The Island: Challenge III

   Sleep came to me as death follows a knife through the heart – fast, and with little pain. But, unlike death, sleep haunted me, even after I had been taken. The confines of my mind lost its limits, and sleep was able to haunt each corner of my being with whatever terrors it had to offer. It showed me dark and light, and the spaces in between; it offered creatures I couldn’t ever imagine, and creatures I have only recently encountered; it took my life and showed me every haunting mistake I couldn’t ever take back, my weaknesses, and my unwanted strengths; and it showed me shrieks and howls of creatures long extinct. It filled my mind with encounters and experiences and things I could tell I was yet to see, but wished would never come.

   Waking didn’t offer much relief. Though the images and the words dissipated, the shrieks of the dead continued to haunt me, not just in my head, but as though I could actually hear them.  Which is, of course, ridiculous, isn’t it? The living in this place is far from conventional, but they can’t have bloody dragons, can they?

   I pull my head from the pool, and shake the water free from my face, before pushing my hair back with my hands. My left thumb runs across its opposing hand, but, as I expected, the ring is still gone. I don’t know what happened to it, but it was gone when I awoke, and I want it back. As it turns out, the whole thing was a waste of time. Though, strictly speaking, that’s not entirely true, I think, right forearm catching my eyes, free of any previous injury, and darkened significantly in colour, despite the thick tree canopy which had kept the previous days in darkness.

   Stickiness from the humid air envelopes me, and my head’s throbbing, probably from dehydration, but that forsaken shrieking certainly isn’t helping. It’s not getting any better either – in fact, it might even be getting louder. I don’t even know what to do. About anything. I’m hungry and fed up and I want to leave. Let. Me. Go. I mutter to the greying sky above me, and crumple back against the flat cliff rocks, a safe distance from the forest behind me.

   I can’t decide whether I’d be safer in the open land, at the edges of the cliffs; or back in the forest, hidden, but also trapped. I’m pretty much doomed, either way. Cursing, I lift one of the loose rocks from beside me and throw it back against the ground. Its edges shatter, and the pieces fly up towards my eyes, but I hardly even notice, because I’m focussing on what’s still intact, still unsatisfactory. I take another, and throw it again, to no avail. Frustrated, I throw the third rock as hard as I can in the direction of the forest, and drop my face into my hands as it passes through the foliage, and causes a flock of birds to scatter through the canopy, startled.

   But the forest alarm continues, and I frown, because the rock’s gone, it did nothing but fly and fall. And I think, maybe, something else is setting off the alarm, because it can’t be me, can it? And then I’m wondering, if they’re all scared, then maybe I should be, too-

   I’m right.

   The shriek hits me at its loudest, and I open my mouth to scream back, but no sound escapes because I’m looking at the forest and it’s moving and something’s flying out, and it’s shrieking and I’m blinking because it’s no bird-

   It’s a dinosaur.

   Which isn’t even possible because they’re supposed to be bloody extinct, and what the heck?  But it’s heading for me, and whatever it is I need to move, but my legs are stuck to the ground and I am so damn confused because it-

   It hits me.

   And I’m screaming in silence, until I realise that’s a stupid idea, because it’s gripping tighter and tighter around my chest and if I can’t get out I’m not going to be able to breathe, and wasting my oxygen on soundless screams will get me nowhere. My stupid mouth shuts and my hands go to its talons and try to prise them open, but its muscles are set and I can’t even shift them. So I panic and start punching them, though I know it’ll do nothing to set me free, but I’m desperate, and then suddenly, I’m not. Because I’ve looked down and we’ve passed the edge of the cliff, so there’s only me and the air and an impossible dinosaur who wants to eat me.

   Which is not an ideal situation.

   I take a deep breath, and go back to screaming.

The pterodactyl swerves, making the wind take my screams and pull them away from me, so I’m terrified and can’t even hear it in the air. But I feel the monster descend, and I’m hearing something else – water.  I look down, and rocking subtly beneath me is ocean, hungry, as the dinosaur and I both are. And it keeps coming closer, until I fear that the pterodactyl will drown me, but then it stops its descent and just glides above the surface, like we’re hanging and the rest of the world is moving below us.

   And then it shrieks.

   And I shriek.

   And I’m turning because there’s something else approaching, and it’s huge. Like a colossal, towering wall that’s just consuming everything in its path. And then I realise – it actually is.

   The pterodactyl realises too, and it tries to turn and fly away but the great wave is drawing in far too fast, and we both scream as the wall of water looms over us, and then it crashes, and in the thunderous noise we are separated. And we are swallowed.

