The Writing Thread

[Dexandre]

I started thinking one night... situations in which the true hurt, the pain and confusion of a mental disorder come through... it's always affected me. I decided to write a poem about that feeling.

I

Left handed attack
Synapses firing like bullets
Thousand miles an hour
Yet unwavering, he sits.

It's a jacket
A burlap bag with straps and holes and doodads
That he would be so fixated on playing with,
If he could only move his arms in it.

Lost in a land as shattering as fairy-tale fate
Shakespearean solace in terrifying tragedy
How would you feel if you were handed information
That told you everything you knew was wrong?

Eh... I'd go on, but it starts turning personal, talking about someone I don't really want to segue into thoughts about right now... -_-;  

[[Angel of Ice]]

Hello. So this is my poem - its written about/to my father so em yeah thats about it really.


A Fight To Remember

Quote:

You've played me.
I've learnt.
You've failed me.
I've been burnt.

You I hate.
Thats for sure.
You are not my fait.
You, I will not die for.
I wont rise to the bait.

You've beat me to the floor.
You sat and watched the blood pour.
I never knew why, not before.
What reason do you have to hate me for?
What goes on behind the door,
Was always full of gore.
But I will take no more
I'll settle this score.

I am older now.
I wont bow down.
I wont be your clown.
I wont be left facedown.
This is my vow.

I will step out
Of this I have no doubt.
I will go all-out.
I can go without.
You will be left out.
Something to think about.

You've hurt me.
You've hurt others.
You've used me.
You've used others.
They wont all flee.

I don't want to play your games.
I have no need to make claims
I have no need to call names.
I will no longer be burnt by your flame.

Now I have aim.
I don't want fame.
I have no need to feel shame.
On you I place the blame.

It was your fault.
You were the adult.
This is the result.
Your an insult.
It was like a cult.
Its your fault.

This is the very last time.
This is the last part of the climb.
I will be fine.
This is the very last time.

 

[Matrias Fierno]

You know, someday I'm going to have to package all these 15 minute poems into books and sell them, because they come to me easy.

Yet another 15 minute poem, brought to you by Matrias Fierno

Matrias Fierno

"The Game"

In many, so many a tragic way,
We are doomed to play this game.
We fight, and fight, but never win.
We hope it all matters, in the end.

In the end, we know no purpose,
For our young always usurp us.
We will know not what's happening,
We will be in a hole, six feet deep.

 

[Matrias Fierno]

I'm bored, so I am bringing this thread back! Buahaha!

Now I just need something to put down... Lesseee.... check old account... hmm... poems? Nah, used 'em. Story? Hmm......

Okay, this is an old peice of crap, so don't be too harsh, m'kay?

Matrias Fierno

The Space Tear

Prologue

Admiral Kline looked down at the piece of paper on his desk, absent-mindedly. He stood up, pacing around the office. It was a beautiful office, made almost entirely of glass. The floor was glass, the small walkway that extended from it was glass, even the computer'exterior was made of glasse, allowing him to see through and to the components. He looked through the 3-foot-thick glass floor, down to a magnificent sity, with many a spire or building poking out among the smaller ones. He then looked up, to see the forest above him. It was his pride and joy, his creation. The Space Tear, he had cristened it, for from space it did look like a tear, and he looked again, and saw it: a dark green speck, moving quickly. He watched as the PTV {Personal Transport Vehicle} moved throught the city, coming to a building, made entirely out of glass like this one. A man got out, his white and red military cap showing clearly. The Admiral watched as the figure stepped into the building, then continued watching. The man came to a desk where another man was, where they shook hands and movd behind the desk, through an oak door into a room that wasn't made of glass. Suddenly a black PTV, made for flying, shot out of a hole in the roof. It came to a stop right next to the walkway, where it quivered for a minute, then stopped completely. The figure with the white and red cap stepped out, gripping the railing, and coming to the door. He knocked once, more as a formality than an alert that someone was at the door. The Admiral crossed the room and opened the door, allowing the figure entry. The man took off his military coat, then shook hands with the Admiral. "Hello Torn, I trust you had a nice trip?" he asked casually, knowing that it hadn't. Just as he expected, Torn got angry at the comment. "Nice? Nice!? Do you really think the trip was nice!? I'm told to go to Earth, then to come back moments later, and you expect the trip to be nice!?" Torn responded, anger showing clearly. The Admiral inclined his head in a gesture of sorrines. "I am sorry you could not see your family for longer, but you know you have a job as my personal runner. Now, I need your opinions on the candidates." Torn looked slightly surprised at being asked for his opinion. "Sir, why ask me and not one of your advisors?" he said. "I have various reasons. Most of my advisors are on the other side of Earth, so I don't havethem until it makes another half-rotation which would take about 12 hours. The rest of them are on extended trips to the moon colony. You happen to be here, and I happen to trust you with this secret and with the task that comes with. I need a Private Thorne up here, quickly. How do you suggest we get him up here?" Torn looked out the window for a second, then answered "We need more troops. A few died in that last riot. Send him up with them, have him patrol for a while, then call him here. That's what I would do, Sir." The Admiral looked blankly at the computer screen, then responded "Good. I like your thinking. Have you said anythng about my... special abilities?" Torn looked slightly scared for a minute, then said in a trembling voice "No Sir. No one knows." The admiral looked at him for a minute, staring into his eyes. "Okay. That will be all."

