I used to go to vo-tech during high school, a career/technical/vocational school. I was taking nursing (which I ended up hating and dropping out of). I would eat lunch there, and me and my friend would usually sit at the same table everyday. One day while we're eating there was this guy--a big guy--who sat at the other end of our table and he pulled out a book. He was the thick-glassed dorky lookin' big guy type that looked a magnet for bullies. Note: that pretty much decribes me in girl form. Haha. He ended up eating at our table for many days straight on and he'd never move, just sat there reading for a solid half hour (we had long lunches at vo-tech). I never had the guts to ask him what he was reading. I was dying to know, because he was really into it. It was a paperback, a really thick one, and he was in the middle of it. Once when my friend was absent, he sat directly across from me. I found myself in a state of hysteria, I HAD to know. So I bent down low, peering under so I could read the cover. I couldn't make it out. The boy didn't see me, he was too preoccupied. I never made a move. I lost my chance that day because I never saw him again. At least not with the book. I wrote this poem based on that incident, thinking that I could drop it over the pages as I slipped by him and sign it as like a secret admirer type thing. But I never did. That's what happens when you never make a move. This is dedicated to my online buddy Azi-chan. I have a tradition of making a poem like this one every year for her and that thick glassed boy I never got to know. Originally written in 2002
Aullène, the only human detective in Faery business, gets a new employee. This is more of a fragment than a full story, but it can stand well on its own. Possibly I can expand it to a full story in the future, but it'll have to be done right.
Even superheroes feel the weight of years in the false dawn. One of my favorite poems.
Once again an assignment, this time in 5th grade. It's not my best, but what the heck, here ya go.
The highly amusing rant of a forgotten character, trapped in her novel world.
From the road, to the inn. Amazingly, no one falls and crashes in this part. Not to say there isn't anything similar...
The final piece in the 'Death' series.Interestingly enough, I wrote this one before I wrote Jason's story. I had fully intended to follow the line-up as stated in 'Death's Prelude', however when this was finished, I found it worked better as an ending. Although, I must say, that Jason's story tried gallantly to subvert that idea. (Hah! Writers prevail!)
i was very much awake when i wrote this in the middle of the night. i'm not sure where the idea came from, except that lately i have been wondering what human reactions are to extreme events. i hope to do several short pieces to illustrate my ideas.
This is the third chapter of the first book of Simuir, The Battle of the Four Realms.
This is a book I was working on... possibly the last post I will make on Wyvern... Hope you enjoy it!
This is a poem that deals with finding a magical place just for you. I've always thought that there is a place in each of us where we can retreat to and just be ourselves. Our own little wonderland.
Cycle of Life:Prologue Armoured knights trampled the village green to mud. To those caught in their path, they appeared to be bizarre monsters, their humanity hidden beneath hard, chitinous shells; razor-sharp swords gilded red in the most precious of substances - life’s blood.All around, the air was thick with despair as the wounded reached out to one another with open hearts. The dead pretended to ignore their fate. Some lay with their ears pressed to the ground, as if listening to the slow heartbeat of the earth. Others directed their eyes upwards, watching cinders trace a lazy arc through temperate skies.A shrill cry cut through the clamour of battle as an Arch-Mage, dressed in bright ceremonial robes, gave a renewed call to arms. The animalistic scream took to the air: a symbiotic blood-cry fashioned from a living soul, savagely pried loose from its corporeal holdings.The invaders moved in a grim dance as they engaged the unarmed villagers in combat. Each wore a filthy white surcoat emblazoned with the twin signets of faith. The ancient symbol, which comprised of two interlocking rings enclosing a stylistic pattern, represented the link between heart and mind. Some of the village elders recognized it for what it truly was: a powerful sigil designed to unify the men in single-minded combat. Such tactics rendered them unstoppable, as it was easier to control men through magic than the archaic bonds of brotherhood and loyalty.The invaders marched towards their defenceless foes; gazes filled with righteous indignation; cold hearts ablaze with lust for battle.Death it seemed possessed its own voice. Its horror rent the still morning air. Everywhere, horror overlaid beauty - a grotesque juxtaposition of life and death. Then, the wheels of time unfurled a new day - a day as bright as the blood spilled freely beneath it.As one, the army came to a complete halt. The soulless invaders coldly perused the battlefield. Bloodied and battered helms concealed deadpan faces and unseeing eyes. As a new and monstrous future was ready to be born,
What should have been a relaxing library visit, turns into quite an adventure for Aullène. Aullène is also one of the characters in my short story 'Of Books, Imps and Otters' but both stories can be read seperately.This story is written for the Elfwood writing competition 'Between the Lines 2009' and is inspired by this newsarticle. It won!
Just something that wrote itself in my imagination after watching Inkheart. It's very similar is some ways. I hope you like it!
This is a poem, a story, without a real plot. I wrote it in part in an Anthropology lecture, and in part waiting for and on the bus back to campus after missing a transfer and taking the wrong bus to the end of the line. Nothing is real, it is like a dream. Trust what you think. Edit: A new version has been uploaded, the one that is going into North, the College of the Humanities (Carleton University) literary journal.
This poem is from the perspective of Death as she walks through the land on a day in late autumn.