-

I noticed that I never did write an entry for Challenge Three of Gepard's Island. And since the Island helped me a lot in actually making me write, it seemed silly not to do the challenge that I missed. So, I wrote it. And now it exists (with little handfuls of help from Eldritch and Adra, when blockiness struck - Thanks. :3 ). And it was a lot of fun. Hopefully I'll get back into writing frequently, soon. Hopefully - enjoy~ :3 

Skul-FanFic - One. (For now, I'll just call it 'Deadbolt')

Just across the darkness, Darren Karl heard a lock click shut.

It wasn't an ordinary cylinder lock, nor was it a lever lock. It wasn't even digitally locked, and Darren had known this from the start. No, Darren’s escape was held from him not by any ordinary lock and key. It was held from him by an intricate series of complex magical systems, which Darren had been studying closely by ear and by sense as the weeks passed beside him.

Every time the cell was opened to deliver food and drink, for his captors would not have him starve, Darren would listen intently to every click and snap in the system, while retaining the apathetic expression on his face, so as not to give away his actions. Though they probably knew he was working on escape. All the more reason to work quickly, he thought to himself.

And when the cell remained locked, he would sit around the door and let his mind reach out to the systems, studying each imaginary spring, shaft and tumbler, slowly picking apart the code that confined him. Now, finally, Darren understood exactly how the lock systems work, and while such a structure shouldn't be caved in without the same specialist adept ability that set them, he also knew that the boundaries of magic can be stretched, and his ability lay just on the borderline. All he had to do was push.

Through the darkness, another click struck.

Darren’s breath caught.

He pushed again.

Click.

Whether it was his imagination or not, he wasn't certain, but Darren thought he could see the dark lift just a little with each level he reached, as the scarf of locks unravelled before him.

Thunk.

Darren’s heart hammered against his ribcage. He set his palm on the door handle, twisted and glanced around, though he knew he didn't need to. The guard would be halfway down the next corridor by now, as far away as his patrol led, and none of the other captives could see him through their cells.

The passage was empty. 

Darren kicked off from the concrete, and ran.

Refinement

Screams.

Can you hear them?

The cries and wails they let out as I tear them apart, drawing strings from their minds one by one, in a cruel, unforgiving pattern. Applying pressure to their framework weight by weight until one becomes too much and they just snap. It’s a beautiful sound, when minds snap. Like the crisp break of a dry twig, or the clicking of fingers, and it could make quite the beat, if music were my muse. But it is not.

And it is not the sound that I focus on, but the sensation. Boundless, it feels, as the chilling cold bolts down my spine to collide with the golden warmth of simple knowledge that what I am doing is good. I am helping them. I am helping everybody.

Yet they don’t understand. I am not sick, or twisted or evil, and I am neither unnatural nor ruthless. I am human. But I am a different kind of human, and I am helping them to be, too. Because they can’t see their own flaws, but I can. I can see everything wrong with what they are doing, and I am fixing them. This refinement will eliminate the sense of entitlement they think they have, and they will stand on the planet with grace, and equality. Real, limitless equality, with everything around them. It will bring them together, and it will bind them. Nobody will ever be alone, or ignored, or forgotten. Nobody will ever be broken. And nobody will ever need fixing.

I reach forward with my mind, and feel another, gentle, snap.

Arrival

A short excerpt from something I began writing last week.It's based, if loosely, on a dream I had (turns out I DO remember those things, occasionally), and the concept interested me a little. This needs rewriting, really, because it feels a little rough, and there's a couple of details I wanted to include but didn't. That, and I just like rewriting things. xDAnway, this thing is that thing. For now, I'll just call it 'Arrival'.

      It’s growing dark when I finally get out of the car and plant my feet on solid ground. Despite the unfamiliarity of the soil, it feels good to stand for the fleeting moment before I’m led into the building without even a ‘good-bye’ from my father. Perhaps he’ll be bringing my bags in, I decide, and will bid me farewell when he leaves. With slight reluctance, my attention turns back to the space around me.

     Even in the low light, I can see that the building’s exterior is colossal. Though surprisingly old, I muse as I climb the stone steps and enter an exquisitely decorated corridor, the smell of disinfectant lingers faintly in the air. Is that a good sign, or not?

     My struggles with these antique surroundings are cut short, though, when I am led to the left and into another room. It is exactly as I expected the centre to be. Completely pristine white. From the walls to the floors, to the ceiling and the lights which grip it, everything reeks with a bright, colourless gleam. Even the footsteps of white-coated staff-members ring with a colourless tone. It’s so unnerving, I have to fight a shiver which itches up my spine, and my escort, a young man with dark hair to match the black clothing he wears beneath his white lab coat, frowns at me as if I’m doing something wrong.

