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Alice in Entropy · 107169

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Offline Emiri Landeel

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Reply #50 on: July 09, 2009, 04:49:04 PM
Let's get dangerous óVó



Offline borockman

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Reply #51 on: July 09, 2009, 04:50:31 PM
Beautiful...

I got tears on me eyes.

BRAVO!


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Offline Irgendein

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Reply #52 on: July 09, 2009, 04:52:52 PM
The Secret of Ducks

[spoiler]Do you want to know the secret,
The secret of ducks?
The secret goes
That ducks are not to be trusted.
I knew a duck once.
The foulest fowl to be found.
Ducks kill things, you see.
Especially mice.
They don't wear pants.
They never wash up after eating.
Ducks are the spawn of the devil;
The almighty monster Quackmodeus!
Run, my boy! The ducks are here!
The bills, the bills!
Filled with the fangs of hatred!
Their secret is out!
The secret of the ducks!
They will eat your soul!
Never trust the ducks![/spoiler]
They truly are the evilest things in existence 8)



Offline Gotham Ranger

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Reply #53 on: July 09, 2009, 04:53:48 PM
What did I Just walk in on?



Offline Alice in Entropy

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Reply #54 on: July 09, 2009, 04:54:41 PM
I don't know. But I'd turn around and leave if I were you.



Offline Dr. Wily II

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Reply #55 on: July 09, 2009, 04:57:23 PM
Wow...
...
...
WHO WANTS PEKING DUCK AS REVENGE!?


I'm watching you all. Always watching.


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Reply #56 on: July 09, 2009, 04:58:22 PM
I don't know. But I'd turn around and leave if I were you.
I can't. I'm compelled by the words make the funny sounds



Offline Alice in Entropy

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Reply #57 on: July 09, 2009, 08:06:10 PM
Grodgudinnan/Patch isn't feeling great right now, and since I have to go away for a week, she's going to be feeling very lonely and depressed. So I wrote this to make her feel better.

By Your Side

[spoiler]When you're feeling grim
And the lights are dim
And you don't feel well
I'll be with you.

When you stray off the path
And wander into darkness
And become lost in doubt
I'll guide you.

When you've lost your spirit
And things seem bleak
And you've lost your smile
I'll give you mine.

I'll protect you when you're in trouble.
I'll pick you up when you fall.
I'll always be standing by your side.
I'll love you through it all.[/spoiler]

Sorry for the lack of humour. If anybody wants, I can write something funny to make up for it.



Offline Dr. Wily II

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Reply #58 on: July 09, 2009, 08:18:25 PM
No need, that's just very sweet of you. :3


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Offline Grodgudinnan

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Reply #59 on: July 09, 2009, 08:23:10 PM
Nick, you know I loved it. Thank you so much for not getting tired of me and my constant whining all the time... I appreciate it.



My name is Methos!

Just kidding...


Offline Alice in Entropy

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Reply #60 on: July 09, 2009, 08:31:29 PM
Don't sweat it, Patch. And thanks, Doc.



Offline Emiri Landeel

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Reply #61 on: July 10, 2009, 12:33:30 PM
Grodgudinnan/Patch isn't feeling great right now, and since I have to go away for a week, she's going to be feeling very lonely and depressed. So I wrote this to make her feel better.

By Your Side

[spoiler]When you're feeling grim
And the lights are dim
And you don't feel well
I'll be with you.

When you stray off the path
And wander into darkness
And become lost in doubt
I'll guide you.

When you've lost your spirit
And things seem bleak
And you've lost your smile
I'll give you mine.

I'll protect you when you're in trouble.
I'll pick you up when you fall.
I'll always be standing by your side.
I'll love you through it all.[/spoiler]

Sorry for the lack of humour. If anybody wants, I can write something funny to make up for it.
Beautifully done



Offline Alice in Entropy

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Reply #62 on: July 19, 2009, 01:23:19 AM
So, after a good deal of reading over my vacation, I've been inspired to write. Here's the introduction for an idea I have for a story. I may write more, especially if the feedback is good. May be slightly NSFW, please tell me if it is.

