And though the end was nigh, he pushed on, unwilling to give up, refusing to turn back. No. Today was the day. It was meant to be his day, a day of victory. Alas, red blood had spilled as though the heavens themselves had opened to soak the ground; his men had not survived. With tears in his eyes and his youthful face once full of hope, he unsheathed his sword - the sword of A'lervadhar Bi'er, king of the southern Morsh Ly'Air lands, where the sword was forged with fire and the most skilled of blacksmiths, taking up to three months before completion. He thought of his striking masculinity, of his kingly jaw, and of the throne that awaited him four thousand five hundred and sixty-seven miles to the north, and he let out a great bellow that shook the heavens. How disappointed would his father be, how disappointed would his wife be! And then she would tell his children that their father limped back from his enemies? He shook with fury, such fury as no man had ever seen, fury that would consume any man before him now. He pointed the hilt of his sword to the ground and leaned upon its blade, dreaming of a better land where he would sit on his throne in victory, with Byeta panting on his lap, her lustrous hair falling down her back, her lithe body concealed in her thin pale nightdress and his hands upon her thigh and the small of her back, her dark, liquid eyes gazing into his in passionate love, and he would deserve it all again: the sceptre of Allyshwar, the Crossed crown, and his subjects on their knees, and he let his weight fall on his blade. ---- Good-bad writing is surprisingly hard to write man! Anyway, I also just thought this thread deserves a revival
The fog that rolled in over the mountains was the wrong color that morning. There was an unhealthy yellowish tinge, a subtle difference but a difference all the same. That was the first sign something was wrong. None of us paid much attention to it at the time. Big mistake. It was the first day of the end of the world, and nobody cared. Not until the fog choked one woman to death and the gasmask-wearing soldiers hidden within started shooting. I took to the trees early in the piece, trying to get away from the deadly fog. Elias and Lailah followed not far behind, a newborn babe swaddled and strapped firmly to each of their chests. Twin boys, they were, the sons of neither but the charges of both, and thank the Gods for that because their parents’ screams echoed through the valley not ten seconds after we all settled ourselves onto the highest branches. The sea of fog stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. We sat only about two feet above it, listening to the sound of people fighting and dying as it drifted, muffled, up to us. Lailah sobbed softly; that was devastating to listen to. But Eli sat in absolute motionless silence, and that shattered my heart. As for me, silent tears wet my face. It was the fumes from the chemical fog, I told myself. Then I sighed. I was such a liar. It was hours we sat up in that tree, waiting for the soldiers to leave. Waiting for the fog to disperse. High noon came and went. The shadows grew long, and at the first dimming of dusk, finally we descended. None of us had spoken a word since before the fog had rolled over our village. Finally, from Eli: “Are you hurt?” Lailah and I said nothing. “Janey?” I shrugged. Mumbled, “‘M fine.” “Lailah?” “Gods. They’re all dead. Everyone. We’re the only ones left.” “Yes,” I said, “we are. And we have to keep it that way.” ------------ Yeesh, cliche much? This is embarrassing :S
The fog that rolled in over the mountains was the wrong color that morning. There was an unhealthy yellowish tinge, a subtle difference but a difference all the same. That was the first sign something was wrong. None of us paid much attention to it at the time. Big mistake. It was the first day of the end of the world, and nobody cared. Not until the fog choked one woman to death and the gasmask-wearing soldiers hidden within started shooting. I took to the trees early in the piece, trying to get away from the deadly fog. Elias and Lailah followed not far behind, a newborn babe swaddled and strapped firmly to each of their chests. Twin boys, they were, the sons of neither but the charges of both, and thank the Gods for that because their parents’ screams echoed through the valley not ten seconds after we all settled ourselves onto the highest branches. The sea of fog stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. We sat only about two feet above it, listening to the sound of people fighting and dying as it drifted, muffled, up to us. Lailah sobbed softly; that was devastating to listen to. But Eli sat in absolute motionless silence, and that shattered my heart. As for me, silent tears wet my face. It was the fumes from the chemical fog, I told myself. Then I sighed. I was such a liar. It was hours we sat up in that tree, waiting for the soldiers to leave. Waiting for the fog to disperse. High noon came and went. The shadows grew long, and at the first dimming of dusk, finally we descended. None of us had spoken a word since before the fog had rolled over our village. Finally, from Eli: “Are you hurt?” Lailah and I said nothing. “Janey?” I shrugged. Mumbled, “‘M fine.” “Lailah?” “Gods. They’re all dead. Everyone. We’re the only ones left.” “Yes,” I said, “we are. And we have to keep it that way.” ------------ Yeesh, cliche much? This is embarrassing :S