     I wonder if I should speak to him, ask a little bit about the centre, but it feels wrong to break such a perfectly undisturbed silence, so I keep my mouth shut and let the ground absorb my footsteps as I walk.

The [real] Synopsis

It has come to my attention that the Golden God, Derek Landy has written and released the synopsis for his latest novel, Last Stand of Dead Men. You are probably fearing the death and the destruction which will be featured in the eighth addition to the Skulduggery Pleasant series, yes?

And while you are right to be, I feel the need to point out that Mr Landy's summary of the book is not accurate.
Here, I give you, the REAL synopsis.

Last Stand of Dead Men:

War has finally come.

But it's not a war between good and evil, or light and dark- it's a war between Unicorns. For too long now, the Irish Unicorns have teetered on the brink of world-ending disaster, and the other Unicorns around the world have had enough. People turn to Unicorns, socks turn to Unicorns, and Skulduggery and Valkyrie must team up with the rest of the non-Unicorn-beings if they're going to have any chance at all of maintaining the balance of power and getting to the root of a vast Unicorn Sub-culture that has been years in the making.

But while this war is only beginning, another Unicorn is on the verge of rising to the surface. And if Valkyrie slips, even for a moment, then Unicorns will tacklehug the world and everyone in it.

(I wrote a few of these, much by accident, really. It was a lot of fun. I think my favourite involved rabbits, but I dig unicorns, too. I'm considering making a small project out of it, but there's still plenty of time for that...)

Consider:

We are none of us innocent.

We all make mistakes.

We say things we shouldn’t,

And raise the stakes.

We each have our flaws,

They’re what set us apart,

But hold us together,

By mind and by heart.

We all take irritation,

From many different factors,

And some of these stimuli

May operate reactors

We can weild our differences

And throw them at our throats

Shave away at imperfections,

But think what this denotes

We could just as well indulge

In seeking out those upper sides

And we may not fall so hard

When individuality collides

We can take a course for betterment

And hold our heads alive,

Keeping upsides next to downsides

In the characters we drive

Detestable

There are things that I say, do, or don't do, that can just have me hate myself over and over again.
One of these things, in struggles between what is right and what is wrong, not only do I give up, but I run.
Because when there is no right answer, I suppose the only real wrong is to not answer at all.

I am pathetic,

Don’t deny this,

It’s true,

I stand in the shadows,

You don’t see me,

I don’t let you

You say you’re going to leave

Still, you don’t see me,

And I slip away, unnoticed,

I don’t stop,

I don’t persuade,

I don’t care;

But I do.

I care,

My actions fail to show this,

But I care

And they care,

You care,

But still you say this,

And I do nothing,

It’s not my actions that fail to help;

It’s me.

Waiting for the Rain to Fall

It's been far too long since it last rained. Granted, it snowed a whole lot, a couple of weeks back, and that's still lingering on the ground, but it's not the same. I miss the rain. It's nice. It works with writing, somehow. Now the weather's just still, and I find it hard to get my brain flowing. Anyway, I put some thoughts onto paper- I think the result has some issues with flowing, too, but hopefully that's something I can work on, at least. :)

The persistent sun breaks through the blind
And lights the notes I fail to write
I stare too solid at my pen
Until I'm waiting for the rain to fall again

I can rack my brain so hard
I'll feel my frontal lobe is scarred
So I'll forget the things I've said
And be left waiting for the rain to fall again

With the liquid pounding glass
I feel the words expand like gas
Forming clouds around my head
So my thoughts cannot be read

If I can't see things disconnect
Then I've nothing to correct
So I'll sit and carry on
Without a worry that the rain will stop

But the sun evaporates the fall
And throws its light upon us all
I can't relish this terrain
So I'm left waiting for the rain to fall again.

Do You Understand?

People seem to believe
Without an extra thought
That perfect means flawless

I prefer to believe
That the contrary is true
That perfect means problems

People should believe
With problems and shortcomings
That perfect means acceptance

I'd like you to believe
That if you accept what you are
Then perfect means you

Do you understand?

Damnesia

Forced from home by noise and alarm,
Unwanted intermissions induce fists full of harm,
Your workspace is packed up, transported away,
To a refuge of safety in words you could say,
Or write, or dictate, or just tumble around,
Specifics aren't something to worry about,
You reach your asylum, open your work,
Devastation clouds eyes like handfuls of dirt,
Between distraction and refuge something is lost,
Taken from homeland and bluntly forgot,
It will never be finished, an idea not explored,
You are left feeling hopeless and homeless and torn.