--------------------------

[spoiler]It was early morning on a pleasant April day when Patricia Morgan was born. Her parents couldn't have been happier. Her father was Sir Rupert Morgan, heir to the Morgan family fortune, and a man of great social acclaim. His wife, Lady Olivia Morgan - nee Eaton - had married Sir Rupert only partially for his wealth: she was an avid believer in the power of love, and as such wanted her daughter to grow up with the same notions.

"I'll not have my precious child tarnished by the ugly concept of a false marriage," she told her husband mere days after the wedding, making it very clear that she wanted a child. Always one to oblige, Sir Rupert let his baser instincts take brief control of himself and...well, you know. A little over nine months later, Lady Olivia gave birth to a healthy baby girl, whom she and her eager husband named Patricia, after the Lady's late mother. The first time Lady Olivia, now a mother, held her infant child in her hands, she felt a rush of warmth overwhelm her, a cascade of emotions she hadn't felt since her marriage. With a tender smile, she cradled baby Patricia in her arms.

"You're going to make somebody very happy some day," she whispered in her daughter's ear. Sir Rupert could not have been more proud.

-----

Evan Butler, on the other hand, had a rather different introduction to his life. He was born to Jack and Louise Butler, both members of equally desolate working-class families, and their initial reactions to the wondrous discovery that they were to be the proud parents of a child were not quite as enthusiastic as that of the Morgans.

"What, are you sure it's mine?"

"'Fraid so, luv."

"Ah, bollocks."

To be fair, Evan's parents, given the chance, would have showered their son with love and affection. The simple fact was, they were impeded by a love that they had already possessed for several years before they were even married: Jack was a fiend for gambling, while Louise had more of a penchant for tobacco. It was partially due to these unhealthy obsessions that they had met in the first place, both in a state of inhibiting inebriation at a bar some years beforehand. Had it not been for Louise Taylor's drunken intervention with Jack Butler's equally drunk efforts to score the jackpot on the tavern's fruit machine, the two may never have met and have borne their son.

To Evan, this notion of never having been born occasionally surfaced to taunt him. It wasn't that he was clinically depressed, per se, but he was of the opinion that his existence was taking up room that could have been put to much better use on someone else, someone who may have the chance to amount to something. Despite their glaring drawbacks, Evan was still fond of his parents. Had he been a more religious young man, he would most likely have chastised them for their indulgence in petty vice; alas, he had no interest in spiritual matters, and he viewed his parents' individual vices as little more than stark realities of urban life as opposed to defining flaws in character. Young Evan was the kind of person with little to no imagination whatsoever, whose most exciting thoughts rivalled that of a wooden plank's. Though by no means an unintelligent fellow, Evan had resigned his manner of thinking to a simple level - he only allowed his brain think of things relevant to the situation at hand, and exerted just enough effort to get by with his daily business. No more, no less. It was a sad, lonely existence, but one Evan intended to eke out until he finally passed away, alone and unloved, with only his faithful canine companion Reilly by his side. He already had his life planned out. His plans seemed to be going well. His life showed no signs of excitement or adventure in the near future, at any rate, and that suited him just fine.

He entered the kitchen one morning to find his parents going about their morning routine: mother with a cigarette in her hand, fathe trying to sort out his numerous gambling losses.

"I wish you wouldn't smoke in the house," Evan muttered to his mother, more out of obligation to say something than any personal opinion.

"I'll have you know I'm making a concious effort to cut back," his mother replied, taking a drag of her cigarette, "I reckon I can go by twenty a day now. No more smoking willy-nilly for me."

Evan nodded automatically, more concerned about excavating a carton of orange juice from the back of the fridge than whatever his mother had to say. She had said the same thing a month ago, and he was the one who had to put the fire out after she fell asleep with a lighter in her hand. He eventually retrieved the carton and sat down to breakfast. Cold muesli and orange juice. No surprises or funny stuff there.

