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[Writing] My shorts...

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These are nothing indicative of all of my writing style, but I feel only general fiction is quite appropriate for such a forum; and these are my two contributions in that field. They're not particularly glorious, but interesting in their own right I feel. Hopefully starting this thread will encourage me to make more respectable works outside of fandom.

Spoiler for a fragment of absurdity:
A cavern of a room sagged around the boy, hung with legions of dank shadows. It was paneled with exquisite rosewood, shelved with delicate trinkets of glass and silver, filled with a positive starscape of gems to amuse him, but a blackness smothered the great hall and wiped out the glitter of light, a complete lack of reason or illumination or joy no number of shimmering chandeliers could cure.

The door opened, and a wan rectangle of deadened light splayed out across the dark floor. From the grey light beyond stepped the figure of a woman. She was of great nobility, still retaining the subtle air of those who live amidst clouds, but the health indicating a life of plenty lacked in her worn features. Vague arcs of black framed the bottoms of her weary eyes; the extravagant scarlet-gold gown which wrapped her whole could not disguise a profound slenderness about her form.

“Arad,” she sighed, bracing herself. The child did not reply.

Arad,” the woman repeated, slightly louder. It tried her greatly to be ignored in such a lowly fashion by her own son, but there remained no alternative for infinite patience when conversing with the boy.

“Arad, talk to me.” She infused a hint of sternness in this statement.

Arad looked up, and then paused a great length of time, returning attention to the ring of toys assembled around him. Finally, he spoke.

“I didn’t do it.” The noblewoman stepped back slightly, attempting to divine the meaning of his words.

“He wanted it,” the child continued.

Arad’s mother finally succeeded in her task. “What happened today,” she started…

“He wanted me to take it, didn’t you hear him asking?” he interrupted.

“He did nothing to you, Arad, he wasn’t even - ” Her voice teetered on the edge of dismay, and was instantly cut of by what she had been dreading.

“He asked for it, he was begging me, begging me!” Arad shouted, refusing to take in a word of his mother’s mediation.

“Arad, listen to me – “

“You’re lying!”

“ – listen to me, what you did was wrong – “

“Lying! Lying!”

“ – and it’s not okay if you said sorry, it’s not okay if you stopped before he started to bleed – “

“You’re not even there! You’re not talking to me!”

“ARAD!” she shouted, before the boy could lose reality completely.

“YOU’RE NOT THERE, YOU’RE NOT THERE, YOU DON’T EXIST, YOU DON’T EXIST! YOU’RE LYING!”

“No, I’m not, Arad…”

“You’re not there, you’re not – alive! You’re dead!”

A moment of echoing quiet, as the woman looked at him in stunned silence. The boy swept on nonetheless.

“You’re dead, dead, DEAD, DEAD, dead!”

The silence continued, a moment longer than he had estimated. Arad looked up in faint curiosity.

A circle of rosewood remained untouched, encompassing him and some choice possessions, but carnage lay all around it, the burnt wreckage of an oft-inflamed wrath.

Spoiler for untitled:
I have found the solution.

It was a hard winter—a hard plague. One by one, all the members of my beleaguered family drooped; they wilted and died. This mansion has known lighter times, built for a household and more, but the populace has slowly fallen away, and only I am left.

And I knew only my weary footsteps, and the trudging of my one last servant; the doorbell rang once in centuries, the door opened to allow passage far less frequently than that. There was no need for light in such an abode if only one patron took use of it. But the business prospered and the sun outside shone merrily into the thriving fields. I had everything I could ever wish for, and nothing I needed.

This is not an account of the mansion history, however…

It was then, festering from loneliness, that I made the decision. With my persuasion, a dear friend and I solidified our old bond; she took my hand in marriage, and we bustled into the mansion, seeing where we could rebuild life. Never before have I seen such beauty: a young flower in full bloom, so lit with the kindly fire! The life returned, and though only two carriers remained, our fresh joy was sufficient. I felt, for days at a time, that healing was possible from this chronic illness upon the household. The garden returned to neatness, the ancient rooms were purged of their cobwebs and their dark stone, and it was evident, through all the creatures, that better days were coming. We would labour, though we were but two, and we would bring ourselves to rebirth.

And her beauty lit up the darker hours; it was that smile which urged me on entirely. She was the motive force behind all of this; without those moments when she would light up in brilliant joy, I would have had none of the fortitude to plow on.