Ain't it the greatest piece of crap you've ever seen?  

[Vadessa]

Hooray for sci-fi! whee That's a really cool concept, Matrias. 3nodding I flipped through the pages of this thread and overall I think the people in this guild are very talented.

Um...ok, here's an acrostic that came to me one night as I lay in bed. I was still in high school, so it's been a long time ago, but it still sticks in my head. Especially when I get ticked @ "the Man." xd

Always
Dominating
My
Individuality
Never
Inspecting
Souls
To
Redeem
Accusations
Thrown
Ignorantly
On
Nonconformists

--Tabitha Devine

It came out of the blue and all at once. I was ridiculously proud of it at the time and I still like it. Ok, flame away--lol. biggrin xd  

[PurpleDragonsGems]

Oh what the heck, I post my poetry everywhere else.



This poem was writen while I was in Chicago. I had been there for three months, January, February, and March. I am a Florida girl. Not only was this a major weather shock, but a culture shock as well. I'm mulotto, my mother is French and Abanaki (Native American), and my father is African American, Dutch, and Seminole (Native American). I grew up in small towns, with normly a healthy mix of races. I had never seen so many Black people in one spot, and it made me uncomfertable. Also, I was surrounded my my father's family, who all happen to be either Southern Baptist, or Roman Catholic. I'm a eclectic pagan (for a lack of a better term) and had to hid this fact while I was up there (taking care of my elderly great aunt). So, by mid-march I was REALLY home sick, and I wanted to go to the beach, so I wrote this poem.

OCEAN BEAUTY

Gentle breezes kiss my cheeks,
Soothing waves caress my skin,
Soft sand tickles my feet,
Soaring birds sing ancient songs.

A serene place of power.
Where land meets sea,
And sea meets sky.

Here amoung the dunes,
My soul becomes free.
As my cares drift away,
My Goddess I see,
Such beauty to behold,
Where land, sea, and sun,
Meet and become one.

In my circle on the beach,
I dance to an ageless rhythme,
The rhythme of the ocean,
The rhythme of the Goddess.
For Her love is like the sea...
Endless.


Elizabeth Haze (me)

 

[Matrias Fierno]

Okay, this poem really was written in reflection of my experiences in seventh grade which lasted two years. By which I mean, I've finally healed.

Matrias Fierrno

"Over"

You may not even know my place,
But know I'm running in a race.

To walk away,
To not be fake,
To know my place.

My song was solemn, it is true.
All were suspects, even you.

The day I fell,
Like into hell,
And couldn't tell.

Looking back, I was a fool,
To blame everybody, especially you.

For my problems,
I did solve them,
And now I'm whole.

 

[Matrias Fierno]

I'm bumpin' this all the way to the top with three poems...

Matrias Fierno

Rest in Hell

You pulled me, I pulled back,
And I was split in half.
You tore me, I tore back,
May you rest in Hell.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

Half and Half

My eyes dance across this tome,
Where a novel makes it's home,
If these pages were my life,
I would live in constant strife.

Split the page into two pieces,
Then my life would be those pages,
Split the whole book in half,
That's me, Half and half.

My other piece has run away,
I may not ever find it again,
I rattle around in this shell,
While my other half rattles hell.

