Entries tagged with writing.snippets

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writing.snippets

Winter

She got up, sliding slowly, silently out of bed so as not to wake him. She wrapped the soft robe around herself and went out into the hall. The street-lamps cast soft, eerie yellow light through the house, throwing shadows at odd angles. The house she knew by the daylight became alien. But the alien-ness was familiar.

A board creaked as she walked across the threshold, as it always did. He wouldn't hear it. She settled herself into the same chair, looked out the same window. Snow was falling outside, but it wasn't sticking. It just left the world damp and oily-looking.
She looked out the window, and she cried.

A few hours later when the sun woke her up, she would climb quietly back into bed.
His alarm would be going off soon.

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writing.snippets

Snowfall

"Fuuuuh-ck!" he yelled out into the cold night.

The chill wind whirled around him as he trekked up the hill, gesturing and talking to himself. The night was otherwise silent, still and frosted. The the light from the street lamps bounced off the clouds and the snow, casting the scene in odd shades of blues and reds.

"Why the fuck can't think make sense, just once!?"
He threw himself down onto the bench, heedless of the snow. The damp soaked into his pants, but he didn't notice. He turned his eyes to the sky above, as though the Heavens could offer an answer.

"Why can't this be simple? Why can't I at the very least know what she's thinking. If I knew she thought about me two, if I knew I wasn't just 'another guy,' things would be different."
His voice slowly grew quiet, until he was almost whispering to himself.
"And what if she isn't? Would that make a difference? Or would I go on tormenting myself anyways?"

He glanced about himself, brushed the snow off the bench beside him.
"Maybe I could... live in her world. Forget where I came from, who I am. At least then I would be with her." He hung his head.

"Then I would be with her... but wouldn't I just be fighting the whole time to get back to my world. Wouldn't I end up fighting her to be who I am?"

He jumped to his feet, snow swirling around him on the frenetic wind.
"Why can't I love someone I can be with!? Why does it have to be like this!? Even if we tried it wouldn't work, and you know it!" he accused the night sky.

"I just want to forget for a little while. Forget who I am, who she is, and... And just express my affection."

"I guess that's too much to ask..."

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writing.snippets

Summit

Sweat ran down his brow, stinging his eyes. His hands were raw and his muscles burned from exertion; his strength was fading, the long climb taking it's toll on his battered body.

He reached the final ledge and, with monumental effort, pulled himself up and over, laying there for a moment to catch his breath. He dragged himself onto his hands and knees and lifted his head - his entire world changing in that instant. Where it had been cold stone and pain for so long, it was not all a vast expanse of soft blue. The gentle sun caressed him, warming his tired body. He stood up, the wind whirling around him, whipping his dusty blond hair. He felt weightless, standing at the precipice, high above the tapestry of green and brown.

This was home.

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writing.snippets

Checkmate

A marble chess board sat between the two men. The pieces, crafted of green and black marble respectively, were spaced around the field of white and blue squares, a number of them set to either side of the table, captured. Each piece was sculpted uniquely; even the pawns had individual features.

The first man, sitting in blue robes that shuffled quietly when he shifted, scratched his pointed nose and stroked his silvered beard, which cascaded down his face, over his chest, and into his lap.
He moved a piece, purposefully, marble ringing against marble.

His companion scratched his short, scraggly red beard, and then ran a hand over his bald head. He set his broad, angular jaw in thought.

"It is over," said the man in blue, breaking the sacred silence, and reaching beside himself to list his staff. The bald man lifted his hand swiftly, indicating for the other man to remain seated.

"No," replied the second man. "The pieces have yet to finish the dance."

The candles burned low.

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writing.snippets

The Tower

She looked out the window of her room, held loftily in the North Tower, and gazed wistfully over the sea of green and brown that was her father's land. A land which she had not experienced since she was a little child. Since before her mother died...

There were guards stationed all around the castle, now; intended, she was sure, to keep her in as much as to keep others out. Maybe more so.

'The world is a dangerous place, my dear,' he would say. 'Not somewhere for a lady.' And so she spent those years in the castle, enduring lessons she never paid attention to, and going through all the 'proper' motions.