And then the peak began to fall. The darkness deep within the mansion came out more and more frequently to reclaim me, and this exquisite creature, born in sunlight, could not take it. She would not light up, for she was spent; I had made a grave error in bringing her here. Each day some new emotional bruise would well to the surface; each day would see us spiralling down, faster and faster, and everything that was us would be whittled away, the despair alone left to us. And the bird is falling, all grace stolen from its dive, and when it finally reaches the bottom? Can you piece together the shattered bones, the torn rags of flesh, and see the creature as it once was? Never! Never, never, never, death is beyond our power, and it is before our dwindling powers, standing ready to bring us to utter ruin. My flesh screams for action, it abhors this decadence!

But, you see, I have found the solution. It is most ingenious, it shall save us. Can you still say we are impotent, after you see my plan? When you and I see it in all its perfection, when she sees it, we will know.

The smouldering stick is nestled comfortably amid the hay, and the bed is perfectly surrounded. I supply the final spark, move to a position of safety, and watch as that tiny flame comes into its own, takes the fuel as is its right, spreads quickly—oh, so quickly! And a halo of divine amber surrounds my dear wife, and though she is tossing fitfully, though her delicate cheeks are blushed with fear and unconscious anxiety, already the heavenly shade of fire is infusing her, and she will know. As a gnarled tree, as an old scarecrow, she will light up, her passions re-ignited, and all will be well. She is awake—she looks about in fear—her eyes find my own gleeful, and I take the expression of one reassuring a friend into a dangerous but beneficial practice. And the tongue of flame finds the lip of the bedsheets, and her golden throne is aflame—but what do I see?

She is burning! It is all burning, crumbling, hideous screams echoing through the room. And I cannot see anymore, but my eyes are glued, so that I see it all, watch as the delicate petal-skin curls into hard carbon. And within moments it is all over; my plan has failed: fire would not save us. I look back to the chars of burnt trees, and see my folly in all its devastating grandeur: where is creation, where is construction, in fire?

The plan has failed; there is no hope for the household. Then—there is no alternative. Let its final upholder here end the lineage, and take his life.

*laughs* I feel as embarrassed an uncertain as if this was my very first work, and I was patiently anticipating the drifts of obliterating criticism I 'knew' my fictions deserved.

EDIT: Some additions, as I am so inclined; tiny 150-word drabbles.

Spoiler for:
The first idea it encounters in this rebirth is motion. It has seen motion all its life, but there is an alien odour to this motion, unfamiliar, unrecognizable. Its slender tail exerts no pressure, and yet whips about wildly without its volition. A dark and unwelcoming canal rushes past all around it as errant beings slam against it. There is only motion, motion and the occasional jerk, there is no perceivable rush of warmth or conscious intent in any of this. It wonders: Why do those strange beings ignore me? Why do they not run from my presence, or hum with the sudden note of acknowledgment? They heed it not, thrilled neither by life-preserving fear nor scarlet lust. And then one eerie being-construction floats towards it, marking it with the aid of just enough proximity to be examined. The outsider reels out of revulsion.

None of them possess a shred of individual life, or an urge towards anything but a single insignificant purpose. They are abominations, living and yet inorganic, clicking as gears in this strange mindless hell, and to them the outsider is but one nonessential function, disrupting system efficiency—marked for death.

Spoiler for:
He stares into the swirls and discordant images of things never seen, never to be seen--when will they become clear?--the specks of nothing form nothing with order with unity of time with no perceivable synthesis. Each individual speck drives, disorientating, in whirls: drives it the constituents in regions (the constituents of his mind) inappropriate, alien, and DISENGAGE BEFORE IT CONSUMES YOU.

But he was certain of it this time! There is order somewhere, hidden in those flashing dots; it is his assignment to wrestle this dual universe, his experience and the source of his experience, into understanding. He knows not why, he knows not what profit he could gain or height achieve; he knows only this immovable urge: set your mind upon this task, achieve it admirably, and think nothing of the future; survive now. He turns back to fix himself once again upon this treacherous foothold--as his hidden treasure of imagined salvation resolves itself into order: a meaningless face, preaching of a meaningless ideal.

What more has happened than that these mindless dots have picked out another configuration of colour? What meaning has he seen but the misunderstood illusion of life?

There was never anything.

Spoiler for:
When the first wave of light hit me, the thrill of sudden revelation wiped away all my struggle. The curtains of imminent death lifted from me so completely that the shades of their memory pulled away, leaving nothing; no fear or pain or regret. Suspended in the dreamy light, barely conscious of the indistinct shapes which pulled in and out of the gold, I was impervious to everything: the cold suffocation of my nightmares was gone; the cares of my life, my purpose, my friends, were no more than petty vexations; all the prior peaks of life were cruel blades before the calm nothing of this heaven. Forever would I lie here, a god upon his throne, unaffected by flood, famine, disaster, devastation.

The burden of consequence permanently behind me, I let go, and inhaled the liquid light.
« Last Edit: May 25, 2015, 10:02:11 AM by boe »
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