I can't be perfect for all of you,
I have but one of pieces two,
I am not whole like most,
Of the people in this tome.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

You Laugh, I Laugh

You laugh because I'm different,
Not the same as all of you.
I laugh because you're all the same,
And none of you are you.

You laugh because I stand up,
For what I think is right,
I laugh because your opinion is dead,
You say what they say is right.

You laugh because I'm not in sport,
Just band and ROTC.
I laugh because you're such an idiot,
For thinking for that you're better then me.

You laugh at me for being different,
You laugh at me for being alone,
I laugh at you because you follow,
But you laugh last because you aren't alone.

 

[Lifes Little Conflict]

I Like the second one the best but they all are good.

Quote:

Gaze into the darkness
The shadows of confined
Amidst the ones who rip your heart
Dwells one girl, oh so kind
Yet you'll never reach her
she'll be just beyond your grasp
and although you walk away
your heart will be stuck fast.

I just thought that up 5 minutes ago. I like it. ^-^

 

[Slim95]

Here is the first chapter of ma novel. 3nodding I didn't get many replies to it when it had its own thread (I think it may be a bit of a big read....) so hopefully more people can view it here.

The inspiration? Pure boredom on an airplane with a laptop. 3nodding

Quote:

Prologue:

-and even as Pentisimos sat on the stone steps, his limbs growing cold and eyes filming over with mist, he still cultivated the hatred that gnawed at his soul. In his last seconds, he reflected upon his betrayal, so ironically finished with the dagger in his back. And so, Pentisimos spoke his last words before slipping into the Otherworld. “And even as the shadows engulf my mind, my soul shall wait forever, till I can at last achieve revenge.”

The spellcaster closed the tome quickly, lest tears stain the ancient pages.


Chapter 1:


“On three,” Cael whispered with a chuckle, “One-“

His partner kicked down the door, the force rattling loose boards on the walls and knocking clay tiles off the roof, and stepped into the hovel. Situated on the Eastern side of Griphmore, the capital castle of the region, it blended in perfectly with the slums of its surroundings.

The wide-brimmed, feathered hat and viper mask, from which the public had conceived Prescott’s nickname, failed to hide his blue eyes, so similar with shards of ice. They were, for the moment, narrowed and glimmering with exhilaration. Chills crept up Cael’s spine, but he buried them beneath anticipation. He constantly tried to avoid his partner’s eyes, for they strangely seemed to glow of their own accord regardless of the lighting conditions, albeit faintly.

The black and blue silk scales that covered Prescott’s mask matched his attire in coloration; a vest, undershirt, pair of pants, and boots. Cael’s own mask was carefully crafted into the shape of a fiery cat, painted red and white, and coated in a glossy finish. Both their masks, though completely different in appearance, were made of the same hardened leather beneath all the decor. Cael knew that beneath his partner’s mask, The Snake was grinning. After spending five years with him, he had become accustomed to Prescott’s strange fetish for battle, and could practically feel the ecstasy like fog in the air.

“Damnit Prescott, you’ve no respect for the theatrics of ‘bounty’ing.....” he grumbled and ran a hand through his copper, spiked hair.

“It is called bounty hunting,” said Prescott.

“Wow, nice place,” Cael said, his fingers twitching as he strolled by a string of pearls piled on a wooden shelf.

It was all he could do to resist looting the room then and there. His deep brown eyes darted to velvet curtains across the room, exotic animal pelts covering the floor, and silk blankets on a four-poster bed. A man dressed in grime-coated rags sprinted out of one of the three rooms in the house and shakily held up a dagger. His hair was tangled and blonde as the sun; his eyes sunk in and almost completely black.

“G-g-get out of m-my house!” he stammered, his blade aimed at Cael’s red and white-clad chest.

Cael sighed and said, “Do you know who we are?”

“All of Reminor knows who you are!” the stranger breathed.

Cael nodded slowly. “You know what that means? We won’t be put off by a little butter knife...”

Prescott chuckled, then plucked the dagger out of the fugitive’s fingers. “Oh please, Jack, you could at least entertain me with something better.”

Cael sighed while pulling a scroll out of his crimson tunic. “By the order of King Leonard the Second and Knights of Reminor...yatta yatta...etcetera...You are hereby under arrest. Snake, if you would kindly escort him to the door?”