This seems like waaaaay too much fun. Quickly did the little man harken towards the road. The road was black, as if night had fallen. Night had fallen. In the road, a great ogre stood in his way. He loomed, ogre-like, over the little man. "Bro," boomed the Ogre, his voice terrifying and scary, "Is y'all Rumple The Stilts Kin?" "I am," squeaked the little man. He had deep inner angst from when his sister was killed in front of him. Although that was not really relevant. "Fo shizzle my nozzle and I shall let thoust pass." But Rumple would not do as the Ogre asked and the Ogre ate him. A vampire showed up. He was sexy. He vampire left. The end. Poetry
There he was in a lush, viberant forrest, rifle in hand. There was no sound as the wind played with the leaves. Quietly and quickly, he creapt towards his prey, a lone deer eating peacefully, unaware that death lay a few yards away. The hunter slowly brought his Winchester to bare making sure to line up the sights to the heart of the deer. A quick squeeze if the trigger and the bullet rocket out into space, hurtling on to its mission's completement. The Deer slowly turned, eyes wide as the bullet.......bounced off its chest. Ok, I can't write anymore it hurts too badly.
The caped hero stared out the window. Today evil would pay but first he had to have a meal, a meal full of vitamins and carbohydrates, perhaps a drizzle of syrup for taste. Now he would go out and face the- but wait, he forgot to brush his teeth. He preferred Crest not Colgate. A circular motion ensured thoroughness and was more healthy for the gums. He memorized those words as he brushed, so he was ready to tell the first child he saw on the street. Finally, he was ready. Walking out the door, he noticed there was a whole in the wooden fence. He marched into the garage where his toolbox laid. Evil would have to wait a little longer.
I was sitting on my couch on my haunches, looking at the computer before me, that was on my lap, opened to a forty-five degree angle, with my eyes. On the screen there was an image, and it was funny, so I laughed. Ha Ha Ha, went the laugh. Then I saw an ad. A woman was smiling really sexily and invitingly and rushingly I clicked on it, thinking that if, hesitatingly, I waited, I would miss the opporotunity which had presented itself to me in the form of an ad on which was a sexy woman, so I clicked it. I got a virus, and it deleted all my files, even the ones I had downloaded from the internet, and the others.
There was a man with a penis who was sculpting a statue that was not a statue yet, really, but a block of marble that was half-statue-like, given the way that the artist/sculpter had done some of it, but not all of it, as it was not yet a statue. Voila! he proclaimed, not actually French, but just pretentious. "J'ai fini!" And the statue toppled onto the ground and shattered in a lot of pieces, maybe even millions, or just hundreds, and he was like, "Noooo."
This is what I think of this thread : Hermit of the mind Never can and never be and never will the eyes that wander take away the thrill Of life so sharp so delicate so light that holds the soul with all its might Never can and never be and never gauge the hand that walks across the page Of life so sharp so delicate so crisp like a sages voice in the mist
Once upon a time there was a man and the man was called bob and his favourite colour was blue, which is my favourite colour too, though I also like orange. The man was an adventurer, so he decided that he needed to go on an adventure because he was a bit short on cash. He said to his mum, “I need to go on an adventure. Do you know where there is one?” His mum intoned helpfully, “look on the internet, everything is there.” So Bob went to his computer. His computer desk was wood, but his computer was a sort of blackish-grey. He found a forgotten tomb which had some treasure in it. It was in Africa. Bob went to Africa and he took his friend Fred with him. Fred was a priest and Bob invited him because there were often undead in tombs. Priests can turn undead, which sort of means making them run away. They strode adventurously into the tomb. “Look there is a goblin,” gasped Fred the priest. “Goblins are low levels,” said Bob. Bob killed the goblin with his sword and only lost a few hitpoints. Then they met some more monsters and they killed them all easily, although a dinosaur bit off Fred’s ear. In the end they got the treasure. Then they all went home and had ice-cream for dinner to celebrate. Except for Fred who was lactose intolerant.
