two in the morning update.....
Well, Jessica is sleeping over at my house, which is amazing becaus a rarely ever have anyone come over to my house much less spend the night. I am in a relatively happy/artistic mood, and I feel like writing a lot, although I don't really have much to say.....maybe I should pull out some old poetry.....here...
Ok, so this isn't really poetry, more free writing, but oh well, it is what it is.
I Was Running
I was running. I didn’t know why I was running, or what I was running from, but I kept on running. I ran like my life depended on it. I kept on running no matter what. Even though I had last all direction long ago, even though my breathing was pained and my sides burned. I had to keep running. I felt as if my life really did depend on it. I didn’t know why I was running. All I knew was I has to run. That’s all I cared about.
And that's that. I feel like showing off my introduction to a story that I started to write, so....here it is, in all it's splendor. The story is called the dark heir, and you may read it if you wish. Brian, I am sorry I haven't read your intro to your story, but I will, really! :P anywayz, here it is....it's kinda long, but deal with it, if you want something shorter, scroll down to the next interruption. there will be something slightly more bearable.
The Dark Heir
By Rachael Karim
A young woman trudged up the hill, grassy except where rocks protruded out of the ground sporadically. She had long black hair put loosely into a thick braid that always hung in front of her. The expression on her face was one of pain, hatred, and defeat. Her strange leathery armor was drenched with blood.
As she walked, her burdens became heavier and heavier. More so than they had ever been before. As she made it to the top of the hill, she dropped her sword and bow carelessly, then removes the leather strap holding her sheathe and quiver, and let it fall heavily to the ground.
She sunk onto a rock, bent down, head in hand, and cried. For the first time in her entire life, she cried, absorbed in emotions she was only recently able to feel, never supposed to feel. Then, out of her tears, out of all the pain and anguish in her heart, came a decision. I hit her with the force of an epiphany, but there was no sudden realization, no new information with which to shape her life, just ... a decision.
ζ¶ï¶¶Ó
Where my story begins it’s hard to say. I suppose it started the day I was born, or maybe as far back as the day I was conceived, or farther. I know nothing of the events shaping or leading to my conception. My father, I don’t think, was human. Even if he was, he certainly wasn’t like any other human on this earth. My father was evil; dark and corrupt beyond imagination. He was a king among his kind, all things evil admired and idolized him, and I was his little princess. I was his most prized possession, his greatest creation, and I was born from the womb of a mortal woman, and, therefore, was part human myself.
My father tried his hardest to shape me into the corrupt creature he so prided himself on being, and he did a good job. For most of my life, all of my childhood, I felt almost nothing. I felt no sadness, no fear, no compassion. All I felt was a sort of morbid joy, hate, and anger. All of these emotions were molded into one: The emotion of joy in the pain and anguish of others. I was Daddy’s corrupt little princess all right, his dark heir, and despite all of my mental conditioning, even though I didn’t know it myself, I loved him, and somewhere, in the dark reaches in my heart, I thought that he loved me too.
The truth was, I was more than capable of feeling the emotions I was so conditioned against. They were just pushed away, lost and forgotten. This fact would change the course of our lives; would be the undoing of all my father had done, all he had strived for.
Well, that was that, reply and tell me what you think.....here is something a little more short, though not all that short ;)
The colors of the rose.
The black rose keeps it’s petals bloody, while the red rose has seen too much blood on it’s thorns to touch it. The yellow rose keeps to the sun, ignorant of the river of blood below that it’s thorns create. the yellow and red rose tries to hide the blood from it’s thorns in it’s center, looking to the sun, pretending to see it, trying to fool others into thinking it can see it. But the blood can be seen, for the more it opens up to the sun, the more the blood shows, it’s center stained blood red.
The white rose is the worst. It never bloodies it’s thorns or petals, but has the red rose bloody it’s thorns for it, and passes the blood to the black rose, who it claims to be so against. The white rose fools the yellow into thinking it’s ignorant, never allowing it to notice and change it’s faults. It makes the yellow and red rose hide it’s blood in the center of it’s petals, never being rid of it. The white rose kills out of spite, saying "look at you, thinking I am so pure, I would swim in your blood if it couldn’t change your opinion of me, but no, I like you thinking I’m pure, it makes killing you so much more satisfying, and it gives me the satisfaction of forcing others to swim in your blood for me."
