Archive for March, 2014

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“I wonder if they all have names.” Her voice was small, soft. It was full of a child-like wonder that so many of them had lost. She held the young girls hand, though the child tried to pull forward. “I’m sure they do – look at their faces, after all. You can see their expressions.” Adria pulled forward again, the strength and exuberance of a seven year old far too much for her elder keeper to manage. She broke her grasp from Cadyn’s feeble grip and ran forward. Instantly, her hands came up, touching the face of one of the stone statues, her tiny fingers running gently across the mouth that was formed into an ‘o’ of horror. There were hundred of statues in the open area in which they stood – each face was contorted in fear, in shock, in surprise. Adria turned back to Cadyn.

“Why are they here? They look frightened. Did no one think to take them home?”

Cadyn shook her head, her milky eyes falling. She didn’t have to have a clear vision of the area to know the sight before her. It was something that had been burned into her mind long ago… the tormented faces, the screams of pain, of horror, of fear. There were so few of them that had survived the falling of the city. So very few… and yet they hadn’t run from this cursed place. They couldn’t; it was the only home that they had ever known.

Still, for as long as Cadyn could remember, none of the children had ever thought, for even a moment, that the statues had any personality, any life to them at all. Of course, Adria was something completely different. The child had been special from the moment that she had been born. After the falling of the city, all of the children who had been born were nothing like the people had once been. Their hair was dark tones of black, of brown. Their eyes were the same… dull… the memory of what they once were seemed to have been lost with the magic that had once kept their beautiful city safe.

When Adria was born, her eyes had sparkled amethyst, and her hair had washed with the color of the waves. Centuries had passed, but Cadyn remembered well the look of her people. It was perhaps for this reason that she had taken Adria when her mother had died in childbirth. And it was because of this reason that she had been compelled to bring the young child to the garden of statues now. These had been her people, after all… though she didn’t know it.

Of course, there was a burning intelligence to the child’s mind that made Cadyn wonder if she did.

“They do have names.” Adria nodded, her fingers still stroking the terrified face. “Names and thoughts… emotions. They’re still here, you know?” Her head turned quizzically to the side and she cast her violet hues back to Cadyn for a moment. “It doesn’t seem right to just leave them so unhappy.” Her lips pursed and she stroked gently along the side of the stone face.

It was in that moment that something amazing happened. The face, twisted and contorted in fear slowly seemed to melt for a moment… only to reform in a soft, peaceful expression. There was a smile upon stony lips. Cadyn felt herself floored, shocked. Adria… Adria had done that with a simple touch.

“Well, I’ll make sure to fix it… after all, it’s far too quiet here. I bet the children want to play.” And without a look back to Cadyn, Adria skipped off, touching the frozen subjects of the kingdom here and there, relieving expressions of fear and pain. For the first time in centuries, Cadyn could feel the powers that had been taken from her with the falling of the city begin to tingle at her fingertips.

So it was true. She hadn’t thought, she couldn’t have hoped… she had only dreamed. Adria, with her violet eyes. Adria, with her hair like waves…

Adria was the Princess that they had all been waiting for – the last hope, the last bit of magic left to them. The people of the cursed city had been damned from their magic because of greed, because of envy. And yet Adria was pure of heart, a representation of everything that they had once been.

The city of Atlantis had once been beautiful.

As Adria skipped along through the statues and Cadyn heard the softest of whispers… there was a spark of hope within he heart.

Perhaps, just perhaps, the lost city of Atlantis could have her magic restored…

Again, the point of writing prompts is to go, to not worry about editing… and just to see where it will take you! Here’s another one that I did today.

 

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(Prompt taken from WriteWorld on tumblr!)

 

She suddenly realized that the knocking sound was coming from the mirror. At first, she couldn’t believe it – she gave pause, her breath catching in her throat as she did so. Her eyes narrowed, pupils focusing intently on the smooth pane of glass. For a moment, she thought that she’d been imagining it after all. The thundering of her heart began to calm for a moment; the sound came again, sharper than before, almost desperate. Her eyes flared wide, her breath caught in her throat.

The surface of the mirror had moved ever-so-slightly. She couldn’t breathe.