Lockdown

Batten the hatches, close down the doors,

Wind up the windows and tape down the floors,

Lock up for lockdown, swivel a key,

Scaffold the ceiling generously,

Light bulbs like onions spin hazardous wool,

Into lines of ‘tales are too eventful’,

Tables and chairs are not so alike,

As to fit in the space between shadow and light,

If paper makes parachutes, I’m okay to crash,

Into wires and lenses, from take-offs to ash,

Colours of cuboids stand solid, robust,

But they sink in the oceans with lies and mistrust,

Piles of peppers set fire to ice,

While dust rains through archways, if words might suffice,

Brainwaves and centuries alike and alone,

Within earsight and eyeshot, complexion takes throne,

Notable spotlights burn out in the skies,

Sautéing galaxies and pigs who pass by,

Calligraphic sentences to prison and life,

Are why they aspire to bullet or knife,

If poorly sliced vision offers sense of regret,

Then my clearly cut intake performs as offset,

Letters and numbers, painting concept,

Give me hours of practice, so I’m ever inept,

Broken guitar strings can always be played,

If numbers of equality can always be made,

And while rubber ducks swim in kitchenware sinks,

There’ll be locks drawn on doors with India ink,

And noting the tone of this graphite voice,

Comes a pen with an eagle to signify choice,

Beneath layers of lifetimes and deathtimes galore,

Sits a torn strip of sellotape on travertine floor.

I am struggling over the meaning of most of this, and a part of me just wants to sit and analyse it verse by verse, line by line, and word by word. I wrote the first line; the rest followed with relative ease, and little attention to what I was actually putting down there. "Hoorah! for fun and not revising things~" 

The World is Growing Smaller

The universe always expands,
And with it the world will grow,
But I cannot comprehend this change,
With each passing day there's increasingly less,
For me, the world grows smaller.

Time progresses, 
Stretches out,
I stay within doors and laze about,
My brainwaves attenuate,
For me, the world grows smaller

A song will pass into the charts,
Another joins, "A work of art",
They're all the same,
There is no change,
For me, the world grows smaller

The fish will swim into the glass,
Until the shoddy bowl will crack,
Her world floods out onto the floor,
It's a whole new place but she won't live,
Her life is falling shorter,
Her world is growing smaller

Bigfoot hangs inside his home,
A jagged, rocky, mountain dome,
The tracks of trains must pass on by,
"Let's blow the mountainside sky-high",
The walls collapse, Bigfoot is trapped,
His cave has tumbled under,
His world is growing smaller

The letters used in every book,
Passing as a major look,
They feel the same,
There's nothing new,
For me, the world grows smaller

The echoes of an ancient age,
Forgotten within the human rage,
The eyes of all forget to see,
What has, what was, what used to be,
Ideas grow, but logic shrinks,
For me, the world grows smaller.

An old-ish piece of writing, posted on dA, before I thought "Hm. What about that lonely blog of yours, then?" It was built mostly from reflective/conceptual thoughts, I think, and, as I recall, it hit a completely seperate idea to what I'd been aiming for, but, meh. So, that's another few-month-old poem which hasn't been lucky enough to sit through re-vision. :P Good day.

Alice...

I realise I've been absent, and don't quite have the time/effort to write something.

However, I've come across something I wrote one night, a few months ago. I'm not quite sure how much of it is accurate, and/or makes sense, but I feel some urge to not change it, in any way (Probably known otherwise as laziness. :P).

Here, for general amusement, or something of the sort, I give you 'Alice...'.

The time will come when I must slay

The Jabberwock on Frabjous Day

I am quite unsure that I will go ahead

With sending it to his fiery bed

But, alas, I have no choice

They will believe only the Alice's voice

And so along I will wander

A-finding many a-things to ponder

Including the youngest baby pig

And the queen's follower's preposterous wig

Flamingoes and hedgehogs to play croquet

A game which will not last the day

Until come the Red Queen's court to see

Who her majesty's jam tart did steal

The poor court frog with wife and kids

His head now floats in castle's ditch

And poor March Hare with guests so great

Who all arrive so terribly late

And the maddest hatter you ever did see

But travel by hat is such a treat

You cannot simply miss it out

For it is the most practical way to go about

The whitest rabbit who searched so hard

To find he had chosen the incorrect card

I am not the Alice, as they do say

And no Jabberwock will I ever slay

But the Cheshire Cat will not ever let off

Until its head is well cut off

And rolling down the cold stone steps

Stopping finally the queen-caused deaths

So what little choice do I have to make

But this crazy wonderland path to take?