Their target turned on heel and made a break for the window at the far end of the room. Prescott took off in a blur of black and blue, planted his foot on Jack’s back, whipped out a pair of sabers from his waist, and before Cael could move an inch, their fugitive was pinned. The Snake’s knees dug into Jack’s arms, his blades pressing against their target’s neck, dashing all chances of maneuvering. The man beneath him was writhing violently, sweat pouring down his golden mop-top and over his forehead. Cael watched with fascination as Prescott silently hog-tied Jack then slung him over his shoulder like a potato sack.

“Isn’t that tiring?” he questioned while scooping valuable trinkets off of the shelves and gently putting them into a canvas sack.

Their captured convict wiggled with new gusto, producing muffled screams. Sadly for him, Prescott had gagged his mouth pretty efficiently.

Cael wacked Jack upside the head with a snicker. “Oh come on! It’s not like YOU earned all this stuff honestly,” he said while pinching Jack’s cheek.

Jack averted his gaze.

“Thought so,” Cael laughed.

“Probably nicked this stuff when he was in the palace. No wonder King Leonard wanted this guy so badly, he was spying and pinching,” he thought and smirked.

The ebony black ponytail on Prescott’s head swayed back and forth as he shifted weight from one foot to another. Cael cocked his head at a book beneath the velvet-laden bed. It was black leather bound with silver and gold lettering stamped on the cover.

“Ah, how lucky! Books fetch a fair price these days.”

His forehead crumpled and he frowned deeply. “Hey Prescott, can you read this?” he asked quietly while showing the tome to his partner.

“That is a Holy book. Even you can read bits of it, it should be full of pictures.”

Cael smiled at the tome then tucked it into the bag. “Maybe I’ll peep into it before I sell it.”

He could not decipher a single letter on the leather cover, but the book would serve a purpose, whether it be entertainment from the colorful pictures, money-“Or something else.”

Both exited the ram-shackle home, a particular spring in Cael’s swagger. Soon his pockets would be full with the fugitive spy’s bounty. He salivated at the thought of all the silver the Knights would pay them, and all the “finer things” he could buy. The corner of the tome jabbed into his back with each step as if urging him on.

As the sun began to sink beneath the castle walls, the duo finally reached their destination. Cael stepped into the castle’s main square then skipped backwards as a pair of children scampered by. Horses dotted the pavement, either mounted by citizens or bundles of goods. Beside him Prescott continued his steady walk through the crowds, seemingly oblivious to the commotion around him. The citizens around them parted, creating a path for them. Most avoided them like the plague itself, turning their faces and shuffling away. Cael found it often disheartening to have such a terrible reputation, but not much could be done for a man whose job it was to slay or capture people for gold.

“Look, Mother! The Demon Duo,” a child remarked, tugging on her mother’s skirt.

The woman swept up her daughter, carrying her away through the crowds. Cael sighed. Jack had long given up his struggle and lied limp over Prescott’s shoulder.

“Well, I guess it’d break my spirit to be hauled around like that in public too....”

Before him loomed a colossal tower, grey as Cael’s hair was red. The region’s indigo standards flew from windows, roof corners, and various statues that protruded from the walls. The statues depicted armored men holding swords in each hand, their arms spread wide as if in welcome.

“The Knight Spire,” Cael announced while straightening his mask.

“Must look my best for ‘His Majesty’.”

A pair of guards stood at the entrance, their exquisite silver armor practically useless, made only to impress the citizens. They saluted crisply, touching a hand to their forehead and chest, their faces filled with grim recognition.

“Welcome back Cat and Snake,” one of them muttered.

The inside of the Knight Spire was much less impressive. Stone flooring, stone walls, no furniture, as lethargic as could be. Nonetheless, it still had the same aura of discipline and order.

Cael grew stiff and bared his teeth behind the feline mask. “I hate it....”

Soldiers bustled by, most of them guards armed to the teeth with crossbows and blades. A few of them were men of higher ranking, the minuscule bits of silver or gold on their lapels; the only things setting them apart from their comrades. They scaled a chilly staircase and came to a sturdy mahogany door. A mark had been engraved deeply into the wood, a gryphon with a grape vine gripped in each talon.

The region, Reminor, favored this as a symbol of justice. Cael stared at it a moment before knocking.