It was like some horror movie – the kind that she had screamed at the television screen for. She’d always said if she were in such a situation, she’d never be foolish enough to approach the dark corner, she wouldn’t investigate the sound, she wouldn’t call out ‘whose there?’ into the dark. No, she was too smart for that… or, at least, that’s what she’d always said.

It was almost against her own volition that she stood from her sitting position on the bed. She couldn’t help it – she stepped forward, her hand extended in front of her; her fingers shook so violently that the pale color of her skin almost blurred as she approached the body length mirror. It was an old mirror, with a heavy, black wooden frame. It had come with the house, a part of the wall in the old room that she had taken for her own. She hadn’t given the glass surface a second thought as she’d moved in. She hadn’t imagined for even a moment that it could possibly be something odd.

The knocking sounded again, and she jerked her hand back from the mirror as though she had been stung. Her fingers had been hovering inches away from the frame, and this close she could hear the knocking sound all the more vivid, hear the way that it echoed as though there was an entire room behind the mirror, something that she’d only just dreamt of. Of course, she knew this was impossible – there was a closet behind that mirror, that was all. Her brows furrowed, her fingers coming out again. This time, the tips of her digits brushed against the glass, her palm flattening against it. There was a radiating warmth; it made no sense. The room was chilled in the fall breeze that was blowing from her open window. There was more than just a knocking now; if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a soft whisper… a voice, saying… something.

She leaned closer, unable to make out the words that they were saying. It was something just out of her earshot, something that she knew if she could just hear would make all of this make sense. Both of her palms were pressed flat now against the heat of the glass, and she leaned closer… closer still… closer until her cheek was hovering just above the glass and her ear was nearly pressed to it. Her eyes closed and she concentrated on what words were being whispered.

Just a little closer. Just a little closer. Just a little closer. Closerclosercloserclosercloser.

Got you.

Her eyes flared wide, and from the corner of her gaze she could see something that wasn’t her own reflection. A smile was drawn ghastly across a sinister visage, sharp teeth pointed – she opened her mouth to scream, but the sound never had a chance to escape. Hands came from the glass, which now rippled like the surface of a pool. They wrapped tight around her, gripping her hair, wrapping around her shoulder. Vice like, claws dug into her flesh… and with a violent jerk, she slipped through the mirror like a body being dragged underwater.

The surface rippled for a moment and then all was smooth. 

Behind the glass there was the fainted sound. A knocking, a scream… and then nothing more.

 

As it seems to happen in the life of most writers… something came up – something distracted me. I’ve been busy and my mood has been wonky and I haven’t gotten the writing that I wanted to get done… well, done. However, I did manage to do a few writing prompts that I enjoyed. I’m going to share one before I close this blog out.

As I said, my mood has been a bit off. However, I woke up this morning (Albeit, much earlier than I had intended to) with the distinct thought in my mind that I was going to write. Of course, I have the preference that it is on work, but… I realize now that I’ll probably need to do about an hour of creative warm up writing before I can tackle my work projects. I hate that sometimes my mood delays me doing my work writing… but at the same time, I truly pride myself on giving 100% effort to every freelance project that I take on. It is because of that very thought and need that I sometimes don’t turn in my writing as quickly as people would like. I’ve noticed, however, as soon as people get the story that they have been waiting on, they instantly gush about how it was worth the wait. I have to think that it is worth the wait… and I have to think that the mentality that my clients have is something that I need to give to myself.

It’s worth the wait. Writing, taking the time to make sure that my projects are good, that I am happy with them… taking the time to grow, to improve, to do all that I can to further myself… it’s worth the wait. 

And I hope, my readers, that the blog was worth the wait, too. I’ll be posting more regularly again (until life once more does a waltz in front of me.) Until then, enjoy a writing prompt. Realize, I do these without editing, without looking back, without making changes!

 

(The writing prompt was to write a short drabble in relation to a picture. I cannot get the picture for some reason, but it was of a red forest.)

 

She had been traveling through the dense woods for some time before she came upon the clearing. Until then, everything had been muted green, dull brown, dead foliage. She wasn’t sure why she’d ever thought she could come on this quest, what had made her think that she was an adventurer like her brother, like her father. Their ‘adventuring’ had managed to get them killed, after all. So, what was she doing out in these woods? She knew, of course, that she was out here to look for a plant that would make her mother get better. Giselle had fallen ill months earlier, and after asking every doctor that she could find, Aribelle had all but given up hope. That was, of course, when the man appeared at her doorway.