Am I really the only one who thinks this is awful? It's certainly the most awful thing I've ever written.
It was night. In Paris. Well, it wasn't too far from Paris. Less than an hour by subway and then a bus. The streets were damp like in commercials. He strode purposely along the avenue wearing shoes that made a hollow clicky sound. They sounded fake. You know what I mean? He walked into the cafe like he was walking onto a yacht. There she was, wearing the yellow flowered dress he knew so well. He remembered once looking on the label and seeing that it was made of 100% rayon, with 20% cotton mixed in. That had been when it was thrown over his elliptical training machine. She had been naked at that time. In his bedroom. Sadly, there had been no sex. She turned toward him. Could this be? Her usually pink cheeks were as red as dye #2 and there were bruises in all colors of the rainbow. "She's been beaten up, and it's all my fault," he seemed to think to himself silently. But he said nothing. He took her multicolored mess of a face in his manly strong hands and gave her the required two bises on each cheek. (Bises is French for kisses.) "I ordered you your usual," she huskily said in that way she had. "They make root beer floats here?" He was distracted by trying to decide if her lips were purple from the beatings or did Maybelline make a new color of lipstick? "You shouldn't have come," she said, "because now things will only be worse for me. I am in grave danger, and I fear you might also now be involved or even killed, maybe soon." She smoothed the rayon dress along the length of her thigh as she sat back down in the chair, which was plush like seats in a car, or those mattresses with buttons on them. "I could never stay away. But we must plan a way to get you out of here, out of Italy forever. You will never be safe here in Italy." He wanted to take her clothes off right then and strip her down and get her naked. Even with beat up face she was like 400 times better looking than any other woman in the entire world or universe. And now soon she would be lost to him forever or until they met again in heaven, because she was to die this very night. He could feel it in his kidneys.
Lord Halifax did enter the room. He sauntered in, much in the manner of his own movement, like a beguiled deer. Stenton, his manservant, was standing abreast of the hearth, waiting, much in the manner of his own waiting, like an unpainted rock. "Ev'nin' m' lor'", Stenton spoke, his years at Heath College disarming his accent. "A sw't dram fer ye?" "But of course, my good man. And do pour one for yourself", Halifax replied to Stenton, uncharacterstically beginning a sentence with a conjunction. Twice. Stenton did as his Lord master commanded, as he always did. It was, after all, his job. They supped together. Reminisced of times gone by. In hour they would both be asleep. Such is the life of a lord and his manservant.
Doloreta de Codin strutted into her favourite clothes shop. It was her absolute favourite because she loved to buy clothes from there. Her hair was blonde and it sparkled in the sunlight. Except for when she walked into the clothes shop, because she came out of the sunlight and there was no sunlight in the shop, just like there is no sunlight in most shops except outdoor ones like markets, but this one had a roof. She immediately saw a dress as soon as she walked in and went to have a closer look. She soon became aware of somebody's eyes looking at her. She looked up. And then she saw a pair of eyes. They were HIS eyes! Their eyes met across the crowded clothes shop. She walked towards him in a trance. The whole world seemed to dissolve around her as she walked towards him. "John..." she said faintly when she reached him. She felt as if she was going to faint. "Doloreta!" he ejaculated, "it has been a while." "It has been so long since we last saw each other" she managed to say. "Yes, it has been so long. I have not seen you since that fateful day in the park when you said you didn't love me any more and ran off crying dramatically but I now know it was because you had been sleeping with my brother but it's ok because I forgive you, I know he had been blackmailing you but it has all come out now because my brother has been arrested for blackmail just yesterday, coincidentally. We are a messed up family and have lots of problems. Except me, I’m ok and normal. Want to go for a coffee? Maybe we can get back together” “No, got plans, sorry.”