"I was just telling your mother you ought to get a job," his father said, peering over his reading glasses. Evan gave him a look that was somewhere between frustrated and bemused.

"I have a job."

"I mean a real job. Can't spend the rest of your life d'liverin' them boxes, so you can't. Gotta make a name for yourself, son."

Evan simply frowned and examined the cold, grey sludge on the concave of his spoon. He had more or less intended to remain as a courier - it may have earned him minimum wage, but it was more than his deadbeat parents ever earned. Not that he ever actually thought such things; that would imply forming an opinion, and Evan's mind was too terrified to get off the fence. It had essentially become an extention of the fence it so nervously sat on. He finished his breakfast, got up and headed for the door.

"Where're you going?" asked his father.

"Out."[/spoiler]



Offline Dr. Wily II

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Reply #63 on: July 19, 2009, 08:53:22 AM
Seems just fine to me.
And it was a really nice read, so what's the premise of this series?


I'm watching you all. Always watching.


Offline Alice in Entropy

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Reply #64 on: July 19, 2009, 12:46:41 PM
Surreal love story of sorts. Though maybe "love story" isn't the best phrase.

[spoiler]Patricia Morgan had grown into a fine young woman. By the age of twenty, she had become well-known for her equestrian talent, having won seven national horseriding championships and at least seventeen lesser challenges. Indeed, horses and their ilk held a special place in her heart. Fame was not something she relished, though, and tried to keep a low profile as a very minor celebrity. Even so, she had regularly appeared on the covers of magazines and had also made a number of television appearances, often being interviewed about her life, family and career. She would gladly divulge information on these topics, yet there was still one subject she was a little less open on:

"Is there a special boy in your life?"

Patricia was consistently hesitant to speak about such matters. Her mother had raised her to believe that only true love was worth her effort, yet she had never actually attempted to seek it anywhere. She believed it would turn up when it wanted to, and she would be swept off her feet by a charming hero, reside a fairy-tale life in a faraway castle and overall live happily ever after. She herself had doubts about such things, but never actually said so. Interviewers had come to be familiar with the deep crimson blush and timid flicking of her bangs that appeared whenever she was questioned on the opposite gender, as well as the slight stutter and nervous squeak in her throat. These had become almost characteristic traits of hers, somewhat to her embarassment.

"I...I d-don't feel the n-need t-to *squeak* discuss...th-th-that..."

The interviews tended to finish shortly after that, so as not to upset the girl too much. And yet, whenever she left the studio, she would look up to the sky and wonder if her love really was out there, waiting for her.

-----

Evan hated his job. It was something he wouldn't actually like to say out loud, but in the recesses of his mind, he knew it was a waste of his time. Every morning he'd arrive at the building, somebody would hand him a box, he would tie the box to his bicycle and he would deliver the package to its recipient. This was his lot in life, day in, day out. He had resigned himself to this duty for the rest of his life. At least it put bread on the table.

This day, however, he was summoned by the man in charge of the delivery company, a one Edgar Johnson. Many of the workers held their boss in contempt, but the truth was, he was a very generous man. It was just that his generosity was invariably inwardly focused. He could have won a medal for his charity towards himself. He was seated at his desk when Evan arrived in, fingers already steepled and eyes already focused on the young man.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Ah, Evan, good to see you. Sit down."

Evan obliged and procured a seat from the corner of the room. He sat himself down on the opposite side of his boss's desk, feeling small and insignificant against Mr. Johnson's cold stare.

"I have a package for you to deliver," said Mr. Johnson.

Evan looked about the room, checking for any hidden cameras. At last, when he deemed the room safe, he turned back to his boss. "Er, yeah. That's what I do. That's what I've been doing for two years now, sir."

"I'm quite aware of that. However, I have a very special package for you to deliver."

Evan frowned. "Special?"

"Oh, yes." Mr. Johnson leaned back in his chair and picked up a box that lay behind his desk. He dropped the box on the table and pointed a finger at the name written on the side:

PATRICIA MORGAN

Evan blinked. He led a life ignorant of who's-who and what's-what, and as such had no idea who Patricia Morgan was. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Mr. Johnson, who knew what he was going to ask.