 

She could remember it very well – he’d come in a suit far too nice for anyone in her village, all smiles and brilliant blue eyes that seemed as lively as the gaze of a dead fish. He’d smiled with teeth a little too pointed and told her of a place where she could find the cure to all pain, where she could make any wound simply disappear. She had but to find it.

 

While she would have usually been suspicious, even dismissing of such words… the man had come to her in a time when there was nothing left, a time when she grasped at any all all straws if they could provide even an ounce of hope in the darkness of her life. He preyed upon the fact that there was nothing left for her, save for a mother that was whithering away to nothing while laying upon soiled sheets and the impending thought of being homeless once the burden of her mother was taken from this world. It was a lose lose situation, and there was nothing that she could do but to ask where to go.

 

Of course, the man had grinned at her words, tilting his head and handing her a map without another word. She opened the paper, examining it for a moment and then letting her gaze jerk upward when she realized where he was trying to get her to go. “But this is the Carnivorous Forest!”

 

And yet, the man was gone.

 

Somehow, Ari had found herself here, lost deep within the forest. She hadn’t eaten in two days, and it seemed to her that the lines on the map that she clutched desperately between her fingers moved as she moved, so that every passing hour caused her to become more and more lost. At a time, she’d tried to find her way back out – even that hadn’t worked. With nothing else to do, she had forged onward, hoping that she would find this magical plant that would solve all of her worries, hoping that she would find it if only so she could have something to cling to as she tried to make her way out of this damnable place.

 

It was when she was losing all hope that she’d found the clearing – the brightness of the colors had almost blinded her. The disbelief that rocked through her body caused her to drop her map; she ran forward, a giggle spilling from her lips and let herself fall forward onto the soft, springing moss and the fire-like red that littered the forest floor. The great tree that stood above her was like some beacon of hope… and she suddenly felt the exhaustion of the last few days pouring over her in such tiring waves that she could do nothing more than to crawl beneath the tree and let herself lay over. Aribelle was so overtaken with exhaustion, with pain, that she didn’t notice when the roots of the tree crept over her legs, nor when the red foliage began to crawl over her body, slipping into her skin and moving like worms beneath pale flesh. She could only think that she was so tired, and that the pain of hunger, or worry… it was all melting away as the exhaustion completely overwhelmed her.

 

She didn’t notice as the red leaves continued to spill into her body, as the roots grasped her more and more tightly so that there was no escape. It was only when she heard a rustling, a soft chuckle, that her eyes flew wide open and she realized what was happening to her. She tried to scream, but the green moss of the tree spilled forward, wrapped tight around her throat, slipped between her lips, spilled up her nostrils. It choked away her air supply completely, and her eyes flared wide as she watched the man in the nice suit bend down and pick up the map that he had given her. He dusted it off, carefully folding it and putting it back into his jacket pocket before walking towards her.

 

Now, Aribelle noticed that the roots of the tree were digging into her flesh, spilling forward to slide down her throat. Everything was fading into starbursts as her oxygen supply depleted. The red leaves were squirming beneath her flesh as though trying to tell her something… something…

 

The man seemed intent on telling her first. He leaned down, his voice a whisper as he spoke, “I told you… there is a place in this wood that will take all of the pain away.”

 

She wanted to scream, but it was too late. The branches twisted further down, into her intestines, creeping out of every orifice. As the man spoke his last word, they ripped upward and out… and there was nothing more for Aribelle but a vicious spray of blood and bone and thicker things… and the leaves spilling from beneath her skin to fall down, blood drenched and and shivering.

 

Above her, the tree gave a mighty groan, its bare branches sprouting blossoms, red plants and leaves once more spilling from those blooms. It fed on the blood, the meat… and Aribelle’s despair. The man stepped forward, pressing one palm to the bark of the tree, his lips twisting into a vicious grin. “Do not fear, my love. I will bring you more… I know how you hunger.” And as the man turned away, the first read plant fell from the branches of the tree… and through the air, Airbelle’s last cry disappeared into the darkness of the wood.