What he saw answer the door was not very different from a bison in a suit of armor. A wide set man faced them, his wiry brown beard and hair, squashed nose, and muscular frame serving to add to his animalistic appearance. Something sparkled on his chest plate, two silver circles with amethyst centers, the badge for the captain of the Reminor Knights. The Knights were the elite of all soldiers in most human societies, their captain only ranking below a King, Holy Priest, or advisor. The majority of the Knights’ time was reserved for leading the attack forces, leaving the tedious watch jobs to the lesser guards.

“Captain Herman,” Cael greeted with a slight nod.

Prescott tipped his hat while turning to present Jack.

“Gentlemen,” Captain Herman announced in a high-pitched, girlish voice, “His Majesty, King Leonard the Second.”

Cael quashed a snicker, his face turning a slight shade of rouge. How such a tiny voice box could exist in such a huge human, he would never know. Herman bowed low, his bristly brown beard almost tickling his chest, and stepped aside.

The King sat upon a wooden throne behind the captain’s desk, his heavily jeweled hands placed firmly on the armrests. The torchlights on the wall made his hair glitter like golden hay, and reflected off the silver lining of his violet attire. The first time Cael laid eyes on him as a boy, he immediately knew Leonard was of fine breeding. He had caught a glimpse of the young prince while playing by the Northern road as Leonard leaned out a carriage window, his face bearing a bored and arrogant expression. Purple eyes, blonde hair, and milk white skin were only achieved together through the most careful of family ties.

“He looks perfect, but I can tell he’s still the spoiled brat I saw so long ago. He’s just got bigger toy soldiers now.”

Leonard motioned casually at Jack. “Captain Herman, please escort the fugitive to the dungeons. We will need to question him, so be gentle for now.”

Jack’s eyes were as wide as saucers, his clothing plastered to his body with perspiration, but he did not resist in any way.

Prescott leaned forward and held out his hand. “Payment,” he commanded.

“Man of few words he is.”

King Leonard narrowed his own eyes and pursed his lips till they turned from rosy pink to pearly white. Cael smiled, happy that his emotions could remain hidden as well as his identity.

“Not very fond of being told to do something are you Leonard? Welcome to my world.”

“Fifty silver,” Leonard said, pulled out a satchel, shook it so the contents jingled against one another, and tossed it into Prescott’s blue gloves. “Both of you, take a seat. I have another job.”

Cael fell into the closest chair, a spindly one that creaked as his weight fell on it. Prescott remained standing, and when Cael leaned over to tug on his vest, his hand was swiftly slapped away. It was not his hand that stung after that motion, but his ego.

“I do not have much time to speak with you. I am a very busy man, and it is best that nobody know about this talk,” the King began. “Do you two know of the war between Reminor and Tilwen?”

Cael rolled his sable eyes. “I’d be surprised to meet a Reminorian or Tilwish who didn’t.... Idiot....”

“Inform us, Your Majesty,” Cael sighed.

“For centuries now, Reminor and our rivaling region, Tilwen, have raged a terrible war. Though there are many opinions as to how the war was started, The Disciples state that the blood was first spilled by Pentisimos, God of Death and War. Whatever the cause, casualties in both regions have gone beyond counting. After every new fatality, in royal or peasant families, revenge is sought, and so the vicious cycle continues.”

Leonard pounded a fist into the palm of his hand. “I intend to end this war myself!”

“He acts heroic, but I wonder if Leonard cares about the people, the power, or the fame.”

The King stood up from his seat and paced around the room, his hands clasped behind his back and his face bearing a blinding smile. “Both Tilwen and Reminor abide by the rule that in the event a King should die or retire, if an heir is present said heir is obligated to take the throne. If the King has no available sons, then the advisor or citizens of the region are to choose a new ruler,” King Leonard continued, his gestures and words growing more electric with each syllable.

“I wonder how we play a part here.”

“King Alexander of Tilwen’s only heir, his son, ran away from home nineteen years ago at the mere age of thirteen. Though this served to momentarily weaken him, King Alexander swiftly recovered. In fact, this made him battle us with new gusto, for he believed the prince had fled to Reminor in order to escape him. To this day he has not chosen a new heir, though my sources tell me he has often consulted his advisor about it.”

“Perhaps he wants me or Prescott to masquerade as the prince! We can both pass off for the right age!” Cael thought excitedly, the smile beneath his cat mask growing all the while.

Daydreams of life in a palace filled with gold, silver, and precious gems filled his mind. Imaginary diamonds swam before his eyes.