"Patricia Morgan is the daughter of the wealthy Morgan family and the heir to their fortune," Mr. Johnson explained, "She's also a renowned horserider. Don't understand why, I never saw the appeal in those four-legged fiends." He stopped himself, lest he embark on a rant, and returned to the subject. "At any rate, you're going to deliver this package to the Morgan estate and you're going to do it with all the speed you can muster with those scrawny legs of yours."

Evan shrank into his seat as his boss's tone took on a form similar to that of a drill sergeant barking orders. "Yes sir. But, er...why me, sir?"

"Because, Butler, you're the fastest courier in this company! If we can please the Morgans with our delivery, there's a chance they'll give us some...you know, help with the money."

"Financial aid?" Evan suggested meekly. His boss snapped his fingers.

"Yeah, that's it! Hell knows we need the money."

Evan nodded, his gaze constantly shifting to the door. The sooner he could leave, the better. Without a word, Mr. Johson dumped the box into Evan's hands.

"Alright, get to deliverin'. And remember, we need that money!"

Evan nodded once again and, holding the package close to his chest, scurried out the door like a frightened mouse. Mr. Johson watched him go, and once he had left, set about polishing a gold trophy he kept beneath his desk.[/spoiler]



Offline Emiri Landeel

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Reply #65 on: July 19, 2009, 12:51:59 PM
^
^
Good writings.
Wonder how the story goes (I sense a plot twisted)



Offline Dr. Wily II

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Reply #66 on: July 20, 2009, 07:32:59 AM
I see, and hehe...
It's coming... The fated meeting...


I'm watching you all. Always watching.


Offline Alice in Entropy

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Reply #67 on: July 26, 2009, 02:01:47 PM
Have some more. Short, but I figured I'd write something.



[spoiler]It was a splendid April morning, less than a week from the birthday of the Morgan family air, and Patricia was seated on the balcony, sipping ice-cold lemonade that had been freshly squeezed for her to enjoy. She had everything she could want in life: good health, a loving family, financial security and many good friends. Alas, she was still missing one thing: somebody she could love and cherish as a significant other. Her parents had arranged countless suitors to court her, but none of them had met her - or, heaven forbid, her mother's - expectations, and they were quickly shooed away. Her mother always stressed that money was not important, that love was all that counted. She didn't love any of them. A few of them were nice, handsome and gentlemanly, but the rest were either pompous, vain, shallow, greedy or just plain ignorant. She could feel no amorous attraction for any of them, but her parents maintained that patience was a virtue, and that she would have to wait for the perfect fellow to arrive.

In her mind, she checked off all the features she thought her perfect man would have: tall, well-built but not muscular; neat, tidy and respectable; a good sense of humour; loyal and protective; kind, gentle and caring; able to walk, talk and act like a gentleman; a true knight from the fairy tales of lore. And a white horse to sweep her onto and ride away on wouldn't hurt either.

The doorbell rang. Patricia put down her glass and went back inside, down the stairs and into the main hall, where the head butler Winston had arrived to open the door.

"Don't trouble yourself, Winston," said Patricia with a smile, striding over to open the door herself.

-----

It had taken all day, but at last, Evan arrived at the Morgan estate. As soon as he reached the gates and saw the house, surrounded on all sides by well-trimmed and perfectly green hedges, he was taken aback. Having resided in a cheap flat all his life, seeing this marvel of architecture was an incredible sight. The grandiose, majestic building, with its five tiers of flooring, polished alabaster walls and magnificently arched roof, had left the poor lad speechless. After the gates had been opened, he strolled down the driveway, which seemed to stretch onwards for miles to him. Trailing his bicycle beside him, he glanced in amazement at the garden - everything was so neat and tidy, each plot of grass its own unique kingdom, thriving with wondrous flora he had never even seen before.

