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Week Six [Weekly Writing Challenges] Read 1462 times

Krystal Itzume

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Week Six [Weekly Writing Challenges]
« on: September 08, 2014, 02:05:47 pm »
In celebration of my friend calling me at 1 am to inform me that he was getting engaged, this week's theme was easy!

Theme of themes: Wedding Bells

Words to use: Red, Lime, Blonde.

Length: No length, but include a haiku.

Runic Blade

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Re: Week Six [Weekly Writing Challenges]
« Reply #1 on: September 09, 2014, 09:54:21 pm »
A haiku? Ugh! you're a torturer.

Krystal Itzume

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Re: Week Six [Weekly Writing Challenges]
« Reply #2 on: September 10, 2014, 03:48:41 pm »
Don't tempt me. I will make you write sonnets next time.

Peregrine

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Re: Week Six [Weekly Writing Challenges]
« Reply #3 on: September 10, 2014, 05:52:16 pm »
It should have been the happiest night of her life. It should have rung out to all the world, so great should have been her joy. She didn't even have a complete day as his wife. It was not to be.

Dirt and blood clinging
No rain can wash the stain - crisp
Harvest moon in clouds.

Red and black clung to her hands, under her nails, forever entwined. It smeared and engrained itself in streaks and patches in the pristine white and cream cloth, in the golden blond locks of once perfectly curled hair.

She screamed out in anguish, cradling him against her chest, her fingers stroking his raven adorned head. She had not thought to love him so quickly, so fiercely.

She leaned over and gently kissed the lips that moments ago had smiled, had told her he loved her. With trembling hands she slid him gently from her lap. She wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and almost convinced herself he was sleeping.

She would avenge him or join him soon enough. She took up the blade he had defended her with and stood slowly, the tip scrapping the marble floor.

Steffan was no more
Blade sharp and piercing - blameless
Fire rage without flame

They would have no triumphant peace, no bells ringing out a joyous chorus, no celebrations, no feasts.

War had stolen the limelight.

Runic Blade

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Re: Week Six [Weekly Writing Challenges]
« Reply #4 on: September 10, 2014, 06:32:11 pm »
Don't tempt me. I will make you write sonnets next time.

Haha!  Okay.  I had to research what a haiku actually is.  Maybe I'll think up something.

Runic Blade

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Re: Week Six [Weekly Writing Challenges]
« Reply #5 on: September 11, 2014, 10:46:02 pm »
Homecoming

The wedding was on a warm, cloudless summer day.  Matt hesitantly climbed the sidewalk steps of the Muddy Creek Presbyterian Church.  Observing the church from the outside, it appeared that not much had changed during his long absence.  The red brick walls rose to the triangular point of the roof.  There was no steeple nor any fancy ornamentation.  There also would be no wedding bells – for the church had none.  The building was simple and functional, much like the faith of those who attended.  It was the same church he'd gone to as a child on every Sunday.  He remembered in detail all the rooms in the church, the graveyard, and the garage behind the building.

As a child, Matt had not been particularly religious.  He went to church because his parents forced him to.  It was either that or to receive severe beating from his dad, which then was followed by church attendance.  Religion was just another mandatory routine he had to go through, along with Sunday school, youth group, and the various spiritual celebrations.  His parents were very religious and so their children had to be too.  He never knew why their belief was so strong – nor did he care enough to ask them.  He wasn't against Christianity, per se, but he didn't have much of an interest in it either.

Quite unexpectedly to his parents, Matt's compulsory religious experience had come to a sudden termination several years prior.  The date was forever carved in his memory.  It had been one day after his eighteenth birthday – January the 13th.  It was also a Sunday and the only Sunday up to that point when he hadn't gone to church.  He hadn't gone to church because he was too busy packing his bags and fleeing his home that very morning.  Prayer was the last thing on his mind as he made a mad dash to freedom.

After his escape, Matt had moved to Chicago.  He was happy to be far from his home in rural Pennsylvania.  Since then, he hadn't been back to the Muddy Creek church, or to any other church for that matter.  But today was different.  It was his sister's wedding day.  He felt he had a duty to attend his sister's wedding, so he'd reluctantly come back home.

He paused for a moment in front of the church in his uncomfortable rented tuxedo.  His feet throbbed in ill-fitting shoes.  Taking a deep breath, he opened the heavy wooden doors and made his way inside.  He found a seat next to his parents.  He noted that his parents still sat in the exact same pew they'd sat in while he'd lived with them.  It was as though they had assigned seats.  Funny.