Ok, so this isn't really poetry, more free writing, but oh well, it is what it is.
I Was Running
I was running. I didn’t know why I was running, or what I was running from, but I kept on running. I ran like my life depended on it. I kept on running no matter what. Even though I had last all direction long ago, even though my breathing was pained and my sides burned. I had to keep running. I felt as if my life really did depend on it. I didn’t know why I was running. All I knew was I has to run. That’s all I cared about.
And that's that. I feel like showing off my introduction to a story that I started to write, so....here it is, in all it's splendor. The story is called the dark heir, and you may read it if you wish. Brian, I am sorry I haven't read your intro to your story, but I will, really! :P anywayz, here it is....it's kinda long, but deal with it, if you want something shorter, scroll down to the next interruption. there will be something slightly more bearable.
The Dark Heir
By Rachael Karim
A young woman trudged up the hill, grassy except where rocks protruded out of the ground sporadically. She had long black hair put loosely into a thick braid that always hung in front of her. The expression on her face was one of pain, hatred, and defeat. Her strange leathery armor was drenched with blood.
As she walked, her burdens became heavier and heavier. More so than they had ever been before. As she made it to the top of the hill, she dropped her sword and bow carelessly, then removes the leather strap holding her sheathe and quiver, and let it fall heavily to the ground.
She sunk onto a rock, bent down, head in hand, and cried. For the first time in her entire life, she cried, absorbed in emotions she was only recently able to feel, never supposed to feel. Then, out of her tears, out of all the pain and anguish in her heart, came a decision. I hit her with the force of an epiphany, but there was no sudden realization, no new information with which to shape her life, just ... a decision.
ζ¶ï¶¶Ó
Where my story begins it’s hard to say. I suppose it started the day I was born, or maybe as far back as the day I was conceived, or farther. I know nothing of the events shaping or leading to my conception. My father, I don’t think, was human. Even if he was, he certainly wasn’t like any other human on this earth. My father was evil; dark and corrupt beyond imagination. He was a king among his kind, all things evil admired and idolized him, and I was his little princess. I was his most prized possession, his greatest creation, and I was born from the womb of a mortal woman, and, therefore, was part human myself.
My father tried his hardest to shape me into the corrupt creature he so prided himself on being, and he did a good job. For most of my life, all of my childhood, I felt almost nothing. I felt no sadness, no fear, no compassion. All I felt was a sort of morbid joy, hate, and anger. All of these emotions were molded into one: The emotion of joy in the pain and anguish of others. I was Daddy’s corrupt little princess all right, his dark heir, and despite all of my mental conditioning, even though I didn’t know it myself, I loved him, and somewhere, in the dark reaches in my heart, I thought that he loved me too.
The truth was, I was more than capable of feeling the emotions I was so conditioned against. They were just pushed away, lost and forgotten. This fact would change the course of our lives; would be the undoing of all my father had done, all he had strived for.
Well, that was that, reply and tell me what you think.....here is something a little more short, though not all that short ;)
The colors of the rose.
The black rose keeps it’s petals bloody, while the red rose has seen too much blood on it’s thorns to touch it. The yellow rose keeps to the sun, ignorant of the river of blood below that it’s thorns create. the yellow and red rose tries to hide the blood from it’s thorns in it’s center, looking to the sun, pretending to see it, trying to fool others into thinking it can see it. But the blood can be seen, for the more it opens up to the sun, the more the blood shows, it’s center stained blood red.
The white rose is the worst. It never bloodies it’s thorns or petals, but has the red rose bloody it’s thorns for it, and passes the blood to the black rose, who it claims to be so against. The white rose fools the yellow into thinking it’s ignorant, never allowing it to notice and change it’s faults. It makes the yellow and red rose hide it’s blood in the center of it’s petals, never being rid of it. The white rose kills out of spite, saying "look at you, thinking I am so pure, I would swim in your blood if it couldn’t change your opinion of me, but no, I like you thinking I’m pure, it makes killing you so much more satisfying, and it gives me the satisfaction of forcing others to swim in your blood for me."