He came to the front door, left his bicycle in front of the house, stepped onto the porch and, with a nervous cough to clear his throat, rang the doorbell. The package was in his hands. He heard footsteps, and the faint voice of a girl telling somebody named Winston not to trouble himself. Must be the maid, he figured, come to open the door. He put on a polite smile, hoping to at least walk away with a tip.

Instead, when the door opened, he was confronted by the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Long, blonde hair; shimmering sapphire eyes; a pretty little smile; wearing a dainty Summer camisole and frilly little skirt. He was left awestruck in her presence, and when she greeted him, he could only mumble nonsense to himself as his mind tried to overcome her dazzling beauty and find the right words to say.

"I, er...I b-brou...g-got...well, er...er...thingy...thingies..."

The girl tipped her head to the side every so slightly, letting her lovely golden locks spill over a little. "Pardon?"

"Er, p-pardon, well, er...pa...pack..." Evan shut his eyes and tried his best to concentrate, but when he opened them again, he found them betraying him and looking down. No, don't look at her breasts! his mind yelled at his eyes, Ignore them! Forget her cleavage, just give her the fu--

"Package!" he blurted out suddenly, his thoughts snapping back into place almost as quickly as his eyes. "Package, yes! I...I'm here to deliver this package to a one..." He glanced at the label. "Patricia Morgan."

The girl smiled. "That would be me," she said softly, reaching out and taking the package from him. Evan nodded feverishly, wearing a completely unrealistic grin, trying not to peer at the young lady's skirt. Mustn't peer at the young lady's skirt, he thought to himself. Oh, god, I wonder what colour panties she's wearing...

The girl looked at the box, then back at Evan, still smiling warmly. "Is that all?"

Probably white. White and frilly, with lace on them and all...

"Excuse me," said the girl, "Is that all?"

"Panties," declared Evan. "I mean, er, breasts! I mean, er..." He noticed the girl's bemused expression and cleared his throat. "Er, yes. That's all. Of course."

The girl smiled again. "Alright, well, thank you very much."

"Thank you very much for choosing SpeedCo Deliveries," said Evan proudly, momentarily forgetting that customers weren't usually interesting in the delivery company as long as they got their package. With a smile, the girl closed the door.

Evan quickly whirled around and let his legs stumble, his back against the door. He felt something strange, an emotion he hadn't before experienced. He wiped his brow, grinning like an imbecile. "I'm in love!"

-----

Patricia closed the door, holding her package happily.

"Who was it, my dear?" asked Winston.

"Oh, just some delivery boy. Looked rather scruffy."[/spoiler]



Offline Dr. Wily II

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Reply #68 on: July 26, 2009, 02:23:56 PM
I lawled at Evan's thought of white, frilly panties... XD

Great read as usual, even if it was one-sided for Evan. XD


I'm watching you all. Always watching.


Offline Alice in Entropy

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Reply #69 on: July 26, 2009, 04:04:24 PM
Well, then, have some more.

[spoiler]Evan looked up at the sky and, for the first time in a good while, beamed happily. "I'M IN LOVE!" he shouted to no-one in particular, "Today is my lucky day!"

He hopped onto his bicycle and cycled out the front gate, whistling a merry tune to himself. He didn't even see the bus, and by the time he did, he was already on the floor.

-----

Patricia returned to her seat on the balcony and resumed sipping her lemonade. He was quite a nice boy. A little odd, but then, a lot of working class folk were. No harm done. Poor boy, he was probably suffering at home. His parents must have neglected him. Why else would he have such old, rumpled clothinng? Even though he looked to be at least a year older than herself, Patricia couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

Maybe I should go give him some money, she thought to herself, Perhaps I'll invite him in and give him something to eat. Poor fellow's so skinny. He mustn't have eaten in days.

Humming merrily to herself, she made her way to the front door and strolled down along the driveway. It was only when she reached the gates that she saw him. With a shocked gasp, she ran over to him and knelt beside his body. The traffic had ceased to move. People had gathered around to look. The mangled bike, warped and crunched, lay dead on the road. And beside it was the delivery boy. Patricia gazed at his limp body, a steady stream of blod trickling from the gash on his forehead. He was lying deathly still.

