Writing

Sonata's picture

Stream of consciousness.

the edge of a mirror.

cold.

muffled.

like the flutter of a nightingale's wing.

like Snow.

Falling.

Cast into a world without sin for his sins.
Sonata's picture

And then the Prince of Hearts was wed (bet you never saw this coming)

Bloodied head, muzzle, against snow shaded fur, hearts singing in their perches like sick birds.
tangle of lean legs, blood and moss and fur and limbs.

9:41 PM

Sonata's picture

Mielasis. (writers block drabble)

((, contains interactions between Vilnius and Sweetheart that only TFO will truly appreciate) because she was there for their ~interactions~ the first time /shot/...long title is long))

The fickle wind tugged at the low laying ferns, as if distressed by how they were bloodied and stained.

The Prince of Hearts payed it no mind, merely turning his ears slowly, catching the far off noises of other deer, their calls and beating hooves, their beating hearts.

colorless sky

it's heavily recommended you open new tabs and listen to the music that's suggested in links. if it's still going when you reach another link, sit and finish listening to it. it shows the mood rather well, sometimes better than the writing...

[=10]...

Ears pinned back, blue eyes and shadows were the first views Azalea had of the Forest.




She stepped over the boundaries with a floating lightness, creases and lines across her aging face, still beautiful in a demonic and haunting way. There was a smile upon her face—something wasn’t right about it; it was too white and her teeth were too sharp—and a burning rapture in the depths of her dark eyes. Though her eyes had once been blue, her spirit had become so black-spirited that it had encased her iris color as well, gradually going from a blue to a grey to a pitch. Her pupils were slits and her long eyelashes were like spider’s limbs, crawling and twitching and swaying in the breeze.

Aspen bristled and the birds fled.

Nevermore, though he was noticeable, somehow remained out of focus, distant and faded and old and monstrous, kneeling near the birches, some remorse and pity and fury seething deep within his eye sockets, but he remained silent as the wind and looked away as his mate-no-more stopped, eyeing her son and daughter with those spider-like eyes and animalistic grin. Vipin’s fur pricked and he seemed frightened, for Aspen wove closer to him and put her great head beneath his own, shutting her eyes tightly as the sun passed overhead, glaring down upon them with anger.

Burning Music.

What is that?
What is happening?
Is that...is that music?
No, not music...
Pain.

What is this pain?
What is this...sound?

Trotting forward,
I see the burning trees,
And the singing insects.

Why do they scream ever so?
Music?
No...
Death.

They bring death.


------

I had this dream a few nights ago that I was in this forest, and I was walking along, and I heard something.
It sounded like music at first, but then it got really high pitched and squeaky. It really hurt my ears.
Me, being the curious idiot I am, walked towards the sound.

So as I arrive, I see a ton of trees that are on fire, and there are these bug/insect things flying around the trees.
They have the faces of people, but the body of a cockroach. Whenever they landed on the trees, they combusted instantly.
All I did was look and cry.

Then one landed on me, and I woke up. (^_^);;

Worst nightmare ever. ?__?;;

12:51 AM

1:05 AM

OokamiAzura's picture

Pointless Thoughts...[Real Life Writing]

Funny. I never thought I'd like pressure washing as much as I did.

I ended up working all this week, at the same garden center that I've worked at for the last...cripes, 3 years maybe?

This little chore I had was simple, but I never thought it'd make my mind race as quickly as it did.

"Hey Brittany, can you do me a favour? If I give you the pressure washer, can you wash off the stones that we just put in under the fence line?"

"Sure thing, it's no problem."

These stones were small, and were neatly set up under the fence in the front, where the shrubs and small trees are kept. After I figured out the pressure washer and everything, I turned it on, and proceeded to wash off the stones.

I was blown away.

Under these plain, sandy brown stones, was a hue of colour; orange, pinks, whites and blues, all assorted stone.

A single fact elated me.

The fact that with a flick of my wrist, a blast of water, I could turn something so plain, so lifeless, into something of colour, of life...I suddenly found myself enjoying the chore even more. So much more, in fact, that I even pressure washed the stones that had found themselves scattered in the driveway.

And yet, there was something else I noticed...something that I should have noticed over the course of my 19 years of aimless wandering on this Earth...have you ever noticed that when the sky is a grey blue, preparing for the storm...the grass and plants seem more colourful, more...filled with vibrancy?

There is a certain beauty here. The way the grass lights up when the sky is no longer happy, ready to weep...the grass, the plants...they are opportunists, waiting for the right time to show their true colours, their true beauty. Sure, it seems a bit cruel waiting for such, and yet ignorance, in this case, is certainly bliss.

7:30pm.

Driving on the highway towards my sister's. The sky is still a grey blue, ready to open up at any moment.

Oo°o° for Solaya °o°O°



même si il faudra du temps,
je t'aiderai a faire face au vent
même si il faudra du temps,
je t'aiderai a regarder vers l'horizon
et dans les étoiles a trouver les réponses

je serais toujours là pour toi et rien ne changera Smiling





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