Matt knew no one in attendance, besides a couple relatives and his parents.  He guessed that most of the people must be his sister's friends.  He didn't know her soon-to-be husband either.  He'd met the man a time or two, but he was essentially among strangers at the wedding.  Only a few people recognized Matt, which he was thankful for, because he didn't want to get into any conversations with them about his long absence.

The wedding was formulaic.  He took the whole event in as an impartial observer would – one who was watching something at a distance but not participating.  His sister wore a white dress – her look was conservative – she hadn't done anything wild like dye her hair blonde or get a tattoo.  The vows were given, a ring put on a finger, et cetera.  The ceremony was uneventful.

As the preacher spoke, Matt thought about his life and how he had always felt like an outsider to these people.  When he looked around, everyone was following the events with rapt attention.  Matt, however, struggled to stay awake.  It had always been that way with him.  Everyone else seemed to fit in, go along with the flow, but Matt had felt like an outsider his entire life here.  He never fit in at church, school, the mall, or anywhere else.  In fact, when he was a teenager, he'd written a poem with the line: “Mom, did God make me an alien?”  It seemed funny in retrospect, but at the time he was serious.  He felt like he was an alien from another planet among the god-fearing, simple living people of his rural hometown.

Following the wedding, Matt went to the reception.  He wisely avoided the alcohol.  He listened to his aunt and uncle converse about something or other for a half hour or so.  He then got into a clumsy conversation with a stranger who said he'd owned seven cars in two years.  Why so many cars?  The man didn't know.  He just liked cars, he told Matt.  Matt contemplated that and gave the man his best false laugh.  He aimed for a sense of knowing camaraderie with the stranger.  He tried to respect the man's uniqueness.  Hey, at least the guy was a little different than everyone in the room.  Matt had that in common with him.

The afternoon wore on.  Finally, Matt managed to slip out of the building and get away from all the noise and music.  He preferred the silence of a summer evening to the chaos inside.  Crowds weren't his thing, especially crowds where he had to play a role as “the useless brother who ran away from home, but it would be impolite to talk about him at his sister's wedding.”

He glanced over the empty cars in the parking lot and then unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt.  He had been nervous during the wedding reception.  Sweat soaked his armpits and chest.  Now, he was relieved that it was finally ending.  Whew!  He had successfully completed the task of attending his sister's wedding.  Sarah should be pleased that he didn't cause any scenes or make any major mistakes during the whole process.  He had fulfilled his duty as her brother, for whatever that was worth.

Looking upwards to the darkening sky, he pondered – why am I so different from these people?  I am related to them, aren't I?  Genetically, I must be the same.  I lived with them for 18 years before running away.  What is it with me?

God was silent.  There were no answers.  It was just Matt's life – a riddle within a puzzle that become more complex with each passing day.  He composed a haiku to describe it:

A lime cut sharply
Sour taste of a bitter past
Vines tangle the soul

Well, maybe that wasn't an award-winning haiku, but it was his first.

Krystal Itzume

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Re: Week Six [Weekly Writing Challenges]
« Reply #6 on: September 12, 2014, 02:44:58 am »
Edwin Cornell turned to ash before her eyes. Spake, “choir boy” was held in the arms of another, unconscious. Lucy Jameson let out a bestial shriek and, for once in what might have been a century, the vampiress allowed the beast within her to take over. She did not even fight it this time.

It was short-lived. Never a fighter, the other vampires around who understood what was going on were quick to put her into torpor, just like choir boy. That rest, feared by many vampires, would be horrible as she dreamt of Edwin dying, over and over again.

When she awoke, it was to Yuki, a new vampire in the domain. She vented to her, threatened the entire domain, until Yuki gave her an exit: go to Japan. Yuki would make all the arrangements, for Lucy had been kind, and Edwin had been generous. It was done, but not even there could Lucy escape the domain.

News would reach her that choir boy, who had chosen another path, was killed. It was the last truly lucid memory she retained, the rest were painted with blood until there was nothing.

From that nothing, she dreamt.