And, for reasons she couldn't quite understand, Patricia felt a single teardrop roll down her cheek.

-----

Everything was spinning. It was like one of those carousel rides at the fun fair, except for the throbbing sensation in his head. The shouting was normal, though. People often shouted on the carousel, usually folk who had been drenched in vomit and wanted desperately to get off. Evan wanted to get off.

Please?

It was still spinning. Damn. He tried to make out the figures surrounding him, but his eyes refused to co-operate. Was he even concious anymore? Maybe he was dreaming about something. The many colourful blobs in his vision swirled and expanded, spun and condensed. It was like looking into a kaleidoscope. Except with lots of yelling and mumbling.

He felt something touch his chest. Too light to be somebody's hand. It felt...warm. Warm and comforting. And, because Evan was wearing a single, very thin shirt, he could feel the moisture. It was a droplet. A single droplet.

Evan wondered who was dripping water onto him, and everything went black.

-----

"You sure there's nothin' we c'n do to 'elp 'im, doc?"

"I'm arfraid not, Mrs. Butler. Your son is as good as dead."

"Ah. Terrible shame, that. Right, love?"

"'Tis. Gonna 'ave to pay f'r a fun'ral now an' ev'rythin'."

"Mr. and Mrs. Butler, your son is dying."

"Well, s'not like we asked for 'im. I was too drunk to remember anythin'. Damn fruity machine."

"Dr. Brown, there's a young lady hear to see the patient."

"Send her in, nurse."

"Oi, then, 'oo's this pretty li'l princess?"

"Were you pokin' around our Evan, then? Was it you done this?"

"No, I'm just...I'm just a friend."

"Friend me arse. I betcha you were the one drivin' the truck what done this."

"It was a bus, actually."

"What's that, love?"

"I said it was a bus, you self-absorbed bastard!"

"Hey, don't you go givin' my 'usband that cheek of yours, young lady."

"Mr. and Mrs. Butler, I'm going to have to ask you to leave..."

"What? It's this posh li'l brat what's givin' us trouble!"

"I said leave, please. Now."

"Alright, alright, we're goin'. Useless piece of..."

"Good riddance. Wake up...please, wake up..."

Wake up.[/spoiler]



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Reply #70 on: July 26, 2009, 04:18:00 PM
... Man, what parents those 2 were...
I seriously wasn't expecting an accident so soon, then again, with the circumstances, it's very likely to happen.
Also, Pat's reaction, does seem like it's starting now.


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Offline Alice in Entropy

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Reply #71 on: August 06, 2009, 03:21:33 AM
Winds

Like the rounded curve amongst the mind
Buzzing with concrete delight
When all is said and things are done
You don't remember anyone
Winds of change sweep over you
Leaving you drifting along a doldrum
Of loneliness, beyond what you are
Or what you should be
A husk
A shell
It's a carnival of ideas
And everybody's dancing
Can't you see?
Lie across the truth
See the lies, spot the clues
Tongue of blood
Dripping into a rusty chalice
Taste of neglect
Love of a fool
Sorrow dances with the moon
Joy flirts with the sky
And it's all gone by, all too soon
Ancient thoughts piece the eye
Hidden amongst a nightmare's edge
Fits the cold like glove or shoe
Break the bitter names over seething sledge
And no-one ever really loved you.

...I don't know what the [tornado fang] this is. I wrote it off the top of my head when I wasn't feeling great, not quite sure what I was even writing. Good lord.



Offline Jericho

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Reply #72 on: August 06, 2009, 03:57:57 AM
Holy crap, why haven't I been in this thread before? I love it.

WRITE MOAR.



Offline Alice in Entropy

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Reply #73 on: August 06, 2009, 03:59:56 AM
Oh, well, thanks a lot. That really means a lot to me!

I will write more, don't worry. Give me time to think.



Offline Jericho

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Reply #74 on: August 06, 2009, 04:04:27 AM
Don't worry I'm patient, and as a bit of a writer myself I know things have to come at their own pace. 8)