“That being said, if Alexander were to pass away before a colossal battle, chaos would ensue and all their defenses would weaken.” Leonard said, and sat back behind the captain’s desk. “I have given this job much thought, and have confided with only my advisor with the details. Such is the magnitude of it. Demon Duo, Cat and Snake, famed mercenaries, bounty hunters, esteemed heroes of my region-“

”Rubies! I’ll have a bag of rubies at my hip at all times. Just the thought of all the jewels makes my head-“

“I would like to hire the two of you to kill King Alexander Dalmonti of Tilwen!”

“.............WHAT?!?!?!?!?!!?”

I ALREADY LOVE YOU FOR READING THIS FAR! *hugs*  

[Slim95]

At LLC:

1. Add a "d" in amidst in the third line.

2. Add a comma after girl in the fourth.

3. ' <---add one 'o them in "you'll"

Beautiful poetry. It was wonderfully worded, and despite how small it is, you fit a lot of meaning in. GJ! 3nodding  

[Lifes Little Conflict]

Slim95

At LLC:

1. Add a "d" in amidst in the third line.

2. Add a comma after girl in the fourth.

3. ' <---add one 'o them in "you'll"

Beautiful poetry. It was wonderfully worded, and despite how small it is, you fit a lot of meaning in. GJ! 3nodding

Yea, I typed it kinda fast. sweatdrop
Let me go edited that now.

 

[Jirya]

This was a story that I wrote for a Creative Writing class at uni.

I was inspired by the concept that a mother can have a job that conflicts with her family commitments.

Enjoy!

Quote:

Black Clad Killer
She lent her shoulder against the wall. The rain was a little heavier now, and the sheer brick wall did little to protect her from it. The rainwater ran in small rivulets down her long black leather coat, dripped from her black hair, her black gloves. She barely breathed, not wanting to make a sound as she waited.
She had chosen her position under a broken streetlight. The other lights reached out with their brightness; only to be oppressed by the thick rain and dense darkness. Tall, shadowy buildings stood ominously on either side of her, watching with their hollow empty windows. Wet red bricks seemed somber and dark; the light not willing to play across them.

Her blade was held high and ready, its blackened surface not betraying where she was to glancing eyes. Her ears were intently listening past the rain, listening for footsteps, listening for him.
The man's face was imprinted on her mind, a glossy 6 by 4 in black and white. His routine, his work, his habits, where he ate, drank, and who he slept with, she knew it all. Everything she needed to find him and kill him. This was the best place and time. Tonight, as he walked home from his weekly late night poker game, he could be the victim of a bungled mugging. It seemed plausible enough. Some money hungry crack fiend crossing the path of a man who was up on his luck and stupid enough to flaunt it.

She did not know why he had to die. She did not know what he had done. She was getting paid a pretty penny to not ask any questions.

This money will come in handy, she thought. I need to buy new shoes for Alayna - she is growing so fast now. Surely it was just yesterday her steps were hesitant and awkward, and now she beats the other kids at school! A smile crept into the corner of her mouth and stayed there a while. The rain fell still, oblivious.

A sound snapped her out of flippant thoughts. She heard footsteps; soft ones. Like someone trying to walk in between the raindrops.

She positioned herself behind the corner of the wall, ready to strike at the right moment. Soft steps came closer still, splashing occasionally in puddles of fallen rain. She was waiting, tense and ready to pounce. The footsteps grew closer, louder. Finally, the person was within range of her attack.

In one fluid moment, she rounded the corner, driving the blade into the dark figure's chest. She heard a gasp and the figure’s hood fell back.

Cold rain fell on bleached blonde hair, on painted cheek, on painted lips. A young woman gazed back through shocked blue eyes, her heart already silent, the impaled blade the only thing holding her upright.

The blonde's body slipped to the ground seductively, taking the blade from gloved hands. The rain caressed the lifeless body as it lay on the dirty pavement, the blood mingling with the rain, washing it into a large, dark pool. The girl’s insubstantial ghost rose with a sigh from her insubstantial body, a whisper among the raindrops.

She looked down on the body in horror. A Mistake!, she thought to herself. How could I have let myself get distracted? Look at what I’ve done! For a brief moment, she was unraveled, unable to think clearly about the task at hand. I have never failed like this before – what will they think? Will they still pay me? The uncertainty was painful. She did not like the taste of this. Her hands were shaky, her heartbeat erratic. She realized she had to regain focus. Ok, deep breaths, slow down, focus… ok, deal with the body, get back to business. This…mistake… can be dealt with when the job is done.