The wind caressed her silken dress and fluttered through her golden hair.

She would not cry. She would not let him bring her to tears.

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writing.snippets

Colosseum

There was a deafening sound, a sound like a thousand waves crashing into the same sea-cliff. His breathing came hard as the crowd cheered, and he dropped the hilt of his blade. His body was slick with blood - his own as well as that of the creature - and his skin was grimey and pale from the coating of dust. The sun beat down furiously on him; it had been a good show.
Perhaps next time he would be allowed to win.

Not this time, though. He had been meant to lose this fight. His blade had broken on the first swing, and he should have been little match for the beast unarmed. The Overseers would still make their profit, all the same, but he would be punished.

Punished for surviving.

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writing.snippets

Drudgery

He sat himself at the table, his muscles groaning in relief, as she buisied herself at the fire. A large pot was hung over the flames, boilling a milky-colored stew. It was probably goat again.

The rain beat against the windows as she dished out the stew, her ladle clinking dully, first against the pot and then against each of the stone-work bowls.

"The wooden shingles leak over in the corner." She said flatly, motioning with her head.
"You'll need to fix them."
'When we have the money' was left implied.

She placed the heavy-smelling bowl infront of him and then took her own seat. The iron spoon, smooth and bent by years of use, slid familiarly into his hand.

He would tell her about the oxen tomorrow.

Current Music: into a dead sky - at the gates

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writing.snippets

Desolation

Gray-green clouds swirled in the sky, high over the dreary plain. The grass, short and brown, blew furtively in the harsh wind. Between the patches of dead grass, the ground was dry, cracked gray dirt. There were no trees to be seen, the plain was flat and barren all the way to the horizon. No birds flew in the sky, and not the smallest beast was on the gound. There was no sound; even the wind, harsh as it was, gave out no whisper.

An old shack sat in a hollow on the plain. It's thatch roof was torn with holes, and the dirt walls were cracked and broken. The remains of a thatch door lay in tatters, fallen inwards, and next to the doorway was a clay pot, smashed like an over-ripe gourd.

The sky rumbled threateningly, and the clouds churned. But there would be no rain.

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writing.snippets

Twilight

The darkness moved.
He still couldn't see anything in the gloomy expanses of the cave, but he felt the motion. There was something out there.

He could not remember how he got where he was. Everywhere he looked was the same gray-blue flatness. He couldn't see his one hand infront of his face, but he could feel the tattered rags they had left him with, hanging limply from his body.

A low sound, like the rumble of stone against stone, reverberated from all sides at once. There for a moment, then gone.

He eased his claws slowly in and out of their sheathes. He remembered bits - they had left him with more than rags. They had left him bruises and cuts as well. He had fought hard, and their scales split easily beneath his claws, but he had been out-numbered. He couldn't recall anything about the whys or hows. Everything was hazy.

There was a sudden, deafening silence -
he couldn't even hear his own breathing.

The darkness moved. And there was no escape.

Current Music: the hunter - dido

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writing.snippets

The Huntress

She weaved through the trees, swiftly, silently. Her breath clouded infront of her in the cool evening air, and her fur glistened with the dew. The sights and sounds of the forest invigorated her, and she caught the scent of her prey. The beast fled, and she gave chase, her muscles singing.

A touch on her hand brought her back to the present, back to the gray audience chamber lined with guards. Back to the cushioned throne and the creme-colored dress. Back to the stuffy courtiers and the grovelling peasents.
And back to him.

Her ears went flat against her head and her muscles tensed. She resisted the urge to unsheathe her claws.

With a sidelong glance at her, he nodded to the Chamberlain, who then announced their departure. They left, flanked by guards, through the back hallway.

"You are tense." He said as they walked.

"You have imprisoned me," she answered, staring straight ahead. "I have been caged."

"Hardly," he responded offhandedly. "I have given you everything. Any girl would wish to be what you have become."

"You have made me something I am not!"
"I have made you mine."

Their footsteps rang hollow.