In the dream, she saw her cousin who may as well have been her brother, alive and well. He stood regal in his suit, hand over his wolf-headed cane, black feathers on his cloak to symbolize the two forms he allowed his body to take. He walked to her as they stood in a church, and Lucy didn’t even think it strange that the sun shone through the windows in her dream. “Lucy, dear,” he took one of her hands in his, “I am glad you could make it.”

She always answered when he called. ‘It is why he is dead. You should have called him to California and not let him deal with the politics of Chicago.’

That thought was ignored. “How could I miss it?” She asked as he turned himself around so he was at her side and not before her. She leaned against him as they walked, and he put his arm around her shoulders, always draped in her favorite cloak. “I honestly can’t believe you’re settling, though, cousin,” she commented, “Monogamy never was your style,” and with a devilish smirk, she asked, “Have you already forgotten Mr. Whitehall?”

He returned the smile, “Keep talking of him, and I’m going to think you’ve developed an infatuation.”

She laughed at the mere idea, “Nonsense,” she insisted.

“No, that’s right, it’s Pilgrim you like, isn’t it?”

“A temporary affair,” she noted. Were she still human, though, her cheeks might have tinted red. “He is merely the man in power, and we want that to change. His infatuation with me is to our advantage.”

“I stole the truth from your lips before, dear,” he reminded, “Do not make me do it again.”

“Do it again, and I’ll steal that power from your soul.”

“You’re too afraid of getting caught.”

Before the conversation could continue, their steps took them to the blonde man dressed in white. “Whore!” Immediately escaped Lucy’s lips as she parted from her cousin and walked right up to the man in white. He looked both baffled and amused. “Are you happy to have landed my cousin as your rich lover now?”

There was some enmity between the two, though recent. He had tried to take money from Lucy herself. Edwin had sorted the problem out. “I love him, Lucy,” the choir boy insisted.

Hand to her hip, she said, “I know that. Pray your love lasts longer than his, or I shall hurt you.” A motion to Edwin, “It should not be difficult.”

“I am more loyal than that, Lucy!” He protested, “Do I not love you still?”

“You love me still,” she agreed, “And I hope that Spake shall be as family to me, too.” She looked back to Edwin. “I am pleased for you, truly. I am still in shock, though.”

The dream became fuzzy along the edges. Lucy started to notice things out of place as it continued, such as the sun. She had not seen the sun in years. A century, or more, perhaps. Spake and Edwin spoke of the night on which Edwin died, as if he had lived, until she finally blurted out, “But you’re dead!”

The sun became dark.

“So are you, Lucy,” Edwin told her solemnly.

She blinked. She shook her head. “No…no I can’t be….”

Spake gave a small, strained smile, “Not like me or Edwin. Don’t you remember Lucifer?”

What color the vampiress had faded. Oh, she remembered Lucifer, but she had never told Spake about him. Only Edwin. Only Edwin knew what she was truly capable of.

It was the voice in her head, the one that had grown exponentially louder after Edwin died, and after… “You did die,” she recalled, looking at Spake, “Yuki sent word. You died, and….”

She remembered, then. She had sent Yuki back a simple message, a haiku. It seemed fitting, as she was staying in Japan.

Blood for crimson blood
Souls for a broken lifestyle
I must disappoint


And so, rather than choose peace as Yuki had wanted, Lucy went on the war path and stole the very souls of other vampires to get the power she needed. At some point, she must have taken so many that she lost all her humanity, and allowed that demon to take over her body and continue the warpath.

Lucy was born into a bloodline of vampires known as En. The Emperors. They had a powerful ally, and it lived to serve. Lucy clasped her hands in her lap. “I had forgotten,” she bowed her head, “I gave up my humanity to destroy them all.”

Her brows knit together then, and she looked to them. “Wait, so this is…this is death?”

“This is your dream, Lucy. You are asleep while Lucifer acts in your stead.”

She took a moment to consider that. Then, she smirked at Edwin, “And you said I was too afraid,” she kicked one leg out and crossed it over the other. “Well then, if this is my dream, let there be light!” And there was light, “And let us try those lime margaritas the neonates spoke of, Edwin, and revel in your engagement. You see?” And her smile was pained, “I only did want what was best for you, even in my dreams.” 


((Fun fact: the two who are engaged now were in a vampire LARP with me, and that is how they met. Their characters fell in love there, too, Edwin and Spake. They both died. Lucy ran away to Japan))

« Last Edit: September 12, 2014, 03:16:02 am by Krystal Itzume »