She heard a sound and had to think quickly. The girl was small, thin and light from living in the company of drugs on the street. Grabbing her limp wrists, she dragged the still warm body and laid her against the wall. Black gloves contrasted with pale, wet skin.

Once the body was against the wall, she put her hand on the girl's lifeless shoulder. Grasping the handle, as familiar to her palm as her heartbeat was to her daughter, she slid the blade out from young, undeserving flesh. The woman's hands were still trembling, the sweat on her brow running down her face as the rain diluted it.

The sound of heavy footsteps grew near. Not bothering to even wipe the blade, the woman was ready to kill again. The footsteps faltered, pausing at the pool of blood on the pavement, the body against the wall. The element of surprise shattered, the woman in the black leather coat rounded the corner again and took a moment to identify her quarry. Eyes only seen in a glossy 6 by 4 photo opened in fear as they saw the blood stained blade held in black gloved hands. She was showing nothing of her recent torment. To him she must seem a very formidable figure indeed.

He looked around for help as she rushed at him. Reactions and skills played off against each other – he lost. She thrust the blade between his ribs. He grabbed her arm as he fell and she shook it off in a dismissive gesture. Her hand stayed tight on the blade this time and as he fell, it slid out of him smoothly. Her heart was cold now - this was just business. Reaching inside his coat, her gloved fingers found his billfold, thick with winnings from a now not-so-lucky night. She took a few bills out and left them crunched on the ground between the bodies to give impression of a rushed job.

A quick glance showed no watching eyes as she lent down over the girl. The youth's head lolled to the side, golden hair in wet ringlets across her face. Tenderly, with gloved hands, the woman closed the ice blue eyes that could once see the madness of the world with a now-lost uniqueness. Pulling the hood over to hide the young face, the woman's tears fell as friends with the rain. The young girl looked almost alive as she leant against the wall. Her hands sat in her lap casually. The scene was one of slumber rather than death. The dark sleeves of the girls black coat had slipped back a little revealing the bite of a sharp blade, old cuts that were made when past torment had been too great to endure. The fact the girl's life had been tormented offered little comfort to the woman - a life of pain is still a life after all. Tucking the billfold into her coat, the leather-clad woman took her last look at the poor girl and then turned away.

It was a long walk home that night. The rain eased as she walked, bored with falling on tragic scenes and dirty pavements. Clouds parted and showed the smallest sliver of moon. It glinted in the sky like a blade held in the hand of an assassin, stabbed into the black fabric of the sky randomly. Pulling her coat around her, she comforted herself with the thought the job still got done regardless of the regrettable accident. They should still pay me, even if I did kill the girl as well. It was just an unfortunate mistake, one that I won’t let happen again. Her mind began to wander to ways she could have avoided the dilemma, her lack of caution. She vowed to be more careful in future. This was her livelihood after all.
A cold breeze played across the dark street as her thoughts turned to her employers. What if they feel I am no longer good enough to work for them? What would they do to me? What would they do to my daughter? She shivered, though it was not due to the wind.
Suddenly, it seemed, she was outside her apartment building. The large grey structure appeared strangely familiar and friendly this dark night. Not a single light was on, yet this seemed comforting. The people who shared this building with her had no idea where her money came from, or where she went at night. Mostly they were too self-absorbed to notice. The large brown packages delivered to her door were never questioned; the delivery boy never looked her in the eye.
Climbing the stairs rapidly with ease, she reached to the top floor. The hallway was dark and quiet. She walked down to her door and sighed before pulling out her key without a sound. Turning keys in locks, she stepped inside her apartment quietly, locking the door behind her. There was a small wall cabinet near the door and she unlocked this with a small key. Inside she placed her knife alongside her other weapons of death. She locked this again quickly and stowed the key in a nearby flowerpot.
Walking to the bathroom, she swiftly disrobed and escaped into a hot shower without turning the light on. The steam rose and the slain became sore memories. Muscles loosened and the rain was washed away.

Wrapping herself in a soft, dry towel, she walked quietly down the carpeted hallway to her daughter's room. Soft breathing filled the silence, and the golden glow of the night-light fell on soft cheeks, pink lips and dark hair. A tiny hand was curled around tonight's favourite doll as motherly eyes watched lovingly.

