, though the grin was barely seeable in the darkened storeroom. The punch landed, hard, against his cheek. The stranger turned his head with the punch, because of the blood on his face and water the hand made little damage and had slipped away.

“So,” spoke the stranger in a low conversing tone after he returned his head. “That’s the power of the ‘Black Scripture’? I must say, I am disappointed.”

Rubert was already on the attack again with the other hand flashing in the shallow light. The stranger shot out his left—and weaponless—hand. The punch was deflected with a simple block and was countered with a choke grab. Rubert was lifted off his feet as the stranger walked him over to a nearby wall and pressed him against it with force.

“You have two choices,” spoke the stranger with cold anger. “Well make that three. You can simply hand over the Black Scripture and live. Or I can take the idiotic thing from your dead cold hands. Or you can try fighting me, and lose and I’ll have the scripture anyways. What’s your choice?”

Rubert stared at him; it was plain by the sight on his face how much he loathed his current predicament. He tried to place some clever kicks in the knee of the stranger, but to no avail. Rubert simply went limp and answered.

“If you don’t kill me now,” he said. “That one day I promise to get strong enough to kill you!”

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Kasai

This is the only part I have of my story, Untitled at the moment. I havent looked at it in a year.
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“The world around us is never as it seems. There is always a change to our environment. There are even changes to our selves. Though it may seem that these changes are unnecessary, they are vital to our survival. Survival is what we strive for, is it not? So even if these changes are a day late and a dollar short, know that they will come.”

Those words were spoken to me as a child. I was even forced to repeat them time after time. That was a ritual I did everyday until the message was ingrained into my memory. Till this day I think of those words as raw pieces of….”Satisa!” My mother screamed, her voice shattering the silence of my room. Mothers are always doing that kind of stuff. Interrupting your thoughts just so you can slave all day for them. Satisa do this. Satisa do that. Some days, I wish I were another person, in a different world, with different rules. I guess you could say that I’m wishing for a change. But don’t get me wrong I want to stay the same. I just wish there was a place I could go to escape the hell I’m in now.

“Satisa Nikhaya Vosdon!” My mother screeched again. My goodness could she yell. “Get your fast butt here, right this minute!” Sighing I get up from my comfortable bed and open my bedroom door. But right before I could exit my sanctuary, I nearly stepped on my precious cat. His name is Vos. The first syllable of my last name is his first. I guess as a blue persian he’s a pretty lazy cat. Rolling my eyes I walk towards my mother’s dressing room. We were rich after all. We had a room for almost everything. There is no such thing as a closet in our house. But, I guess having a thirty bedroom, nine bath, house will suffice. Did I mention my mother was fashion designer, Beverly Vosdon? That’s right, my mother is the famous fashion designer Beverly Vosdon. You can see her clothes on the red carpet of every major award ceremony or moving opening. But surprisingly, the only good thing she’s done as a mother is teach me the tricks of her trade.

I’m seventeen years old, and I know how to run a fortune five-hundred company. I’m also my mother’s personal assistant. Every paycheck that I get from my mother/boss, I enter into my savings account for college. Let me be the first to say that old Satisa is doing pretty well. I’m pretty sure you’re asking yourself why would I want a different life? Let me tell you, being the daughter of Ms. Vosdon is hard. Being a young black spanish teen is hard enough.

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Shinigami's_Angel

Here's something that I wrote in mine.Hope it's okay 2 put here,since it was kinda a poem thingy I wrote lol Sorry if it's a bit long,I just couldn't stop writting.


Angel's Night


Night is Beauty
Day is Light
And just to Bright
Screaming winds
Drown all sound

Blood boiling
Never ending
Screams of terror
Rain that turns into blades

Waterfalls
Turn into floods
Waves
Come forth to incase us all

Night is nothing but Beauty
Day is nothing but a Light that is to Bright
Winds that scream the names of all that are lost
Sound that may never be heard of again

Blood may pour from the sky
Never ending Red
Rain of danceing blades

Dark Clouds
Thunder and Lightning
Winds that scream out all of our pain
River's that flood
Come above and chase us away

Beauty of the Night
Angel of sweet death
Come forth with you judgement
What will be your answer

Angel of death will claim us all
Maybe some sooner,than later
We may all never know
The answer we all seem to seek....

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Made by- Ryomakurosaki (Thank you sooooo much!!) ^__^