Sometime tomorrow, eyes would fall on two bodies in an alley: cold analytical eyes, eyes fit to solve crimes, not commit them.

Eyes would fall on a young girl accidentally killed in a tragic case of bad timing. Eyes would fall on a man who was stupid enough to carry an overfilled billfold on a dark street on a rainy night. Eyes would see, but not understand. These eyes would not understand that sometimes to live, a mother had to kill. These people died by her hand and the reasons were defined by someone else. This time, an innocent died too. The unraveling feeling returned, and she did not know what to do. A sense of uneasiness overcame her.
She went back to the door of the apartment, checking the locks again. They were secure, not that it really mattered. Looking to the balcony doors, she could see they were latched shut. This also offered little reassurance. She knew she would not feel safe tonight.
Walking back down the dark corridor to her bedroom she felt the darkness form into figures she feared and yet could not fight. The people she worked for were strict and although she had never given them cause for action, she felt they were already watching her every move. She turned back on an impulse to check Alayna again. The nightlight still filled the room with a soft golden glow and Alayna’s dark hair framed her peaceful face.
Walking into the room, a mother’s eyes watched her daughter sleep. The soft breathing had a calming effect. Kneeling down beside the bed, she stroked her daughter’s dark, silky hair. A sleepy smile crept across the young girl’s face. Smiling back, she left Alayna to sleep and went to her bedroom.
Dressing in her pajamas and slipping between cold, clean sheets, the woman slept the fitful sleep of the guilty.
* * *
Cold hands on her face woke her suddenly. “Mum? Mummy? Makeda?” Hands shook her shoulders violently. “What is it? Alayna, what’s wrong?” answered a disturbed mother. Oh no! They have come for us! I don’t know where to run, where to hide!
Makeda couldn’t show her fear. “Come up on the bed here with me, under the covers. That’s it.” She tried to stay calm Alayna, even though she was trembling inside like a leaf in a hurricane. At any moment, she could feel the tree letting her go and the wind carrying her away.
Alayna crushed her head into her mother’s chest. “It was horrible Mummy! There was this pretty little horse with golden hair and I was patting it. She was so pretty! And then this black arrow flew out of nowhere and killed it! Straight through the heart Mummy! The pretty horse screamed and screamed and I cried. I woke up crying.” She began to cry again. The hot tears burned through Makeda’s pajamas. She held Alayna close and rocked her as she cried. “It was just a dream”, she cooed. “Everything’s ok now; Mummy’s here.” The arrow was my blade. The arrow was me, she thought. The coincidence chilled Makeda to the bone and she began to tremble slightly.
“Let’s get under the covers, ok?” Alayna nodded tearfully and snuggled down with her mother, cuddling as close to her as she could. Makeda was both comforted and troubled. She stroked her daughter’s hair absentmindedly. Soon, soft snoring noises filled the room and began to lull Makeda to sleep.
Outside, clouds covered the sliver of moon and the rain returned. Raindrops swirled in the wind and dashed themselves against buildings and parked cars. Under a broken streetlight on a dark street, two bodies lay silent as their blood washed away; a red river blending with dark water in the gutter.

Thanks for reading. *awaits comments*  

[Matrias Fierno]

Yay, poetry! I have more.... Study Hall gives me tons of time.

Matrias Fierno

Cyanide

Trapped inside like cyanide,
Thoughts, they flicker, pass me by,
Still outside, kept alive,
By a faint light in my mind.

The light comes from a door ajar,
Which in my head seems so far,
It opens into a world of mars,
Torn by it's children, torn apart.

I look at this closing door,
As it becomes less and more,
My only escape, this closing door,
And still it becomes less and more.

My only escape, I may not make,
I have a chance I may not take,
Out there is a burning hate,
But in here is a growing lake.

Water laps at my motionless feet,
My final fate I may now meet,
Or I could fight, deny defeat,
But my chances seem so meek.

The water is now up to my waist,
I am still not moving, I still wait,
I see now that it is so late,
I must act now, make the escape.

The door is mere feet away now,
The water is up to my neck now,
I may meet my final day now,
The door is almost closed now.

I have to swim through the door,
It still becomes less and more,
It becomes a window, so forever more,
I can see the darkness through less and more.

 

[Jirya]

That's very cool.

How did you come up with the idea?